Role-playing and roll-playing - incentives, peaceful coexistence, and pedagogy

Seems like many people have been reading Jon Peterson's The Elusive Shift. And that's great - the more people realize how many arguments and design considerations relating to role-playing games are just as old school as "old school", the faster we can all discuss these matters more productively now, fifty years later.

One recent blog post took a main question from discussions in fanzines, APAs, and magazines of the '70s, on the distinction between role-playing and roll-playing: that is, whether to play your character to best emulate how it would act in any given situation, or whether to play it to win - the battle, the war, the contest, treasure, whatever is achievable. The rest of that post tries to apply game theory to the question of whether to role-play or to roll-play. And I do like the idea of looking at role-playing games from the perspective of probability and decision-making, which make up game theory: one of my first posts was about the Monty Hall problem, and I've written a series of posts about the character sheet game framework, which is my attempt to condense the most mechanical and strategy-based portions of a role-playing game into a form amenable to analysis by tools from strategy game design and theory. However, I must take exception to the very framing of this problem, because as it stands, I think it's a false dichotomy.

Let me explain with an example from your favorite edition of Dungeons & Dragons. It's a class-based system, which originally supported three classes: the fighting man, the magic user, and the cleric. This did not capture every type of character anyone would want to play, so people homebrewed their own classes or variants - that's where the thief class came from.

Now you, having access to either the homebrew version of the thief, or a more official form of thief or rogue from later supplements or editions, decide to create or manage to generate such a character. The character, per the rules, is very good at sneaking around, picking locks, disarming traps, climbing sheer walls, and other such dubious activities. It is not very good at fighting directly, or at taking a lot of physical punishment. So if you decide to play this character as someone sneaky and devious, who likes to pick locks, disarm traps, and stab enemies in the back from hiding, it works. The rules encourage you, the dungeon master has an easy time setting up challenges for you, and you contribute appropriately to a team of adventurers who are also playing to their niches.

On the other hand, if you decide, with this class, that you want to play a brave warrior who charges into battle, sword drawn, you will have a harder time succeeding at the mechanical challenges. You will not hit as much as a fighter would, you will not cause as much damage, you might not even be able to use the best weapons for the job, and so you may easily find yourself killed and forced to create a new character, or you may hope to be saved by the other players` characters, or by DM fiat. Why is that? It's because you chose the wrong mechanical archetype to go with your character concept.

You may counter that you're trying to challenge yourself, that real role-playing is playing against mechanical advantage, that focusing on mechanical advantage is roll-playing, and that a good DM or GM should be able to accommodate that. Well, to that I would say that you have made a role-playing decision by choosing both this class, and this behavior that is at odds with it. So the holistic concept is what we should interrogate. Why is it important for you that your character mechanically be a sneaky thief, but have the behavior of someone who insists on charging into the fray? Is this character trying to fight its natural or trained affinity to sneaking around? That's an internal struggle it has with itself. And there are role-playing game systems where that kind of struggle can be rewarded mechanically.

Let's say that instead of using D&D, you decided to play a fantasy FATE game. You want to create this holistic concept of a sneaky conniver, who is nevertheless driven to be a strong hero, a Gray Mouser who dreams of being a Fafhrd. You could choose what is called an aspect to capture this: "a scoundrel too combative for their own good". Aspects in FATE are used in two ways: the player can invoke them to gain some kind of advantage, spending a Fate point; and another player or the gamemaster can "compel" them from the character, forcing a disadvantageous decision that is in line with them. In the latter case, either the player resists this by spending a Fate point, or they can accept it, and gain a Fate point for use later. This is why the rulebook recommends choosing aspects that are two-sided - that combine the positive with the negative - and "a scoundrel too combative for their own good" is a perfect example of that. Let's try it out!

