Lately, I've been considering how games provide feedback to their players.
Look at any game, and you'll see that it is set up with certain expectations. Dungeons and Dragons, for instance, expects that you will explore maps, kill the monsters, and take their treasure. That's the type of game that D&D players want, and that's the type of game the designers provide. You get experience points for killing the monsters, and the game design expects that you will have a level X magic item improving your character by the time you are level Y.
What I've been wondering is which came first, the design or the expectations? Did the D&D designers see that people wanted to explore dungeons and design the experience system to reward that play, or did the rewards come first and play changed to generate the most reward?
We are, by and large, creatures of self-interest. We will usually favor actions that improve our circumstances. So, in Dungeons and Dragons, killing monsters and taking their loot is the fastest way to advance your character, so you do it.
For another example, look at Burning Wheel. It doesn't use experience points. Instead, there are two major forms of advancement: improving skills and earning artha. You improve skills by using them, and you need to use them at varying levels of difficulty to advance. Artha is used to improve your die rolls, and you earn that by roleplaying. Your character has beliefs, instincts, and traits, and you earn artha by incorporating those beliefs, instincts, and traits into the game. You set up your own reward system, by saying "This is what I want my character to do, and I want to be rewarded for it." If you had a belief that it is better to make peace with the orcs than to fight them, you'd earn the exact same rewards as a character that has the belief that all orcs must die bloody deaths.
I've been running a Burning Wheel game for my players for the last month or so. Before that, they were only D&D players. It's been a rough learning curve, but I'm beginning to see changes in how they play. They're no longer interested only in defeating their enemies. Instead there are moral dilemmas ("Do I heal this injured man, even though he is a heathen unbeliever?"), it also helps that Burning Wheel has a rather gritty combat system, where a wound can last for a long time, which makes combat something to avoid.
Reward mechanics can also influence the genre of the game. In TORG, for example, they use a mechanic called perseverence to create the feel of a horror story in the game. Until you generate enough perseverence points, the monsters have several advantages over you. You gain the points by researching the monster's weakenesses and witnessing the atrocities it commits. This strengthens your resolve to defeat it, until you gain enough information and resolve to enable you to overpower it. The system even encourages splitting the party up, as they can gain more information that way. Just like you see in horror movies.
It's important when choosing a game to consider what sort of behavior the game expects. If this doesn't fit YOUR expectations, you should choose a different game.
Now Reading: Code of the Lifemaker, by James P. Hogan.
Showing posts with label Burning Wheel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Burning Wheel. Show all posts
Friday, December 19, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
How Games Mold Play
Happy Halloween! Sorry I haven't posted lately, but things have been busy at work and at home.
My brain has been about to explode lately because it's trying to hold in three radically different game rule sets. These games are Dungeons and Dragons (3.5, though 4E has infected it slightly), Burning Wheel, and TORG. One is the granddaddy of gaming, one is arguably the most popular indie-game out there, and the last is a game from the '90s that I've been a fan of for a long time.
As I study these rules (and I'll even admit that TORG might not be played, but hope springs eternal), I'm noticing how the assumptions these games make can affect play at the table. I've already touched on how differently D&D and Burning Wheel treat failure in another post, but that's not the only way that they shape play.
D&D is, always, a game about killing monsters and taking their stuff. Heck, back in first edition you got one experience point for every gold piece of treasure. Sure, 4E has introduced a "skill challenge" system, but that's just defeating enemies (though the enemies are no longer limited to monsters and NPCs) with different weapons (skills instead of spells or swords). You get experience for defeating or circumventing the monsters. The GM might give you a story award for accomplishing some goal, but let's face it; you had to beat up some monsters to do that, so he's really just giving you a bonus. The only type of reward that is NOT tied to beating up monsters is if your GM gives you experience for role-playing your character, but that's usually so small and hard to get that it's not worthwhile.
Burning Wheel, on the other hand, does not have an experience system. You improve your character by trying to do things (and often failing at them). You can also practice your skills or find an instructor, but the quickest way to learn something is to just go out and try to do it. The other reward in Burning Wheel is called artha, which is used to modify die rolls. You earn this by incorporating your character's beliefs into the story of the game. These beliefs can be almost anything, as long as they provide a hook to drive the story. They don't have to involve fighting, and given that Burning Wheel's system for recovering from wounds can lay your character up for months, that's a good thing.
