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DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 45C: Long Reign of the Sun

Ranthir was examining the magical guards laid upon the plug. Eventually he concluded that their initial suspicions had been correct: Only at night could the plug be opened. The spell was ancient, but still potent – only a powerful wish would remove the plug.

“So when we get the wish spell from Rehobath do we use it on the sealed door at the Banewarrens?” Elestra asked. “Or do we use it here?”

“I think we need to use it at the Banewarrens,” Tor said. “We know how to get through this plug. We just have to wait for dark. But there may not be any other way through the sealed door.”

“Except the key,” Tee said.

“A key that may not exist any more. Or that we may never find.”

They debated staying until nightfall and then going into the tomb. But there was trepidation about staying in the Necropolis after dark without proper preparations.

And then Tee realized that they couldn’t stay: The note they had discovered in the Temple of the Rat God describing some sort of shipment at Mahdoth’s Asylum was dated for midnight. They couldn’t afford to be trapped inside the Necropolis while that kind of known activity was happening.

A dynamic I’ve found it can be difficult to understand if you’re only familiar with linear forms of play is the mixture of pressure and opportunity created when the PCs are pursuing multiple agendas.

At the beginning of this session, for example, the PCs had just barely managed to escape from overwhelming opposition at Porphyry House. In a linear campaign or scenario, they would’ve needed to immediately turn around and attack Porphyry House again. If they were clever, they might find some new way of tackling the problem, but ultimately this would be the one and only thing available for them to do.

In this case, however, the PCs have a bunch of irons in the fire. To mix idioms a bit, they’re free to let Porphyry House simmer for a bit while they pull a different iron out of the fire. It’s a powerful dynamic because it prevents the campaign from slamming to a halt when it meets an unexpected roadblock. By exploring other options, maybe the PCs can find resources or opportunities that can remove the roadblock. Combined with something like node-based scenario design or xandered dungeons, the PCs might find some way of routing around the roadblock. When you’re playing in a system like D&D where the PCs can become much more powerful, they may just level up to a point where the roadblock ceases to be an impediment.

On the other hand, at the end of this session, the PCs are forced to put a pin in their plans to explore Alchestrin’s Tomb because they have other agendas that are demanding their attention. They need to prioritize their goals and figure out the most efficient way they can be pursued with the time and resources that they have.

Linear adventures and single-threaded campaigns, of course, can be designed to include some form of time pressure. (“You have to rescue the princess before the blood moon rises!”) What’s most notable about the multi-threaded campaign, though, is that the GM doesn’t actually have to plan this stuff. At no point in my prep, for example, did I ever say, “Ah! I’ll schedule the shipment to Mahdoth’s Asylum so that it arrives at the same time they’re checking out Alcehstrin’s Tomb!”

Because, among other reasons, I had no idea when the PCs might actually go and check out Alchestrin’s Tomb. There’s another version of reality where their assault on Porphyry House didn’t turn into a clusterfuck. In that other world, the PCs might have spent the whole afternoon burning through resources while clearing out the whorehouse, only to reach the evening and realize that they would need to deal with whatever was happening at Mahdoth’s while being severely depleted by the day’s events. Or maybe they’d realize they couldn’t shoot both barrels into Porphyry House and instead pull out early (puns intended) to conserve their resources for Mahdoth’s. Either way, those are also compelling strategic choices and consequences!

So if I’m not planning specific pressure points or forcing specific choices, what am I doing to make this happen?

1. Any time there’s an upcoming event in the campaign, whether the PCs know about it or not, I make sure to assign it a specific date and time.
2. I keep track of the passage of time.

That’s it.

When scheduling events, I notably don’t really think about how they interact with unrelated events in the campaign. I don’t need to. The various scheduled events and the actions of the PCs will naturally combine and interact with each other during play, and pressure will simply emerge organically from the mix.

This principle is a good example of how, in my experience, loosening your grip on the campaign, empowering the PCs, and actively playing the game world is actually a lot easier for the GM than trying to force a single-threaded chain of events. Partly because you don’t need to force it. Mostly because you’re no longer solely responsible for everything that happens.

The other effect of multi-threading like this, of course, is that stuff will tend to hang around. The PCs first learned of Alchestrin’s Tomb in Session 35. They tried to visit in Session 36, but got waylaid by a false crypt. Then they got waylaid by other pressing concerns for several days, only returning here in Session 45. And it won’t be until Session 48 that they can come back and actually get inside for the first time.

