Can the Players Kill Luke Skywalker? Or The Evils of Metaplot

           

Tap for pain!

Metaplot.  Does any word draw more condemnation and frustration from the players of World of Darkness games than “metaplot?”  The mere mention of some of the metaplot from the Classic World of Darkness game line draws bile laced gagging from even the most fanatical of fans.  Decreed from on high by the almighty writers and developers of the system, metaplot is the unchangeable grand plot that infiltrates every book, every argument, and every game.  It is immutable, it is sacrosanct, and it is despised.  But why?  Both Star Wars and The Forgotten Realms campaign setting have an existing metaplot that does not bedevil gamers like the metaplot of Vampire:  The Masquerade or Werewolf:  The Apocalypse.  Is there something to be learned from those worlds, where metaplot is known as canon which can be applied to the World of Darkness?  More importantly, is having a metaplot anathema to a good game?  Is the metaplot only a hindrance to Storytellers and players or can it be used to add more depth to a game? 

            What is Metaplot?  A working definition of metaplot might be “the ongoing story in the published materials of a role playing game that creates and moves forward a story that changes elements of the setting and system or explains changes in the mechanics of the game.”  On its face, that definition is neutral, but the first issue of metaplot is that it lacks player agency.  The changes occur regardless of the efforts of the players and perhaps even happen despite the players’ efforts to change those events.  The metaplot is the “Word of God” demanding changes that may or may not be asked for by the players.  The metaplot explains changes to the setting, the inclusion of new options, the removal of other options, changes to well-known and loved character types and updates to the game system.  

            Critics and fans of Vampire:  The Masquerade often regard it as the biggest offender in terms of metaplot interference.  When Vampire:  The Masquerade changed from Second Edition to Revised Edition, a number of changes occurred.  Most notably an Assamite Methuselah, Ur-Shulgi, awakened from Topor and removed the curse that Tremere had afflicted upon the Children of Haqim.  Ur-Shulgi also decreed that Assamites must give up their devotion to other gods and worship only Haqim.  Long associated with the Middle East and Islam, Ur-Shulgi’s decree shocked many Assamites and created a rift in the clan.  Those loyal to Haqim and Ur-Shulgi killed those who refused to set aside their religious beliefs whether Islamic, Christian, or other.  Those who survived the purge fled to Europe and the Americas.  As Gehenna approached, the fleeing Assamites attempted to make peace with Camarilla and join its ranks.         

Tremere-antitribu

            The Tremere are at the heart of another metaplot change.  Tremere-antitribu, who had left behind their clan to join the Sabbat, were all inexplicably destroyed one evening.  During a ritual in which nearly every member of the Sabbat Tremere were in attendance, some force destroyed them all.  No one is sure exactly what happened, only that no more Tremere-antitribu exist.  That event must have been a shock to Tremere-antitribu players at the time.  Suddenly, their characters were gone and nothing could be done about it. 

            The most egregious metaplot changes came from Dirty Secrets of the Black Hand which described another faction of vampires known as the Tal’mahe’Ra or True Hand.  Suddenly the Tzimisce discipline Vicissitude was an extraplanar disease that infected the entire clan and slowly took over the bodies of the Tzimisice and other users of Vicissitude.  The True Hand was dedicated to defeating this other worldly menace and save the world.  Vicissitude no longer worked like other Disciplines and now had special rules that changed not only the cost for learning the Discipline but threatened players with the loss of their characters if they progressed in the Discipline. 

