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Polished Loquacity: The Secrets of Stylish Narrative Part 1


What’s the real difference between game prep and a lack of game prep?

I think the most overt differences can all be summarized as felicity of style: better-presented maps and illustrations, better thought-out plans, better characterization of NPCs, better depiction of that characterization, and more stylish Narrative.

Better-presented maps & illustrations

Although this article is going to focus on the last of the differences, I thought it worth at least synopsizing the others. While you can get by with quick-and-dirty hand-drawn maps and sketches, investing some prep time makes it more certain that nothing important gets left out, and enables Google image searches for photos that help place your players mentally within their surroundings.

Better thought-out plans

Clever NPCs require better plans. You can argue that prep-time should be proportionate to the quality of the NPCs being encountered in the game. Not saying I agree with going that far, but there is an argument to be made in support of such a position. It’s a sure bet that some NPCs will supposedly be smarter than the GM, and the only way to simulate that is either to fake it or to do some of the NPCs thinking in advance, preparing plans, contingencies, and alternatives. Just because a scheme or response is off-the-cuff from an in-game perspective, it does not mean that it has to be so in the real world.

And then there is the case for characters who are simpler than the GM. That generally means having simpler goals – but that requires the character to have simpler priorities that derive directly from their personalities and ambitions. Which brings me to the next point:

Better Characterized NPCs

When people improvise, they usually employ one of a small selection of stock personas, perhaps modified to accommodate different ambitions or priorities. These are quick and easy and very cardboard in texture. There’s all sorts of advice and tools for creating more individual personalities that are available, and many more that can be adapted from traditional writer’s guides and the like. But they all take time and a little thought, and not every approach will suit every character. Prep time creates personalities.

Prep time also permits the GM to find or create effective ways of expressing those personalities through everything from costume to speech patterns to photographic or artistic expressions (including a little theme music, if your style accommodates it). The better your NPCs present themselves, the more the players can relate to them as they would “real people”, producing a better, more immersive, and more realistic game. Further, the more successful the NPCs are at stealing scenes by being more “real” than the PCs, the more it challenges the players to lift their own games, in effect laying off some of the burden of creating a better game onto their shoulders. Many hands make light work, as the old-time homily goes.

And still another benefit of game prep is that canned dialogue can be prepared and polished to better express the personality of the character. Don’t just tell the players that the NPC is nervous, find ways to reflect nerves and edginess in your performance as the NPC at the game table.

Finally, within this category, dialogue can be a tool for the NPC to achieve their goals, to show what they care about and how deeply they care, and to show what they know and can speak about with conviction and sincerity. This isn’t easy to fake, you need to be able to get inside the NPCs heads – and that often means reading up on a subject and on real people with similar beliefs. It can mean watching youTube videos of such people, or documentaries. It means game prep.

More stylish narrative

And finally, it means more stylish narrative to employ when describing people, places, and events. Concise, communicative, flavorful words can create a whole greater than the sum of their parts while being more easily assimilated as a result of their brevity. The narrative can flow naturally instead of being disjointed and fragmented.

Writers of the highest standard strip their narrative back to the barest essentials to make room for characterization and then polish the result until it gleams, They search for ways to convey dry narrative into dialogue, giving the characters something to talk about. They may draw up checklists of things they want a stretch of dialogue to convey and agonize over each and every word.

Great writing imparts setting information through description of scenes, and people and sounds perfectly natural in doing so, It imparts characterization through dialogue and behavior. It imparts a sense of time through dynamics. It builds a tone and a mood through choice of words employed, and ensures that no word is used that contradicts that tone and mood save when explicitly necessary for contrast. And it does all this while telling a story with emotional buildup and release. These are skills that no writer ever feels they have completely mastered; they never say that narrative and dialogue are perfect, they simply accept that the result is the best they are now capable of achieving with their current standard of expertise and within the constraints that have been imposed by deadlines, financial status, and editorial/publisher’s guidelines.

Well, you don’t have to make your narrative Great Writing. But you should aim for a “good” to “excellent” standard. And that takes time. And that’s the subject of today’s article.

What this article is not about

There are lots of articles and good advice out there on making efficient use of your prep time, on scheduling and prioritization and squeezing 150% out of every available second. I’ve written what I hope is some of it (a Google search within the Campaign Mastery site finds 190 articles that refer to “efficient” and “prep”, some redundant. Perhaps more usefully, a search using the site’s own search box selects those articles and presents them in four pages, ten or twelve articles to a page).

This article is not about efficiency of prep, it’s about effective use of prep in one particular field within the skillset of preparing adventures. It assumes that you can spend as much time as it takes, however unrealistic that assumption may be. However, efficiency is always a consideration and the technique eliminates as much wasted time as possible.

The other thing this article is not, at this point, is complete. It’s just too darned big for one post. So I’m going to split it up. I hope to be able to get it done in three parts, but length might necessitate a four-part split – and the real world, in the form of a subpoena to appear as a witness at a court case next week, might interfere in completion by the time of my normal publishing deadline, pushing the length out to five parts. Because it’s especially important that these be viewed as a whole in order for the technique to be effective, I don’t intend to interrupt the sequence with articles on other subjects, and the final part will include a PDF of the entire series as a complete e-book. I’m also going to put together a checklist for people to use in implementing the process, to appear towards the end of the series.

Here’s the anticipated breakdown:

  • Three-post version:
    • Part 1: Introduction, Example, Analysis.
    • Part 2: The prep-time process (8 stages).
    • Part 3: Full-process checklist, The consequences of the process for an RPG, Recycling discarded work as a GMing resource, Improv Narrative, and the full article as a PDF.
  • Four-post version:

    • Part 1: Introduction, Example, Analysis.
    • Part 2: The prep-time process (Stages 1-3).
    • Part 3: The prep-time process (Stages 4-8), A Full-process checklist, and The consequences of the process for an RPG.
    • Part 4: Recycling discarded work as a GMing resource, Improv Narrative, and the full article as a PDF.
  • Five-post version:

    • Part 1: Introduction, Example, Analysis.
    • Part 2: The prep-time process (Stages 1-3).
    • Part 3: The prep-time process (Stages 4-8).
    • Part 4: Full-process checklist, The consequences of the process for an RPG, and Recycling discarded work as a GMing resource.
    • Part 5: Improv Narrative, and the full article as a PDF.

Right now, the smart money would be on the 4-part version. But I’m shooting to get it done in three – so let’s get to it!

What is Narrative?

Bullet points break a narrative into bite-sized chunks. They are a great way to organize your material into smaller tasks. Here, for example, is a rough breakdown of a novel:

  • Synopsis of the story

    • Breakdown of the synopsis into chapters

      • Breakdown of each chapter into sections

        • Breakdown of each section into scenes

          • Breakdown of each scene into location/context passages, dialogue passages, and/or action passages

Location/Context passages are collectively considered Narrative. Some people might also include Action passages, and certainly within any context other than an RPG, they would fall within that category. This is because they are all described from some omniscient perspective (in the visual sense), even if the actual writing is from a first-person perspective (in the literary sense). The writer is communicating directly with the reader.

  • Context Passages – are either equivalent to a voice-over establishing the context of the action or dialogue that is about to take place, providing historical narrative or synopsizing events that have taken place between chapters, or describing/identifying the participants in an action or dialogue passage that’s to follow. They place the action or dialogue that is to follow into context, attaching meaning and significance; hence the name.
  • Location Passages – describe the environment within which action or dialogue will take place.
  • Action Passages – describe a series of events taking place within a location as a result of the context.

These are all different to some degree when applied to an RPG.

  • Context Passages – now include information for the GM to use in adjudicating roleplay and player choices, as well as making the players aware of anything they need to know in order to make those choices. This includes describing any NPCs. They still exist to place the action or dialogue that is to follow into context, attaching meaning and significance.
  • Location Passages – describe the environment within which action or dialogue will take place. Again, this is essential information for the players to make appropriate choices for their characters.
  • Action Passages – These detail the game mechanics of the situation and may include prompts for mandatory tests for environmental consequences. Most action is implied rather than being explicitly described; for example “Chest, locked, DC 22, contains…” implies the requirement for lock-picking or physical intervention, and is never required (beyond use as superficial description) if the players choose not to investigate the contents of the chest. If we assume that such descriptive elements are extracted into a context or location passage, Action sequences will no longer count as narrative because in an RPG they are interactive instead.

The Bullet-point Description

One of the big advantages of nested bullet points with appropriate highlighting of key terms is that they enable the GM to locate the relevant passages that convey the information necessary to interpret whatever is occurring as they needed – assuming they are concise enough. Sometimes they are used simply to index more detailed sections of text.

In a novel, passages are presented in a completely linear fashion – passage B follows passage A, and are always read in succession. You don’t read one paragraph, then skip to a later paragraph, then to another, and then go back to the paragraph that follows the first,
In an RPG, passages are explicitly non-linear, and the determination of which passage is relevant is the result of interpreting choices made by one or more of the participants (including the GM if the passage deals with a reaction to the PCs). In order to find what they are looking for, passages need to be organized in a relatively-rigid structural manner.

Bullet-point descriptions and numbered lists are the perfect ways of organizing such material. While these text arrangements would be highly unusual within a novel, except when being quoted verbatim, they – or analogous approaches – are very common in RPG adventures.

Law-firm example

For example, here’s a description of a Law Firm that might appear in an RPG:

  • A central elevator opens to the main reception. Corridors are in a H pattern, but are broad enough for secretarial stations to line each side.
  • Central reception area with company logo in Gold against splashes of red, white, and blue on frosted glass.
  • Luxurious soft carpets, custom-designed & fitted.
  • The walls are polished wood panels.
  • >Walls are never empty, each has something – usually a portrait or photograph of a past or current partner. Some date back to the firm’s founding in 1863. They are all exactly the same size and hung at the same height in identical frames.
  • The ceiling is vaulted and molded with paint used to suggest greater depth (it has darker tones in the center). Lighting is from tasteful brass cylindrical chandeliers with a slightly-modern design which illuminate the offices clearly but leave the ceiling in shadow. Almost-invisible apertures in the moldings conceal security cameras with at least two observing every point within the office.
  • Light switches, etc, are all concealed behind plants of various kinds in polished marble pots. Each has a small spotlight which also illuminates a label identifying the plant and certifying that it is pollen-free. All plants are in perfect health.
  • Private waiting rooms so a client can’t see any other client.
  • Each partner has at least one secretary’s desk next to the waiting room allocated to that partner and oriented at right angles to the central corridor, facing the partner’s waiting room. Each secretary has a polished wood desk with a glass panel embossed on the underside showing the company logo. Each desk has a nameplate, a computer terminal, a keyboard, and a pen holder. Filing cabinets are located beside each desk, also made of polished wood to blend in. They are all inset into the walls.
  • All the secretaries have custom-built and upholstered ergonomic chairs with plush blue velvet linings. Other chairs are constructed of leather and must be changed regularly because they all have that distinctive “new leather” smell.
  • Brass nameplates on the polished wooden doors in enameled black letters are beyond each secretarial station.
  • At regular intervals between the secretarial stations, water fountains in small alcoves of polished wood dispense drinkable water chilled to exactly 4 degrees centigrade. Each water fountain is backed by a small water feature.
  • One side-wall of the H is given over to a huge fish-tank full of large tropical fish. Lights are strategically located inside the tank to illuminate the fish.
  • Running along the corridor that runs alongside the fish-tank are four large conference rooms. Beyond these rooms at the bottom of the H are doors to the typing pool and switchboard. Between these two areas is a staff dining room which can be reached directly by means of an almost-invisible corridor running up from the bar of the H which has no other purpose. On the far side of the central reception, an identical corridor running in the opposite direction leads to a Partner’s Dining Room. Each Dining room has a small kitchen attached. These are relatively unused and the equipment is at least 10 years out of date.
  • Doorways at the top of the H lead to a large law library.
  • No windows are visible save one that fills the wall opposite the fish-tank. On closer inspection, that “window” is actually an electronically-controlled series of 40-feet-wide panoramic photographs capturing the city skyline at four points in time – midday, sunset, sunrise, and at night – as they would be seen from the point of view of the window. These photographs have been printed on a belt and are automatically rotated to synchronism with the outside world.

This description is great for supplying details of various elements of the law firm’s offices. There could be still more details – what color are the carpets? How many partners are there? Where are the Associates, who do the legal grunt work, located? Unfortunately it’s lousy in a couple of other ways, like giving a general impression the place before the PCs focus on the details. You could simply read the whole thing out, but that brings another problem – retention of details. Quick, without looking, when was the law firm established? I can remember because I just wrote it (and changed the date about three times before settling on my final choice) but a week from now? I wouldn’t put long odds on it. You’ve just read it, which is better than having it read to you according to neurological studies, but not by much – I’d be surprised if one in ten could answer the question.

You could draw a set of blueprints from the description, and even do a sketch or two of the place. But this will certainly never work in a narrative sense.

The Structural Problem

Some of the problems with this approach are inherent to the bullet-point approach, which lumps everything together in one place for the GM to work out for themselves. In other words, they are structural in nature, and exist because this list is trying to do it all at once. Before you could create any alternative, you need to know how to correct the structural problem.

A good narrative description should convey a general impression and provide cues for the players. In conjunction with a quick map, it should tell the players enough to know what areas they want to examine more closely – and, if they aren’t there to steal something, or investigate something, most of the details aren’t needed right now.

If, for example, the characters were there to meet one of the lawyers, here’s the order things should happen in:

  • General Narrative introduction (overall impression)
  • Details of the central reception area
  • Encounter with the receptionist(s), who escorts PCs to the secretarial station of the lawyer they are to meet
  • Narrative description of overall layout
  • Narrative description of secretarial station
  • Encounter with the secretary, who takes PCs to the waiting room assigned to the lawyer they are to meet
  • Time to look around from the waiting room
  • Encounter with the secretary, who takes PCs to the lawyer’s office or perhaps to one of the meeting rooms
  • Narrative description of the office or meeting room. Did anyone notice that there were no details of either in the list above?
  • Encounter with the lawyer.

In other words, the long list makes a great planning resource, but it’s not at all useful for the intended purpose. There are ways to convert it into a useful form, some better than others. You could, for example, simply read aloud the parts that are relevant to each of the narrative subsections listed above, skipping the rest. But this is terribly inefficient – employing this approach means that you have to read each item on the list to yourself five times, each time choosing whether or not to then read it aloud. By the time you were finished, you would have read it at least six times in-game – not counting any times you read it in advance of play!

The Stylish Alternative

I’m not going to do all of the narrative passages required, but one should be illustrative.

One of the problems with needing to break this article up now manifests itself. While I have the process outlined as a series of bullet points – there’s some irony there – I don’t have it fully detailed yet. Normally, I would leave this example until the process was detailed in full and then use it to generate the example, but I need the example now. So this example will not be a robust demonstration of the end-product of the process. The finished product should therefore be much better than this quick-and-dirty version. Just a caveat that I thought readers should be aware of before I get into the alternative form of the example.

I did a copy-and-paste of the list, then deleted everything that didn’t contribute to the initial narrative passage. From that, I wrote the following:

“The elevator dings as the doors open to reveal the offices of Brash, Livercoat, Woodley, and Howe. Interns with arm-loads of law-books and harried expressions walk past with measured strides, deep in quiet conversation. Nineteenth century opulence masks modern convenience. The cream-colored soft carpets become mushroom-brown at the walls and are clearly custom-made for this office space, The walls are polished teak, oak, and maple panels decorated with portraits of partners past and present in identical gold frames. Alabaster-white molded ceilings are almost lost in the shadows above tasteful but modern cylindrical brass chandeliers, and the scent of new leather fills the air. Directly in front of you is a central reception area with the company logo in Gold set against splashes of red, white, and blue on a pane of frosted glass. The receptionist says ‘Good afternoon’ with a smile as she looks up.”

From this point, it would be natural to let the PCs respond with an appropriate social nicety and a statement of their business. In the course of that encounter, a thumbnail description of the receptionist can be provided, or it could be given before they respond at all; either way, the narrative would flow naturally into the encounter.

The Difference

The difference between this version and the full description bullet list should be obvious. It lacks almost all the detail of the first version, but it plants the reader – or the player hearing it – definitively in the surroundings by painting a vivid overall picture of the law firm.

There is a definite narrative flow to the description – floor to walls to ceiling to lights to immediately in front, where the receptionist is located. It was important for that to come last because that logically leads to the next part of the scene, the receptionist encounter.

Everything that was not explicitly stated is either not needed (lunch rooms, law library, etc) or can be incorporated into a later narrative passage, and you know that because the narrative passages have already been defined. This enabled discrimination against the unnecessary and made room to answer a questions or two that would have otherwise arisen, like “How can we tell the carpets are custom-made?”, and sprinkling with the odd additional detail that is just enough to prevent it being obvious that this description is abbreviated and general.

Finally, the description is dynamic – there are things happening, in the form of the elevator doors, the interns, and the receptionist.

Even though the two versions are equally successful in painting a picture of the setting, the narrative passage is only 145 words, compared to the 605 of the bullet list, has additional details, and is better in a number of ways – vividness, dynamism, and accessibility. And you only have to read it once in-game, whereas processing the bullet list effectively involved reading it time and time again.

Now that the value of the technique I have compiled has hopefully been demonstrated, Part 2 will commence the process of actually describing it. Look for it early next week!

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A Population Of Dinosaurs and the impact on RPG ecologies


How many types of dinosaurs were there? And how can a theoretical examination of the question be applied to RPG games?

This is going to be one of the more unusual posts here at Campaign Mastery. For a start, it’s full of maths, and for another it’s about real science (at least at first). But the content is relevant to everything from Sci-Fi to D&D/PFRPG campaigns, and that makes it worth sharing.

I’m going to put the maths in bold so that readers can skip over my working and go straight to the results on the last bolded line – or to the next bit of explanation – simply by looking for the next bit that isn’t jumping up and screaming “Different! Different! Look at me!!” In addition, I’ll be putting occasional side comments and other irrelevancies in boxes to distinguish them from meaningful content.

How did I come to write this article?

A whole heap of elements had to gel to get me thinking the right thoughts at the right moment to get inspired to write this. The most proximate cause was watching the fourth and final part of a documentary series on Dinosaurs; not only was this about dinosaur breeding patterns, but (like most of the rest of the series) there was enough content recycled from earlier episodes that it encouraged drifting thoughts.

Throw in the occasional passing conversation with a twitter gaming bud, John Kahane, about Dinosaurs. I last mentioned John in connection with Stormy Weather – making unpleasant conditions player-palatable, about making climate-oriented encounters interesting for players in RPGs, who is heavily into dinosaurs for his Primeval the RPG campaign (or maybe that’s the other way around, and he’s into that RPG because he’s into dinosaurs).

Include various other minor stimuli and passing fancies lurking around in my subconscious and this is the result.

A brief warning to both Creationists and Science proponants

I totally respect my readers rights to believe as they wish, even if I disagree with those beliefs, and hope that they similarly afford me and the other readers of this site our own opinions.

I never want to be told what to think or what to believe, and that totally means that I refuse to tell others those things. I make my own assessments and judgments, and am happy to permit everyone else to do the same.

This article may be upsetting to those of a creationist doctrine or faith, because it assumes that the evidence that has been discovered, and the interpretation of that evidence by traditional science, is correct. If that is likely to anger or offend you, I would prefer it if you stop reading this article now. Upsetting readers – any readers – is not something I do willingly.

If you are able to treat what follows as an intellectual exercise, you should feel free to disregard that warning. If, on the other hand, you feel that a discussion of these matters will offend, save both of us the grief and move on to the next article, which I hope will be more acceptable. There are some good ones listed to the right of this page.

I will be monitoring comments very carefully; flame wars will not be tolerated. Theology- or ideology-based comments attacking the article or anyone else’s opinions, and any comment treating any faith in a derogatory manner, will not be accepted. Let’s all be civil to each other, Okay?

Mistakes can happen and things sometimes slip through cracks in the system (including the first draft of these words). If and when I become aware of such, they will be corrected ASAP.

The time available

According to the Geologic record, Dinosaurs ruled the Earth for 165 million years. There would almost certainly have been a prior period where they were around but had not yet become top dog of the evolutionary pile, though we have no idea how long that was. If it was as little as 1% of their reign, it’s 1,650,000 years – an impressive number in and of itself. If there was one first “true dinosaur species” at the beginning of their history, can we get some clue as to the number of different species of Dinosaur that ultimately came into existence? And how fast did evolution have to take place? What is the relationship between these two numbers?

Initially, I was very much feeling and fumbling my way through to a coherent answer to those questions, purely for my own intellectual curiosity. And I was very aware as I proceeded that I was making a number of rather dodgy assumptions. I’ll signpost those when we get to them.

To start with, we need some estimate of the number of generations, because it’s not time so much as the birth-maturity-breed-die cycle that dictates the pace of evolution.

To actually relate timespan to number of generations, you need to know the average lifespan of a dinosaur. Based purely on an intuitive value derived from modern animal lifespans, I picked an entirely arbitrary 15 years – remembering that this includes all dinosaurs from the very big to the very small, weighted according to relative populations, and counts every egg that was laid whether or not the young survived. I presumed that there were a large number of beasts that had quite lengthy lifespans (30-40 years), a few even more long-lived types (especially in the oceans), and an equally large number with shorter lifespans (1-2 years), with an even spread in between of a median value.

165 million divided by 15 years average lifespan over all species gives approximately 11 million generations.

The TV documentary in question, Clash Of The Dinosaurs, then provided a reality check by stating that more than 10 million generations of dinosaurs came and went. (I think they may have already suggested 10.6 million, but this was a factoid that I didn’t consciously absorb at the time, so I didn’t want to rely on it). But, between the vagueness and universality of the specific question, and the potential of a pre-rule time period of unknown length, I accepted 11 million as being a good round approximation.

Nevertheless, there are all sorts of assumptions implicit in this number that might not be all that accurate. It’s a working number that can be adjusted as necessary, or as better information comes to light.

If the average is closer to 10 years, we get a number that’s closer to 17 million generations. If the average is closer to 20 years, we get a generation count of about 9 or 10 million generations. The first number is much higher, but the second is not all that far removed from the 11 million value employed. In fact, to get the same ratio of number-of-generations – 17 million to 11 million – we need an average closer to 22-23 years to a generation, which gives 7.33 million generations.

To me, that means that the most likely direction of any error in the estimate is in the direction of vastly more generations; it takes a much more significant extension of average lifespan to have a drastic effect on the estimate being approximately right.

The Percentage Of Progress

The next significant decision was to define the process of evolution from one species into a new one. Because I was interested in how big a percentage change per generation was required, it was natural for me to define this as 100%. In other words, evolution was defined as an average percentage change per generation of unknown scale, but when enough of these changes accumulated, the total would reach 100 and one species would have become another.

I didn’t realize it at the time, though I came to appreciate as work on the problem continued, but this permitted me to sidestep all sorts of thorny issues, like a functional definition of the difference between a new species and its immediate evolutionary ancestors. I had all sorts of thoughts about traits that bred true, and an inability to breed with the precursor species, (except possibly to produce sterile offspring) and meaningful change vs natural variations between individuals; I didn’t end up needing any of it, because I stated at the outset that whatever the functional definition was,, the species had achieved it when the total reached 100% accumulated difference from the average member of the precursor species. A bullet dodged!

The effectiveness of change

As a general rule of thumb, there are three obvious outcomes of any evolutionary change experienced by an individual:

  • The change can better fit the individual creature to the needs of its environment or ecological niche
  • The change can make no immediate difference, though it may provide a platform for an advantage at a later date after other evolutionary changes; or
  • The change can make the individual a worse match to the needs of its environment or ecological niche.

I assumed that these three outcomes were equally likely, and that members of group 3 would not survive long enough to make a meaningful contribution to the development of a new species.

That means that whatever the rate of evolution was, only 2/3 of it would actually contribute to the accumulated % of evolution to the new species.

I now realize that this is makes a number of really dubious assumptions, and is a massive oversimplification, to boot.

You could argue that the existing mechanisms of biology are so evolved already toward success – the legacy of many generations of prior existence through the evolutionary chain – that almost all changes would be negative or neutral ones.

You could counter-ague that negative changes are more likely not to survive to breed, at least, not as often as more successful and neutral variations, but that the whole negative evolution should not be thrown away as non-contributing. For example, being a worse fit for the current environment or ecological niche makes the creature potentially better equipped to move into a new ecological niche or penetrate a new environment.

At the same time, this doesn’t account for the potential for beneficial genes to be lost through accident, or negative ones to be conserved by random chance – or that these two chances balance each other out, at the very least.

You can also point out that one generation may move in direction X – longer legs, for example – while the next generation moves in direction anti-X, i.e. toward shorter legs.

What’s more, this employs an extremely simple, even Mendelian, standard of genetics that I know to be a vast oversimplification. Some changes can be beneficial in one respect and negative in another at the same time, for example the propensity for sickle-cell anemia amongst African Americans – a potentially lethal impairment in blood chemistry that increases resistance to Malaria.

So this value is riddled with uncertainty. But it’s hard to argue that there shouldn’t be some allowance for the distribution of changes into a pattern of more likely to be conserved and less-likely to be conserved, which in turn reduces the actual rate of evolutionary change to a smaller “effective” rate, and which is defined as the “efficiency” of random evolutionary change. In the absence of a more meaningful number, I’ve stuck with the 2/3 assessment rate.

Generations to a new species

I’ve used logarithms to make the math easier to handle.

R = % rate of evolutionary change per generation (average),
T = % of accumulated change to produce a new species (defined as 100%),
E = Efficiency ratio, defined above as 2/3, and
n = Number of Generations,

we get:

formula 1

formula 1

taking the logarithm of both sides and substituting 100 for T, we get:

formula 2

formula 2

Solving for n gives:

formula 3

formula 3

This is as good a time as any to point out that this all assumes that there is a consistent overall evolutionary rate, an assumption that is almost certainly not true to at least some extent.

The level to which this is the case is subject to considerable debate. So the results at any given moment in time are probably more-or-less in the ballpark but may be wildly and radically wrong.

