Eight Little Tips: A Confection Of Miniature Posts

One of the working titles for this article was “The Post Like A Box Of Chocolates”, referencing the famous line from Forest Gump. My eventual choice is less colorful but more descriptive, I think. This image of delicious-looking artisan chocolates by David Greenwood-Haigh from Pixabay, frame by Mike
Like most article writers, I accumulate ideas that prove to be too small to be a worthwhile post in their own right. Every now and then, I gather these up and compile an assemblage of unrelated miniature articles as a single item. That’s today’s recipe…
1. Surrounding Language
English is full of synonyms, words and phrases that mean almost exactly the same thing. This is largely attributable to the language’s willingness to steal nuanced ideas from just about anywhere it finds them.
It doesn’t always happen – the Finnish term “Sisu” has yet to make any real inroads into the English language, perhaps because it’s so hard to pin down an exact meaning of the term. It describes an attitude to life and the consequences of living life with that attitude – part bravery, part bravura, part self-confidence, part developing the abilities that justify self-confidence. Supposedly, it is Sisu that makes the Finnish such greats at motor-sports.
This subject came up on Twitter recently when a writer asked which term she should use, A or B? Which one was correct? (The specifics don’t matter, so I’m not recounting them).
A was correct English, B was a colloquial expression used throughout the world by English speakers to mean the same thing.
I offered this as my response to the question posed, but – as always – I then looked for an RPG bent. Here it is:
The language used to describe a character, or used by a character to describe a situation or scene, can carry nuances about that character’s perspective or personality. Don’t waste it.
Often, when we’re roleplaying, and especially when we’re DMing and playing an NPC, we fall back on using our own natural phraseology and manner of speaking, simply because we have so much on our minds already. That’s one reason why I like to write canned dialogue in advance when I can predict that it will be needed – it affords the leisure time to build such nuance into the dialogue.
This can cause it’s own problems – you have 10 different responses prepared for use depending on what the PCs say and do, scattered over three pages – now find the right one without having to scroll back and forth or flip pages wildly. Solution: you need an index:
“If Players say A, -> Para 1”
“If Players tell B, -> Para 2”
“If Players ask C w/out explaining B, -> Para 3”
“If Players ask C after explaining B, -> Para 4”
….. and so on
What this tweet exchange reminded me was that it is often worth the extra second or two that it takes to pause and recast what you were going to say in more expressive language – expressive not so much of the mood of the NPC (which is what a fiction writer would try to capture, first and foremost), but expressive of the personality and nationality of the character in question.
The more you can distinguish an NPCs vocalizations from those of the GM speaking ex-cathedra, describing a situation or a rule or whatever, the more your players will learn to recognize the cues and respond with roleplaying and not with third-party perspectives and statements of action. This produces immersion, which is always a good thing for all manner of reasons.
2. Few Cover Versions Top The Charts
.I was pondering success in RPGs – what is it, how do you achieve it, how do you recognize it, how do you quantify and measure it, if you can so at all – in response to a question on Quora, when a thought intruded from a previous question I had responded to. That thought is summed up in the title statement of this section: Few Cover Versions Top The Charts.
You have a far greater likelihood of success with original material. If you lack the capacity to do so (for whatever reason) and must do a cover version, you have to work twice as hard to achieve success – you not only have to impart your own original and distinctive spin on the song, you have to then ensure that the quality of result is, at the very least, equal to the original version.
It’s no different when it comes to RPGs. You can recycle characters, scenes, adventures, even campaigns, sourced from the ‘outside’. If your players have never encountered these, they will respond as though they were original works to you, and all is well (kind of – see the next item). If, however, they recognize the source material, your task just became two or three times as difficult. You need to present a homage to the original, while imparting your own original flavoring, while maintaining consistency of characterization, and presenting the resulting collage to the same standard of quality that the source material did.
Often, it’s better to simply start with the source material and change it, justify that change, then change it again in some other respect, then justify that change, and repeat until it bears little or no resemblance to the original.
With a character, for example, you might start with appearance, personality, and capabilities all the same as your source. You start by changing the capabilities to something that suits your story needs a little better and is just a bit different to the original. You then make sure that every action supposedly attributable to this character throughout the adventure is adjusted to reflect the change, and every incident in the character’s background likewise needs adjusting. That in turn, changes the personality of the character just a little, so you have to repeat the adjustment process for that change. But the character’s appearance can also be tweaked just a little to reflect those changes. And, in the process of doing so, you get a new idea for further tweaking the character’s concept (that nebulous thing that ties all these aspects together) with an original twist. So then you have to repeat all the steps above – capabilities, personality, and possibly appearance – to incorporate the new twist. By this point what you have is a character that superficially resembles the original, but which is no more like them than Yellow is like Red, or Oranges like Grapefruit.