            Metaplot in and of itself is not a bad thing.  Many of the best RPGs have a metaplot to some degree.  Star Wars undoubtedly has the strictest metaplot.  Better known as the canon and released in a series of RPG supplements, books, movies, and TV shows, the Star Wars canon (or Extended Universe) sought to fill in every space of that distant galaxy.  West End Games, Marvel Comics, Dark Horse Comics and dozens of writers have sought to define every aspect of Star Wars for good and ill.  Simple mistakes in the wording of a script have turned into entire novels, such as when Han states that the Millennium Falcon made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs.  Rather than letting a simple screw up slip by, writers defined the Kessel Run as a trip near a group of black holes known as the Maw Cluster.  Traveling closer to the Maw Cluster would decrease the travel time of a ship from Kessel to its destination but with the added risk of the starship becoming trapped in the gravitational pull of the black holes and being destroyed.  Later readers would learn that the Maw Cluster hid an Imperial Research installation where the engineers built and tested a prototype of the Death Star.  Later, some of these elements were retconned by the Prequels.  Role playing supplements had to offer stats and information on these regions or create new regions themselves such as the Corporate Sector which started as an element of a novel, “Han Solo at Star’s End,” which led to a West End Games supplement entitled “Han Solo and the Corporate Sector Sourcebook” that built on the information from the novel. 

Heroes of the Realms

            The Forgotten Realms has undergone a variety of changes as Dungeons & Dragons has changed editions.  Unlike Vampire:  The Masquerade, the change in edition created a change in the setting.  When Dungeons & Dragons transitioned from 3.5 to 4^th Edition, the developers changed the magic system and included both Dragonborn and Tieflings as player races in the Player’s Handbook.   Although Forgotten Realms was not the core campaign setting of 4^th Edition, it was the campaign setting for Organized Play requiring the developers to explain how the magic system changed and the introduction of two new races into the setting.  Dragonborn were an incredibly popular race from the Eberron campaign setting, and due to their popularity and the popularity of Eberron, they were included in the Player’s Handbook (Update:  Dragonborn orignally appeared in Race of the Dragon and later were included in Eberron  I need to learn more about Eberron).  Introducing them into the Forgotten Realms required a bit more work though, The Spell Plague.   The Spell Plague and the death of Mystra reshaped the Weave, the source of magic in the Realms, and the merging of Abeir, Toril’s twin planet and Toril (Toril is the name of the planet on which Faerun is located.  Fareurn is the continent which is the primary setting for the Forgotten Realms.) brought with it the Dragonborn.  The Spell Plague changed entire regions, made magic items non functional, and brought the Dragonborn whose kingdom replaced the kingdom of Unther. 

            When Dungeons & Dragons changed editions once again, once more the Realms changed.  This event known as The Sundering explained how the magic system changed once again and of course, kept the popular Dragonborn in the setting.  A series of novels about the Realms explained the events of The Sundering in detail, much like previous shifts in editions, such as the Time of Troubles. 

            Another example of the developers pushed forward a metaplot can be found in D&D 3.0 and the novel series, The War of the Spider Queen and its accompanying adventure.  In this series of novels, Lolth, Goddess of the Drow, has effectively disappeared and her clerics, the leaders of the chaotic and evil Drow society, no longer receive spells from her.  Seeking answers to this dilemma and hoping to solve it before an uprising overthrows the priestess who lead the city, a group of Drow travel the Underdark, to the surface world, and eventually to the Demon Web Pits hoping to uncover the mystery behind Lolth’s disappearance.  Lolth has attained enough power finally to create her own realm separate from the Abyss, and she has cocooned herself at the center of the Demon Web Pits to complete her transformation not caring that her worshippers and priestesses suffer in her absence.  In the end, Lolth completes her transformation and creates her own plane which changes the cosmology of the Forgotten Realms.  

Cover to Dissolution from the War of the Spider Queen novel series

            If that whirl of information has left any readers confused, then the biggest problem with metaplot has become apparent:  information overload.  Only the most dedicated fans of a setting would be able to track the minutiae of those changes.  These game lines and settings have been growing and expanding for decades.  Star Wars released in 1977, for example, and novels began pouring out soon after and the damn finally broke in the 1990s with the release of “Heir to the Empire.”  Systems and universes soon bloated with all this material.  And when Vampire:  The Masquerade 20^th Anniversary Edition released, the developers promised a metaplot neutral game, meaning that players could pick and choose which elements of the metaplot they wanted to use and could ignore the rest. 

