A Wealth Of Suspects and the lessons they teach

Is This The Killer? You’ll have to play the game to find out!
Image by Robert Waghorn from Pixabay
Today’s article was originally going to be just an example of using logical structures to construct an adventure from the middle out, but that should be fairly standard (and possibly dull) fare for anyone with a reasonable amount of experience – so I was looking for a way to dress it up and add to the interest it would hold for experienced readers.
Also on my mind was an article that will be done soon reviewing a game, and an idea for how to take it from a single-player event to a multi-player multi-GM event.
Those two thoughts came together with various other half-realized thoughts to produce a new adventure structure that I’ve never seen before that I think will provide that extra-interest that I was looking for in a mini-campaign. This might run for two or three game sessions, and is all one big adventure. It could be an Agatha-Christie style mystery or, as I originally conceived it, a Call-Of-Cthulhu adventure. I’ve called it ‘A Wealth Of Suspects’, because – in that respect – it ties in with the current Blog Carnival.
Fundamentals
The adventure starts with the players providing the staff, family, and friends of a wealthy figure in a late 19th / early 20th century setting. One of them has been subverted by an evil cult for a purpose that has yet to be decided, but the players don’t know which one and neither does the GM.
In the course of achieving this purpose, the wealthy figure is killed, and his personal library looted. What has been taken is unknown to the PCs.
To start with, they have to decide what to do about this state of affairs. Several of them have a secret they would die (or kill) to protect – but the GM doesn’t know which and the other players also have no idea. Oh, and everyone has some reason to fear or hate the old man, in true Agatha Christie style; everyone has a motive for committing the deed, hidden from most but known to at least one other.
Each time events call upon someone else to make an appearance – a lawman, a doctor, a detective, whatever – one of the original PCs is killed and the player takes over running the new character. Similarly, each time someone’s secret is about to be exposed, the PC has the choice of attempting to kill whoever is about to unmask them, or of committing suicide rather than being shamed by the revelation. So the body-count will steadily rise.
Only when half the PCs have been replaced in this fashion does the GM determine which of them was the original killer – if it’s a PC that’s already been killed, they have presumably faked their death.
Of course, it’s the PCs collective job to discover the identity of the killer and put a stop to whatever nefarious scheme is underway. But any of the PCs brought in by events might also have been subverted by the same cult, and so be doing their best to sabotage the investigation.
Who to trust? Who’s an enemy and who’s not? Who’s the killer? Everyone’s a suspect – but the PCs have to work together or be picked off, one by one. Those are the interpersonal dynamics at play in this challenging interactive story concept.
Choice of Game System
The simpler the game system, the better. You want to be able to generate characters quickly – ideally in less than 10 minutes. If you think longer will be required, using pre-generated characters is probably the best option.
Beyond that, the mechanics should be simple and either quick to learn or familiar to all the players already.
Initial Generation
First, the GM gives a very brief introduction to the NPC ‘old man’ (or woman).
The GM then has the players draw from a deck of cards. Highest card (break ties by suit – diamonds, hearts, clubs, spades) gets first choice of initial role.
The choices available are Son, Wife, Friend or Business Associate, Butler, Maid, Priest, Doctor, Lawyer, Gardner, Cook, Maid.
There are clearly more roles than will be needed for most adventuring groups. Once a role is chosen, it is off the table for those who have yet to choose.
Character Generation – part 1
Everything else about the PC is up to the player to decide. That can extend to gender in some cases, and may include race, qualifications, relationships, abilities, stats, etc. The character is assumed to come with all reasonable possessions for someone inhabiting their role.
Each player then has to think of a motive for wanting the old man dead, and write it down somewhere that no-one else can see it – the GM needs to know, arguably, but even that’s not strictly necessary.
Character Generation – part 2
Each player then secretly rolls a d6, showing no-one the result. On an even number, the character has a secret that they would die or kill over. This also has to be written down secretly, and may or may not have anything to do with the motive for killing the original victim. On an odd roll, the player should write down some gossip about their character that they wouldn’t like known, and which may or may not be true, but which they don’t have such strong feelings about, so that everyone has something to show everyone else.
