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by Robin D. LawsEdited by Steve Jackson

Cover by Peter Bergting

Editor-in-Chief • STEVE JACKSON

Creative Direction • PHILIP REED

Managing Editor • ANDREW HACKARD

Product Administrator • MONIQUE CHAPMAN

Production Manager • HEATHER OLIVER

Production and Page Design • PHILIP REED

Print Buying • MONICA STEPHENS

Sales Manager • ROSS JEPSON

www.sjgames.com/robinslaws/GURPS, Warehouse 23, and the all-seeing pyramid are registered trademarks of Steve Jackson Games Incorporated.

Robin's Laws of Good Game Mastering, Pyramid. and the names of a l l products published by Steve Jackson Games Incorporated areregistered trademarks or trademarks of Sieve Jackson Games Incorporated, or used under license. Robin's LawS of Good Game

Mastering is copyright © 2002 by Steve Jackson Games Incorporated. All rights reserved. Printed in the USA.

ISBN 1-55634-629-8 2 3 4 3 6 7 8 9 10

STEVE JACKSON GAMES

ROBIN'S LAWSOF GOOD GAME MASTERING

Contents

The Great, Immutable,Ironclad Law

Game designers, yours truly included, are anegotistical, control-hungry breed. That's whywe prefer to avoid contemplating a certain

essential truth of the roleplaying game. When youlook at the various factors that determine whether anygiven group of players has a good gaming experienceon any particular night, all of our efforts account for,at the absolute, outside best, maybe 30% of the equa-tion. Our lovingly crafted rules sets, our peerlessprose, the hours upon hours of playtesting, thepainstaking research, the time we sweat away messingwith minor details on all of those freakin' maps - all ofit matters way less than we like to think.

What really makes a difference in the success orfailure of a roleplaying session is you. Your participa-tion, whether as GM or player, has much more influ-ence on the fun your group has than all of the gameproducts in the world. Rule books are not roleplayinggames, any more than a screenplay is a movie. The

reams of material game companies produce providesbut a blueprint for the real thing. The roleplayinggame doesn't start until a bunch of people sit down,open up their dice bags, riffle their character sheets,and wait for the GM to clear his voice and say, "Okay,last week you'd all gotten into the escape pod andejected yourselves into the heart of the GlanjiriNebula ..."

This is both the blessing and the curse of the role-playing form. In a culture increasingly driven towardspassive consumption of exhaustively researched massmarket entertainments, gamers take part in a formthat not only rewards, but demands, active participa-tion. What happens on any given night may not be aspolished or quickly paced as even a middling episodeof Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but it's great because it'syours. It's the active participation, the mixture thatarises from the interplay between your thinking andyour imagination, that makes roleplaying so vital andspecial.

Ironically, it is this very strength that will preventroleplaying from ever becoming a mass phenomenon.Someday we'll probably find ourselves making regulartreks to our local multiplexes to see movie versions ofour favorite roleplaying properties up on the bigscreen, but that won't be the same. Maybe the inter-activity of the Internet or the cultural seeds planted byPokemon will make new generations more receptiveto our elusive and delightful hobby.

If roleplaying is to grow creatively, game designerswi l l have to continue to experiment and push thelimits, just as painters, musicians and authors havedone ever since their respective fields were bom. Butif we're to improve the quality of individual gamesand the overall popularity of the form, we need tolook more closely at the other 70% of the experi-ence, the part that arises from each group's individ-ual interactions.

Though every player makes a huge contribution toa session, the person with the greatest influence overits success is you, the GM. (At least, I assume you're aGM. Unless a copy of this book has leapt into yourhands by its own cruel volition. .) Weirdly, given thenumber of game books published every year, the tech-niques of good GMing have never been well commu-nicated in print. The GM advice chapter of a newroleplaying game is always the first bit to get hackedaway when the crunchy rules bits begin to overrun thedesired word count, as they inevitably do. Instead, inthis all-important area, we revert to an oral culture,

2

passing down the tricks of the art from experiencedGM to novice. (Insert labored shamanism metaphorhere.) This tradition, too, contributes to our little sub-culture's quirky charm, but it has its pitfalls. Just as thedetails of a sentence are invariably lost and garbled inthe grade school game of Telephone, the most basicideas of good GMing too often fail to make it up thestream of communication from one budding gamemaster to the next.

What really makes adifference in the

success or failure of aroleplaying session is you.

I submit to you that the most important, yet mostoften forgotten, rule of good GMing is this:Roleplaying games are entertainment; your goal as GMis to make your games as entertaining as possible for allparticipants.

Sure, it sounds pretty obvious, lying there all itali-cized on the page like that. It is nonetheless, theGreat, Immutable, Ironclad Law to which the abovechapter head alludes. How many times have you sat atthe gaming table, bored and struggling, stuck in themiddle of a session run by a GM who seems to havelost all touch with this simple principle? How manytimes have you, as GM, gotten derailed by your pur-suit of some seemingly important goal, and lost touchyourself with the entertainment value of your game?

The mission of this book is to improve yourGMing. No matter how good you are, you can keepgetting better. Like all of us, you'll have your gooddays and your bad. On your good days, inspirationtakes hold, and you don't need to think about theory.You just do it. This book is for the bad days, to giveyou the technique to get you through rough patches.Now, even if this book were so thick that no onewould ever want to lift it from the shelf, it couldn'tcontain every possible useful technique. It probablyleaves out some of your favorites. But, specifics aside,you can get yourself out of almost every GMing trapby asking yourself the following question?

What would be the most entertaining thing that couldpossibly happen, right now?

The rest is mere detail.

KnowingYour PlayersI f at least 70% of die success or failure of a gaming

session depends on interactions between partici-pants, any preparation to improve your GMing

style must begin with a look at the people you'll beplaying with. This is a point almost all published GMadvice fails to address. Even good advice tends toaddress itself to an ideal group who all happen, as theresult of marvelous coincidence, to share the sametastes the rules set in question happens to aim at.

In reality, though, no group is ideal. Certain playersshow different degrees of commitment than others.Some face a blizzard of competing commitments andcan't show up regularly. All players participate withvarying degrees of attention and enthusiasm. Somefolks are deferential towards the tastes and desires oftheir pals, while others see only their own desires.

Tastes in roleplaying vary considerably; otherwise,there would be only one roleplaying game, whicheveryone would play in the same manner.

There is only one way to roleplay: the way that achievesthe best balance between the various desires of your particu-lar group.

IN-GAMEPREFERENCES

Everybody comes to the gaming table for sligthlydifferent reasons. Our biggest task as GMs is to directand shape individual preferences into an experiencethat is more than the sum of its parts.

Accepting that each player's preferences anddesires should be given roughly equal weightfirst requires us to compromise on our own tastes.This is easier said than done. Many of us becomeGame Masters in the first place because wewant greater control over the gaming experience. Wewant to express our creativity and try out the coolideas we've had bubbling away in the back of ourminds.

It's all about striking a balance. If we sacrifice ourown tastes too much, we'll get bored, and bored GMsrun boring games. On the other hand, the most inno-vative campaign concept in the world means zip ifyou can't get your players excited about it.

It's all well and good to talk about the things thatthe average player generally enjoys, but nobody'sgroup is average, and being generally satisfied isn'tgood enough. The key to great GMing is to figure outwhat your each of your players wants, and then to finda gaming style that contains a little something foreverybody, including yourself.

To pin this down more precisely, fill in a copy of thePlayer Goal Chan (see below). It asks you to thinkabout the types your players fall into, and the emo-tional experiences they seek from the game.

Player TypesPeople play roleplaying games for all sorts of rea-

sons, but a few basic types tend to recur in large num-bers. (I didn't invent these categories, many of whichoriginate with the late Glen Blacow. I have departed abit from the traditional list, though.)

The Power Gamer wants to make his characterbigger, tougher, buffer, and richer. However success isdefined by the rules system you're using, this playerwants more of it. He tends to see his PC as an abstrac-tion, as a collection of super powers optimized for theacquisition of still more super powers. He pays closeattention to the rules, with a special eye to findingquirks and breakpoints he can exploit to get large ben-efits at comparatively low costs. He wants you to putthe "game" back in the term "roleplaying game," andto give him good opportunities to add shiny new abil-ities to his character sheet.

The Butt-Kicker wants to let off steam with a lit-tle old-fashioned vicarious mayhem. He picks a sim-ple, combat-ready character, whether or not that isthe best route to power and success in the system.After a long day in the office or classroom, he wantshis character to clobber foes and once more prove his

superiority over all who would challenge him. He maycare enough about the rules to make his PC an opti-mal engine of destruction, or may be indifferent tothem, so long as he gets to hit things. He expects youto provide his character plenty of chances to engage inthe aforementioned clobbering and superiority.

The Tactician is probably a military buff, whowants chances to think his way through complex, real-istic problems, usually those of the battlefield. Hewants the rules, and your interpretations of them, tojibe with reality as he knows it, or at least to portrayan internally consistent, logical world in which thequality of his choices is the biggest determining factorin his success or failure. He may view issues of char-acterization as a distraction. He becomes annoyedwhen other players do things which fit their PCs' per-sonalities, but are tactically unsound. To satisfy him,you must provide challenging yet logical obstacles forhis character to overcome.

The Specialist favors a particular character type,which he plays in every campaign and in every setting.The most common sub-type of specialist is the playerwho wants to be a ninja every time. Other specialistsmight favor knights, cat-people, mischief-makers, fly-ing diameters, or wistful druid maidens who spend alot of time hanging about sylvan glades with faeriesand unicorns. The specialist wants the rules to sup-port his favored character type, but is otherwise indif-ferent to them. To make a specialist happy, you haveto create scenes in which his character can do the coolthings for which the archetype is known.

The Method Actor believes that roleplaying is amedium for personal expression, strongly identifyingwith the characters he plays. He may believe that it'screatively important to establish a radically differentcharacter each time out. The method actor bases hisdecisions on his understanding of his character's

Player Goal Chart

4

Player Type Emotional Kick

psychology, and may become obstructive if othergroup members expect him to contradict it for rulesreasons, or in pursuit of a broader goal. He may viewrules as, at best, a necessary evil, preferring sessions inwhich the dice never come out of their bags.Situations that test or deepen his personality traits areyour key to entertaining the method actor.

The Storyteller, like the method actor, is moreinclined to the roleplaying side of the equation andless interested in numbers and experience points. Onthe other hand, he's more interested in taking part ina fun narrative that feels like a book or a movie thanin strict identification with hischaracter. He's quick to com-promise if it moves the storyforward, and may get boredwhen the game slows down fora long planning session. Youcan please him by introducingand developing plot threads,and by keeping the action mov-ing, as would any skilled novel-ist or film director.

The Casual Gamer is oftenforgotten in discussions of thissort, but almost every grouphas one. Casual gamers tend tobe low key folks who areuncomfortable taking centerstage even in a small group.Often, they're present to hangout with the group, and gamejust because it happens to bethe activity everyone else haschosen. Though they're elusivecreatures, casual gamers can bevitally important to a gaminggroup's survival. They fill outthe ranks, which is especiallyimportant in games that spreadvital PC abilities across a widenumber of character types orclasses. Especially if they'represent mostly for social rea-sons, they may fill an importantrole in the group's interperson-al dynamic. Often they're themellow, moderating types whokeep the more assertive personalities from eachother's throats - in or out of character. I mention thecasual player because the thing he most ferventlywants is to remain in the background. He doesn't wantto have to learn rules or come up with a plot hook forhis character or engage in detailed planning. You maythink it's a bad thing that he sits there for much of thesession thumbing through your latest purchases fromthe comic book store, but hey, that's what he wants.The last thing you want to do is to force him into agreater degree of participation than he's comfortablewith. (Of course, if everybody in the group is sittingthere reading your comic books, you've definitely gota problem . . . )

Emotional KickThe types will only get you so far. Many people

defy categorization. Most display traits of more thanone type. All of us have our own individual quirks,which can be more important than the style categorywe fall into. Even so, the exercise of matching yourplayers Co the categories helps you to start thinkingabout what they want from the game

In the next column on our worksheet, we go onestep further and ask ourselves what emotion each ofthe players wants to experience in the course of thegame.

Power gamers generally want to feel a sense ofreward.

Butt Kickers seek the flush of martial victory.Tacticians want to feel clever.Specialists' emotional kicks depend on the sort of

characters they typically play. Ninja players like to feelsneaky and untouchable. Faerie princesses want achance to be mystical and alluring. Players of knightswant chances to feel noble and righteous. Even if youcan't exactly see what draws Joe to play fish people allthe time, or Janine to always want to fly, it's easyenough to see what they want. Specialists wantchances to play out their characters' defining traits,whatever they may be.

5

Method actors want to feel an intense emotionalconnection to their characters, as brought about bythe dilemmas they face in the course of the game.They're concerned not so much with what theirPCs do, as with why they do it.

Storytellers want the overall game to movequickly, and resemble a fictional narrative. If youcan involve a storyteller's PC in an ongoing sub-plot, advancing it slightly every session, so muchthe better.

Don't worry about the casual gamer. If he startsto show greater involvement in the game, by allmeans figure out what he likes and give him moreof it. Otherwise, let him be.

Storytellers want theoverall game to move

quickly, and resemble a

fictional narrative.

