{"id":20965,"date":"2017-08-08T00:55:55","date_gmt":"2017-08-07T14:55:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/?p=20965"},"modified":"2017-08-08T00:16:14","modified_gmt":"2017-08-07T14:16:14","slug":"kickstarting-the-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/kickstarting-the-story\/","title":{"rendered":"Kickstarting the Story"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

Bomb image by freeimages.com \/ iamwahid
Your stories don’t have to begin with an explosion. A ticking bomb is just as effective…<\/p><\/div>\n

There is a principle of script-writing and fiction writing that says that if you want to grab the audience’s attention, you should start the story in the middle. Perhaps the ultimate expression of this principle is the James Bond teaser. I’m not sure if it’s the case with the most recent movies – I’m not a huge fan of the Daniel Craig bond movies – but for a long time, more often than not, the teasers actually had a completely separate creative team behind them. Different writers, different directors, different cameramen.<\/p>\n

Until the Craig movies came along, at least, the only time this wasn’t the case was when the teaser was an integral part of the main plot, such as was the case with Goldeneye.<\/p>\n

But these movies are exceptions; most movies do not adopt this principle, because they have a sufficiently broad canvas and time-span. The Avengers and Guardians Of The Galaxy did not; they had relatively “quiet” plot-oriented beginnings. Avengers: Age Of Ultron, on the other hand, did utilize an action-beginning that saw the characters engaged in conflict with a Hydra facility. This essentially started the show in the middle of the plot, with the characters filling us in on the backstory through dialogue as the action progressed.<\/p>\n

There have been a number of writers who have recommended the adoption of the principle by GMs, and there are occasions when that would be my advice, too – but as a blanket rule, I don’t<\/em> recommend it.<\/p>\n

In today’s article, I’m going to deal with why, and offer some alternatives for consideration.<\/p>\n

The contra-indications<\/h3>\n

Let’s start with this: an RPG generally has even more scope to play around with than does a feature film. Most of the latter have a 2-hour running length to contend with (there have been a few exceptions, but in general, 2 hours or less provides maximum profitability for both the studios and cinemas), but an RPG can continue “next game session” from wherever it left off. Stories can take 5, 10, 20, 50, or more hours to run their course. So there is ample scope for a slow buildup as the players become aware of moves, one after another, by shadowy figures in the background.<\/p>\n

And, starting slow and building up, it is usually possible to achieve a greater tension and excitement as the story heads for a conclusion than it would be “starting strong”.<\/p>\n

What’s more, some of the literary constructs employed to make it possible to “start in the middle”, like the flashback, do not work as well in the case of an RPG. Players like to stay in control of their characters, but this forces the GM to either take some or all of that control away from the players, or forces them to play while pretending not to have the foreknowledge of the future that the “opening sequence” provides, while demanding<\/em> that the GM lay down plot train-tracks to ensure that the ultimate outcome places the PCs back where the plot started. And, often, by the time the GM gets there, those events have lost their intensity. It’s not too bad if you can get there in one game session, but if it takes longer, you can be in trouble.<\/p>\n

Starting in the middle often works more effectively if the action sequence is unrelated to the main plotline, but the challenge is then to make it relevant.<\/p>\n

Again, no one rule of plot construction is a one-size-fits-all solution; there are exceptions to all of these contra-indicators. But, in aggregate, most plots will fall victim to one or more of them.<\/p>\n

The other problem with “starting with an action sequence” is that these consume a disproportionate amount of screen time to resolve, using most game systems. It’s quite common for a fair fight to consume half of the day’s play – and, often, the only way to resolve that is to give one side or the other overwhelming power. If the PCs so totally overpower the enemy, the opening sequence loses the excitement that justifies its inclusion; if the PCs are blatantly overpowered, the GM can be accused of unfairness; and a fair fight takes too long.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, you can get around that problem with a more cinematic approach to combat, and I wrote a three-part series on cinematic combat<\/a> that explicitly shows how to do so.<\/p>\n

The bottom line remains that in RPGs, action-oriented openings are usually harder than the alternative, or won’t work as well most of the time. Every plot is different, and each needs to be examined to see (a) if it falls prey to one of the problems described above, and (b), if so, can a way around that difficulty be found, and (c), if so, will the result be a better adventure from the point of view of the players?<\/em><\/p>\n

