Catch Your Hare

The question of status came up on Story Games, recently. So let’s revisit this topic a little, starting with this.

What are the status relationships around your gaming table? At your next game, look round the table and observe.

Look for all the behaviours mentioned in Play Unsafe. In particular, however, is there anyone who:

* Talks more than others?
* Talks for long periods without interruption: 30 seconds? A minute? Three minutes?
* Interrupts others?
* Corrects others?
* Questions others?
* Usually talks after a silence?
* Others turn to, expecting them to talk?

These, usually, are high status behaviours. (There’s exceptions. It’s possible to talk lengthily in a babbling, low-status way.) Their opposites – talking less, talking briefly, being interrupted – are low status.

Who is high status in your group? Who is low status? Does the status vary or stay the same: will one person be high status for a while, then others? If you have a GM, are they high status? Are they high status all the time?

In our group, there are probably two people who play highish status: me and Simon. This applies whether or not we GM. We’re more likely to interrupt, question rules and talk more. However, nobody waits for us to speak.

Steve and Paolo are quieter, but not low status. They perhaps speak less frequently, but aren’t hesitant and aren’t interrupted.

Dave’s status varies. He can be low status – talking little, listening – and he can be high – talking loudly, interrupting.

These statuses (stati?) vary slightly throughout the game. When it’s not our characters’ turns, Simon and I will be quieter, dropping in status, letting someone else have their turn. Steve, Paolo and Dave, on their turn, will speak freely and are not interrupted.

The GM in our group, whoever it is, will always have slightly higher status. However, they will still be interrupted and won’t be allowed to talk for more than, say, 15 seconds, without someone else interrupting.

In the post to follow, I’ll talk about different arrangements of status around the gaming table. In the first, I’ll talk about two common status expectations: the “GM runs the game” expectation and the “everyone is equal” expectation. I’ll argue both have flaws.

First, though, do that exercise I mentioned at the start. Look at your gaming group and the status within it. It’s fascinating.

So far, I haven’t drawn any graphs related to improvisation. Clearly, I need one. Here it is.

You’re welcome.

So, this is a storytelling tool. It’s a sort of ideal progression of “tension” in a story. Here, tension is defined in a handwaving manner: broadly, the higher tension gets, the more exciting the story is.

For example:

• Everyone sitting talking, no danger: Tension = 0
• Distant threatening sounds: Tension = 1
• An argument or a flirtation: Tension = 3
• A fight, fire or passionate kiss: Tension = 5
• Murder or giving birth: Tension = 7
• Cold-blooded mass murder: Tension = 9
• Universe in danger: Tension = 10

We might equally define tension as the degree of threat that’s presented; how much harm is threatened; or how much the consequences will change the characters’ lives. The definition will depend on the type of story: in When Harry Met Sally, the universe isn’t in danger, but the consequences of actions change the characters’ lives irrevocably.

See how I wave my hands? Tension’s indefinable, but you know it when you see it.

Now, look at the shape of the graph. Firstly, note that it rises. The tension needs to keep rising. Superheroes fight thugs at the beginning of the story, but a supervillain at the end. If, at the start of your story, you’re describing fights, you must describe murders later. If you start with a kingdom falling, you must keep building, describing the whole world under threat.

Hence, you mustn’t start too high. If, in the first few sessions of your campaign, the characters save the world, there’s nowhere to go. What do they do next? This is a problem with many TV serials: when you save the world every episode, it gets dull.

Secondly, note that the graph dips before building again. The tension builds to a point, then relieves; then builds to a higher point, then relieves; then builds higher still, and so on.

Acts in plays work like this. The tension in Act One rises, then there’s a dramatic event, then that’s the end of Act One. Then there’s a moment of aftermath, then the tension builds even higher, then there’s an even more dramatic event to end Act Two. And the event to end Act Three is the most dramatic of all.

Similarly, fights in video games. You progress through the game, then there’s a boss fight; you progress a bit more, then there’s a more difficult boss; and so on, until the ultimate boss.

You can use a similar episodic structure within games. In a three session game, keep the tension rising each session, ending with a dramatic event. Be aware that the events must increase in drama: if your first session ends with a fight against a queen, your second must end in a war with her heirs; and the third with a clash of many kingdoms.

And note the period of release, too. After each dramatic point, there’s time to readjust.

Coming up next! Why this post is wrong.

One of my more…um…directive email correspondents suggested I should have included more exercises in Play Unsafe.

So, OK. Here’s an interesting exercise to make people care about a character.