            Most experienced roleplayers already realize that the best way to deal with elements of a system or supplement that they don’t like is to modify it or ignore it.  That’s the solution that the developers of Vampire:  The Masquerade concluded as they revamped the game for its new release.  Of course, ignoring the metaplot was a pre-requisite for publishing the new edition as White Wolf had decreed that the entire Classic World of Darkness game line had ended with the publication of their end of the world books, Gehenna, the Apocalypse, etc.   

            Can a metaplot be completely ignored?  Or more specifically, can the players kill Luke Skywalker?  It’s an evocative question, and the kneejerk reaction of most players is going to be “No, absolutely not!”  Luke Skywalker is the lynchpin of Star Wars canon.  He destroyed the Death Star.  He redeemed Darth Vader and brought about the downfall of the Empire.  He brought back the Jedi Order. Luke Skywalker is Star Wars.   He has plot armor that no player character should be able to penetrate; yet, by acknowledging Luke Skywalker’s importance in the events of the original trilogy and the Extended Universe, the game master has decided that a metaplot exists and that players lack any agency in interacting with that storyline. 

Father/son elevator rides don't get more awkward!

            Luke Skywalker and his exploits are the reason why most Star Wars roleplaying games take place in distant corners of the galaxy.  The game master pushes the events of the original trilogy into the background and lays out new storylines that run tangentially to canonical events.  Player characters may interact with important figures like Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, or Leia Organa.  They are much more likely to be given their orders by secondary figures like Mon Mothma and Admiral Piett.  Nevertheless, the players are hamstrung from the outset of the campaign because they are not the most important figures in the greater plot of Star Wars.  Luke Skywalker and his father Anakin are. 

            With that in mind, can players kill Drizzit Do’Urden?  Elminster Chosen of Mystra?  Can players stop the Spell Plague?  Do Dragonborn exist in Forgotten Realms?  Are the Assamites knocking at the doors of the Ivory Tower begging admittance to the Camarilla?   Each of these questions carries the same weight of metaplot as “Can the players kill Luke Skywalker?”  How many times have game masters, dungeon masters, and storytellers defended the metaplot from the brilliant and cunning plans of players? 

            My own experiences are entirely anecdotal, and I cannot speak for all roleplayers.  I have found that players enjoy re-writing the metaplot, making their own mark on a story considered inviolate.  It was a hard learned lesson and left many players completely disenchanted with me as game master.   I heard their criticism, but wasn’t preserving the story of Luke Skywalker more important?  I started roleplaying by running West End Games Star Wars Revised system and immediately railroaded players through events during the Battle of Hoth.  I couldn’t imagine a scenario where the players could actually affect the outcome of that momentous battle.  Just taking part in the battle should be exciting enough for the players, right? 

Who wouldn't want Leia in Cmdr. Shepherd's armor?

            Fast forward over a decade and I’m still running Star Wars although at this point it’s Wizards of the Coast’s Star Wars Saga Edition.   I finally learned my lesson in the last session of the campaign.  The players had been chasing after a rogue Jedi named Kensa Starwind who had become a kind of Old Republic Colonel Kurtz and saw through the false veneer of the Clone War.  She had realized that everything was the doings of Chancellor Palaptine, but the Jedi Council had sent the players to stop her.   My original idea was that the player characters would confront Kensa Starwind and stop her from murdering the “innocent” Chancellor only to be double-crossed by him.  Of course, that meant the players would have to put aside all out of character knowledge.  Instead of fighting Kensa, the player characters talked to her and believed her!  Together with Kensa, the players defeated Palpatine and Anakin/Darth Vader in an epic battle in the Chancellor’s office forever changing galactic history.  I don’t think that I have ever seen players happier or feeling more triumphant than when they thought they had saved the galaxy from the evils of the Empire.