Using The PlayerGoal Chart

The Player Goal Chart serves as a big, fatreminder of our purpose as GMs. It shows us at aglance the various desires we'll need to knit togeth-er to make our games as entertaining as possible forthe entire group. Use it when creating, preparing,or improvising scenarios.

When creating adventures, you can either use thechart as the starting point for your plotline, or useit to check your work after you've completed yourinitial set of notes.

To create an adventure around the chart, invent ascene for each player that delivers the emotionalkick you think he is looking for. Give the powergamer a chance to earn a big reward. Add enemiesthe butt-kicker will enjoy vanquishing. If you havea tactician in the group, make sure there's a suitableproblem for him to tackle, whether it's the stormingof a fortress or the defense of a space station. Foreach specialist, see to it that the adventure containsan opportunity to spotlight the defining, cool thingthat their characters do: the ninja gets to infiltrate;the cardsharp gets to overcome an obstacle with hismastery of gambling. Provide the method actorwith a meaty choice to thrash over. Find a way toadvance the continuing story of the storyteller's PC.And, as always, avoid pressuring the casual gamer.

You may be preparing to run a pre-existingadventure, either of your own creation, or one writ-ten by somebody else. To personalize it to yourcampaign, grab your Player Goal Chart and see if it

has the elements you need to appeal to your group.If not, alter existing scenes or add new ones untilyou've gotten the right mix. It's possible that you'llfind the scenario too hard to adapt to your group'scollective taste; if so, the chart has served as an earlywarning sign, preventing you from running a disas-trous session with an unsuitable adventure.

GETTING TO KNOWNEW PLAYERS

Obviously, this system breaks down utterly in thecase of players new to your group. However, bylooking at a new player's character sheet, you canmake some educated guesses about his style. If he'schosen the most notoriously effective combinationsof abilities your chosen rules system offers, youprobably have a power gamer on your hands. Asimple, off-the-rack fighter character probablyindicates the presence of a butt-kicker. Tacticiansare harder to spot, though they often like to createcharacters with military, police, or intelligencebackgrounds. The specialist may give himself awayby choosing a particular, well-loved character type,like the aforementioned n i n j a . New players whogreet you with several pages of detailed characterbiography may be method actors or storytellers. Ifthe tale is one of the psychological trauma thatshaped the PC into the tormented individual he istoday, we're probably talking method actor. If it's anarrative laden with plot hooks for your use, yourgroup has just acquired a new storyteller. A newplayer who hasn't brought a character sheet, butuses one prepared by the friend who brought him,is likely a casual gamer.

Still, first impressions can be deceiving. You don'twant to assume too much. If the new player is join-ing an existing group, just carry on as you werebefore, allowing him to insert himself into the pro-ceedings, and display his style. On those rare occa-sions when you get together with an entirely newgroup, assume you'll get a mix of player types. Itwon't take long before you see which elements ofyour adventure they respond to and which theyignore. Again, the characters they choose to createreveal much of their tastes and expectations.

For one-shot convention runs, where you'll like-ly hand out pregenerated characters, you can get asense for participants' styles by allowing them tochoose between PCs you've cleverly keyed toappeal to the various player types. It's always agood assumption that you'll get a mix of types atany convention run, though the game you'rerunning will skew the sample. Many games arepopular precisely because they strongly appeal to aparticular taste group. Expect power gamers toflock to your Rifts game, method actors to comefor Vampire: the Masquerade, and tacticians tosign up for GURPS.

6

Picking YourRules Set

Anyone who's spent any time at all readinginternet arguments concerning the merits ofvarious rules systems has seen the following

exchange about a billion times:First Arguer: "Rules system X rules. Unlike rules

system Y, which sucks!"Second Arguer: "Clearly, you possess the morals

and common sense of a rabid baboon! Everyoneknowst that system Y rules and system X sucks!"

Third Arguer: "A pox on both your houses!Everyone knows it's the GM, not the rules, that makesa good game!"

Both the first and second arguers would be correct,if they were prepared to specify what they need froma rules set, and to admit that their requirements mightdiffer from one another. The first arguer might want,for example, a system that works well for ultra-power-ful characters, while the second cares only about moredown-to-earth PCs.

The tendency to confuse personal taste with objec-tive quality is nearly universal. When we have a nega-tive emotional reaction to something, whether that bea song, a movie, or a rules set, we rarely think, "Oh,that's not my cup of tea." Instead, we think, "Ugh!That's awful!" This basic principle of human percep-tion is difficult to overcome, even when we're intel-lectually aware of it

There is no one best game system, but there is probably agame system that works best for your group.

When choosing a rules system, you have to payattention to your aversions. Our brains are all wireddifferently. Running a game in System X might besecond nature to you, even though I can't make headnor tails of it. Once you know that a rules set is goingto give you results you don't like, you'll find it verydifficult to have fun, which makes it hard to concen-trate, which winds up in a frustrating experience foreveryone.

On the other hand, it's just as difficult to run a suc-cessful game when you love the game system but yourplayers are mostly indifferent to it. As in adventuredesign, where you're working to find a balancebetween the desires of the various group members,your choice of game system must be a compromisebetween your needs as GM and the preferences of theplayers.

Many GMs find one system they like and stick withit forever. Players who join their groups know they'llbe playing that game. If you can attract and maintaina player group with the system of your choice, you're

in an ideal situation. You don't have to think aboutthis question at all and can happily skip to the nextchapter.

The likelihood of your being able to maintain agroup with your favorite game system varies depend-ing on the popularity of the rules set and the strengthof your local gaming scene. If your area crawls withgamers, you probably enjoy the luxury of being ableto pick the rules set you most want to play. If you havetrouble recruiting players, you may need to pick amore popular system, even though it might not beyour favorite.

WINNING CONVERTSOver time, you may be able to wean your recruits

from a compromise choice to the game you prefer.Players vary in their degree of commitment to sys-tems. It's much harder to dislodge a player from thefirst and only system he's ever played than it is to geta player who routinely switches between games to tryyour choice. Although all player types naturally prefersystems keyed to their particular tastes, some typescare more about choice of system than others.

If your area crawls withgamers, you probably enjoy theluxury of being able to pick therules set you most want to play.

Power gamers may emotionally identify with thecool super-abilities in their game of choice, and arethe most resistant to change.

Butt-kickers often prefer the simplicity of the famil-iar, but might be lured away by a set that offers themquicker and more emotionally satisfying mayhem.

Tacticians may enjoy the challenge of mastering thequirks of a new rules set, so long as it provides a rig-orous sense of logic and enough gritty detail to sinktheir teeth into.

Casual gamers want you to keep it simple. They'reunlikely to have learned much of the rules to theirprevious game, and as long as they don't have to learnmuch more now, they may shrug and go along, aspuzzled as they might be by your need to change rulessets.

7

Method actors and roleplayers may see the rules asa necessary evil. It's easy to convert them to simpler,looser systems but tougher to attract them to thestringently detailed rules sets tacticians like. However,if you know a complex system well enough to helpthem make choices and make its details invisible tothem, they may go along. The rules tastes of methodactors and storytellers sometimes diverge, though.Method actors often disdain systems with rules thatinfluence the choices they make, whereas storytellerslike rules that encourage PCsto act more like their coun-terparts from the world of fic-tion. Some purist methodactors shrink away from rulesthat determine the progressof persuasion attempts andother character interactions,arguing that these shouldsimply be acted out. Youmight argue that, just as play-ers untrained in combat getto use dice to vicariouslyexperience victory on the bat-tlefield, those who aren't nat-urally persuasive should getto do the same in social situa-tions. But in doing so, you'rearguing against the thing thatattracts the method actor toroleplaying games in the firstplace. Hey, nobody said thatfinding a game system for adisparate group was going tobe simple . . .

All else being equal, it may-be easier to get a group tocheck out a newly releasedrules set than one that's beenout for a while. Members ofan experienced group maywell already harbor precon-ceived notions about anywell-established game. Whilethose opinions are as likely tobe positive as negative, thenaysayers always hold the bal-ance of power in a situationlike this. A new release seemsexciting and fresh, and, if yourun an entertaining game,you can overcome objectionsyour players might otherwise have to its details.(Negative preconceptions of established games maybe utterly unfounded, the result of an experience witha weak GM or mismatched player group. That offerslittle consolation if a player has concluded that thegame itself was at fault.)

The drawback of trying a new game is that you maydiscover that you yourself don't like it, or that it isn'tas good a match for your player group as you initiallythought.

THEME AND TONEAnother factor to consider when choosing a game

is how well its theme and tone suit your tastes, andthose of your group. We often focus on how well agame's rules perform certain tasks: we want to knowwhether its combat system is elegant or clunky, itscharacter progression fast or slow, its powers well-tested or unbalanced. At least as important is its emo-tional content.

The vast majority of successful roleplaying gamesare power fantasies. They give players the chance toplay characters vastly more competent than diem-selves - or, for that matter anyone else in the world aswe know it. In power fantasy, PCs always have a goodchance of vanquishing their foes; in some games, play-ers can even assume that their enemies will be conve-niendy distributed by threat level. The power fantasylies at the very heart of the adventure genre, in books

8

and movies as well as in games. It offers a generallyoptimistic view of life. There's no shame in enjoyingthis fantasy, and GMs who embrace and understand ittend to keep players longer than those who don't.

Some GMs use gaming as a means of enjoying afantasy of power over the players, keeping the PCsunder a tight leash. Except for the odd masochistictactician who enjoys the occasional hard-won victoryin such a game, players who stick with this sort of GMgenerally do so because they can't find anyone else torun for them.

A few games offer fantasies of powerlessness, inwhich PCs can expect to be buffeted about by a hos-tile world dominated by unbeatable enemies. Horrorgames, especially Call of Cthulhu, come to mind here.The surreal conspiracy game Over the Edge (which Iworked on) provides another example. You need aspecial group to sustain a campaign in a game thatwithholds many of the standard pleasures of the role-playing experience... they attract method actors andstorytellers but tend to drive off tacticans, butt-kick-ers, and casual gamers.

Several factors explain the great success of Vampire:The Masquerade and its sister games; one of the mostimportant is that they allow players to explore thedark imagery of the horror genre while still playingcharacters who are quite powerful, and have a goodchance of becoming even more so.

The appeal of power fantasy varies geographically.American audiences embrace it wholeheartedly; thebasic themes of the adventure story strongly parallelthose of U.S. national mythology. British audiences,on the other hand, view the power fantasy withgreater suspicion. The English concept of heroism isless about victory than endurance in the Face of seem-ingly impossible odds. U.K. Game Masters thereforecan assume a greater license to make things rough ontheir players.

You can change a game's default emotional contentmore easily than its rules. You can allow gun-totingDelta Force PCs to mow their way throughCthulhoid monsters, or drench your superhero gamein blood and angst. Make sure, though, that you'reconfounding your players' expectations in a waythey'll enjoy. Storytelling purists may be appalled ifyou make a traditionally dark game into a forum forcheery mayhem, and power gamers will quietly defectit their accumulated goodies prove irrelevant as thecampaign plunges suddenly into hell.

ACCESSIBILITYAnother factor to consider when choosing your

rules set is accessibility. To what degree does the rulesset present a readily understandable set of stereotypesfor players to latch onto? One of the most basic criti-cisms leveled at popular entertainment of any kind isthat it's laden with cliches. This thought is so com-monplace that it's hard to let go of, but the truthremains that, in roleplaying, stereotypes are extreme-ly useful. They provide a common set of assumptions

about the world and the lands of PCs who populate it.Stereotypes help players picture your imaginaryworld, and to make assumptions about the sorts ofactions they can logically undertake in it The morethe setting resembles something they know from pop-ular entertainment, the more likely it is that they'll beable to plug into a pre-existing fantasy they've alwayswanted to indulge in. If you're playing a space operagame, it's not a bad thing that the player who hasalways dug Mr. Spock wants to play a detached, ultra-logical character with a secret knockout strike. Itmeans that he's got a pre-established emotional con-nection he can grab off the rack and plug into yourgame. Roleplayers who GM tend to be more com-fortable creating people and things than those whoonly play, so it's easy to forget how challenging manyplayers find even the simple act of PC generation.Familiarity breeds a sense of comfort, which is neces-sary in a hobby that requires creativity from peoplewho might not be entirely comfortable displaying it.It is most important to casual gamers and butt-kickers.Tacticians tend to prefer familiar settings, where theirplans won't be thrown for a loop by weird facts of cul-ture or physics.

On the other hand, method actors and storytellersare often drawn to freewheeling character generationsystems allowing them to create PCs never seenbefore in the annals of literature. They seek out nov-elty and curl their noses at cliche. If your group con-sists mainly of these types, look for quirky, highlydetailed worlds whose basic assumptions are alien toour own. Even these settings tend to present stereo-types, but they're unique ones gamers have to learnfrom scratch, without obvious analogues from othermedia. If you can assemble a group already intimatelyfamiliar with the elaborate background of a Gloranthaor Tekumel, you can have your familiarity and yourexoticism, too.

Demand for accessibility varies geographically, too.Unique, highly distinctive settings dominate theFrench RPG market. North American audiences, onthe other hand, will give up their beloved archetypeswhen you pry them from their cold, dead fingers.

POWER BALANCEYour choice of system affects your degree of control

over events in the game. Generally speaking, the morea game depends on "crunchy bits" (see sidebar for adefinition of this highly analytical term), the morepower it cedes to the players, at the expense of theGM.