Statistics can predict a general outcome – and make no mistake, this is a statistical analysis – but it fails miserably at predicting actual concrete outcomes.

Species count

Using the resulting n, it becomes possible to calculate how many species result in a given time frame, defined as a number of generations:

G = number of generations
S = number of species at the end of G generations, starting with 1
n = number of generations to a new species

formula 4

formula 4

It was at about this point, having achieved my original goal and plugged various numbers into the formulae – something that we’ll do in a minute – that I started catching a glimpse of how useful this could be to GMs, and expanding my scope beyond simply satisfying my original intellectual curiosity.

The +1 and -1 within the calculation exclude the original parent species and then add it back at the end. This means that you get the right result if G=n, i.e. there is only long enough to produce one new species.

Of course, this throws in a whole other unwarranted assumption: that if you start with one species and wait the required number of generations, that you will only get one new species. Call this the Boom factor. I’ve set it to 2, so that at the end of n generations, one species has become two.

The reality could be two, three, four, or fifty, depending on all sorts of external factors, like the number of empty ecological niches to be populated – when the Dinosaurs were wiped out, this is what enabled Mammals to take over as the dominant land species. Instead of 2, the exponential base would have been something much higher. Five, ten, twenty? I don’t know, and I doubt anyone has ever seriously asked the question before, at least not in this exact way.

If those niches are already filled, however, it’s likely that the result is going to be fairly low and close to the 2 shown above simply as a result of competition.

Something else that needs to be pointed out: This calculation is all about how many species arise, not how many survive for an appreciable length of time. To factor that in, you would need to determine a survival rate for new species and then allow for that in the exponent – because a species that doesn’t survive doesn’t serve as the source for a new species.

You can simplify this problem somewhat by defining “an appreciable length of time” as long enough for a species to evolve into a new one. But this factor is too complex for my simple mathematical logic, so I have chosen to ignore it.

Generations to reach a species count

Redefining S to mean a target species count, and rearranging that last formula to solve for G gives the number of generations needed to reach that target:

formula 5

formula 5

This isn’t quite as simple as it could be – there’s a function performed on a constant value – the Boom Factor of 2. I mention this so that if anyone wants to experiment with different Boom Factors, they know they need to use this version of the formula, and replace the 2 with their new Boom Factor, as shown below:

formula 5, simplified version

formula 5, simplified version

If, however, you stay with the assumed B factor of 2, doing that calculation (anti-log of reciprocal log 2) and moving the result out of the exponent makes life a little easier:

formula 6

formula 6 – that’s 2099 multiplied by the result of 10 to the power of (S-1)

Actual calculations: R=0.1%

So, let’s plug in an actual number and see what happens in 165 million years, or 11 million generations. I’ll do the calculations step-by-step:

Formula 3:
1. R x E / 100 = 0.1 x 2/3 / 100 = 2/3000 = 0.000666666666667
2. +1 = 1.000666666666667
3. log of this = log (1.000667) = 0.000289433187589
4. reciprocal (1/x) of this = 3,455.02880416
5. times 2 = n = 6,910.05760832 = approx 6910 generations.
6. x 15 (assumed average generation length) = 103,650 years.
Formula 4:
7. G / n = 11,000,000 / 6910 = 1,591.89580318
8. -1 = 1590.89580318
9. 2 to the power of 1590.89580318 = overload on my calculator.
10. Logarithms to the rescue:
10 (cont): 0.30103 x 1590.89580318 = 478.907363631275
11: anti-log (0.907363631275) = 8.08
12: so 2^1590.89580318 = 8.08 x 10^478.

Jaws may drop at will.

That’s 80, 800, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000 species.

Actual calculations: R=0.01%

Okay, so maybe 0.1% is too much. Let’s try 0.01%.

Formula 3:
1. R x E / 100 = 0.01 x 2/3 / 100 = 2/30,000 = 6.66666666667e-05
2. +1 = 1.00006666667
3. log of this = log (1.00006666667) = 2.89520004043e-05
4. reciprocal (1/x) of this = 34,539.9276747
5. times 2 = n = 69,079.8553493 = approx 69,080 generations.

Remarkably, slowing the evolution rate 10-fold has increased the generation count 10-fold. Exactly as it should have done!

6. x 15 (assumed average generation length) = 1,036,200 years.
Formula 4:
7. G / n = 11,000,000 / 69,080 = 159.23566879
8. -1 = 158.23566879
9. 2 to the power of 158.23566879 = 4.30212168052e+47. I don’t need the bigger powers-of-ten workaround this time.

Only in comparison to the earlier number does this result look anything other than completely preposterous.

430, 212, 168, 052, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000. Repeat: over 430 thousand million, million million million, million million million. This is less than the number of hydrogen atoms in the earth. In fact, it’s one for every 309 such atoms, or thereabouts.

Actual calculations: R=0.001%

More than anything else, this is putting into perspective exactly what eleven million generations actually means. It’s a huge number. So, 0.01% is still too much. Let’s try 0.001%.

Formula 3:
1. R x E / 100 = 0.001 x 2/3 / 100 = 2/300,000 = 6.66666666667e-06
2. +1 = 1.00000666667
3. log of this = log (1.00000666667) = 2.89528834264e-06
4. reciprocal (1/x) of this = 345,388.742556
5. times 2 = n = 690,777.485112 = approx 690,777 generations.
6. x 15 (assumed average generation length) = 10,361,662 years.
Formula 4:
7. G / n = 11,000,000 / 690,777.485112 = 15.9240858845
8. -1 = 14.9240858845
9. 2 to the power of 14.9240858845 = 31,088.338291.

From the ridiculous to the unlikely, but we’re in the ballpark all of a sudden, or so it seems.

Estimating the real species count

31,100 species seems too low, by quite a margin. Or too high. There are 4,800 species of lizard in the world right now, and 5,416 species of mammals, and new species are still being discovered all the time. In fact, one reputable estimate is that Eighty-six percent of all land-dwelling species and 91 percent in the water have yet to be discovered and cataloged – most of them insects and fish and other primitive life-forms, of course. In contrast, Wikipedia states that only 1,000 species of dinosaur have been discovered, and according to some sources, up to 1/3 of these are actually misidentified juveniles of other known species.

So, taking the pessimistic view, let’s say that there are actually only 666 known species. And that we have only found 14% of the species – that’s doing as well as we have in terms of the life forms living today. That works out to 4,757 species that are available for us to identify. Now let’s factor in the spottiness of the geologic record, and assume that these are in fact only 14% of all the species that could have ended up leaving fossils for us – and that a large majority therefore did not. We end up with 33,979.6 – call it 33,980. Suddenly that 31,088 result is looking very plausible.

Eleven Million Generations is a lot of time for species to come and go. I would not be at all surprised if the real number turned out to be higher than these 30-odd-thousand, perhaps MUCH higher – by a factor of 1,000. Don’t think that’s plausible? Try this for size:

An alternative approach

This time, let’s start with those 5.416 species of mammals, and add in 1/3 of the lizard species, representing them moving into ecological slots that were left vacant by the deaths of the dinosaurs, That’s 7,016 species. Now, mammals are one of the most closely-examined types of animals out there; I don’t think it’s reasonable that 86% of mammals remain undiscovered. Let’s halve that to 43%. That gets us to 16,316 species.

The primitive biosphere was a bit simpler than the world today – there was no such thing as grass, and a lot of animals live on grass. So let’s say that not all the full modern biodiversity can be accommodated. Let’s play it safe and drop the number of ecological vacancies to 80% of what we have so far. This will also reflect the increased competition that results from more of the world’s landmasses being in one or two super-continents. 13,050 species is the count so far.

Mammals first evolved about 165 million years ago – that’s not a lot different from the length of time that dinosaurs were in charge. Their period of dominance is much shorter, however, and that’s what matters in terms of evolution – how long they have had to reach the current species count from a relatively small beginning. That’s about 66 million years, only 40% as long as the dinosaurs. So we aren’t talking about 11 million generations – if we use the same average generational length of 15 years, we (unsurprisingly) get to about 4.4 million generations.

Taking the R=0.01 value and applying it to only 4.4 million generations:

7. G / n = 4,400,000 / 690,777.485112 = 6.3696343538
8. -1 = 5.3696343538
9. 2 to the power of 5.3696343538 = 41.3448105493

But we don’t want this number to be just 41 species; our R must be wrong, we want it to come out to 13,050. Working backwards, I get R = 0.00230340274661 and n of 14,671. And taking that rate forward for the full 11 million generations, I get:

Formula 3:
1. R x E / 100 = 0.00230340274661 x 2/3 / 100 = 1.53560183107e-05
2. +1 = 1.00001535602
3. log of this = log (1.00001535602) = 6.66898281197e-06
4. reciprocal (1/x) of this = 149,947.90483
5. times 2 = n = 299,895.80966 = approx 300,000 generations.
6. x 15 (assumed average generation length) = 4,500,000 years.
Formula 4:
7. G / n = 11,000,000 / 299,895.80966 = 36.6794054658
8. -1 = 35.6794054658
9. 2 to the power of 35.6794054658 = approx 55, 026, 421, 772

I don’t think the 34 million or so that I proposed as an extreme but possible result at the end of the previous section – an underestimate by 10,000 – is all that unreasonable in comparison to the 55 thousand million that the mammalian evolutionary rate offers? It’s only 0.06% of what it could arguably be!!

Once again, just when you think you have a handle on the size of 11 million generations it turns around and bites you on the dinosaur tail! That, plus the power of compound interest and exponential growth are all it takes. Quite frankly, I think it highly unlikely that humans will ever identify more than a fraction of 1% of the dinosaur species that once lived, for all the reasons listed in this section – and that’s being very generous. The 666 or so that we think we have now is a hair under 2% of even the 33,980 prediction.

The Sci-fi application

Planet X was colonized 20,000 years ago. How much genetic drift has there been? We very handily have a very accurate R% from the preceding section – which is why I reported it so precisely at the time: 0.00230340274661. Using the calculations given above, we get 300,000 generations; there hasn’t been anywhere near that much time. 20,000 years is only 1,333 generations. And that’s 0.44444% of the required timescale.

Ah, but we’re talking about willful genetic manipulation here. So forget that natural R – let’s take it right up to 1%, and not all of it intentional. And let’s assume that virtually of it is conserved or it never gets out of the test tube. And let’s assume that 5 years is plenty of time for an artificial generation, instead of 15. Now what happens?

Formula 3:
1. R x E / 100 = 1 x 1 / 100 = 0.01
2. +1 = 1.01
3. log of this = log (1.01) = 0.00432137378264
4. reciprocal (1/x) of this = 231.407892559
5. times 2 = n = 462.815785118 = approx 463 generations.
6. G = 20,000 /5 = 4,000 generations.
Formula 4:
7. G / n = 4,000 / 462.815785118 = 8.64274756528
8. -1 = 7.64274756528
9. 2 to the power of 7.64274756528 = 199.846371047.

There are nearly 200 fully-adapted new species. And even a small reduction in that generation length results in a massive increase in the number of generations and hence in the number of new species possible. 4 years instead of 5 is an extra 1000 generations and 694 additional new species. 3 years instead of 5 is an extra 2,667 generations and 10,635 additional new species!

Of course, what this fails to factor in is that it might take a long time to get genetic engineering right. Instead of almost complete conservation, we might be talking about a 99.99% failure rate – which is an E of 0.01, and takes that 1% and turns it back into 0.01%, effectively. The result is going to be only marginally faster than natural evolution. In fact, at an error rate of 99.993333%, it’s exactly as fast as mammalian evolution.

A failure rate of 0.1%, or 1 in 1,000 cases resulting in fatality, is enough to get a drug taken off the market by the in the US. A fatal reaction rate of 1 in 10,000 is marginal, and only used in the most extreme of cases, or where there is some way to mitigate against the possible danger. Only if the patient is already terminally ill is there any likelihood that such a medication’s use might be condoned. Even if the side effects are less serious, that 1 in 1000 cases may still be enough to leave the medication on shaky ground. This puts into perspective the suggested acceptable error rates for genetic engineering, and how low the E has to be.

Of course, if we aren’t doing the experimentation, or aren’t the subjects, we get a very different story. A 1% fatal-error rate in livestock or crops is entirely acceptable if there is a reasonable benefit to the other 99%.

It’s also worth remembering that 463 generations is still a lot, even at only 5 years each – better than 2300 years. At 3 years each, we’re talking 1,389 years to get a new species. 1389 years ago was the year 625. Persians were attacking Constantinople (unsuccessfully), Edinburgh had not yet been founded, and the Middle East was still reeling under an attack by the forces of Mohammad the previous year.

The Fantasy Application

The same sort of calculations – using a more natural evolutionary rate, possibly boosted by Magic – can be used to determine how long it has taken for all the creatures in the various monster sourcebooks have taken to evolve. It’s also worth remembering that herbivores are woefully under-represented, as I pointed out in my series on creating ecology-based encounters.

But things get even more interesting when you stop focusing on the whole population and look at just a single major group of species. Dragons, for example. Long-lived, implying a high generation length – perhaps a century. A known number of species – usually 12, but there can be more. How long have dragons been around?

Similarly, there are only 4 or 5 kinds of Elf.

If you listen to Tolkien, there are 3 races of Halfling – they have not yet diverged sufficiently to be counted as separate species, though they all have traits that breed true most of the time amongst their subpopulations. They are perhaps half-way to a dividing of the ways.

Using the step-by-step approach, it’s easy to set up a spreadsheet and play around with numbers to your heart’s content. And if the numbers you get don’t suit you, you know that you have to introduce some effect beyond the basic evolutionary rate to explain things – and can even quantify it. Is there some tainting quality that takes Metallic Dragon eggs and turns them into Colored Dragons? That would halve the number of species required. Of course, this would then require an adjustment to social practices of Dragons, or few of the colored dragons would survive hatching for very long. Perhaps the traits breed true most of the time after the initial metagenesis? No matter how you adapt and interpret the circumstances, you end up with interesting backstory for your game world.

And what if you end up with numbers that say that there are four times as many species as your sourcebooks present? That’s an open license to innovate and create variations – alternative species that will keep your characters guessing.

That’s the real value of these calculations: they offer insight and spur creativity. Make of them what you will.

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Seven Circles Of Hell – Creating Politics for an RPG


Politics is one of those inevitable conditions, like death and taxes, that every GM has to master to some extent because it will make its presence felt in every campaign. There’s always something more to say on the subject. In this article, I’m going to look at the basics of political relations between similarly-scaled entities; I’ll be using nations and kingdoms, but the same techniques scale to relations between regional divisions within a single nation, to relations between cities, relations within a single political body, even relations within an organization. The details might change, but the broad principles will be the same.

The First Circle: The Direct Approach

The most basic form of politics is direct – “Do this or we will do that”, “Do this and we will do that”. Cross this line on the map, and all Hell will break loose. Lower your tariffs and we will lower ours. Sell us wheat and we will sell you fish.

A lot of GMs, especially beginners and the young, have no greater understanding of politics than “war” and “peace” – a switch between two diametrically-opposing stances. Nation A is the enemy of Nation B. Nation C is the ally of Nation D. Cause-and-effect domino chains mean that a single incident completely changes the political landscape.

As they gain in sophistication and understanding of the GM’s craft, the length and complexity of these domino chains will usually increase, but the politics themselves remain binary-state switches. Players and GMs alike prefer the simplicity of these conditions because they are easily assimilated. And politicians love oversimplifying issues and relationships to this level because it strips away complications and presents simple choices that are harder to argue against.

This keeps politics simple and leaves the PCs free to adventure, and that’s the big appeal to the GM.

The Second Circle: Basic Subterfuge

Inevitably, one or two nations in such a web of basic political relations will enter the Second Circle, employing basic levels of subterfuge to obtain what they really want. This enables the deceivers to get into position to employ direct tactics to achieve what they desire. Which one of two attacks is a feint, with few men and many stuffed scarecrows, and which is the real assault that needs to be repelled? “We will sign a neutrality pact with our real enemies to lure them into a position of false confidence”. “Before you can stab someone in the back, it is necessary to first get behind them.” “We don’t want the enemy to know we are interested in their mining operations, so we will make a lot of noise about grain production.”

The more transient and short-term these deceptions, the easier they are for a GM to manage, because relations soon resolve back to the simplistic binary state described previously. Trying to maintain such deceptions for any length of time is usually achieved by the GM deciding that the simplistic relations and objectives that one of his simple nations has been pursuing throughout the game/recent history has really been a subterfuge, and it is now time for that subterfuge to end or to be exposed.

But this marks a turning point in the nature of the campaign, because for the first time, adventures begin to be internally-generated within the campaign world instead of representing explorations into the unknown.

It gets a LOT more complicated when every nation in the game world is practicing basic subterfuge. Every nation needs to have both overt objectives and plans to achieve them and their true objectives and plans recorded. The overt plans must be such that they don’t get in the way of the real objectives – and that often means artificially arranging apparent circumstances to rule out obvious approaches to achieving the overt desire. The politics of such a campaign are not simply twice as complicated – the relationship is exponential, and rises with the number of nations involved.

Every course of action, every event that takes place, must be analyzed in terms of both desires (overt and secret) for each and every nation in the game in order to determine how that nation will react or respond. And each of those reactions and responses then also has to be analyzed in the same way, and so on. Background politics requires more and more of the GM’s attention and prep, and over time, he will craft more and more adventures deriving from these efforts simply to kill two birds with one stone – in other words, since he has to do the political work in game prep, he wants to use that same political work as the basis of his adventures rather than having a completely separate load of prep to perform on top of the politics.

Inevitably, as prep time gets tighter, the campaign becomes more and more about game politics. Political subterfuge is a black hole sucking the campaign into it if the GM isn’t careful.

This is the level of sophistication achieved by a good GM with plenty of experience under his belt. Very few advance any further in complexity.

The Third Circle: Misinformation

The third level of sophistication involves deliberate misinformation to provoke desired actions or reactions on the part of a third party. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? A logical outgrowth of second circle activity?

It’s not; it’s a whole new level of political gamesmanship. Once again, once GMs reach the standard of being able to run a political campaign where the second-layer is the standard, they will employ this new level only in isolated individual cases.

The reason is that the second level takes over the direct-relations model completely. No-one has a simplistic relation with overt objectives; every objective is shrouded in secrecy, and direct relations become an oversimplification of the current situation used only to generate easily-digestible soundbites. Or, more properly, they are emergent behavior, the result of acting and reacting to what nations think the real desires are of the nations around them. No-one shows their hands any more, and politics is a perpetual game of mistakes and surprises.

If it were possible for one person to accurately model their game world politics with this degree of sophistication for every nation, the result would be remarkably similar to the real world. This is the degree of political understanding achieved by the best political analysts, but only because they don’t try and cover the whole world – they focus on one region or political activity (military, trade, whatever).

I think it is in fact possible to achieve this standard within a game by making most of the situations static instead of continually evolving; it then becomes possible to deal with in-game events in isolation with no greater game-prep demands than those of a good second-order game.

This is achieved by defining in your campaign notes the true state of affairs for each nation and the public face of that nation, which is the accumulated facade of secrecy, misinformation from all sources, and superficial appearances. You don’t worry about the direct, simple model; you let the events speak for themselves. At least, that’s the approach that I took in creating my Shards Of Divinity campaign in which no-one is exactly what they seem to be, and no-one knows what any of the participants really want.

In other words, while you create the simple relations and objectives of each nation, you never explicitly state what they are; instead you state what they want the world to think as though it were fact, and play political games of shadows and deception. It is at this level of sophistication that each nation needs to develop some form of intelligence agency to try and ferret out the secrets everyone is trying to hide.

The Fourth Circle: The Middleman

It’s a short step to the next level of subtlety, using middlemen for the most important maneuvers. Once again, as soon as the third level of sophistication becomes the standard throughout the campaign, isolated instances of this level start cropping up.

This is the level of sophistication of the recent Chinese plot in the Adventurer’s Club campaign – assassinating a political figure within an allied country and making it look like it was the handiwork of your enemy, so that the alliance would be strengthened when that enemy actually moved against you. They employed a middleman in the expectation that they would be able to maintain political distance between themselves and the plot if it went awry. If that middleman hadn’t tried to further his own ambitions on the side and had simply returned home after the assignment, the plot would never have been exposed.

This is the sort of politics where instead of trying to befriend another nation directly, you befriend a friend of theirs. The direct relationship becomes a three-cornered triangle. This puts distance between you and your intended friend so that if they turn out to be very different from what you think their agenda is, you aren’t committed to a course of action and can stand by on the sidelines.

World War One happened because this level of political sophistication was not reflected in the alliances of the various Imperial Powers – one went to war with another, which caused the allies of each to get involved (whether they wanted to or not), which in turn pulled in the allies of those allies, and so on. The treaties between the parties were of the direct type – “If we go to war to defend ourselves against an aggressor, you are committed to join in our defense, and vice-versa.”

This is also the level of politics in which third party nations are used as political footballs – the Korean and Vietnam wars, for example, in which the real confrontation was between the Communist powers and the West, but this confrontation was indirect.

The problem with middlemen is that they all have their own agendas; they are not mere puppets dancing to your tune, and may not be what they seem.

I have never seen an RPG campaign which simulated every nation employing this standard of political subtlety. In theory, it is possible to achieve by treating each middleman as a separate “nation”, and employing an artificially-limited number of such middlemen; having many nations use the same “middleman” as a power-broker would also reduce the complexities enough that it might be manageable. For now, though, this remains a tool that is used occasionally in a campaign as an indicator that the world has that depth without actually implementing it as a general practice within the game world.

The Fifth Circle: Lies within Lies

The combination of misinformation and making every nations agenda secret naturally gains entrance to the fifth circle of political subtlety in which the secret agenda that is actively being pursued is itself just a cover for an even more secret ambition. An example would be manipulating one nation in such a way that it behaves in a way that furthers your true agenda for you in a third. In other words, this uses entire independent nations as “middlemen” for a secret political agenda.

Allying with the ally of an enemy who doesn’t realize that they are your target so that they will be less prone to interpret your actions as hostile to them. Allying with a nation and then feeding them misinformation designed to foster hostility between them and your real target. The Machiavellian depths and complexities that would be achieved in any game where this was the default state of international relations boggles the mind.

The problem with such convoluted plots is that they rely on a correct interpretation of the true agendas of the nation in the middle so that their reactions become predictable. It’s fair to assume that 90% or more of such plots would partially or completely fail. This is a world in which you can’t tell who your real enemies are, any more than you can tell who your real allies are. Things grow even more complex when sub-behaviors are isolated – a nation may be your enemy militarily, your ally in trade, and a cats-paw in your intelligence activities.

A general implementation of this standard of political chicanery is so difficult to achieve because it raises the number of assessments of events and responses many-fold. In terms of difficulty and required prep involvement, it’s akin to the difference between the first and second orders of sophistication. The best that most GMs can expect to be able to achieve is the individual isolated instance.

Such complexity gives rise to situations in which a respected enemy can be more valuable than any number of paper allies who can’t be trusted – at least with the enemy, you know where you stand, and it may even be possible to have limited, short-term cooperative efforts that benefit both.

My Team Neon Phi campaign, also known as the Agents campaign, in which the PCs were members of an international intelligence agency and opposed to multinational extra-legal organizations and conspiracies in a superheroic world – think Agents of SHIELD but with more enemy organizations – reached this level of sophistication in a very limited way if you consider each of those enemy organizations as nations-within-nations or criminal conspiracies, with their own agendas, rules and policies. That campaign assumed that every nation on Earth would have at least one such conspiracy operating within its borders. Because they had very limited and straightforward agendas – Viper wanted to rule Crime, Genocide wanted “human purity”, the Yakuza aimed at high-tech white-collar & computer crime, Demon wanted to rule the supernatural – and they all wanted political power or influence on the side – it was manageable. The complexities started to arise when traditional intelligence agencies began formulating their own agendas targeting the local branches of these organizations in the same way that the conspiracies had been infiltrating their governments, and you started to get double and triple agents and conspiracies within conspiracies.

Without such narrow restrictions of scope, fragmented implementation of this standard of political subtlety is the best that can be realistically achieved.

The Sixth Circle: The Abstract Advantage

In fact, it doesn’t take very much of the fourth- and fifth-order activities for plots to grow too sophisticated for any but the most able masterminds to find themselves out of their depth. And that leads inevitably to the sixth circle, in which the complexities are too great for practical implementation or manipulation. Instead of concrete ambitions at this level, people simply aim to achieve some sort of advantage down the track sometime that they can use to implement more short-term goals. That’s something that a GM can handle, and is the basis of the mechanisms by which I simulate the activities of such masterminds – refer to my December 2012 article Making a Great Villain Part 1 of 3 – The Mastermind.

Instead of actually implementing this degree of sophistication, you simplify the situation and simulate the greater depth.

Effectively, this adds a third tier of political planning for each nation or nation-equivalent. In addition to the secret agenda, and the hidden true agenda, you add a third more general agenda to create a favorable future environment, a situation in which opportunities will arise for shorter-term plots and plans. Broad goals and philosophies take the place of long-term agendas because such agendas are unsustainable in an unpredictable world.

Ironically, this level of sophistication is far more achievable in an RPG than the fourth and fifth, because it abstracts the complexities and simulates the existence of deeper plotting that can be assumed but only gets shown in concrete terms within individual adventures. Quite often, I will go directly from the second order or third order to the sixth in my campaign backgrounds for this reason. That’s what I do in my superhero campaigns (for the most part) and in most of my D&D campaigns.

The caveat is necessary because some characters do have sophisticated long-term plans. Most of their activities within the campaign prior to those plans becoming overt relate to protecting the conditions necessary for success. Which uses the sixth layer of sophistication in a subtly different way. This results in characters that are really one-trick ponies assuming a depth and sophistication that their single-plan ambitions could not sustain if it were obvious what their plans really were. I mention this because it’s one of my favorite plotting tricks – and sometimes the characters find that the things they have been doing in support of their ultimate goals are actually more fun or profitable than satisfying that underlying ambition, and go native. Enemies can become allies, and false allies can become genuine, and there’s a whole gamut of possibilities in between.