The Other Side Of The Debate<\/h3>\n

There are almost as many good reasons to start with a bang as there are to hesitate.<\/p>\n

When you have a lot of backstory to tell, you need to hook the players into the situation so strongly that they are compelled<\/em> by their fascination to bear with the GM while that back story emerges. You have half-a-page to bait the hook, maximum.<\/p>\n

Where the slow build-up is more tedious than a sense of the walls being thrown up around them as the PCs watch – when there is no tension, in other words – an action opening can provide the energy ‘lift’ necessary to get the players through the buildup.<\/p>\n

If the campaign is such that the PCs regularly get involved in action, and the plot doesn’t have any for a period of time, an unrelated action sequence may be just what’s required to reflect that element of the PC’s lives – a random interjection of violence positioned so that it doesn’t distract, or detract, from the main plot.<\/p>\n

If the planned adventure is complex and convoluted, it may help to balance things to have a simple action sequence to get things started.<\/p>\n

And, some players are only there for the action. An exciting opening sequence may scratch that itch for long enough that the other players can get their own gaming needs satisfied.<\/p>\n

So there are a lot of good reasons to have an exciting opening sequence of some sort. That’s why it is worth all the effort of trying to incorporate one if you possibly can.<\/p>\n

Moments Of High Drama<\/h3>\n

Here’s a convenient fact: Any moment of high drama, passion, or intensity involving a PC will work as a high-voltage start. For example, it could be an accusation being leveled – if you give no clue as to the justification for the accusation, no hint as to whether or not the target deserves the accusation, then you can fit it in wherever. The more bereft of context the opening scene, the more places in the adventure it can fit.<\/p>\n

Using this logic, here’s another plot structure that achieves the desire to start at an exciting point in the story, even if that isn’t the beginning:<\/p>\n

    \n
  • We open with the description of a bloody battle, a shadowy figure raising his great-sword in victory over the blackened and bloody corpses of the PCs. No explanation of who the enemy is, or how things reached this point.<\/li>\n
  • You continue with ” ‘….at least, that’s what will happen if [x] does [y]’, [z] announces grimly.” Z can be someone the PCs know – a known enemy, a known ally, or a complete stranger. The point is that the first scene turns out to be narrative on the part of this person, who is delivering a warning to the PCs.<\/em> It could even be a complete fiction. The PCs don’t know, and don’t know how to respond, because this framing scene, too, is completely devoid of context. Though it can be useful if it’s taking place somewhere that the PCs wouldn’t expect such an encounter to occur – an enemy’s base, or the PC’s briefing room, if Z is normally hostile; a hospital bed, or via a recorded message if it’s an ally (implying vulnerability); a strangely-alien cemetery or improbable castle or whatever if a stranger. By making it somewhere unlikely, you further shear away at any context that the players might have been able to infer.<\/li>\n
  • You then pose the rhetorical question of “How did this come to pass?” and that<\/em> is where play actually starts.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n

    Why does this work? Clearly, the first part of the plot is how Z came to be colluding with the PCs. But that’s the only<\/em> fact that has to be established via railroading, and it’s not relevant in a campaign context, it’s so minor. It’s like the PCs saying, “we don’t need the adventure briefing, we’ll figure out what we are supposed to do along the way” (which can be fun, sometimes, too). Because an NPC is narrating the opening scene, it could be entirely improbably or implausible, and need not ever actually take place. All you need is for the players to think it might<\/em> happen to associate the outcome with the threat it poses, creating exactly the same interest as would be present had it been a certainty.<\/p>\n

    By making what has to be “forced to occur” something small – an NPC warning the PCs of what they think might<\/em> happen – you make the degree of manipulation required to achieve it equally small.<\/p>\n

    Here’s another example of the same thing:<\/p>\n

      \n
    • “The man with the mustache grabs [PC name] by the lapels and pulls him close so that they are practically eyeball-to-eyeball. ‘Don’t make any silly mistakes, now,’ he warns….<\/li>\n
    • At which point the GM starts the game properly, segueing with “Several days earlier….” and completely failing to offer any context or explanation for how events reached that point. Is the man with the mustache an enemy with which the PC has come face-to-face? Is he a potential ally who is deeply suspicious? Is he an actual ally playing out some game for the benefit of someone else watching the scene? These are all questions that the GM has left hanging, having started the day’s play with a moment of high drama without explanation.<\/em>. And because the scene is capable of so many different interpretations,
      \n it’s relatively easy to find some way to slip it into the plotline.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n