When a player activates one of the crunchy bits onhis character sheet, control of the outcome shifts fromthe GM to the rulebook. Crunchy bits are typicallywritten to work in a certain detailed and highly spe-cific way. Where a TV writer might fudge the detailedworkings of a main character's signature abilityaccording to the demands of the current storyline,players expect the GM to fairly interpret the rules aslaid out in the book. As characters progress in power

9

and gain ever more potent crunchy bits, the GM'sflexibility in setting up obstacles to challenge thembecomes increasingly constrained. When a PC gainsInvisibility, a whole range of common action-adven-ture situations goes out the window. Likewise withflying, teleportation, the ability to pass through walls,time travel, and a host of other abilities. Often thesepowers allow their users to quickly and anticlimacti-cally bypass the sorts of interesting challenges thatmake an adventure story exciting.

Even without these overtly plot-busting abilities,the action in a game becomes increasingly unpre-dictable as more and more crunchy bits are added tothe mix. While GMs need a basic familiarity with thewhole of a rules system, players can focus their atten-tion only on the rules for their own crunchy bits.They therefore always know the rules better thantheir GMs do, and become adept at using these abili-ties to easily overcome obstacles that were planned tobe difficult. When you are surprised by what acrunch) bit can do, your power to keep the presentencounter fun and challenging is severely curtailed.

Rules sets in which crunchy hits predominate give powerto the players.

Some rules sets curtail the power of the crunchy bit.This can be done in various ways. A system can offera wide variety of crunchy bits, while sharply limitingthe number of them available to any one character. Itcan present the ability descriptions in a vague andgeneral manner that keeps the power of interpretationfirmly in the GM's hands. It can omit the most noto-riously plot-busting powers, or can place severe con-straints on their use. A few systems forgo crunchy bitsaltogether, allowing players to define abilities them-selves. They use very abstract ways of resolvingactions, making all (or almost all) abilities effectivelyequal, in rules terms.

Rules systems that limit the impact of crunchy bits givepower to the GM.

While we, as GMs, might naturally prefer gameswhich give us the greatest flexibility, we have to

remember that players like to have power, too. One ofthe many factors behind Dungeons and Dragons'enduring popularity is the way in which its power bal-ance favors the players.

There is no one ideal power balance between play-ers and GM. The best balance varies according to thecomposition of your group, because the need for play-er power depends on play style.

Power gamers, naturally, are the ultimate benefici-aries of any game system in which the crunchy bits gowild. The discomfiture of the GM is the supremeexpression of their power. The harder, shinier, bufferand more defined a rules system's crunchy bits, themore they'll like it.

Tacticians thrive in systems that take power fromthe GM. They benefit most strongly from rules sys-tems in which the game effects of various powers aretightly defined. They want to surprise the GM andeasily overcome his obstacles. To a tactician, anticli-max is a good thing. A session in which the group risk-lessly circumvents every barrier placed in its path isthe tactician's ultimate dream.

To the degree that method actors care about rulesat all, they favor systems that empower players. Intheir quest to remain true to their character concepts,they sometimes put themselves at odds with otherPCs, or stand in the way of plot developments neces-sary to the smooth unfolding of the GM's adventure.To maintain their autonomy, they often gravitatetowards crunchy bits that protect their lone wolfbehavior patterns. They want to be able to turn invis-ible and leave situations they don't like, or to fly away.They need to be able to resist mind control attemptsand other similar coercions. Method actors may alsochoose crunchy bits that render them indispensable tothe group. This tactic increases their negotiatingpower during disputes between players. Implicit intheir every argument is the threat not to participate ina plan they don't like. The group, knowing they'll bedeprived of a vital array of abilities, is forced toaccommodate the method actor, even when he's aminority of one.

Butt-kickers want to wade into combat early andoften. They like crunchy bits that make their PCsmightier in battle, but don't want other PCs to use

Game Systems: Continuum of CrunchinessRules Favor PlayersRules Favor GM

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other abilities to avoid fights. So longas the opportunities for smiting arefrequent and colorful, they tend to beindifferent to the power balancebetween players and GM.

Specialists want the defining abili-ties of their chosen character types tobe effective, and they want chances touse them. Systems that define theirsignature crunchy bits broadly orimprecisely may suit them well,because they allow the GM to addinteresting variations to the scenesthey look forward to repeating overand over again. They don't want anobstacle to end anticlimactically if itmeans being deprived of the chanceto strut their stuff.

Storytellers, happiest when gamesessions unfold like fiction or a TVepisode, thrive when the GM enjoysthe flexibility needed to control pac-ing. The anticlimax beloved by thetactician is anathema to the story-teller. Storytellers tend to favor rulessets that either present crunchy bits invague terms, or allow them to definetheir abilities on the fly; they enjoypersonalizing and redefining theirpowers in creative and funky ways.

Casual gamers don't care muchabout the power balance, one way orthe other, but are turned off by thewrangling and argument that tends toerupt when the balance is off. Theright choice of rules set for the rest ofyour group will also be the right onefor your casual gamer.

See the diagram on p. 10 for agraphic representation of the playstyles and the rules sets they gravitatetowards.

To determine the desired crunchi-ness level for your group, assign ascore for each player in your group according to hisplay style. For players with odd combinations of pref-erences, you may wish to award half points or performother arcane adjustments that feel right to you.

Then average the results. A final score near 3 meansthat your group would probably prefer a system heavyon the crunchy bits, like Dungeons and Dragons, or

one in which rules are tightiy defined, such asGURPS. A score near -3 suggests you should checkout games in which crunchy bits are loosely defined(for example, Vampire: The Masquerade) or treatedin an abstract manner that equalizes all abilities (likeHero Wars.) A result near 0 suggests that you shouldjust go ahead and pick whatever the heck you want.

This is not to say you should utterly ignore yourown tastes. You won't get far trying to use a rules setwritten for a style you can't stand. But a big disparitybetween your tastes and the apparent desires of yourgroup serves as an early indication that you'll have towork extra hard to keep this particular mix of peoplechallenged and entertained. There are things you cando to compensate for this taste gap between yourselfand your players, and they're easiest to do if you'reaware of the need for them in advance.

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Campaign DesignAcampaign can be designed on the fly, or from the

bottom up.A campaign created on the fly starts with an adven-

ture, generally in the default style and setting of therules set you've chosen. From one adventure to thenext, you slowly add elements to it. Gradually it takeson a life of its own. The advantage of this approach isthat you can respond to player choices, developing theaspects of your setting that they seem most interestedin. The theme, tone, recurring NPCs and importantsettings of your campaign all arise more or less spon-taneoasly. You don't have to think so much aboutaddressing the tastes of your group; it all just happensnaturally. On-the-fly campaign development also suitsGMs whose schedules don't allow them big chunks ofprep time.

On the other hand, some of us are better at advanceplanning than thinking on our feet. The internal con-sistency and vision of a grand plan may be more satis-fying than the meandering feel of an improvised cam-paign. Planning may stop us from falling back on oldhabits and first impulses. If your villains or shopkeep-ers or fight sequences follow a noticeable pattern aftera while, you may want to make advance notes to con-sciously sidestep your favorite cliches.

All else being equal, you may want to take intoaccount the tastes of your play group. The more con-trol a player prefers over the continuing storyline, thehappier he'll be in an improvised campaign. Methodactors may likewise feel constrained within plot linesthat fail to address their characters' motivations.Storytellers may enjoy the grand sweep of a thor-oughly-planned story.

Sometimes it's not so much a matter of whetheryou've planned, but what sort of prep work you'vedone. Tacticians tend to distrust elaborately plottedcampaigns, because they feel they're being driven to acertain point, no matter how adroitly they scheme. Atthe same time, they favor deeply-detailed worlds thatgrow and change independent of PC actions.

GENREWhether you're improvising or planning, you'll

first need to decide what category of action-adventureyou want your campaign to fall into. Often, your cho-sen rules set dictates a genre. If you've chosen a rulesset that supports multiple genres, the choice remainsup to you. Pick a genre that interests you, whether itsupports the plot device you have in mind, involvesimagery that appeals to you, or arises from a book ormovie you liked and want to emulate.

Again, it never hurts to stop and consider the tastesof your group before picking a genre. When in doubt,ask them what they like - but expect as many different

responses as you have players. Our attraction to (ordisinterest in) various genres can be subjective. It's justnot something that can be argued logically. You maywant to run an anime game, but if one of your mostenthusiastic players tells you he's not interestedbecause Japanese animation is "weird," you may haveto resort instead to an old favorite.

The internalconsistency and vision of agrand plan may be more

satisfying than themeandering feel of animprovised campaign.

Fantasy tends to be a more popular genre in role-playing circles than in the media culture at largebecause it supports a wide range of play styles. It alsojustifies the largest set of possible crunchy bits. If yourplayers don't seem sure of their own preferences, orare greatly at odds, fantasy is always a reliable defaultchoice. Fantasy is also extremely pliable, allowing youto sneak in the key elements of the genre you origi-nally favored without notice or complaint. Changethe mutant information virus from the cyberpunkgame they didn't want to play into a magical curse,and you're off to the races, with no one the wiser.

Player tastes may point you towards a genre yourgroup will sign on for. If you're heavy on powergamers, you know you need to pick something wildand woolly, where characters routinely performsuperhuman acts. You may need to hold off on yourgame of realistic military action until you've assem-bled a gang composed mostly of tacticians. Likewise,a game of Machiavellian court intrigue should proba-bly wait until your storytellers and method actorsgready outnumber the butt-kickers.

THE SETTINGHaving chosen a setting, the next step is to work

out where the action will take place. If you're workingon the fly, you may need nothing more than a few keyphrases or images, which you'll flesh out as you go.Serious planners may wish to make extensive notes onboth the world and the general area in which the firstadventures will take place.

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Published SettingsMany published games provide a default setting,

often one portrayed in great detail over a wide rangeof supplements. Sticking to a pre-established settinghas its advantages. First, it's much less work; readingsupplements is a much quicker process than writingthem. Another factor not to be underestimated is thedegree to which published settings are readily under-standable, and therefore appealing, to players. Youmay find it easier to recruit new players if your gamesare set in an established and popular world. Peoplecan only take in a certain amount of information onany topic at one sitting. Players can learn much moreabout a setting by reading supplements over a periodof months or years than you can impart to them in afew sessions of play.

There is no shame in using an established setting.

Another key advantage of established worlds is thatplayers who've read the source material bring a pre-determined set of emotional associations to the gam-ing table. They're invested in the world before youroll your first die. Some folks criticize game compa-nies whose supplements are heavy on backgroundmaterial and fiction snippets, complaining about theratio of useful material to "fluff." It may not be appar-ent how useful so-called fluff can be to a GM, in lay-ing the atmospheric groundwork for you. Let's sayyou have the party encounter an NPC whose appear-ance and mannerisms clearly mark him out as a mem-ber of a formidable and scary group. In a setting ofyour own creation, you have to stop and explain whatthe group is, what the signs are, and why the adven-turers should be quaking in their boots. You're tellingthe PCs that the group is scary, and they'll accept thison an intellectual level. But it will be hard to makethem feel it. If you're instead using an established set-ting that at least a couple of the players are familiarwith, all you have to do is describe the NPC, includ-ing a few visual signifiers of his group affiliation.Without any further prompting, they'll react emo-tionally, exclaiming, "Oh, no! It's a Tremere!" (Or aHumakti, or whatever. . ) While reading the sourcematerial, they've already been shown, as opposed tomerely told, why members of this group should creepthem out

Fluff ain't so fluffy as it looks.

If you are using an established setting, I stronglyrecommend that you allow your players to read anyavailable supplements for it. Adventures you plan touse, or cannibalize, are obvious exceptions. But if youknow you'll never use a particular adventure, try to getyour players to read that, too. The more the playersknow and feel about their imaginary world, the better.Do this even when a setting tells you not to. It's easier toget people to distinguish between player knowledgeand character knowledge than it is to get them emo-tionally invested in an imaginary world. Many gamelines overestimate the emotional value of surprise.Players spend way too much time feeling off-balance

and confused as it is. They're already wonderingwhat's around the corner, who really belongs to theconspiracy they're tracking, what their enemies cando, and so on. It goes without saving that your playerswill be confused and puzzled for great stretches of anygame session. Let the players, if not their characters,know what's happening in the macro level of thesetting.

Emotional investment is more important than thepreservation of the setting designer's secrets.

The more theplayers know and feelabout their imaginary

world, the better.

Many gamers woefully undervalue the importanceof illustrations. It's true that some folks are complete-ly word-oriented and would be happier if roleplayingbooks consisted entirely of dense blocks of 6-pointtype, blown right out to the margins. Most of us,though, are visually oriented, and have a much easiertime imagining people and places, especially onesfrom unreal worlds, when aided by artwork. First, it'salways helpful to hold up a game book and show yourplayers an illustration of a creature, place, object, orother item they need to visualize precisely. Less obvi-ously, you also benefit when players have had a chanceto absorb over time a wide range of illustrations froma particular game line. Pictures can convey the emo-tional aspects of a setting in a way that's difficult formost of us to do when all we have to rely on is our ownextemporaneous speech.

The illustration is your friend.

