Although it’s a little over fifty years old now, the roleplaying game is an incredibly new medium in the grand scale of things. Even compared to film, it’s just a little baby that’s only just barely coming into its maturity. This is particularly true because roleplaying games are radically different from all previous mediums.

This is true of all mediums, of course, but the notable thing about every pre-RPG medium is that the audience was fundamentally a passive recipient: The creator(s) created a story, painting, or film and then the audience in some way observed what had been created. Exceptions to this division between creator and audience were not unknown, but were extremely limited.

In an RPG, of course, the players are both creators AND audience at the same time. It’s just a fundamentally different activity to anything that had come before. So if you met someone who had never seen a comic book or a film before before you might say, “Well, it’s like reading a book with pictures” or “It’s like watching a play, but the actors’ performances are recorded.” But if someone asks, “A roleplaying game? What’s that?” people often find themselves struggling to really explain what it is we’re actually doing on a Friday night. There’s no easy analog to something people are already familiar with. If you’ve never played an RPG, then you’ve never done anything like it.

So we could begin with a technical definition:

A roleplaying game is a game in which the mechanical decisions made by the player are directly associated to the decisions of the character they’re playing, such that playing the game is inherently making decisions as if you were your character (i.e., roleplaying).

But while this definition might be useful in clearly distinguishing an RPG from a board game or storytelling game or graphic novel, it’s probably not very illuminating to someone just trying to figure out the basic concept.

A ROLEPLAYING GAME IS…

So let’s instead look at some practical answers to, “A roleplaying game? What’s what?”

The shortest effective description I’ve found is:

“It’s like an improvised audio book drama, with each player pretending to be a character and one player, the Game Master, describing the world. You can say that your character is going to try to do anything you can imagine, and then you and the Game Master will use the rules of the game to figure out what happens.”

I used to say “radio drama,” which I believe I got from John Tynes and Greg Stolze. But recently I’ve found most people have no idea what a “radio drama” is, so it’s pretty easy to get detoured into a completely separate explanation of what those are (and the end result still doesn’t give them a clear picture of what an RPG is).

Even with  the swap to “audio book drama,” though, this explanation may not land with everyone. So another approach might be:

“Video game RPGs like Elder Scrolls or Final Fantasy were actually based on tabletop roleplaying games. The two big differences are that you play entirely in your imagination and there’s a Game Master who describes the world and uses the rules to figure out what happens next. The cool thing is that this means you can have your character go almost anywhere and try to do anything you can imagine: You’re not limited to what the game programmers predetermined you could or should do.”

There’s an almost limitless number of metaphors you can extrapolate from, and the one that works best will really depend on who you’re talking to, what they’re already familiar with, and what they’re most passionate about.

Of course, we could also attempt a more direct approach with a more literal description of what actually happens at the gaming table:

When a group is playing a roleplaying game, they are imagining a fictional scene: That might be the bridge of a starcruiser, the dungeons of a vampire lord, or the neon-soaked alleys of Hong Kong in the 1980’s. One of the players is the Game Master. They describe the fictional scene: The red alert alarm klaxons on the bridge; the flickering torchlight illuminating the dungeon; or the Triad gang members who’ve just blocked the alley exit.

Each of the other players has a character that they’re playing in this scene. They might be a space smuggler trying to bluff her way past Imperial cruisers; a heroic knight trying to rescue the princess; or an honest cop stuck in a corrupt department.

Once the Game Master describes what their characters see, the players announce what they want their characters to do. The Game Master can then use the rules of the game to figure out what happens: If the cop wants to punch one of the Triads in the face, can he land the blow? And, if so, what happens to the Triad? How do the other Triads react?

The only way to find out is by playing the game!

Of course, there are a bunch of RPGs that won’t fit this “traditional” mold. Solo RPGs without GMs, for example. If it’s relevant to the conversation, use a description that matches the game you’re trying to explain. But, generally speaking, if you’re trying to explain to someone what a motion picture is, you don’t need to immediately try to make them understand the differences between feature films, syndicated sitcoms, mini-series, and made for TV movies.

Speaking of film, one of the great things about joining the hobby today is that you don’t need to actually play an RPG to see what it looks like. So you’re final option for explaining to someone what an RPG to say:

Here’s a link to the middle of an episode of a Critical Role/ Dimension 20 / whatever actual play seems best. Watch five to fifteen minutes and you’ll have a pretty good idea what we’re going to be doing Friday night.

(I recommend not just linking to the beginning of an episode because there’s often a bunch of introductory folderol that isn’t actually playing the game. Try to give them a timestamp to some meaty examples of play, ideally featuring a healthy dose of the rules actually being used / dice being rolled.)