TORG uses a resource management style of advancement. You earn possibility points through play. These points can be used to modify rolls, pay for super powers, or spent to advance skills. It takes more points to advance a high-level skill than a low-level one. So, you're always trying to figure out if you should use them on your rolls or save them to advance your character. Points are award based on accomplishing adventures, which are broken into "acts." You get a few for completing an act, and more when the entire adventure is completed.
In short, D&D encourages players to kill things, BW encourages players to accomplish their personal goals, and TORG encourages players to accomplish goals set by the GM.
However, there's more to it than that. Let's now take a look at combat and its results.
In D&D, divine magic can easily heal any wound, and even death cannot really stop a determined adventurer's career. Even the dreaded Total Party Kill might not stop things, if the GM is feeling generous. There seldom is any real consequence from combat, as even the most debilitating condition can be cured, somehow.
In BW, combat can be very deadly, if you roll badly and your opponent rolls well. Spending artha can keep your character alive once he has received a mortal wound, but he'll be a long time recovering from it. If things go really badly, he might even gain traits such as "Missing Limb" or "One Eye" and, like in the real world, he'll have to deal with that (or retire the character). The author himself admits that the reason for this is to make sure that no one enters combat without feeling the tension. Even if you don't die, wounds can exact large penalties on your character.
TORG takes a middle ground, as things can go badly, and penalties mount, but they can be healed completely and with no after-effects (or at least your can get cyberware replacements). Possibility points can also reduce wounds (so more resource management.)
So, in D&D, you can run blithely into battle, sure that you can probably recover from whatever happens. In BW, combat is fraught with peril, and you might be paying for your rashness for a long time (as you would in Real Life). In TORG, things can go badly quickly, but there probably will be no long-term consequences.
I think I'll end this here, but I hope this helps you see how your game of choice will affect your play at the table. Next time, maybe I'll review TORG, for those who have never heard of it.
My brain has been about to explode lately because it's trying to hold in three radically different game rule sets. These games are Dungeons and Dragons (3.5, though 4E has infected it slightly), Burning Wheel, and TORG. One is the granddaddy of gaming, one is arguably the most popular indie-game out there, and the last is a game from the '90s that I've been a fan of for a long time.
As I study these rules (and I'll even admit that TORG might not be played, but hope springs eternal), I'm noticing how the assumptions these games make can affect play at the table. I've already touched on how differently D&D and Burning Wheel treat failure in another post, but that's not the only way that they shape play.
D&D is, always, a game about killing monsters and taking their stuff. Heck, back in first edition you got one experience point for every gold piece of treasure. Sure, 4E has introduced a "skill challenge" system, but that's just defeating enemies (though the enemies are no longer limited to monsters and NPCs) with different weapons (skills instead of spells or swords). You get experience for defeating or circumventing the monsters. The GM might give you a story award for accomplishing some goal, but let's face it; you had to beat up some monsters to do that, so he's really just giving you a bonus. The only type of reward that is NOT tied to beating up monsters is if your GM gives you experience for role-playing your character, but that's usually so small and hard to get that it's not worthwhile.
Burning Wheel, on the other hand, does not have an experience system. You improve your character by trying to do things (and often failing at them). You can also practice your skills or find an instructor, but the quickest way to learn something is to just go out and try to do it. The other reward in Burning Wheel is called artha, which is used to modify die rolls. You earn this by incorporating your character's beliefs into the story of the game. These beliefs can be almost anything, as long as they provide a hook to drive the story. They don't have to involve fighting, and given that Burning Wheel's system for recovering from wounds can lay your character up for months, that's a good thing.
TORG uses a resource management style of advancement. You earn possibility points through play. These points can be used to modify rolls, pay for super powers, or spent to advance skills. It takes more points to advance a high-level skill than a low-level one. So, you're always trying to figure out if you should use them on your rolls or save them to advance your character. Points are award based on accomplishing adventures, which are broken into "acts." You get a few for completing an act, and more when the entire adventure is completed.
In short, D&D encourages players to kill things, BW encourages players to accomplish their personal goals, and TORG encourages players to accomplish goals set by the GM.
However, there's more to it than that. Let's now take a look at combat and its results.
In D&D, divine magic can easily heal any wound, and even death cannot really stop a determined adventurer's career. Even the dreaded Total Party Kill might not stop things, if the GM is feeling generous. There seldom is any real consequence from combat, as even the most debilitating condition can be cured, somehow.
In BW, combat can be very deadly, if you roll badly and your opponent rolls well. Spending artha can keep your character alive once he has received a mortal wound, but he'll be a long time recovering from it. If things go really badly, he might even gain traits such as "Missing Limb" or "One Eye" and, like in the real world, he'll have to deal with that (or retire the character). The author himself admits that the reason for this is to make sure that no one enters combat without feeling the tension. Even if you don't die, wounds can exact large penalties on your character.