The Seventh Circle: The Characterization Of Power

Every organization is composed of individuals, and Governments are no different. The path to the ultimate level of political sophistication in an RPG is revealed by the sixth circle, and specifically by the technique for some of the masterminds in my Zenith-3 campaigns that I described in the preceding paragraph.

If it works for characters, why not for nations? Why not treat organizations – of any size and stripe – as though they were NPCs, with distinctive personalities, profiles, abilities, flaws, and limitations?

In American law, corporations are treated as “people” for the purposes of law. This principle is what permits an organization to have rights, to own property, and to do all sorts things that people can do. This is a distinction that only matters when business sophistication goes beyond the sole trader or single owner, and there is a natural line of development that leads from individual business operations to general partnerships to limited partnerships to corporations in which no one person or defined group owns the business, it is owned by shareholders and those shares of ownership can be traded as though they were commodities.

If treating organizations as people simplifies legal problems in the real world, why not treat them as people in an RPG to achieve a similar simplification?

NPCs in an RPG come down to four things, when all is said and done: What events can they know about, how will they react to that knowledge, what are their ambitions & goals, and what can they do about those reactions, ambitions, and goals? Organizations in an RPG can be treated as possessing exactly the same four key aspects, with their personnel considered analogous to henchmen and hirelings. It doesn’t matter what the organization is – it could be a town council, a trader’s guild, a church, or a government; the same principles hold.

Achieving the seventh level of sophistication in political planning within your campaign has all sorts of benefits beyond the obvious. First, it permits employees/members to have relationships with the organization the same as they have with other NPCs. Second, it enables all the subtleties and benefits of characterization to apply to organizations and vice-versa. Third, it folds game prep for organizations into game prep for adventures, giving the GM a broader palette to draw upon for his adventures and erasing the artificial distinction between political campaigns and non-political campaigns, and putting the emphasis back onto whatever will be the most entertaining plots for the players to deal with.

I want to look at these in a little more detail before I wrap this article up.


Defining the relationship between an individual and an organization becomes much simpler when they both have personalities. You simply have to look for commonalities and for points of disagreement, just as you would in deciding what relationship would arise between two individuals brought together by the campaign. What’s more, the players will be profiling organizations as though they were individuals because that’s the way we humans tend to think about such things; so this makes it easier for them to assimilate the game world, and also means that you are able to take advantage of that abstraction the same way that they do. Why make things more difficult for yourself?

Characterization of Organizations

It becomes a lot easier to decide how organizations will react to an in-game event because you are now thinking about how a personality will react to that event rather than this nebulous collection of complexities. The benefit for organizations and governments in your game is that all the tools that are available for character interactions and personality definitions suddenly become available for the manipulation and treatment of those organizations and their plans and plots. This broadens the organization beyond single-issue plotting and planning, so they ultimately become more sophisticated entities within the game.

What’s more, it means that all those books for writers that are around on the subject of character interactions suddenly become tools for understanding and manipulating politics within your game!

Characterization of Individuals

Systems that a GM inevitably puts in place for dealing with the reactions of organizations to in-game developments also get applied to individuals. I’ll go into those systems in a little bit – take them as read for the moment. This benefits NPCs by making them less static; just as the game world evolves in response to in-game events, so do the opinions and activities of individuals.

Diversity of Adventures

This approach liberates the GM from all that political game-prep in many ways, and enables him to create a more sophisticated game world with more varieties of adventure. There is no longer a distinction between political campaigns and non-political campaigns. Instead there are in-game events and reactions to those events, an evolving world in which the PCs experience changes as a result of their activities. Every act acquires a political dimension if one is warranted. Because necessary game prep no longer forces the GMs hand in terms of the adventures that become possible, the emphasis shifts back into whatever sounds most entertaining and a lot of stuff going on in the background.

The Entity Binder

Imagine a Binder in which all the important NPCs are recorded. Now add pages characterizing all the important organizations and political bodies as though they were individuals. Organize them in terms of proximity to awareness of PC actions, using tabbed inserts: In a fantasy game, I would use Immediate, one day, one week, one month, longer. If you can remember that those in the front are “immediate”, use that tab for a “two weeks” or a “three months” category (your choice). In a modern campaign, these times would be compressed – Immediate, 1-2 hrs, 6-8 hrs, day, week, month or longer (again, you can manage this with a packet of 5 tabs if you take “Immediate” as being obvious and unlabeled).

You will need also need a diary, in which you will place an entry containing a very brief synopsis of the important events from the last time you played, if you haven’t already. This should be no more than three-to-five lines in length; less is better, if you can manage it. Make sure to note the game dates, even if it’s only in relative terms. The amount of space available will be dictated by the type of diary that you get.

Finally, you need a second diary with matching dates for use as a campaign planner.

The results are one of the most powerful gaming-prep tools you can get.

Here’s how game prep works using such tools: The speed of information awareness – the tabs – show you which groups and individuals (hereafter referred to by the collective term “entities”) know about those events, and which don’t. Go through the binder and ask if this personality will care about the events, and record on that character’s profile an entry referring to the diary entry. Decide what their reactions are, and record both reaction and what they will do about it after that notation (is there an opportunity? is there a threat?), Then ask yourself how soon the PCs will learn of any action taken and make a note in your campaign planning diary of when that reaction will influence the game world around the PCs.

Once you’ve been through the “immediate” knowledge, go through it again looking not at what the PCs have done but at what the entities are doing as a result, and again looking for responses and reactions. Repeat the process for the actions that they take in response, and so on. If you restrict yourself to a very general one- or two- line summary of actions and reactions, this should take less than an hour, two at the outside.

This technique takes advantage of solipsist theory: nothing actually happens until the PCs become aware that it has happened. You don’t really care how long it is before entity X reacts to an event, what you care about is when the PCs will become aware of that reaction. You don’t really care how long it takes for entity Y to react to entity X’s actions in response to the event, either, but you do care about when the PCs will hear about that reaction.

Next, turn to the next time period and look at any past entries in the campaign synopsis diary that this group is only now becoming aware of, and how they will react, in exactly the same way.

Your campaign planner now consists of multiple entries showing what relative game date it will be when the PCs become aware of developments and events in the game world, and how out-of-date that information is. Part of your game planning consists of compiling “the latest news” for the players – though it will still be up to the players when their characters are somewhere that this information can be provided to them. These entries are just brief synopses, so feel free to flesh them out with additional details.

At first, there may not be very many entries. As the game proceeds, more and more will accumulate. Think for a moment of the variety of reactions that people might have to an event. It might be anything from an official sent to ask the PCs to explain, to warrants for arrest, to hit squads being dispatched and assassins being hired. Wars may begin or end. As the events with which the PCs are involved grow more significant, so will the importance of reactions to those events, and these will shift from being purely background material to the sources of internally-generated adventures. Campaign Seeds that were planted at the start of the campaign will sprout, and become the focus of new adventures. And you can always drop a few more campaign seeds into this fertile soil if your planner shows a dead period.

And your world will go from being static to one that is dynamic and interesting, with a heck of a lot less game prep because it builds on prep that you have already done.

The final analysis

To a GM, politics within a campaign should be both an ever-present reality and a game tool. Too many GMs don’t invest the time they should into this aspect of their game worlds because they want to avoid running “a political campaign” or because their own understanding of politics is limited. Neither of these considerations should hold you back; the techniques and information provided in this article give you both the answers you need and all the reasons you should need to change that state of affairs.

In conclusion, I really should also point to a couple of older articles here at Campaign Mastery that are relevant:

Politics may seem like the seven circles of Hell to a GM, but it doesn’t have to be that way.

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Dr Who and the secrets of complex characterization


I’m going to do something a bit unusual for Campaign Mastery today, and talk about one character and one TV show in depth. Specifically, as you should be able to tell from the title, I’m going to talk about Doctor Who, the iconic British sci-fi series that has just celebrated it’s 50th Anniversary and which has a new season that has just kicked off featuring the 13th actor to play the role on television (The movies with X are not considered Canon and have been excluded from the series.

And then I’m going to use this discussion as a window of insight into the secret of complex characterization. Bear with me, it will all make sense in the end!

Doctor Who

I’ve just re-watched a television special, Doctor Who: The Ultimate Guide, and part of the narrative mirrored thoughts that I had been nurturing on the subject of the TV series and the eponymous role of the title character for some years. But it didn’t complete the picture, and so that’s my first step: to simultaneously bring everybody up to date and at the same time extend the analysis offered to bring it right up to date – well, as up-to-date as it can be without my having seen more than the ads for the new season.

In order to suspend disbelief and enjoy the show, you first have to accept the premise that all the different actors, and all the incarnations of The Doctor, are in fact aspects of the one singular character. This in turn gives great depth of character to that role. Each of the actors who have played the part have contributed something to that many-aspected identity, and it’s relevant to examine what each of these are.

William Hartnell, the first Doctor

Not afraid to be the smartest person in the room, intensely curious, eccentric at times but warm-hearted under a crusty exterior. He established the character and laid the foundations for the series.

Patrick Troughton, The Second Doctor

Eccentric to the point of comedy, Troughton established the principle of regeneration into a new version of the title character, and did not try to play Hartnell’s Doctor, instead establishing that with the change of actor came a complete reworking of character – within limits. Those limits were those of the character itself, but Troughton established through his performances that neither Hartnell’s version nor his own were the “definitive” versions, they were merely different faces, different themes of personality belonging to that one mythical and undefined “definitive” role. This enabled each actor to add whatever he wished to the role provided that it did not conflict with those established themes. Troughton’s Doctor never seemed to take things seriously until he had no choice – or his curiosity was engaged.

Jon Pertwee, The Third Doctor

Pertwee Added physicality, and never being short of an answer as to what to do – though sometimes he stalled for time, bluffed about how much he knew, or dug for information before forming a definitive response to whatever was going on. And if ever he was wrong, he was clever enough (for the most part) to twist his interpretation of events to show that what ultimately happened was what he intended all along. In other words, he made it up as he went along but did so with such speed and aplomb that he was never caught out. He added ‘action hero’ to the Doctor’s characteristics – but only when that was the right answer to the problem at hand. Like Troughton’s Doctor, he seemed to have a love/hate relationship with authority – it was fine as long as it did what he wanted, and he ignored it the rest of the time. Importantly, there were enough common elements between “The Dandy” and “The Clown” that you could accept the basic premise.

Tom Baker, The Fourth Doctor

Baker retreated from the Action Hero element somewhat, extending the charisma of the Pertwee version (something I neglected to mention) into a boyish charm and revealing – at times – that the eccentricity was (at least in part) a subterfuge to keep his opponents, and those in general who would get in his way or otherwise restrict him, off-balance. In many ways, Baker’s Doctor was the deepest thinker of the four versions so far, but he never showed his hand until he was good and ready.

Personally, much as I enjoyed many of his adventures, I think Baker stayed in the role too long (1974-1981, seven years). While the epic Key To Time plot was one of his high points in many ways, it also exhausted my love of the character for a long time – so I have never personally seen the performances of the next batch of Doctors. I am therefore completely dependent upon impressions from scant sources and the content of the documentary for the next few sections.

Peter Davidson, The Fifth Doctor

Davidson was already a beloved actor thanks to prior roles, and he (and the producers) were smart enough to take advantage of that – or at least not to put the actor’s history and the demands of the role at odds with each other. The result brought a vulnerability and a soft, tender aspect to the role that came in for a lot of criticism as “Doctor Who Lite”.

I personally don’t think Davidson was given a fair chance because there was absolutely nothing he could do about his biggest handicap – he wasn’t Tom Baker, whose extended tenure on the series had taken the character to iconic mass-popularity.

The Fifth Doctor was a staunch pacifist and a tendency towards indecisiveness, according to Wikipedia. It was the latter trait, which directly contradicted the Third and Fourth incarnations, that seemed to upset a lot of fans at the time, and started some thinking about the deeper implications of the series central motifs. Eventually, the apparent contradiction was resolved with the suggestion that this indecisiveness was present in all versions of the character, but some hid it in various ways – Troughton with comedy, Pertwee with action and energy, Baker with Charisma, scarf, banter, and Jellybabies.

Colin Baker, the Sixth Doctor

One of the most polarizing incarnations of the role, the sixth Doctor was either loved or hated at the time. This Regeneration was initially unstable, hinting at an underlying instability within the character.

To quote Wikipedia, “The Sixth Doctor was an unpredictable and somewhat petulant egoist, whose garish, multicolored attire reflected his volatile personality. He was both portentous and eloquent, even for the Doctor – of whom he saw himself as the finest incarnation yet – and his unpredictability was made even wilder by his mood swings, manic behavior, bombastic outbursts and glib, unflappable wit. His personality also displayed occasionally fatalistic overtones.” … “However, not only did his melodramatic arrogance and caustic wit eventually subside, it actually hid the fact that this incarnation retained the Doctor’s strong moral sense and empathy”.

It’s probably fair to say that Colin Baker’s contribution to the role was undervalued and under-rated at the time, because many of the characteristics grated on viewers. This led to his tenure as the Doctor being cut short, and to Baker’s subsequent complaint that he was not given enough time to ‘unpeel the layers’ of his interpretation of the character. What would have emerged had he been given that time was evidenced by the audio plays, in which he came across as somewhat calmer and much happier version of the Doctor, a difference largely attributed to the interaction between Baker and the Doctor’s companion of the time, Evelyn Smythe. In 2001, a poll in Doctor Who magazine voted this incarnation to be “the greatest incarnation” of the audio plays.

Many of the more controversial elements of the incarnation have been referenced in various ways during the series’ modern revival. Perhaps most polarizing was the Sixth Doctor’s chosen wardrobe, which to fans of the time seemed to mock and caricature the series’ premise (aside from being an eyesore). It is, perhaps, notable that this costume was foisted upon the actor, who wished to be dressed in black, especially in Black Velvet, to reflect his character’s darker personality.

It’s also reasonable to suggest that criticism of the Davidson interpretation was probably a factor, and that – just possibly – the initial instability and ego was an overreaction in an attempt to contrast with that interpretation of the role.

Silvester McCoy, The Seventh Doctor

The McCoy version was the most ruthless and manipulative incarnation of the character, though this was frequently concealed beneath a bumbling exterior that harkened back to the Troughton interpretation. Wikipedia describes him as displaying an ” affable, curious, knowledgeable, easygoing, excitable, and charming air” while also presenting “more serious, contemplative, secretive, wistful, and manipulative sides with undercurrents of mischief and authority (constantly giving the impression that there was more to him than met the eye)”, and that sums him up remarkably well.

McCoy himself has said that he wanted to bring the darkness and mystery back to the character. The biggest problem that the series faced under McCoy was that the impressions and performances did nothing to woo back the disenfranchised followers who had been turned off by the 5th Doctor’s indecision, the 6th Doctor’s ego and/or costume, casual viewers lost because the stories themselves had moved in a darker and more adult direction during the 22nd season, or simply because it wasn’t Tom Baker in the role.

The series had been on shaky ground for a while – evidenced by the 18-month break in production between seasons 22 and 23, and at the end of Season 26, the show was canceled. It had pursued it’s own tail out the window, becoming too closely focused on the fans of the show and lacking appeal to the casual viewer.

Paul McGann, The Eighth Doctor

In 1996 there was an unsuccessful attempt to relaunch the series with a telemovie starring Paul McGann. While this failed to woo sufficient audience numbers, McGann played the role extensively in subsequent spin-off media. In modern interviews, McGann takes great delight in his inclusion within the show and appears an unabashed fan.

Criticism at the time suggested that the show had been too Americanized, that the role was not played with any depth, and that special effects and action-adventure elements were too dominant. Personally, I quite enjoyed the telemovie. If Colin Baker can complain about not having enough time to fully explore the role, McGann has an even better basis upon which to voice such a complaint.

Most of the characterization of the Eighth Doctor stems from those spin-off appearances, and shows this Doctor to be youthful, energetic, wide-eyed and full of enthusiasm, encouraging those around him to engage in and celebrate life rather than withdrawing from it.

Disregarding that for the most part, I see the eighth Doctor as restoring the Pertwee-established man of action character thread, while bringing an energetic aspect to the character.

This is also the incarnation that establishes the romantic aspects of the Doctor, something that had been eschewed in the past. Although controversial at the time, it has since become accepted canon that the Doctor can experience romantic love for others. In that respect, the Eighth Doctor makes just as pivotal a contribution to the collective characterization as any of the others.

John Hurt, The War Doctor

Hurt’s version was retroactively inserted into the continuity as part of the 50th anniversary special “The Day Of The Doctor” (with appearances in the closing moments of the 2013 episode “The Name Of The Doctor” and a featured role in the webcast “The Night Of The Doctor”).

The story is that the Eighth Doctor to take up arms and become a warrior, fighting in the “Time War”. This is an incarnation that subsequent versions of the character would not acknowledge because he became so disheartened by the “Time War” that he committed what the other incarnations of the Doctor consider an unforgivable act – he committed an act of total genocide against his own people and that of their enemy, the Daleks, and went so far as to renounce the title/name, “Doctor”.

In the course of the 50th anniversary special, this incarnation finds redemption and salvation by teaming with two of his subsequent incarnations, but the “Doctor” doesn’t know this at the time.

In this incarnation, pre-redemption, the characters sense of hope and morality are ground away by the brutality of war. This leads to an utterly ruthless driving determination to end the violence at any cost; there are clearly elements of the Pertwee, McGann, and McCoy Doctors together with the Egotism of the Colin Baker Doctor coming together to form this personality.

Christopher Eccleston, The Ninth Doctor

In 2005, the show was relaunched with Eccleston in the title role, and he deserves credit for revitalizing the series.

Ecclestone’s version was dark and brooding, without a lot of the eccentricity and foppishness of earlier incarnations while retaining an element of charm and frivolity. This was a character haunted by guilt over his role in the Time War, and much of that charm and frivolity was a mask for his survivor’s guilt, in just the same way that many of the mannerisms Ecclestone rejected are now seen as being exaggerated by past incarnations. Ecclestone’s version is also a tourist and dilettante in many respects, fighting depression by refusing – as much as possible – to get involved.

Ironically, this makes him more perfectly Gallifrean, since non-intervention is their law and credo, and something that his past incarnations have repeatedly been punished for violating. It’s also ironic that the Time War had destroyed Gallifrean morality and led them to employ every forbidden weapon (save one, which is used by the War Doctor) and break every one of their own laws. In other words, his people had become, in the course of the Time War, a perverted version of the Doctor, and the War Doctor had been forced to end their existence, in the process becoming a persona that this and subsequent incarnations would reject utterly and completely.

Beneath the surface, this incarnation is trying to deny his own nature, because that nature can lead to the Gallifrean Madness, his own acts of Genocidal destruction being simply a representative example of that madness.

This was the first incarnation to actively draw on elements of all the past Doctors, and that was Ecclestone’s other great achievement: he unified the character. It can be argued that his interpretation came closest of all to that mythical “definitive” personality. It is actually both reasonable and utterly essential that this be the case; all the veneers have been, or are, stripped away in the course of Ecclestone’s one season as The Doctor, rejected or abandoned or penetrated. Only the core of the character remains.

Nevertheless, he reluctantly begins to care again, and to “interfere” again in the troubles of those he encounters, and ultimately this leads to a catharsis. His companion of the time, Rose Tyler, sacrifices herself to save him, and he discovers that he still cares, more deeply than he had realized; he then, in turn, sacrifices himself to save her.

David Tennant, the Tenth Doctor

Having started to open up, Healing can begin, and that’s the premise of the Tenth Doctor’s personality. Superficially, he has started to come to terms with his past, and is “light-hearted, talkative, easy-going, witty, and cheeky” most of the time – though he still nurses profound anger, regret, and vulnerability beneath this glib exterior. He is far less merciful than he has been in the past, and is quick to anger at the perception of injustice. When Prime Minister Harriet Jones destroys the retreating Sycorax ship after they have accepted his terms of surrender, he ruins her political career in retribution. In “The Waters of Mars”, he goes so far as to declare himself above the laws of time – harkening back to the Egotism of the Colin Baker incarnation – though there are catastrophic consequences as a result.

But, having come to terms with his own destructive capabilities, he now has to deal with another issue – the price paid by those who accompany him.

Sidebar: The Companions

When the series began, the role of the companion was simply to ask questions and furnish an opportunity for exposition – while needing to be rescued on a regular basis. As the roles of women on television and women in society at large evolved, the companions became more substantial and integral.

Although many sources cite Sarah Jane Smith as the pivotal companion who brought Women’s Liberation to the Doctor Who mythos, I actually prefer to point at Jo Grant, her predecessor, who started back in the Troughton period as a “typical companion” and who ultimately left the Pertwee incarnation to pursue a more personally fulfilling life. This character’s role evolved through the series in step with the changing attitudes of the time, and it was her growth through the series that made a professional, liberated woman acceptable – Sarah was only possible because Jo had been there before her.

There is a principle which is thematically recurring within the tenure of the Eleventh Doctor – that he should not be alone. Think about this for a minute – you’ve done it all, you’ve been everywhere worth going; what’s left but to enjoy those things vicariously through the eyes of another?

At the same time, the companions provide a moral anchor for the Doctor, who – by definition – must see human lives as ephemeral, here one minute and gone the next. He comes to care for individuals, and by extension, those who surround them, and by further extension, the lives of the race from which they arise. It’s the companions that drive him to intervene, time and time again, and who at the same time tell him when he is going too far. Without them, the Doctor is incomplete, and that’s when he’s in danger of his underlying instability – the result of all the grief and tragedy that he has encountered – becoming overwhelming; which can lead to acts of self-destruction and acts of externalized destruction.

To quote Wikipedia again, “Loneliness is the Tenth Doctor’s most persistent personal demon: His relationship with various companions is always short-lived and often ends in tragedy.”

In particular, the final loss of Rose Tyler, with whom the Tenth Doctor has fallen in love, hits him hard; and with the subsequent loss of Martha Jones (who experiences unrequited love for the Doctor) and Donna Noble, with whom his relationship is more platonic but no less deep, he resolves to travel alone, seeking extreme isolationism. Each time that he does so, however, a new companion falls into his life and a variation on the same pattern repeats itself.

The encounter with a much older Sarah Jane Smith drives home the point. Life with the Doctor can be exciting, enthralling, intellectually stimulating, and intensely uplifting and rewarding – but it is also very dangerous, and can be both stifling and confining, subordinating the life of the companion to the (perhaps) more meaningful life of The Doctor. If you stay too long, sooner or later, you will pay the price.

There is a strong sense of making up for lost time in the Tennant version of the character. Having shed most of his survivor’s guilt and melancholy. the Tennant version is outgoing and exuberant, recalling aspects of the Tom Baker incarnation. Tennant is able to build on the unification achieved by Ecclestone to make the character one that finally begins to evolve as a result of his experiences, rather than simply being another static reflection of the one central “definitive” persona.

The final contribution of Tennant’s Doctor was that, for the first time, the character was able to express – and demonstrate – fallibility. Once again, it was therefore necessary for consistency of character that the fallibility flaw be retroactively inserted into all the preceding incarnations and accounted for; the descriptions offered herein have all taken this trait into account.

Matt Smith, The Eleventh Doctor

The Eleventh Doctor is the one who has to come to terms with “the companion issue” once and for all (or at least for now). The exuberance of the Tenth Doctor becomes almost manic at times in this incarnation, but overall the personality of this incarnation is compassionate but quick-tempered. At times, the frivolity/eccentricity/instability comes to the surface and is clearly revealed as a mask for the serious person underneath – Smith is adept at dropping that mask in the middle of a line of dialogue, his entire attitude and demeanor changing to one of grim determination.

More than any other, this is the Doctor who begins to take control of his life, having overcome the brooding melancholy and survivor’s guilt of the Ecclestone version and then had a long, restorative holiday as the Tennant version. His initial plans to do so immediately go awry, however, as he quite literally drops into the life of young Amy Pond, and inadvertently utterly ruins it for the next decade or so. This incarnation spends much of its tenure making up for that by fulfilling the promise of a life of wonder and adventure that he made while still recovering from Regeneration. In fact, the Eleventh Doctor’s life becomes inextricably tied to that of the Pond family, whose daughter is eventually revealed as The Doctor’s future wife, River Song.

Along the way, the “companion issue” is explicitly addressed a number of times during Smith’s tenure.

At the same time, the Eleventh Doctor decides that he is becoming too well known and begins systematic efforts to restore his anonymity, a reaction to the “companion issue” when he is confronted by the Superman Curse – if who you are is known, who you care about is also known, and that makes them potential victims of those seeking to get to you. (This is not explicitly stated, but is clearly implied). He begins with a convoluted scheme to fake his own death, and things only get more involved from there.

The deaths of Amy and Rory at the “hands” of a Weeping Angel after many adventures with the Doctor hits him harder than the loss of any previous companions, including that of Rose. Brooding, melancholy, and isolationist to an extent never previously seen, he is eventually pulled back into life by the Doctor’s other great characteristic, his Curiosity, in the form of a new companion, Clara Oswald.

When the “Impossible Girl” plot thread is eventually resolved, Clara stands as the instigator of the reconciliation between the Doctors (Tenth and Eleventh) and the War Doctor and the impetus to the rehabilitation of the latter.

Peter Capaldi, The Twelfth Doctor

Technically, with that rehabilitation, Capaldi should be the thirteenth. Having only seen the promos for the upcoming season, his first, there is not a lot for me to go on – and I have deliberately waited to watch yesterday’s season premier to get this article written. So this is all forecast and on scanty evidence.

With the rehabilitation of the War Doctor, the Twelfth incarnation is finally free of any guilt over the Time War, and is thus the culmination of the emotional journey that has been at the heart of the character since the series’ revival. Spurred on by Clara, the Eleventh Doctor has “fixed things”, because “that’s what The Doctor does.” The soundbite from the season promos states, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. It’s time I did something about them” or words to that effect.

This character is therefore the beneficiary of those who came before him, who is finally healed from his experiences and ready to move on with his life. One of the most important steps in any rehabilitation programme is making restitution to those who have been victims of your excesses in the past, and that is the one phase of his rehabilitation that the Doctor hasn’t done so far. So I expect the twelfth Doctor to be more serious, and more active in the universe around him, unfettered by guilt, fame, or notoriety. For the first time, we have a Doctor who is in full command of his life and his faculties – a very dangerous man to get on the wrong side of.

