{"id":31939,"date":"2016-04-30T04:48:37","date_gmt":"2016-04-30T08:48:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/?p=31939"},"modified":"2016-04-30T04:48:37","modified_gmt":"2016-04-30T08:48:37","slug":"rutskarns-gminars-ch2-you-are-the-illusionist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/?p=31939","title":{"rendered":"Rutskarn’s GMinars CH2: You Are the Illusionist"},"content":{"rendered":"

Last week I explained the basic principle of GMing: above all else, and whenever possible, give your players something to do. <\/em>Give them problems to solve, environments to explore, and opportunities to show off their character’s strengths and quirks and you’re well on your way to running an entertaining session.<\/p>\n

Today I’m going to explain something that I think is nearly as important. It’s an idea I’ve never seen or heard comprehensively explained before, and call me paranoid, but I think there’s a reason for that. I think even such GMs as have figured out how to put this idea into words leave each other to figure it out on their own. I think there’s a fear, and a not entirely<\/em> unreasonable one, that some secrets shouldn’t be given legs–some illusions should be protected at all costs. If that means failing to write down or explain some of the practices that contribute to those illusions, then that’s the price they pay.<\/p>\n

I don’t really buy that, and this isn’t just any GMing trick–when you get right down to it, it’s the heart of your role as storyteller. I’m going to take the time to explain as completely as possible the artistic theory of GMing.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

When I ran GMing classes for a club, my first lesson was always a practical demonstration; rather that talk theory, I ran a roleplaying session for my students and let them ask questions afterwards. I handed everybody a premade character sheet from an unfamiliar system–a few stats, some inscrutable skills, and strange magic items like “The Devil Mirror” or “The Ghost Summoning Rod.” After pausing to let them come up with cursory backstories, I thrust them into a fast-paced adventure involving a mysterious stranger, a war cult, a haunted tavern, and a magical vault. Magical talents were uncovered, the storyline twisted and turned, half the city burned down, and by the end of the session everyone’s characters had learned a few lessons, made a few bucks, and lost a few teeth.<\/p>\n

As the session and chatter wound down I asked my player-students how long they thought the session had taken to plan. Responses varied from “about an hour” to “like three hours”; when pressed, players thought the most time-consuming elements would be figuring out the magic items, coming up with the villain’s hidden scheme, coming up with NPC names and descriptions, and detailing the setting.<\/p>\n

So then I explained something to them that I’d never explain to my regular groups: that it had been a trick question, and that of course there had been no planning whatsoever. I’d dashed off premade character sheets with skills and items and even rules <\/em>I didn’t understand yet, settled on beginning with the line “Your adventure begins in a tavern,” and willfully abstained from planning out one another detail. And none of my players knew. Because how could they? Besides quality, which is subjective, what difference did it make to them whether the story was invented a day before, a week before, or drummed up on the spot?<\/p>\n

They’d done what players were supposed to do. They’d bought into the illusion that what I was narrating–what they were seeing in their minds eye and engaging with–was whole. <\/em>That sitting behind my screen I knew everything about the setting, the rules, the villains, the schemes.<\/em> They bought into the illusion that characters, plot points, and features of the world weren’t just popping into existence out of nowhere because it was interesting or convenient, but that there was something iron, something objective<\/em>, for them to interact with. They bought into the illusion that the rules were objective and fair representations of character ability and not cheap abstractions of dubious quality. Maintaining these illusions, or at least the impression of them, is the key to making a good game a great one. They help players get immersed, make choices feel meaningful. But never forget that all they are, need to be, or even can be, is illusions. It’s impossible to actually know all the rules. It’s impossible for the rules to be completely fair and representative of reality. It’s certainly impossible for you to have visualized every character and possibility and life’s story and scheme and faction in your game’s world, and probably more trouble than it’s worth to have visualized even very many of them. The only reason to prepare at all is because you think it’ll help you sell the illusion betterOr at least, in a way that’s more fun to play.<\/span><\/p>\n