      Undirected Teasers<\/h3>\n

      In fact, if the GM is sufficiently confident in his ability to improv, he might have no idea<\/em> how the teaser will come to pass, just that when the opportunity strikes to do so, he needs to take advantage of it.<\/p>\n

        \n
      • “Wildemere [a PC] slumps to his knees in the alley, concealed by some empty barrels from the nearby inn that are awaiting collection for refilling, and attempts to regain his breath. In the distance, he hears the barking of hounds as the search for him gets underway…” – is Wildermere on the run? From the Authorities? From an enemy? Or do the searchers want to help him? The only<\/em> thing that this scene nails down is that the character will have been doing something<\/em> that has left him momentarily short of breath.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n

        A similar technique is to take an NPC statement out of context, but have they deliver the key line of dialogue with attention-getting force and passion.<\/p>\n

        Self-contained and Undermined Teasers<\/h3>\n
          \n
        • “Falcon [a PC] collapses, the blade protruding from his back, having slain the last of the accursed undead who had confronted him. As the curtain descends, blocking the actor from sight, the audience rises to applaud the latest “re-creation of real life” by the famous playwright, Ernest Quiverspeare. Only the real Falcon remains seated, grumbling to himself, “But that’s not the way it happened at all…”<\/em><\/li>\n<\/ul>\n

          The GM has clearly usurped control over one PC [Falcon}, possibly more, for the briefest of moments but under these circumstances, that will be forgiven, even overlooked. Once again, this scene has started without context and with more than enough dramatic impact to get the attention of everyone at the table – and then has filled in the missing context in such a way that makes the entire scene a matter of “artistic license” that will bear absolutely no resemblance to what is actually going to happen in the course of the day’s play. The only certainty is that somehow, this “famous playwright” will be involved, however peripherally, and will be inspired by events.<\/p>\n

          What might have been a prophetic sequence is now walled off from the “in-game reality” that is to transpire; the GM has no need to railroad anything<\/em> – meaning that all the downsides of the dramatic opening go away.<\/p>\n

          Three commonalities<\/h3>\n

          The observant may have noticed that there are three commonalities to all these examples. The first is that there is minimal input by the players, even if the scene revolves around the PC that they control. Instead, any involvement or interaction with the scene by a player has been deferred until this sequence rolls around ‘in continuity’.<\/p>\n

          The second is that there is a minimum of description of location. This has two effects: it focuses attention on the action, and it makes it easier to fit the scene in anywhere that it will fit.<\/p>\n

          The third is that they all create a mystery for the players to solve, however minor that mystery may be, while promising that the players won’t have to do any detective work to solve that mystery.<\/p>\n

          A couple of sci-fi -only methods<\/h3>\n

          In one of the last handful of adventures in the previous incarnation of the Zenith-3 campaign, I started the adventure by describing the sun going nova and incinerating the planet, PCs and all. We then shifted to the PCs several days earlier as they lived through the events that led up to the event. And then the sun went nova again. And the PCs found themselves back at the start of the adventure for a second time (with the clear implication that this was at least the third such repetition, and possibly much more. In a nutshell, the event that caused the nova had created a paradox which trapped the PCs in a self-contained loop in time (the idea for which was stolen from a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode). Only by preventing the Nova could the PCs release themselves from the loop, thereby enabling them to inadvertently instigate the events that would create the loop in time in the first place. The whole point was to prevent the disaster described as the ‘teaser’ from happening in the first place.<\/p>\n

          The other trick that I once pulled was to have the players inadvertently (and quite unknowingly) playing parallel world versions of the PCs that they usually controlled as a crisis unfolded, having been warned of forthcoming events by a mysterious stranger. When they failed to prevent the crisis from occurring, the mysterious figure vanished – only to reappear in another parallel world and warn the PCs that lived there<\/em> all over again. By defining the “real game world” as the one in which the PCs “got it right”, I was able to give them as many attempts at preventing the calamity as they needed. This completely liberated me from the usual considerations and self-imposed restrictions (e.g. “don’t kill a PC unless they’ve done something stupid or deliberate to deserve it”) and let me do my absolute worst.<\/p>\n