The point, of course, is that there’s no One True way of explaining what an RPG is, any more than there’s One True Way of playing them.

An excellent adaptation of its source material which, unfortunately, doesn’t offer much to anyone who isn’t already a fan of the comic book.

Review Originally Published December 28th, 2000

Usagi Yojimbo is a truly excellent comic book created by Stan Sakai. The title character is an anthropomorphized version of the historical Miyamoto Musashi. In other words: Usagi Yojimbo is a humanoid rabbit whose fictional exploits draw a sizable portion of their inspiration from the life of a 17th century Japanese samurai.

The Usagi Yojimbo Roleplaying Game, authored by Greg Stolze (a game designer whose past credits – including Unknown Armies – speak for themselves), is an adaptation of Usagi’s world for all of us gaming fanatics.

SYSTEM

The system used for Usagi Yojimbo is a modified version of the generic Fuzion engine – also used in Sengoku (also published by Gold Rush Games), Bubblegum Crisis, Armored Trooper Votoms, and Champions: New Millennium (among others). You can learn more about the basic Fuzion system from the Fuzion Labs website.

There are two significant changes to the basic system in Usagi, both of which are carried out very nicely:

First, the character creation process has been boiled down to a simple, three step process – with each step modifying a set of basic attributes and skills which are given to each character:

1. Pick a Species (bat, cat, rabbit, mole, etc. – anthropomorphic, remember?).

2. Pick a Job (bounty hunter, bodyguard, gambler, retainer, etc.).

3. Divide 10 extra points among skills in order to customize your character.

This Job/Species system could easily be mistaken for a traditional, D&D-style Class/Race system – but you shouldn’t do that. The system in Usagi is not a class system, but rather an archetype system. Unlike the rigid definitions of a class system, an archetype system is loose and open: The goal of a class system is to protect the niche of each character (a wizard has a very different role than a fighter); whereas the goal of an archetype system is nothing more than to simplify the character creation process. Instead of figuring out which skills you need to be an effective messenger, the system designer has done the work for you.

The other major modification to the system is in the combat mechanics. Stolze has designed an elegant combat system designed to convey the feel and spirit of a samurai duel.

As in almost any other combat game you care to name, initiative determines who goes first. This person chooses a target. At this point, though, something a little different happens – because in Usagi Yojimbo it is not just the attacker, but also the defender, who gets to take an action.

It works like this: Both combatants secretly choose one of three strategies – Total Attack, Cautious Attack, or Total Defense. Both combatants then reveal their choice of strategy simultaneously (Stolze suggests using standard playing cards to do this effectively). Now, depending on which strategies were chosen, combat can go one of several ways. For example, if both combatants chose Total Attack, then they both roll their combat roles (Combat + Weapon Skill + roll of dice), but whoever succeeds does double the normal damage.

The only restriction to this is that the person who initiated the attack cannot choose Total Defense as a strategy (since that would mean they weren’t initiating the attack). Other than that, both attacker and defender behave identically – a rather radical change from the normal methodology in combat system design (in which the roles of attacker and defender are very distinct), which provides a unique – and highly worthwhile – dynamic to the system.

There are a few more twists to it, including an optional system for handling unarmed combat which is similarly unique in its approach, but that’s the core of it.

In practice this process really shines – giving a feel to the mechanics which does a very nice job of mirroring the feel of samurai duels in fiction (including, of course, Usagi Yojimbo).

STRENGTHS

The primary strength of Usagi has already been discussed at length: Stolze has adapted the Fuzion engine to give the game an extremely simple, yet also extremely attractive, system. Both character creation and combat are not only dynamic systems, but simple ones. Excellent stuff all around.

A couple of other things are worth mentioning, though: First, a one page system reference chart is included. I love these things, and wish more games had them. This one, in particular, is extremely effective – summarizing every last element of the game system. Far too often you’ll get “reference charts” – usually on GM screens – which reference every knick-knack in the game except the rules you actually use on a regular basis. Usagi avoids this nicely.

Second, the book contains a number of appendices – which, as a general rule, contain extremely useful information: A timeline for the Usagi universe; a character index for the comic; one of the best “gamer’s glossaries” for Japanese I’ve seen (largely helped, no doubt, by the fact it’s based in the Japanese which occasionally crops up in the Usagi comic; and, finally, a FUDGE conversion for the game system.

Finally, the book is rounded out by a short Usagi story by Stan Sakai, “Hebi”. Nice stuff.

WEAKNESSES

Unfortunately, there are two major flaws with the Usagi Yojimbo game – and they both take their toll on what would otherwise be an exceptional game.