            As the session ended, I added a quick epilogue for each character that showed how they had changed the universe.  It was altogether bleak.  Rather than transforming into the Empire, the Old Republic fractured into a myriad of small and warring states.  The remaining Jedi fought to maintain peace and bring the parts back together.  One of the players whose character had fallen to the Dark Side became a warlord of a region only to be double crossed by his apprentice.   Others had equally dark or heroic outcomes depending on their individual characters.  And this epilogue should have become the prologue for the next campaign that I ran! 

            The lesson that I learned from this campaign was not that I should allow players to do whatever they wanted.  Instead, I finally understood the purpose of metaplot.  Metaplot is not something that must be adhered to with the religious fervor of an extremist or ignored and discarded like an empty soda can.  Metaplot is a river that once the game begins players redirect its course by adding and subtracting elements.   The players’ influence can be subtle or dramatic depending on how their actions in the course of a campaign.  The challenge to storytellers is not to allow players to alter the course of the story to create a utopian state.  Change requires sacrifice and not all change is positive.  Those with the best intentions, such as the group that killed the Palpatine and stopped the rise of the Empire, may not create the best outcomes.  The unforeseen consequences of the players’ changes should lead to new opportunities for adventures and new stories.   Players, as well, must keep out of character knowledge separate and distinct otherwise roleplaying games can devolve into an endless series of killing off the key figures of a setting or random acts for the sake of being random. 

            Turning back to Vampire:  The Masquerade, many roleplayers have lamented the plots and setting updates that players cannot change.  The events happen in distant lands and involve powerful beings that the average player character just cannot fight against.  What can a Neonate in Atlanta do to stop Ur-Shulgi?  What can a San Francisco Anarch do to stop the destruction of the Tremere-antitribu?  Yet, the rise of Ur-Shulgi and the Assamite schism offers players a chance to affect the metaplot in new and vital ways.  Camarilla players can offer their voices in support of the Assamites joining the Camarilla or turn away the dangerous assassins.  Anarchs and Sabbat players can offer other options to those Assamite fleeing Ur-Shulgi.   Certainly, the Assamite-antitribu will be happy to welcome their old brothers into the Sabbat.  And who is to say that Ur-Shulgi actually speaks for Haqim or that this Methuselah cannot be killed?  

Paint a target on that guy's head!

            As for the Tremere-antitribu, why should the metaplot stand in the way of a player’s fun?  A surviving Tremere-antitribu is no less farfetched than surviving Salubri or Cappodoccians and offers many more story opportunities for both the player and storyteller.  As the last remaining member of his or her clan, the Tremere-antitribu would be desperate to hide from whatever power destroyed their clan and simultaneously seek to re-establish that clan by Embracing new members.  The Tremere-antitribu survivor is now the leader of that clan with new and potentially overwhelming responsibilities. 

            Both of these hypothetical scenarios assume that the storyteller and players agree to use the metaplot as written.  That doesn’t have to be the case either.  Ur-Shulgi does not have to rise from Torpor.  The Tremere-antitribu don’t have to be destroyed.   And none of the material in Dirty Secrets of the Black Hand needs to show up in anyone’s campaign. 

            Metaplot should not be the driving force of anyone’s campaign.  Rather, it is one more tool in a storyteller’s toolbox and in the players’ toolboxes to help them create the stories that they want to tell together.  And that book with the terrible metaplot about Tzimisce diseases and vampires traveling to the Deep Umbra is not the final arbiter of whether or not that information should appear in your campaign.  It is your book!  And like John Wick says, you can tear out pages and take a black sharpie to the pages and passages you hate and delete them forever.  It’s your book.   You bought it.  Use it how you like!             

            So, can your player characters kill Luke Skywalker?