In the same order in which they chose roles, they then have to roll a die of appropriate size and use it to determine which other PC knows their secret, and show it to the chosen player. If the character doesn’t have a secret to share, they should still roll, and show their gossip to the indicated PC. More notes should probably be made!
To facilitate the sharing, each player should move to a different room or a different corner, and the GM should then escort each player to each of the other players one at a time, so that no-one knows who has received what information.
Play begins
The GM then gives each player a reason to be at the residence of the victim on the night in question. It might be that they work for him, or that they’ve been invited to dinner. The GM might also choose to pass a note relating the ‘real reason’ they are in attendance as well as giving a reason for public consumption.
The GM should prepare various notes and select from them at random if he wants the character to have a stronger motivation to be there. “The Old Man is blackmailing you” or “You’re blackmailing the old man and he is late in paying” or “The old man has something you want to steal” or “The old man has threatened to cut you or your organization out of his will” or “You want the old man to leave a donation to some cause in his will” or whatever. Half the notes should be harmless fun – “You have a gift for the old man” or “You love the apple strudel that the old man serves at formal dinners” or things of that type, and he should select from the notes at random.
How the PC reconciles the note with his relationship with the old man is up to them. Most of these are susceptible to petty interpretation, for example – “The Old Man is blackmailing you” – into joining his bridge club, and you intend to take the opportunity to try and beg off.
He then has to bottle everyone up, separate them, and get the old man alone. A terrible storm that comes out of nowhere works for that, especially if cars won’t start (assuming they exist at all). You can even let someone who insists start to leave, and then discover that they have left behind something of vital importance, and have to turn back. In other words, you are to give everyone an opportunity to commit The Crime.
You then let the game play out, with each person doing what they normally would (under the circumstances) until someone discovers the body. The GM can (and probably should) even tell the PCs, “and one of you is the killer!”
Phase One
In phase one, the PCs have to decide what to do about the situation – whether or not to summon the authorities (in this case, the local police constable). If one of them isn’t the doctor, he might be summoned first, to confirm that the Old Man is really dead.
Or perhaps they will decide to play amateur sleuth. Or simply to bury the old man and forget all about him.
Whatever they decide, that’s when an NPC servant will report that someone has looted the library, dumping multiple books from their shelves. Something might be missing, he or she can’t tell. She will insist on summoning the authorities if the PCs haven’t already decided to do so.
Phase Two
The GM rolls randomly and secretly selects one of the players. He then has their PC killed in some appropriately mysterious manner – if the whole group are together, they are poisoned or fall victim to some trap that could have been planned in advance; if they have separated, it only makes life easier for the GM. He then either suspends play while the player rolls up the first Investigator to get involved – that could be the doctor or the Constable, depending on what the PCs decided in Phase One.
The GM has to take possession of any character so killed off, including their recorded secrets and motivations.
The constable will no doubt do his best, but strange clues should keep turning up, which have a significance that he can’t interpret. A jeweled dagger goes missing; a quantity of arsenic used to poison rats is discovered to have been disturbed; part of a manuscript bearing strange and ominous lettering is found. Since the GM doesn’t yet know who’s guilty, he can paint with very broad strokes, confident that most of what he dishes out will be red herrings.
The correct procedure, which the Constable should follow after making some preliminary inquiries, is to summon the doctor if he’s not already there (and if he hasn’t been killed).
If there is some certainty of foul play, he then has to summon a detective. This could be from a nearby city, or they might have to travel by train from somewhere larger like London or New York or whatever. Someone competent to investigate gets called in, in other words.
Phase Three
Which means another PC has to go to make room. Again, kill someone at random, and either pause play while they generate the new character or give them a pre-gen
An investigation means that all sorts of hidden secrets might start to come out. Everyone knows they had a motive for killing the original victim, and might be able to pull some suspicion off themselves by offering up someone else’s secret. Some of those secrets will start coming out – initially about the dead, but then about the living. Each time a PC dies, a new investigator gets called in – an archaeologist to consult about the jeweled dagger, a linguist to translate the piece of manuscript, a doctor from the city (if the local doctor is deceased), whatever.
Eventually, half the PCs will be dead and replaced by investigators, and everyone should be looking very intently at those who have not been so replaced.