2a. Ripoff Blues
It’s harder with a decent plot, because everything tends to tie together more directly. But the process is exactly the same. You might be stealing a plot from, say, NCIS – I did just that for the Zener Gate campaign a few months back. Because I knew that none of my players watches the show (never mind watching the repeats,.of which the source was one), I didn’t have to change it that much.
In the course of that adventure, a key fact was rammed home to me, quite forcefully: when you watch a TV show, the personalities of the protagonists produce blind spots and processes that impact on the unfolding of the plot. If this doesn’t happen, the characterization is sloppy and inconsistent, which so mars a TV show or movie that you are less likely to want to steal a plot from it. But the director’s art is to keep you within the story, so – as much of the time as possible – they want you to share that character’s foibles by proxy. When there’s a risk that your more Olympian perspective will reveal a key point about the plot, they distract you, with every tool at their disposal. Thus, you will know from the show’s M.O. that “it can’t be that simple” but you aren’t given the time to find the flaw until the show itself brings it into the open.
And that’s a problem when translating that adventure into RPG terms – not only are the PCs going to be different characters to those participating in the original version of the story (in most cases), but the players have a LOT more time to think, and find those questions that the characters in the source material didn’t come up with until much later, if at all. In this particular case, the PCs thought up a key question that required one of them to be in the right place at the right time to discover whodunit very quickly and easily. What should have been a surprising twist would have become completely obvious and not at all surprising. In fact, the whole adventure would have fallen fairly flat.
So, you have to change things – on the fly – and depart from the script you’re using even though you’re hip-deep in that script as written.
This happens so regularly that I know to expect it to happen at some stage, and that I will have to scramble to fix things. Part of my process in adapting such plotlines is asking myself where things could go wrong and making preliminary plans to respond.
That, right there, is a hot tip. But here’s another one: I’ve discovered that the mere process of writing an outline of the expected plot, bullet-point style, and revising it to put your own twist on it, is usually enough to restore your own Olympian perspective. Suddenly, you discover all sorts of plot holes that you didn’t notice before, distracted by the director’s shell game and artistry – and can plug them in advance.
The last time I ran a “rip-off plot” without making such adjustments was 10, maybe 15, years ago, combining two B-grade novels with points of distinct interest – “The President’s Plane Is Missing” and “The Red President”. The basic premise of the blending was that the US President decided to fake being in a plane crash aboard Air Force 1 for the popularity boost he would get, and which he needed to get some controversial legislation passed. A mole within his circle of trusted advisers, in the know regarding this plan, informed an enemy nation of the President’s intentions, and they decided to kidnap and brainwash him using a new technique they had developed, a process that would take about 72 hours. In the meantime, they had to arrange for the President’s fiction to stand up to scrutiny for at least that long, so they used all the intelligence assets at their disposal to enhance the supposed crash and making it look like the President was lost and wandering about the snow-topped mountain, dazed and incoherent.
The plot was supposed to start unraveling when others attempt to use the President’s absence to squeeze greater status and power out of the system for themselves, including an unscrupulous Vice President and even more untrustworthy Union Boss. But they would need time to recognize the opportunity, and more time to put the wheels in motion. That would only happen if they thought the President was lost, probably dead, so the fiction had to stand up to scrutiny for at least 24-48 hours to create these problems for the PCs to overcome en route to rescuing the President just before the brainwashing process was complete – leaving everyone uncertain about his probity and eventually forcing his resignation.
What happened? The PCs went directly to the crash scene, rushing in an attempt to rescue the aircraft before it crashed, discovering the enemy agents in the process of “cleaning up” the site and “enhancing” the fiction. Within 5 minutes, they knew that the President wasn’t lost, he’d been kidnapped – and an active search for the kidnappers was underway, spearheaded by the PCs. As a result, the VP made no power-play, pretending to great concern for the President and the Nation, and so didn’t overplay his hand, and the whole purpose of the plot from my GMs perspective – to force the current leadership of the nation out of office – fell into a cocked hat.
Too many moving parts to cope with that monkey wrench being thrown into the machinery. From virtually page 1 of the adventure, I was improvising and unprepared to do so.
I’ve never made that mistake again.
- Synopsize your stolen plots.
- Make them your own through revision.
- Look for “soft spots” where things can go wrong, and plan responses. Because they inevitably will.
3. The Cliffhanger Challenge
I had a peculiar dream the other night – the particulars don’t matter much, just that it came in two parts, with a (dreamed) intermission, and that part 1 ended with a cliffhanger. Part 2 was just beginning when my alarm awoke me.