First, the layout leaves much to be desired. Although the book’s illustrations are helped greatly in quality by the fact they are drawn from the Usagi comic book, they also come complete with word balloons. The effect, along with some other questionable lay-out choices, give the entire book a cluttered, inaccessible feel – which is, at the same time, scattered in its focus. One of the worst moments of this layout comes in a chart which lays out the major samurai clans in Usagi’s world – which, unfortunately, looks like it was designed to be a butterfly ballot in Florida.

Second, and far more troubling, is the fundamental lack of world reference material to be found in the book. It is essentially constrained to a timeline (which is not generally useful in any sense of the word) and a chapter discussing the major characters which have appeared in the Usagi comic (which is further flawed in that it doesn’t provide coverage of several usual suspects). The GM is basically left on their own when it comes to filling in the actual gaming environment of ancient Japan.

CONCLUSION

The Usagi Yojimbo Roleplaying Game is an excellent adaptation of its source material. Unfortunately, its varied weaknesses mean that it isn’t going to do anything for anyone who isn’t already a fan of the source material. The lack of any serious world reference material is particularly distressing – particularly when contrasted against the wealth of what would be essentially identical material in Gold Rush’s Sengoku game.

In short: Fans of Usagi Yojimbo might want to flip through this one to see if it offers them anything of interest. Anybody else should definitely give it a pass.

Actually, let me modify that conclusion in one way: System nuts might want to check this one out just to take a look at the combat system which Stolze has set up. The strategy system – which gives the system a true claim to fame – is almost a cap-system: It would be easy to pop it off of Fuzion and onto any standard combat system in the industry. If you’re tired of just rolling dice during combat, this might be worth your time.

Style: 4
Substance: 3

Grade: B

Title: Usagi Yojimbo Roleplaying Game
Authors: Greg Stolze
Company: Gold Rush Games
Line: Usagi Yojimbo
Price: $16.00
ISBN: 1-890305-02-2
Production Code: U100
Pages: 96

Originally Posted: 2000/12/28

I’m old enough that when someone says “furry” what I think of is stuff like Usagi Yojimbo and Cerebus. It’s interesting how a fetish-driven fanbase has really driven the whole anthropomorphic genre into a niche of a niche.

Conversely, it’s remarkable the degree to which D&D 3rd Edition rehabilitated the whole concept of class-based RPGs. Used to be everyone who left D&D to play other RPGs would collectively sigh with relief at never needing to play a class-based system with all of its silly limitations again. Now classes clearly rule the roost.

Review: Usagi Yojimbo – Monsters!

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

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 40E: A Final Questioning

Tor was able to quickly explain the situation and turn the children over to the custody of the watchmen. He decided, however, to claim that he had rescued them from the Temple of the Rat God instead of the Temple of Ebon Hand. (He was already concerned about them delving into the dangerous depths of the former; he didn’t think adding the dangers of the latter was a good idea.)

Meanwhile, the others were loading up the carts. Tee and Nasira drove those over to the Ghostly Minstrel, where they met with Tor and presented the paving stones to Tellith. She was delighted when they showed her how they worked, and they quickly made arrangements to get them installed as the front steps of the inn.

These magical paving stones are a pretty minor detail in the campaign journal here, and you won’t see them suddenly play some huge and significant role later on.

But I love them so much.

I originally added the paving stones to the Temple of the Ebon Hand because I had the idle thought that people arriving via sewer tunnel would be kinda gross. A prestidigitation spell would solve the problem, and the form factor — schlupping the sewer waste back down into the sewers — just made sense.

The others quieted and Tee walked through the wall. As she passed onto the white marble, the floor suddenly glowed brightly and the filth of the sewer was drawn away from her body, down through the illusionary wall, and into the sewer channel beyond.

“That’s handy.” Tee smiled, pleased that her clothes weren’t going to be ruined by the sewer after all. But she was concerned about the light, so she levitated up (with one last schlurping noise) and worked her way along the ceiling.

I never imagined that the PCs would be interested in looting the paving stones. It was, after all, a minor magical effect packaged into a huge form factor. But when the players had the idea of gifting the stones to the Ghostly Minstrel, it was a truly inspired thought.

(I don’t actually recall exactly which player first had the idea. In fact, I didn’t even remember it a few hours after the session, which is why it’s not recorded in the journal.)

The stones were, in fact, installed in front of the inn. And almost every single time the PCs comes home, they make a point of standing on the stones so that the blood and gore and sludge can all be whisked away. I also make a point of occasionally mentioning other delvers arriving at the Ghostly Minstrel and taking advantage of the stones.