Phase Four
Phase four is when the GM makes a die roll to select the player whose character is or was the killer. He can also throw in a plot twist if he feels like it – perhaps the Detective is the killer! But it’s time to start steering the ship towards a destination.
Meanwhile, suspects continue to die off in – let’s just say “noteworthy” – ways, and get replaced by new PCs. One advantage of the ‘broad strokes’ used earlier is that all sorts of experts might be necessary. The discovery of a hidden ledger – that requires an accountant. The will has gone missing? Summon the lawyers who wrote it.
Phase Five
Ultimately, there will be only one original PC left, who will be the center of attention – but it’s almost certain that he’s not the real killer (though the players don’t know that).
All sorts of theories will now have been offered up by the investigators, some plausible, others easily disputed. If the GM is going for the Cult idea, it’s time for an urgent cable stating that one or more of the bodies has vanished from the morgue, and an NPC shows up with dire warnings about the Cult and the Old Gods that they worship. And then the last remaining PC gets killed, and the player takes on the role of this new investigator.
Either way, the GM now picks the player theory that makes the most sense and patches any holes in it with more discoveries and revelations. If the cult is not a red herring (i.e. this is a straight mystery adventure), the GM lets the PCs put together a definitive story of who killed whom. It might even be that the Old Man himself was the one who faked his own death!
Phase Six
If there is a cult, it’s time for the PCs to figure out where they are and initiate a final confrontation before they succeed in summoning their foul god from beyond the veil.
If not, the culprit needs to be unmasked and the character who faked his death (and stole another body from the morgue to confuse his trail), found and captured or killed in a confrontation.
The GM as detective
It’s important to note that the GM has to be as much of a detective as any of the players, but he has the advantage of them spinning theories. The original killer might not have committed any of the other crimes; instead, his act and the subsequent investigation, could have set off a chain reaction.
Only once the GM knows who the original killer was, can he combine that knowledge with the information recorded on the PC characters to start throwing out definitive clues that rule various suspects out. Until then, he’;s simply been throwing shade and inventing things of interest to keep the players thinking.
If he’s adept at concealing the truth of such things at the game table, he can even lie (before it becomes a lie) and tell the players that he won’t know who the murderer is until the players tell him their identity!
It has to be presumed, in the early part of the investigation, that everyone has an alibi for the original murder (except possibly the first Dead PCs). Or no-one does. And if everyone does, someone is lying. All the other motives for wanting the old man dead are red herrings, but they chew up time and distract the players long enough for secrets to start coming out, making this character and then that seem guilty.
They chew up time and provide ready-made plot twists to keep the players entertained.
Retro-authorship
In order to make all this work, the GM will either be adept at retro-authorship – creating a story from the middle out – or will learn to be better at it from this experience.
So let’s talk about that, since that’s the point of the exercise (the fun involved is a bonus)!
From The Middle
I’m going to use my Dr Who campaign as an example because readers have access to the original drafts of the adventures (published in Vortex Of War: A Dr Who campaign construction diary).
This adventure has as it’s primary campaign-level objective, getting the Doctor back to Gallifrey and involved in the Omega Archive. As a secondary objective, it functions as a plot vehicle, connecting a series of more ‘traditional’ Doctor Who plotlines.
The easiest solution to achieving the primary objective is to have the Doctor come into possession of a super-weapon under circumstances that eliminate all other possible ways of disposing of the super-weapon safely. Since the overarching narrative is about the relationship between the Daleks and Time Lords and how that leads inevitably to the Time War, the Daleks are the most obvious source of that super-weapon.
In my draft notes, the nature of the weapon is discussed. What is not discussed is (1) how the Daleks came up with it; and (2) how the Doctor gets involved. But even before we get to thinking about those questions, there are some other elements of the preliminary draft that need shoring up.
Starting point – in the middle
The super-weapon is on the Tardis.
- How did it get there?
It needs to be taken to the Omega Archive on Gallifrey.
- What other solutions are possible?
- How can they be made unsatisfactory?
- Where’s the challenge?
- Where’s the sense of urgency?
Perhaps the weapon has been activated on a delay. It’s a ticking bomb!
- How can that make sense?