You and your party want to steal a big diamond from the Duke's mansion. You're a scoundrel, which allows you to spend a Fate point to give you a bonus for rolling to come up with a sneaky plan to get in there, and the roll comes out very well. The plan is set in motion, and it's proceeding like clockwork - a big distraction draws most of the guards to the front gate, and you're sneaking 'round the back. There are only two guards there, and the plan calls for you to throw a rock to their left, then use a well-positioned tree to drop in behind the wall to their right. But before you can do that, the GM compels you: "now that you see the guards up close, they don't look so tough. You feel like you could just take them there and then." If you accept the compel, you gain a Fate point. If you don't, then you need to spend a Fate point, which will allow you to proceed with your plan. By penalizing you for sticking to the optimal fictional choice, while rewarding you for accepting a less promising one, the mechanics incentivize you to play into this dual aspect of your character: a competent scoundrel who nevertheless can't stop themselves from getting into fights. To get to the position where you have the Fate point needed to avoid this hiccup, you would have had to surrender to this or another compel earlier, or not to have expended the ones you start a scene with; meanwhile, this extra Fate point you get from leaning into the negative side of this aspect of your character now can be used to improve the situation later, either by making it easier for you to do something, by sacrificing this point so that you can avoid being compelled by your weakness at a more critical juncture, or otherwise to improve the prospects of the whole plan, and the overall success of the party's mission.

If you had instead been playing a thief in D&D, mechanically this would have been a problem. You would have probably failed in the combat against the two stronger, more able guards, and if nothing else, at least one of them would have been able to raise the alarm, and none of that would have intrinsically involved any advantage to you or your party, equivalent to a Fate point.

Now we come to what I think is a better question than role- vs. roll-playing, which is an issue of taste, and possibly of human psychology: does the fact that there's an extrinsic, mechanical incentive help you or hinder you from role-playing your character? Do you get what you get out of role-playing by roll-playing to this mechanic, or not? Does it instead make role-playing less compelling for you, because it overrides an intrinsic motivation you previously had for role-playing?

And how does this affect the rest of the participants in the game? If you get the same joy out of role-playing along with the mechanical incentives, this means that you can peacefully co-exist with players who are more interested in making the best of the mechanics of the system. And the GM also has an easier time, because they don't have to negotiate some kind of fudging, or fiat, or other ad-hoc methods to make sure that everything keeps merrily moving along. Instead of having to work both on preparing and running the system, as well as on intervening extra-mechanically, to avoid letting your role-playing against the mechanics interfere with the enjoyment of the roll-players, everyone can play the same game, even though they might not be playing it for the same reasons.

Finally, in addition to the question of whether this will satisfy people who are looking for role-playing, we can ask what type of system encourages people who start out thinking as roll-players to move towards role-playing, and whether that's a worthwhile goal. When introducing role-playing games to new players, this pedagogical consideration can be crucial. I have personally found that the game that most encouraged me to play in character is by some accounts (including its current marketing copy) not really a role-playing game at all, but a story-telling game: Fiasco. Despite the fact that the mechanics barely have anything to do with playing roles in themselves, as they do not correspond to adjudicating actions that would make sense to the character itself in the world, the very framing encourages you to lean into the character you play as it interacts with the characters played by others.

It is important to remember that systems are designed by people to serve functions. They are not necessarily modeling a situation that people will encounter, which is where a game-theoretic analysis would be most appropriate, to tease out how to look at a given situation as a rational actor. They can instead model genre conventions, or they can be built to encourage and reward certain behaviors, reducing and even eliminating the tension between playing to win and playing to a role.

Character persistence between scenes

Many years ago, I belonged to an amateur theater ensemble. Our regular activities involved acting exercises, like rehearsing dialogue, improvising, and reacting to each other. In addition, about once a year or two, the group worked on a complete amateur production, in a real theater, with a paying audience. I took part in two of these.

In the first production, I played a bit part, a character who didn't really go through much change. During the course of the performance, I did have to know my entrance and exit cues, which meant keeping track of where in the script the play was, and I did have to remember the lines relevant to each scene I was in, but otherwise, my character stayed pretty much the same, so delivering my lines was just a matter of keeping a single persona going, and reacting to other characters as they changed - or like mine, remained static.

The second production, on the other hand, involved some development: my character gained confidence from scene to scene, became more and more comfortable with himself, until his final appearance, where he comes back to face his parents, expressing rage at something they did during scenes from which he was absent. This meant that I had to develop a narrative for him that continued offstage. The audience wouldn't see those parts, and possibly wouldn't care about their details, but if I wanted to deliver my lines and react to the other characters properly, I had to maintain this changing element from one scene to another, even through scenes in which I did not participate. So I wrote down narratives to patch my character between scenes, which continued this development, and recited them to myself from memory as I waited for my cues, trying to time my internal monologue so that finishing it would coincide with my next entrance. I think I did a reasonable job. It was definitely more intense than my role in the first production.