And one of the foremost things for him to think about is that despite his actions in the Time War, the Daleks managed to survive – something they have rubbed the character’s nose in on several occasions – and remain his biggest threat. What’s more, they are free to grow and spread, exactly as they did prior to the Time War, this time with nothing to stop them – except him.

This will be a character with a reasonably strong Ego, recalling the Colin Baker incarnation, and one with a determination to solve certain problems at almost any cost, reminiscent of the Silvester McCoy version. All that adds up to a lot of Hubris, and Davros – creator of the Daleks – is just the being to rub his nose in it. In interviews, there have been hints that the 51st season, and the twelfth Doctor, will take the show in a slightly darker direction, which seems to match this prognostication to a T. Will these speculations be borne out? Only time will tell.

The Secrets Of Complex Characterization

Every actor who has played the Doctor has added something to the character, an element that has lasted and added to the depth of the characterization. The Doctor is rich and deep as a character because of these contributions.


I’ve seen the same thing happen twice in RPGs. The first was the story of Blackwing, where successive players took what had been built by the preceding player and reinvented the character while staying true to its central core. This exactly parallels what happened with Doctor Who, and hence is the initial point of inspiration for this article. I’ve written about the Blackwing story many times here at Campaign Mastery, usually as part of some other article.

(The irony is that the current player is also a Doctor Who fan, and this connection has been lurking under his nose for years…)


The second occasion is an NPC – Ullar – who started as a Hero and Playtesting vehicle for me to learn the rules of the Hero System, became an iconic, even mythical character in death in two subsequent campaigns, was then resurrected/rescued at the last moment and found himself constrained and confined by the ideals embodied in his public profile. Initially a Hero only because that was needed and he was an instinctive problem-solver, his entire character was shaped by destiny into something he would not have recognized at the beginning. Eventually the character became something akin to a God, and rebuilt the universe after Ragnerok, sacrificing much of his individual existence and all his independence in the process.

But one of the great sources of ideas for GMs is to ask “What If?” and I did exactly that in devising the first Zenith-3 campaign. What if Ullar had arrived a few years later, and never been softened by his exposure to the suffering of bystanders at Hiroshima and Nagasaki? What if he developed plans to implement his original ambitions, and took advantage of McCarthyism and fear of “The Red Menace” to obtain the power and influence behind the scenes needed to make it work? This was the premise of that first Zenith-3 campaign, and it added new potentials to the original character by showing how the same personality with exactly the same motivations could have become a villain under other circumstances.

This character has also been on my mind lately, because the PCs in the new Zenith-3 are currently dealing with the legacies of a version of the original who arrived pre-WWII and attempted to insinuate himself into the Nazi regime, which has many characteristics in common with his native society. By the time he realized his error, it was far too late. That was decades ago, local time; the Nazis won the war, and went on to world domination, and now stand poised to start conquering other dimensions – unless the PCs have something to say about it.

The Development Spotlight

This shows that there’s no need to wait when developing a deep characterization. A couple of central truths that can manifest in a variety of ways, a capacity for personal growth, and – above all – being affected by what’s going on around you, and depth of character is the inevitable result.

I’m not talking about improvement in external circumstances or in simple combat capabilities – I’m talking about growth in terms of who and what the character cares about, what they are prepared to do in pursuit of satisfying those cares, and the character paying the personal price that results. Character growth is marked by an evolution of actions, reactions, and relationships.

While it’s possible to achieve character growth without GM support, it’s a lot easier if you actively collaborate with the GM. However, if multiple characters are seeking the same thing at the same time, it can get unpredictable and lose coherence. The solution is for the GM to “theme” adventures for a while, and give each character their own share of the “development spotlight”, then move on to the next while the first character is evolving as a result. Clear communication between the player owning the developing character and the rest of the table is essential.

It’s a simple principle – the character changes; the character exhibits that change by reacting in an unexpected manner to some circumstance (which is what the GM’s cooperation is needed for); everyone comes to terms with the evolution; move on to the next character while the first explores the ramifications of the change. By the time he’s finished doing that, the Development Spotlight has swung back around to him again.

On top of that, the GM will always be looking for adventures with meaning for the PCs, because ultimately, they are a lot more interesting and entertaining for all concerned, so there will also be opportunities for shared development in spontaneous response to outside events, plus developments in reaction to the evolution of other characters.

Character development leading to a rich characterization is easier than you might think. It just takes getting involved in the life of your character, and not being locked into a rigid personality structure.

Comments (3)

Shades Of Suspense Pt 2 – Fourteen Types of Cliffhanger Finishes


For those who came in late:

Cliffhangers are a wonderful way to end a gaming session.

Ending play at a moment of high drama leaves players anxious to get back to the gaming table, and makes a gaming session memorable. They serve as milestones within the adventure.

In Part 1, I listed eight general tips for Cliffhanger finishes in RPGs, and pointed out that the forgotten element of the cliffhanger is the restart of play in the following session.

This article will build on that general advice by listing fourteen cliffhanger techniques for creating and using cliffhangers, with some specific tips, advice, and notes on each.

Types Of Cliffhanger

Don’t think there are fourteen types of cliffhanger? You would not be alone. The Wikipedia article on cliffhangers only lists two:

  • a main character in a precarious or difficult dilemma; or
  • a main character confronted with a shocking revelation.

(To qualify as a Cliffhanger, the danger or revelation has to occur at the end of the episode of serialized fiction, which either means this definition doesn’t apply to RPG game sessions or that these are considered serialized fiction – or haven’t been considered at all.)

That’s fine for a theoretical overview of the concept, but when it comes to practical usage, I think that variations in implementation technique are distinguishing features that characterize cliffhangers, distinguishing one type from another. Each requires you to do things a little differently, and you need to know those differences in procedure before you can actually use that cliffhanger approach.

The techniques that I have identified are:

  1. The Skip-a-scene Technique
  2. The Gasp Technique
  3. The Plot Twist Technique
  4. The Ominous Sign Technique
  5. The Gloat Technique
  6. The Mistaken Identity Technique
  7. The It’s Not Too Late Technique
  8. The Blind Fools and Heroes Technique
  9. The Impossible Shot Technique I
  10. The Impossible Shot Technique II
  11. The Gotcha Technique
  12. I’ll Explain Later!
  13. From Out Of The Blue
  14. The Awakening

So, let’s get started (PS: I’m going to be deliberately tongue-in-cheek and over-the-top in the few examples I felt it necessary to offer…).

1. The Skip-a-scene Technique

I commented in the first part of this two-part discussion that the proximate inspiration for the article was watching the 1944 serial, “Captain America“, which relies extensively on this technique. The general principle is this:

  • (a) Put one or more PCs in a dangerous situation;
  • (b) let them decide what they are going to do about it;
  • (c) decide what the consequences are (i.e. whether it will succeed or fail); and
  • (d) what will happen next.
At The Cliffhanger

In the cliffhanger ending, you describe (a), (b), and (d), but leave out (c).

“As the berserk robot herds you into the corner, the reactor edges towards critical overload.”
   “I throw my shoe past the robot to press the emergency crash button on the reactor. It powers the robot, right?”
   “You think so, but aren’t sure. Roll to hit with your shoe.”
   “11! That should be good enough!”
   “Ducking beneath the flailing robotic arms, you wrench off your shoe, Dodging to one side, you judge the weight and throw it towards the control panel. Deflecting off one of the robotic arms, it lands at the top of the control panel and balances precariously. Pipes burst from the steam pressure and klaxons sound as the reactor overloads and the robot aims a killing blow that will crush your skull like a melon hit by a sledgehammer. Seconds later, the reactor dome explodes… And that’s where we’ll end this week’s session. Next time, we’ll see if your desperate shoe-toss hits the mark – and if it does any good…”

When play resumes

To start the next session, you describe all four elements, with (c) in its proper place:

“Last time: The berserk robot reprogrammed by Doctor Noxx herded you into the corner, while the reactor edged towards critical overload. Pauly [The name of the PC] decided to throw his shoe past the robot to press the emergency crash button on the reactor, in the hope that it also powers the robot, and rolled an eleven. Ducking beneath the flailing robotic arms, he wrenched off his shoe. Dodging to one side, he judged the weight for a moment, then and throw it towards the control panel. Deflecting off one of the robotic arms, it lands on the top of the control panel and balances precariously before sliding off and landing on the reactor’s emergency shut-off button, crashing the reactor control rods back into the superheated Positron Reactor. Pipes burst from the steam pressure within and klaxons sounded as the reactor overloaded The robot aimed a killing blow that would crush Pauly’s skull like a melon hit by a sledgehammer – and freezes, it’s capacitors draining of power. The klaxons warning of dangerous overpressure in the reactor dome continue, it’s too late to stop an explosion. You race from the building in the nick of time as, seconds later, the reactor dome explodes, venting the positronically-charged steam into the sky.”

Analysis & Comments

Notice how the omitted scene completely conceals the success of the character’s action and how it permits him to escape in the nick of time, even hinting that it might have failed, and also fills in the action in between the shoe landing and “seconds later” by assuming that the character will do the only reasonable thing under the circumstances. (Also notice that the pseudo-science is flowing thick and fast). The cliffhanger ends on a spectacular note after a dramatic buildup. That spectacular note then becomes the kick-off for the next session of play proper.

Finally, note that the resumption narrative recast everything from present tense, as used in the cliffhanger sequence, to the past tense. In other words, it’s too late for the player to change his mind about his action (no matter what clever way out he may have thought of in the meantime); his decision was already made and the consequent desperate action had already happened.

A note on the absence of synopsis

A lot of GMs start the day’s play with a synopsis of what had happened previously, explaining what had happened and what the backstory was. This deflates all the tension of a cliffhanger, so the example GM didn’t do it, figuring that there would be plenty of time to do that later. He was able to drop a couple of references to past events into his opening sentence to give the immediate situation a broader context and left it at that – the bare essentials.

2. The Gasp Technique

The premise of the gasp technique is to end the cliffhanger on the reactions of the PCs without showing what they are reacting to (though you can hint at it). This has to be a strong reaction of some sort, even if it is only momentary, and should not commit the PCs to a course of action or a state of mind beyond that initial moment. You have to be careful to ensure that whatever the PCs are reacting to is surprising or shocking enough that the reaction is justified in the player’s minds when they finally find out what it is.

At The Cliffhanger

The Gasp technique is about the unexpected, and I’m specifically excluding surprise threats – these are dealt with under “From Out Of The Blue” below. That means that there is little opportunity for a big buildup, which makes this type of cliffhanger more difficult to use effectively. The best approach is to employ secondary senses for the buildup – a loud “thrummm” sound coming from somewhere up ahead (with whatever it is shielded from vision by obstacles), a huge shadow, of irregular shape, whatever.

It is obviously essential to allow for any extraordinary senses that the PCs might have access to if the surprise is to be maintained.

But, depending on what the PCs are reacting to, all of these problems can be bypassed.

So the basic anatomy of this cliffhanger is:

  • (a) vague hints or a threat;
  • (b) identification of the threat without revealing the surprise;
  • (c) the moment of revelation, without revealing the surprise;
  • (d) the reactions of the PCs, without revealing the surprise, and avoiding the other restrictions imposed earlier.

“The intruder alarm sounds as, in the control room, the camera covering the Baker-nine corridor whites out and then cuts to static.”
   “I alert the others that I’ve lost eyes and can’t ID the intruder.”
   “Fine, Garrock. Harmony, you and Fringe are racing down the adjoining Mike-two corridor and approaching the intersection, with you in the lead. A bright glow is coming from down corridor Baker-nine, from somewhere near the armory.”
   “The Armory? Then there’s no time for intelligence-gathering. I’m turning down Baker-nine as quickly as I can and yelling at whoever it is to Halt. Fringe, hang back and cover my back from the intersection.”
   “Got it.”
   “You round the corner and see a figure sheathed in arcs of lightning, glowing so brightly that you can barely make out a vague outline, and using a brightly-white hand to melt through the lock into the armory. You skid to a halt and your jaw drops as the figure turns toward you, the electrical discharge momentarily pausing long enough for you to see into its face. Your jaw drops in disbelief when you recognize the intruder…”
   “Who is it?”
   “A question for next time,” replies the GM, an evil smile on his face.

Notice that the example GM followed the prescribed pattern to a ‘T’, and also saved most of his buildup for that final burst of narrative.

A second example, this one Fantasy-oriented:

“Sporlock crouches on the beam in the rafters as the leader of the self-appointed Exulted emerges from the antechamber to meet the returning strike force.”
   “Maybe we’ll finally get to see who that bast**d really is. I’m staying absolutely still and silent, and breathing as shallowly as I can – I don’t want to gasp from holding my breath for too long.”
   “‘Aah, Strike Marshall. Did you succeed?’ asks the figure in scarlet robes and faceless mask. The Strike Marshall drops to one knee and bows, replying, ‘Up to a point, My Lord. The Watcher’s Guild intervened before we could finish the job, but we did retrieve the Thanatagral as you ordered.’”
   After pausing for a moment to give the player a chance to state any action, the GM continues: “‘The Watcher’s Guild, again? When the opportunity permits, we will have to chastise them properly for their impudence. Still, you achieved the primary objective. Bring the Thanatagral, and I shall inform our Master.’”
   “So the Exulted Leader is just a figurehead!”
   “So it would seem. He turns away from the Strike Marshall and heads toward the altar you noticed earlier, removing his face-mask. His face is finally revealed! So shocked are you by his identity that you involuntarily gasp, feel your fingers go numb with shock, and you begin to slip from your precarious perch… and that’s where we’ll end for the night!”

Again, there’s a buildup, and a minor revelation, and a few teasing hints, all of which build the drama, and promise that the PC, Sporlock, is in a position to discover something really juicy. A quick tease, and then the revelation and reaction – without revealing the actual surprise.

When play resumes

A key difference that may have been noted from the preceding examples is that in this technique, the GM has ended at the moment of revelation; it’s entirely logical for the reveal, which is going to occur simultaneous with the reaction, to follow the final moment of the information conveyed. Rather than leaving out a scene, the GM has simply performed what would be termed a ‘hard cut’ in the world of television. At most, there might be a “to be continued” caption over a freeze-frame.

Oh, and for the record: the surprise of example one was the rotting body of a former team-mate, which someone has reanimated, while the surprise of example two was that the arch-enemy that had run the PCs ragged was their landlord, who they saw at least once a week.

3. The Plot Twist Technique

Ending with a plot twist is always a great way to go – if it’s surprising enough, and big enough. Too often, plot twists fail on one or both measures, leaving an anticlimactic taste in the mouth.

There are two ways to use plot twists as cliffhangers – you either finish with the revelation, or you stop just short of the revelation while showing the character’s reactions to the cliffhanger, in a similar fashion to techniques number 1 and 2, respectively. However, I’m only listing the latter approach – because while actually ending with the revelation has all the impact you want at the time, when the next session starts, players have had days/weeks/months? to get used to the idea and it will have all the impact of wet spaghetti. In particular, they won’t react as though surprised.

The basic structure is therefore pretty much the same as that of Technique 2. The only real difference is that instead of using a reaction as a tease at the end, the plot twist is considered shocking enough to stand on its own. For my money, either of the examples used to illustrate the Gasp Technique would fit that bill, though the first one is probably better-suited to the plot twist technique. However, neither of them actually qualify as “plot twists”, which is why they were left in the technique 2 section.

Analysis & Comments

I’m not going to delve into how to ensure your plot twists are adequate; aside from being off-topic, and way too big a subject for a side-bar, it’s a subject that I’ve already written about, here and there:

…amongst others.

4. The Ominous Sign Technique

Ending with an ominous sign or portent can work quite well if not overused. Players have a definite saturation level for this sort of thing, and regain their capacity for a repeat of the technique very slowly. The other big danger with this approach is that the actual danger being signposted has to live up to the hype – and hype is very easy to generate. It’s a catch-22, though: if you dial down the hype, it often lacks sufficient intensity to justify its use as a cliffhanger. And one final danger: too big a gap between the warning sign and the event creates a disconnect between threat and event that completely drains it of dramatic tension.

The best solution is to:

  • (a) know in advance what the threat is going to be even though it won’t show up in-game until the next session;
  • (b) make sure that it’s big enough to justify being hyped to the max from the player’s point of view;
  • (c) ensure that the event triggering the ominous sign is front-and-center and appreciated as connecting to the ominous sign by the players within the first quarter of your next session.

While this is often used in television, that medium has one huge advantage over most RPGs: they can use music to induce, or reinforce, mood. So used to this are we that ominous signs without it are actually handicapped in effectiveness. In the past, I’ve tried replicating an ominous tune (duh-duh-duhhhhhh in the pattern low, very low, low again) with my voice, and while it succeeds in telling the players what the mood should be, it’s an abject failure at actually generating that mood. If anything, it reduces it to a caricature of what you want to achieve.

Lately, I’ve found that holding my hands up for quiet and remaining absolutely silent for a mental five-count is far more effective, especially if it precedes a spoken “to be continued…” In fact, this approach is so effective that a good half the time, one of my players will say those immortal words on my behalf; I simply nod in reply. I haven’t experimented with different time frames, though I suspect that much shorter won’t be effective, and much longer will simply become uncomfortable. Though, for whatever it’s worth, I did once completely freak out a group of players I was GMing by being silent for 5 minutes – no hand gestures, but look toward whoever’s speaking and use facial expressions to show that I wasn’t having some sort of seizure or something.

5. The Gloat Technique

One time-honored way of ending with a cliff-hanger is with the villain gloating about having succeeded, or it being too late to stop him. This one largely comes to us by way of Comic-books, and is often double-teamed with a plot twist. “The fools have been completely deceived into doing exactly what I wanted them to do. Now there is nothing to stop me…”

But there are a number of problems when it comes to replicating this approach in an RPG that make it far more difficult than it seems.

The first is that in comics, the reader occupies the position of a super-observer, able to go anywhere and see anything that is taking place. To use this approach in an RPG, you need one of the PCs to be in a position to observe or overhear the gloating, and that’s much harder to arrange.

The second is that in a comic, you can have the protagonists take the threat seriously, no matter how ridiculous the plot; engaging independent players is much harder. Your villain and his plot not only have to be credible, it has to engage not just the PCs, but also the players – and there are no shortcuts to achieving this.

On top of that, you have all the problems that usually come with a plot twist (discussed in technique 3, above) if you are using one – if you plot twist falls short, so will the monologue, and so will the villain doing the gloating. Followed shortly afterwards by your adventure.

This is a technique to be employed only when the stars align and you have all your ducks lined up in a shooting gallery.

At The Cliffhanger

Effectiveness is completely lost if the PCs or the players are permitted any sort of reaction. For that reason, whenever I use this technique, I make sure that, without pause:

  • (a) I give the villain his carefully pre-scripted gloat;
  • (b) Flash some sort of “to be continued” indicator – usually verbal, but occasionally a carefully-decorated sign works even better if I have a font and pattern that achieves both legibility and some stylistic reference that’s appropriate to the villain;
  • (c) Have some sort of game business that I can launch straight into, such as experience points, or a reminder of the next session. In fact, anything that takes the players away from responding to the final gloating statement by the villain.
When play resumes

The major reason for the careful pre-scripting is so that I can reprise it as faithfully as possible when play resumes. My immediate priority is then to do one of two things: Either surround him with overwhelming force (so that the PC is encouraged to back off with his priceless intelligence) or whisk him out of there ASAP or even faster. An elevator, a teleport, a mystic portal, a puff of smoke, a door closing between the PC and the gloating villain – I’ve used them all. I’ve even had one step out from a window ledge and onto the top of his invisible flying saucer (I wanted to have him leap and be caught by a tractor beam, but while he would have had the technology, it didn’t fit the arrogance and confidence of the character).

The reasons for undertaking one or both of these is so that the one or two PCs who were in a position to overhear can get all the other PCs onto the same page. I avoid taking players away from the table for either the cliffhanger or the resumption of play unless I have no other choice because their characters are elsewhere, already doing something, and their choices would be influenced by the knowledge. Sometimes you have to, but it’s still better to avoid it if you can.

6. The Mistaken Identity Technique

A variation on The Gloat Technique is the Mistaken Identity. In general, the PCs confront and/or defeat the villain only for him to be revealed as some third party in disguise.

Beyond this basic pattern, there are a number of variations. The disguised person may be another known enemy, or a supposed ally, or even a real ally/associate/ex-party-member who has been mind-controlled or reprogrammed/indoctrinated. You can end with the revelation, or have the real villain step forth from the shadows, having used their cat’s-paw to weaken the PCs. He will usually gloat, making this an application of The Gloat Technique, and reducing the Mistaken Identity to mere build-up; or the real villain may continue to lurk in the shadows, letting the PCs think they’ve won. Or perhaps the ally is actually the real villain, and has been all along.

A lot depends on how shocking the revelation of the identity really is, and how credible the duality is. If abilities match up, and past dialogue & attitudes can be reinterpreted in support of the “truth” of the revelation, and if the identity is someone who was especially trusted by both the players and the characters, the revelation can probably stand alone as a plot twist. If not, then you need something more.

Another factor whose importance can’t be underestimated is the degree of investment the players feel in the discovery of the identity of the villain, which depends on how much buildup there has been in the meantime. How long has he been a thorn in their side, and how much do they really care about taking him down? How much fear and respect do the PCs really have for the villain? The “weaker” the villain in terms of past campaign interaction, the more you should lean toward the added drama of having the real villain step from the shadows.

7. The It’s Not Too Late Technique

Most cliffhangers are downbeat in nature, with the PCs seemingly in danger or facing imminent disaster. This approach is relatively upbeat and positive in comparison, but it can only be used after very careful setup. Specifically, you have to have spent at least half the game session convincing the players and their characters that they are in a hopeless situation, shooting down their every notion. The cliffhanger consists of some third party stepping forward and announcing “all hope is not yet lost. We/You still have one last desperate chance, because…”

You then have the choice of ending with the revelation of why, if it can be compressed into a single general statement (“…I have discovered the enemy’s hidden weakness”), or implied through hyperbole (“…I stand with you” [NB: this works even better if the villain refers to themselves in the 3rd person]), or of leaving the “because” hanging. The more significant (and recognizable) the identity of the speaker, the more you can rely on the hyperbole or hanging reason, because the reason will have credibility even before it is announced.

There are dangers associated with this approach in an RPG. Chief amongst them: you have frustrated the players, and then offered a deus-ex-machina solution, something that I hate using as a plot device (see “A Monkey Wrench In The Deus-Ex-Machina: Limiting Divine Power” and, more recently, and to a lesser extent, “Deus Ex Machinas And The Plot Implications Of Divinity“). A lot depends on the identity of the speaker, and on the degree to which the glimmer of hope is faint and relies on the PCs stepping up to the plate. If the revelation lays railroad tracks to a victory, the adventure is in deep trouble, and so might be the campaign. If the speaker is exaggerating more than a little the significance of his revelation, and it’s going to take some inspired planning, hard work, and creativity on the part of the players and their characters in order to pull this hail-mary pass off, this approach is far more palatable – but the more important it is to make this clear to the players at the cliffhanger moment so that they don’t have time to stew on the possible negatives until the next game session.

If the speaker is a known enemy of the PCs, and one who has established his credibility as a force within the campaign, rather than a savior entering the campaign from stage left, this approach stands up far better in both comics and an RPG.

8. The Little Children, Fools and Heroes Technique

There is a line in the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Contagion” that is possibly the best thing about what was a somewhat disappointing episode after an intriguing beginning: “Fate protects fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise.”

I’ve since seen the line, and variations, crop up in many other places. The line itself is a revision of a quote used (and recast) many other times, notably by Otto von Bismark in reference to the United States – see the section on Special Providence of the Wikiquotes page on von Bismark. Although the attribution indicated points to Abbe Correa in 1849, at least one source claims that it existed in French in the form “God always helps fools, lovers and drunkards” as far back as 1708, if not longer.

But it’s the version from Star Trek that inspired this cliffhanger technique. In essence, it is the delivery of this line, or something similar (and more appropriate in reference) by an NPC as the concluding statement when the PCs are about to attempt something they know to be monumentally foolhardy or risky. When I first devised this dialogue ending cliffhanger technique, I generalized the statement to read “Little Children, Fools, and Heroes” because quite often the PCs can achieve success despite impossible odds stacked against them. If Don Quixote had been a PC, there would be a lot less wind power in central Spain in the mid 17th century!

At The Cliffhanger

It’s important with this technique to have an NPC (you can’t trust a PC to do it for you) tot up the magnitude of the task, the odds that are stacked against the characters – though avoid assigning numbers to these chances if you can. If not, call them “roughly a million-to-one shot.” As everyone who has ever read Terry Pratchett knows, million to one chances succeed nine times out of ten – but getting the odds exactly right is a pain; a million-and-one-to-one and you’re in trouble.

This is one occasion when the cliffhanger ending is enhanced by letting the players react to this totting up. The last word should be some version of the quote offered, and for which this technique is named.

When play resumes

And the starting point of your reiteration should be that totting up of the odds. If the list is very lengthy, only repeat the last half-dozen items.

Analysis & Comments

This is a brilliant explanation for having humorous improbabilities litter the rest of the adventure. Each time the PCs start to gain traction, or suffering setbacks, these should start going against them, but as soon as they really need an improbable result to get them through, the odds should stack up in their favor.

Of course, going down this road requires careful choice of antagonist. Whoever you choose will forever be tainted with the humor tag; the odds that you will ever again be able to use them in a serious capacity are very slim. Perhaps even a million-to-one.

9. The Impossible Shot Technique I

There are two variations on the Impossible Shot Technique. They are sufficiently different that I have listed them separately. In the first version, one of the PCs has to make an impossible shot in order for the PCs to succeed/escape.

As the example offered at the time makes clear, the best approach to employ with this form of cliffhanger is the Missing Scene (technique 1, above), but with a greater emphasis on the odds against success, and “fading to black” as the character attempts the fateful shot. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should an NPC be required to make the impossible shot; if this is the situation, the “impossible shot” should be made before play concludes, and should seemingly fail. Having thus ramped up the danger to a PC, it’s time to end the session.