An anti-tampering circuit that sets off the device, a default ‘fail-boom’ mode of operation, that gives authorized operators the opportunity to defuse the problem or get away. If the weapon is so dangerous – a galaxy-killer – then its design would be such that the operators would have time to get to safety, anyway, so that makes sense. What gets set off is not the weapon, then, but this pre-programmed countdown.
- How does this happen?
Perhaps the Daleks have an experimental weapon that targets this particular Tardis (so that even if the Dr has just dematerialized, it will still be affected. This electrifies the Tardis interior and activates the countdown timer.
This implies that the Tardis gets damaged, and that brings us back to Question 4 – the challenge is to be able to beat the countdown, overcoming the damage to the Tardis and offloading the weapon in the nick of time.
- Damaged? Be more specific. And how does that make this a vehicle for other plots?
I’ve bundled those questions together because the answers are clearly interrelated. At this point, the memory of an air crash that I saw described in an “Air Crash Investigations” episode (a series known as “Mayday” in the US) came to mind – the pilots flew off-course and crashed because they didn’t initialize their gyroscopes while stationary, they did it while taxiing for takeoff. Translating that into an in-game equivalent gets us into Tardis Navigation.
To know where it is going, a Tardis would need two sets of coordinates – where-when it is, now, and where-when it is going. But that gets complicated by the fact that the Tardis disappears at one location and simply appears at another, without traveling through the space-and-time in between; instead it traverses a Chronal space-time environment which has been given various names by the writers over the life of the series.
That means that the distance in space-time to be traveled is more complicated than just the difference between those two coordinates; there is the possibility of non-linear scale of motion. That means that two more vectors are needed, these ones relative to that Chronal space-time.
In other words, a translation matrix that converts measurements relative to a fixed point in space-time (the temporal beacon that makes controlled time-travel possible) into a change of position on a four-dimensional map of the universe. That time beacon itself provides one coordinate – defined as “0,0,0,0” – which means three more would be needed to reestablish navigational control. Which means letting the Tardis set down somewhere and finding out exactly where that “somewhere” is. For precise control, a dozen readings might be necessary, but for a ball-park, three would be enough.
What’s more, if the two space-time continuities were dynamic, ever-changing, that would explain why the doctor sometimes has only the vaguest precision in his destinations, while on other occasions, he can pinpoint his arrivals to the desired second.
A second thought – quantum uncertainty – then intrudes. This states that you can’t learn one fact about subatomic particles without interacting with the particles being measured in such a way that another fact becomes unknowable. In other words, the act of observation in and of itself is enough to change the environment being observed. The Tardis, being a time-traveling machine, deposits its passengers (and itself) somewhere in history, and that constitutes a significant interaction with that environment and all subsequent points in history. That’s why you need the Time Beacon in the first place, as a defined ‘anchor point’ in time and space. Navigation is thus a constant race between measurement accuracy and distortions caused by the act of transiting from point A to point B.
What’s more, recent series have introduced the concept of “fixed points in time” – events that are so locked into history that they can’t be changed easily or with impunity, and that the universe has evolved defenses that actually and actively resist such changes. The implication is that sensitivity to navigational decay is not a fixed quantity, and some places are more sensitive to the passage of time-travelers than others.
Okay, that’s all very interesting and adds a lot to the science-fiction credibility of the game. In practical terms, it means that the Tardis would need to set down somewhere three times and take measurements of where and when it was, in order to get a precise fix to re-establish its translation matrix. There would still be a ‘fuzziness’ because its passage to those places would distort the readings, so more trips would be needed for precision – but three would be enough for an approximated baseline.
Throw in the ticking clock, and we have the basics for a suitable in-game challenge and plenty of tension.
- How long would it take to obtain such measurements?
Position on the scale of a solar system would be easily established from the position of known pulsars – easily obtained by something like the Tardis (but requiring a radio telescope and substantial period of observation for anyone else). Once you know the solar system, you can employ the positions of the planets in the system to get time and space down to a much tighter accuracy.
Back in the days of deterministic celestial mechanics, it used to be believed that knowing where the planets of the solar system were, and their orbital motions, you could calculate where they would be at any given point in time, or – by measuring where they happened to be – could read off the time like the hands of a great cosmic clock. But chaos intrudes – in practical reality, there are all sorts of minor perturbations to those orbits, and in fact this only works reliably for a roughly 10,000-year ‘window’. This actually assists in precision in this particular case, though, because the Tardis would presumably have a complete Ephemeris of planetary positions for every significant star system, permitting it to compare the positions ‘now’ including the effects of those perturbations with the actual positions in its records. How long does it take to obtain a precise measurement of the locations of the planets? Using basic astronomy, one 24-hour cycle is probably enough.
