Monday, April 23, 2012

Great Moments in Gaming

The Game:  Shadowrun

A Little Background:  We were starting a new campaign.  I was asked to make one of the player's characters because she wasn't up to it and game day was quickly approaching.  So I did.  And what I created was entirely unintentional.  You see, I was looking at the stats and thinking "okay, she'll want to be fast, and sneaky, and this and that and the other thing..." but what I had neglected was the first thing she noticed.  I had inadvertently made an elf who was ugly and stupid.  Really ugly.  REALLY stupid.  And rather than reroll the character, she decided to run with it.  We're so glad she did.

Tolkien weeps for you.  You make me want to pee myself.

The Scene:  The team had accepted a cryptic invitation by a mysterious stranger, which is the usual plot opening in a Shadowrun campaign.  They entered a condemned building in an abandoned part of the city, and from the shadows emerged a creature of legend.  A dragon.  He had come to bestow a warning onto the party for their path...

"I'm touching you..."

Stop that.  For their path was leading them to...

"I'm still touching you..."

STOP THAT!  For their path was leading them to their doom.  Then he silently and mysteriously slunk back into the shadows, vanishing out of sight.

"I'm still touching you..."

GAAA!!!  CREEPY ELF!!!  Go away!!!

Sunday, April 22, 2012

I'm Mr. Awesome

Veteran gamers will know the guy I'm talking about before you can finish reading this sentence.  He knows the rules of the game better than you, can recite the tables and charts from memory, and knows exactly which rules he can exploit to make the ultimate character.  His stats are perfect.  His skills and feats designed to make him a one-man army.  When he shows up for gaming, he brings his own GM screen so he can hide his rolls from the rest of you -- and he always rolls good.  If a goal is so impossibly difficult it requires a 20 to turn up on a d20 die, he'll be the one who pulls it off.  You may not get to see it, but he swears he's done it and he doesn't do "re-rolls".  At the end of the gaming session, he takes his character sheet home with him.  You are not allowed to see it.  The rest of you are a supporting cast to his lead role in your epic adventure, and none of you are necessary to complete any task because he can do it all.  If you're adventure comes from a pre-written module, he's already read it.  Don't even think about altering the rules because he'll call you out on it every time and your gaming session will turn into a law debate.

In a word, a douchebag.

Every turn is my turn!  You get no turns!  You lose!  Good day, sir!

So how did it come to this?  Who invited this guy to the party?  And how do you deal with him?  No, seriously, I'm asking.  I have no straight-forward answers.  All I have are suggested ways of dealing with the situation so his presence in your game doesn't cause a voluntary total-party-kill.  My apologies if any of these things seem juvenile, but they aren't meant for you.  They're meant for the Gamemaster dealing with the douchbag at the table.

Step 1:  Change the Game.  There are hundreds -- literally, hundreds -- of role playing games out there.  New games are published every year.  And let's face it, the actual rule system doesn't matter.  What does matter is the story and the characters, and that can bend to any rule system.  Even a pre-written module can be altered to fit a new story.  You want to play Star Wars?  You can use the classic d6 rules, the d20 rules, the Saga Edition rules, GURPS, FATE, FUDGE...  Who cares?!  As long as they get to play Jedi and Smugglers, they'll be fine.  Find a game system he doesn't know or has never heard of.  Even a small change like going from D&D to Pathfinder or D20 Modern might be enough to throw him off his game and into yours.

 What's sad is ... I think I own all of these.

Step 2:  Digital Character Sheets.  Okay, I personally just find this convenient from a Gamemaster's perspective.  If you keep all the characters together on your computer, you can easily update them, re-print them if they get lost or damaged, add special treasures to players without the other players knowing (if you like that cloak n' dagger kind of thing) -- and you don't have to worry about players altering their own sheets behind your back. 