10. The Impossible Shot Technique II

The second variation has the villain needing to make an impossible shot in order to turn the tables on the PCs or escape. This is far more problematic because it leaves the GM open to allegations of bias toward the villain. As with the NPC taking the shot in the first variation, it is far better for the villain to take the shot before the cliffhanger – and emphasis should be placed on his succeeding through blind, improbable luck, or better yet, missing his original target but hitting something else that gives the villain a chance. You end with the villain missing the shot, and open the next session with the miss and subsequent expression of wild luck of what he actually hit. The idea is that he failed to make the impossible shot, but in the process hit an even less probable target that somehow gives him a chance.

It’s absolutely essential that the actual target hit should be more unlikely than the impossible shot; otherwise, common sense says that he would have gone for the easier target, and the ending becomes an anticlimactic celebration of stupidity.

11. The Gotcha Technique

The villain deceives the characters and the GM very carefully does nothing to hint to the players that the information their characters have found is not gospel truth until the moment comes to reveal the “Gotcha!” This approach is all about credibility: the apparent situation has to be completely credible, and the revelation also has to be completely credible, turning everything the players thought they knew on its head. It sounds incredibly hard, and sometimes it is, but there are ways of pulling it off.

In particular, having an enemy who acts like the PCs friend and ally, and who is publicly trusted by the PCs, forces any potential enemy the deceiver to ask questions about whether or not the PCs are dupes or accomplices. Make the friend and ally someone of authority, and you can fence the person who knows the truth into going outside the law, behaving as an enemy to test the PCs, and because his true enemy has spun and typecast the character. In addition, he may have anti-heroic tendencies, or a family to protect. Combinations of these justify the apparently-villainous behavior that puts the seeming-villain at odds with the PCs.

To apply this technique to the full, the PCs should, in the lead-up to the cliffhanger, have seemingly defeated the apparent villain. The true villain (or a henchman) then attempts to kill the seeming villain. Either he bungles the job (henchman) or the true villain reveals himself in order to succeed. If a henchman bungles the job, the seeming villain gets to drop the revelatory bombshell as the closing scene of the cliffhanger; if the real villain comes out of the shadows, unable to resist the opportunity to get rid of his real opposition, then you can use his unmasking as the cliffhanger. Or, better than either of these, use the shooting (and possible death) of the villain without warning as the cliffhanger and leave the players guessing until the next session – which should help the players react appropriately to the revelations that follow without giving them time to get used to the idea during the gap between sessions.

12. I’ll Explain Later!

This works best when you have experienced players who can read the signs of a cliffhanger buildup and make some educated guesses as to what’s going to happen at the end of the day’s play as a result. The GM pretends to be building toward one type of cliffhanger or plot resolution only to have something completely unexpected take place at the denouement without explanation – at the time.

The most important requirement to satisfy when employing this type of cliffhanger is to have an absolutely iron-clad explanation for the unexpected happening – not only what occurs, but why and even more importantly, why now, of all possible times. Get these things wrong and the whole cliffhanger becomes cheap sensationalism and reminiscent of the worst aspects of B-grade movies. It goes without saying, too, that the unexpected development has to be attention-getting in the extreme, and significant enough that it can potentially reshape relationships, policies, and attitudes within the campaign.

13. From Out Of The Blue

This technique is the simplest of the lot. The PCs are out and about, doing what they do, when from out of the blue, a menace threatens.

For all its ubiquity, this is also one of the easiest to foul up. The three most common mistakes are posing insufficient threat, posing too big a threat, and illogical surprise.

  • Insufficient Threat – if the party don’t feel threatened, the cliffhanger will produce no tension, and will be eminently forgettable.
  • Too Big A Threat – this is actually a problem of two parts. The first is that the players may feel picked on, i.e. that the GM is being unfair. The second is that the bigger the threat, the more illogical it is that the party would be surprised, that there were no warning signs that they would not have observed.
  • Illogical Surprise – “Towering over the low shrubs is an immense Black Dragon.” “Why didn’t we see it from miles away if it towers so much over the vegetation?” If it makes no sense that the party would be surprised, the whole encounter falls flat. There is no way out of this situation that ends well for the GM. And if the GM does provide the clues that should have avoided surprise, the encounter will lose most of its tension, and hence most of its value as a cliffhanger.

Avoiding these difficulties is tricky. PCs tend to be a fairly cocksure lot, so the line between the extremes can be extremely narrow, and more a matter of player psychology than game mechanics. And presenting logical hints and forewarning while still managing to surprise the players is even more difficult.

Not impossible, especially when the party are low-level and inexperienced; but the more powerful and experienced they become, the more difficult this dual balancing act becomes. Misdirection becomes the key to credibility, making the PCs think they are dealing with one threat when the reality is far worse. A Salamander Corpse, dead from some massive sting or bite, both explains the occasional scorch mark on the trees in the forest, and has the PCs looking for giant bees, wasps, or spiders. An Efreet raiding party riding giant lava-scorpions (including a riderless one) would come as a surprise, and two riders and three beasts might not be so far over the top that the encounter leaves the PCs completely outmatched.

14. The Awakening

The final cliffhanger is the discovery of a revelation by one or more of the PCs outside of a direct confrontation with another character (see the example if this isn’t clear). In a novel, comic, TV show, or even an act within a movie, you can actually make the revelation as the cliffhanger, and I used to employ that approach whenever this technique was used to deliver a cliffhanger. It’s only relatively recently that I have realized that it is far more effective if you conceal the actual revelation from the PCs during the cliffhanger – build up to the moment, then just as the players are anticipating the revelation, just as the long-awaited information comes up on the screen or the character turns the page to the critical fact – end play.

This achieves two things: first, it creates the state of suspense that you want in a cliffhanger (as opposed to a state of shock over the content of the revelation); and second, it means that the shock in question does not have time to dissipate in between game sessions as the information soaks into the players’ minds.

Again, it’s important that the revelation in question be something fairly earthshaking or your next session will start with a massive anticlimax.

Nothing Up My Sleeve…

This list comprises every cliffhanger technique that I know. Which means that if you have a technique that I haven’t listed, please share it! In the meantime, hopefully what I have presented will give you more options for cliffhangers than you ever thought possible. Have fun!

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Shades Of Suspense Pt 1 – Eight Tips for Cliffhanger Finishes


Cliffhangers are a wonderful way to end a gaming session because they end play at a moment of high drama that leaves the players anxious to get back to the gaming table, and that tend to be fairly memorable because of the drama. You can think of them as milestones within the adventure.

The primary source of inspiration drawn on is the 1944 Serial “Captain America” which has just been telecast on Public Broadcasting here in Australia. [Quite good, though they overused one of the techniques described below.] But that just got me thinking on the subject.

I had intended to take a break from the Pulp Genre for a while, having just wrapped up the House Rules series, but something that had been called off for yesterday was unexpectedly called back on again at the last minute, chewing up time I thought I would have for getting a head start on today’s article. I needed something quick, and this at least started that way (at least it can be applied to many different genres of game).

But, as I have said before, I don’t do “short” very well. In addition to word-count inflation, a black-out in the middle of writing has meant that this article can’t possibly be finished in one post. So I’ve broken it in two – Part 1 will list eight general tips for Cliffhanger finishes, and part 2 will list 11 techniques for creating and using cliffhangers, with additional specific tips and advice.

1. A cliffhanger definition

A cliffhanger is a scene that leaves the players wanting to know what happens next. The most obvious and common cliffhangers place a character in some sort of peril and don’t show if they survive it, but there are more subtle variations, and a number of different ways to resolve the cliffhanger. The more dramatic the moment of resolution is going to be, the more satisfying the cliffhanger as a punctuation mark within the adventure.

Timing is everything

Your cliffhanger will fall flat if the danger that forms the cliffhanger is less extreme than a danger that was overcome shortly before the cliffhanger takes place. You want the cliffhanger to be the most dramatic moment of the preceding 45 minutes to 1 hour’s play – longer than that and you can usually get away with it. Also, by definition, the Cliffhanger has to come at the end of the day’s play. So part of the trick is aligning these two events. Later, I’ll tell you about a couple`of ways to get the timing right.

The Lead Balloon

Dramatic Final Scenes are only one-half of any cliffhanger. The forgotten half is the resumption of play, when you have to resolve the cliffhanger. Get that wrong, and half your next session of play will go down like a lead balloon – and so will your next attempted cliffhanger. It takes time and repeated success before your players will fully trust that dramatic pause again. For each cliffhanger technique that I offer below, I will also take a hard look at the next-session kickoff – quite often, that’s the only difference between the techniques that I have to offer.

So the first tip that I have is this: Know what a cliffhanger is, in its many forms and permutations – in other words, know what you are doing, and then do it with deliberate intent and gusto.

2. Have a vague idea of where you will be up to

It helps immensely to have a rough idea of the pacing of your adventure, and how far the characters are likely to get by the end of play for the day.

Simply dropping a cliffhanger into proceedings is not good enough; for the cliffhanger to work at anything approaching its best, you need to build up to it. And that, in turn, works better when you have it planned to at least some extent; otherwise, you can find your adventure and your buildup in conflict instead of harmony.

The second tip, therefore, is: Plan to incorporate cliffhangers in your adventure, and position them around your projected end-of-play point.

3. Create more potential cliffhangers than you need

The relationship between adventure planning and a successful Cliffhanger Ending goes even deeper; if you have a reasonable idea of roughly where the adventure will get up to in the day’s play, you can make sure that you build in potential cliffhangers to exploit.

It’s never possible to forecast exactly how far the players will get in a single day’s play, there are simply too many variables. At best, you can get a close approximation. So the best approach is to incorporate one cliffhanger at the point you think the game will reach, plus two more at plus-or-minus 15 minutes, plus another 15-30 minutes before the earlier of those two. That gives you a 45-60 minute “window” to aim for. If the game session is more than six hours long, I would also think about dropping one in at about the four-hour mark, just in case.

My third tip for working with Cliffhangers is: Have more potential cliffhangers than you think you are going to need built into your adventure. A LOT more.

Actually, to be honest, most of the time, I don’t do this; decades of experience, a consistent GMing style, and a fairly stable game prep approach enable me to get fairly close to the mark most of the time. If you, too, enjoy all three of these benefits, then you can probably ignore this tip. Everyone else should take it to heart.

4. Have a way to downplay unused cliffhangers

By the same token, you don’t want the adventure to lurch from cliffhanger to cliffhanger, then go quiet at the start of the next day’s play, until the pattern repeats.

The easiest solution to this problem is to design each potential cliffhanger as an encounter, then plan for it to go in either of two ways – over-the-top (cliffhanger) or “normal”. But that’s additional prep that you really want to avoid, if you can; so a still better approach is to design them all as “normal” encounters, but with the potential to explode.

It’s worth observing that I am using the term “encounter” in a somewhat-broader sense than is normally the case. A character looking through a musty old tome is having an encounter with that tome. A character having an intimate soirée with an NPC is having an encounter of the roleplaying variety. A character querying a database is having an encounter with the computer, and another with the data being accessed. A character receiving a telegram is having an encounter with the information in the telegram. And so on.

The Fourth Tip is: Design your “encounters” within the “cliffhanger zone” with the potential for use as Cliffhangers.

5. Heighten the drama of the cliffhanger

There is a gap in play – it might be seconds, minutes, or more – between the commencement of an encounter and its transmutation into an actual cliffhanger. As soon as you know that this encounter is going to be the vehicle for the dramatic uncertainty that is a cliffhanger, heighten the drama of the encounter. This is your “big finish” for the day, so go all out to make it exciting, interesting, or whatever the dominant tone of the encounter is. Amplify it to lay the groundwork for the cliffhanger itself.

If a cliffhanger is a suspension of resolution, you need suspense to attach to the situation to be resolved. This of course distances the potential cliffhanger that is having that potential realized from all those encounters in which the potential was not exploited.

Hence, my fifth tip: Build up the lead-in to the Cliffhanger.

6. Set notes and Player Choices

Cliffhangers are more effective when the resumption of play matches very closely with the end of play of the preceding section. You want to be able to rewind the clock and repeat the last couple of seconds or more of play – in other words, if you end with a cliffhanger, you start the next session with the same cliffhanger.

This is very hard to do unless you were using prepared narrative and notes. Fortunately, Tips 2 and 3 advise you to prep such material in advance, focusing your efforts on the parts that matter.

The other thing that makes it very hard to do are the players. Player Choices must be carefully documented, and they aren’t allowed to change their minds between sessions even if they think of a better idea. The opening of the next session is not about relating what is happening, it’s about what has just happened.

The best time to do the prep for the start of the next game session is immediately following the last, if not sooner.

Sooner, you say? How is that possible?

By taking notes as the cliffhanger unfolds. A Microphone and a piece of audio recording software connected to a laptop. A dictaphone. A reel-to-reel recorder. A Mobile phone & app. Use something to record the last minute or two of the game session if you can, and take a photo or two of any battlemap showing character positions before and after each character moves, just for that last vital few seconds.

All this then becomes set in stone, immutable, past history. At the start of the next session, you relive it but don’t repeat it.

I also enforce something I call “Cliffhanger Rules” or “The Cliffhanger Zone” or even “Cliffhanger time”. Normally, you want to inform players of the results of their actions immediately they specify what those actions are. In the “Cliffhanger Zone” a player informs you of what their character is doing, but you deliberately withhold the results from your narrative unless they build the drama of the cliffhanger itself. Save those results for the opening sequence next time around!

Quite obviously, this also requires careful notes in some form.

So my sixth tip is: Document the cliffhanger as best you can immediately, so that you can replicate it at the start of the next game session.

7. Improvising a cliffhanger

Even with all this prep, it is sometimes necessary to improvise a cliffhanger. Not all the techniques that I have up my sleeve work well when used in this way; but there are three approaches that work especially well as improvised cliffhangers. For this reason, and the because there are no shortage of cliffhanger techniques that work just as well, if not better, given the correct advance prep, I reserve these approaches for the times when I need to improvise a cliffhanger.

The circumstances need to be appreciated; the only times when you should need to improvise a cliffhanger are when your pre-planning has gone seriously off the rails, or for some reason, simply didn’t get finished or done at all. The first indicates that either the players have gone off in some radically unexpected direction and you’ve been winging it for half the day, or they took a lot longer to get through an encounter of some sort than expected. I once had a game session where the PCs spent half the day talking to an NPC, discussing philosophy, history, and the NPC’s unique slant on the game-world theology, an encounter that was intended to take no more than ten of twenty minutes, game time. As a result, they were nowhere near any of the possible cliffhanger points in the adventure, leaving me with the choices of a low-key end to the session, or an improvised cliffhanger.

The second thing to bear in mind when improvising a cliffhanger is that there is a greater chance of your adventure going radically off the rails at this point than there is at any other time within the adventure. The reason should be obvious: You have the entire adventure planned out to at least some extent, and then you drop in something that is both extra, and dramatic. This is an obvious recipe for an unexpected shift in direction, and can often require the rest of the adventure to be completely scrapped and replaced.

If you use some of the plotting advice that has been offered at Campaign Mastery in the past, such issues can be minimized, but that’s about as good as you can get. The specific advice that I have in mind is, first and foremost, to know what the villains and NPCs are trying to achieve, and to build the adventure elements out of those ambitions and their efforts to satisfy them. That means that when you need to improvise a Cliffhanger, you can construct it from the same foundation elements of the plot on which the adventure is based. The NPC actions have an inherent plausibility as a result, and the overall shape of “the grand plan” better accommodates the addition of the cliffhanger.

The first improv technique: Withholding an outcome

The first of the techniques for improvising a cliffhanger is to withhold the outcome of a critical PC action or choice.

“Jerenkov hesitates for a moment, realizing how long the pumps and pipes have been left to rot without adequate maintenance, and how catastrophically it could all go horribly wrong, and then reaches out with a steady hand that doesn’t reflect his apprehension and pushes the button to start the abandoned geothermal reactor…”

The GM knows full well that the reactor is going to start up with no problems whatsoever because it’s critical to his plot that the PCs have power to run the systems that are still operational in the hidden base, but the players don’t. According to his planning, they simply push the button and the power systems come on-line, one after another, with no more than a host of warnings and reminders of scheduled maintenance that’s overdue.

By ramping up the drama and anticipation and then leaving it unresolved, withholding the outcome of the action, the GM has created an improvised cliffhanger. All he has to do is write down exactly what he said so that he can repeat the performance at the start of the next session and then continue with the outcome, also elevated in drama a little to maintain the established mood.

The second improv technique: Inserting a dramatic development

“Jannick steps silently along the leafy-strewn path, alert to the possibility of an ambush at any moment. As he reaches the next doorway, he feels the earth shift slightly beneath his foot and hears an ominous click…”

The PC has just stepped on a land mine that didn’t exist until the GM needed a cliffhanger. He could even have prepared the entire piece of narrative in advance with the intention of inserting it at the end of the day’s play, whenever that happened. This is an example of inserting a dramatic development.

Normally, you would (or should) forewarn the players that a minefield was nearby by having them spot a crater, or perhaps a mine whose leafy concealment had blown clear. Or perhaps its a fantasy game and instead of a mine, some other trap has just been activated. By foregoing that warning, you negate any opportunity that the players have of avoiding the problem – a minor bit of railroading of plot for the purposes of drama that is only acceptable if there is a clear solution available to the players affected. That solution then gets offered to the players at the start of the next session, so that triggering the trap has no practical impact on their character’s welfare except to offer warning of the possible existence of more traps.

The other point to note about this example is that the GM raised the drama of the scene with a piece of misdirection (the possibility of ambush) and then redirected the drama at the last moment to the real threat – the trap.

Of course, there will need to be some backstory provided in the next session to justify the existence of the trap at that exact place. Who put it there, why, and who was it intended for? If it was reasonable that the PCs would have been forewarned of the possibility of traps, this backstory also needs to make it clear that the information wasn’t given to them because there was no way that the people briefing the PCs could have known about it.

Finally, the GM needs to have a really clear understanding of any extra-normal sensory abilities of the PCs – it’s no good using this sort of cliffhanger if the PC had the ability to detect the mine before he set foot on it. In other words, the “dramatic development” needs to be crafted to fall within the limitations of those involved. (There is a way around this problem that will be shown by one of the more general techniques that I’ll describe later – I’ll make a point of bringing it to your attention when the time comes).

The third improv technique: Insert a drop-in encounter

“You glare at the opposition and ready your weapons, as do they. One of the blue-skinned barbarians yells something in their untranslatable alien tongue; you aren’t sure of the content, but the tone suggests that it is an insult of some kind. Tension hangs in the air as each of you stares into the eyes of an enemy, and the first mistake will precipitate a general slaughter. Who will blink first? And then there is a whoosh of air from overhead, and a bright light rains down on the battlefield, as a somewhat prissy voice announces, ‘Oh my goodness, no, this won’t do at all!

This is an actual example from my archives; it occurred many, many years ago in my first AD&D campaign. All that my notes indicated was “the PCs encounter a hunting party from the nearby village.”

Everything else was improvised to heighten the drama of the moment, ready for the cliffhanger.

I knew that some tribes make mock charges to demonstrate their manhood – so I inserted that cultural trait into the society of the hunting party in question. The PCs knew nothing of the villager’s society, so they had no forewarning of what to expect; a potential disaster loomed, one that would have completely derailed the adventure, which required the Hunting Party and the PCs to cooperate, as a means of delivering essential briefing information to the players about the situation. I therefore also needed something to derail the potential bloodshed that could easily have resulted from the PCs misinterpreting the actions of the Hunting Party, thanks to the last-minute introduction of that social custom into the mix.

What I did have planned to use as a cliffhanger was an initial encounter between the PCs and the deranged Hologram (my AD&D campaign had a LOT of sci-fi elements in it) who was to be both ally and major villain for the adventure. I had no idea what the substance of that encounter was going to be – I did a lot of improv back then – only that something was going to happen. But improvising the dramatic buildup, then redirecting the tension in an unexpected direction with the appearance of the Hologram, while defusing the hostilities between the two factions, told me exactly how I needed the image to behave.

Of course, if I didn’t need a cliffhanger at that point in play, I would not have introduced that social custom at all; I would have introduced the hunters some other way, such as a bird dropping from the sky and crashing to the ground just in front of the PCs, the unfortunate foul spouting a couple of arrows through its gizzard. Encounter proceeds from there with a lot of gesturing and gibberish, the upshot of which would have been “OUR bird”, or perhaps, “OUR lunch”.

The Seventh tip

These techniques demonstrate my seventh tip: You can improvise a cliffhanger, and there are three ways of doing so – but such improv is even better if it’s prepared in advance!

8. The Mid-battle Muddle

Of course, the cliff-hanger comes to us courtesy of the Pulp-era serials, including such gems as the legendary “Perils Of Pauline” – which, ironically, didn’t actually employ cliffhanger endings.

More often than not, the dangerous situations that form the cliffhanger arise in the course of a battle. And that’s especially problematic for an RPG.

Combat sequences are the most complex situations to interrupt and resume. There are whole bunches of stats that receive temporary adjustments during a fight, such as current hit points, etc. Character’s positions and facings have to be preserved perfectly. There may be spells in mid-cast, spell effects waiting to expire, and all sorts of other complications. Even remembering the immediate goals and ambitions of each and every character and creature on the battlefield is either a pain in the backside or a consumer of vast amounts of time after the game. And that’s a waste of time that could be spent playing – you have to actually end the game early to have enough time to document everything.

Battle may be the natural breeding ground for cliffhangers, but it’s one that should be avoided in RPGs at all costs. Just before combat, or just after, or when something interrupts to bring the combat to a premature end – those are fine. But unless you are VERY sure of the arrangements you have made to preserve the current state of play, apply my final tip:

Cliffhangers and mid-battle scenes don’t mix in RPGs.

So that brings us to the end of my general hints for Cliffhangers. In part 2 of this article, I’ll detail eleven ready-to-implement cliffhanger techniques. And yes, I’ve been told there aren’t really that many. All I can say is that some people will be very surprised. If I can finish it in time, look for it later this week; if not, it will be published by this time next week, all going well.

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On the binding of Wounds – Everyday Healing For Pulp


This is the final part (at least for now) of a series presenting the House Rules that have been introduced into the Pulp Campaign that I co-GM. Today I look at the most recent addition to the rules, relating to the healing of injuries, look at the thinking behind the curtain, and why GMs from other game systems – especially Pathfinder/3.x – should consider incorporating something similar.


Credit where it’s due

As always, Blair Ramage deserves half the credit and half the blame for these rules. This article is partially based on discussions between us, but was written by Mike alone. The sections dealing with applying the principles to other RPGs is also Mike’s solo work.

Damage in the Hero System

The place to start is with a little context.

Damage in the Hero system is divided into two types, Stun and Body. Stun is recovered very quickly and represents shock and the capacity for coherence of thought as much as anything else; use up all your stun, and you are knocked unconscious.

Body damage is physical harm – it can be anything from burns to broken bones to holes being punched in the character by bullets. use up your Body Damage capacity and you are dying; you lose one additional point of body each time you would normally have acted, and when you have lost twice as much as your original Body capacity, you’re dead.

In order to inflict damage, you have to first get through a character’s defenses, which are subdivided into two forms: Physical and Energy. Attacks are classified into these two categories by the nature of the attack, and most are one or the other for simplicity.

Attacks are also divided into two types: Normal and Killing. In normal attacks, damage is rolled on a number of d6s depending on the severity of the attack. The total is the amount of stun – so 3d6 normal inflicts 3-18 points of Stun Damage. At the same time, each dice inflicts 1 point of body damage on a successful attack, -1 if you roll a 1 and +1 if you roll a six on that die when determining the stun damage inflicted. Your defense applies to both body and stun generated in this way.

Killing attacks are nastier. The total that you roll on Nd6 (depending on the severity of the attack) is the amount of Body Damage done, and a Stun Multiplier (usually determined with a separate d6-1 roll) is then applied to that total to determine the amount of Stun that results. Optional and House Rules often impose further variations on that Stun Multiplier, as does an optional Hit Location System (which multiplies the damage done by anywhere from x1/2 to x2). So 3d6 killing will inflict 3 - 18 body damage, possibly more if the hit location optional system is used, and 0 to 90 stun damage, possibly more if the optional system is used. In addition, if using a physical attack like a knife and not a firearm-type attack, the attacker’s Strength adds (or subtracts, if you are puny enough) to the base killing damage done. Furthermore, your defenses only apply to this damage if they have a special attribute applied to represent some form of armor.

Problems with the system

Four glaring problems eventually make themselves obvious to most Hero Games GMs: Killing attacks are either too lethal or not lethal enough; Killing attacks can inflict too much Stun damage; The Stun Multiplier is not granular enough; and Normal attacks are not lethal enough.

Killing Attacks Too Lethal
Other parts of the system permit an attacker to increase the lethality of their killing attacks, but that’s neither here nor there. Let’s look at a fairly typical 3d6 Killing firearm for a second: the average Joe has 10 body. The average shot from such a firearm is going to inflict 10.5 points of body damage. So an average shot puts the character into a dying condition instantly. The average character then has 20 actions to be saved. But if the initial attack did better than average, that twenty-round margin can be quickly eaten into – doing the maximum 18 points of body damage to a 10-body normal person puts them at -8, so they have already lost 8 of that 20-action margin. Three average hits is immediately lethal to the average person, and two average hits gives them only a few seconds – perhaps half-a-minute – to live.

But 3d6 doesn’t leave a lot of room for nuancing the differences between firearms. You can’t reduce the lethality much without making them all the same.

Depending on the genre of game you are running, this can be way too lethal. Of course, most PCs will be superior to the average-Joe Body capacity – but they can still be killed instantly by a single lucky shot.

This effect is due to a systems compromise to make the system more playable. Combat in the hero system is already slow, dividing the effect of a weapon into damage inflicted immediately and damage inflicted over time that might be prevented with appropriate medical treatment would slow it to the point of unplayability.