But the countdown timer changes that. Let’s say it takes X hours from the countdown to get basic functions back up and running on a damaged Tardis, and you only have Y hours left. You need part of those Y hours to actually deliver the weapon to the Omega Archive. That leaves the balance to set down three times and get navigational references. If Y is significantly less than 72 hours, your only recourse would be to get astronomical positions from the locals. And that means, logically, getting mixed up in whatever is going on. So that completes answering question 8.
Let’s recap what’s unanswered, so that I don’t miss anything: Q1, Q2, Q3 – pending
Q4, Q5, Q6, Q7, Q8, Q9 – all answered.
Q2-Q3 Revisited
Q2 and Q3 relate to other solutions and making them inaccessible. For the most part, I don’t care what the other solutions are if they aren’t actually going to solve the problem, so Q2 can be refined to exclude all possible courses of action that are made unsatisfactory by Q3.
I’ve already thought about the device as having an anti-tampering circuit that sets it off, but imposes a delay before initiating detonation. So it’s already going to go off, but it’s being held back. So simply lobbing it into a star won’t prevent it from going off, it will simply destroy the inhibiting circuitry – and “boom”. Doing anything to the anti-tampering circuit has no effect because it’s already initiated the device, its’ done its job and is now irrelevant.
With the possible exception of a black hole, the same holds true of dumping it anywhere within the galaxy – it will either have no effect, or will simply accelerate the detonation.
Logically, that leaves only two choices: Black Holes and Outside The Galaxy.
Black Holes are often gateways into parallel worlds or (inhabited) pocket realities in this Canon, so that becomes an unconscionable choice – to the point where it doesn’t even need to be explicitly dealt with, in-game.
That leaves “outside the galaxy”, say the midway point between the Milky Way and Magellanic Clouds. First objection: if this is a galaxy-killer, how near are those galaxies relative to the size of the Milky Way?
I was all set to tear off and look up the answer, when I realized it didn’t matter – even if they were so close that the blast radius would catch the edges of inhabited space, there would be other galaxies somewhere that were further apart. What I needed was a general solution for all of extra-galactic space.
The mere fact that there can be scenes set aboard the Tardis in the TV series (and therefore, within the game as well) means that there is some internal passage of time while traveling within it; the duration of that time experienced is simply unrelated to the distance traveled in ‘real’ space-time. With a device counting down within that internal time-frame, and a damaged Tardis, I simply have to state that it’s impossible to get that far before the bomb goes off. But I don’t like offering absolutes when the character isn’t in a position to give absolute answers – and sufficient doubt is all that’s needed. “You aren’t certain that you could get there, given the damaged state of the Tardis and the internal time available, before detonation.”
Sideways growth of plot
All of the above (except for the still-unresolved Question 1) can be considered ‘sideways’ growth of the plot. They all circumscribe the options available to the PC for choosing future actions, and can be considered part of the situation that the character finds himself in.
Are there any other such that need to be added to the plot before I start extrapolating backwards to an answer to Question One?
Well, I have this Dalek experimental weapon that sets off the countdown timer and damages the Tardis. There should logically be some immediate difficulties caused for the characters to overcome. So lets’ have some environmental hazards – the Tardis is a ‘flexible environment’ anyway, so damage severe enough to cost it navigational references would have all sorts of other effects. Gravitational shears, ‘down’ being at strange angles, the swimming pool blocking the only passage to wherever the PCs have to go to start repairing the damage, that all sounds both good and logical. Having the control console explode? Nice and dramatic, hinders the easy resolution of the problems, and adds some minor additional challenges to be overcome – all that sounds good.
If the protagonist happens to be in contact with something carrying the electrical current created by the Dalek weapon, he could be electrocuted. That’s nice and dramatic, and adds an air of continuity to the discovery of the countdown being activated. But how can he survive? The only other character present is incorporeal – but is a natural prodigy at computer programming and hacking. So let’s have something present that he can take control of, in order to revive the protagonist. Wouldn’t it be ironic if that something were a Dalek? It could then self-destruct in shame at its systems being used in this way, doing still more damage to the control room. A few details would need to be cleaned up, but that works.