Home-Grown SettingsFor many GMs, though, the opportunity to build a

world provides one of the main reasons to run gamesin the first place. The act of creation is fun andrewarding in and of itself. World design lets you enjoygaming on your own schedule; you don't have to con-vene a group of players in order to work on a map ordetail a culture. A unique setting makes your gamesespecially memorable. You'll find it easier to createadventures and encounters that reflect your way ofthinking.

The key balance in any setting is between originality andaccessibility.

There's little point in filling dozens of binders withelaborate details on your created world if the endresult isn't much different from a setting you couldhave pulled off the shelf.

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Neither do you want to create a setting that's so faroff the wall that none of your players can relate to it,or absorb the vast swathes of information they need toassimilate in order to understand what's going on andmake sensible decisions for their characters.

The degree of originality you can get away withdepends on your mix of players. The more enthusias-tic the group, the more likely they'll be to attentivelyread the background hand-outs you give them.However, even a dedicatedgroup of roleplayers caninclude people with con-servative tastes; even thosewilling to put in the effortmay not like the results.

For example, years ago Iran a really far-out fantasy-game in which all of thecharacters belonged to atechnologically primitive,tribal culture who lived inan incredibly hostile envi-ronment haunted by nastymonsters and even moredangerous deities. (Thiswas eventually published asGURPS Fantasy II.) Thecampaign was a great suc-cess, because the key play-ers in that group wereopen to something deeplypeculiar, and heartily tookon the difficult task of role-playing characters bornand raised in this bizarreenvironment

I'd never try to runthis campaign with mycurrent group. Whilethey're just as enthusiasticabout gaming as the oldgang, the tastes of its keymembers run more to themainstream. Neithergroup is better than theother; they just like differ-ent things.

You probably know howconservative your group's tastes are, but, just in case,a look at your mix of player types should help.Specialists, butt-kickers, power gamers, casualgamers, and tacticians tend to prefer familiar settings.Storytellers and method actors may be more interest-ed in novelty.

One time-honored method of balancing originali-ty and accessibility can be found in the odd juxtapo-sition of familiar elements. Take two well-establishedgames, genres, or cliches, and mix them together tocreate a combination which creates its uniqueness inthe collision between well-known elements. My cur-rent game works this way: its entire premise is "D&D

in the Roman Empire." Other examples mightinclude:

• vampires in space• cyberpunk goes to war• swashbucklers investigate the occultWhen in doubt, blindfold yourself, take any two

GURPS sourcebooks off the shelf at random, andcombine the results.

By finding your campaign's uniqueness in thejoining of familiar elements, you're one step aheadwhen it comes to the following test: how easily canyou condense the core concept of your campaigninto a single word or sentence? You don't need toshare this sentence with your players, though it mayhelp to pique their interest or get them oriented.This exercise is designed to ensure that you're oper-ating from a simple, clear idea. Roleplaying gamesare based on pop culture genres tor two related rea-sons - because they're easy to understand andbecause people know and like them. In pop culture,simple, strong ideas are always better and more

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appealing than complex, unfocused ones. The moreclearly you can state your own basic idea, the morelikely it is that your players will understand andrespond to it. By all means, use references to rele-vant movies, comic books, and novels as shorthand.

In addition to the aforementioned combo con-cepts, good examples might include:

• Eastward Ho: an alternate history in which theJapanese settled America

• invading orcs have conquered the modernworld

• a fantasy world 100 years after magic stoppedworking

• anti-globalist anarchopunks battle Nyarla-thotep and his minions

MISSIONThis obvious point doesn't warrant much space,

even though it sometimes eludes authors of pub-lished game settings.

You must know, and dearly communicate, what it isthat the PCs are expected to do.

If you're using a published game off-the-rack, thisquestion probably won't trouble you. Most populargames provide a default activity tor their adventur-ers. You know that the PCs are supposed to raidunderground complexes to kill monsters and stealtheir stuff. Or to advance the power and agenda oftheir supernatural cabal. Or to set up triangulartrade routes between distant star systems.

On the other hand, you might want to take anestablished game but narrow its focus to a singleactivity. The group of fantasy adventurers might beworking to restore the old elvish empire. Yourspaceship crew might be made up of xenobiologistsin search of new life forms. A western game mightfeature a super-posse deputized to track downsupernatural outlaws.

Highly specialized missions give your game anelement of uniqueness, but carry a couple of risks.

One, your mission might exclude a player'sfavorite activity. Method actors and specialists mayobject that a restricted mission limits their flexibili-ty in character design. Most players come up with acharacter concept and try to fit it to your campaign,rather than starting with your imposed mission andinventing a character appropriate to it. If a special-ized mission cramps your players' style, you maywant to broaden it, or find another that suits thenbetter.

Two, some missions are so specialized that itquickly becomes tough to create interesting and var-ied adventures. The xenobiologist example men-tioned above might not yield that many plot lines,unless the PCs are adventurous do-gooders willingto set aside their main mission at the drop of a hat.You can only tranquilize so many Denevian PusWorms before it starts to get old. And if the mission

is just a pretext for unrelated adventures, why use itat all?

To test the sustainability of your specialized mis-sion, think up a dozen basic adventure concepts, inquick point-form style. If you get stumped afterthree or four entries, your mission probably isn'tbroad enough.

When in doubt,blindfold yourself,

take any twoGURPS sourcebooks

off the shelf atrandom, and combine

the results.

Alternately, you might find it rewarding to let theplayers find a specialized mission during the firstfew sessions of play. This assumes that you are com-fortable improvising, and that your players areproactive types who like to find the sorts of troublethey find interesting, instead of just waiting for youto supply the plot hook of the day.

Headquarters andRecurring Cast

If your campaign employs a specialized mission,you should give some thought to the group's base ofoperations and the NPCs who occupy it with them.

Many campaigns run aground when the PCs getthemselves in so much trouble that they just want toleave the area, escaping at maximum speed from allof your well-laid plotlines. To avoid this, allow thema well-defended haven they can use to think andregroup. The defenses might be literal, as in afortress or starship, or social, as in a noble house-hold their political enemies dare not attack. In addi-tions to supplies, repairs, and medical attention, it'salso helpful to give the PCs access to advice andinformation. Otherwise, they may tend to "turtle,"holing up and fruitlessly arguing over the best pos-sible course of action. A patron or mentor charactercan help you move stuck adventures along, by steer-ing the party away from dead ends and doomedplans. Servitors, agents, assistants, and sidekicks canpop in to provide clues when the group gets stuckbut won't go out in search of additional data.

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Adventure Design

Now that we've got a framework built, it's timeto put something in it. The basics of adven-ture design remain the same whether you're

diligently writing everything out in a detailed formatlike you see in published adventures, or whether youmake it up as you go along based on a few scrawlednotes on the back of a candy wrapper. In one case,you're doing it consciously, and in advance. In theother, you're improvising on the spur of the moment.

PLOT HOOKSThe starting point of any adventure is the plot

hook. A plot hook lays out a goal for the PCs, andestablishes the biggest obstacle that prevents themfrom easily accomplishing it. Ideally, you should beable to sum it up in a brief phrase or two. Start thephrase with a verb. If no verb comes to mind, yourhook isn't clear enough, and the players won't knowwhat their PCs ought to be doing.

Satisfying adventurestories have

clear endings.

Here are some examples:• track down the assassins who killed the sultan• recover stolen plans to the XK-100• find the Holy Sword of K'athaar• slay the Lich King• investigate alien sightings at White Rock Ridge• stop Shark Man from robbing any more banksA plot hook will also imply an ending for the adven-

ture. Satisfying adventure stories have clear endings.The players must be able to tell when they have won.Victory conditions for the above plot hooks would be,respectively, vanquishing the assassins, getting theplans back, acquiring the sword, killing the lich, find-ing out what caused the alien sightings, and sendingShark Man back to the Electro City Institute for theCriminally Insane.

Because this is simple, it should be obvious. But toooften DMs overthink their plotlines, focusing oncomplicated side issues (like, say, the intricacies ofpirate culture, bizarre uses of nanotechnology, or hid-den correspondences between the myths of Karrador)than on a clear, readily understandable set of goals forthe PCs to pursue.

You don't need to make an adventure complicated. Theplayers will do thai for you.

Remember, when you run an adventure, you seeonly the actual plotline that you've worked out inadvance. You know who the assassins are, why theykilled the sultan, how they escaped the palace, wherethey're hiding now, and what defenses they have inplace to ward off pursuers. On the other hand, theplayers must dream up a number of competinganswers for each of those questions. They must con-sider several sets of possible suspects, with variouspossible motives. They must look at every likelyescape route to see which one the killers actually used,and so on. Players tend to be much more wary andparanoid than the adventure heroes of fiction; theircharacters are more prone to failure. False leads, redherrings and disastrous mistakes will all crop up in anadventure without your having to do much, if any-thing, to build them in.

STRUCTURING YOURADVENTURE

When authors of fiction talk about structure,they're referring to the process by which scenes andsequences are ordered for maximum effect on thereader or viewer. A well-structured story has the fol-lowing qualities:

• It quickly establishes its action.• It steadily builds in excitement towards a cli-

mactic sequence. The climax is more exciting thanany previous sequence, and resolves the plot hook.

• It presents information necessary to understandthe story (also known as exposition) in small, easily-digestible chunks, as the reader needs to know it.

• It varies its rhythm. Scenes of intense action areinterspersed with quieter sequences in which thecharacters reflect, gather information, interact withone another, and generally reinforce the reader'sidentification with them.

• It varies its mood. Comic moments may give usrespite from an overall serious tone. In a comedy, theodd serious moment may allow greater identificationwith the characters. Horror stories slip in momentsof calm, which allow the dread to build up onceagain.

Roleplaying adventures are clearly relatives of thestory, novel, and movie, but the degree to which thestructural requirements of these older forms shouldapply to a game session remains a matter of hotdebate. The question vexes writers of publishedadventures, who are screwed either way. A scenariothat details a predetermined plotline will be criti-cized as "too linear," no matter how many branchesor alternate plot twists it includes. Conversely, anadventure that simply presents a group of NPCs and

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a basic situation from which to improvise will beslammed as an unsatisfying read.

Luckily, you have a big leg up on die poor,benighted professionals. You don't have to worryabout communicating your ideas to another GM, orcreating an adventure for a group of players youdon't know and will never meet. Instead, you cansafely take refuge in the central point I'm so single-mindedly hammering home:

Like so many other things, structure is a matter of taste.

Different player types care to varying degrees aboutthe amount of structure you impose on events in thegame.

Tacticians are profoundly wary of structure. Theydon't want exciting climaxes; they want to plan so wellthat nothing interesting happens to their characters.To a tactician, the ideal conclusion is one in which theteam gets maximum benefit for minimum risk.Tacticians crave long, uninterrupted periods of plan-ning, which they consider to be the most interestingpart of a game. They hate it when DMs disrupt theirplanning sessions by throwing in sudden actionsequences. They couldn't care two hoots about moodor pacing.

Power gamers are indifferent to structure. Theydon't care whether they get their Blades of Power orSuper Cybernetic Enhancements at the beginning,middle, or end of a session, so long as they get them.If you can arrange things so that their most mega-amazing powers get used in the big climax, that's fine,but structure is no big deal to them.

The casual gamer may pay more attention if youcan hold the group's attention with strong pacing andbuilding excitement. Or maybe not.

You can use structure to please specialists, eventhough they might not list it as a big fun requirement.They want to use the defining schticks of their chosencharacter types in a fun and exciting way, so if you canconstruct climaxes that require them to do so, they'llbe extra happy. They get not only to do their thing,but to do it in the context of the most importantevents in the storyline.

Method actors like structure, provided that theycan feel like the most important character in a story-line. If a structure exists that seems to put their con-cerns to one side, they'll exercise whatever power theyhave to make their PCs more central to it. Often thisis the power of refusal; they'll decline to act until theother players adjust their plan to the method actor'sconception of his character's behavior.

Butt-kickers like a sense of rising action and anexciting climax, insofar as the action rises from onefight scene to the next, and the big conclusion involvesa great deal of smiting.

Structure is the storyteller's reason for being. He'scome to the gaming table to take part in an excitingstory. The more you can make your game like a workof fiction, the happier he'll be.

Your Structure QuotientSo, to see how much attention you should pay to

structure, perform the following exercise. Give a scoreto each player, reflecting his apparent interest in struc-ture and storytelling techniques. As with the similarsystem exercise (p. 11), you should use split scores forplayers with mixed tastes, and perform whatever otheradjustments make sense for your specific group.

Now average the scores. A score near 3 indicatesthat structure should be your primary concern: themore your sessions resemble movies or TV episodes,the better. A score around 0 suggests that, though it'sokay to toy with these elements when it's easy to slipthem in, you should go to no special effort to makeclimaxes happen. The nearer your score to -3, themore effort you should devote to eradicating all signsof traditional narrative flow from your games, learn-ing to embrace the anticlimax as the most satisfyingclimax of all.

DUNGEONS ANDOTHERUNSTRUCTUREDADVENTURES

Despite the inroads narrative-oriented games likeCall of Cthulhu and Vampire have made over the years,most gamers still cut their teeth on plot-free adventuresof exploration, action, and looting. The ultimateexpression of this adventure type is the dungeon.Dungeons are great for starting GMs, because theydon't have to worry about plot at all. The plot consistsof the arbitrary order in which the PCs decide to knockdown doors and beat up the monsters behind them.Although storyteller types find them utterly unsatisfy-ing, your particular group may like mem just fine.