In a table-top role-playing game, maintaining character persistence is not as difficult. If you're a player, while you do have a persistent character between sessions, or before and after a break, or before and after a segment where your character is not involved, a lot of change usually hasn't occurred - with the exception of end of adventure book-keeping, like leveling up, or skill improvement, or downtime activities. In the latter case, it's a matter of updating your character sheet at your leisure, to consult it as you start role-playing or otherwise participating in the game once more. At worst, you might need to ask questions, if you suddenly forget where your character ended last session, or is expected to be right now.

It's a bit trickier if you're the gamemaster, as you do need to keep on top of things, including the progress of non-player characters, factions in the world, other world events, and, of course, the PCs. In my campaign, I did find that writing down narratives of what happens between sessions, or in parallel to sessions, was helpful for me to keep myself current for session start. But, as with being a player, since game time isn't usually real time, you can pause, you can ask questions, you can be reminded of things you've forgotten, and rewrite recent "history" when things turn up wrong.

Tic-tac-toe RPG - CSG-driven design

My first attempt at applying the character sheet game leaned towards the analytical and explanatory, with a few suggestions for design. This time around, I'm going to apply it directly to designing a role-playing game. I'll start with one of the simplest games of all: Tic-tac-toe. For brevity, in line with the roles of the game, I will refer to the first player in the board game as X, and the second as O.

Tic-tac-toe is a very simple game. In fact, it's solved: if you're X, there are strategies to always win, or at least come to a draw, with any opponent; if you're O, there are strategies to come to a draw, regardless of what the opponent does. There are clearly better and worse moves to make at each point, and it's clearly better to be X.

What does it mean that the CSG of an RPG is based on Tic-tac-toe? The character sheet should be a Tic-tac-toe board. The player will act as one side of the game, while the encounters generated by the gamemaster will act as the opponent's moves. But that's not specific enough. We still need to make a few more decisions.

First, we need to decide whether the player is X or O. Being X suggests a game where players have the advantage, while being O instead suggests a very challenging road ahead just to break even.

Then, are we going to be differentiating characters when they're created? That is, are we starting the corresponding RPG with any mechanical differentiation between characters, or are they all going to be equivalent, outside of playacting the characters? The easiest way to differentiate the characters would be to move for X at character creation, either randomly - say, by numbering the squares in the the board and then rolling a ten-sided die to decide the move, rerolling on 10s - or by letting the player choose the first square. Using what we know about the original game, there are obvious better and worse choices, and random generation is going to create a significant variety in mechanical power. Which choice is better of course depends on whether the players are X or O. If the players are O, then it would make more sense for some kind of random generation to pick the first X, or for the GM to do so, just to be consistent with the idea that encounters correspond to X.

The next step is encounters. Who chooses the moves, and what happens as a result? How does the mechanical loop of an encounter look? If the player is to remain X or O throughout the game, then each encounter has to involve two moves. To avoid combinatorial explosion, let's say we decided to randomly generate characters with a first move of X, which is the player's move. An encounter has to involve a move, because there's nothing else going on in the character sheet, and we've defined encounters in the CSG as involving some kind of interaction with what's written there. And since the player is X and the encounters are O, and we already start with an X, we need to get back to it - so an encounter has to involve an O move followed by an X move. The O move can either be random or determined. Randomness is tricky - unlike in games where rolling high or low is better, here it's a matter of randomly choosing out of the remaining squares. It's clear what good or bad choices are, if there's still a distinction, but that's going to depend heavily on the current state of the board. Also, since there's nothing else going on in the sheet, there isn't anything else to help determine any probabilities of the next move. This leaves us with the option of an encounter simply determining a difficulty probability for making a good O move, rolling, and then making that choice. The player's following X move would probably have to be explicitly chosen - there is no other information in the sheet from which to make any non-arbitrary decisions, and therefore the player has to decide whether to try to win or break even, if that's possible, or whether to lose, if that's possible.