In Response to John Wick's "Chess Is Not an RPG"

             John Wick, probably best known as the Origins Award winning lead designer for Legend of the Five Rings (L5R) First Edition RPG and his work as the Continuity Editor for the Legend of the Five Rings TCG, recently published an article, “Chess Is Not an RPG:  The Illusion of Game Balance” in which he defines what an RPG is and denounces the importance of game balance in tabletop RPGs.  Wick also expresses several controversial opinions about fan favorite games such as earlier editions of Dungeons & Dragons and has caused a bit of a stir amongst the gaming community.  From the beginning of his article, Wick has set out to slay two of the sacred cows of gaming:  Weapons Tables and Game Balance. 

Taking aim first at a feature that nearly every RPG has in common, the weapon’s table, Wick’s article uses two examples from cinema to make his point:  Riddick’s use of a tea cup as a weapon in The Chronicles of Riddick (2004) and Sean Connery’s speech about how he can kill a man with only his thumb in the Presidio (1988).  Wick then questions how a Dungeon Master or Storyteller would adjudicate the use of those kinds of weapons within a particular system?  “Does [Sean Connery’s thumb] do megadamage?”  is an apt question.  Although that particular situation may not arise during a game, Wick is aiming at a fundamental problem with creating weapon’s lists for an RPG.  Just how much granularity does a list of weapons need?  Should the game system account for every possible weapon and variation on a weapon or merely offer a basic list of possible weapons? 

Vampire:  The Masquerade has probably the shortest weapon’s chart of any modern RPG.  Instead of trying to differentiate amongst an enormous number of handguns, assault rifles, shotguns, knives, and swords, the designers chose to simply use archetypal examples for their weapons.  In VtM, a 9mm Glock has the same stats as a .45 Heckler and Koch pistols or a 9mm Smith & Wesson.  A sword, regardless of its shape or origin has the same stats.  Katana, scimitar, and medieval long sword all do Strength+2 damage.  The player’s imagination and her description of her character’s actions fill in the blanks.  Dungeons & Dragons, conversely, offers a variety of swords:  rapiers, scimitars, long swords, great swords, short swords, and so on.  Each weapon offers different damage types and in earlier editions a character’s weapon even had an effect on her initiative roll, the infamous speed factor trait. 

            Wick calls for the DMs and GMS to remove the offending tables from their games, later recommending taking a Sharpie and obliterating the tables from the page beneath thick black ink.   Is Wick merely being hyperbolic and denouncing weapons tables to draw attention to one of the great dilemmas of game design and game mastering:  simulation versus abstraction?  In other words, how realistic should a game system or a particular campaign be?   Wick’s example of weapons tables stirs controversy which was undoubtedly his intent since that controversy will lead to greater discussion of his point. 

            For a less controversial example, consider how important it is during a D&D campaign for the adventuring party to keep track of their stores of food and water.  Should the players be responsible for tracking their consumption of food and water as they progress in their travels or is that just one more level of bookkeeping that detracts from the overall enjoyment of the game?  The answer to that question is “It depends.”  In a typical medieval fantasy setting such as Forgotten Realms or Greyhawk, tracking food and water is just bookkeeping.  Replenishing their stores is as easy as saying, “My character stops in town and buys food and water and spends 10 gp.”  Does that increase or improve the drama during a session?  Probably not.  In atypical settings such as games set in hostile environments such as Dark Sun’s deserts or an ocean voyage, maintaining stores of food and water add an element of drama to the characters’ travels.  However, if managing food and water doesn’t improve the drama of the game and provide interesting encounters, then that element should be dropped. 

            Wick’s most controversial statement, however, is “the first four editions of Dungeons & Dragons are not role playing games” but rather, “a very sophisticated, intricate, and complicated combat simulation board game that people were turning into a roleplaying game.”  The history of Dungeons & Dragons supports that assertion.  Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson developed Dungeons & Dragons from their medieval war game, Chainmail; whereas most war gaming focused on units, Gygax and Arneson’s contribution was to change the scale of the game and focus on an individual character controlled by a single player.   Yet, D&D retained its combat simulation roots, especially in more recent editions such as D&D 3.0 and D&D 4^th which had many game elements that necessitated the use of a grid mat. 