As such, these stones have become an ever-present memorial to their accomplishments. They’re also a permanent feature in Ptolus now; a constant reminder, albeit a minor one, that the PCs actions have meaning and can transform the world around them.

Which goes a long way towards explaining why I love it when the PCs loot infrastructure — not for its monetary value, but because it can be repurposed. It shows that the players have become invested in the setting. I love seeing what they build, and I also love the tangible trophies of their exploits being a living part of the campaign.

Of course, not all of this infrastructure needs to be magical or even structural. Looting décor is also a common variant: In my first D&D 3^rd Edition campaign, an elemental cleric named Talbar (played by the same player who created Agnarr) had a bag of holding dedicated exclusively to beautiful antique furniture he was collecting to furnish the temple he was planning to build.

When the players start laying down roots, all kinds of interesting things can grow.

Campaign Journal: Session 41A – Running the Campaign: Make It Cost Them
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 40E: A FINAL QUESTIONING

July 25th, 2009
The 22nd Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

MALLECK’S LORE

The others had seen nothing of her struggle. They had seen her snatched from the air, a brilliant flash of scintillant energy, and then she had been standing in front of them again slamming the door shut. When she told them what she had experienced, they agreed that the chamber would be better left alone.

There was little of the temple left to explore now. They stumbled into Malleck’s chambers and found them to be luxuriously accoutered: He even had a personal bathing tub with alchemical mechanisms for heating the water. Among his personal effects they found a large cache of gold, along with additional papers and correspondence.

LETTER FROM SILION TO MALLECK

Malleck—

Valla has told me of your anger regarding the recent slowing of stock for your experiments. But if you must sate your fury, turn it towards Wuntad – he demands the same stock as you, and his desires are… particular. We have bent all of our efforts to fulfilling his requests, and have little time left to seek out what you need.

Nor are our friends among the Ring of Iron able to supply what you want. They never deal in those so young.

                                                                Silion

They also found three scrolls of black papyrus, covered in archaic runes written in a silvery ink. Ranthir was able to identify the runes as Ancient Common, and the ink as liquid mithril.

PROPHECIES OF THE CHILDREN OF CHAOS
(translated)

On three scrolls of black papyrus, written in faded silvery ink, are fragmentary passages of Ancient Common.

The most complete of the three scrolls details a “ritual of mutilation” – a mystic rite designed to directly affect living tissue to deleterious effect.

The second scroll is badly damaged, but appears to be the tale of Cajjan, Scion of Gellasatrac. Cajjan “stood at the right hand of the Ebon God” while the “campaigns of the blood armies” were fought – campaigns filled “with the carnage and destruction of the darkest paths”. Most of the rest of the scroll has been effectively destroyed, but towards the end there is a single phrase left intact: “—and in the blood of the savaged god was vested the promise of their power. And in the Hour of Black Rain that promise will be kept and the Dukes of Chaos shall be—“

The majority of the third scroll is covered in badly fragmented astronomical signs. In the center of the scroll, however, is preserved a passage of text: “There shall come those who bear the signs of the Nine. And in answer to their call there shall stand the Children of Chaos. And their ranks shall be matched. And their numbers shall be even. And their power shall be that of all fate.”

THE SANCTUARY

They decided to check the upper level of the temple. Heading up the stairs they passed through a seemingly unremarkable antechamber. Upon one wall there was a red tapestry emblazoned with the image of a black hand. The floor was covered with a round black rug.

As Tee passed over the latter, however, it suddenly sprung to life. As it tried to tangle itself about her feet, she leapt away… stumbling into the tapestry which, likewise, animated with malicious intent. Off-balance from her leap, she found her arms quickly caught up by the thick fabric.

The others, meanwhile, had scarcely had time to react to Tee’s predicament when the rug suddenly lunged in their direction – covering the doorway entirely. Agnarr and Tor tried to hack their way through it, but the strangely animate fibers of the rug proved bitterly resistant to their blows. Tee, meanwhile, was losing her struggle with the tapestry. While keeping her arms pinned, one corner of the tapestry curled up around her throat – pushing her back against the wall and choking the life out of her.

By the time Tor and Agnarr had gotten through the rug, Tee lay slumped against the wall. She’d stopped breathing.

Agnarr ripped the rug off of her and used his sword to pin it against the opposite wall – the flames slowly consuming the thinner fabric of the tapestry as it writhed. Nasira rushed to Tee’s side and was able to quickly resuscitate her.

Tor smiled at Tee. “It would have been ironic if we had destroyed the entire temple only to be laid low by a rug.”

Tee rubbed her throat. “I’m not laughing.”

