IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

Harvesttime – Part 3: Tee and the Greeting of Old Friends

This fracture, however, is minor compared to the Reformist movement which began in Astalia (one of the Vennoc Protectorates).

When creating our fantasy worlds, one thing I think we inherit from both published examples and our grade school textbooks is an encyclopedia impulse: We want to list every elven king. We want to create a comprehensive map. We want to nail things down.

What I’ve learned, however, is that it’s better to leave yourself room for future ideas.

For example, I’ll consciously avoid constructions like “The Last Blah-Blah” or “there’s only two Bleurghy-Bloogedy-Bloogs in the whole universe!” This is something that I think is even more vital when developing a shared universe, and something I very specifically cautioned writers against when I was working as the Line Developer for the Infinity RPG: Unless your idea requires a hard limit applied to the entire setting… don’t do it.

And of course, sometimes you do need to draw a hard line. The One Ring isn’t the One Ring if it isn’t the One Ring; it can’t be part of a JCPenney jewelry collection.

(How to know if your idea requires its uniqueness? Simply ditch the uniqueness and see if the idea still works. Is your “Only Female Ninja in the Whole World” still a cool character even if she’s not the only female ninja? Probably. Can you throw the One Ring in Mount Doom and save the world if Sauron has a whole cabinet full of Master Rings? Probably not.)

But the real trick I use is to create deliberate “gray spaces” within my world design. There are actually two of them featured in the Harvestime PBeM campaign journal entry: The Vennoc Protectorates and the Reformists. I have very specifically avoided defining exactly how many nations there within the Protectorates and I have similarly avoided figuring out exactly how many or what all the Reformists sects are.

Why?

When I was creating the Western Lands, a very early step was drawing a map of the Five Empires. (Which were, at the time, called the Five Nations. I renamed them when Eberron ended up using the same nomenclature half a decade later. Personally, I had Kipling and the Iroquois Confederacy bouncing around in my head to make “Five Nations” feel particularly catchy when I brainstormed it. I’m guessing Baker did, too.) But I immediately spotted the trap: I had designed Seyrun, Barund, Arathia, and Hyrtan to cover a broad swath of fantasy tropes, giving me a lot of canvas for fitting in all kinds of ideas. But they were also inherently limited: I had one Emperor. If I needed a different Emperor, I didn’t have one.

So the Vennoc Protectorates – inspired by the Holy Roman Empire and Ancient Greece – exist as a confused tangle of ever-changing city-states, duchies, kingdoms, principalities, and alliances all operating under a loose, common banner. So if tomorrow I think to myself, “You know what would be a cool? A kingdom secretly ruled by Deep Ones!” all I have to do is squeeze in another Protectorate.

The other option, of course, would be to just keep adding bits to the edge of the map. That works, too. But it can also be a little too easy: It encourages you to keep spreading your ideas out, instead of bringing them together, forcing them to rub up against each other, and seeing what happens in the collision.

For the same reason, I limited the Western Lands to a single pantheon of exactly nine gods. I’ve recently discussed how that decision has forced me to develop that pantheon in depth rather than just cramming more thinly realized gods into the setting, but I also recognized that I needed to give myself room within that pantheon to develop cool ideas and variants. If there were just nine gods supported by nine specific churches, the resulting palette would be fairly limited. I wanted the ability to continue adding cool fantasy religion ideas to the game world, and I also wanted to be able to create stories based around religious tension.

The Reformists were a gray space that allowed me to accomplish both goals. The Nine Gods cover a broad array of divine/mythological archetypes; the Reformists allow me to interpret those archetypes into myriad forms. If I need a nature cult that venerates nymphs, that can be reflected within the imagery of Sayl or Tohlen or both. (Maybe the cult believes nymphs are the divine children of those gods?) If I need steampunk machine worshipers, I can place them within a facet of Vehthyl. If I need a repressive religious autarchy, I’m not prevented from doing that by the limitations of the Imperial Church. These will all fit into niches within the Reformist gray space.

The Temple District

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

HARVESTTIME – PART 3: TEE AND THE GREETING OF OLD FRIENDS

PBeM – November 12th through December 1st, 2007
Harvesttime in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

When Tee said her farewells to Tor and asked him to pick up her dress from the Jade Woman her intention was to return to her room and recuperate the injuries she had suffered. Instead she found herself pacing endlessly, lost in eddying currents of hopeless thought.

She knew that only a scant distance away, the Harvesttime Festival in Narred was getting ready to begin. There would be song and dancing on the green. The community hall would be opened for food and drink. All her kin and friends would be there.

It was more than she could bear – to be so close to her old life and yet unable to touch it.

