Tagline: If you’re the type that likes GM screens or interesting tidbits of knowledge concerning the World of Darkness, this product will probably be a satisfying purchase.

The Storyteller’s Screen and the accompanying Storyteller’s Companion are both very good products for what they are, but there’s nothing particularly exciting or innovative about either – nor do I consider them crucial products to the gaming experience. Surely with the plethora of materials available for the Vampire game you should be able to find something else worth spending fifteen dollars for.

The Storyteller’s Screen is made up of four 8” x 11” panels. The GM’s side has: A list of the five traditions, the armor chart, a chart summarizing the thirteen generations, a summary of aura colors, a hierarchy of human sin, a blood pool chart, a combat maneuver chart, a chart for judging feats of strength, two weapons charts, a combat summary chart, an experience chart, a summary of difficulties, a summary of hunting, damage charts for fire and sunlight, plus a general health chart and a summary of various vehicle types. This is an impressive array of information, and I found it was generally useful. I was also impressed that White Wolf avoided the temptation of including a summary of character generation on the screen – something almost every GM’s screen seems to possess despite the very obvious fact that you will never, ever need to access that information in the course of actual gameplay.

The opposite side of the screen is a very nice mosaic comprised of various vampires looking either threateningly or seductively out at you. I found it be an excellent choice of art because the choice of colors meant that it wasn’t overly distracting, but at the same time it was not so monotonous as to become easily boring to look at after a short time. In general, if you’re into GM’s screens this one is extremely admirable.

The accompanying book – the Storyteller’s Companion — on the other hand, cannot be so lauded. This is your typical hodgepodge of material thrown together so that the GM’s screens doesn’t have to stand on its own. Included are three new bloodlines (the Daughters of Cacophony, the Salubri, and the Salmedi) along with their associated disciplines. There’s also an extensive list of new equipment and an expanded character sheet. All in all, fairly boring stuff in my opinion which could have been more effectively integrated into other products instead of being thrown together without any sense of clear purpose here.

The most useless section in the book, however, would be Secondary Abilities. These are a new set of rules meant to supplement the Primary Abilities found in the main rulebook. In general I saw little differential between these abilities and those in the rulebook (why, for example, they felt that Interrogation would be used less often (and therefore qualify as a secondary ability) than Performance (a primary ability from the main rulebook) is beyond me), but these secondary abilities are cheaper and subject to a slightly different set of rules. The net result, as the book itself says, is that these “Secondary Abilities add greater complexity to the game, but they also add greater complication” (you’ll note that the words “complexity” and “complication” can be seamlessly interchanged here). Nothing is really accomplished by their inclusion except unnecessary headaches. Personally if I were to use any of them I would treat them exactly as I treat Primary Abilities. It should also be noted that since the expanded character sheet takes these Secondary Abilities into account, the other nice features of the character sheet (an expanded background and history section) are rendered rather useless. Oh well.

In general I found the product uninspiring, although generally adequate for this type of thing.

Style: 4
Substance: 3

Author: Clayton Oliver
Company/Publisher: White Wolf
Cost: $14.95
Page count: 70
ISBN: 1-56504-259-9

Originally Posted: 1999/02/17

One of the weird things about getting comp material for review is the essentially random nature of what you end up reviewing. You also end up reviewing stuff that you would never have actually bought for yourself, which creates a strange dynamic in which it becomes difficult to accurately judge the value of the material for people who actually are the target market. (Of course, one of the skills of a good reviewer is the ability to step out of your own shoes to judge the material as objectively as possible… while remembering that objectivity doesn’t mean relativity.)

In other news: Landscape screens are awesome and I’m not sure how we ever endured the taller screens of yore. I have also just realized that it’s been over ten years since I last played Vampire. That makes me a little sad.

For an explanation of where these reviews came from and why you can no longer find them at RPGNet, click here.

Rough Cover Progress – Viktor Fetsch

A couple days ago, we took a peek at the preliminary sketch Viktor Fetsch produced for the cover of Legends & Labyrinths. Here we see the cover as a work-in-progress, as it reaches roughly the 75% point of its completion.

One of the things I like about this piece is that the dragon feels traditional at first glance, but has a uniquely fiendish cast to his features upon closer inspection. There is a depth of both physical and conceptual space which draws my eye into the work and makes me want to step (or charge) into that world.

Go to Part 1

All of this can be somewhat difficult to discuss because game structures have become invisible partners in our games. They are generally not spoken of. We don’t even really think about them.

In The Elfish Gene, Mark Barrowcliffe writes: “When D&D is played it sounds like a series of questions and answers.” Similarly, in Apocalypse World, D. Vincent Baker says, “Roleplaying is a conversation. You and the other players go back and forth, talking about these fictional characters in their fictional circumstances doing whatever it is that they do. Like any conversation, you take turns, but it’s not like taking turns, right?”