            Wick offers a simple litmus test for whether or not a game is a “role playing game”:  Can you play the game without role playing?  Or, can players advance through an adventure without actually taking on the roles of their characters and instead simply move their pieces around the board or grid mat no different than games like Dungeonquest?  Wick uses chess as his example for this argument.  Of course, he offers, one could take on the roles of the individual pieces, whether it is a pawn or rook or queen, and make decisions based on the imagined thoughts and feelings of the piece.  Using pieces in this manner would lead to sub-optimal decisions and most likely cause the player to lose the match. 

            Many players and gamemasters have encountered players who approach roleplaying games in the same way that players approach a chessboard; these players seek to make the most optimal decisions:  character creation, leveling up, tactical movement, etc.  They never take into consideration the role and the character that they are playing.  Optimizers, such as these players, research every aspect of the game seeking a way to ensure victory no different than studying books on chess strategy.   Since the advent of the internet, character optimization has exploded with forums offering guides, no different than videogame strategy guides, for how to create the “best” character and ranking character classes based objective power levels.  D&D 3.0 and 3.5 offer the worst examples of this kind of optimization with the continual stacking of base classes and prestige classes without questioning what sort of sense they make or how a character would gain the training in those classes. 

            If Dungeons & Dragons isn’t a roleplaying game, then what is?  Wick has created a working definition of a roleplaying game:  “a game in which the players are rewarded for making choices that are consistent with their character’s motivations or further the plot of the story.”   The definition is system neutral, but Wick doesn’t offer any examples of how players or designers can implement that definition in a game.  The key word in the definition is “reward” but a better word choice might be “positively reinforced.”  The gamemaster or the system reinforces the choices of the players.  The core reward systems for D&D are experience points and treasure which are rewarded when characters defeat monsters or overcome a challenge such as a trap.  Vampire:  The Masquerade rewards players with experience for taking part in the session, playing their character, having their character learn something new, and acting heroically.  Two very different ways of reinforcing the players’ choices. 

            Wick, however, stated that D&D was not a roleplaying game, but he goes on suggest that gamers should modify their preferred system to create an environment that rewards roleplaying rather than skill at a tactical combat simulation.  Here is the paradox at the heart of Wick’s argument.  Any game could be an RPG by simply modifying its rules to reinforce role playing or simply to offer opportunities for roleplaying.  Wick’s examples include changing the initiative system for Vampire the Masquerade which many consider clunky due to its method of requiring players to first roll initiative, then the starting with the person whose initiative is lowest each player declares their action, and finally, actions are resolved starting from the player whose initiative is highest.  D&D Second Edition had a similar system. 

            Wick’s argument stresses the positive reinforcement of roleplaying over maintaining game balance.  Anything that hampers or impedes roleplaying, therefore, should be removed.  Game balance is the most sacred cow of modern gaming.  The days of weak low level wizards slowly outclassing their fighter brethren are gone; now each class, tribe, clan, or archetype must be balanced against all others.  That game balance must be upheld. 

            Anyone familiar with John Wick’s work, especially on Legend of the Five Rings, can see this philosophy in his game design choices.  If you played the first edition of L5R, you’re probably familiar with just how unbalanced the Void Shugenja school was.  The various schools of each clan were not especially well balanced either.  Instead Wick’s design goal with Legend of the Five Rings emphasized the particular flavor of a clan or school which led to some wild imbalances but created opportunities for players to roleplay those clans and schools.  Some schools were extraordinarily powerful, such as the previously mentioned Void Shugenja or just Shugenja in general, and some were comparatively useless (at least terms of optimization, damage potential, etc.).  Other schools, such as the Crane Clan’s Kakita Bushi school were overly specialized in one area, in this case dueling, at the expense of general usefulness. 