TORG takes a middle ground, as things can go badly, and penalties mount, but they can be healed completely and with no after-effects (or at least your can get cyberware replacements). Possibility points can also reduce wounds (so more resource management.)
So, in D&D, you can run blithely into battle, sure that you can probably recover from whatever happens. In BW, combat is fraught with peril, and you might be paying for your rashness for a long time (as you would in Real Life). In TORG, things can go badly quickly, but there probably will be no long-term consequences.
I think I'll end this here, but I hope this helps you see how your game of choice will affect your play at the table. Next time, maybe I'll review TORG, for those who have never heard of it.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Failing at Games
"You have failed me for the last time." -- Darth Vader
Bet that title got your attention, huh? But I'm not talking about playing games badly, I'm talking today about how games handle failure. This topic was recently driven home to me when I ran a game of Burning Wheel.
So, let's compare how Dungeons and Dragons handles failure versus Burning Wheel. In D&D,
it goes something like this:
Player: I want to pick the lock before the monsters get here.
GM: OK, roll your Thievery skill.
Player: *roll* Crap, I get a 7.
GM: Sorry, the door's still locked.
Player: I'll try again.
GM: Sorry, you don't have time. Now you're trapped in this corridor as the ogres charge.
In Burning Wheel, the situation is a little different:
Player: I want to pick the lock before the monsters get here.
GM: OK, so that's your intent. If you succeed at an Ob 3 test, you open the lock and are gone before the ogres arrive. If you fail, the door opens just as they get there. Sound OK?
Player: Sure! *roll* Crap, no successes. Can I try again?
GM: Sorry, but the Let It Ride rule is in effect. OK, you work franticly at the lock. Just as it clicks open, the ogres round the corner and spot you. They charge.
I'll admit this is a simplistic scenario, but it illustrates two different philosophies of failure.
D&D makes almost everything pass/fail. You hit the monster or you miss. You pick the lock or you don't. As the example above shows, that's a fine way to paint yourself into a corner. This is a perfectly fine way to look at things, and it's definitely easy to grasp.
Burning Wheel, on the other hand, is more interested in the Consequences of Failure. It's not interested in whether you succeed or fail at a task, but if you get your intent. The key phrase in the BW example above is "before the monsters get here." With that intent, the GM has some wiggle room. And this is good, because BW is a lot stingier on handing out successes.
A pass/fail system, like D&D, unfortunately creates the mindset "I must win at everything." Failure equals death, or at least something else equally nasty. This encourages min-maxing, so that you win more often than you lose and therefore "win" the game.
In a Consequences of Failure system, like BW, failures make things more interesting (in the Chinese proverb sense) for the players, but doesn't necessarily mean death and destruction. Instead, it forces the narrative off in a new direction. What was a straight path suddenly takes a sharp turn. The players must deal with the consequences before they can get back on track. It might take them somewhere they never thought they'd go.
Here's another example of the Consequences of Failure that you might recognize.
The intrepid explorer stands in the tomb, looking at a gold idol on a pedestal. He takes a bag of sand out of his pouch and carefully measures out a handful of sand, until he thinks it weighs as much as the idol. Carefully, mindful of the traps, he switches the idol for the bag and grins at his companion. However, the bag of sand on the pedestal begins to sink, and the traps in the room begin to go off...
It's not easy to grasp a system like Burning Wheel's that rewards failure as much as success. I played several sessions before I really grasped it. There were times when I was really cursing the GM for what he did to my character. But I had, whether I had known it or not, agreed to the stakes that were set. But, after I calmed down, I saw the roleplaying potential in the failures. Yes, my character has been forced to change, but that's not a bad thing. Both he and I have to then grapple with how this change has affected him. Maybe it could turn out to be a blessing in the end. Who knows? You're off the map and into uncharted territory. That can be scary, but also a lot more rewarding.
To wrap up, here are a few points to keep in mind when playing with the Consequences of Failure:
1. Always make sure that the player and the GM agree on the consequences. Don't try and force it on them.
2. When you fail, try and think what your character will do next. (It pays not to plan too far ahead for your character, because these curve balls will probably junk that plan.)
3. Play up the consequences, if you can, for a humorous effect. Look at Indiana Jones, for example, where it could be argued that he has the worst good luck imaginable.
Good luck!
Reading: Anathem by Neal Stephenson (almost done!)