So as we begin looking at game structures in traditional roleplaying games, what we’re really doing is cracking open this conversation at the game table and looking at what makes it tick. And, just like a formal debate, we’re also looking at how we impose rules onto that conversation and what effect those rules have. (Some of those rules are the actual mechanics of the game, but most of them are actually looser and more universally applicable than that.)

With that in mind, let’s start by imagining ourselves sitting at a hypothetical game table. We want to start playing a traditional roleplaying game. What needs to happen?

(1)   A player needs to propose an action for their character.

(2)   The GM needs to adjudicate that action and provide an outcome.

Once that outcome has been determined, this cycle repeats itself. (The player proposes a new action for their character and the GM then adjudicates that action.) This is the fundamental basis for the conversation at the heart of all roleplaying games.

But, as we established at the beginning of this essay, this is not as simple as it looks. Complications arise once we consider two questions:

(1)   What, exactly, is the action being resolved?

(2)   How, exactly, do we resolve that action?

The first question can be largely thought of as conceptually chunking or breaking actions apart. (Is “exploring the dungeon” a single action or is it made up of many different actions?) Sometimes the GM will need to break a proposed action down into smaller actions; sometimes they’ll need to figure out how to get the player to chunk multiple actions together into a meaningful package. Ideally, of course, both player and GM would get on the same page about what type of “chunk” to propose and resolve. (And this is, of course, where shared game structures come into play.)

The second question is often answered by the mechanics of the game, but not always. (And often those mechanics will only provide a partial answer.)

For a relatively simple example at the micro-level, consider a situation in which Elizabeth the Duchess of Canterlocke is providing a formal introduction for her friend, the Duke of Donalberry. But, in reality, the Duke of Donalberry is a fraud and Elizabeth knows this (she’s trying to smuggle him into some formal affair for reasons that aren’t really important). Is this resolved with a Bluff check? If so, is the check made by the duchess or the duke? Or both? Or should the duchess make a Bluff check while the duke makes a Disguise check? If the duchess fails her Bluff check, does that mean the whole fraud has been discovered? Or does it just alert the target that something funny is going on (thus applying a penalty to the duke’s Disguise check)?

There is no “right” answer here. But which structure you choose will have a significant impact on how this scene plays out at the table.

MICRO vs. MACRO

For the sake of convenience, I’m going to conceptually break down my discussion of game structures into two types:

At the micro-level, game structures usually take the form of GM rulings: As in our example of the Duchess of Canterlocke, the PCs propose an action and the GM determines how that action will be resolved. (In some cases this ruling is straightforward – the players want to do X; there is a rule for X; the GM uses the rule – and in other cases it will require greater innovation.)

At the macro-level, game structures become scenario structures. These larger scaffoldings determine how the players move through complex environments (physical, social, conceptual, or otherwise).

For example, imagine a simple scenario concept: “The PCs go to Castle Osterkark and investigate the rumors of cultist activity.”

A GM could choose to use any number of game structures to flesh out this concept: Is it a crawl from room to room? Is there a network of clues that will take the PCs to various locations throughout the castle? Will the PCs seek out particular NPCs and question them? Is there a timeline of events? Some combination of these techniques? Some other technique entirely?

At both the macro- and micro-level, game structures have a significant impact on what happens at the actual game table.

To help us get a better grasp on what scenario structures look like in practice, let’s take a peek at the grand-daddy of them all: The dungeoncrawl.

Go to Part 3: Dungeoncrawl

Preliminary Cover Sketch – Viktor Fetsch

Getting the art I need for Legends & Labyrinths continues to be a struggle. It’s a project that has been a monkey on my back for a long time; and as Zeno’s Paradox seems to invoke itself as I get closer and closer to its final completion, it feels like that monkey has been chowing down on neutronium.

But the process has not been without its joys. And watching Viktor Fetsch’s beautiful illustration for the cover slowly evolve and emerge has been a particular high point. Over the next week, I’m hoping to share a (rapidly accelerated) version of that experience with you.

We start today with the preliminary sketch Viktor gave me for approval before launching into the final piece. Prior to this, I had given him an art order which looked like this:

3 CORE ELEMENTS: 3 iconic heroes; fighting a dragon; in an evocative ruin.

DRAGON: Dead or alive. (Or both.)

RUINS: A sense of preternatural age. The majestic contours of long-lost civilizations. Whisper the suggestive echoes of a thousand, limitless stories.

HEROES: Three major fantasy archetypes — Fighter, Wizard, Rogue/Assassin. There should be no sense of these characters as “posing dramatically”, but rather being captured in a real moment. We want realistic armor. At least one of the heroes should be female. Consider having the heroes facing “away” from the camera: I don’t know if that’s necessarily right, but I am struck by how it invites the viewer to either identify with the characters or think of themselves as “the fourth member of the party”. Not a passive viewer, but a participant sharing in the same experience/vista.