One of the big advantages of the unstructuredadventure is that it's dead easy to create. Each area is adiscrete and separate unit. You can add a new room toyour dungeon complex at any time. You don't need toweave a complicated plot or worry about dispensingclues at the right rate. You don't have to play a bunchof different NPCs, keeping their motivations andfunny voices straight. Your main concern lies in gamebalance, in making sure that the adversaries the PCsfind behind the doors they bash down are neither tooeasy or too hard to vanquish, and that they treasuresthey guard are properly keyed to the characters' cur-rent power level. Any rules set that supports this styleof play makes these decisions easy for you.

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If you and your players like the dungeon-crawlingstyle of play, let no one convince you that there's any-thing wrong with it. It is probably still true that themajority of roleplayers active today prefer unstruc-tured, exploratory adventures. Most roleplayers stillplay Dungeons and Dragons, and use the dungeonstyle of play it best supports.

This style is popular because it's easy to run, andbecause it perfectly suits butt-kickers, power gamers,most specialists and casual types, and appeals reason-ably well to tacticians. However, when storytellers andmethod actors first encounter plot and characteriza-tion, they experience an epiphany and drift off insearch of games that better serve them.

If you and your players likethe dungeon-crawling styleof play, let no one convinceyou that there's anything

wrong with it.

A drawback of the unstructured style is that GMsget tired of running it sooner than players tire of play-ing it. Because the hundredth dungeon encounter youdesign is more or less like the tenth, the adventurecreation process gets monotonous after a while. Theease of the dungeon style turns out to be a mixedblessing, too; many come to find it insufficiently chal-lenging. GMs are disproportionately likely to be sto-rytellers themselves, and want to introduce intricateplots, play weird NPCs, and show off their lovinglydetailed worlds.

So, if you dig dungeon adventures, more power toyou. You have an easy time of it, and may not reallyneed much of the advice laid out in this book. Yourrules set of choice probably gives you all the assistanceyou need with this simpler style.

However, if you've bothered to read this far, it's agood bet that you want help with the more challeng-ing structured style of play. It either fits your ownpreferences, or that of your players. This is why, nowthat I've made a point of recognizing the validity andpopularity of dungeon-style adventures, I'm nowgoing to proceed to mostly ignore them.

The main thing you need to remember when run-ning a structured game is that some of your playerswill still want the pleasures they associate with anunstructured one, so you'll need to incorporate thoseinto your planning.

COMMONSTRUCTURES

There are several ways to structure an adventure.You can either pick a single structure that best suitsyour overall style, or the one that best matches thecontent of the adventure at hand.

EpisodicAn episodic adventure consists of a number of

scenes which are slimly connected to one another, if atall. The best example of an episodic adventure is ajourney from one point to another, where the PCs areconfronted by a series of unusual, dangerous, andchallenging situations along the way. Though theyencounters may be related by mood or theme, thescenes exist independently. The group's success orfailure in an early episode has no direct bearing onwhat happens in later ones.

The episodic structure provides a good compro-mise between dungeon- and narrative-style play. Theplayers don't get to arbitrarily choose which encoun-ters occur; instead, they systematically enter each ofyour predetermined scenes, in the order you specify.But they don't have to master a complicated series ofclues and can flee from failed encounters without wor-rying about long-term consequences. You can evenskip an encounter entirely without having any effecton the other component parts.

This structure may appeal to you if your maininterest as a GM is in world-building. The adventur-ers become tourists in your setting; each of theirencounters underlines an interesting or exotic factabout your world. Episodic adventures lend them-selves well to a light tone, either of picaresque humoror of fantasy and wonder. They may make for a nicebreak between more intense scenarios.

Episodic adventures have such simple structuresthat you barely need to diagram them at all. Eachsequence leads to the next, with no pesky branching.If you ever did want to diagram an episodic adventure,it would look like the diagram above.

Episodic structures appeal naturally to methodactors, who can behave as outrageously as they like ineach sequence, without fear of lasting consequences.They also please power gamers, butt-kickers, andcasual gamers, all of whom appreciate their simplicity.Storytellers may be disappointed by the lack of con-nections between scenes, and the absence of lastingconsequences or recurring characters.

OutsideBottleton:The DancingSpirits

Near Quimsy:DrowningGrandmother

Darkwood:SpiderWorshippers

The Old Mill:Isdirel Succubus

Gates ofBraszen: GolemBlockade

Quarry:Slave Revolt

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Set-PieceA set-piece adventure structures itself around a

handful - let's say three or four - of big sequences,each one of which grows out of a common situation.(The name comes from movie jargon; it refers to abig, showy sequence that stands out from the rest ofthe film. The foyer battle in The Matrix and the Klanrally in O Brother, Where Art Thou? are both setpieces.) Each set piece sequence involves linked char-acters and locations. You decide to engineer the plotso that the PCs encounter each set piece, in a specifiedorder, but allow several possible ways of getting fromone to the next. You should dunk of at least a coupleof ways to make each transition, while also allowingtor the possibility that players will come up with unex-pected but equally valid ways to make the leaps.

For example, let's say your game features two-fistedarchaeologists in 1920s Egypt. You start by thinkingup four cool scenes that fit the setting. You imagine arunning gun battle with artifact poachers, drivingthrough the desert. There's got to be a tomb explo-ration sequence, with deadly traps. And, to surprisethe players with a monster that isn't a mummy, youwant them to confront a powerful sphinx creature.For variety's sake, you decide to make the remainingsequence an airborne one, and envision biplanesattacking a dirigible.

Now you put the sequences in order. You know youwant the sphinx at the end. In pulp-style adventure,the big monster always comes at the end. It makessense that the tomb robbers would appear after thescene with the tomb. The dirigible seems moreimpressive than either of those, so it goes betweenthem and the sphinx.

So at this point your structure looks like this:

The easiest way to create two transitions betweeneach pair of set-pieces is to think of one as the resultof success, and one as the result of failure.

Let's return to our example, looking at the transi-tion between the tomb robbers and dirigiblesequences. If the heroes beat the robbers (or other-wise get to search their persons, vehicle, or encamp-ment), they find plans for an attack on a dirigibleowned by a dilettante collector named St. FrancisSmythe. If the robbers defeat them (or lose but escapebefore getting their stuff searched), the adventurerscan ask around in Cairo, hear that a fellow namedSmythe has also been attacked by the same bandits,and get an invite to his dirigible party. The successtransition should be faster and less risky than its coun-terpart failure transition, reflecting the positive out-come of the previous set-piece.

Branching

Now all you need to do is find possible connectionsbetween sequences. It's best to have at least two possi-ble ways to make each transition. This reminds you tokeep things flexible, so that the players can't get stuckwhen there's only one way from A to B and they blowit. Sometimes only a single logical transition will pres-ent itself to you, no matter how hard you wrack yourbrain; this is acceptable if not preferable.

In the set-piece adventure, the heroes hit everymajor sequence you plan out; their success or failurein previous scenes affects their odds in the current set-piece, but never prevents it from occurring. In abranhing adventure, the plotline is structured like aflowchart. A successful outcome in scene A takes thePCs into scene B, but failure takes them to scene C.Results occasionally double back and generally feedthe group towards one or two possible climaxes.Otherwise, the flow chart would go on forever, with-out resolution.

Let's say we have an adventure of hard-boiledspaceport mystery.

In Scene 1, the heroes are hired by a blue-skirmedfemme fatale named Astoria, to protect her from astalker named Zeebo. They shadow her as she goes

about her business. Zeebotries to capture her.

If they succeed in Scene 1,they go to Scene 2, wherethey try to interrogateZeebo. If they succeed, theylearn of his boss, The Slug,

and begin to trail him. If they successfully shadowhim, they go to Scene 15, where they learn that he,Zeebo and Astoria are all searching for a fabled objectd'art, the Beteleguesan Kestrel.

If they fail in Scene 1, Zeebo captures Astoria anddisappears. They must try to track him down. If theysucceed, they find themselves in The Slug's hotelroom, with Astoria captive, and learn about theKestrel. If they fail, they're misled to a seedy club, theZ-Drone.

SphinxDirigible andbiplanes

Tomb RobbersTomb and Trap

Tomb andTrap Tomb Robbers Dirigible and

biplanesSphinx

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For more branches in this flow-chart, see the dia-gram on p. 21. You'll note that even it isn't complete-ly resolved to a final resolution of the adventure. Thisis because the branching structure is very difficult toprepare fully in advance. It requires a very long flowchart, and a lot of thinking about scenes, only a smallpercentage of which will actually occur in play.Consequently, almost no one works out fully branch-ing adventures ahead of time. When we improviseadventures off-the-cuff, we're often creating a branch-ing adventure, but one inwhich we only fill in the cause-and-effect for successes or fail-ures as we go along, for scenesthat actually play out.

I include the branchingadventure here because someplayers seem to expect adven-tures which are both preparedin advance and allow a largenumber of possible outcomes.Here we see that players canreasonably expect one, but notthe other. If you're going towork out all of the scenes inadvance, you're entitled tominimize the amount of workyou must do by instead usingthe set-piece structure, wherechoices the players makedetermine how majorsequences play out, but notwhether they occur at all. If theplayers want a greater numberof possible storylines, they'llhave to let you improvise, andaccept the drawbacks of on-the-fly adventure creation.

The overweening complexi-ty of a fully branching struc-ture also demonstrates whypublished adventures tend tobe either very loose or very lin-ear. Detailed, fully-branchingadventures are impossible tocontain within any reasonablepage limit.

(You'll note that some of theflow chart entries say "UtterDefeat." Branching structures appeal most to tacti-cians, who require the possibility of total failure tomake their victories meaningful. A group full of story-tellers, on the other hand, will want you to steer theadventure back on course whenever their charactershit a dead end. For them, you'd replace the "utterdefeat" entries with developments taking them backto other boxes in the flowchart.)

Puzzle-PieceA compromise between the prepared, fully-

branched structure and the completely improvised

scenario can be found in the puzzle piece model. Here,you create a situation and the characters involved in it.The puzzle pieces are the plot developments and bitsof information the PCs must put together in order toresolve the storyline. To create a puzzle piece adven-ture, make a list of important NPCs, with personali-ties and agenda. You list important bits of info, takingnote of who knows what. Finally, you sketch out (tothe degree that you care about combat maps) theprobable locations of action sequences.

When you run the adventure, you present the PCswith a route into these interconnected bits of infor-mation. They connect the dots themselves, choosingwhich leads to follow up. As they go along, they slow-ly meet the members of the cast and assemble thestoryline. When excitement or plot logic demands,you insert events that move the story forward. Youkeep track of their progress, if necessary, by crossingout items on your list of plot developments and bitsof information. If your adventure stands alone untoitself, you try to reveal the final pieces of informationafter a climactic action sequence or similarlyentertaining crescendo. If the adventure is part of a

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campaign, you can keep addingnew clues and plot developmentsforever, as the PCs continue tobuild their own ongoing story.

Let's go back to the BetelguesanKestrel adventure and see how itwould look in puzzle piece format.Your preliminary outline might golike this:

• Astoria hires the PCs to pro-tect her from stalker; claims to benovelist with demented fan

• "demented fan" really Zeebo,a former confederate

• Zeebo hangs out at Z-Droneclub, a nest of thugs and killers

• Zeebo hates the owner of theclub, Darvak (a space vampire) andwill try to use him as a red herring

• Darvak is easily annoyed andhas a torture chamber in the clubbasement

• Zeebo tries to kidnap Astoria• his boss is The Slug, a crimi-

nal art collector• The Slug awaits delivery of

the Betelguesan Kestrel• the Kestrel is a fabulous crys-

tal sculpture from an extinct alienspecies

• Astoria and Zeebo stole itfrom X-K-BAR, android drugdealer

• X-K-BAR is en route to thestation, to get it back

• also on the way is Wal Uston,a courier, who has the Kestrel

• Astoria has given him theaddress to drop off the package

• if necessary, X-K-BAR snoots Wal Uston• don't forget that station cops (recurring charac-

ters already antagonistic to the PCs) will stick theirnoses in at first sign of trouble

• final confrontation can occur on X-K-BAR's ship,in PCs' office, or Slug's hotel room

That's a much easier, more compact methodof conveying the same information (more, in fact)that we find on the flow chart. It gives you greaterflexibility when running the game - but requires thatyou know what to do with that flexibility.

Enemy TimelineAnother way to structure an adventure is around an

enemy timeline. Here, you describe what the antago-nists are doing and when, unless the PCs interruptthem. An enemy timeline of the Betelguesan Kestreladventure might list the respective itineraries andplans of Astoria, Zeebo, the Slug, and X-K-BAR. Likethe puzzle piece structure, it's an easy way to lay out aset of competing possibilities. I find it tough to use; asthe PCs increasingly disrupt their enemies' plans, your

PCs' office as an

notes on their likely activities become progressivelyless relevant It's useful mosdy in the specialized case ofa chase scenario, where the PCs are tracking down foesin the midst of a crime spree, for example. I mention ithere because you may find it in some published sce-narios, and you may be tempted to use it as a model.

ADVENTUREWORKSHEET

Now that you've outlined your adventure, you caneither flesh it out with game statistics and detailednotes, or leave these open to generate on the fly,according to your preferences. But before you pro-ceed further, you should stop and once more considerthe tastes of your players. Does the adventure containthe right elements to appeal to everyone in yourgroup?