1. Hurt them.
2. Return to step 1 and repeat.

Here’s an example.

1. Danny is playing in a field with his toy car.
2. He loses his car! He cries!
3. He looks for his car and finds a big dog. He is scared!
4. The dog chases him. He runs, as fast as he can, up a tree.
5. The branch begins to break. He is terrified!
6. The dog jumps, nipping at his trousers. He screams!
7. The branch breaks. Danny falls. He breaks his leg!
8. As Danny tries to get up, the falling branch hits him on the head. He is knocked unconscious!

It’s a cheap trick but useful. Hit them! Hit them again! And, mysteriously, the audience begins to identify with the character and their pain.

I noticed this trick in action, while playing Paul Czege’s game, Acts of Evil. The game is about power-hungry occultists, and one of Paul’s goals was to make the NPCs central in the story. The rules do this by encouraging victimisation of NPCs: the more you victimise, the more power you gain. Hit them, hit them again.

For example, in a science fiction setting, I played a cryogenic engineer, who defrosted someone to victimise them. First, I thrust his into an airlock and bled the air out, letting him suffocate. Then, I smashed his still-frozen legs, leaving him crawling. Finally, I froze him again, in a cryogenic pod only I could access, to be victimised again when I chose.

The longer the scene continued, the more you sympathised with, and cared about, the victim.

Some things to note. Firstly, the reaction of the victim is crucial. In a dungeon crawl, we hit orcs and hit them again, but nobody cares about the orcs. We’d care if they were prisoners, begging for their lives. As an illustration, read the story above again, without the reactions:

1. Danny is playing in a field with his toy car.
2. He loses his car.
3. He looks for his car and finds a big dog.
4. The dog chases him. He runs, as fast as he can, up a tree.
5. The branch begins to break.
6. The dog jumps, nipping at his trousers.
7. The branch breaks. Danny falls.
8. As Danny tries to get up, the falling branch hits him on the head.

It’s less affecting.

Secondly, note the tension. The more we hurt the victim, the more we want there to be a resolution: for everything to turn out OK. If we end the above story with:

9. As Danny comes round, the dog licks him. The dog drops the car at his feet and pants in a friendly way. Danny pats the dog. Then, an ambulance arrives, and a friendly paramedic puts Danny on a stretcher and takes him to hospital.

There’s a feeling something has been resolved.

Finally, note this is about status. Hitting a victim means reducing their status: and we sympathise with low-status people. The lower their status becomes, the more we wish for a status reversal, and for them to regain status.

Jason Morningstar asked me, as a joke, why I hadn’t put a Random Encounter table in Play Unsafe.

The idea bothered me. The more I thought, the more I realised it’d be a really good thing. It connects with that “dice” section I wrote: randomness is good, because it stops you planning. A random encounter table would throw something unexpected into the mix. It’d be great.

Here’s some first attempts. I’d really like your input.

First, a random status change table. When a scene with another a character needs a twist, roll a d6.

1. Lower your status, suddenly (break down, cry, beg).
2. Lower their status, suddenly (humiliate them, hit them).
3. Lower your status, gradually, as the scene plays out.
4. Raise your status, suddenly.
5. Raise their status, suddenly.
6. Raise their status, gradually, as the scene plays out.

Second, a random emotion table. It works the same way: when you think a scene needs something, act out the emotion. Do it suddenly and justify it later: for example, suddenly break down in tears, then invent a reason afterwards.

1. Envy
2. Sadness
3. Fright
4. Anger
5. Happiness
6. Confidence

Note that these emotions could be played at different levels: Anger could be anything from irritation to rage; fright could be anything from foreboding to terror.

If you like, roll another d6 to determine the degree of the emotion. On an even number, the emotion will change over the course of the scene. (On an odd number, the emotion may change over the course of the scene, but it’s not fixed: play the scene and see what happens).

1. Mild
2. Mild, increasing to Manic over the course of the scene.
3. Moderate.
4. Moderate, increasing to Manic over the course of the scene.
5. Manic.
6. Manic, decreasing to Mild over the course of the scene.

Both these are drafts and I’ll welcome feedback. I’d also welcome ideas for other tables.

One table I’d like in particular (and which I’ll do) is a random element table. Jason often incorporates these into his games: you’ll roll a die and have to incorporate, say, a letter into your scene. If you’ve got suggestions, do let me have them.

Oh, one more thing. You see how both those tables include the instruction “when you think the scene needs something”? You could, of course, do this without the table. When you think the scene needs something, just do something random, and justify it later.