3 KEY NOTES: A depth of field which invites the viewer into the sense of a wider world. The heroes and dragon interacting with the environment (dragon gripping a piece of ruin; flame washing around a rocky protuberance; one of the heroes hiding behind a wall; something like that). A “wow” element that’s not immediately apparent, but makes the image more than just a generic scenario.

If you had to describe the perfect cover for a fantasy RPG, what would it be?

One of the most overlooked aspects in the design and play of traditional roleplaying games is the underlying game structure. Or, to put it another way, there are two questions which every game designer and GM must ask themselves:

(1) What do the characters do?

(2) How do the players do it?

These questions might seem deceptively simple, but the answers are complex. And getting the right answers is absolutely critical to having a successful gaming session.

Some of you may already be challenging this. “How difficult can it be? The players tell me what their characters are doing and then we resolve it. What could be easier?”

To demonstrate the oversight taking place here, let me give you a quick example of play:

Player: I want to explore the dungeon.

GM: Okay, make a Dungeoneering check.

Player: I succeed.

GM: Okay, you kill a tribe of goblins and emerge with 546 gp in loot.

Is there anything wrong with that? Not necessarily. But it’s certainly a very different game structure than the traditional D&D dungeoncrawl.

And, of course, that example already assumes that the PCs are fantasy heroes who do things like dungeoncrawling. Given the exact same setting and the exact same game system, they could just as easily be monarchs, dragons, farmers, magical researchers, planar travelers, gods, military masterminds, or any of a dozen other things for whom these dungeoncrawling game structures are irrelevant.

BOARD AND CARD GAMES

The reason game structures become an issue for us is because roleplaying games are functionally open-ended: There is an expectation (and a reasonable one) that the players should be able to say “I want my character to do X” and then we’ll be able to figure out if (a) they’re successful and (b) what happens as a result.

Traditional board and card games don’t run into this problem because their game structure is rigidly defined and limited by the rules: Each time you take a turn in Monopoly or Chess or Arkham Horror there is a precisely defined sequence of actions for you to take. The complexity of this structure can vary quite a bit – in Candyland you simply follow the instructions in order; in Twilight Imperium your decisions would require an incredibly complicated flowchart to model – but the structure is invariable and comprehensive.

Or, to put it another way, boardgames and card games always have an answer to the questions of “What should I be doing now?” and “What happens next?”

ROLEPLAYING GAMES

Consider a hypothetical scenario in which you drop a group of PCs onto a random street corner. Now, take the same group of PCs and drop them into a random room in a dungeon. Why does one group say “I head through the north door” while the other says “I go looking for the local police station”? Why doesn’t the guy in the dungeon say “I go looking for the treasure” and the guy on the street corner say “I take the street on the left”?

Partly, of course, this is a matter of each group of characters having a different set of immediate goals. But it has a lot more to do with habits that have been casually engrained into us through years of playing RPGs.

Another example: Consider the difference between playing D&D and playing the Wrath of Ashardalon boardgame. Both feature similar mechanics, similar settings, and similar character goals. Why is my D&D group likely to spend time examining the walls and investigating arcane circles while my Wrath of Ashardalon group isn’t? Because the game structure is different.

In addition, as our example of dungeon vs. urban scenarios suggests, roleplaying games will often switch game structures. By contrast, computer games usually don’t swap game structures, choosing instead to unify their gameplay: In Elder Scrolls you use the same interface and commands whether you’re exploring a dungeon, traveling through the wilderness, or shopping in town.

On the other hand, games like Final Fantasy VII give you an overland map for travel. And Elder Scrolls V introduced a “fast travel” system that also changes that structure. Meanwhile, at the other extreme, the engine for the original Bard’s Tale was so limited that the town of Skara Brae was a murderville in which citizens attacked like monsters and the gameplay was almost completely indistinguishable from the dungeon at even the micro-level.

In a similar fashion, when I was twelve years old, I tried to run my earliest wilderness adventures as if they were dungeoncrawls: “Okay, you see some trees. What do you do?” “We go north.” “Okay, you go about a hundred feet. There are still trees. What do you do now?”

Use the wrong game structure and you can end up with a really lousy game.

Go to Part 2

GAME STRUCTURES
Part 2: Game Structure Basics
Part 3: Dungeoncrawl
Part 4: Combat
Part 5: Mysteries
Part 6: Hexcrawls
Part 7: Playing With Hexcrawls
Part 8: The Importance of Clean Procedures
Part 9: Archaic Game Structures
Part 10: Incomplete Game Structures
Part 11: Complete Game Structures
Part 12: Using Scenario Structures
Part 13: Custom Structures
Part 14: Scenario Structures for Between the Stars
Part 15: Generic Scenario Structures
Part 16: Player Known and Unknown Scenario Structures

Game Structure: Party Planning
Game Structure: Thinking About Urbancrawls
Game Structure: Tactical Hacking

Addendum: Katanas & Trenchcoats
Addendum: System Matters