They finally passed into the outer sanctuary itself. Much like the Temple of the Rat God, it consisted only of a single long hall: The wood-paneled walls were painted black with narrow red and black stained windows. The floor was carpeted in crimson, and the entire chamber was dominated by a massive idol statue depicting a hand in black stone:

Each digit of the hand was topped by a burning candle set into fingertip niches. Behind the idol there was a black wood cabinet filled with bizarrely twisted musical instruments, apparently of ritual significance. With a grim set to his mouth, Tor snuffed the candles while Agnarr smashed the musical instruments. They debated destroying the idol itself, but decided it would take too much time.

There were no cultists to be found in the upper level, however. Either they had fled or they had descended to the melees below.

A TEMPLE LEAVE-TAKING

They dragged their loot (which now vastly outstripped the capacity of their bags of holding) into the upper sanctuary. They even decided to grab two of the glowing pavestones as a present for Tellith (so that she wouldn’t have to worry about wandering delvers trampling dirt and muck into her front hall at the Ghostly Minstrel).

While most of them stayed to watch over the loot, a couple of them went to hire a carriage and two carts. When they returned, Tor used the carriage to take the three children they had rescued from the prison to the watch station on Pirveyor Street. There he was recognized by the watchmen on duty (which again filled Tor with a thrill), and Tor discovered that word was already spreading of their exploits at the Temple of the Rat God. (Apparently watchmen had been summoned from the Pirveyor Street station to aid in what must have been a massive clean-up operation at the temple itself.)

Tor was able to quickly explain the situation and turn the children over to the custody of the watchmen. He decided, however, to claim that he had rescued them from the Temple of the Rat God instead of the Temple of Ebon Hand. (He was already concerned about them delving into the dangerous depths of the former; he didn’t think adding the dangers of the latter was a good idea.)

Meanwhile, the others were loading up the carts. Tee and Nasira drove those over to the Ghostly Minstrel, where they met with Tor and presented the paving stones to Tellith. She was delighted when they showed her how they worked, and they quickly made arrangements to get them installed as the front steps of the inn.

Back at the temple, the others hired a second carriage, loaded Malleck and Silion into it, paid off the driver to keep his mouth shut, and had him drop them off at the same warehouse in the South Market where Tee had questioned “what’s-his-face” (as Elestra called him; meaning Jamill). Having secured their well-gotten gains, Tee, Nasira, and Elestra jumped into a third carriage and took it to the warehouse to meet up with the rest of them.

A FINAL QUESTIONING

They decided to wake Silion up first and try questioning her again. They kept her bound and blindfolded, but she proved no more talkative than their first attempt: Her answers mostly confined to snarls, threats, and bitter sarcasm.

With a shrug, they turned their attention to Malleck.

“That’s right,” Tee said. “The Ebon Hand is gone. You’re losing your friends one temple at a time.”

“Malleck is no friend of mine,” Silion snarled, although she seemed somewhat subdued at the revelation.

Malleck was coming around. “You traitorous rat-bitch! You led them to me!”

Her role as provocateur satisfied, they knocked Silion unconscious again and turned their focus on Malleck. In the hopes that he might prove more useful, Nasira summoned a holy light and wrapped it around him – forcing him to speak nothing but the truth.

Malleck proved considerably more malleable, but he wasn’t going to talk without cutting a deal first.

“What do you want?” Tee asked.

“My life,” Malleck said with a sardonic smile.

“Fine,” Tee said. “But I don’t want to see you in Ptolus any more. You leave town. You don’t come back. That’s the deal.”

“That’s more than acceptable,” Malleck said.

“We want to find the Tolling Bell.”

“My contacts within the Bell are Illadras, Ibard, and Wulvera,” Malleck said. They were somewhat taken aback (perhaps even shocked) to find someone willing to talk so freely. But Malleck shrugged. “We have a deal.”

He confirmed that Illadras could be found at the Temple of Deep Chaos in the sewers beneath Oldtown. He had not spoken directly with Ibard in several weeks and wasn’t sure when she planned to return to Ptolus. And Wulvera “ran Porphyry House, down near the Warrens”.

“What about Wuntad?” Tee asked, her curiosity boiling over.

“I don’t deal with him directly,” Malleck said. “But he can be reached through Wulvera at Porphyry House.”

“And your slaves?”

“I buy them from Silion,” Malleck said. “I don’t really trouble myself with the details. I think she kidnaps some of them. Others I know she buys through the Ring of Iron.”

“How do we cure the boy?” Agnarr asked, a grim tone in his voice.

“What boy?”

“The boy you were operating on.”

“Oh,” Malleck said off-handedly. “You don’t.”