Step 3:  Rewards for Failure.  This is a house rule I implemented a while back and it works great for my campaigns.  I offer bonus experience (or some other bonus) for "critical failures".  No such bonus for a critical success because they're already getting double-damage or whatever the rules deem worthy.  But I've always believed people learn from their mistakes more than their successes.  The new house rule means players don't feel bad about screwing up.  Their character might shoot their toes off or blow up a teammate because of the failed roll, but they gain a bonus to use later which curbs against the impulse to cheat.  Kinda tricky, I know, but it works.

 Well, if you screw this up, at least you'll have learned something...

So these are my tips.  How do you deal with the know-it-all douchebag player?  Leave your comments! 

Sunday, April 15, 2012

No, Game Over, You Win.

One of the things I enjoy is occasionally indoctrinating a new player.  I say occasionally because I'm pretty sure if I had to do it on a regular basis I'd have a basement full of dead bodies.  But as long as I'm only doing it once in a while, the experience can be fun.  That early skepticism, the doubt that they'll be accepted as a voice in the group, then that wide-eyed moment when they realize their character is about to do something really cool.  Before you know it, they're hooked -- and we've got ourselves a new player.  ...most of the time.

Sometimes, believe it or not, it just doesn't take.  Despite anticipations and lengthy explanations on how cool it is and how much fun we have, role playing isn't for everyone.  You can choose to deny this and go on believing that "anyone can game" just like it says on the box, or you can read on knowing I'm about to introduce you to people who will never accept your invitations to D&D night.

Trust me, you're gonna like this!  Fun, right?

Player One: The Ranger.  Dungeons & Dragons.  Viggo Mortensen's portrayal of Aragorn pretty much defines what a ranger is.  A cunning tracker, effective with a bow or a sword, quick and stealthy, and knows the forests like the back of his hand.  So imagine my surprise when this player wanted a ranger with a fear of snakes.  "Seriously," I said, "a fear of snakes?  You're a ranger -- why are you afraid of snakes?"  The reasoning was simple.  They're icky.  It all spiraled downhill from there.  This ranger carried not one but two long bows across each shoulder but lacked the talent to use either one, didn't want to touch anything that was deemed "icky", and got annoyed when I said the Charm Animal skill won't work on the demon critters trying to kill the party.  It's difficult for other players to utilize the talents of a Ranger who's afraid of the woods, doesn't like the dark, and refuses to touch anything wet, slimy, or otherwise unpleasant (which isn't easy to avoid in a dark ages D&D campaign).  Player One had no fun, and that was the end of that.

...no, I got my Ranger License from a cereal box.  Really, how do I get home from here?

Player Two: The Superhero from Hell.  Mutants and Masterminds.  Okay, where to even begin with this one.  Player Two was a psycho.  Let's start there.  Part of the fun of a superhero RPG is the ability to make quite literally anything you can imagine.  When I say that, most people gear their minds towards the classic 4-color comic book world or some overpowered planet-shattering anime.  Player Two said "I want to make a giant snake.  With wings.  That breathes fire!"  Oh no, he was quite serious and really excited about bringing his deranged fantasy to life.  And silly me -- I let it happen.  It's his first game, I thought it important he get to experience it his own way.  I was also afraid he was going to stab me in the eye with his pencil.  Minutes later, the city was in peril and the team raced to save the citizens of ... Oh My God, the Flying Snake Thing is randomly eating citizens and burning shit to the ground!  Player Two rocked on his heels and cackled maniacally as he ordered his creation to eat every passersby and poop flames onto every corner gas station.  Nobody really knew what to do with that, so we stayed out of his way, declared him "The Winner of The Game", and watched a movie.

 I'm here to save the motha effin' day, bitches!  Die!!!

And finally, our honorable mention, Player Three: The Fighter.  Dungeons & Dragons.  So young and eager and full of vigor.  Ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.  Okay, maybe a little too eager.  Enough that his voice was starting to sound like a chipmunk on ecstasy and Red Bull.  It wasn't long before his decisions were a little ... erratic. 
  • "Combat has started.  You go first."
  • "I stab him!"
  • "You can be a little more elaborate if you want.  It doesn't have to be as simple as that."
  • "Okay.  I stab him in the brain!"
  • ...sigh.
And that set the tone for the evening.  Every action, every turn, was another hyperactive chance to blurt out that he was going to stab someone in a very specific organ.  "I stab him in the appendix!" and "I stab him in the liver!"... and finally, "This is kinda lame because all I can do is stab people."  I wanted to correct him, but was afraid of what the outcome might be. 