But there’s less impact if the protagonist just happens to be touching a metal railing or the control panel, especially if his companion is piloting the Tardis at the time. Maximum impact should have him holding the bomb itself. So he must have carried it aboard and not have had time to put it down. That smacks of a smash-and-grab coming unstuck at the last possible second, and hints at the long-waited answer to Question One.
So, we have now started expanding the plotline into the past from the middle as a logical consequence of the middle.
- Situation: Tardis damaged, needs new navigational references. is preceded by,
- Situation: Tardis damaged, needs systems reboot / repair, which is preceded by,
- Situation: Character discovers that the countdown has been activated, which is preceded by,
- Situation: Dalek explodes after being used to revive the Character, causing further damage to the Tardis, which is preceded by,
- Situation: Dalek experimental weapon electrocutes the protagonist, activates the countdown timer on the bomb, and damages the Tardis, but the Companion uses a Dalek to revive the protagonist, which is preceded by,
- Situation: The protagonist enters the Tardis with the device, a Dalek in hot pursuit.
Expanding Backwards
A similar process is used to expand the plotline backwards, looking for how the protagonist gets involved in the first place.
- How does the bomb get on-board?
The protagonist steals it from a Dalek weapons research facility.
- How does he know it’s there?
He follows the energy signature from somewhere else.
- How does he get the energy signature?
It was at that somewhere else for him to get a reading on, but was then stolen by the Daleks.
- Why would the Daleks need to steal it from someone else?
Perhaps the development was inherently dangerous and likely to attract unwanted attention.
- Unwanted attention from whom?
From the protagonist and possible others. Specifics would depend on the nature of the research & development, which would logically need to be to satisfy some need / desire / program of the developers.
- How does the protagonist become aware of the research, and why does he get involved in it?
If the research is all that dangerous, logically, some groups or individuals would become aware of it before others. If the expected responses by the major powers of the galaxy/universe are considered undesirable by some of those ‘early-detectors’, and they aren’t the type to get their hands dirty, they might alert the protagonist and persuade him to meddle.
The Black and White Guardians fit that prescription. Manipulators par excellence, they could easily use the protagonists’ own personality profile – in particular, his curiosity – to overcome his distrust of them.
- Hmm, “Guardians”…that reminds me of a long-held thought deriving from silver age comics….
Specifically, what would the citizens of the galaxy think if they were aware that the Oans were preparing to create the Green Lantern Corps, and what would they do about it?
Logically, some would support the endeavor. Some would feel threatened by it, because the GLs are, explicitly, Lawmen.
Wait a mo – who’s law? No-one would be sure in advance – so this would be seen as elevating a randomly-chosen local to demigod status and giving him authority and rule over his sector of space, answerable only to some distant aliens of uncertain motivation. More opposition.
Then, there would be those who want to steal the technology for themselves. And those who don’t want their enemies to have it. And those who consider it too dangerous for anyone to have it.
That’s sounding more and more like a general free-for-all with the Oans at the heart of the anarchy. It’s so corrosive to peaceful relations between worlds, so disruptive to established history, that the Time Lords would inevitably be drawn into the conflict, and since – at some point – the Oans imperatives would conflict with those of the Gallifreyans, the result would be a Time War.
And that possibility, and the PC actively working to prevent it from happening, and getting sucked into the middle of the situation whether he wants to be or not, resonates so strongly with the overall theme of the campaign that it amounts to a compelling argument.
Minor Details
Thus, the broad strokes of the first part of the adventure become defined. There were some minor details that were added in to flesh things out – the Dalek research facility, the obstacles to be overcome, how did the Daleks get into position to steal the research product in the first place, and so on – but that’s true of any plot breakdown to this, fairly abstract, standard. Not all of those answers have yet been discovered by the player, so I can’t go into them at this time.
The General Principles
So, let’s abstract this process and generalize it into some lessons to be absorbed.