Unable to stay where she was, but unwilling to lead any danger to her community, she decided to seek counsel from Doraedian. She headed towards Iridithil’s Home. But when she arrived, Doraedian wasn’t there. He had been summoned away to a meeting of the Twelve Commanders and would likely go straight from there to the festival at Narred.

Intensely frustrated, Tee returned to the Ghostly Minstrel. By the time she got there, she’d made her decision: She sat down and quickly wrote out notes for her childhood friends – Aradan, Rissien, and Santiel – saying that they should meet at her house as soon as they could. She paid a messenger to deliver the letters and then hurried over to her house.

By this time she knew that the crowds of the Harvesttime Festival would have already gathered around the communal hall and Moon Lily Pond. So, being as discrete as possible, she circled south around the Herbalists’ Guildhall. Approaching her house from behind, she came up Vadarast Street. The familiar, if somewhat disturbing, scents of Bueles’ potion shop just a few buildings down Iron Street brought back sharp memories as she slipped around the corner of her house and, with a cautious glance, unlocked the door.

She was fairly certain she wasn’t noticed, although she could see the crowd gathering across the Narred green. Her thoughts were naturally distracted as she quickly gathered up the drop-cloths and tried to make the house look a little less deserted – not so much lived in, but at least a little more familiar… a little more welcoming.

Then she sat down to wait. (more…)

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

Harvesttime – Part 2: Dominic and the Guidance of Vehthyl

When Dominic headed across the bridge into the Temple District, he made gentle inquiries into the worship of Vehthyl and discovered four options: First, the Order of the Silver God. Second, the Temple of the Clockwork God. Third, the Temple of the Ebon Hand. And, finally, an itinerant minotaur priest named Shibata.

What I’m going to talk about here isn’t really a preconceived or formal technique. It’s something that I’ve just kind of instinctively done in the past without even really thinking of it as being a distinct “thing” that I’ve been doing. But as I was re-reading the campaign journal and thinking about what I had done as a GM, it kind of jumped out and bit me. I’m not even sure I would have noticed at all if it wasn’t for the close proximity of what I did with Tor and Dominic here.

So this installment of Running the Campaign is probably going to be a little more rough around the edges as I kind of grope my way towards both understanding and articulating the technique here.

To start with, you have a PC who has an interest.

• Tor is interested in becoming a knight.
• Dominic is interested in learning more about Vehthyl.

Dominic’s interest has arisen out of play and is primarily player-driven, and so the response is being created on-the-fly. (Fairly literally in this case, as the bluebooking for this session allowed me to basically roll along with the player’s intentions and develop material in a very reactive way.) Tor’s interest was collaboratively built up in character creation, so I built a good chunk of this material up in parallel with that character creation process and have been waiting to incorporate it into the campaign for several sessions now.

(Although the specific impetus, it should be noted, was still ultimately player-driven even here: Tor’s player had seen the tourney fields on the map of the city and said, “I want to go to there.” I just needed to figure out how I could use the existing material I built in support of this impulse, and vice versa.)

He cantered Blue over to the Board of Ranks, on display just outside of the lists. Each name was noted with heraldry, and he noted that most of the names were accompanied by the three prominent heraldries on display (along with a smattering of others): The cross upon a field of a crimson of the Knights of the Golden Cross; the sword-and-vortex of the Knights of the Pale; and the dawning sun above the martial field of the Order of the Dawn.

The key technique here is that, in response to these PC interests, I haven’t built one thing which would satisfy that interest: There’s not one Church of Vehthyl for Dominic to go ask his questions at. There’s not a single order of knighthood in Ptolus for Tor to pursue.

Instead, I’ve created – or pulled forward – a nest of factions surrounding their area of interest. In the case of this particular session, the factions are actually quite explicitly spelled out (although that doesn’t necessarily need to be the case; there are a lot of different ways to introduce these factions into play), as you can see in the quotes above.

These factions all inherently have overlapping interests and competing agendas regarding those interests because they’re all specifically related to the PCs interests. (Which means that the PC – and presumably their player – will also be inherently vested in those interests.) At this point, I don’t really have a firm idea of how the interactions between these factions are going to play out, but if you’ve got enough people pointing guns at each other (either literally or figuratively) something interesting is probably going to fall out as a result of the PCs bouncing around like ping-pong balls.

WHY DOES THIS WORK?

First, it gives the player a meaningful choice in how their character is going to pursue their interest.

What you want to avoid here, of course, is reverting this back to a meaningless choice where, for example, there are eight different Churches of Vehthyl, but it doesn’t matter which one the player chooses. The factions Dominic has to choose between can, on a certain level, be boiled down to:

• The Imperial Church
• A well-established Reformist Church
• A Reformist cult
• A lone, unaffiliated religious teacher

Ignoring all of the other details about those factions, this essential choice about where Dominic will turn first in his desperate need for guidance is going to speak volumes about his faith and about who he is as a person.

