The Good GM

I have mentioned several times before my hobby of tabletop roleplaying, and used it to discuss ‘railroading’ vis-à-vis predestination and free will, and talked about the fictional religions often used in such games. 

I tend to run more games than I play in, and I’m a fairly experienced GM. I read online forums like RPG.net, I’ve written my own set of rules, and created several different worlds in which to run games. Recently I’ve been watching RPG streams like Titansgrave and Critical Role (the latter especially is excellent) and got some quite good GMing tips from these. I really enjoy running games. I love the creativity, the story-telling, the necessary improvisation when your players do something really unexpected (i.e. stupid). Even the frustration (e.g. when your players spend an entire hour discussing how to give a group of guards the slip, and then pop back to let them know where they’ve gone, just to give an example) is entertaining in its own way.

There are certain things that are considered good and bad practice when it comes to running games. I’ve discussed railroading (forcing the players into a given action instead of letting them choose) before. However, one of the other devices usually considered a significant no-no in GMing is the GM player character, or GMPC.

This is essentially what it sounds like. Usually, there is a firm divide between the one player character (PC) controlled by each player, and the vast number of non-player characters (NPCs) controlled by the GM, and with whom the PCs interact. The GMPC blurs that division, and can potentially take advantage of out-of-character knowledge that the PC’s can’t possibly have, purely by dint of being controlled by the person who knows the plot. At it’s very worst, the GMPC can become a self-insert for the GM, a power-trip in which the character is more knowledgeable and competent than the PCs, and becomes the main character in the plot, relegating the players to the role of observers, or, at best, assistants. It’s rarely much fun for the players, who rightly expect to be the focus of the unfolding story.

However, the GMPC can also be used effectively to help steer characters in the right direction and avoid the forbidden railroading, and if there are a limited number of players, can be used to fill a gap in a party’s capabilities. The GM has to take great care though that the GMPC never makes decisions for the rest of the party. It can and has been done well, but the dangers are constant and real.

C S Lewis used chess as an analogy (in Mere Christianity, I think) when discussing miracles and nature, but I am convinced that he was limited by the technology of his time, writing as he was before the invention of Dungeons & Dragons. I am not so limited, and can utilise resources denied to writers who would have been able to make much better use of them than myself, but I’ll do my best. With Easter just behind us, I’d like to think about the Good GM, and his GMPC.

The Great GM in the Sky is (if it’s not blasphemous to say so) a mega-nerd of the kind who has not only created His own campaign world, He’s even created the rules-set by which it operates. The best number of players for a game is generally considered to be between three and six, but God is currently running for several billion, and inviting more in all the time. That there is a plot, I have no doubt, although as a PC obviously I have no idea what that plot might be. The GM’s screen is vast and impenetrable, and we’ll only get a look at His notes when we lose our last hit point and our character sheet is relegated to the Folder of Dead PCs.

Like all players, we seem to have a remarkable ability to ignore the plot, and when we’re not ignoring it we’re messing it up. The Good GM will not railroad us though. We must choose to follow the plot, or else there’s not much point of playing, either for us or the GM.

Instead, He has done what other GMs have done since, and sent NPCs to us with tasks to draw us back into the story, or dropped clues or information that we ought to be following up to get us back on track. Instead we’ve either ignored the NPCs, or beaten them up and looted their treasure. We then complain that we’re getting bored, that the campaign doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and that we’re not levelling up as quickly as we think we ought to be.

The GM considered His campaign, and what would happen if events continued to unfold in the way in which they were. According to both the nature of His campaign world, and the rules by which He was running it, the only obvious conclusion was a massive and inescapable TPK; the complete destruction of both the world and every character within it.

With every other reasonable option exhausted, the Good GM had to take a drastic step, and introduce a GMPC. He had to insert Himself into his game world, build a character according to the rules by which His universe operates, and interact directly with the players. It is not best practice, but if anyone could do it well, it’s Him. Nor did the GM stop being the GM just because he was also the GMPC. He is capable of being and doing both at once.

The GMPC walked amongst us, but didn’t try to overshadow us with His perfect knowledge of the plot, or make decisions on our behalf. The Good GM used Him well, giving us extra information, dropping hints and clues, pushing us gently back towards the plot.

We beat him up and looted his treasure.

No doubt holding His head in His hands even though He knew it was coming, and as much as perhaps He wanted to, the Good GM could not fix things by merely breaking the rules. If he did so, then the game became meaningless and pointless. Instead, he did the next best thing. He fudged.