Movie: Excalibur
TV: Iron Chef America
Bet that title got your attention, huh? But I'm not talking about playing games badly, I'm talking today about how games handle failure. This topic was recently driven home to me when I ran a game of Burning Wheel.
So, let's compare how Dungeons and Dragons handles failure versus Burning Wheel. In D&D,
it goes something like this:
Player: I want to pick the lock before the monsters get here.
GM: OK, roll your Thievery skill.
Player: *roll* Crap, I get a 7.
GM: Sorry, the door's still locked.
Player: I'll try again.
GM: Sorry, you don't have time. Now you're trapped in this corridor as the ogres charge.
In Burning Wheel, the situation is a little different:
Player: I want to pick the lock before the monsters get here.
GM: OK, so that's your intent. If you succeed at an Ob 3 test, you open the lock and are gone before the ogres arrive. If you fail, the door opens just as they get there. Sound OK?
Player: Sure! *roll* Crap, no successes. Can I try again?
GM: Sorry, but the Let It Ride rule is in effect. OK, you work franticly at the lock. Just as it clicks open, the ogres round the corner and spot you. They charge.
I'll admit this is a simplistic scenario, but it illustrates two different philosophies of failure.
D&D makes almost everything pass/fail. You hit the monster or you miss. You pick the lock or you don't. As the example above shows, that's a fine way to paint yourself into a corner. This is a perfectly fine way to look at things, and it's definitely easy to grasp.
Burning Wheel, on the other hand, is more interested in the Consequences of Failure. It's not interested in whether you succeed or fail at a task, but if you get your intent. The key phrase in the BW example above is "before the monsters get here." With that intent, the GM has some wiggle room. And this is good, because BW is a lot stingier on handing out successes.
A pass/fail system, like D&D, unfortunately creates the mindset "I must win at everything." Failure equals death, or at least something else equally nasty. This encourages min-maxing, so that you win more often than you lose and therefore "win" the game.
In a Consequences of Failure system, like BW, failures make things more interesting (in the Chinese proverb sense) for the players, but doesn't necessarily mean death and destruction. Instead, it forces the narrative off in a new direction. What was a straight path suddenly takes a sharp turn. The players must deal with the consequences before they can get back on track. It might take them somewhere they never thought they'd go.
Here's another example of the Consequences of Failure that you might recognize.
The intrepid explorer stands in the tomb, looking at a gold idol on a pedestal. He takes a bag of sand out of his pouch and carefully measures out a handful of sand, until he thinks it weighs as much as the idol. Carefully, mindful of the traps, he switches the idol for the bag and grins at his companion. However, the bag of sand on the pedestal begins to sink, and the traps in the room begin to go off...
It's not easy to grasp a system like Burning Wheel's that rewards failure as much as success. I played several sessions before I really grasped it. There were times when I was really cursing the GM for what he did to my character. But I had, whether I had known it or not, agreed to the stakes that were set. But, after I calmed down, I saw the roleplaying potential in the failures. Yes, my character has been forced to change, but that's not a bad thing. Both he and I have to then grapple with how this change has affected him. Maybe it could turn out to be a blessing in the end. Who knows? You're off the map and into uncharted territory. That can be scary, but also a lot more rewarding.
To wrap up, here are a few points to keep in mind when playing with the Consequences of Failure:
1. Always make sure that the player and the GM agree on the consequences. Don't try and force it on them.
2. When you fail, try and think what your character will do next. (It pays not to plan too far ahead for your character, because these curve balls will probably junk that plan.)
3. Play up the consequences, if you can, for a humorous effect. Look at Indiana Jones, for example, where it could be argued that he has the worst good luck imaginable.
Good luck!
Reading: Anathem by Neal Stephenson (almost done!)
Movie: Excalibur
TV: Iron Chef America
Friday, October 10, 2008
Fourth Edition Dungeons and Dragons
In June 2008, Wizards of the Coast published the Fourth Edition of the grandpappy of all RPGs, Dungeons & Dragons.
I learned to roleplay back in the mists of time with Advanced Dungeons and Dragons (also known as First Edition--1979-1989). Heck, I even had, though I never played, the "Red Box" of Dungeons and Dragons. (I believe my copy is long lost, however...) Most of my D&D career was spend in Second (1989-2000) and Third Editions (2000-2003), especially version 3.5 (2003-2008). So I have been a fan and a player all my roleplaying life.
I really, really wanted to like Fourth Edition. I did. And it is certainly a fine game, for what it is designed to do. But I find that I don't like running it.
Why?