Tor, by contrast, isn’t really in need during this session. He’s really just checking out the buffet and seeing what’s available, so you can see that the distinctions between the different orders of knighthood are not as sharply drawn here. That’s partly because the player wasn’t motivated to dig deeper: Tor could’ve taken the opportunity of the tourney to meet more of the knights and learn more about their different missions and ideologies. The fact he didn’t at this particular time is actually a meaningful choice in itself. But even if it wasn’t, that’s fine: The meaningful choices are going to come later for Tor and they are going to have a ton of weight.

Second, the inter-relationships between the factions turns the PC into a billiard ball. The player’s initial choice is their first shot, and the effect they’ll have on the table full of balls is impossible to predict. As a result, the outcome of that choice (and their subsequent choices) will be completely surprising to everyone at the table, including the GM. The campaign will be forever different as a result, and it’s quite likely the campaign world will be, too.

As a result, it’s not just a meaningful choice, it’s a momentous choice.

Players can sense that. They know when their choices have completely and irrevocably shaped what the experience of the campaign is. And they love it. They eat it up.

OTHER THOUGHTS

As you’ll see, Tor’s and Dominic’s factions actually end up overlapping and interacting with each other as the campaign continues. This increases the chaotic unpredictability of your campaign once you set these forces in motion; it also helps to draw the PCs closer together.

This overlap is something that you can specifically design into the factions when you set them up, but you’ll also find it arising organically through play: After all, these factions will all end up having a common connection through the PCs. Eventually, that will bring them into orbit with each other… and send them crashing into each other.

What about wasted prep? I’ve been talking about smart prep lately, and here I seem to have deliberately set up wasted prep: Dominic chooses one of the Vehthyl-related factions to seek advice from and then nothing happens with the others.

Well, first, this stuff usually doesn’t require a heavy initial prep load. Most of the time you can probably get away with one or two paragraphs, and then you can develop more in response to the direction the PC chooses to leap. Prep will also overlap. For example, knowing how the orders of knighthood operate in the Five Empires is going to be meaningful to Tor’s character goals regardless of which order of knighthood he chooses to pursue.

More importantly, the prep you don’t immediately use will almost certainly end up getting reincorporated in other ways down the line. These are, after all, significant factions. The whole point is that they’re deeply involved in your campaign world. And they are, after all, related to each other, so no matter which one the PC chooses, the others are likely not too far away.

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

HARVESTTIME – PART 2: DOMINIC AND THE GUIDANCE OF VEHTHYL

PBeM – November 12th through December 1st, 2007
Harvesttime in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Although he didn’t speak of it to the others, the loss of his memory worried at Dominic’s soul. Given a day in which to pursue his own goals with a freedom of conscience, Dominic quickly ate his own breakfast and then headed towards the Temple District – intent on seeking out the guidance of Vehthyl, the god of mysteries whose strange holy symbol he had found upon awaking at the Ghostly Minstrel. (more…)

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

Harvesttime – Part 1: Tor at the Tourney Fields

The next day, despite the weariness with which they had collapsed, they all awoke bright and early – looking forward to the festivals of Harvesttime and a day of rest and relaxation before attending the party at Castle Shard that evening.

I’ve previously discussed my personal background when it comes to general PBeM gaming, but dedicated PBeM gaming is not the only way to take advantage of the medium. Running PBeM sessions for some or all of the players between regular face-to-face sessions of a campaign is a technique which I really love in theory. Unfortunately, I rarely do it. And even when I attempt it, it never seems to quite work out right. (You can see that here, actually, with Agnarr and Elestra basically doing nothing because their players just didn’t reply to the e-mails.)

Let’s back up for a second.

BLUEBOOKING

Inter-sessional play-by-email is a form of bluebooking. Back in 1988, Aaron Allston’s Strike Force campaign supplement for Champions was a revolutionary text, describing techniques for running and playing RPGs that transformed the games of those who read it. (It was also, sadly, an incredibly obscure text.) One of the unique techniques he described was “bluebooking”, named after the semi-disposable exam books.

Bluebooking grew out of what Allston referred to as “paranoia notes”. (When the GM passes a player a scrap of paper or vice versa in order to keep their communication secret from the other players. They’re “paranoia” notes because that’s what they create.) Rather than using scraps of paper, Allston’s group would pass notepads around. And then something interesting happened: The players started passing the notepads to each other, using them to develop privately roleplayed side-scenes. They also started to use the pads for in-character journaling, developing character histories, and the like. The pads were then replaced with the blue books which, to my understanding, allowed specific books to be dedicated to particular characters, interactions, etc.