Creative?  No.  Effective?  Yeah, mostly.  Now pick an organ.

These players gave it the ol' college try, but either couldn't grasp the concept, didn't want to grasp the concept, or were just too unhinged and should be blacklisted by the RPGA.  Regardless, they're not coming back.  But their memories will live on at our drunkest moments.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

The Unlucky Me

Some heroes talk of the cities or planets they've saved, the princesses they rescued, the monsters they've slain, and the times they danced with death and pulled off feats of impossible agility and strength to triumph over the forces of gamemastery evil.

Then there's my characters.  They ... um ... don't often live up to "hero" expectations.


I've had gun-toting muscle giants suddenly -- accidentally -- set on fire.  I've had superheroes fall out of bathroom windows.  I had a vampire in the "World of Darkness" series fumble so epically I make the cast of Twilight look like the next Expendables team.  You see, my vampire's name was Cosmo, a former British boy-band member turned drug addict before being turned into a vampire.  In a word, pathetic -- but fitting with my overall opinion on vampires.  Anyway, you'd think being transformed into a superhuman predator of the night would improve his chances of survival -- but you'd be mistaken.  The others were investigating an apartment building by flying or whatever to the roof of the building in order to sneak in.  I was ordered to wait with the car.  As predicted, I disobeyed and walked in through the front door.  My goal was to simply sneak up through the front entrance.  The apartment had one of those managers dressed in a red uniform who greets residents and guests.  I attempt to charm him a bit, but that fails miserably.  So I attempt to beat him over the head with the telephone on the desk, not realizing it was cheap plastic.  I also didn't realize the apartment manager was actually Chuck Norris at his night-job.  The phone breaks over his head.  I freak, he starts yelling, I start screaming and hissing, ...he produces a shot gun from under the counter!  I start screaming like a little girl, and he shoots me.  BLAM!  I go soaring out through the front door in an explosion of glass and blood and teeth.  I'm running with a limp to try and get away, screaming "I'm a vampire, damnit!  I'm a creature of the night and-- NO!  Get away from me!  Somebody save me!!!"  He shoots me again in the leg, stalks towards me like it's just another day of taking out the trash, and starts beating me in the face with the butt of his gun until I'm nice and still.  It's at that point he turns around to go back and call the coroner.



Later, my friends scoop me up with a shovel, toss me into the back of the "get-away car", and take me home to heal.  Because, well, I AM an immortal creature of darkness and... aw, phooey.

More recently for a superhero campaign I made a scientist who was akin to The Rocketeer.  Cool jacket.  Super-cool jet pack.  Somewhat dorky but necessary helmet.  Great in theory -- unless you're flying at nearly 200 mph like, well, a rocket, and then some random thug shoots you and knocks you unconscious.  You plummet back to the earth like a meteor.  That's bad enough, but after digging a nice-size crater with my limp and broken body, my super-cool jet pack malfunctions and fires up!  My helmet has a fin on it like the Rocketeer, which now doubles as a very effective jet-propelled farm plow.  I dig a mile-long trench with my head along the compact dirt near the edge of a forest before exploding like a cheap Star Wars prop against a tree.  This act does not impress the bad guys and it's up to the rest of my superhero team to finish saving the world.  Mostly because they have cool powers that don't suck...

Nice helmet, douchebag.