Every GM occasionally has to ignore a dice roll or hand-wave a rule to further the plot, and the Good GM has been no exception. From our limited perspective within the game, we call such things ‘miracles’. However, if you ignore every dice roll and hand-wave every rule, then there’s no game left to play. The rules are there for a reason, and have to be followed, at least most of the time.

Now though it wasn’t simply ignoring a bad roll or conveniently forgetting an incidental rule for a moment or two. This time, He had to fudge the rules in a massive way, but without breaking the world or the game. He also had to do it in a manner which didn’t remove player agency; which avoided the dreaded and game-breaking railroads.

He found a way. The GM subverted His own rules, and the GMPC sacrificed himself to change the way the game was going, and pull us back from the brink of destruction. The plot isn’t over; it’s still up to us PCs to get back on track and follow the story to its conclusion. It’s up to us to ensure that we play in the best way possible, use our abilities and equipment to greatest effect, cooperate to maximise the overall capabilities of the vast player party in which we find ourselves, and eventually bring the campaign to the end the Good GM has envisioned all along, whatever that might be. Whatever it is, I believe that it will be the best of possible endings, both for the Good GM who so ardently desires the enjoyment and satisfaction of His players, and for those players and their PCs, for as long as the great Campaign runs, and for ever afterwards.

Choices, Religion and Roleplaying

I have mentioned more than once my hobby of tabletop roleplaying games, and have already used player actions within games to draw comparisons with the differing emphasis on free will in different schools of theology.  I like these posts, because they allow me to combine two things that I end up thinking about a lot; roleplaying and theology.  Yeah, I know.  I’ve never claimed to be one of the Cool Kids...

I’ve run a great many games over the years, and if it isn’t blasphemous to say so, I’ve made very much the same mistakes (or, rather perhaps, choices) as God, with similar results.  Again, it is a question of permitting choice and then living with the results, although this time it is not a question of the player characters within the game world, but of the players.  (Any of my regular roleplay group who read this, this isn’t a criticism of you at all, it’s just my reflections on perceived mistakes I’ve made with regards to the smooth running of games.)

Now, I like to try and give my players as much choice as possible, and I am talking about the players, not their characters.  The problem is that they very often don’t choose what I would consider my preferred, or even the optimal choice. 

A prime example of this is a steampunk game that I ran a few years ago.  The player characters were to be the crew of an airship in an alternative version of the late 19^th century.  My intention was that they would be the crew of a tramp trader of medium speed, and with light weaponry; an all-rounder capable of fighting if need be, but also of acting as a merchant ship, transport or what have you.  Unfortunately, I’d come up with deck plans for several variants of a smallish airship, and decided to let my players choose what type of ship they wanted, from a list of all-rounder, smuggler, merchantman or mercenary warship.  As far as I was concerned, with my mighty omnipotence, the all-rounder was by far the best and most versatile choice.

They chose the warship, with rather more than four times the firepower of the tramp trader, but a very small hold.  As a result, aspects of the plot played out rather differently and in hindsight, not quite how I would have wanted it to go.

More recently, it came round to my turn to run a game again, and again decided to allow my players to make a choice.  This time it was between playing a fantasy game, or completing the historical swashbuckling campaign that we started last year.  At the time I was more or less ambivalent as to which they went with, and they chose the fantasy campaign.  Since then I’ve found myself far more in the mood for swashbuckling than fantasy.  This isn’t really my players’ fault; my moods are notoriously mercurial when it comes to these sorts of things.  However, if left entirely up to me, I may well have gone for swashbuckling.

So a fantasy game then.  Again I gave them a choice (why don’t I learn?) between a complex but detailed set of rules, including a complicated but realistic combat system, and my own home-made system, which is simpler, and which we’d used for the swashbuckling game, and which I have used for multiple different genres of games over several years, with continuous tweaks and adjustments.  Obviously it is perfectly in line with what I want out of a set of RPG rules, but that is purely based on my preferences.  However, I’m wary about forcing it onto other people, and using it for every single game I run.

They chose complex-but-detailed.  Since buying these rules, I’d not had a chance to try them properly, so I was perfectly willing to do so.  However, after two sessions, it’s clear that the combat rules especially, given the large size of our group, are a little bit too much, and I now wish that I hadn’t given them the option.

I’m reasonably sure that my players don’t deliberately choose the option that I don’t favour, since I try not to make my preferences known ahead of time.  The obvious response is not to give them a choice at all, and just enforce my sovereign will, but I don’t wish to do so.  After all, I am running the game as much for their enjoyment than mine, if not more so.  It is true that since I already know all the rules, and already know what the plot is going to be, and how things are likely to unfold, I am in the best position to make these decisions, and not bother consulting my players at all.