They pressed hard on this issue, but apparently he knew of no way to reverse the process. “Why would you want to take away their perfection?”

Agnarr barely stopped himself from killing him.

Eventually, however, Malleck grew tired of their questions. He was particularly amused by what he described as their “endless paranoia”. (They had asked him about Zavere, the Commissar, Rehobath, the new Silver Fatar… and on and on and on.) “If all of these were cultists, do you think we would be hiding in the sewers? No. Not yet. But our time will come. Enough. We have a bargain and your questions have come to an end. Release me and I will go.”

Tor looked to the others. “Are we done?”

Tee nodded.

Malleck laughed. “Yes, I think we are.”

Tor chopped his head off.

The others stared at him in shock.

“Just for the record,” Tee said. “I was going to let him go. Just want to be clear on that.”

“I know you were, dear,” Tor said. “But he tortured children. I was never going to let him walk free.”

Tee quietly wondered, though, what had become of the Tor they had first met not so very long ago.

They woke Silion again. She was still blindfolded, but as soon as she came around she smelled Malleck’s death in the air. She went into a panic. Pissed herself. And then went into a babbling state of shock. With a grimace of impatience, Tor killed her, too.

“We can still ask her a few questions,” Elestra asked. “I can force her body’s memories to speak through the Spirit of the City. But we’ll only be allowed three questions, so we should choose them carefully.”

Tee nodded. “Let’s make sure we get it right.”

They debated the list of questions for the better part of half an hour and then Elestra wove her magic. Silion’s decapitated head rose into the air, its blood dripping in a sickly, coagulate gore down onto its own corpse below.

“Where can I reach Terathera?” Elestra asked.

“She works with Wuntad.” Silion’s voice was a spectral, muted howl.

“Where is Wuntad?”

“I have not spoken with Wuntad in months. He was working on a great project beneath the streets of Oldtown.”

“How can we find the Ring of Iron?” (Tee felt fiercely that they should work to end the slave trade in Ptolus. It offended her to the very depths of her soul.)

“They can be found on the Docks. There is a route through the sewers from the Temple.”

The head fell with a dull, wet thud.

“Which temple?” Elestra asked the others, almost rhetorically. “The rats or the mutants?”

“I’m guessing her temple,” Nasira said.

Agnarr was throwning. “I just thought of a better question. Mahdoth’s shipment.”

“Maybe,” Tee said. “But we know where that’s happening. We’ll know what it is when we intercept it.”

They took a step back.

“Two headless corpses in a warehouse,” Tor said. “Just another day in Ptolus.”

“It’s just like our first day,” Tee said, sharing a dark laugh with the others.

Running the Campaign: Looting Infrastructure – Campaign Journal: Session 41A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

If you asked me to describe the combat system of Mothership in one word, it would be a toss-up between “strange” and “missing.”

What seems to have happened is that Mothership 0e had a turn-based initiative system. A decision was made at some point to transition Mothership 1e to a more freeform(?) resolution system, but the execution was pretty badly muffed. (It may have also been further complicated by a last minute attempt to revert back to the 0e version of the rules.)

The result is that the rules and examples of play contradict each other, and support material — including stat blocks and adventures — don’t seem to be in sync with the mechanics. To attempt to give a taste of what the confusion in the rulebooks looks like:

• The Violent Encounters chapter in the Player’s Survival Guide suggests a player-facing system, in which PCs make all the checks.
• The example of play is also player-facing, but doesn’t follow the same procedure.
• In the Warden’s Operations Manual, however, player-facing is described as an alternative to the normal combat system. (But, if so, what’s the normal combat system?)
• Meanwhile, all the horrors in Unconfirmed Contact Reports have Combat stats that are designed to be rolled to determine damage… except what function is that supposed to serve if the players are supposed to be making all the checks?

Sean McCoy, the designer, has said that rules-as-written is supposed to be that the monster takes a turn and rolls Combat checks, although he prefers the player-facing option “90% of the time.” And on the Mothership Discord he’s mused about how the Combat stat should be interpreted (“my guideline would be: monsters with 60+ Combat impose [-] on player facing rolls, and monsters with Combat below 20 impose [+] on player facing rolls”).

From what I can tell, the result is that there are three major options for combat in Mothership:

1. Everybody takes a turn, including the monster(s), with the monsters rolling Combat.
2. At the beginning of a round, the GM threatens Harm (to use the parlance of Apocalypse World) and that Harm (e.g., damage) is inflicted if the PCs fail to prevent it with their checks during the round.
3. Monster damage can be inflicted as a consequence for any failed roll by the players. (Possibly resulting in the monster “attacking” multiple times per round.)