            Wick’s final point is probably the most important, and the one big takeaway from his article that should be applicable to everyone who reads it.  In order to get good at roleplaying, you have to roleplay.  He doesn’t mean building characters or generating optimized builds or spell selection or even rolling dice.  He is defining roleplaying as only “the act of taking on the motivations and goals of the player’s character and acting in accord with those goals.”  Like any other skill, whether it is a physical task like throwing a football or something mental like solving a differential equation, only practice improves the skill.  Unfortunately, Wick does not offer any suggestions on how to improve one’s roleplaying skills, but perhaps that is asking too much in an article that Wick later describes as “something I spent about an hour writing, edited quickly, and the put it up for public consumption.”

            I am not quite ready to slay “Game Balance” along with John Wick, but I do agree that role players, myself included, put too much emphasis on game balance when the real goal of an RPG is not to build the best, most powerful character, but to go on a journey as that character, to live vicariously through the character and write collaborative stories with the other players.  Often this point is missed, and by pointing it out, Mr. Wick has written more eloquently than I have about the same points that I have tried to emphasize in this blog. 

            In the future perhaps players shouldn’t look for the best weapon that does the most damage, but instead finding opportunities “kill a man with just a thumb.”  Creating those opportunities requires collaboration between the player and the DM.  The DM must be receptive to the weird and strange ideas of creative players and not punish players for creating a “character” rather than building optimized characters.    

How to be a Storyteller (or a Game Master or a Dungeon Master or…)

How many people think of this guy when I say "Dungeon Master"?

            When you write a gaming blog, you spend a lot of time reading other people’s blogs or listening to their podcasts.  It’s a great way to get a few new ideas or just to see what’s going on out there.  Regardless of which RPG the authors play, one common thread runs through nearly every RPG podcast and blog – a focus on being the Game Master or Dungeon Master or Storyteller.  (Although Game Master is more generic, this is a blog primarily about Classic World of Darkness games; so I’ll be using the term Storyteller.) People ask for advice on how to run a better game or how to deal with a problem player or how to handle a problem with the rules.  The questions asked and the advice offered revolves around the Storyteller.  Even I am guilty of focusing on the Storyteller as I capitalize “Storyteller” but never “player.” 

The Storyteller is the central figure in any role playing group.  He or she is responsible for many aspects of the session not just limited to running an individual adventure.  The card board Storyteller Screen is the fortress that not only defends the Storyteller’s campaign notes from the prying eyes of players and allows hidden dice rolls that the Storyteller may fudge to the PCs detriment or benefit, but that same castle-like screen is also a metaphor for the daunting task of transitioning from player to Storyteller. 

Amongst my former gaming group, the shift from player to Storyteller was a common topic of discussion.  Many of the players wanted to run their own games but were intimidated by the work involved and the thought of being responsible for every once else having a good time.  And I tried to encourage all of my players to at least attempt running one session.    Eventually, some did try their hands at running a game. 

Taking up the mantle of Storyteller is a frightening prospect.  Players are only responsible for creating and role playing their own character and showing up prepared with their character sheet, dice, and pencils.  The Storyteller must create a variety of NPCs, role play each of them, create the setting, determine the plots of the game and how players’ actions affect those plots, adjudicate rules fairly, and most importantly ensure that everyone at the table is having fun.  Being a Storyteller is time consuming as well.  Storytellers have to invest time to design NPCs, dream up action set pieces, draw dungeons or any of the other various activities required to make a session work. 

The difference in responsibilities is tremendous, and I know many players who have played RPGs for years and never stepped behind the screen.  Storytellers are a rare breed because it’s not easy to run a game.  Others, like myself, who have been Storytellers more often than they have been players feel trapped behind the screen. They get burnt out because of the time and effort required. 