This brings us to the a wider look at gameplay, and the endgame. Tic-tac-toe is very short. At most there are going to be five X moves and four O moves, and since we've decided that the first X move is at character creation, and each encounter is an O move followed by an X move, at most there are going to be four mechanical encounters in the game before it ends; usually, fewer. So either the corresponding RPG will be short, or it'll involve a lot of playacting or other, non-mechanical experiences, interspersed with very rare encounters going through the CSG. Once the character sheet Tic-tac-toe ends, there can be no more CSG encounters. So the character's progression would be in mechanical stasis. One way to interpret that is to say that winning Tic-tac-toe is ascending to godhood, a draw is retirement, while losing is character death. Another is to talk about becoming famous, returning to ordinary life, or living on in infamy. Any of the three would require creating a new character in order to further engage with the mechanics of the game.

So that's a glance at the design space created by Tic-tac-toe as an RPG's CSG. We can see that it's extremely constraining, and doesn't allow for interesting choices, even at game start, much less later. It also limits the length of play, because of how short the CSG is. Honestly, it's hard for me to imagine a group starting an RPG with this CSG without hacking it to break some of Tic-tac-toe's rules. For example, allowing a healing mechanic to undo moves would significantly change the possible interpretations of the CSG in an RPG context, and prolong potential play indefinitely - at the expense of reducing how much the current state of the CSG reflects the history of the character.

Nevertheless, I hope that this sketch shows how to use a board game as a starting point for an RPG through the CSG framework, and what that entails. I can't wait to see more interesting games come out of it!

Persistence of the ephemeral history of RPGs

Many years ago I read a collection surveying the thoughts and ideas of the pre-socratic philosophers, whose focus was on what we would now call natural philosophy, or science. They had some remarkably modern sounding ideas, including some presaging modern cosmology. And yet a large portion of the book was dedicated to explaining, for each thinker, just how little remained of their work. Some of them were only known through limited summaries of their work centuries hence. Throughout, aside from the astonishment at how relevant they present to the modern reader, there was this persistent sense of loss.

I got the same feeling when I read through some parts of Jon Peterson's Playing at the World (which I've discussed a little bit in comparison to Secrets of Blackmoor here), and especially through his latest book, The Elusive Shift, which expands on these parts - the parts that are based on fanzines, amateur press associations, variant rules and whole role-playing systems with very limited print runs, and other extremely rare ephemera. These sources came out in the era just before and after the creation of Dungeons & Dragons, and involved the communities of wargamers, science fiction and fantasy fans, Diplomacy afficionados, and ultimately, role-playing gamers and designers. Many of his sources are not widely available. In fact, a significant part of his work in both of these books was tracking them down in public archives and private collections, and sometimes even bidding on specific items in auctions to get at their contents. We are all the poorer for not having access to these discussions and arguments in full, and role-playing theory and design in the next few decades seem like they could have benefitted so much from building on them instead of reinventing the wheel.

A more recent archival catastrophe that has happened to role-playing discourse was the loss of many Google+ groups, not just as active creative spaces, but as archives of arguments, conversations, and designs. Indeed, we are fortunate that those ephemera of role-playing past that Peterson discusses were physical artifacts, booklets and sheets of paper, rather than files on the cloud. Otherwise, they, too, might have been irrevocably lost. This precarity of historical records is still a problem: Facebook groups can be shut down unilaterally by their administrators, or because some of their content violates the company's Community Standards, whether due to legitimate poor moderation of hateful content or just report bombing, taking important posts and discussions down with them. Twitter threads are hard to follow, and may also disappear or become sparse because some of the people involved either had their accounts suspended or deleted them themselves. Discord's management is entirely opaque, and the content there is not particularly well organized for archival purposes - and there is no way consistent with their current Terms of Service to back up servers.

One of the reasons I decided to start writing this blog, instead of merely engaging in the other platforms I've mentioned, is to move away from this one-point-of-failure ecosystem. It's true that Blogger is still a platform controlled by Google, but the actual framework of a blog is transferrable, and there are several competing platforms. I also back up my posts, just in case.

I think the hobby and the theoretical discourse about it would benefit from moving towards spaces that are not managed by platforms whose main focus is engagement hacking, and which are not as centralized. There is, of course, the question of moderation and dealing with bad actors, but being beholden to an all-or-nothing toolset outside of any particular user or group's control will leave us in a situation where some pieces of data are lost, others can only be found as quoted somewhere else, still others can only be known by the arguments of their detractors - just like with the pre-socratics.