This uncertainty has also led to nigh-infinite variation in actual practice, most of which can be characterized as GMs filling the howling vacuum with whatever combat procedures they can nick from other RPGs they’ve played.

(Honestly, you can even see this in my own interpretation of Mothership’s examples of play through the lens of Apocalypse World terminology.)

The most charitable interpretation of all this is that the intention is for the GM to just kind of fluidly move back and forth between these options at their whim. (Or, if you like, in accordance to their sense of “dramatic timing.”) But the difference in outcome is clearly so radically different that it becomes meaningless for the players to even pretend that they have true agency.

Of course, this also affects adventure design. When the combat system is lost in time and space, it’s impossible to actually dial in difficulty. You can arguably see this in Another Bug Hunt, the adventure bundled with the core rules, where the carcinid monsters fluctuate between “one is a nearly unstoppable killing machine” to “actually, y’all can take out a dozen of them with no problem” and than back to “oh no! there’s three of them! y’all gotta run!” (Although, again, it’s possible the intention is for the GM to just enforce whatever “vibe” the current scene has been scripted to have.)

EVERYBODY TAKES A TURN

If you go with Option #1, you’ll need to add an initiative system. Mothership 0e used Speed checks:

• Success, you go before the bad guys.
• Failure, you go after the bad guys.
• Critical Success, you get an extra action.
• Critical Failure, you can move OR take an action, but not both.

That works well enough, although you’ll need to decide whether to check each round or just once at the beginning of combat. (And, if so, how long the effects of Critical Success and Critical Failure results last.)

The advantage of this approach is that it likely cuts through all this folderol. It’s clear-cut and it will be very obvious to you which sections of the rulebook you should simply ignore.

Other simple options could include:

• Bad guys always go first.
• PCs always go first (in any order), unless Bad Guys ambush them or seize advantage with an Instinct check.
• Go around the table, with bad guys acting when it’s the Warden’s turn.
• Go around the table to resolve PC actions. The Warden can choose to have a bad guy take their turn before or after any PC’s turn.

MY EXPERIENCE AT THE TABLE

I’m a cuss-headed fellow, though, so I’ve been trying to grapple with the player-facing vision imperfectly presented in the Player’s Survival Guide, which I think can be broadly summed up as:

1. GM threatens Harm. (Again, using an Apocalypse World term of art.)
2. Players declare actions by going around the table.
3. GM makes rulings for how actions are resolved.
4. Players all roll dice (if necessary) simultaneously.

Unfortunately, after running Mothership for a few sessions, the results have not been particularly satisfying. Partly there’s been limited combat and, therefore, limited opportunities for me to experiment, but also:

First, without specificity locking things down, the system is mixing poorly with my default GM stance of letting the PCs set an agenda and then playing to see what happens when they try to make it work. I need to work on setting stronger, clearer Threats and really focus on, “Did the PCs stop the Threat? If not, devastate.”

Second, I’ve still been trying to figure out how to incorporate the Combat/Instinct stats for the critters. Having the creatures make rolls to resolve actions seems to only water down the Threats even more, so it’s not working. It’s just fundamentally problematic that the entire mechanical chassis for horrors in Mothership is incompatible with the combat procedures described in the Player’s Survival Guide.

Third, I’ve been running an open table and my players have rolled random loadouts that include Advanced Battle Dress (AP 10, DR 3) and the 1d100 DMG laser cutter. This isn’t a problem, per se, but in combination with the adventures I’ve been running — which have been slow burning explorations of creepy environments, and then GAH! CREATURE FIGHT! — I’m cognizant that this is likely warping my limited experience with Mothership combat.

Fourth, overall the fights have been thrilling and the players have been immensely enjoying them, but I’m mostly faking it with vibes and panache. This isn’t great for me as a GM because I really, really don’t like killing PCs through acts of capricious fiat. Since the whole combat system feels like a towering edifice of fiat right now, my gut instinct is making me pull my punches when it comes to lethal consequences, and in the long-term that’s really going to hamper a horror game like Mothership.

So my next step at this point is to get a little more specific in how I’m structuring this. That’ll likely give me a bit more clarity when I’m actually running the game, and if I’m at least in the ballpark I should be able to iterate through playtesting. (And, if  not, then at least I’ll know that and be able to toss all this in the burn pit and start over.)

Let’s take a peek at what I’m currently thinking.

THE THREAT SYSTEM

The core combat loop for Mothership is:

• GM makes a Threat.
• PCs declare and resolve actions.
• GM resolves Threat and sets a new Threat.

When making a Threat, the GM should default to devastating consequences.