Players spend many hours asking for advice from Storytellers on how to run a game or looking for information on blogs like this one.  It seems like these nascent Storytellers don’t want to run their game until they are prepared for every eventuality.  Personally, I’ve spent hours in conversation with my own players offering advice on what to expect when running a game. 

The simple truth is that until you run a game, you don’t need any advice.  Stop thinking about running a game.  Stop asking for advice on how to run a game.  Just run the game. 

For the rest of this article, I’m going to write under some assumptions: the person making the transition from player to Storyteller has played a table top RPG at least once prior, has a play group, has access to the appropriate dice for the system, has read the necessary rule books and is familiar with the rules.  Those assumptions are also the only things that anyone needs to become a Storyteller.  Being the Storyteller for a game, regardless of the complexity of the rules, is simply a matter of doing it, “Storytelling” or “DMing.” 

The only way to become a Storyteller is to run a game.  Let me say that again.  The only way to become a Storyteller is to run a game.  Plan the adventure, invite the players over, and run the adventure.   Whether it’s a good session or a bad session is immaterial to simple performance of the duties of a Storyteller.  Most likely, the first session will be bad, but that’s a good thing. 

I’m not fond of extended analogies, but Storytelling is like swimmig. You can read all the books that you want, watch all of the how to videos posted on Youtube, and practice on dry land all you want, but until you are in the water, you aren’t going to swim.  And like your first time swimming, it’s a struggle to just stay afloat.  Unlike swimming, there really isn’t a shallow, safe end of the pool in which to practice.  Thankfully, no one is going to die if a first time Storyteller runs a bad game.  Well, maybe a few PCs, but the players will be fine. 

Taking the swimming analogy all the way!

And like swimming (yes, I’m going to continue this analogy), with practice you become more proficient.  With help, you could learn how to do the backstroke or sidestroke.  You might even get so good that you try swimming in open water, like a lake or the ocean.  With special lessons you could even learn to SCUBA dive.  But none of these enhancements are possible without actually swimming for the first time, flailing about in the water, and being very bad at it. 

Simply put, the only way to be a Storyteller is to dive in and run your first session.  If it’s anything like my first time running a game, then you will fail miserably.  Not just the first session either, you’ll have lots of bad sessions.  I made a lot of mistakes and screwed up a lot of games.  I ran some games that I just should not have run.  I allowed players power game and run roughshod over plots and NPCs.  Honestly, I might have encouraged power gaming at one point.   I did pretty much everything that a Storyteller shouldn’t do.  I am infamous for some spectacularly bad Dungeons & Dragons 3.0 games and Legends of the Five Rings games.

I'm pretty sure this guy's ran a few bad sessions too. 

Players in my last group once told me that they didn’t want to run their own game because they thought their games wouldn’t be as good as mine.  They didn’t see the point in running their own games when they had me and my games were so good.  What they forgot was that I had been running RPGs since 1997.   From all those bad games and mistakes, I learned what worked and what didn’t.  I also made use of the resources around me.  I asked for advice from players and other Storytellers.  I studied and ran other systems.  I played in other people’s games and I learned from their successes and mistakes.  Now, I listen to gaming podcasts and read blogs about gaming to further hone my skills as a Storyteller, but these activities are peripheral to actually running a game. 

At the beginning of this article I talked about how intimidating it was to take on all those responsibilities of being a Storyteller, and those responsibilities remain.  Many of you are worried about failing in front of your friends.  No one wants to fail, and no one wants to be laughed at.  And this is going to sound weird coming from a pessimist, but those of you considering stepping behind the screen and running a game can’t think about the possibility for failure.  You have to think about the future successes and all the great sessions you’ll run.  Until you actually start running games, those successes won’t come.   Take a chance and see what happens. 

The only way to become a Storyteller is to run a game. Only after you’ve become a Storyteller can you start the long process of becoming a good Storyteller which is the goal of any Storyteller.