It might well be that they would in fact enjoy the game more if I did just autocratically impose my will, certainly I believe that the games would have gone more smoothly, but I want to offer my players choices.  I want to give them choices.  However, because they lack my insider knowledge, they often don’t choose what I would consider to be the best option.

And now: the theological analogy!

On the face of it, the whole free will thing seems like a bit of a mistake.  After all, we lack the knowledge to make the best decisions, at least in the long term.  Unlike me, God does make his preferences known, but then follows it up by saying, “But, y’know, it’s up to you.  Your choice.”

And then we choose the wrong thing.  But at least we did choose.  We are not puppets or automatons, we are responsible for our own actions.  I’ve seen atheists say that religion is an abdication of responsibility onto God and/or the devil.  I consider the opposite to be true.  We believe that not only do we have a genuine choice, outside the constraints of the hormones and electric impulses that modern neurology tells us are all that make up our minds and wills.  Not only that, but we believe that those choices have consequences that are not only real but eternal.

We have been given the choice, and we have been given the rule book.  We don’t know the plot yet, but I believe God to be the kind of GM who would rather let his players make choices than have the smoothest possible game.

Narrative, Storytelling and the Art of Terrible Puns

Warning:  Mild to moderate amounts of writerly pretension below.  May contain nuts.  To avoid suffocation, keep away from small children.

One of my hobbies is fencing, scientifically proven to be the Best Sport.  Once a week I attend Milton Keynes Fencing Club, where I get to repeatedly stab other people with a sword and call it exercise.  As the saying goes, ‘it’s all fun and games once somebody loses an eye’.

However, I have, for reasons not wholly clear to myself, acquired a reputation within the club as a teller of incredibly bad jokes.  I’m not sure that these accusations can be sustained in the face of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.  I mean, yes, alright, I have told them The Prawn Joke, The Butcher Dance Joke, The Assistant Zookeeper Joke, even The Landlord’s Dog joke.  And yes, I stretch them out, embellishing and extending them to squeeze every last iota of enjoyment out of them.  The Prawn Joke lasted a full fifteen minutes.

However, the fact remains that I do not launch into these tales unsolicited.  My victi- uh, audience have reached the point where they actually ask for them, and I am always happy to oblige, having delivered a cautionary disclaimer regarding the satisfactory nature of the end result.  An entire psychological thesis on humour-based Stockholm Syndrome is here for the taking! 

The thing is, I really enjoy telling these jokes.  Part of it is the sadistic joy of getting to the punchline, and seeing in their faces the slow realisation that you’ve just taken ten or fifteen minutes of their life, and they’re never getting it back.  However, there is also the pure enjoyment of a story well told, an unfolding narrative that holds the listeners’ attention until the final moment.  I’ve been asked how I remember every single detail, and the fact is that I don’t.  I haven’t memorised these things word for word.  I know the overall plot, and I know the punchline, but all of the details are made up as I go along, each time I tell the joke.  Obviously they are always very similar, but nonetheless, not identical.  People ask why I bother to elaborate and extend them the way I do, when it would be possible to tell the story and deliver the punchline in a far briefer and more utilitarian way.  I daresay I could tell The Prawn Joke in less than a minute, but the punchline wouldn’t have the weight and momentum of the longer narrative behind it; it would be little more than a tap.  Including the details, acting out the dialogue, making stuff up on the fly to enrich the plot all add to both my (and maybe even their) enjoyment of the story, and the height of the drop when the joke finally ends.

For my birthday this year, I received the Baron Munchausen Roleplay Game.  It’s not a true RPG in the usual sense.  Instead, players take on the roles of 18^th century nobles, and take turns to tell extravagant tales in the style of the Baron himself, prompted by the other players.  I’ve only had the opportunity to play it once since I got it, but it allows for the same quick off-the-cuff storytelling as the long jokes, coming up with details on the fly.  In a way, it’s similar to running more conventional RPGs, and having to adapt your story and the actions and reactions of the non-player characters to those of the players, reacting in real time to what can potentially be sudden changes in direction.  It’s one of the things I love best about running games like this.

Not all art is beautiful, but not all art has to be.  Not all jokes are good, but it doesn’t have to mean that they have no merit of their own as exercises in storytelling.

By the way, if you are unfamiliar with any of the jokes mentioned above and want to learn more, when you have a spare hour or so, let me know and I’ll happily remedy this sad lack in your education.  Believe me, you will consider it time well spent!