Similarly, in many games, the only reason to follow the rules in nine cases is to cover up the tenth where you don’t.<\/p>\n

Let’s say a group is playing an old, busted system that none of the players understand well. It’s one of those old overcomplicated overdesigned beaters with a different arcane rule for every situation. A situation emerges: the player characters are trying to sneak across the city and the GM has to resolve whether they’re caught by the city guards or make it to their destination, the city gates, undetected.<\/p>\n

Now let’s say:<\/p>\n

The GM picks up percentile dice, rolls. Flips directly to and studies a particular page of the rulebook. “Looks like nobody spotted you. So you guys arrive at the gates…”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Or:<\/p>\n

The GM stares blankly. “Hang on.” Flips through to the table of contents. Flips through a few pages. Lets players talk amongst themselves. “Tum, tum, tum…no? Maybe in Chapter 9?” Finds correct table. Rolls, looks something else up. Rolls again. “Oh…kay…yeah, looks like nobody spotted you. I think. Yes. So, the gates…”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

What’s the difference between these two GMs? The first GM’s players didn’t have much opportunity to reflect on their situation, since the stealth check was resolved quickly and seemingly fairly. Inasmuch as it left an impression it’s that the GM is informed and can probably be trusted to apply the rules knowledgeably and fairly in the future. The second GM’s players had a little more time to reflect on the situation. They’ll probably think well of the GM for taking the time to make sure the rules are applied correctly, but the pause also strained the illusion of the GM’s knowledge a little, which might lead them to question other rulings down the line.<\/p>\n

All because GM #2 had to stop and look up some rules–while GM #1, who in this example also did not know the rules<\/em>, picked up some dice and flipped to a random page and faked it. Because in this situation, preserving the illusion and keeping the game moving was more important than being strictly fair.<\/p>\n

You won’t find many game books that have the guts to tell GMs “sometimes you should straight-up hoodwink your players.” And yes–sometimes, maybe even often, you really shouldn’t. Sometimes you should take your time and be fair. I’ve run entire campaigns where I’ve refused to fudge dice rolls, rules, or encounters like GM#1 did above because I knew the players had their hearts set on absolute rules objectivity–whether the rules made sense or not, whether it made a good story or not. And if you’re caught out in a rules mistakeAs I’ll explain later, you’ll never be caught in a story mistake, because contradictions are just twists you didn’t plan yet<\/span>, you should absolutely <\/em>admit it. But most of the time, the illusion of being knowledgeable is more important than actually being knowledgeable–and players will get more into a game that seems <\/em>to be run diligently than a game that actually is but appears shakier.<\/p>\n

There’s one last point I’d like to make, one that partially explains why I feel comfortable “leaking” this. Because like a crowd at a magic show, your players want <\/em>to be fooled. The illusion is a big part of why they showed up–it’s the chance to elevate their in-character actions to something meaningful. Even if they’ve run a thousand games themselves and know the score they’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, whenever possible, that whatever feature of your world or system they’re interacting with is something you have a satisfyingly complete knowledge of and authority over. And if you do screw up–relax. Admitting the occasional mistake, stopping to look something up, and clearly having to stop and think something through are all fine and natural parts of the game. If you ever break the illusion, all you need to get it back is time, effort, and goodwill. Only consistently mean-spirited, petty, or thoughtless GMs suppress their illusions for good.<\/p>\n

No exercises for this chapter. Round table for GMs: Have you ever tricked your players into believing you planned something when it was an accident? Have you ever ignored a die roll that the players couldn’t see–and if you did, why?<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Last week I explained the basic principle of GMing: above all else, and whenever possible, give your players something to do. Give them problems to solve, environments to explore, and opportunities to show off their character’s strengths and quirks and you’re well on your way to running an entertaining session. Today I’m going to explain […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-31939","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-tabletop-games"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31939","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=31939"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31939\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=31939"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=31939"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.shamusyoung.com\/twentysidedtale\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=31939"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}