One solution is to give characters more Body, and that’s the approach that I employed when first creating my superhero rules. One problem with this approach is that this so diminishes the physical damage inflicted by Normal attacks that you may as well not record it. As I’ve said before in other articles, House Rules breed House Rules.

Killing Attacks Not Lethal Enough
As soon as you get into superheroic territory, especially high-end super-heroics, you quickly discover that they suffer from the opposite problem – most Killing attacks simply aren’t lethal enough. The characters are relatively invulnerable, and an arms race soon develops between characters increasing the lethality of their attacks and characters boosting their defenses. But that’s not an issue in a pulp campaign, so I’ll politely ignore that problem within this article.

Killing Attacks do too much Stun
The average Joe is going to have 10 stun. This is absolutely fine when it comes to Normal attacks. But let’s take a typical 3d6 killing attack: 10.5 body, times an average 2.5 stun multiplier, is 26.25 stun, on average. The actual range, as stated earlier is 0-90. So one shot is enough to knock the average person out cold.

The average PC, with a Stun of 15-20, is not really any better off.

One shot and a PC is out of the fight, with a player sitting around twiddling his thumbs.

The problem is infinitely worse in superhero campaigns, because the scale of the attacks increases faster than the typical STUN available.

There are lots of solutions available to this problem. You can increase the amount of Stun people get. You can rule that the character’s defense applies to the stun component of killing attacks. You can lower the variability of the stun multiplier. I employ all these techniques in my supers campaigns. Once again, it’s very easy to get into an arms-race situation, or need to inflate a villain’s capacities beyond something reasonable for their character concept just to make them viable enemies. KOing your villains with one shot is not much of a challenge.

At the same time, it’s easy to go too far.

The Stun Multiplier is not granular enough
If you have a killing attack that inflicts 10 points of body damage, the outcomes from your stun multiplier are 0, 10, 20, 30, 40, or 50. A lot of GMs inadvertently make things worse when using the hit location system by adding the stun multiplier from the hit location to whatever is rolled instead of replacing it – but doing it properly leads to no variation at all.

In a superhero campaign, where an average killing attack might do anywhere from 20 to 50 points (depending on the power scale of the campaign), this problem only gets worse.

One solution that has been employed successfully is to use 1/2 x (d12-1) instead of d6-1. This introduces half-way points – so the 10 points of body damage now has the potential to inflict 0. 5. 10. 15. 20. 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50, or 55 points of stun. This makes the “too much stun from killing attacks” problem marginally worse, but provides a lot more granularity to the system. An even better solution for a pulp campaign is to use 1/2 x (d6-1) for the stun multiplier. This not only gives greater granularity, it solves the too-much-stun problem – the possible outcomes from a 10-body killing attack become 0. 5. 10. 15. 20, 25, 30. And an average result becomes 12.5 stun. If you also permit the “defense reduces stun from killing attacks” house rule, you reach the point where an average gunshot will knock a character out for one round by reducing them to exactly zero Stun, and force them to rest for a few more once they awaken, but won’t take them completely out of the game – and it will take a couple of hits to knock a PC out for a similar time frame.

So many design tweaks
At its root, all these problems result from the fact that the Hero system was designed to facilitate low-level superhero combats. The combat system needs to be tweaked to handle anything outside of those bounds. Batman, Green Arrow, Captain America, Black Widow, Daredevil – these characters work well when being simulated by the system. Even the early X-men and Fantastic Four (as depicted in the comics). Don’t try running Iron Man, or Thor, or Superman without changing the system.

And, to a somewhat lesser extent, the same is true of Pulp campaigns. Killing attacks are too lethal, and inflict too much stun, while normal attacks don’t do enough damage, to correctly simulate the genre.

One advantage of the complexity of the combat system is that there is a lot of capacity to tweak one element or aspect of it independently. You can introduce one primary change and easily manipulate away undesirable side effects from that change. The simpler a combat system, the fewer levers you have to change the settings of.

One disadvantage is that you don’t get one change to the combat system, you get a raft of them at the same time.

The Adventurer’s Club Campaign

Which brings me to the Adventurer’s Club campaign. For the most part, this is run using unmodified combat rules. I would like to introduce the reduced stun multiplier House Rule described above, and permit a character’s defense to reduce Stun from Killing attacks, but that’s a subject for future discussion with my co-GM. For the most part, we employ a more cinematic “go around the table” approach to combat rather than tracking each character’s specific opportunities to act, but in terms of the actual mechanics of hitting a target with an attack and inflicting damage, the rules are pretty much as written.

Healing & Recovery in the Hero System

With two types of damage comes two healing/recovery sub-systems.

STUN is recovered quickly. Characters have a separate stat call Recovery, which is how much Stun they get back in a turn. For the average character, this is 10. Heroes and superheros will have more. What’s more, so long as they aren’t stunned or unconscious, the character can rest for a phase instead of acting, and get an extra recovery. Provided the problem of Killing attacks doing too much stun has been addressed in some way, characters tend to be in an all-or-nothing STUN state – they are either at full capacity or close to it, at worst losing a little over time (provided they can rest when they need to), or they have virtually nothing left and need to rest immediately. Giving up a couple of actions is enough to get them back close to maximum capacity again. The only way to prevent this is to inflict a lot of STUN damage at the same time, in multiple attacks if necessary.

BODY is a different story. You get your Recovery in BODY back in a month. This is doubled if the character is resting in a hospital and receiving appropriate care. So the average person will get one body back every 3 days, while the average PC will get one back every 2 days. If you came very close to death – say to -18 body for a normal person, or perhaps -28 for a heroic PC – you will not get back to full capacity for 84 and 86 days, respectively – halved in a hospital setting. This not only takes you out of the current adventure, it may take you out of several adventures to come. These are quite reasonable results.

Even boosting recovery rates to 1 per day, 2 in a hospital setting, it is still slow enough that running out of BODY to any degree sidelines a character for entirely too long – for a PC. I would argue that in a pulp campaign, the rates should be REC every week or perhaps every 5 days – reducing those time frames from 84 and 86 to 20 and 21 days (7-day recovery) or 14 and 15 (5-day recovery), respectively. Instead of three months, we’re talking either 3 weeks or 2 weeks – and that’s resting at home, not receiving Hospital Treatment. I would even happily argue in favor of PCs and NPC Pulp Heroes & Villains getting the 5-day rate and ordinary people getting the 7-day rate. Or perhaps 7-days and 15-days would be more appropriate, or 10 and 15 – the exact numbers will be specific to each type of campaign and how quickly the GM wants a PC to be back to normal and back on his feet.

(NB: These numbers all assume that the average person has BODY 10 and REC 10, while the average Pulp Hero has BODY 15 and REC 15.)

But there’s something missing from the system: Surgical intervention and repair. Inflicting damage to speed the recovery process. Unless you assume that this is the reason for the more rapid recovery. Do stitches help a cut heal faster? Absolutely – and they also reduce the chance of infection of the wound. Can a surgeon repair internal damage, even if they inflict a little more damage in the process, boosting the recovery rate? Absolutely. Do these skills exist in the Hero System? Absolutely. Do they have any such benefit? Not on your Nelly.

But I’ll come back to that in a moment.

The Psychology of Woundings: Why change the rules?

Players are well aware of their character’s vulnerability to death, and how slow BODY recovery is. Becoming helpless on the battlefield is an open invitation to a quick termination of life-signs, usually with extreme prejudice. So, when a character is reduced to a low amount of remaining BODY, they will want to pull back, or even pull out of the adventure. That’s not especially heroic, and it’s a long way from being Pulp, where the assumption is that you will keep going – which implies the underlying assumption that you CAN keep going.

Take Indiana Jones in Raiders Of The Lost Ark. No matter how badly beat up he is, he is not only able but is willing to keep going.

Take John McClane in Die Hard. He’s like a Terminator – he won’t let anything stop him until he gets the job done.

Both of these roles are very, very Pulp in outlook.

The last thing you want in a Pulp Campaign is a PC deciding the risks are too great to continue. And that requires the players to have confidence that their characters can survive and can contribute – without taking away the risks of death and danger entirely.

Reducing the damage done, as a general principle, reduces the danger, but also reduces the sense of danger within the game (reducing the Stun Damage done is a special case relating to keeping a PC active and able to act instead of sitting at the table unable to do anything). An alternative is needed, and the place to look for it is in the untapped potential of Medicine that I mentioned in the preceding section.

Beyond the Doctor

There are all sorts of medical skills available through the Hero System. None of them are adequately defined in terms of the abilities they confer on the character who has them.

We ended up listing four, and getting specific about what they do, adding in abilities as necessary. Note that one or more PCs within the game had these skills already, and that the Doctor PC within the group had already operated on a character to save his life – requiring us to ad-hoc a game subsystem on the spot.

Types Of Medical Assistance

The four are: First Aid, Paramedic, Professional Skill: Doctor, and Professional Skill: Surgeon. And the only one that the official rules mention and give game mechanics for is Paramedic.

  • “First Aid” is cleaning cuts and abrasions and applying bandages. It may extend to applying stitches to close a wound.
  • “Paramedic” is stabilizing a dying patient and emergency surgery to delay death by applying makeshift repairs. It includes temporary setting of bones, providing blood to offset internal bleeding, and definitely includes applying stitches. It also includes applying anti-venom and such emergency treatments. The official rules lump both First Aid and Paramedic together; we broke them apart again.
  • “Professional Skill: Doctor” is actually specified as a Science Skill in the game system and is useful for diagnosis and treatment with medications only. The Hero System assigns it no practical applications or benefits. We considered the skill to the equivalent of GP training, and gives the character the expertise to do anything that a GP can do that is not explicitly covered under Paramedic, and also permits the permanent setting of simple fractures and so on. Both Doctor and Paramedic permit the application of CPR if that technique has been invented (Modern CPR techniques begin in 1962, but precursors go back as far as 1767 – see The History Of CPR at Wikipedia). Simple surgical procedures are also covered, such as operating to remove an ingrown toenail.
  • “Professional Skill: Surgeon” deals with anything more invasive. We apply a general knowledge as to the state of the art in terms of what can be achieved. In a modern-day campaign, we may require more specific definition, e.g. “Professional Skill: Cardiovascular Surgeon”. As a general rule of thumb, the dividing line between non-specific “surgeon” and a mandatory specialist designation is completely arbitrarily placed somewhere in the 1950s.

One outstanding point of indecision is whether or not paramedic is sufficient to permit successful amputations, or whether that should be a capability of Surgeons. Since an amputation might well mandate the retirement of a PC, we hope never to actually reach the point of having to decide.

In almost all cases, despite the absence of realism in terms of practices and outcomes, we treat medical procedures as they would normally be depicted in television and media.

The Additional Healing Rules

The actual rules we have put in place are:

House Rules for Medical Treatment:

PDF Icon

Click the icon to download the Healing Rules as a PDF

  1. Successful use of Paramedic Skill to stabilize a dying patient may halt the decline in BODY of the patient, restore the character to zero BODY, or do something in-between, at the discretion of the GMs, based on the nature of the injury.
  2. Treatment by a Doctor will restore up to 7 HP per adventure to a character without requiring a skill roll.
  3. Use of a skill roll may restore additional hit points on a successful skill roll but will inflict additional damage on a failed roll:
    • First Aid: 1/2 d6 round up
    • Paramedic: 1/2 d8 round up
    • Medicine/Doctor: 1/2 d10 round up
    • Surgeon: (1/2 d12)+1 round up
  1. Which skill is employed is up to the treating character. A +2 skill bonus will be applied if the skill and corresponding treatment is appropriate to the description and cause of the injury.
  2. Some injuries may be specified by the GMs as requiring treatment with a specific skill or series of Skills e.g. Paramedic to stabilize a patient before surgery can commence. One character can only apply one Healing skill to a patient for one injury other than using Paramedic to stabilize a dying patient.
  3. Skill penalties may be applied for procedures carried out in hostile circumstances, difficult conditions, and/or using inadequate or improvised tools.
  4. Multiple healers may work on a single character, resulting in multiple rolls for additional healing, but a single healer cannot repair more than the 7 BODY per adventure healing to a single character. A single character cannot apply multiple healing rolls from different skills to treat one injury.

    e.g.: Character #1 has Paramedic. Character #2 has Surgeon. Character #3 has taken 12 points of BODY and has 2 BODY remaining.

    Character #1 succeeds in his Paramedic roll and rolls a 6 on the d8, repairing 4 points of damage. He can, on a subsequent occasion within the same adventure, use Paramedic skill again to repair an additional 3 points of damage before reaching the cap of 7 points for the adventure.

    Character #2 succeeds in his Surgeon roll and rolls a 9 on the d12, healing a further 6 points of damage. He can, on a subsequent occasion within the same adventure, use Surgeon skill again to repair an additional 1 point of damage before reaching the cap of 7 points for the adventure.

    Character #3 now has 2 + 4 + 6 = 12 BODY out of his normal total of 14.

These can be downloaded as a PDF by clicking on the icon above.

A Note to players Of The Adventurer’s Club Campaign:

This draws together house rules from several different adventures, and expands slightly on the existing rules, which is why they are a little more extensive than the version furnished in your last adventure. See Below.

Discussion & Notes

The first thing that will be noticed is that these are pretty short and sweet, as House Rules go. They are very simple, and designed to get characters back on their feet quickly. But there are a few subtle nuances that are worth noting.

Rule 1: Up From Zero

This lets us distinguish between serious wounds resulting in internal damage and a succession of smaller wounds that cumulatively have carried a character below the zero BODY threshold, or some combination. If all a character has received is “minor” wounds, stabilization will bring the patient back to zero BODY; if the damage all results from one major wound like a gunshot or impaling, stabilization will simply stop the losses, freezing the character’s BODY at whatever level it had deteriorated to; and if the result is somewhere in between, we can choose to ignore the minor injuries to evaluate what the character’s BODY level is actually restored to.

This means that the healing benefits from Rule 3 aren’t all used up getting the patient back up to zero BODY.

Rule 2: Back On Your Feet, Soldier!

Before you have to start worrying about the fancy stuff like skill rolls, you get to use this quick-and-dirty resuscitation. With some characters who are only moderately injured, this is enough to restore them to full health, but more often it will simply give them enough to get back on their feet, or increase the benefits that can be obtained from more serious intervention. If not still in a combat situation, it can often be better to save this quick “shot in the arm” against later need.

Rules 2 & 3: Delaying The Inevitable

This healing isn’t like “Cure” spells in D&D/Pathfinder. There’s a limit to how much healing one character can get, and a limit to how much healing one character can provide. This delays the danger of death or convalescence, enabling the character to continue in play, but doesn’t remove the danger of death or serious injury, especially if the patient takes foolhardy risks.

Rule 3: The Healing Rates

This is one of the more clever parts of these House Rules. First Aid doesn’t give much healing, and hence will take a long time to reach the 7-point cap. Paramedic does more, and hence will reach the cap more quickly. Doctor is still better – and reaches the cap more quickly as well. Surgeon is the most beneficial skill to apply – but can use up the entire cap in a single stroke. What’s more, all these skills come off a single cap – you can use 4 points from Doctor and 3 points from First Aid and that’s the entire 7 points gone for the adventure, for that character.

Rules 4, 5, and 6: Appropriate Course Of Treatment

Healers are more likely to succeed if they use the correct course of treatment according to the nature of the injury. For certain injuries, the GM can dictate what is needed, or state that a certain skill is not appropriate. This stops people from treating a gunshot with a band-aid and expecting to get any benefit from it. Finally, it isn’t stated explicitly, but it’s a reasonable assumption that the more invasive the course of treatment, the more strictly the GMs will look at adverse circumstances. Applying first aid in a fast-moving vehicle traveling over rough terrain is not as difficult or dangerous as attempting surgery under those conditions.

Rules 5 & 7: Many Hands

Not part of the original rules, but something that has subsequently been identified as needing to be addressed was the subject of multiple characters working together to heal one patient. So one character can use surgeon and another can use something else, but both can’t use surgeon; and one healer can’t use both First Aid and Surgeon to heal the same injury. Each character gets one shot at the healing.

A standard rule permits multiple characters to assist another, giving the assisted character a greater chance of success, so that’s how a surgical team works – one lead surgeon and one or more assistants.

Rule 7: Skill Justification

The final point worth emphasizing is that characters need to justify the skills that they have. It’s easy to get First Aid, just about anyone can take that. It requires professional training to have the Paramedic Skill. Our Spy might be able to justify it, and maybe the Ship Captain; the Priest and Engineer PCs certainly can’t. It takes even more education to become a Doctor, and still more to become a Surgeon. No PC except the Doctor can justify those.

The Captain’s Cook NPC is also the on-board medic, and a specialist in Chinese Medicine; he could justify both Paramedic and Doctor, but not Surgeon, because traditional Chinese medicine is non-invasive. We might let the character have a limited amount of Surgeon though, for the setting of badly-broken bones and the like, with the caveat that they would not heal perfectly.

Sidebar: The Irony Of Application

The first (and so far only) character to have been seriously injured since these rules were introduced was, ironically, the Doctor, who was shot through the hand. We permitted him to assist the character who was treating him sufficiently to protect his ability to perform surgery – stretching the rules – and between prescribing himself a painkiller and antibiotic, and the first aid/paramedic ability of the other character (I forget which was used) he recovered enough to continue in the adventure, and take part in the subsequent battle with the Tong “Ninjas”.

But it’s still ironic. Doctor, Heal Thyself…!

The Clerical Problem: healing in other game systems

Graham McDonald, a player, GM, and Friend who passed away a few years ago – I commemorated his passing in the unexpectedly appropriate Missing In Action: Maintaining a campaign in the face of player absence – could rail for hours about the “Holy Drip-Bottle” as he termed Clerics whose primary party function was to cast Cure spells all day. In a nutshell, the problem is that every other contribution that the class could make is either overshadowed by this ability, or the cleric is thrust into greater prominence than any other character if both aspects of the class are given prominence. The Cleric is supposed to be a Warrior Of God (or of ‘a’ God, or of a Pantheon, however your game world works it) while the Healing role demands the character operate from a protected back line for maximum tactical benefit – i.e. making sure that the Healer is alive to do his job at the end of Combat.

It doesn’t help matters that the Paladin & Blackguard classes frequently intrude into the non-Healing part of the Clerical Domain, further minimizing the Spiritual Guide & Guardian aspects of the class.

This problem existed through all versions of the D&D system and its offshoots until the release of 4e, which – I am told – finally succeeded in addressing it by spreading healing capacities amongst the other characters while limiting the healing that the cleric could provide. Earlier attempts to solve it in Second Edition AD&D and 3.x were only partially successful at best.

The Clerical Straitjacket

To some extent, this problem exists in most game systems – the healer has to be protected for practical reasons, and hence has limited engagement in any other aspect of the game. I’ve seen it in Star Trek The Roleplaying Game, I’ve seen it in Traveller, and I’ve seen it in Paranoia! It isn’t quite as significant in Call Of Cthulhu because the predominant damage form is to Sanity, which isn’t conducive to medical intervention; physical harm is usually a very secondary consideration. And it didn’t matter as much in the Klingons campaign I once played in, because the warrior ethos of the Klingons didn’t place the same emphasis on character healing and survival.

Nor does it impact on my superhero campaigns much, purely because I deliberately introduced a technological means of quick healing – or, more accurately, not only didn’t make it difficult for one of the PCs to come up with the gadget, I deliberately refrained from doing anywhere near as much with the idea plot-wise as I could have. I wanted characters to be able to rely on it, and the long-term benefits of doing so far outweighed any short-term benefits from exploiting flaws in the concept for plot purposes the way I did with just about every other convenience they came up with.

But this “Clerical Straitjacket” is not the only problem to be addressed within the context of the Healing System.

Realism vs Player Confidence

The other major difficulty that persists to some extent in all games is the old one of realism vs playability. Specifically, in order to make a good game, you want the characters to be willing to take chances and say yes to adventure when it knocks on the door. This is at odds with the principle of realistic inflicting of damage and the psychology that it inflicts on players. This is one respect in which you can be realistic or you can be fun, and it’s extraordinarily difficult to be both at the same time.

The result is a continual stress on the GM to get the balance right between these two elements – the potential damage to be done, and the ability of the PCs to heal and recover from it.

There are no universal “right answers” to this conundrum. Most GMs who become aware of the problem consider themselves lucky if there is a temporarily right answer for any one encounter that doesn’t have to be ringed with conditional elements.

As already indicated, solving this issue in the Adventurer’s Club campaign was the direct cause of these House Rules being introduced. And where it works for one, it will work for other genres of campaign.

Applying The Healing Rules To Other Systems

There are benefits and some practical problems involved in applying the Healing Rules to other game systems. Since the skill checks yield a simple succeed-or-fail result, it doesn’t matter what the skill mechanics of the system are, but that’s where the easy answers stop.


Simply spreading the Healing Capacity around to other characters automatically de-emphasizes it for the Spiritual Guide, leaving him free to explore the religious and theological elements of the game world. The tactical problem becomes less significant when other PCs can use their Healing ability to get the Cleric back on his feet. So the system will automatically confer all the benefits to any game system to which it is adapted.

Alternative Anatomy

The first real problem that has to be considered is the application of the technique to alternative anatomies. Aliens and non-human races abound in games – does the one skill cover all? Is Veterinary Medicine more applicable (a dodge that has been used any number of times in Science Fiction). Do you need additional House Rules to cover this situation?

I can think of several forms that such additional rules might take, but none of them are especially compelling. There is no universal “right answer” to the question, and each GM should decide for themselves in their own campaigns, if and when it becomes a problem.

The Inflatable Hit Points Problem

But the biggest problem to be overcome when adapting this system to other game systems is the dichotomy between fixed and inflatable hit point measures. In the Hero System, and many other game systems, the number of hit points that a character has is relatively fixed and won’t change much over the life of a character. In other game systems, increased capacity to absorb damage is a fundamental part of character growth, and poses an additional hurdle to be overcome if the system is to be adapted.

I have two alternatives for consideration, either of which would work with 3.x/Pathfinder/d20 game systems, who are the leading proponents of the Inflatable Hit Points game mechanic structure.

Scaling Recovery: Method 1: Multipliers & Skill-based Caps

The first option is to multiply the Hit Points recovered through these healing methods by 1, +1 for every 2nd character level possessed by the Healer. At level 2, the character heals twice as much as shown for the Hero Games system; at level 4, three times; at level 6, four times; and so on. This means that the capacity for healing is inflating at roughly half the progression in hit points.

The Cap also has to inflate from its initial seven points, and possibly be given a smaller starting value. I would drop the initial level to 3, and then increase it by one for every skill rank devoted to the healing skill in question. Four ranks – possible at 2nd level – would lift it back to 7. Eight ranks – possible at 4th level – takes it up to 11.

This results in a very tight cap, which may be less effective than desired. This is a problem because the increase is linear, while everything else is going up in geometric progression. I would solve this by applying a geometric factor, say x1 +1 for every 3rd level. This means that not only does the cap scale with healing expertise, but the cap also scales with the number of character levels – but at a slower rate than the deliverable healing, requiring the character to keep putting skill points into their healing skill as they advance in levels.

While indexing the cap to skill level results in a degree of realism, it also produces a more complex subsystem. If you wanted to, you could simply multiply the starting cap of 3 by the same factor as you apply to the healing method, or even simply by character level or – restoring the indexing – by total skill rank.

Scaling Recovery: Method 2: Percentage Of Harm and Healer Level-based Caps

The second approach I have to offer is even simpler, in many respects. Multiply the Cap (with an initial value of 3) by the Healer’s Character level or by his total healing skill, and multiply the healing shown by the rolls as given by 5 or 10 and call the result the % of the total hit points inflicted that are recovered.

So, first aid – nominally 1/2 d6 round up according to the rules – becomes 5x(1/2 d6), round up, per cent, or 5d6 per cent respectively, of the hit point damage the patient has suffered.

Setting The Boundaries

In addition to the specific controls incorporated into the system for the GM to use, there is one other that deserves some specific attention: the rather loaded phrase “per adventure”. Exactly what constitutes a discrete adventure? Is it a single game session? Can it be less? Or is it More? Is it every time the GM hands out experience points? Or every time a party returns to home base to replenish their stores?

Every GM will have his own thinking on the subject, and doesn’t have to explain how he reaches his decisions to anyone. However, if he is not at least consistent in his approach, he may face a player rebellion.

We use the term to refer to a single narrative plotline. When our PCs went to China to rescue some archaeologists, there were actually four separate adventures along the way in addition to the main plot. The adventure synopsized in the first part of this series, “Heir To The Throne” (Who murdered M and who would be his successor) has led to an entirely new adventure, “Infernal Gambit”, in which the PCs pursue the Demon responsible into Hell itself.

You may use a different definition. This gives you great control over how frequently the caps refresh.

Other Healing/Damage Variants For PFRPG/3.x:

Of course, this is not the only variant damage system that has been presented here at Campaign Mastery. GMs might also be interested in these entries (excepted from the Blogdex):

  • Too Much Life for The Living: March 2011 Blog Carnival – My second contribution to the March 2011 Blog Carnival asks if Healing is too easy in D&D, which leads to proposing an alternative combat system for 3.x / hPathfinder Based on concepts within the TORG game system. It was quite well received at the time. There are additional suggestions and clarifications in the comments. If you want to make your combats more life-and-death dramatic, this might be worth your time.
  • All Wounds Are Not Alike – Part 1: Alternative Damage rules for 3.x – What are “Hit Points”? I have encountered many different definitions, and each – carried to its logical conclusion – is best exemplified by a different set of house/variant rules for Damage and Healing. Each part of the “All Wounds Are Not Alike” series examines one in detail, from game theory through to implementation and consequences for game play. I didn’t actually gather them as a series because I wanted them to stand alone – you don’t need this article to understand/use the next in the series. This first one defines Hit Points as “a numeric index of the gap between healthy and helpless”. The results are great for bringing a High-Fantasy game back to earth, grounding it in realism. Don’t skip the comments for some perspective on the possible pitfalls.
  • All Wounds Are Not Alike Part 2: Bone-breaking damage for 3.x – The second definition that I consider for the concept of “Hit Points” is “An index of soft-tissue damage” which requires a rules extension to deal with broken bones. The results are interesting, to say the least, and offer lots of potential for new magic items, for differentiating between Paladin laying-on of hands and clerical magic, and for reinventing selected monsters with a slightly tweaked flavor. This option strikes a balance between high- and low-fantasy.
  • All wounds are not alike, part 3a: The Healing Imperative (Now Updated!) – An unmistakably high-fantasy approach, and the first variant offered that I actually use in one of my campaigns. Instead of making the differential between different wound types a function of the character’s total hit point capacity, it distinguishes types of injury by the amount of damage inflicted in a single blow, with thresholds based on the efficacy of Healing Spells. More variants and some really interesting discussion in the comments, which were unusually voluminous for this post – but read them in conjunction with the second half of the article, which was simply too big to finish in time.
  • All wounds are not alike, part 3b: The Healing Imperative (cont) – I finish the unfinished variation – with five sub-variants for users to contemplate. There’s some clarification in the comments.