Later, my friends scoop me up with a shovel, toss me into the back of the "super-hero car", and take me home to heal.  Because, well, I AM a comic book super hero and... eh, whatever.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

A New Space-Noir Adventure

As one storyline comes to an epic conclusion (some involving my character plowing into the ground like a freaking meteor thanks to a crappy die-roll), another begins.  I'm back to the forefront as the Gamemaster, and we're headed into the realm I'm most comfortable in - Science Fantasy.  This time around, I'm blending an old sci-fi world I created a long time ago with the many alien races and cool gadgets from the video game series "Mass Effect".  My weapon of choice: D20 Modern/Future, my favorite and, in my opinion, most versatile of all the systems.  Sure it's not as in-depth as GURPS, but why should I have 30 different skills if I only ever roll one or two of them - ever?  Simplicity is key for my style of fast-pace action storytelling, and I don't like to be bogged down with rules while I'm trying to blow things up- ...I mean, tell a story.  And I enjoy the fact that the system utilizes all of the various dice in my arsenal.  Now, let's meet the cast...

  • The Soldier:  The only human in the group.  Very tough, enhanced with cybernetic implants, and crazy.  No, really, he's freaking bat-shit insane.  This is not the kind of guy you should give a gun to, and he's got like six of them.  Oh, and he's also the leader of the group, so this should give a good indication as to what direction the team will go.  (I'm thinking somewhere in the world, Michael Bay is smiling...)
  • The Technical Engineer:  A native of the forest moon of Ganymede (a mix of a humanoid dog/monkey creature with a prehensile tail, kangaroo-like ears and a horse's mane).  Yes, this does make him a "Grease Monkey".
  • The Mercenary:  A Krogen with the unique talent of completely losing his shit and going all Incredible Hulk on you if you piss him off.  The down-side is damn near everything pisses him off.  Your shirt pisses him off.  He's going to rip it off you, fill it with rocks, and beat you to death with it to the tune of "I'm So Pretty" just so he can damage your soul too. 
  • The Pilot:  A Cattan (cat-like humanoid), and the best damn pilot in the Terminus System.  Fast, strong, the reflexes and agility of a cat - and the attention span of one.  Oh, look, shiny!  And she pounces! 
  • The Spy:  It might be a little cliche for a telepath to enlist her services as a spy - but can you think of anyone better qualified?  She's also a gifted telekinetic, so when diplomacy fails she can clear a hallway a-la Force Unleashed and go all "Angry-Sith-Lord" on your ass.
  • The Hacker:  It's the future, so everything is run by advanced computers.  What's more dangerous than a talented computer hacker?  How about a Quarian computer hacker with an Omni-Tool, capable of hacking sophisticated artificial intelligence.  He's like "Eagle Eye", but less predictable and with fewer plot holes.

Characters are set.  Storyline ready.  First adventure planned.  Tomorrow, we kick some ass...

Monday, April 2, 2012

The Chair

Allow me to introduce "The Chair".  This innocent-seeming piece of impulse-buy furniture sits at the corner of our gaming group table, waiting for its next prey.  What does it eat?  Human souls, mostly.  You see, long ago in ancient times a hentai- tentacle monster whose name cannot be spoken aloud once sat here.  On dark, stormy nights you can still see the shadows of its many writhing appendages wanting to grope at your naughty bits.  As it has no physical form of its own anymore, it now influences the thoughts of those who dare place their butt here.

At least, that's the best we can figure.  I've seen innocent friends - friends who are uncomfortable uttering foul language in a crowd - suddenly spout off things that would make a sailor blush when sitting in this chair.  We've determined it's the chair and not the people because it changes week-by-week depending on who sits in the chair. 

"I can't believe you just said that!" someone will say, followed immediately by someone else noting what should have been obvious by now, "It's the chair!  He's sitting in The Chair!"

Like any horror film featuring a soul-consuming cathedra of aluminum and polyester, we forget and continue to fall for its devil trickery every week.  We grab our beverages, break out the dice and paper, and figure out seating on a first-come, first-sit basis -- and it's not even the last seat picked.  A few beers later, and someone's either comparing a Great Wyrm to the size of their junk, or trying to defeat a Great Wyrm using their character's junk.  My personal favorite was when my friend sitting in The Chair decided his character had a Scottish accent, and his best remedy for curing ailments was to pee on it.  

"I'm wounded!" a teammate cries.

(Imagine thick Scottish accent) - "Settle down, laddy.  I'd better pee on that so's it don't get infected."

...and then we all stare blankly before someone says, "Oh.  It's the chair."