You've already filled out a player goal chart. Nowit's time to transfer the info to an adventure work-sheet, which carries over the information on thatchart, and adds a column specifying how you intend toaddress each player's tastes.

Let's say that you've filled out your Player GoalChart as follows:

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And soon ...

And soon . . .

And soon ...

And soon ...

Tricked intoclosing X-K-Bar

Guess ware-house location

Slug's hotel: story'of the Kestrel

Cops provideinfo; go to 15

Roughed up, Giveninfo: go to 1

Astoria missing:go to 3

Utterdefeat

Escape frombasement j a i l

Given goodinto: go to 15

Rousted byspaceport cops

Trailthe Slug

TheZ-Drone Club

A captive inSlug's hotel room

Misled:go to 6

Hired toprotect Astoria

Capture, inter-rogate Zeebo

Track downZeebo

Now it's time to check out your adventure forappeal to everyone present. (Yes, I'm using a biggerthan normal group, for the sake of example.)

Let's go back to the Egyptology adventure.We check it to see if Petra will get a chance to get

some cool item or power. Nope, not as it stands. Weadd a scene to the tomb exploration sequence inwhich she enters a glowing chamber and, if she playsher cards right, can acquire a mysterious occult power.Power gamers like to use, as well as acquire, new stuff,so we make it a power that will come in handy duringthe final fight with the Sphinx at adventure's end.

We know Sally will be happy: there are fights withbandits, an aerial battle, and a final dust-up with agreat big monster, the Sphinx. We needn't add any-thing more to please her.

We resolve to build interesting tactical choices intothe running gunfight and the dirigible battle, to makeTrixie the Tactician happy.

Boutros, our resident ninja, wants chances to do hisschtick. We make sure that a stealdiy reconnoiter ofthe sphinx's lair is both challenging and worth theeffort.

Mamie likes to explore the angst of her character, ayoung woman traumatized by the fact that an ancientgoddess sometimes possesses her body. We add anelement to the tomb exploration that allows her to

further her personal soap opera. She finds a mirror inthe tomb that allows her mortal self to communicatewith her goddess side. To motivate her to keep upwith the rest of the adventure, we'll try to have thebandits take it from her. If we arrange this, we'll see toit that she can recover it in the sphinx's lair.

We drink we've got plenty of cinematic thrills forAvram. Just by having a structure in the first place, wetend to do a good job of keeping him interested. Werarely need to add anything for his benefit.

Does the adventure contain the rightelements to appeal to everyone in your group?

Finally, we check the plotline and ask ourselves if it'stoo complicated for Christopher, who mostly wants tospend time with his friends, especially Trixie, his girl-friend. With its small cast of characters and lack ofcomplicated branching, this adventure should hold hisattention.

Now, with the slight changes we need to make toappeal to a couple of players, we're ready to eitherpolish up our notes, or, if we like to wing things, actu-ally play out the adventure. Which means it's time tomove on to the next section ..

Preparing To BeSpontaneousM any players are reluctant to ever take on the

mantle of GM, and the chief reason for thisis a fear of improvisation. We're afraid that

we're not up to the task of thinking on our feet. It's theworry itself that, for many, serves as the chief impedi-ment to successful GMing. Don't fret; improvisationis easier than it looks. It is also, surprisingly enough,something you can prepare for.

Although GMs have to make many decisions inthe course of a game, there are a few types of thingsthey can count on having to invent on the spot. Bymaking a few notes, you can give yourself a founda-tion to fall back on when the time comes to makestuff up.

Most often, you'll need to create and portrayNPCs. PCs are forever heading off in unexpected

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directions and hitting you with questions like, "So isthere a priest in this village?" or "How can I find anexpert on quantum flux capacitors?"

NAMESFirst off, every character needs a name. You

already know the genre and setting you're workingin, and have a basic idea of the types of names appro-priate to them. The typical quasi-European pseudo-metheval fantasy setting features characters withsimple, invented names with a vaguely archaic soundto them, like Jandar, Moriela, or Sir Elroth. A gameset in Victorian Britain uses English names. A mod-ern-day game probably requires proper names fromaround the world. For aliens in a space opera, we'retalking made-up names with a futuristic tang tothem: Kwaal, Ovoik, or Xebrod.

Always have a list of at lea ft 50 names on hand toattach as needed to the NPCs you invent on the spot.(You'll never need that many in a single session, butit saves you the effort of adding to the list beforeeach game.)

Creating a Name ListIn all cases, you'll need an assortment of both male

and female names.If you're playing a fantasy game, you can find a

number of random name generators online. Some arefreeware or shareware programs for download; othersare web pages with reloadable output. My favoriteweb-based name generator can, as of this writing, befound at www.ruf.rice.edu/~pound/. This site, byChris Pound, allows you to generate names based onover 40 languages, real and imagined. Thus you cancreate names for various ethnic groups within yoursetting, all of which can be distinguished from oneanother, just as we can tell a French name from aSpanish name without being directly familiar witheither tongue. The more exotic languages on Chris'site might also serve as the basis for alien tongues.Some of the results are a tad unwieldy, and you mayfind yourself shaving off syllables or adding vowelshere and there. Even so, a random name generatorcan give you a long list of useful names in a matter ofminutes.

For historical games, seek out a textbook and crib asmany names as you can. Mix up the first and lastnames: you don't want your NPCs to share the samenames as recognizable historical figures. The eye-brows of well-read players might go up if they meet ataverner named William Blake and a cobbler namedSamuel Johnson, but William Johnson and SamuelBlake will spark no such reactions.

Some kind Internet soul may already have created aname list for your chosen historical period. When Istarted a game set in Ancient Rome, I found a page forhistorical re-enactors that gave me years' worth ofproper names, all formatted and ready to go.

Newspapers can likewise be raided for present-daysettings. Again, separate out and recombine first and

last names. Discard names one hears only in referenceto a single prominent person. References to SteveSchwarzenegger or Yusuf Arafat will seem jarring,comical, or both. The business section of a newspaperis a great source of comparatively anonymous propernames; entertainment and political news tends to be apoorer source. Your other hobbies or interests mayprovide you with additional sources for the gleaningof contemporary names. Over the years I've gottenexcellent international results from classical recordmagazines and film festival programs.

A fabulous net resource, available as of this writing,is the Random Name Generator located atwww.kleimo.com/random/name.cfm. It draws on aname database using US Census data, allowing you togenerate randomized contemporary names at thetouch of a button. You can even set the obscurity level,from "common" to "totally obscure."

Your Name ListWhen you suddenly have to invent a new NPC in

the midst of the game, scan the list for a name. Wetend to remember names by their first letters, so trynot to repeat the same initials too often, especially notin the course of a single session. As you take care toavoid NPCs with similar-sounding names, rememberalso the names of predetermined characters from thescenario.

When you settle on a name, cross it off yourlist. Write it down in your notes, along with otherinformation about the NPC, which you're about todetermine.

PERSONALITIESA name is not the only thing you need to invent on

the spot when creating new NPCs. They need per-sonalities, too. While most GMs draw on a couple ofstock characters - I'm partial to the dumb guy, theweasel, and the no-nonsense authority figure, myself- it's always good to force ourselves to vary our stan-dard responses.

We can do this with a list of keywords, from whichyou can select personality traits right after you pickthe NPC's name.

I personally use lists of actors. Any video/movieguide, like the annual Leonard Maltin book, can beused for this purpose. Or you can randomly hop fromlink to link on the Internet Movie Database(www.imdb.com.) When I need to create a new char-acter on the spot, I "cast" him or her, making the mostappropriate choice from the list of actors. That givesme a physical description, and a personality suggestedby the performers typical or most famous roles. Thisonly works, though, if you're a movie buff like me,already equipped with a capacious knowledge ofmovie performers past and present.

You could, however, make a list of your favoritecharacters from fiction, figures from history, or anysimilar list derived from your own knowledge andinterests.

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Using

Others among you may find word association aneasier method. Flip open a dictionary or thesaurus,and jot down 50 or so random words. (The trulyobsessive can search for and download theENABLE list, a reference containing everyEnglish word, for use by Scrabble players.) Whenyou need a personality for your character, look atthe first unused word on your list and see how thatinspires you. Some of us associate more freely thanothers. The easily inspired can choose any old ran-dom word and quickly get a useful idea from it. Youmay prefer to use only words that directly suggestpersonality.

See sidebar for a brief list of personality traits toget you started.

In keeping with the theory that it's easier andmore effective to express a single, simple idea,assign only one trait to each NPC you create.Don't use keywords that don't mean anything toyou, or that you think might be hard to portray.(For this reason, it's better to make your own listthan to rely on mine.)

DIALOGUESpoken dialogue is your best tool for portraying

any NPC, whether you create him for theadventure, or dream her up on the spot.Extemporizing dialogue in various styles to matchthe quirks of a large cast of supporting charactersis always tough. In many cases, you must do so ina way that also reinforces the style of the setting.In a fantasy game, speech is usually flowery andformal. Space opera characters must speak fluenttechnobabble; cowboys should talk in genuinefrontier gibberish.

Whether you're using dialogue to portray a par-ticular character, or to create the illusion of tirrteand place, you can help yourself by writing out aline or two of likely dialogue for the major NPCsin your storyline. Many publishers now use thishelpful gimmick in their adventures. You'll be sur-prised at how readily a line or two of sample dia-logue can propel you into a character's personalityand distinctive speech patterns, even if you neveruse the line directly. Don't worry if your subse-quent improvisations are less scintillating than theprepared line; the first impression it creates will goa long way towards shaping your players' percep-tion of the NPC.

OVERCOMING OTHERBLOCKS

Off-the-cuff creation of interesting characters istough for everyone. Are there other things youhave trouble inventing on the fly? If so, make sim-i la r lists to back you up the next time you're calledupon to do it. For example, you might get stumpedwhen you have to describe physical locations. If so,make a list of relevant descriptive terms, items offurniture, types of decoration, and so on. If youfind yourself stopping the action to generate treas-ure hoards, prepare a bunch of them in advance.Some games focus strongly on costume, cuisine,weird fauna, or any number of other eccentric areasof description. The odder your setting's descriptiverequirements, the more useful prepared lists ofkeywords become.

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Confidence,Mood, and Focus

You've got your adventure ready. The playershave gathered. The group has finished its hob-nobbing, opened its cheesie bags, and has set-

tled into the furniture. Now it's rime to actually runthe game.

Compared to adventure creation, game running istough to analyze and improve upon. Working at ourown pace on an adventure, it's easy to stop and look atthe results. During a game, we don't have rime to sec-ond guess ourselves. Sometimes we can correct ourmistakes, but most often the best we can do is to makea note of them, so as not to repeat them later on.

The number one rule of running the game is: You'redoing a better job than you think.

Like any other creative activity, GMing requiresconfidence and courage. Remember that your playershave come to have a good time. This thought may putpressure on you, but it shouldn't: keep in mind thatthey're ready to meet you halfway. They have imagi-nations, too, and will put those to work in transform-ing your words into a visual picture of the world andtheir characters' place in it. Gamers can be a fairlylow-key lot. Your group may be having the time of itscollective life without giving any outward sign ofenjoyment.

They want you to succeed. They know you've put alot of work into your game. If they GM themselves,they know the combination of effort and cojones thetask requires, and are sympathetic to the challengesyou've taken on. If they never GM themselves, theymay think of it as a near-impossible task, and are like-ly grateful that you've taken it on. Don't let the occa-sional complainer get you down. You're doing yourplayers a big favor, and most of them know and appre-ciate it They want to have a good time gaming andare, on the whole, willing to give you the breathingroom required to solve problems and improve yourcampaign. So relax and let things develop. The expe-rience of continued play, coupled with a desire to keepgetting better, will do much more for you than thisbook ever will.

READING THE ROOMThe ability to fudge the mood and attentiveness of your

players is your single greatest tool as a GM.The skill required here is one of simple observa-

tion. It sounds like such an obvious point I'd feelstupid for even mentioning it - but we've all beenstuck in games where the GM not only lacked the

wherewithal to shake bleary-eyed players out of theirdoldrums, but had no idea boredom had descended inthe first place.

Train yourself to maintain a fix on the mood of theroom at all times. If you know you have a tendency tolet your own attention drift to other matters - rulesissues, the details of combat, the minutiae of myth andculture in your chosen setting - you need to make aconscious effort to periodically check players' bodylanguage and verbal expressions for signs of boredom.Are people leaning forward in their chairs, or are theydumped back? Do they seem tired, or fidgety? Arethey laughing and exclaiming excitedly, or are theymumbling and grumbling? Do they treat each otherwith good humor and courtesy, or are they gettingcranky and argumentative? Are discussions focused ongame events, or is the topic drifting? Are they occu-pied with the accoutrements of the game (rule books,character sheets, dice) or are they leafing throughcomic books or checking out the newest additions toyour action figure collection?

Casual players may always show the warning signsof inattention, but if most ot your players are zoningout, you need to hook them back in, and fast

Train yourself to maintain a fix onthe mood of the room at all times.