Genre and Style

The healing rules presented in this article rules work for Pulp because they better facilitate the simulation of a reality that matches the Genre and Style of a Pulp serial, which is essentially part of the action-adventure family. They distance the campaign from “Grim & Gritty” and move it closer to the “non-stop frying-pan-to-fire action” flavor that we are trying to encourage. If that’s the direction you want your campaign to head in, I would urge you to consider adapting them to whatever game system you are using.

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Things That Are Easy, Things That Are Hard

map excerpt

Part of the map of the village of Etrien. Cartography by Stephen Garrett Rusk.

There are lots of things that are hard to do, or at least to do well. This article is about two of them, and a Kickstarter project that looks like a serious attempt to do both to a very high standard.

Challenge The First

The first is low-level adventures.

Many GMs find these difficult to create because the number of options available to characters are restricted, constrained to something closer to what is possible for a realistic individual to achieve.

This restriction makes such adventures very sensitive to the difficulty levels of tasks and opposition, a further constraint on the options available to the GM.

Beginners frequently exceed these limits, especially in cases where some theoretical means of balancing encounters is employed that may be relatively insensitive. In D&D terms, increasing the number of HD of a species by one can have a substantial effect on low-level encounters.

For this reason, many game systems are optimized around relatively low power levels and may break down at higher character levels; an increasing trend in this direction has been evident in all recent versions of D&D.

While the reasons for the phenomenon may not be obvious to GMs, it does manifest in a perception of how much ‘fun’ certain levels of character power are to game or to GM; higher level campaigns can offer too much variety of character response to events, increasing the workload of the GM. Individual perceptions vary, with some GMs suggesting that D&D stops being fun when the characters hit 14th level, others saying 12, and some suggesting 10 or even 8. I have even met one GM who never permits characters to rise above 5th level.

These constraints often result in smaller campaign scope that is more localized in geographic terms, which further eases game prep requirements, but once again exposes GMs to the problem of a campaign with insufficient scope to contain the full scope of their creativity. Some ideas simply will not fit within the constraints very effectively.

Finally, this situation leaves a campaign vulnerable should characters progress in power level at a greater rate than that anticipated by the GM.

Many thousands of words – some of them here at Campaign Mastery – have been directed toward solving or easing these specific difficulties. Few actually consider why the problem arises in the first place.

The Converse Is Also True

Equally, some GMs and campaigns have trouble fitting low-level adventures into their campaigns, because those visions are full of complex cosmological explorations, epic confrontations between cosmic powers, and the like. As I suggested above, low level campaigns can have trouble containing bigger ideas.

The search for simple solutions

In part, these problems arise because players look for simple solutions to large problems. They want to deal with issues directly and move on; single adventures that last a year or more can grow wearing. An effective resolution can be found by breaking larger problems down into more solvable small problems, but these can become tedious if there is insufficient variety in the smaller goals.

The PCs as levers

The most effective solution that I have found is to think of the PCs not as agents of direct change but as levers, capable of setting in motion larger forces. Archimedes reportedly wrote, “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.” This is great adventure and campaign-building advice when applied to low-level characters.

The worst possible solution is to enhance the PCs capacities until they can employ a direct solution to whatever challenge you have put before them. It is too easy to overstep the mark, doling out XP and magic like candy, and then discovering that to challenge the PCs ridiculously-difficult challenges need to be posed. This is the road to Monty Haulism.

The biggest hurdle to be overcome when employing the “lever” solution is to make the players aware of what specifically can be done about a situation and what impact it will have. What forces are available for them to harness, and how can they go about putting them in place. Quite often this takes so much education in the campaign world that by the time they are ready to implement it, they have achieved such growth in individual capabilities that the restrictions no longer apply.

Or the campaign folds through boredom before they get there.

Another effective perspective

Another way to think about low level campaigns is as acorns, small problems that will sprout and grow into huge oaks if not dealt with promptly, decisively, and correctly. “Plant” more of these in the campaign than the players can possibly deal with before such growth is achieved, then tend them lovingly; let unsolved problems influence other events, circumstances, and NPCs within the game as they grow, and be alert for the ramifications and consequences of the solutions employed creating a fertile environment for new acorns to be planted.

The PCs will deal with some of these problems while they are small, and commensurate with the PCs power levels; they can then turn their attention to some medium-level problems and stop them while they are manageable, leaving only one or two full-grown headaches to deal with when their capabilities grow sufficiently. The resolution of each small problem forms the background and climate in which the remaining problems will grow, and shapes the tools that the PCs can direct towards solving them.

And don’t neglect interactions between problems; some of these will help the PCs by slowing or strangling the growth of problems into something unmanageable, while others may accelerate growth, spinning off temporary new problems. An alliance between two enemies is a good example; the players might not be able to deal with both enemies, but they may be able to break up the alliance. Divide and conquer is a perfectly valid technique!

I never pose a problem for the game world without considering “how will this grow? How might it snowball?”

An alternative

The other technique I frequently employ is to have problems seem too small to be significant, then distract the players with larger and more immediate issues while that small problem becomes a much larger one lurking in the shadows.

Challenge The Second

The second difficult thing is providing multiple routes to – if not success for the players, then at least, to a satisfying conclusion to an adventure. Too many problems get posed in campaigns or adventures that only have a single solution. Ideally, you want a way in which conflict can solve the problem, and a way in which diplomacy can solve the problem, and a way in which stealth and subterfuge can solve the problem, and so on.

More often, though, there is nothing that the GM needs to specifically do to enable multiple solutions to a given problem. Instead, there are things that the GM should NOT do that stifle alternatives. The biggest of these is becoming so attached to the first solution that comes to mind, or that the GM has deliberately built into the adventure, that he actively blocks alternatives.

My technique is always to ensure that there is at least one solution to the problem, on the assumption that where there is one, there will be many alternatives and variations. I document that solution in case the PCs need a hint, but do not actively promote it unless they are completely baffled.

I then let the players find their own solutions. If there is a flaw in their logic, I make sure to bring that to their attention if they are reasonably able to spot it or if their solution locks them into their intended approach – not to rule their solution out, but to pose the flaw as a sub-problem that needs solution along the way. Sometimes, they will decide that this hurdle cannot be cleared, or (more often) that it can’t be done with sufficient certainty, in a short enough time, and will start looking for a different answer; that’s up to them. It’s absolutely critical to be encouraging and supportive, especially if they don’t see an immediate solution. Let the adventure proceed organically in response to PC choices, making darned sure that they know it if an action will rule out other possible solutions before they commit themselves.

There have been times when I have wanted to pose a seemingly-insoluble problem, and this is something that is much harder to do. The best approach is to prevent the PCs accessing a key piece of information until the GM wants them to have it. This is sometimes necessary to prevent problems being anticlimactic. But that alone doesn’t always work; players can always make educated or lucky guesses and assumptions, and sometimes we GMs are more transparent than we want to be. It is always preferable to have an NPC or circumstance actively feed the PCs misinformation that contradicts that key piece of information. It’s not enough not to tell the players something important; you need to find a way for them to get false information so that they don’t perceive the gap in their information and speculate about it. The revelation of the falsehood then becomes the critical first step along the path to resolution of the seemingly-impossible problem.

Without Cheating

But this is all a cheat, a way to permit multiple solutions to problems without actively constructing them with those solutions built-in. That last is much more difficult to achieve, and I salute anyone who successfully does so.

The Book of Terniel

The Book of Terniel, from The City Of Brass, aka Embers Design Studios, is an attempt to do all both of these things, and to do them well, and they might just pull it off – and on a shoestring budget.

This adventure for first-level Pathfinder characters was launched with an initial funding target of just US$500, a target that was achieved on just the third day of their campaign, As I write this, there are still 21 days to go, and they have just cleared the first of their stretch goals, while the adventure itself is close to, or has just, completed its second playtest.

This, to me, is a sure bet. The product exists, it’s just a question of what goodies come with it.

This project has three major sources of appeal to me, and I think it will hold the same appeal to a lot of my readers, too:

character excerpt

A reduced-size image for The Book of Terniel. Art by Monica Marie Doss.

Appeal The First: Resources

You can never tell when a published resource will plug into some gap in your own adventures, and this is offering resources by the bucket-load. There’s the village of Etrien, a region map of Etrien, Old Abandoned Mines, a habitat for Giants called Morrow Home, the ruined city of Solastrace, a new sentient species, the Moguren (living, sentient mushrooms), and a race write up for the sahuagin which will hopefully add some much-needed color to a species that I’ve never really been able to get my head around. Throw in some lovely illustrations and you have something that is absolutely chock-a-block with goodies and inspiration for your game.

Look through the stretch goals, and guess what you’ll find: More and More resources!

Appeal The Second: Techniques

Not only is the adventure being written for low-level characters, it has been, or will have been, playtested at least twice. And the adventure promises to permit PCs to choose between stealth, diplomacy, or conflict, or some blend of these three choices, to bring the story to a conclusion. Since this is something that is very hard to do, let alone do well, potential observations of technique that can be applied to other adventures has a definite appeal level.

But, on top of that, you have the promise of a display of techniques of characterization that might alone be worth the price of purchase: “Effort has been made at every stage to bring the characters and locations to life – from the hobgoblin warlord that makes pottery, to the slug farms deep in the Fetid Bog, to the friendly druid who is almost never at home as she’s out blessing farm fields.” And, of course, these characters are all still more resources for you to use!

reduced-size image of the mines

A reduced-size image for The Book of Terniel. Art by Stephen Garrett Rusk.

Appeal The Third: Creative Commons Philosophy

Finally, as an ardent supporter of both the OGL and Creative Commons, there is a certain level of desire to support the philosophic principle of offering all this material in a way that makes the content accessible to the public.

Quite frankly, I would like to see this project succeed on a huge scale not only because the stretch goals are themselves appealing, but because I think this is the sort of thing we, as consumers of gaming product, should be encouraging. And, as the Australian saying goes, “Money talks, Bull**** walks”.

Bonus Appeal: Nice Guy!

Another point worth considering is that Lucas, one half of the driving force behind Embers and The City Of Brass, is a nice guy who thinks of his customers first, gaming itself a close second, and personal profits a distant third or fourth. I can’t speak to the other half of the equation, who Lucas describes on the Embers/City Of Brass website as having “something like a tinfoil hat that he wears”, but these are the sort of people we want to encourage to participate in the gaming industry for many years to come.

reduced-size image of the ruined city

A reduced-size image for The Book of Terniel. Art by Monica Marie Doss.

Some final pros and cons

There are a limited number of discounted packages for early supporters (9 left as I write this). There are opportunities for participation in the development of still more extras ($25 level), or of advertising your own business or product ($50 level). But the basic level that gets you the adventure and everything I’ve listed above is a mere US$10.

If there’s one thing that I’d like to see done differently, it would be for the $5000 stretch goal to be broken into two or three smaller stretch goals – there’s too big a jump from the $3000 stretch goal, which itself could be broken into a couple of smaller stretch goals. That’s the harshest criticism and “con” that I can find; once past the $1500 mark, which they are currently working towards, there’s a long stretch without a lot of short-term encouragement for supporters.

Of course, I’d really love to see the project hit the $10K stretch goal – two additional cities!! But kicktraq is forecasting an eventual funding level of about $3600 give or take about $1200 – so unless it gets a lot more support, at best, they will fall just short of getting half-way to a success story on that scale.

Let’s see what we can do about getting them over that $10K line! Back This Project for the goodies and the principles, if for nothing else!

To back the project or find out more, click on any of the images in this article!

And, speaking of things that are hard: I’ve recently enabled a plug-in option that promises to make Campaign Mastery more mobile-friendly – and had reports back that it does what’s promised, without having compromised any of the features and utility that I rely on!

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‘I Can Do That’ – Everyman Skills For Pulp


This is part 3 of a series presenting the various House Rules that have been introduced into the Pulp Campaign that I co-GM.

Today I’m presenting everyman skill rules that were developed for the campaign, and long overdue, too.

Although designed for a Pulp Campaign built with the Hero System, the principles apply to almost any RPG.


Credit where it’s due

As always, Blair Ramage deserves half the credit, and half the blame, for these rules. This article is partially based on discussions between us, but was written by Mike alone. The sections dealing with applying the principles to other RPGs was also Mike’s solo work.

What are everyman skills?

Everyman Skills are a very useful idea introduced a long time ago within the Hero System. These are skills that characters get for free because they are considered to be received simply by living in the society of the campaign setting. For reasons Blair and I don’t understand, and that are not explained in the sourcebook, Everyman Skills were dropped from the Pulp Hero rules. We decided to put them back.

By definition, these are skills that the character gets for free, and that means that for the most part, they should not confer the same level of ability as the character would receive if they had expended character creation points on the skill.

Hero System skills in a nutshell

One character point gets a character 8/- (eight or less) in a skill. That means that a character who rolls eight or less on 3d6 succeeds in a task.

A higher price (usually 3 points, sometimes 2 and sometimes 4) gets a character 9+(STAT/5) in a skill, where the stat is defined for each skill as part of that skill’s description. Fractions are rounded in the character’s favor. A character with a DEX of 14, for example, gets 11.8 or less, which is rounded to 12/-.

Where the skill costs 3 or more character points, and where the full skill level is higher than 11/-, characters can spend one point less than the full price to get an 11/- intermediate skill.

Characters can improve their skill rolls by +1 for additional skill point expenditure, usually 2 points, sometimes 1.

The Everyman Pulp Skills

Now that we’ve established some context, the following are the list of Skills that we have introduced into the Pulp Campaign:

  1. Area Knowledge: Home Country 14/-
  2. Area Knowledge: New York City 8/-
  3. Cultural Familiarity: Home Country 14/-
  4. Cultural Familiarity: Past Major Employers 11/-
  5. Cultural Familiarity: Adventurer’s Club 8/-
  6. Acting 6/-
  7. Climbing 6/-
  8. Concealment 6/-
  9. Conversation 6/-
  10. Deduction 6/-
  11. Persuasion 6/-
  12. Native Language
  13. English (if not native language)
  14. Professional Skill: Past Occupation 6/-

Definitions & Additional Rules

Some of these skills had additional rules attached, and I assume that anyone not familiar with the Hero System will need some explanation of what the skills do:

  1. Area Knowledge – Home Country: Answers questions such as, Where are the major cities? What’s the capital? What are the major geographic features? Which countries does your home country border?
  2. Area Knowledge: New York City: Requires 3 weeks or more non-continuous time spent in New York City, which is the location in which the Adventurer’s Club is based. Answers questions such as where the major landmarks are, where are the central railway stations, and so on.
  3. Cultural Familiarity: Home Country: What’s the lifestyle that you’re used to? What’s the national drink, the national cuisine, how much do things cost, what’s the currency, who’s in charge, what are the popular sports, who are the national heroes, etc.
  4. Cultural Familiarity: Past Major Employers: This covers what the employer does, and their normal procedures for doing it, where the major branches are, who your immediate superiors and subordinates were, and so on.
  5. Cultural Familiarity: Adventurer’s Club: Requires 3 weeks or more non-continuous time spent at the Adventurer’s Club at least part of the day. Who works there, what do they do, who’s in charge, what facilities does the club have, how do you arrange to use them, and so on.
  6. Acting: bare minimum ability to attempt to pretend to be someone else.
  7. Climbing: lets you climb a ladder under favorable conditions without a skill check. Gives you a chance to do something else. Don’t bother trying to climb cliffs or anything else even reasonably difficult.
  8. Concealment: bare minimum ability to hide something in the palm of your hand, crouch down behind a curtain or piece of furniture, or put an object somewhere that is not immediately obvious to a casual glance.
  9. Conversation: bare minimum ability to steer a conversation in the direction you want it to go, usually very clumsily and obviously.
  10. Deduction: bare minimum to put two and two together and get four, metaphorically speaking. Doesn’t extend so far as permitting the character to deduce anything strictly hypothetical or that starts, “just suppose” – you are too busy doing the supposing to figure out what it might mean.
  11. Persuasion: bare minimum to talk someone into doing something they are at least somewhat inclined to do anyway. Don’t try and sooth ruffled feathers or troubled waters, you aren’t persuasive enough for that.
  12. Native Language: You get to speak this “as a native”.
  13. English (if not native language): You get to speak this with a thick accent and without ideograms. For anything better, you’ll need to actually pay for the language.
  14. Professional Skill: Past Occupation: Gives you everything you needed to know in order to do that job – to a bare minimum standard of ineptness. Anything more and you should pay points for this.
Skills In General

Skills can generally be said to fall into one of two categories: Knowing things, or doing things. Knowing things usually implies any foundation knowledge to at least the same extent as the knowledge skill – i.e. engineering includes knowledge of maths and basic material properties.

Applying the concept to other systems

When I was creating the House Rules for my Shards Of Divinity campaign, I very deliberately wanted to incorporate the concept of Everyman Skills. The approach was a little different to that above in that what I was giving players was a subset of a skill that was relevant to their character’s personal experience. I’m not going to go into too much detail, I’ll save that for another article some other time (it’s way too big), but will offer an example.

A Dwarf might not have the slightest clue about the architecture of other races, or even the general principles of architecture, but he would still know the basics of Dwarfish construction. I’m not an architect and haven’t studied the subject, but I still know the basics of typical Australian construction: a load-bearing frame, usually of wood or steel, anchored by a foundation, usually of concrete, medium-angle roofs (say, 30° to 45°). Until the 70s, roofs were usually made of galvanized iron, these days terracotta tile roofs are more common. Windows tend to be large and plentiful to encourage air circulation because of the heat of the Australian Summer. Most are built about a foot off the ground to permit circulation beneath the home for additional cooling, more in the tropical regions. Walls used to be predominantly fibro or brick; sheds and outbuildings often had galvanized iron walls, but these can get very hot. These days, brick is the material of choice, but concrete is becoming more popular.

I didn’t need to be educated to know these things, I just had to grow up here. Simple observation did the rest. At first, I didn’t know the reasons for these building choices; slowly (by looking at the construction of homes elsewhere) I began to grasp the relationship between climatic conditions and practical design.

I doubt there are any U.S. Citizens who don’t know that Washington D.C. is their nation’s capital, even if some of them unfortunately have trouble finding it on a map. They are also likely to recognize the Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, Mount Rushmore, Hollywood Sign, and Capital Building without drama. They know where to buy coffee, newspapers, fresh bread, etc, in their local regions, and will have some idea (for the most part) how much they cost. In fact, politicians not knowing the price of milk and eggs has become synonymous with being out-of-touch with the ordinary person – the implicit assumption being that everyone should know these things.

I know basic things about Australian Society and the Australian Economy and how to find a Doctor and so on, just from having lived here all my life. I might not know where every train station is on the suburban network, but I know where the major ones are and which rail lines they connect to. I know we drive on the left-hand side of the road, and that we have a dollar of 100 cents, and so on.

Quantifying is defining levels of ignorance

By specifying that characters have a certain level of skill in these sub-fields, even if they haven’t bought the full skill (and the understanding, experience, and expertise that comes with it), I not only defined what characters knew, I explicitly defined what they did not know without having studied the subject.

The Concordance Principle

All that is need to make this approach really useful is a concordance principle. How similar is Dwarven Architecture from that of Gnomes, or of Halflings, of Humans, of Elves? Defining the degree of difference between these in terms of a skill modifier and cross-listing against the basic DC of the task or question gives a modifier to the DC describing how relevant the character’s basic knowledge is to the question at hand. Some basic principles will remain essentially the same, so this modifier would be +0 DC for very simple questions, but the more advanced the question, the less relevant that basic expertise will be.

Being a dwarf won’t help very much when it comes to understanding Elven Lintels. Knowing what the most common Gnomish recipes are won’t help much when attempting to identify Elvish Honey-cakes, let alone whether or not the milk had turned before they were cooked, or Human Oxtail Soup. If you see “Bear Claws” on a menu, are they a pastry item or is the name meant literally? If you’ve never heard of “Meso” before, how do you know it’s even edible?

In this year’s Masterchef, one of the cooks made the mistake of using tomato flowers as a garnish on his dish because they looked pretty, not realizing that tomatoes are part of the Deadly Nightshade family and the flowers are quite poisonous. Plants don’t grow fruit for our benefit, they do so to distribute their seeds and make more of themselves. Using that fruit on a mass scale for our own nutritional and culinary benefit is down to our own ingenuity. (Actually, many cases involve the fruit being deliberately enticing for consumption, so that animals will eat the fruit (swallowing the seeds in the process and excreting them some distance from the original source). Other species use the edible component as a nutritional head-start for the developing young – the egg approach.

Everyman Wrap-up

Everyman skills give characters the game mechanics to describe and quantify the things that any reasonable GM would consider that a character already had. Some might stem from innate instinct or ability, some from divine gift, some from the culture, and some from practical experience. Defining everyman skills and determining why that skill is an everyman skill for the race, class, and society to which the character belongs defines and quantifies the building blocks of both the character and those world elements that have created them. Your campaign background and game world stop being just words on a page and start making a quantifiable difference to the characters, and hence to the players.

Everyman skills bring the game environment to life. Everybody wins from doing that successfully.

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Stormy Weather – making unpleasant conditions player-palatable

125 Village in blizzard_sm

Following the publication last week of the rules on Windchill and other weather-based environmental effects, I was asked a very profound question by Rob, one of several GMs that I associate with on Twitter:

Any tips on the drama side, Mike? My players have always felt a bit meh about weather – deadly but dull as they put it.

This question, and conversations on the subject with others such as John Kahane, give me the impression that a lot of GMs have similar problems. And I think they all stem from one primary mistake that many of them are making.

A supporting character

The mistake made is a natural one, in a lot of respects. People make bad weather the star of the show instead of a member of the supporting cast.

It might seem a trivial difference between having an encounter in which the weather is the dominant factor while the creature encountered is the icing on the encounter cake, and having one in which the creature is the point and the weather simply accentuates and enhances the danger posed by that creature, but – as I said at the start of the article – it is a profound difference.

“But weather can be dangerous enough on its own”

Yes, it can be. People die in winters, people lose fingers and toes to frostbite. You can be struck by lightning, struck by flying debris hurled by the wind, blinded by light reflecting on the snow, drowned by floodwaters, hurled into the sky by a tornado.

But its not something that the PCs can fight. Always, at the heart of any game, is the question of what the PCs are supposed to do about the situation that they currently face.

There are some climatological phenomena that characters can do something about, even if that something is simply enabling themselves or others to survive, and I’ve been working on an article dealing with those very phenomena. Things like floods and hurricanes. So let’s set those aside for the moment, beyond simply noting that what characters are dealing with are not the phenomena themselves, but with the effects and impacts that they present.

That leaves weather events like extreme cold and extreme heat; storms, heavy rain, snowfalls, and the like.

The first two are environmental conditions, and the others are events. There are obvious differences between them, so let’s consider them separately.

Weather Events

Storms, Heavy Rain, Snowfalls and the like are singular weather events. There’s not much that characters can do about them except take cover from their effects, and that’s not exactly the stuff of adventure. But what if we downplay their potential intensity just a bit, take these events off center stage and simply use them as a backdrop to some other event? What if we treat these weather events as though they were Weather Conditions?

Weather Conditions

Extreme heat and cold can be lethal. But there isn’t much that characters can do about them except hole up. Sounds familiar? It should.

But at times where the weather conditions are less extreme, the characters can be hindered by the conditions and yet still active. That’s what I mean when I say that weather conditions should form a background against which some other events occur, and that the weather conditions should be a supporting character in the story and not the star of the show,

Using Weather

By considering weather effects as environmental factors that hinder or help the characters, they assume an entirely different significance within adventures. The central focus is no longer something that the characters can do nothing about, but instead becomes a means by which GMs can raise or lower the difficulty levels of encounters and tasks. The closer these weather effects come to the spotlight, the more difficult it becomes for characters to deal with anything other than the weather effects themselves.

There are three broad categories of impact on characters by weather events: Perception, Manipulation, and, Damage Capacity.

Perception Effects

Perception effects are things like heat haze, fog, and so on. They alter a character’s ability to perceive the world around them. Rain and snow also have perception effects. These have minimal effect at close range, and grow in significance as range increases, so they isolate characters from awareness of the environment around them. Sandstorms are particularly dangerous because they can damage the eyes themselves, inflicting permanent harm on a character’s perceptual capacities.

In effect, perception effects mean that characters remain unaware of objects and creatures within their environment until they are closer to them than would be the case in less hostile conditions. Creatures which may be better adapted to the environmental effects will be less affected, and so may become aware of characters long before the characters are aware of the creatures.

Adding to this under most circumstances are the natural propensities for creatures to have camouflaging hides or fur. In a snow environment, survival favors white furs for the combination of warmth and camouflage, and so on.

Perception effects can also pose navigational difficulties, taking characters to places where they would not necessarily have chosen to go. This is especially true of heat haze, because it can lead characters away from life-saving water sources, but tropical monsoonal rains and winter snowstorms can also make navigation far more difficult.