Can this be frustrating? Yes. But it’s a good frustration. It’s the frustration of solving a puzzle or plotting out the perfect turn in a board game. And, of course, it’s not like nothing was happening during those other sessions! During that time, the players were pursuing and achieving other goals that were important to them.

But even as they’re doing those other things, the sense of anticipation is building. Content isn’t being chewed up as soon as it’s introduced. It naturally endures, weaving its way into a more complicated narrative. It was a full year of time in the real world from when they heard about Alchestrin’s Tomb to when they actually entered into the tomb. Which meant that entering the tomb felt momentous.

Which, in turn means, that the feeling of reward when these long-lasting goals come to fruition is also greater.

This dynamic also has an interesting effect on things like the Principles of RPG Villainy. Extending the players’ relationships with villains over time just naturally gets them more deeply invested in that antagonism. The agenda pressure that naturally emerges from multi-threaded campaigns also means that truly memorable villains also just kind of naturally develop themselves. (As do relationships with faction, NPCs, and other facets of the campaign.)

Campaign Journal: Session 46A – Running the Campaign: TBD
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 45C: LONG REIGN OF THE SUN

October 31st, 2009
The 25th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

After several long minutes, the homunculi emerged from the cloud of black pollen that blotted out much of the hill. They waited the better part of half an hour for the last of the poisonous vapor to blow away.

Mounting the hill again, they easily reached its apex. Set into the ground at the center of the stone circle they found a large iron plug etched with bronze and set into the earth. The bronze etching detailed Alchestrin’s sigil. Around the perimeter of the plug was an inscription written in characters Ranthir identified as ancient Arathian. With the aid of a spell he was able to translate the passage:

Forevermore shall the sun be my foe.

From its light I pass forever.

The doors of my realm shall not open as long as its reign lasts.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Tor asked.

“That we can’t get in unless it’s night?” Tee said. “Yeah. I think so.”

Indeed, the plug wouldn’t move. Ranthir tried bathing the area in a magical darkness and they experimented with other coverings to block the sunlight, but none of it worked. Elestra then tried to send her homunculi down into the ground, in an effort to circumvent the plug, but they weren’t able to clearly communicate with it or determine if it had found anything.

Eventually they hunted down a shovel from a gravekeeper a fair distance away. Returning to the hill they dug down around the edges of the iron plug, only to find that it was set into a smooth-faced iron shaft that also resisted their efforts to penetrate it.

Meanwhile, Ranthir was examining the magical guards laid upon the plug. Eventually he concluded that their initial suspicions had been correct: Only at night could the plug be opened. The spell was ancient, but still potent – only a powerful wish would remove the plug.

“So when we get the wish spell from Rehobath do we use it on the sealed door at the Banewarrens?” Elestra asked. “Or do we use it here?”

“I think we need to use it at the Banewarrens,” Tor said. “We know how to get through this plug. We just have to wait for dark. But there may not be any other way through the sealed door.”

“Except the key,” Tee said.

“A key that may not exist any more. Or that we may never find.”

They debated staying until nightfall and then going into the tomb. But there was trepidation about staying in the Necropolis after dark without proper preparations.

And then Tee realized that they couldn’t stay: The note they had discovered in the Temple of the Rat God describing some sort of shipment at Mahdoth’s Asylum was dated for midnight. They couldn’t afford to be trapped inside the Necropolis while that kind of known activity was happening.

“We were just deputized, after all.”

Running the Campaign: Agenda Pressure – Campaign Journal: Session 46A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

Go to Part 1

GM: So now, at last, Minas Tirith is besieged, enclosed in a ring of foes. The Rammas has been broken, and all Pelennor abandoned to the Enemy. All night the watchmen on the walls hear rumors of the enemy that roam outside, burning field and tree, and hewing any man they find abroad, living or dead. The numbers that have already passed over the River cannot be guessed in the darkness, but when morning, or its dim shadow, stole over the plain, you can see that the plain is dark with their marching companies, and as far as your eyes can strain in the mirk there sprout, like a foul fungus-growth, all about the beleaguered city great camps of tents, black or somber red.

Gandalf: Hmm… can I use my Fireworks skill to whip up a nuclear bomb?