Fun Injection! Stat!When the mood gets stale or sour, turn to your

Player Goal Chart. Ask yourself what you can do thatwould please either the largest number of players, orthe most obviously unsatisfied player, depending onthe situation. If the butt-kickers are bored, toss in a lit-de gratuitous violence. Toss a strategic problem at thestrategist Insert an opportunity for interaction toplease bored method actors. Dangle the possibility ofmighty treasure in front of the power gamer. To getthe storytellers back in your corner, do something toget the story rolling again.

Do what is necessary at the moment and worryabout how much sense it makes later.

It's better to alter the storyline of your adventure or themotivatimi of an NPC than to send the group away fed upand edgy. Never get so caught up in the details of yourcreative effort that you fail to achieve the fundamen-tal goal of providing fun for everyone.

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In extreme cases, you'll find that the group's sourmood has nothing to do with your game. Key mem-bers of the group may just be worn out from a hardday's work. Somebody might be coming down with acold. A real-world beef between participants may beseeping into the game. If the problem doesn't emanatefrom your game, the solution probably doesn't, either.Sometimes all you can do is call the game to an early-halt and hope everybody's in finer fettle the next timeyou convene.

Sometimes it's better to quit early than to let had feelingsattach themselves to your game.

Never get so caught up inthe details of your creative

effort that you fail toachieve the fundamentalgoal of providing fun for

everyone.

Your Own Fun QuotientYou know whether you're having a good time or

not. In the long run, you won't do a good job if you'renot having fun. Your boredom and irritation will startto show through. But in the short run, it may be nec-essary to occasionally set aside your own taste prefer-ences, or things you've already accepted as true aboutyour setting and characters, to better please thegroup.

FocusOne of your biggest weapons against boredom is

your control of the group's focus.Think of stage actors. They work together to shift

viewers' attention from one performer to another, sothat the authence can follow the action of the play.

WHO HAS IT?It's easy to tell who has the focus in a game session;

it's the person who's talking. When you're describingthe dank caves of Xebro III, you have the focus. Whena player tells you which precautions he's taking as hedescends into the caves, he has the focus.

Participants can share focus, by engaging in con-versation. If you're answering a series of questionsfrom a player, the two of you both have the focus. Ifthree players are debating a course of action, all ofthem share it.

Ideally, everyone in the group would share focusequally. On a practical level, since all of the playersneed to get information from you to know what's hap-pening to their characters, you'll take focus muchmore often than any other participant

Try to create situations in which you sit back, giv-ing the players the focus. Often the most entertainingsessions spend much of their time on amusing inter-action between PCs.

WHAT ISs THEFOCUS ON?

That said, what's important is not who has thefocus, but whether they're doing anything interestingwith it.

When the mood of the room goes sour, it's almost alwaysbecause the focus is on something the majority of the groupfinds inconsequential, uninteresting, or actively annoying.

The focus can be held by any of the following:• dialogue between PCs• dialogue between NPCs and PCs• resolution of events / the rolling• your descriptions of people, places, and events• dialogue between NPCs• bookkeeping / character progression• rules arguments• debates over your decisions• out-of-character, off-topic digressions• dead airIn general, you want the first four on this list to take

focus whenever possible. A skillful GM mimimizesthe amount of time given to the rest of the list.

(Your group may have idiosyncratic tastes, actuallyenjoying items I've listed as problems. For example,some power gamers enjoy arguing over rules evenmore than actually using them. If your entire group,including yourself, fits this description, you shouldcertainly feel free to keep on with the rules lawyering.It is much more likely, though, that only one or twomembers of the group like this sort of thing, makingit necessary for you to clamp down on it.)

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HANDLING SPECIFICFOCUS PROBLEMS

It your games are unsatisfactory and you're notsure why, make a copy of the Focus Checklist. Copythe list and keep it handy during a session. Wheneveryou feel that things have started to go wrong, put atick beside the entry currently taking the focus. Youmay need to add categories to reflect your group's par-ticular quirks.

After the session, look at the problem categoriesand identify ways to minimize their hold on the focusin future games.

Too Much Inter-PCDialogue

Both the most and least entertaining moments ofgames I've run have been sequences in which the PCsinteract without GM intervention. How well this goesdepends on your mix of players. If your players most-ly enjoy getting into character, have a good sense ofhumor, and can discuss plans productively, you'llrarely need to intervene.

However, even a skilled group can, from time totime, get caught in a loop. When your group is unableto resolve a dispute between PCs, or agree on a planto deal with their current dilemma, inter-player dia-logue can bog down the game.

You don't want to step in on inter-player discussiontoo quickly. It's better to let the players work their wayout of an impasse than to intervene yourself. Oncethey learn to work their way through a problem,they'll retain the results of the lesson for later. If youstick your nose in, their group dynamic may notprogress.

Intervene only when a discussion is turning heatedor the players have become visibly frustrated.

Most impasses between players arise from disagreementsabout either tactics or morality.

Breaking Tactical ImpassesWhen players fail to agree on the most effective

way to solve a problem, it is usually because they'remaking bad assumptions. The group lacks crucialinformation, or has misinterpreted the information ithas already gathered. Often at least one persuasiveplayer has decided that the way you expect the groupto solve the current dilemma is completely doomed tofailure.

For many years, I ran games under the mistakenbelief that a good GM never directly supplies adviceto the players. I held it as a principle of good play thatthe GM provides descriptions of the setting, includingdialogue from NPCs, but left interpretation of thisinformation entirely up to the players.

I now understand that this is a good general rule,but not an absolute. Information flow between GMand players is always imperfect. All sorts of things can

get lost as words travel from your lips to the players'ears. Players often fail to follow obvious leads or askbasic questions.

Be especially careful to keep players aware of theunwritten conventions under which your game realityoperates. You may think of your game as a heroic one,where the reckless plans typical of cinematic heroesalways enjoy a good chance of success. Meanwhile,your players may tend to assume a gritty, realisticworld in which it's never a good idea to leap a chasmor get caught by the enemy in order to learn his sinis-ter plan. Never be afraid to come right out and statethe assumptions under which your world operates.

Players often fail tofollow obvious leads or ask

basic questions.

It's easy even for players well acquainted with yourstyle to forget things from time to time, especially ifthey run or play in other campaigns employing con-trary conventions.

When (and only when) impasses between playersare caused by a lack of clues, badly interpreted infor-mation, or clashing assumptions, step in and clearthings up with a direct hint. Identify, as omniscientnarrator, the mistake they're making. While it mayseem less intrusive to deliver the information by othermeans - like advice from a mentor character or thearrival of a surprise communication from headquar-ters - players who've gotten themselves into a plan-ning rut often become too resistant to accept in-char-acter information. They've become emotionally com-mitted to their misinterpretations, and may rational-ize them away: the mentor is giving bad counsel; themessage from HQ is an obvious forgery.

Only by pulling back the curtain and speaking asGM can you shock the discussion back on track.

Breaking Moral ImpassesDeadlocks over the most expethent way to proceed

are easy to deal with, at least compared to argumentsover the morally right course of action. These blocksare often thrown up by method actors, and, to a less-er extent, storytellers, who seek to define their char-acters by periodically saying "no" to the rest of thegroup. They may have created characters whose psy-chological limitations prevent them from dealing withthe dangers expected of adventure-oriented PCs, orwhose moral virtues put them at odds with the cyni-cal, casually treacherous persona many other playersreflexively adopt.

(The freedom to be irresponsible is, for many, afundamental component of the power fantasy thatbrings them to the gaming table. But that's a thesis foranother day.)

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Moral impasses are tough to handle, because theyarise from very thing that the method actors mostenjoy about the game: the ability to identify stronglywith their characters. These disagreements can turnunpleasant, because of the emotion the objectingplayer has invested in his character's persona. Again,you may need to "pull back the curtain" and speakdirectly as GM, offering an alternate strategy thatallows the group to move forward, without steppingon the method actor's conception of his character.Depending on the action the player is filibustering,you may, if you are very gentle and persuasive, be ableto convince him that it does not actually contradict hiscode of ethics.

Too Much DialogueBetween PCs And NPCs

Dialogue between PCs and NPCs is usually a goodand entertaining thing, but conversations can gowrong if they're repetitive or of little relevance to themain storyline, especially it only one or two PCs areparticipating. If you see that the attention of onlookerplayers has begun to flag, quickly wrap it up, summingup the salient points of the dialogue as the NPC findsa sudden reason to depart.

If you have trouble keeping dialogue scenes reason-ably short and to the point, take a look at the TVseries Law and Order, or either of its spin-offs. Thesepolice procedurals are crammed with scenes in whichthe investigators glean important clues from colorfulsupporting characters and then quickly move on.

One good way to deal with this problem is to begineach dialogue scene by deciding what else the NPCneeds to be doing right now, instead of talking to thePCs. That way, you have an exit strategy, so the char-acter can rush off, or shut the door in the adventurers'faces, as soon as all of his worthwhile information hasbeen delivered.

Deadly Dull the RollingIf you start to lose the room when the rules or dice

come into play, ask yourself if the group is mostlyuninterested in the more game-oriented aspects of thegame, or if your grasp on them is looser than it couldbe.

A group heavy on storytellers, method actors andcasual gamers may be more interested in the unadju-dicated aspects of a roleplaying session than on old-school combats, traps, and maps. These are the folksfor whom the exclamation, "And we didn't roll dicethe whole session!" is the highest of all possible com-pliments. If this is the case, you can minimize the timespent on rules-heavy activities by removing themfrom your adventures wherever possible. Replace cli-mactic fight scenes with climactic negotiations. Placethe accent on characters the PCs can interact with,dropping mindless monsters and impersonal hazards.

If your group leans towards tacticians, powergamers and butt-kickers, and they're still bored when

the dice bags come out, you probably need to jazz upyour combat style a bit. Many GMs' energy levelsdrop when rules-heavy activities begin; they stopdescribing the world and start reeling off numbers.Numbers are fine for some groups, as long as you canproject at least the excitement of a bingo caller. Shoutout those damage totals! Shake your fists thwartedlywhen the evil villain misses! Gloat when he scores acritical hit!

Most players respond with even more excitementwhen you balance world description and the rolling.Intersperse the damage reports with vivid descriptionsof combat. Think of yourself as a play-by-playannouncer. If this technique does not come naturallyto you, come prepared to each session with a list of 20cool combat maneuvers for your antagonists to exe-cute. If you can think up something interesting to sayabout each swing of the sword, that's great, but youdon't have to go that far. One solid description forevery three or four blows will work fine, stimulatingplayers' visual imaginations. You want them picturingwhat's going on in their heads, not thinking merely ofthe pips on their dice.

Another trick I use is to always try to add an unusu-al element to an extended fight scene. Throw in spe-cial terrain, or give the bad guys some kind of gim-mick. Situate the fight in a location with multiple floorlevels. Pick places with interesting props - and userules encouraging players to employ them to tacticaladvantage. Don't just have minotaurs attack the groupin the middle of the road. Wait till the players are rid-ing in a cart, then send in minotaurs on hang-gliders.If any activity is going to require a big bunch of therolls, make sure there's something that makes it excit-ing and different. That will make it easier to describein ways that keep the energy level up.

Too Much Descriptionand Exposition

If eyes glaze over while you're describing things -whether you're talking about the shape of a cathedral,the number of rugose tentacles on an eldritch horror,or the cruel intricacies of Zanarian mating rituals -you need to fix one of two problems.

One, you may simply need to work on your deliv-ery a little bit. Tape record yourself while you run asession. Then, after recovering from the initial horrorof hearing yourself speaking off the cuff, check to seehow much you vary your tone, volume, and speedwhile talking. You may be saying really interestingthings in a monotonous way that makes them hard tofollow. with a little effort, you can train yourself tospeak more energetically. You may feel like a goofwhile you're working on this - often weak vocal pres-entation is a symptom of overall shyness - but you'llbe glad when you finish. Although this exercise willimprove your general communication skills andtherefore your chances for real-world pay and promo-tion, we know that the really important thing is beingable to vividly describe ogres and space aliens.

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More likely, you face a second, more easily correct-ed problem: you're describing too much for the play-ers to take in. People can only absorb so much infor-mation at one time. This is especially true for verbal,as opposed to written, communication.

You may be overestimating your group's appetitefor minutiae. When describing things, lead with theone or two most important things the players need toknow. If you're trying to paint a word-picture forthem, remember that one strong image is much morepowerful than five. It doesn't matter if everyone isimagining the small details differently. Paint the bigpicture, and let them supply the rest.

Likewise with background information. Tell theplayers only what they really need to know, as theyneed to know it. Give them background sheets to readin their spare time (for settings of your creation), orshow them the supplements they should check outlater (in the case of published worlds.) Keep the focuson events and characters, not on history, geography,or other background details.

Too Much DialogueBetween NPCs

Most GMs already know not to present long scenesin which their NPCs talk to one another. Theyinstinctively know that it's weird and hard to follow. IfPCs absolutely must hear NPCs converse, summarizethe conversation's content without verbatim dialogue.

Too Much BookkeepingPlayers love to add things to their character sheet.

In some genres the "supply missions" in which armoris purchased or laser pistols added to the cargo mani-fest, are as much fun to players as adventures.However, boredom can quickly take hold when oneplayer spends actual play time deciding which spells totake or what to spend his next whack of experiencepoints on.

Try whenever possible to have these bookkeepingtasks occur before and after the session's main action.If they're stopping the action repeatedly, you may needto have a friendly word with the players in question.Ask them to advance their characters between sessions,to prepare a list giving standard spell choices, and oth-erwise get their ducks in a row before the actionbegins.