          Where does a story begin, anyway?<\/h3>\n

          The ultimate truth is this: all campaign adventures start in the middle, whether you (or anyone else) realizes it, or not. Unless a PC was present to witness the birth of the idea, unless a PC was present at every step along the way, the first time that they become aware of events is when those events affect them.<\/em> This is the inevitable result of “telling stories” from the point-of-view of<\/em> the PCs.<\/p>\n

          The “beginning” of the story, so far as they are concerned, is actually the middle of the story from the point of view of someone else, including the perspective of the GM, who has had to determine what these unseen events were.<\/p>\n

          This gives rise to one final trick that I have to share with you:<\/p>\n

          The Omniscient Tease<\/h3>\n

          This is when you start the adventure by “showing” the PCs a preliminary scene from the point of view of someone other than their characters, because their characters are not present to witness it.<\/em><\/p>\n

          This is the equivalent of a metaphoric “first shoe” dropping. For the rest of the adventure, until the event that they “witnessed” is placed into context within the events that their characters have<\/em> experienced during play, they will be waiting for the “other shoe” to drop. They know it’s coming – and the longer you make them wait, the more the tension of the situation will build up.<\/p>\n

          The Inevitable Conclusion<\/h3>\n

          One of the most common pieces of advice that used to be bandied about on Australian Idol (you all know what that show is all about from the name, even if you’ve never seen an episode) is for the performer to “tell the story” with their song or performance. “Sell” that story to the audience and the performer imbues the story with gravitas that sucks the audience into the performance, making them enjoy a vicarious participation in it whether they want to or not.<\/p>\n

          One really clear example of what they are talking about is “The Sound Of Silence” by Disturbed. If you haven’t seen the video or heard this incredibly powerful rendition of the Simon & Garfunkel classic, do yourself a massive failure and via YouTube.<\/p>\n

          The first time I heard it, I was sitting bolt upright in my chair going “what is that?”<\/em> from about the 1:48 mark. Until then, I had been captivated by the apparent dichotomy between the performance style and the appearance of David Draiman, the lead singer, a lesson in never judging books by their covers. But that first minute-and-three-quarters is all foundation for what comes after. And every time you think the performance has hit peak intensity too soon, it steps it up another gear.<\/p>\n

          The success of the rendition is built on the knowledge of the song – we’ve all heard the original – and the anticipation that comes from knowing how much of it there is to come.<\/p>\n

          But the point is that it places, and interprets, the song through an entirely different context while never actually showing us that context. It places it in the back of our minds and just leaves it there, while the video explores still another context.<\/p>\n

          What “The Sounds Of Silence” does, musically, and the impact that it has, is exactly what you want the opening scenes of any day’s game-play to do. They suck you in and involve you totally in what is going on, building a foundation of investment<\/em> in the plotline on the part of the players.<\/p>\n

          Regardless of your GMing style, we are all storytellers under the skin. That story may be an undirected ramble through a game setting or situation, it may be driven and directed by the characters, or there can be the elegant inevitability that results from a carefully planned and executed narrative that permits individuality of expression and decision by the players only within the broader context of the unfolding storyline.<\/p>\n

          At the same time, RPGs are a collaborative art-form in which the contributions of the players can and should never be underestimated or unwelcome. To make the most of those contributions, though, you need the players to be in the head-space defined by the story that the GM is shaping. That makes their contributions relevant and not sideshows, makes them participants and not mere observers.<\/p>\n

          And that makes the game a social activity that’s entertaining for all those participating.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

          There is a principle of script-writing and fiction writing that says that if you want to grab the audience’s attention, you should start the story in the middle. Perhaps the ultimate expression of this principle is the James Bond teaser. I’m not sure if it’s the case with the most recent movies – I’m not […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[67,70,74,89,221,12,91,13,96,81],"tags":[237,100,104,155,111,172,286,218,282,283,146,232],"series":[],"class_list":["post-20965","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-dnd","category-gm-ing","category-mike","category-npcs-etc","category-opinion","category-pcs","category-plans-and-prep","category-players","category-write","category-zenith3","tag-adventure-creation","tag-adventure-prep","tag-behind-the-screen","tag-dd","tag-encounter-design","tag-npcs","tag-opinion","tag-pathfinder","tag-pcs","tag-players","tag-running-encounters","tag-writing"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1toiD-5s9","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20965"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20965"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20965\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20969,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20965\/revisions\/20969"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20965"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20965"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20965"},{"taxonomy":"series","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.campaignmastery.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/series?post=20965"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}