Eventually, whole game sessions were occasionally given over to blue-booking. In these sessions, the players put their characters through solo activities, or conversations with one another, which pertain to their ongoing stories. One player will write with the GM concerning his investigations; one will be conducting a romance with an NPC; one will be vacationing in Greece; another may actually be conducting a whole solo adventure with the GM.

Allston identified three specific advantages to bluebooking:

• Privacy (for obvious reasons)
• Permanence (the exam books provide an organized record of what occurred)
• Breakdown of Inhibition

The last of these is particularly interesting:

It’s hard to conduct some game activities during active play. For instance, a male GM playing a female NPC who’s having a passionate affair with a male PC may have a tough time uttering the lines of high romance in a roomful of gamers. But while blue-booking the dialogue, the GM can be detached enough to write the NPCs’ lines as he wishes her to say them, can take the time to make sure the dialogue he’s writing isn’t clumsy or inane, and can give the player-character a more satisfying subplot.

I think you can actually broaden this to a more general category of Exploring the Unusual by allowing you to play through moments and topics that you can’t (or won’t) explore at the table. That can be stuff that the group finds uncomfortable (like intense romance for some groups), but it can also just be stuff that people aren’t interested in. It might even be stuff that you’re not interested in exploring outside of your blue book. (For example: What does a typical day in the life of your character look like? That might be really boring to play out moment-by-moment, but really interesting for you to explore interactively.)

To Allston’s list of advantages, I would also personally add two more:

Thoughtful Consideration. Bluebooking allows you to create at a different pace than the immediate demand of live improvisation. It gives you a chance to get your character “right” in a way that doesn’t always happen in the organic, real-time flow of the table. This allows you to explore your character – and their life – in different ways. Not just in terms of your ability to think about what you’re creating, but also the depth with which you are developing your ideas: How does your character think? What are their childhood memories? Who’s important to them in their personal life and why?

In addition to the immediate creative pleasure of this sort of thing, what I find interesting is the ability for this development to feed back into and inform the live improv of the character going forward.

In this session, for example, you might notice that the PCs’ dialogue has suddenly taken on a different feel from previous journal entries. That’s because the players are – consciously or otherwise – exploring how their characters talk in a way that they haven’t before. Some of that (like Tee’s awkward, undefined fear and struggle with feeling like an adult amongst her childhood friends) sticks; some of it (like Tor’s relatively heavy accent) doesn’t. And that’s okay. That’s how creativity works; that’s how ideas grow.

(Bluebooking will also inevitably display some of the stilted traits of amateur fiction. That’s okay, too.)

This isn’t just useful for the players, of course. The GM also benefits from being able to give thoughtful consideration to a PC’s actions. This makes bluebooking particularly useful for complex or uncertain situations where the GM isn’t sure how or what to prep; improvising in slow motion lets the GM respond truthfully without compromising quality, depth, or long-term planning.

Opportunistic Play. The ubiquitous availability of e-mail and other forms of digital communication mean that, unlike for most people in 1988 when Allston wrote Strike Force, you don’t have to be in the same room to bluebook with other people. This means that bluebooking also allows you to continue roleplaying – to continue developing and experiencing the campaign – even when you’re not in a session.

That’s what was happening in this “session”, for example: I was working in a temp job with a lot of dead time, so I was able to swap e-mails with people on the boss’ dime. I don’t actually remember why we did it; what prompted us to explore the daylight hours of Harvesttime via e-mail. It certainly wasn’t something we made a habit of. (We’d already had mixed results attempting something similar at the beginning of the campaign, and my one other attempt to do this within the context of the Ptolus campaign to date –what was supposed to be an opportunity to roleplay through Tithenmamiwen’s birthday party – ended up being such a non-starter that we ended up retconning the entire event out of the campaign.)

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS

For those who aren’t interested in full-blown bluebooking (or who, like me, struggle with making it work or getting their players to buy in), a more limited variant that can be very useful – particularly for certain eras of gaming – is in-character correspondence. I often do this with my Cthulhu-related gaming, as the deeper psychological exploration it encourages feeds nicely into Mythos-inspired insanity and it can also be a lovely way of thinking more deeply about historical milieus.

On that note, I recommend checking out Michael Oracz’s De Profundis (which I am excited to have just discovered – having thought it long out of print – is currently available in an expanded second edition from Cubicle 7). It’s a “game” in which each player takes on the role of a particular character experiencing some Mythos-related oddity and then corresponds with the other players, developing that idea over time. It’s not really a game, serving as more of a structured activity, but it’s a rich and insightful text that I’ve found useful as a general resource for correspondence roleplay.

I also remain intrigued by Monte Cook’s upcoming Invisible Sun roleplaying game, which is supposed to be designed to specifically encourage and support bluebooking between sessions.