Starting from the middle means defining a situation that the character needs to resolve – “the problem” that they need to solve, and constraining less-satisfactory solutions from being valid or preferable choices. The process of developing and implementing that solution, overcoming obstacles and challenges on the way, is the part that comes after the “middle”.
An internally logical path extended backwards one step at a time, always looking to answer the implied question of “How did we get into this mess this time?”, defines the part of the adventure that comes before the “middle”.
Positioning within the broader narrative of a campaign can impose additional demands upon the problem or the resolution. It’s important to bear these in mind at all times, because ultimately, so long as the journey is entertaining to the participants, you don’t care how you get to those objectives so long as you do get there.
That’s your +4 longsword vs Plot Trains, right there. It means that almost any variation on the planned journey that the player(s) choose is acceptable so long as those two objectives are met. Plot trains are always a danger when you construct an adventure this way, but this puts the players in a metaphoric four-wheel-drive instead of a steam train without brakes.
There are three sources of answers to the logical questions that arise that you should draw upon.
- The more answers to your logical questions that you can find in established campaign lore, the more internally-consistent the adventure becomes within the campaign context. The earlier in the campaign that an adventure takes place, the less you can rely on this source.
- The more questions that are left unanswered by this, that you can then answer from your campaign setting, the more tightly integrated the campaign becomes with its setting. The corollary of the ‘earlier in the campaign’ thought offered above is that the earlier in the campaign the adventure is to take place, the more you will be – or should be, at least – drawing on this source of answers.
- The more that you can derive answers and motivations from the PCs, the more tightly they become integrated with the campaign – in effect, the more personalized it becomes to those specific characters as protagonists.
Logically, that means that a campaign starts as completely deriving from the source material – background and setting – and, as it proceeds, the characters become more and more defined in connection to the setting, and the better they become as a source of material for the GM. By the campaign mid-point, the characters have become the primary drivers of the campaign. As it proceeds from that point, less and less reliance needs be placed on the source material, in favor of the intersection between established characters and their past acts and decisions, and the more inevitable the planned end-point becomes.
Coherence. Internally Logical. A story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, that strives to be fun for the participants throughout. Isn’t that what all campaigns strive to achieve, to be?
This same set of principles applies at all scales within the campaign, as you can see. When I’m planning a campaign (and I know that I’ve made this point many times before), many of the early adventures have as their sole function within the campaign context as putting in place the building blocks that I will need later in the campaign as planned.
When I’m planning an adventure, it will be in service of the campaign-scale plot elements that justify the adventure’s inclusion in the campaign plan.
When I’m planning an encounter or challenge, it will be in service of the adventure-scale plot elements that I need for a ‘fun’ situation to manifest and then be resolved in a satisfying manner – while achieving the adventure’s campaign-level objectives.
Stories within stories, like short stories combining to become a novel.
Which brings me back to ‘A Wealth Of Suspects’…
Hopefully, the relationship between this example and the principles that it lays bear, and the campaign premise offered at the start of this article, will now be clear, but just in case, it’s worth revisiting.
In the early part of the adventure-campaign, the GM doesn’t know the ending. All he can do is toss out interesting building blocks and dig the PCs in deeper. When he gets to the midpoint, he starts getting answers to the questions that the PCs will have been asking all along, and – with them as his assistants and co-authors – starts fitting those building blocks into a rational and coherent storyline.
By definition, anything that doesn’t contribute to that storyline is a red herring, a side-mystery, or a distraction.
Since the GM doesn’t know what is relevant and what is not for the first half of the campaign, he can’t create a plot train, and has to treat each building block on its own merits.
In theory, that means that the same GM could run the same basic adventure for the same players, and have an entirely different outcome.
In some respects, this reduces the GM to something closer to the players – everyone’s improvising like crazy. As a tool to sharpen certain GMing muscles, this can’t be beat.
- Improvisation.
- Logical Plot Construction.
- Coherence of Plot Elements.
- An emphasis on Fun. And,
- Building an adventure or campaign from the middle, out.
Have fun!
980…981… 982…The countdown has begun! This is the 982nd article that I’ve authored or co-authored here at Campaign Mastery. That’s just 18 more to go until the big Four Digits! What I’ll do to mark the occasion, I don’t know (suggestions welcomed) – but somewhere around October 18th, it will happen!
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