GM: Sure.

Always Say Yes is a bit of GMing advice that gets circulated quite a bit. The example above takes it to a silly extreme, but it illustrates the central problem: There clearly is a point where the GM needs to say no, but the simplistic “Always Say Yes” not only doesn’t help them figure out what that is, it’s more likely to mislead them. Its sole saving grace is that Always Say Yes is at least preferable, in my opinion, to Always Say No, which is where railroading will often take GMs.

Always Say Yes comes from theatrical improv games. And the reason it’s bad advice for an RPG is that improv and RPGs have fundamentally different narrative structures.

In improv, the performers are collaborating to create a world. You always accept new facts about the world because negation doesn’t take you anywhere creatively:

Actor 1: Here we are at Disney World!

Actor 2: No, we’re at the White House.

But even in improv it can mislead performers, because Always Say Yes only applies to the worldbuilding (i.e., stated facts about the world). It doesn’t mean that your character can’t oppose or say no to another character. If the maxim is misapplied in this way, it becomes impossible for improv scenes to have any conflict, draining them of interest.

Note: This is also why Always Say Yes actually can be useful in certain storytelling games based around narrative control mechanics. Many of those games, although not all, feature collaborative world-building.

In RPGs, on the other hand, the GM creates the world and the players take on the roles of characters who live in that world. The players, therefore, are primarily playing a role, not worldbuilding, while the GM’s primary duty is being an arbiter of the fictional reality those characters inhabit. From a game perspective, this is much more like 20 Questions than it is an improv theater game: There’s a “truth” (e.g., the object selected in 20 Questions) that the GM knows to be true and which is being communicated to the players.

Imagine for a moment playing 20 Questions while always saying Yes: It’s technically possible. In fact, just like Gandalf setting off tactical nukes on the Fields of Pelennor, you’re almost guaranteed to “win” every time. And yet you’ve fundamentally broken the game.

So the improv-style Always Say Yes to Worldbuilding doesn’t work in an RPG.

What if we change the target to something like Always Say Yes to Player Plans? This is probably getting us closer to something useful, but it still doesn’t hold up to scrutiny. For a simple example, consider someone saying, “I cast a spell and teleport back to Dweredell!” Okay… but does your character actually have a spell that does that? RPGs have rules that mechanically define characters and what they can (and, importantly, can’t) do.

In addition to a character mechanically lacking the ability to do something, you’ve also got world state (e.g., there’s a teleport interdiction field there) and NPC actions (e.g., someone counterspells the teleport) that can – and at least some of the time should! – negate player intention.

At this point we can easily glide over into another common maxim: Say yes or roll the dice.

This can probably be more accurately understood as “say yes unless the mechanics say no” (since not all mechanics use diced outcomes), but even that’s still misleading because there can, once again, be non-mechanical reasons why a player’s proposed action won’t work (e.g., they want to go the local mage’s guild, but the GM knows there’s no mage’s guild in this village).

DEFAULT TO YES

All of which is why I prefer to use Default to Yes as my maxim of choice here.

Its meaning expands to, “When the players say they want to do something, you should default to letting them do it unless you have a specific and interesting reason not to.” It fulfills the same crucial function of steering the GM away from contrarianism, but also provides a clear standard they can use to figure out when they should be saying No.

Furthermore, if it turns out that there is, in fact, a reason not to Default to Yes, then you can also use the Spectrum of GM Fiat to find the appropriate response:

• Yes, and…
• Yes, but…
• No, but…
• No

And, if those aren’t right, you can always shift to, “Maybe, let’s roll the dice and find out…”

The underlying principle here is the players will generally propose doing things that they would enjoy and outcomes that they desire. So, generally speaking, letting them do and achieve those things will make for happy players.

So why not go back to Always Say Yes, then?

Largely because there’s other stuff that he players also enjoy. That might be challenge (e.g., knowing that they’ve actually earned their victories), simulation (e.g., they want to know that they’re exploring a “real” place), or drama (e.g., struggle is narratively interesting). To generalize, failure is interesting.

GM DON’T #20.1: PREP IS ALL, PREP IS LAW

If we return to our example of the PCs looking for a mage’s guild in a village where the GM knows no mage’s guild exists, however, there’s another pitfall you can stumble into while trying to enforce the fictional reality of the game world.