When I reflected upon the dream, I realized that the interval between a cliffhanger ending and the resumption of story is a critical factor in how the plot unfolds, and even whether or not it works as well as it should. This is something that I had been aware of, without actually noticing, as a result of watching multiple episodes of TV shows in “bunches” separated by longer intervals.
Cliffhangers come in two basic flavors: Drama (including emotional scenes, revelations and plot twists) and imminent threats, i.e. preludes to action. Either way, they are the culmination of the day’s play, the moment of peak intensity.
If the cliffhanger was an emotional scene, it always worked. If the resumption were a revelation or plot twist, it depended on the length of the interval – too much and you have too much time to get used to the new situation and start integrating the ‘new reality’ into your comprehension. The characters involved don’t – and so there is a dichotomy between what you’re thinking and what they are doing, when you are supposed to be on the same page, putting yourself in the protagonists’ shoes. And if the cliffhanger was a call to action, it depended on whether or not sufficient excitement could be recaptured using a teaser/recap – if it could, the action ‘worked’, i.e. was viscerally satisfying and tense; if not, the action fell flat and became very ho-hum.
It was also possible to over-stimulate with a recap, in which case the resumption felt as though it had been ‘over-hyped’ – and again, it fell flat.
Now, let’s put these thoughts into the context of RPGs. By definition, these are interrupted, in theory resuming at regular intervals. Those might be anything from a few minutes (after a meal break), a few days (weekly play), or a few weeks (fortnightly or monthly play) – or, in extreme cases, the interval might be measured in months (when a campaign shuts down for a period of time, for example while the GM is on military deployment or spending three months in Europe or whatever). The way you approach a cliffhanger ending should take into account the expected interval to the resumption of play.
4. Mini FX
The other day, I was remembering an old friend who I haven’t seen in a very long time, by the name of Ace. An occasional player in RPGs, but more interested in model railroads, a hobby that he supported by painting miniatures back in the days when they were all monochrome lead figures. We bonded over artistry in general and rocketry and sci-fi, but largely have lost contact following the death several years ago of someone who was our intersection point, much of the time, Kevin Dillon.
So, anyway, I remember discussing visual FX for miniatures, and coming up with a number of ideas that we talked about experimenting with, back in the day. Do they work? I have no idea. Try them and tell me.
Faded Colors
I remember Ace making the point that people prefer to face away from the sun as much as possible, and in a wilderness situation, having it out of your eyes could be critical. In particular, when walking, we lean slightly forward in order to generate forward momentum. The net effect should be that colors on the top and back of a uniform or costume worn in a wilderness situation should be more faded than the rest, for added realism. The difference could be slight, almost unnoticeable, but the enhanced realism that results justifies the effort – sometimes.
Mud
Paint your mini, then add a spatter of mud to the boots. Ace used to use a mixture of real earth, light-colored paint, wood glue, and coffee grounds for the purpose, applying them with the tip of a cotton bud, one stain at a time. I suggested capturing a little with the top of a straw (blocking the other end with a thumb) and then exhaling forcefully through the straw to achieve a natural “spatter”. The closer to the mini you placed the business end of the straw, the more confined the spatter would be. Furthermore, if you used a waxed paper straw, you could then cut the tip off and be ready to go again in a second with minimal wastage.
Snow
If you place a thin layer of glue or transparent varnish on the top of a painted mini – shoulders and maybe the crown of the head – you could simulate snow with talcum powder and maybe some light blue paint. Then spray-paint the whole figure with a clear varnish. Avoid the hands and arms; these are usually kept mobile, which prevents snow from accumulating on them.
Unfolding a paperclip and heating it with a cigarette lighter permitted the cutting of small holes in “snowdrifts” to match the positions of the legs. If the figure has a base, you will often have to cut it off to get access to those legs. A little application of the same mixture covered up any sooting and created consistency of effect. In this way, you could have the figure slogging through snow that was inches or feet deep, as desired.
Leaves
I suggested bleaching tea leaves and then painting them either green or golden/brown/red shades using an airbrush, to create leaves. These could then be placed with as much care as seemed appropriate on the base of a painted mini using a light glue or varnish as an adhesive and then covered in more of the same to preserve them. Ace was a little dubious about this one, as I recall, but interested in trying it.
Cobwebbed Victims
Apply a little light glue to the hands, feet, and perhaps head of a painted mini. Press a ball of cotton wool down onto the figure, lightly contacting all these areas. Wait for the glue to dry, then gently prize the cotton wool away, leaving strands attached to the glued positions. Using tweezers, grab the far ends of these cotton strands, pull them tight, and glue them down either to other extremities or to the base or to a background added to the figure, diorama style. Once the glue is dry, apply light paint (very light gray and maybe a hint of blue) to create the impression of webbing.