Too Many RulesArguments

You may find this hard to believe, but some peoplelike to argue. Some of them even like to argue aboutrules. Maybe you and your entire group all fit into thiscategory; if so, there is no such thing as too many rulesarguments. For the rest of us, though, breaks in theaction to debate the effect of high winds on the blastradius of a DNA grenade become extremely tediousafter a while.

Rules exist to give the players a degree of controlover events in your game - or at least, to ensure thatyour control over events is less than absolute. So it'simportant to respect them, allowing the game'scrunchy bits to, at least periodically, interfere withyour best laid plans and render your neat plot linesmessy. You should briefly entertain players' rulesobjections, and try to consider them on their merits,independent of how much narrative inconveniencethey cause you at the present instant. The key wordhere is briefly. Listen, think, decide. Flip a coin, if nec-essary; just keep the focus on game events. If theobjecting player persists in his disagreement, tell himyou'll discuss the matter after the session. Make itclear that your chief objective is to keep things mov-ing. Retain the right to change your general interpre-tation of the rule in question, without retroactivelyaltering the event that caused the dispute in the firstplace. In this post-game appeals process, try to assessthe rules question on its merits, even when the ruleslawyer has driven you to the point of frustration.

You may find this hard tobelieve, but some people

like to argue.

Habitual arguers either like to hog the spotlight,enjoy needling you, or are power gamers who want toboost their abilities by wearing down your patience.By moving rules discussion to off-hours, you'll deflatethe aims of the first two groups. In the last case, yourfirm resolve will generally calm the power gamerdown, so that he'll look once more to in-characterevents to increase his overweening might.

Debates OverYour Decisions

Other disputes center around what the characterscan reasonably do, independent of game rules.Shouldn't Dr. Queen have been able to get around thecorner in time? Wouldn't Soul Brother have grabbedThe Hat before he activated his super-speed ring?

If this sort of non-rules dispute about the actionkeeps coming up, your descriptions of events may beunclear. You might need to resort more to the use ofminiatures, whiteboard maps, or other props todescribe relative positions.

If players simply aren't reacting fast enough to youraccurate descriptions, that's one thing. They shouldn'tbe permitted to retroactively alter the course of eventswhen a better idea occurs to them. But if they fail toact, or take obviously illogical actions, based on a gen-uine misunderstanding, be prepared to "rewind thetape" from the point of confusion, and to work onimproving information flow in the future.

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Out-Of-Character,Off-Topic Digressions

Gamers like to talk. That's what roleplaying is, afterall: organized talking, with imaginary super powers.Many of us have hot-button topics on which we can'thelp but pontificate, no matter how slight the provo-cation: plot holes in last week's episode of our favoriteshow, the relative merits of wire fu versus realistic fu,the physics of faster-than-light travel.

These digressions are deadly to game focus. You'reprobably as tempted as any of your players to engagein them. So make sure you all have a lengthy slice oftime in which to socialize and shoot the breeze beforethe game proper begins. If you have only a short timeslot for gaming, you may be tempted to get started assoon as everybody gets in the door and settled. This isa terrible mistake. Let the group yak itself out.

You'll lose more tone to digression by starting too soonthan by letting the chat run its course.

Dead AirThe worst thing that can happen in the midst of a

game session is nothing. Whenever you stop the

action to perform some task or other (such as creatingmonster statistics, finding rules, or reviewing yournotes) you lose focus and kill the group's energy level.

Several tricks help avoid dead air.• Prep Work. If you must routinely break the

action to work on something, you're probably notdoing enough prep work. Identify the things you usu-ally have to stop for, and prepare them in advance.

• Multitask. If you know there's prep work youhaven't done, wait for moments when the players con-fer with one another, and do it then. Or train to talkand do prep work at the same time.

• Fake It. If you suddenly need to generate a plan-et, creature, equipment hoard, or whatever, decide ononly the statistics you absolutely need, as you needthem. Fill in the rest later. Although in some especial-ly detailed game systems it's bad to do this (becausethe dungs you generate won't always be strictly legal),it's worse to let dead air seep in.

• Make Notes. This trick pertains to runningprepared adventures. Make marginal notes, use ahighlighter, or create a crib sheet to remind you ofthe content of each room, encounter, or sequence.That way you'll spend less time stopping to readahead.

Improvising

you way into a story and out of various problems. Themore you build your skill at improvisation, the morereadily you can tailor your games not only to the gen-eral tastes of your various players, but to the specificplot suggestions they implicitly build into their char-acter descriptions.

The very word "improvisation" may be enough tostrike fear into the hearts of reluctant GMs. Do not letit faze you. It is not a complicated or airy-fairy thing.Even if you think of yourself as uncreative or imagi-natively challenged, you can learn to do it, and do itwell.

MAKING CHOICESImprovisation doesn't happen in a vacuum. An

improvisation is simply a choice you make in responseto a situation in the game.

When faced with a choice, that stumps you, followthese simple steps:

One: Relax. Any halfway sensible decision you makewill be fine, so don't worry about being perfect. Yourplayers will cut you the slack you need.

Two: Imagine the most obvious result. Ask yourself: ifthis were a real situation, what would happen? Make amental note of your answer.

Three: Imagine the most challenging result. Think ofthe PC most involved in the current situation. Askyourself what outcome of the current situation wouldmost challenge or threaten the character's identity,goals, or sense of self. If more than one PC could beaffected in this way, pick the one who's had the leastspotight time recently - unless the character belongsto a casual gamer.

Four: Imagine the most surprising result. Think of themost unexpected possible outcome of the situation; itmust still be within the realm of believability for thegenre and setting. A game based on action movies canembrace more improbability than a realistic one.

Five: Imagine the result most pleasing to the player. It'susually pretty easy to see what the player would mostlike to see happen.

Six: Pick the one that feels right. This is where yourcreative instinct comes in. One of your four possiblechoices (obvious, challenging, surprising, pleasing)will probably leap out at you as the most satisfying atthe moment. Sometimes a choice will seem rightbecause it fulfills more than one requirement: it's bothobvious and challenging, or surprising and pleasing,or whatever.

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whether you're running a prepared adven-ture or creating an entire scenario on thefly, you'll eventually need to improvise

In the exceedingly unlikely event that all choicesseem equally valid, pick one at random, using the fol-lowing chart.

Roll 1d61-234

5-6

ResultObviousChallengingSurprisingPleasing

Seven: Think of consequences. Quickly make sure thatyour choice won't paint you into a corner, that you canstill get from its probable outcome to the climax ofyour planned narrative (assuming you have one.) Alsobe sure that it won't unduly upset the player by seem-ing unfair or arbitrarily punishing. If the conse-quences seem bad, try another choice.

The more you build yourskill at improvisation, themore readily you can tailoryour games not only to the

general tastes of yourvarious players, but to the

specific plot suggestions theyimplicitly build into their

character descriptions.

Eight. Go with it. Having made your choice,describe what happens.

See the box on p. 32 for an example of the methodin action.

This is a training-wheels method. After you masterthese steps, you'll find you don't need them anymore.You'll have internalized the process. You may consid-er only one or two alternatives for any given situation,or may immethately and intuitively leap to the bestchoice, as innately talented GMs do from the get-go.

Still, even the most brilliant of us find ourselves at aloss from time to time. Go back to the chart to jump-start the thought process when inspiration fails.

IMPROVISING ENTIREADVENTURES

Improvising an entire adventure is simply a matterof making a series of good choices, whether you do soinstinctively, or use the sort of chart illustrated above.While it's possible to weave a scenario out of wholecloth, it's always easier to lay some groundwork first

PreparationThe basis for an improvised adventure can consist

of a simple plot hook laying out a situation, plus a fewvague notes on the antagonists and other supportingcharacters. If your game system requires detailed sta-tistics for characters, you'll want to have some of thosehandy, as well.

When a campaign has been rolling for a while,you'll find that it may start to plot itself, especially ifyou pay heed to the agendas the players provide fortheir characters. Start each session with a point formlist (physical or in your head) of the PCs and the goalsthey're pursuing. Think of a plot hook that allowseach PC to either advance towards his goal or fall fur-ther from it, depending on how well he confronts theobstacles you place in his path. The nature of theobstacles should, wherever possible, relate to the play-er's tastes. Butt-kicking players meet barriers thatnecessitate the kicking of butt. Tacticians get tacticalproblems; method actors face tests of will; storytellersexperience weird and wonderful plot twists.

A sample set of prep notes for a game of this type isshown in the box above.

In a good improvised adventure, you may use onlya few of the plot hooks, as the group fixes on a partic-ular problem to solve. They may even devote their fullattention to a throwaway scene, making it the plothook of the night.

Cutaway StyleThe self-perpetuating improvised campaign works

best if you're willing to use the cutaway style. Allowplayers to occupy solo time in the spotlight as otherplayers look on. Switch back and forth between play-ers, allowing them to gather back together intogroups and subgroups as the story and their variousagendas demand. Require players to respect the dif-ference between player and character knowledge, sothat they can have fun as spectators without knowingwhat the other PCs are up to behind their backs.

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PACINGSo how do you make a

completely improvised ses-sion seem to have structure?

First, you remember thatonly storytellers really carethat much about structure,anyway. Other types mayenjoy climactic finishes whenthey occur, but not as much asthey like other things.Tacticians, as stated before,are often happiest when theycleverly avoid exciting climax-es of any sort.

But here's the simple secret:Contrive throughout the sessionto have the most dramatic thinghappen at the end. So if yoursession ends at 10 o'clock, andyou want to end on a big fight(still the default climaxfavored by gamers every-where), and it takes about anhour to resolve such a donny-brook with your rules set ofchoice, do your best to get thefight rolling by 9. Bingo, youseem like a genius.

You actually only reallyhave to pull this off in aboutone session out of four tohave the desired effect. Theodd lumpily unformed ses-sion actually serves to makethe structured ones seem evenmore impressive.

A Final Word on theUltimate Dilemma

I've been fortunate enough to participate in the oddconvention seminar over the years, and if there's aQ&A centering on GM (or player) problems, I'malways struck by a disturbing common theme. Thereally serious problems that gamers run into havenothing to do with rules, GMing tricks like the onesmentioned here, preferred settings, or anything elsethat my advice can do a darn thing to solve. These arethe seemingly irreconcilable gaps in taste betweengroup participants. A storyteller-oriented GM tries to

impose an epic plotline on a gang of players who justwant to kill stuff. A nuts-and-bolts GM forgets tokeep the PCs balanced against one another, leavingone player totally overshadowed. A method actorinvariably shows up with characters guaranteed to findthemselves at odds with the rest of the group.

In its own small way, this book means to address theproblem. I've ruthlessly hammered home the seem-ingly obvious point that gamers have various tastes,and that a fun game tries to balance the competing

32

desires of its participants. To many folks, includingthose whose tastes are so pronounced that they'veturned them into a philosophy of what gaming oughtto be, this is not obvious at all. Hence the hammering.

For groups split by wide gaps in taste, all the laws ofGMing in the world won't help. They need to learnsome old-fashioned negotiating skills, and see if theycan work out their differences.

This is not a book about negotiation; you can findlots of them on the shelves of your local library. Whenin doubt, though, the following rules work pretty well:

Make your approach polite, respectful, and soothing.Listen to the other person explain what he wants.Figure out how to solve his problem while also salving

yours.Propose the solution.Be prepared to amend the solution bused on his input.Some problems really arc irreconcilable, though,

especially when the other party is immune to com-promise. Sadly, sometimes your only choice is to ejectthe offending player, or to seek a new group entirely.Even sadder, depending on where you live, it may behard or even impossible to find new players. I guess

we'll just have to grow the hobby some more, to makecompatible - or at least accommodating - players eas-ier to find . . .

The Ultimate Law: If ItAin't Broke, Don't Fix It

I've reached the end of my allotted space, and it'stime for us all to go and run some games. But beforewe part, one last searing dictum rises up from thedesert sands of time:

If your game is running just fine already, ignore every-thing I've just told you.

If your group is having a good time, you have noproblems in need of fixing. Whatever you do, don'tdisrupt your game by trying to shoehorn in tech-niques or concepts, from this book or anywhere else,in order to GM "properly" or "correctly."

Come to think of it, I guess that's just another wayof reiterating the Great Immutable Law I started withat the very beginning of this book: If you and your play-ers are having fun, you are a good GM.

About the AuthorRobin D. Laws has served as

designer or lead designer for suchroleplaying games as Feng Shui,Rune, Hero Wars and DyingEarth. He's also a regularcolumnist for Dragon maga-zine, soon to take on similarduties for Star Wars Gainer.In addition to oodles ofadventures and supplementsfor companies like WhiteWolf, FASA, Pinnacle, LastUnicorn, and Wizards of theCoast, he worked on the col-lectible card game Shadowfist and

the computer game King of Dragon Pass.With cruel and mercenary intent, he

urges you to check out his novels PiercedHeart and The Rough and the Smooth;

the latter is the heartwarming tale oftwo anthropomorphic naked molerats and the hideous carnage thatensues when they involve them-selves in human politics. Robin ispleased to once again appear underthe banner of Steve Jackson Games,

who years ago published his first ful l -length book, the legendarily twisted

and freakish GURPS Fantasy II:Adventures in the Mad Lands.

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