1. Miniatures Wargaming. The game has taken its emphasis on miniatures to new heights. I understand that they want to use the game to sell D&D miniatures, but I never liked that aspect of the game under Third Edition, and I like it even less with Fourth. I just seem to lack the strategic talents to run a miniatures combat game, and that's pretty much what D&D4E is. Could I pick up these talents with time? Probably, but I wouldn't be having much fun while doing it.
2. Video Game Style. Since Third Edition, massively multiplayer online roleplaying games have grown as an industry. Go out on the street and start asking random people if they ever played World of Warcraft, and you'll probably find someone pretty quickly. And so, Wizards decided to try and lure some of those gamers back to pen and paper play. Many aspects from MMORPGs are in 4E, including such staples as "powers," "resting restores your hit points," "no race/class has any weakness," etc. In a way, it's amusing, since video games stole so many ideas from D&D, and now D&D returns the favor. But this strains my suspension of disbelief and, I think, it promotes a "fight-rest-fight-rest-fight-rest" mentality.
3. Lack of non-combat options. D&D has always been about "kill the monster, take his stuff." 4E takes this even further, I think, as they have not included much in the way of non-combat systems. The only thing they have is the Skill Challenge system, which I find rather clunky to use. To make matters worse, within weeks of the books hitting the shelves, Wizards had to post some hefty errata (excuse me, "updates"--more video game jargon) on the Skill Challenge system.
So, we have a game where I don't like the combat system, and where there is almost nothing BUT a combat system.
Now, 4E has several good things going for it. It's easy to make a character, the classes and races are well-balanced, and while I don't like the miniatures wargaming aspect, the game handles it very well.
I gave it a good try. I've played in several games, and I ran four sessions of my new Plagueborne campaign in it, but my unhappiness kept growing. So, I put it to my gaming group, and we've decided to abandon 4E and use Burning Wheel to play Plagueborne. So, I'll probably talk in another post about how that goes.
Now Reading: Anathem by Neal Stephenson
Last Movie: Iron Man
I learned to roleplay back in the mists of time with Advanced Dungeons and Dragons (also known as First Edition--1979-1989). Heck, I even had, though I never played, the "Red Box" of Dungeons and Dragons. (I believe my copy is long lost, however...) Most of my D&D career was spend in Second (1989-2000) and Third Editions (2000-2003), especially version 3.5 (2003-2008). So I have been a fan and a player all my roleplaying life.
I really, really wanted to like Fourth Edition. I did. And it is certainly a fine game, for what it is designed to do. But I find that I don't like running it.
Why?
1. Miniatures Wargaming. The game has taken its emphasis on miniatures to new heights. I understand that they want to use the game to sell D&D miniatures, but I never liked that aspect of the game under Third Edition, and I like it even less with Fourth. I just seem to lack the strategic talents to run a miniatures combat game, and that's pretty much what D&D4E is. Could I pick up these talents with time? Probably, but I wouldn't be having much fun while doing it.
2. Video Game Style. Since Third Edition, massively multiplayer online roleplaying games have grown as an industry. Go out on the street and start asking random people if they ever played World of Warcraft, and you'll probably find someone pretty quickly. And so, Wizards decided to try and lure some of those gamers back to pen and paper play. Many aspects from MMORPGs are in 4E, including such staples as "powers," "resting restores your hit points," "no race/class has any weakness," etc. In a way, it's amusing, since video games stole so many ideas from D&D, and now D&D returns the favor. But this strains my suspension of disbelief and, I think, it promotes a "fight-rest-fight-rest-fight-rest" mentality.
3. Lack of non-combat options. D&D has always been about "kill the monster, take his stuff." 4E takes this even further, I think, as they have not included much in the way of non-combat systems. The only thing they have is the Skill Challenge system, which I find rather clunky to use. To make matters worse, within weeks of the books hitting the shelves, Wizards had to post some hefty errata (excuse me, "updates"--more video game jargon) on the Skill Challenge system.
So, we have a game where I don't like the combat system, and where there is almost nothing BUT a combat system.
Now, 4E has several good things going for it. It's easy to make a character, the classes and races are well-balanced, and while I don't like the miniatures wargaming aspect, the game handles it very well.
I gave it a good try. I've played in several games, and I ran four sessions of my new Plagueborne campaign in it, but my unhappiness kept growing. So, I put it to my gaming group, and we've decided to abandon 4E and use Burning Wheel to play Plagueborne. So, I'll probably talk in another post about how that goes.
Now Reading: Anathem by Neal Stephenson
Last Movie: Iron Man
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