Imagine that the PCs have come to a large city, perhaps one with half a million people living in it. A player says, “Okay, I want to find a blacksmith who can repair my sword.” You check your description of the city, but it turns out that you didn’t include any smithies in your notes.

This is just like the mage’s guild, right? Your notes for the village didn’t include a mage’s guild, so there was no mage’s guild. Your notes for the city don’t include a blacksmith, so there are no blacksmiths.

… right?

Probably not.

Obviously a large medieval fantasy city is almost certainly going to have at least one smithy. The key insight here is that even if you have hundreds and hundreds of pages of notes detailing your city, you still won’t have recorded every single person, place, and thing. It would be a mistake to believe that the only things that exist in the game world are the things you’ve explicitly written down. Instead, when confronted with a situation like this, the question you should ask yourself is, “Given everything I know about the game world, would it make sense for this to exist? And, if so, what form would it take?”

And, once again, you want to Default to Yes.

If you know that there are no Ivy League schools in Kentucky, then it’s fine to say No if the players want to go looking for one in Paducah. But if they’re just looking for a university with an archaeology department somewhere in the state where they could ask some questions of an expert, then they should be able to find one somewhere in the state!

Once you’ve grokked that principle, the next thing to understand is that this extends beyond cities and states. It scales to almost every level of the game world.

For example, let’s zoom all the way in on a dungeon room. Here’s one from So You Want to Be a Game Master:

AREA 15: CRYPTIC LIBRARY

The room is of crimson and dark wood beneath a vaulted ceiling. A set of tall double doors, matching the ones you entered through, faces you on the opposite side of the room. A large pentagonal mahogany table stands in the center of the chamber. There are five large bookcases stuffed full of tomes and scrolls along the paneled walls. Sunlight streams in through bay windows with a built-in bench. The windows are leaded stained glass depicting a subtle pattern of golden florets.

Consider those bookcases. In our key, we might even include additional details about the books:

BOOKCASES

The books and other documents here are all of an occult nature. There is a focus on Natharran mythology, particularly an enigmatic figure known as Basp-Attu. A DC 15 Intelligence (Arcana) check identifies Basp-Attu as a dual-bodied demon said to have been born from the mixed ichor of two dead gods during the War of Falling Stars.

But even with all of this detail, we still haven’t completely detailed the bookcase.

• What if a PC wants to grab the heaviest book off the shelf and use it to bludgeon the cloaker that’s just ambushed them? How big is the biggest book? Is it big enough to do serious damage?
• “Are there are any books with a green cover? Maybe I can fool the goblins into thinking it’s a copy of the Verdigris Bible.”
• “I want to tip the bookcase over on top of the cloaker!” Have the bookcases been fastened to the wall?
• “What’s the single most useful book about Basp-Attu here?”
• “Are there volumes here that would be useful additions to the collection at the libram at my kolledzh?”

To be clear, the point isn’t that you should be prepping answers for all of these questions. The point is to recognize that you can never prep the entire world. The players will always have a question you don’t know the answer to and you will always be performing acts of creative closure at the table.

Unless, of course, you make the mistake of believing that you have prepped everything and that your prep is absolute and immutable law. If you do that, then you’ll have started walking down one of the many paths to pixelbitching — aka, playing a game of Guess What the GM Prepped.

Feng Shui, the roleplaying game of Hong Kong action films, actually pushes this concept of the uncertain game world and creative closure one step further by specifically giving the players unilateral narrative authority to simply declare that a prop they want is present in any fight scene. Want to fight with a ladder like Jackie Chan in First Strike? Bring a rolled up magazine to a knife fight like Jason Bourne? Throw your jacket over a support cable and zipline to the ground? You don’t need to ask the GM if there’s a ladder at the construction site, a magazine on the coffee table, or a cable attached to the building.

This works because when the GM says, “The elevator doors open to reveal a floor full of cubicles,” everyone at the table is, in fact, picturing a different place. There are some details — like the fact there are computer monitors on the desks — that are shared in all of our imagined spaces, but there are other details that aren’t. As we interact with and explore the space together, though, our visions adapt and converge. This mostly happens without friction and often without us ever really consciously thinking about how our mental image of the cubicle farm is morphing and changing.