COUNTERING THREAT: If the PCs’ actions during the round don’t counter or block the Threat, then the Threat is resolved. (You may also have situations where threat is mitigated and only some of the original Threat goes into effect.)

RESOLVING CHECKS: When the PCs fail a check, there should be consequences. Depending on circumstances, those consequences might include the creature automatically dealing damage; making a Combat check to inflict damage; or gaining the Edge (see below).

HORROR THREATS

The Threat from a horror should almost always include one automatic hit for damage. To this, add one (or more) of the following chasers:

• Special Ability: The creature gets to use its special ability (e.g., sucks blood, implants larvae, infects with lycanthropy).
• Ravage: After dealing their automatic damage to a target, the creature can make a Combat check to inflict an additional attack of damage.
• Multiple Targets: Instead of automatically damaging one target, the horror automatically hits multiple targets (e.g., it charges down a hallway smashing through or slicing up anyone within reach; tentacles burst out of the amorphous blob, hitting everyone in Close range; there are multiple creatures and they’re all hitting different targets).
• Trap: One or more PCs become trapped (e.g., the monster is pinning them to the ground; backed them into a corner; etc.).
• Environmental Complication: In addition to the horror, the PCs also need to deal with some other crisis in the environment (e.g., the hull has been punctured and air is rushing out; the blast doors are lowering, threatening to trap them with the creature; the timer on the bomb is ticking down).
• Slaughter the Innocent: The horror takes out one or more screaming bystanders or similar extras in the scene. (This shouldn’t include significant members of the supporting cast, who should be targeted like PCs.)
• Escalate: See below.

Specific creatures or situations may, of course, suggest other chasers. The list above is just a useful set of defaults.

EDGE

As an advanced option, consider the tactical position/momentum of the fight. We’ll refer to the side which currently has tactical advantage as having the Edge. By default, you can assume the horror starts with the Edge in the fight unless circumstances suggest otherwise (e.g., the PCs have managed to ambush it). Of course, in addition to blocking the horror’s Threat, the PCs may also be able to take actions that give them the Edge.

If the horror has the Edge, it can make a full Threat as described above (i.e., damage + a chaser of additional nastiness).

If the PCs have the Edge, then the horror’s Threat options, depending on circumstances, will be limited to one of the following:

• Make a Combat check in order to deal damage/use a special ability.
• Regain its Edge in the fight.
• Withdraw. (It will be back later, once again likely defaulting to having the Edge.)

For example, one of the PCs manages to pin a zombie to the floor. They now have the Edge on the zombie. Withdrawal isn’t an option (since it’s pinned to the floor), but the zombie could either try to escape the pin (regaining the Edge so that it can make a full Threat on the next turn) or try to deal damage to the character pinning them.

It may often be useful to think of the tactical Edge as a thing that has to be actively maintained by the PCs (e.g., the PC pinning the zombie to the ground has to keep making Strength checks each round to hold it down). No resting on your laurels!

Note: You don’t have to think of Edge as a super formal thing. It probably isn’t a player-known structure. (Although, for some players, knowing about it may encourage tactical creativity.) But it can be a nice mental model for the GM to have so that combats have a satisfying back-and-forth pacing and the PCs’ actions feel like they have meaningful consequences.

ESCALATION

You can expand on the binary concept of Edge by simply extending the concept in both directions.

If the horror has the Edge, it can escalate (e.g. by getting into a better position; charging up its super-weapon; summoning reinforcements; etc.). For each escalation, you can add another chaser to the Threat each round.

If the PCs have the Edge, they’re in a position to potentially

• withdraw;
• isolate the threat;
• force the horror to make its checks with disadvantage;

or otherwise prevent the horror from directly assaulting them.

You may find it useful to think of escalation in terms of vectors. For example:

• The alien can’t attack you right now because the door is blocking it. Can you stop the alien from getting through (or around) the door?
• Okay, it got through the door, so now it’s in the room with you and is threatening harm. Can you escape/kill it first/whatever?

Or:

• It’s trying to take out your tires.
• It’s taken out your tires, can you keep control of the vehicle?
• You’ve crashed and now the alien has jumped on top of the vehicle. It can easily strike anyone who gets out, and its serrated tail starts spiking down through the sheet metal and into the compartment.

A generic progression along these lines is:

• It’s trying to get to a position where it can hurt you.
• It can hurt one of you.
• It can hurt all of you.

You can also think of this in terms of setup and payoff: On the level of a single round you set things up by Threatening an outcome at the beginning of the round; then you pay off that Threat (by either fulfilling it or thwarting it) at the end of the round. Escalation just extends this same concept, with the resolution of this round’s Threat setting up an even bigger payoff (for either the PCs or their opponents) in the next round!