Finally, perception problems can make fine manipulation more difficult. The next time you experienced some moderate to strong winds, take a single sheet of newspaper, go out into the wind, and try to read it! Earth and soil color differences become far less noticeable when the ground becomes wet. In particular, it becomes very hard to see the difference between disturbed soil and natural – a decided disadvantage when something may lurk beneath that soil awaiting prey. It’s entirely possible to mistranslate an inscription that can barely be perceived because driving rain or snow as “my hovercraft is full of eels” when it is in fact saying something along the lines of “abandon hope, all ye who enter here” or “beware the jabberwock”.

Manipulation Effects

Heat can make fingers slippery with sweat. Cold can make fingers numb and unresponsive. Wind can push walking characters off course, or simply make it almost impossible to go in the direction they want – search youTube for “morons walking in a hurricane” or “A Guy Walks Against Extremely Strong Winds” for visual proof (or just click on the links).

These same effects can make it harder to attack enemies, especially with ranged weapons. It follows that any enemy that PCs prefer to deal with at a distance is advantaged by climatic effects.

It is important to apply the same hindrances to the enemy, though they may not be affected to the same degree. It is even more important to be seen to do so by the players.

For any given weather condition(s) there will be some creatures who are advantaged relative to the PCs and some who are disadvantaged, in comparison to a moderate-conditions conflict between the two. This enables the GM to utilize a far broader spectrum of opposition whilst maintaining something close to parity with the capabilities of the PCs. He can take creatures who would normally pose little threat and make them dangerous; take moderately-dangerous creatures and make them deadly opponents; or take devastating opponents and make them only very dangerous.

But fine manipulation means so many more things – everything from taking armor or clothing off or putting it on, to disarming traps, to configuring controls, to simply picking something up (or dropping it in the first place). When we’re talking any campaign with magic in it (or some superpowers, come to think of it) the GM has to make a decision about whether or not manual spell components require finger-wiggling or is it enough to wave the arms? Or drawing a precise arcane symbol in the ground? Or measuring a specific number of drops of liquid? In extreme cold (and ignoring the possibility that the liquid has frozen!), all of these might be subject to manipulation problems. Have you ever tried undoing a frozen knot? While wearing thick or heavy gloves?

Damage Capacity Effects

Extreme weather effects can impact combat in a second way – inflicting direct damage and thereby effectively reducing a character’s capacity for absorbing damage. When coupled with the other effects described, the environment can be a pervasive factor in any encounter, critically impacting the PCs capabilities.

The goal is to never impact the characters so severely that they cannot function; it is to constrain and contain their abilities.

Secondary Encounters

Other encounters that would be trivial events in more clement weather might assume new significance under certain conditions. Instead of merely fording a stream, characters might need to construct a temporary bridge – with cold-numbed fingers. This effectively turns the stream into a secondary encounter; the characters can keep trying until they get it right, but that holds them in place long enough for enemy critters (or actual enemies) to catch up with them.

These encounters require some planning on the part of the GM; if a character is in danger of putting his foot into a frigid watercourse, the GM should have means at hand to prevent the character from losing his foot to frostbite. Survival advice should be delivered to the PCs by someone who knows the conditions long before it is actually needed.

Zip icon

Click to download a zip file (412Kb) containing the adventure documents in pdf format.

zip icon

Click to download a zip file (1.4Mb) containing the overall map and chart of blizzard durations described.

An example, in conclusion

I’m attaching a copy of “Worse Than The Disease”, the actual adventure from the Adventurer’s Club campaign for which last week’s climate effect rules were written.

I should probably state up-front that the native names, myths, ceremonies, rituals, and theology are completely fictitious and bear no intentional resemblance to anything or anyone in the real world. We felt it less disrespectful to invent something than to distort and manipulate real beliefs to suit our plot needs. No offence is intended toward anyone.

It won’t be completely satisfying to read, because it is completely unedited – exactly as we wrote it – and I can’t provide most of the 211 images used to illustrate the adventure for two reasons:

  • Most of them are copyrighted; and
  • They total 250.4 Mb! There are 211 of them, all high-resolution…

In fact, I have hand-picked just two: an overall map of the route (showing the with the alternatives), and a chart showing statistics on blizzard durations. In addition, I was able to use one that I had photoshopped the heck out of (adding blizzard weather effects) and shrinking it down to illustrate this article. (For the record, it’s Pic #125, “Village In Blizzard”.

The documents zip contains four PDFs: The adventure itself; the notes to be given to various players at the times indicated in the adventure; a possible family history for one of the characters that factors into an early phase of the adventure; and some medical reference for that character so that the player would know what the character knew about medical treatment and possible conditions that might arise in the course of the adventure. And, BTW, the player loved the proposed family background, and accepted it pretty much whole.

This adventure illustrates a number of principles. We make sure to tell the players and the characters the things they need to know, before they need to know it. We provided a couple of expert NPCs – and then had them disagreeing with each other at key points, leaving the PCs to make the key decisions. Both players and characters had the opportunity to try necessary skills out before things became critical. And, dangerous as the weather was, it was the creatures encountered that took center stage, especially the Tongark…

One final piece of advice

To conclude this article, I have some final advice. Avoid weather clichés like the plague – except when they are the last things the players are expecting, or when you can otherwise turn them to your advantage.

Unexpected Clichés

“It was a dark and stormy night…” Boooorrring! Don’t do it – except when a storm is completely unexpected. Out in the desert sometime, when the last thing the players are expecting is a storm – that’s the time to have one (a dry one, possibly) blow up, shifting tons of sand, half-buying tents, thunder and lightning, the whole nine yards. Maybe have one tent (unoccupied) uprooted by the wind and lost over the horizon, never to be seen again. And around mid-morning of the next day, the PCs discover that the storm has uncovered a long-lost temple, or monument, or something…

When It Works For You

The only other time I would employ such a cliché was when the mere fact that it is a cliché works in favor of the plot. Someone’s going to a great deal of trouble to make an old house seem haunted? As soon as the PCs show up, the night will be a dark and stormy one, and around midnight, the power will go out… the cliché helps support the “haunted house” effect simply because it is such a cliché and you have made it obvious that you aren’t going to use clichés without justification. The more strongly you have resisted temptation in the past, the more mileage you will get out of the cliché when the time comes.

Through The Looking Glass

All right, so there’s one more occasion when I might employ a cliché such as “dark and stormy night”, and that’s when it’s a metaphor for a completely different phenomenon. A passing temporal tornado momentarily fragments time so that past, present, and future are (temporarily) all jumbled up? At the end of such an adventure, I might use the phrase, as in, “It was a dark and stormy night, but all nights have to end eventually. By holding together, you have managed to weather the storm, and as the first light of dawn breaks over the bruised and battered skyline, you realize that today is a new day, full of promise, and hope, and opportunities. As you wearily stand down and head for your beds, you wonder what that new day will bring – and how long it will let you sleep before some new emergency comes knocking on your door.”

The Wrap-up

I’ve kept this article short because, with the PDFs, you’ll have quite a lot to read.

Weather is an environmental tool that the GM should use to provide variety and challenge. It should never be center stage, but when it is on-stage, it should be as fundamentally a part of events as the stage lighting. Use it that way and it becomes your friend and ally, and your players will never go “meh” about the weather again.

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A strong wind blows: Environmental effects for RPGs


This is part 2 of a series presenting the various House Rules that have been introduced into the Pulp Campaign that I co-GM. Today I’m presenting some cold, heat, wind-chill, and altitude tables that were developed for the campaign in preparation for a midwinter race against time in the Frozen Wilds of Western Canada.

Although designed for a Pulp Campaign built with the Hero System, the rules and tables are easily adaptable to any RPG.


Credit where credit’s due

As always, Blair Ramage deserves half the credit, and half the blame, for these rules. This article is largely based on discussions between us, but was written by Mike alone. Note that the rules writeup was also done by Mike alone, after the general principles, approach, and draft rules were approved (and revised) in collaboration with Blair.


Cold and wind-chill are some of the most dangerous conditions that characters can encounter, because they trigger automatic survival responses in human physiology that make every task undertaken – even those essential to continued survival – more difficult. Adding these effects to any encounter vastly increases the danger posed by that encounter. Added to that are the psychological effects of knowing that things are harder, which should create an air of desperation to every such encounter.

And yet, every version of this sort of thing that I have seen falls short of what is necessary to actually trigger the psychological effects involved, never mind accurately reflecting the dangers posed. Frostburn, the D&D 3.0 supplement, is one of the best, but it’s not the most user-friendly system to wrap your head around.

We wanted a system that was simpler to use, but that nevertheless created the atmosphere of acute danger desired, and was a little more robust in terms of the real world. So that’s what we created.


Frostburn was the initial template, but we actually started by researching wind-chill. The actual goal was to have a table that gave us the effective temperature loss due to wind of different speeds, but we quickly found that the real-world situation was more complicated than that.

The tables already present in Champions 6th Edition were intended to be our foundatio°ns, but didn’t go far enough for our needs. So these became our second template.

Researching the subject involved gathering information from multiple sources of impeccable credibility and then trying to resolve them after we discovered that there is no consensus on the subject. Australian meteorology uses a different formula to American meteorology, for example; the US version doesn’t take into account atmospheric humidity.

The more we dug into it, the broader the subject became. We decided early on to cover high temperatures as well as cold and to make the system more universal. We also decided to extend it to cover wind speeds and temperatures that were way in excess of those that might reasonably be encountered in real life – this was for use in Pulp campaigns, possibly in superhero campaigns, and even in Fantasy campaigns, and in all three cases, larger-than-life possibilities needed to be accounted for. It’s fair to say that none of the tables went far enough for game needs.

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The Rules

So what’s in the rules?

  • Wind-chill by Air Temperature and wind speed.
  • Altitude effects
  • Humidity effects
  • Perceived Temperature & danger level
  • Game Effects:
    • Low Pressure
    • Rain/Snow
    • Extreme Cold & Heat
    • Wind Velocity
  • The STR table (for easy reference)*

* yes, this is the same one that I presented in part one of this series.

The following is a snapshot and discussion of each of these rules sections.

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Wind-chill by Air Temperature and wind speed

This is what we were initially after. Presented in two forms (one in °F, and one in °C) showing quite different information, because we weren’t sure which one would end up being most useful. As it happened, we used the °C version, but kept the °F version because it gave the frostbite times; it has no other value within the rules.

What’s missing is a table converting from °C to °F and vice-versa. Darn it. So I went looking for one to link to, and guess what? None of them go far enough. So I made one, just for our readers. You can find it to the right. You might see holes and gaps in the entries – that’s because I only converted the specific values that show up on the tables in the rules.

Using this section is fairly straightforward: you decide what the air temperature is, decide what the wind speed is, and look up the values on the tables. An Air Temperature of 5°F (-15°C) and a wind speed of 25mph (40 km/h) gives an effective temperature of -17°F (-27°C) according to the top table, which shows that characters are just out of the temperature range for Frostbite.

Note that we aren’t talking about the sort of Frostbite that gives rosy cheeks and a little discomfort; we’re talking loss of fingers, toes, noses, ears, perhaps even more substantial portions of limbs. Dangerous levels of Frostbite.

According to the lower table, the effective temperature is -27°C, which tracks with the upper table – something that’s not always the case – and rates the wind-chill-adjusted temperature as “Cold” (Blue zone), ie in the -25° to -45°C range.

Altitude effects

Temperatures also drop with altitude. I have given these in meters, and have not provided conversions, because most maps give altitudes in metric these days if not both ways.

The values determined in the previous step are sea-level values; at the top of, say, Mount Jumbo in Missoula, Montana, an altitude of 1453m (4768′), effects would be rather more pronounced. That’s a further change in temperature of between -10.1 and -10.8°C – call it -10°C for convenience. Note that you can’t look up this number to get a conversion to °F right away – you have to look up the total. Ten degrees colder than -27°C is -37°C, which the conversions table gives as -35°F. With that added altitude, we have an effective temperature change of 40°F due to altitude and wind.

Going back to the first table, locating the wind speed line and tracking across finds no entry for -35°F; -31° is in the 30-minute Frostbite Zone and -37° is in the 10-minute Frostbite Zone. Going up the column from the -37°F entry shows a -35° entry in the 30-minute zone, so conditions are right on the cusp of the 10-minute zone but aren’t quite that severe yet.

The table on the right is provided for convenience – it shows the altitudes at which a specific temperature drop occurs. This is very useful when characters are climbing mountains, especially when combined with the boundaries (eg the Frostbite indicator) on the other tables.

Humidity effects

This section shows how to correct the wind-chill adjusted temperature for humidity. There’s no value stated for -37°C, but at -35, we’re talking -2°C for every 5% humidity, so that’s close enough. If the conditions that the PCs were experiencing were, say, 40% humidity, that’s another -8°C onto the effective temperature, so we find ourselves at -45°C (-43°F). This is quite enough to shift table one’s readings solidly into the ten-minute zone, and only 5°F removed from the 5-minute zone.

It would not take much additional humidity to bridge that 5° gap – 15%, for a total of 55%, would be enough.

Perceived Temperature & danger level

Comparing the resulting effective temperature of -45°C (starting with the original wind-chill adjustment (15°C and 40km/h) and moving across the table to the right) puts us right on the edge of going from Zone blue (-41°C) into zone Purple (-48°C). Going across to the next highest value and then up the column shows -45°C to be the very edge of the zone change. If anything at all worsens, conditions will enter the extreme danger zone.

Game Effects: Low Pressure

Mount Jumbo is just below the threshold (1453m vs a threshold of 1525m); that 72m (about 236 feet) are gold, so far as the PCs are concerned.

Flying over the mountain, with a clearance of 250 feet – the absolute minimum I would contemplate as a GM, 500 would be better – puts a character over the limit.

This section of rules is all about effort required, and recovery of damage, and has very limited utility with other game systems. GMs may want to calculate the Pressure number anyway, simply for the utility of rule 2, relating to the ease of starting fires and the effect of fire damage. D&D HP can be considered roughly equivalent to Hero-system Stun points, so the “-3 damage per pressure number” from fire would be appropriate.

The recovery rate can also be applied by a D&D GM for protracted stays at altitude, and the effect on regenerating creatures.

Game Effects: Rain/Snow

This is quite straightforward. The GM decides on a description for the conditions and reads off the appropriate modifiers.

3.x/Pathfinder use: The Perception modifier should be applied to Spot and Listen checks. The Range Multiplier should be used to determine the attack modifier for ranged attacks, and the OCV modifier applied on top of that to all attack rolls. The DEX-based skill penalty should be applied to all skills that are based on DEX.

Game Effects: Extreme Cold & Heat

Now we’re getting to the crux of the system. Indexing the difference between a range that the character finds comfortable, allowing for the clothing he is wearing, and any acclimatization that may have taken place, to determine game effects.

Let’s say we’re talking about a character who is used to cold temperatures; acclimatization gives them a comfort zone of 6°C to 23°C. Yes, I know these values aren’t on the temperature conversion table; if you are used to °F, use 35°F to 65°F as a rough guide.

There are two ways to handle the effect of appropriate clothing; the method described in these rules (adjusting the comfort zone) or the one we came up with in play, reducing the effective number of temperature levels, which is less accurate but much faster and easier.

In our example, we have an effective temperature of -45°C (-43°F).

Rules as written, °C:
Comfort Zone for an acclimated character in several layers of heavy clothing: perhaps -10°C to 7°C. The gap from -10°C to effective temperature (-45°C) is 35°. That gives a thermal level of between -11 (=35/3) and -7 (=35/5). A level of -9 is right in the middle, but the higher range value is more appropriate for a cold-acclimated character, so use a temperature level of -7.

Once you have this number, there are two tables in the rules – one is for hot temperatures, the other for cold. A temperature level of -7 indicates an effective loss of 7 Recovery, -6 to DEX checks, -5 to attack rolls, -6 to all DEX based skills (on top of any other penalties from snow or rain), and 2 END consumed every 5 minutes on top of any other expenditures, just from moving around, breathing, etc.

Rules as written, °F:
Comfort Zone for an acclimated character in several layers of heavy clothing: perhaps 15°F to 45°F. The gap from 15°F to effective temperature (-43°F) is 58°. That gives a thermal level of approximately -6 (58/10) to -3 (58/20). This is quite a bit lower than we got for the °C calculation because the size of the intervals (10-20°F) is wrong. It should be 9/5ths of the °C value (5.4 to 10.8) – call it 5 to 10°F – but… well, there’s no other way to put it: I made a mistake.

Using the CORRECT values gives a range of -11 (=58/5) to -6 (=58/10), almost exactly the same as the °C calculation. Again, an acclimated character should use the smaller of these numbers, the -6.

Quick and Dirty, °C:
Comfort Zone is defined as 10°C to 27°C. Acclimation lets the character reduce the temperature effect by 1 level, appropriate clothing lets the character reduce it by another 4. Difference from effective temperature (-45°C) is -55°. Temperature effects range from -11 (=55/5) to -18 (=-55/3), which is then reduced by acclimatization and clothing to -6 to -13. The -6 is more appropriate for an acclimated character.

This variant takes a vaguely-defined step out of the process, but gives a somewhat broader range of values and skews numbers toward the high end for those not in appropriate clothing. But it’s close enough.

If you want to compensate for the skew, use an interval range of 4-5 instead of 3-5°C to calculate the step size: 55/4=14, which reduces to 13 with acclimatization, and to 12 with light clothing, which is about right.

Quick and Dirty, °F:
Comfort Zone is defined as 50°F to 80°F. Acclimation lets the character reduce the temperature effect by 1 level, appropriate clothing lets the character reduce it by another 4, exactly the same as the °C version. The effective temperature is -43°F, a gap of 98°. Using the correct values gives a thermal effect of -20 (=98/5) to -10 (=98/10), but that becomes -15 to -5. Again, a broader range, and the numbers for those in inappropriate clothing are skewing higher than they should – but you can allow for that by changing the interval size to 7-10°F. But division by 7 is so messy that I would be tempted to double the range and use 15 (effectively a 7.5° value).

On reviewing the article, I realized that this might not be obvious to anyone not used to such arithmetic tricks.

Double 98 is 196. Divide that by three and you get 65 and one third, which can be ignored. One fifth of that is 13, which is exactly what you would have gotten by dividing the original 98 by 7.5.

You could make it even easier: double it twice, and divide by 30: 98->196->392; divide by 3 to get 130 and 2/3, which can be ignored because a second from now it will be 2/30ths, a trivial amount; divide by 10 to get 13.

Oh and for one final trick: it was a lot easier to double 100-2 twice to get 400-8 than it was to do the calculation the hard way.

Game Effects: Wind Velocity

The final section of the rules, it’s fairly self-explanatory – and for a change, I gave wind velocities in both km/h and mph, so that makes it fairly easy to use. And if anyone needs values for anything bigger than an F8, I don’t really want to be there when it happens!

The Impact of Genre

You can’t repeatably give the appearance of danger without posing an actual danger to the PCs. Pulp adventurers are supposed to overcome danger and death in the course of their exploits. These rules were designed to increase the danger level experienced by the PCs while providing sufficient latitude that smart play could minimize those risks.

While this is a focal point of the pulp genre, to a lesser extent it applies to almost all RPG genres. It follows that these rules are also relevant to almost every genre, at least in principle; only the degree of latitude shown in terms of the protection from the elements offered by clothing changes.

One concluding note

If I had access to the original document, I would have edited it before presenting it here, having discovered the conversion errors discussed above. Unfortunately, the editable version is still on my main computer, which I still haven’t had time to get running since it’s total failure last December. It’s only been, what, eight months now? (A Brief Heads-up: Why I may miss posting)

When opportunity permits, I’ll correct the original, upload a revised PDF, and redact this article accordingly. Until then, you’ll have to make manual corrections, I’m afraid. Or simply use the °C methods that were originally designed and tested.

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A tabula rasa – focusing the mind before writing

blank mind

I’ll take good ideas for an article from anywhere, even from a piece of spam. Below is an extracted quote from just such a spam comment:

I was interested to find out how you center yourself and clear your mind before writing. I have had a tough time clearing my mind in getting my ideas out. I truly do take pleasure in writing however it just seems like the first 10 to 15 minutes are generally wasted just trying to figure out how to begin. Any suggestions or tips?

I’ve already written an article here describing my normal process for writing an article (or a game supplement, or an adventure) – One word at a time: How I (usually) write a Blog Post – but this early phase of the process got a little skimmed over, from memory, so I thought it worth focusing in on how I get started.

Clearing your mind

I’ve heard the advice to clear your mind before you start writing any number of times from different sources over the years. I vehemently disagree with it – at least up to a point.

Emptying your mind of distractions and mundane concerns is fine. You can’t write effectively if you are thinking about next weekend’s barbecue or your bank balance or your shopping list or whatever.

But one of the most difficult problems to face is that of the empty page, pristine and waiting, or it’s modern analogue, the empty screen. That’s an open invitation to writer’s block, which is already more than pervasive enough. I spent quite a lot of time in the first part of the Breaking Through Writer’s Block series dealing with it. And a blank mind is essentially a blank page.

Replacing mundane thoughts with relevant content

I don’t try and clear my mind at all. Instead, I focus on replacing those mundane distractions with relevant thoughts, then structure those into an outline of the article.

What is the subject?

The first step is to identify the subject, something that I try to do in the (draft) title of the article. I stockpile article ideas against future need, I have multiple series on the go at any given time, and I’m always alert for new things to write about; between them, I have no problem coming up with something to write about.

More constraining is the idea selection process. I try not to have too many “active” series at the same time – not everyone will be interested in every article that you write, and it’s good policy to try and vary the subject matter so that you have reasonable hope that if one article doesn’t interest a reader, the next will. This also helps to keep you from getting stuck in a rut as a writer. So if I already have a multi-part article on the go, I’ll try to avoid starting a second one. It doesn’t always work that way, but most of the time it does.

The second criterion to be applied is available time. There are some articles that I have started and would love to write – heck, even series – that have simply had to be set aside because I physically don’t have the time. Things were much simpler back when I was healthy, and could work for 6, 8, 12, or even 16 hours at a stretch, day in, day out. It was not abnormal for me to spend 12 hours straight prepping for the weekend’s game session – from, say, 6PM Friday Night through to 6AM Saturday Morning. These days, I can work – with regular breaks – for somewhere between two and four hours a day. After an hour or so’s rest, I can sometimes do that a second time in the same day, especially if one of the two sessions is significantly shorter. On rare occasions, I might even be able to manage a third two-hour writing session. Subtracted from that available time is all the site admin that I have to do, and the game prep for my next session, and any shopping, cleaning, cooking and other chores, and any time spent reading other websites.

I have a reasonably well-established routine. Monday, I write for CM. Tuesday, I work with my co-GM on the Adventurer’s Club campaign. Wednesday I do chores that can be dealt with once a week or less. Thursday, I write for CM. Friday, I work on whatever game is coming up next – unless it’s pulp, in which case I can take Friday off and recuperate. Saturday I either game or write for CM or relax, in that order of priority. Sunday, I recuperate (if I’ve co-GM’d pulp the previous day) or write for CM. If I already have articles ready to go (sometimes I do, sometimes not), I can devote that time to writing something else or reading e-books, or to any chores I didn’t get finished. Monday starts the cycle over.

This is not all that different to someone working full time and writing in their spare time, when you add up the hours. Fortunately, I’m fairly prolific – I write an average of 1000 words an hour, and can hit 4000 wph when in full flight, thanks to the techniques described in the article I referred to earlier.

What is the message?

This is essentially a synopsis of what I want the article to say about the subject. It’s usually something I decide at the same time as I select the subject – I’m not as good at deciding “right, I want to write an article about X – what can I say about it?”.


What do I know about the subject, and what do I need to know in order to write the article? What have other people written? About half the time, I need to hit Google or Wikipedia for some reference material.

What have I already written on the subject? I usually have to search the blogdex or visit CM’s archives.

What does someone who knows nothing about the subject need to know before they can understand what I have to say? More Web pages.

I’ll keep all these pages open in my browser as I write, so that I can extract information or cross-link to other relevant articles on the subject.


I try to imagine the article as a discussion or dialogue with another GM – as a conversation. I want to get my point across, or explain my process for doing something. What are the key points that I have to make along the way? What are the individual steps that I have to perform? These form the skeletal outline of the article, the list of headings and subheadings and – sometimes – sub-subheadings, so I start by listing them. It’s really rare for me not put these in writing under the draft title.

I write in a text document and then copy and paste the text into CM’s CMS for final editing and publication. And I’ll normally use a separate document for each article or series. I find that to be a lot easier than writing directly to the built-in editor. When I list the headings and subheadings, I’ll indent them to start outline the article’s structure.

I note that I neglected to offer an example of doing so when I described this part of the process in that earlier article, I’m not sure why. So here’s the one for this article:

A tabula rasa – clearing the mind before writing [draft title]
Illustration [empty line at the moment]
Clearing Your Mind
Replacing mundane thoughts with relevant content
    What is the subject?
    What is the message?
    Logical Structure
    Introduction & Conclusion
A focused mind (article conclusion)

Logical Structure

Once I have the initial structure down “on paper”, I’ll think about the logic of the article. Conversations are all well and good, but sometimes they veer erratically, and sometimes you get ahead of yourself and have to backtrack. There are also often fringe issues to discuss, or alternatives. It’s useful to revise and tinker with the first draft of the planned structure that makes sure things are presented in reasonably logical sequence.

A side-benefit that helps me greatly is that such a logical breakdown of the article means that it is much easier to resume writing it after setting it aside for a couple of hours, a couple of days, or even a couple of weeks. Longer than that and you are asking for trouble interpreting your outline, though. Things that seemed obvious at the time may be completely mystifying if too much time has passed.

Introduction & Conclusion

The last things that I think about before I start writing are “How am I going to introduce the article? How am I going to end it?” These are draft ideas that don’t get written down, just kept in mind – though if I know there’s going to be a lengthy writing process, I may make notes on the conclusion. These never survive the writing process unchanged, so there isn’t a lot of point to extensive efforts.

A focused mind

Each of these items crowds out a mundane distraction. There is no mind-clearing involved. Instead, you start writing the article and gradually focus in on the writing process. By the time I’ve reached the last step listed above, my mind is fully engaged on the article, and I’m ready to write at maximum efficiency. And, since I’m then ready to write, it’s time to stop writing this article!

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