While in my experience the GM’s vision of the space probably morphs less than the other players (because they are, in fact, the arbiter of the world), it’s important for them to understand that their imperfect vision will, in fact, also be adapting and becoming more fleshed out: I didn’t know there was a smithy in this town, but now I do. I had not specifically pictured staplers on those desks, but once Aaron snagged one I can clearly see them. I had no idea that The Two-Faced Demon by Attansea Millieu was a rare tome, but apparently there’s a copy sitting on this bookshelf.

Discovery is the great joy of collaboration, and if you can truly open yourself to that collaboration, who knows what exciting adventures those discoveries may take you on?

Out of Body, Out of Mind fails to think things through to their logical conclusions. A poorly conceived premise, killer traps, and an irrational set-up seriously undermine this module’s positive qualities.

Review Originally Appeared May 21st, 2001

PLOT

Warning: This review will contain spoilers for Out of Body, Out of Mind. Players who may find themselves playing in this adventure should not read beyond this point.

The plot of Out of Body, Out of Mind, in brief: Six hundred years ago this area of the world was a turbulent mass of fighting warlords. Then, one of their own numbers – Tirna’gael – gained in sudden strength and struck out against his fellow warlords, quickly coming to dominate the entire region before his death. The newly formed Order of Garadon entombed the warlord in his citadel: A castle of stone which hangs over the simmering cauldron of a volcano.

Although it is believed that the source of Tirna’gael’s power was the ring he wore, the Order of Garadon had actually discovered that Tirna’gael had become the host of a nescent – an invisible and incorporeal demonic entity which exists by possessing mortal bodies. The Order trapped the nescent by slaying the Tirna’gael host body and imprisoning it within an antimagic field.

Rumors now fly that the tomb – which has long been secured by mystic guards – has been broken into. The PCs are dispatched to stop the robbers. Unknown to the PCs, however, is that there is no robbery in process – and it is very likely that they will break the ancient seals on the nescent’s prison through their carelessness.

WEAKNESSES

All right, where to begin?

Let’s start with the premise… which makes no sense. First off, why wouldn’t the Order of Garadon brief the PCs about the true situation? More importantly, why isn’t the Order of Garadon sent in the first place – rather than handing the job over to the clueless? Second, if rumors are already flying about the break-in, why are the PCs dispatched to go to the prison in order to prevent the robbery that’s already happened from taking place?

Once the PCs reach the prison, these illogical premises continue unabated. For example, the mephits which were set to guard the prison don’t wake up until after the tomb has been opened and the nescent released. Apparently the author never understood the irony behind the saying “closing the coop after the chickens have flown.”

Nor is this the only variety of flaw in Out of Body, Out of Mind: Area 7, for example, has a killer trap. That trap can be avoided if a couple of die rolls are successfully made – otherwise it will most likely wipe out the entire party. The trap in area 9 is similarly designed so that escape is nearly impossible.

Out of Body, Out of Mind also uses the technique of keying multiple areas to a single set of text. I appreciate this technique when it is used appropriately. Unfortunately, it is not used so here.

STRENGTHS

Although outweighed by the adventure’s flaws, Out of Body, Out of Mind does have a few notable strengths:

First, Kapera creates the nescent by using the template rules. This idea of using the template as the monster is intriguing, and an interesting design point. I’m not quite sure if it works, but it’s noteworthy.

Second, although it is illogical for the mephit guardians to wake up only after the damage is done, once that happens Kapera introduces a rather interesting dynamic: The nescent will attempt to possess one of the mephits and control as many of the others as possible through its command lesser creatures ability – creating two factions within the fortress. This creates an interesting dynamic for the second half of the adventure (with the PCs trapped in a fortress full of fighting mephits), and if it had been more fully developed could have resulted in a truly fascinating adventure.

Of course, as interesting as it is, it only introduces a new problem into the adventure: Why would you set guardians over the nescent who can be controlled by the nescent? That’s like manning a prison with guards you know have been bribed by the prisoners.

And, at the end of the day, that’s the biggest problem Out of Body, Out of Mind has: The strengths it has are immediately undermined by the faulty foundation on which they have been built.

There are some salvageable elements to be found here, but they are deeply buried beneath the chaff.

Style: 3
Substance: 3

Author: Patrick Kapera
Publisher: Alderac Entertainment Group
Line: Adventure Boosters
Price: $2.49
Product Code: 8306
Pages: 16

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