Wire Shrink-wrap
When I was into electronics, I bought from Tandy some wire shrink-wrap insulation. This was a small sleeve-like tube of clear plastic that, when exposed to the heat of a cigarette lighter, shrunk tight around the wire. It was intended for joints in hobbiest circuits. When I described this stuff to Ace, he was taken by the idea of covering a painted mini in this stuff, shrinking it, and then painting the shrunken cylinders, to create armor. Where you would buy such stuff from, these days, I have no idea.
Magical Shields
Carefully cut the shield off an existing mini, being careful not to distort its shape, then use it to create a mold. Use that mold to cast a translucent resin (possibly with sparkle), which can then be attached to the figure in place of the original. Additional effects can then be painted on, using the resin shield as a base.
5. Consider the Superficial
When you have encounters, remember to consider briefly the initial impression that the PCs should have of the NPCs and vice-versa. It’s part of your job as GM to convey those impressions through the actions, words, and behavior of the NPCs – before you start describing specifics.
I often find that contrasts help considerably in this when they are applicable. “The immaculately dressed and groomed civil servant takes in your disheveled appearance with one icy glance, before saying….”
“The majestic headdress of Ostrich Feathers died royal blue swivels in your direction as the King regards you with a raised eyebrow.” – the implication being that the PCs are under-dressed relative to this magnificence.
You get the idea.
6. Philosophic Opposition
It’s very common, especially in superhero and pulp campaigns, but true in all campaigns to at least some extent, that unless an NPC has a particular reason to be hostile to any PCs that he encounters, that they are generally cooperative.
The reality should be somewhat different. Everyone should have an opinion which leads them to prejudice certain groups and activities, either for or against. Their position might not permit them to express this attitude openly, but it should still color their interactions with any PCs that trigger them.
We have, for example, an Elven Warrior-Prince. What prejudices might he trigger in a general encounter? An innkeeper, say? Well, the innkeeper might distrust elves, or dislike royalty, or foreigners – but those are obvious. He might react to the prince being over-dressed for the neighborhood (because the PC can afford to be well-dressed and is expected to represent his people), or putting on airs (the PC is just being Elvish, but the NPC is reacting as though a human were behaving that way), or being out of touch with the working classes (a more sophisticated form of the anti-royalty prejudice), or might react badly to the PC pulling out a pouch of gold and requesting a room for the evening (too many NPCs have an immediate reaction of greed).
The Innkeeper glances from side to side nervously and whispers “Put that away, you fool, or you’ll get both our throats cut! One silver a night, soup for luncheon served in the common room is included, any disturbance and you’re on your own, take it or leave it.”
7. Break Decision Paralysis With Activity
In the Zener Gate campaign this last weekend, the players reached a point early in the day’s play where they had no idea of how to solve the problems confronting them, or what to do next. After permitting them a few minutes to try and escape their decision paralysis on their own, I took matters into my hands as GM.
First, given what the players had described of the NPCs was it reasonable that they would be unable to come up with any ideas to advance their situation – or at least, to clarify it?
Second, at what point does that reasonable behavior become unreasonable?
Third, how much should game time be compressed relative to real time when nothing is happening?
Applying (3) to (2) tells you when you should intervene. Of course, if the answer to the first question is “No”, then intervention should be as soon as you realize that the players have no idea.
Intervention comes in three forms – a PC has an idea, a PC gets to do something, an NPC invites a PC to do something or demands that the PC do something. I prefer to offer one from each of these menu options at more or less the same time.
In this particular case, I gave one character a glimpse of a big-picture perspective that had escaped his more mentally-sharp companion, suggested a wild idea that had come into the mind of that companion (one that I knew would be rejected, but that would kick-start the player choosing alternative courses of action), and had an NPC invite the first PC to accompany him, on the morrow, to “the graveyard” for more materials – titanium alloy and electronics. Result: the two quickly evolved a plan of action that would redefine the circumstances enough that any of several solutions might become possible. By the end of the game-time day, I had one PC involved in a wrestling match with three mechanical spiders based on a Martian War Machine while the other was trapped in a speeding carriage with mutated apes clawing their way through the canvas-and-leather roof…
It didn’t particularly matter what the action was, or what the thought was. One was helpful, one was not – choosing between them was up to the PCs. But by stimulating them and then distracting them from their paralysis, it came to an end.
It’s also worth noting that this is somewhat harder to do with a single player, either because only one member of a group is experiencing the indecision, or because it’s a single-player game; either way, you are lacking the interaction of two players verging towards overcoming the same problem at the same time, which gives both of them a boost in getting themselves moving. You will often need to place an NPC into the same mindset and then help both NPC and PC climb out of the mental “hole” in order to get the PC moving again as well.
Misery may love company, but that doesn’t mean that you should let company be miserable together – not when one or more of them are your players.
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