Menus Aid Character Creation

For me character creation is like ordering from a menu. People have some idea what they want to play or eat, and a menu helps them decide exactly what they order in the context of the game or restaurant. Character creation is an essential step in playing in a roleplaying game, just as ordering food is a required part of enjoying a meal at a restaurant. The process isn’t the main endeavor but a necessary prelude. The sooner one creates a character or orders food, the sooner one moves on to the primary and more fulfilling activity.

I prefer game rules that easily allow me to teach newcomers, both experienced gamers trying a new system and complete novices to roleplaying games as a whole. Although I usually rely on basic pre-generated characters when running games at conventions, when starting a new group (either as a gamemaster or player myself) I prefer a relatively easy character creation process. Like ordering food at a good restaurant, menus aid that process.

I like restaurants with simple menus. That doesn’t necessarily mean the food isn’t good or the meals simplistic; it means the restaurant focuses on a few really excellent dishes, enough that my choices fit on one or two pages. I can peruse a brief, well-organized menu and find something I like so I can get on with the enjoyment of the meal and those with whom I’m sharing it. Many family style franchise restaurants have menus with multiple, full-color pages splattered with loud typefaces and tempting photographs of various menu items. Nobody has time to comprehend all that information and make an informed choice based on their tastes and appetites, especially with some harried waiter pestering your table for its orders.

Menus help us connect what a restaurant offers with what we as diners desire based on our tastes and appetite. Too much information presented on too many pages with too many loud typefaces and photographs distracts us from making an informed decision and thus threatens the enjoyment of our overall dining experience.

Like a good restaurant menu, an effective character creation menu -- at least for my gaming tastes -- remains concise yet varied. I prefer character creation systems to have a few basic choices, well organized like a menu, that help me order up something I’ll enjoy playing in the game. Certainly some gamers prefer tomes of character creation rules and options, with massive lists of feats from which to customize their heroes. This approach characterizes a certain style of game that often proves daunting to newcomers to the adventure gaming hobby. Although I myself once dove head-first into vast tomes of game rules, as I get older and find myself with less time to both learn and play new games. I’m drifting toward easier game engines with shorter start-up times and lower learning curves; much of that boils down to a streamlined yet meaningful character creation system.

I love the D6 System, especially as presented in the classic Star Wars Roleplaying Gameby West End Games. It was among the first innovative, skill-based game engines to allow players to choose a general character template -- in this case based on a stereotype from the Star Warsfilms -- customize it by adding a few dice to boost some characteristic skills, and dive into playing. While this isn’t a menu per se, it helps illustrate my affinity for a quick and easy character creation systems with a basic yet expandable core game mechanic.

Two relatively recent games -- Old School Hack and Dungeon World -- exemplify for me the furthest refinement of putting everything one needs for character creation right on the character sheet…and they both manage part of it using menus. (I’m sure other roleplaying games out there embrace the simplicity and clarity of this menu technique, whether on the character sheet itself or in character creation rules and class descriptions, but I’m focusing on two I’ve recently enjoyed.)

Old School Hack -- a retro-clone, dungeon-delving style game -- describes each iconic fantasy class on single-page sheets, complete with a list of exceptional “talents” (special abilities) from which players can choose. Players essentially use a character sheet to record specifics of their character and reference the class sheet for class-specific game rules. Using Old School Hack’s  “awesome point” mechanic during gameplay, players can spend points to activate talents they haven’t yet gained, making easy reference to class talents important in showing that class’ potential. The game’s overall presentation works extremely well for referencing rules, with each page serving almost as a player or gamemaster handout presenting rather clearly all the rules on a given subject.

I recently had a chance to play an early version of Dungeon World -- a “hack” of the popular Apocalypse Worldthat uses a very similar approach -- which goes one step further and puts everything one needs on one, double-sided, class-based character sheet. Aside from the stats, this includes a multiple-choice menu of sorts from which players check off elements for their character. I went into the game session knowing I tend to play dwarven fighters in fantasy roleplaying games. I picked the fighter from the available classes; one of my first choices was “race,” so I checked off “dwarf” and noted any special rules or “moves” allowed by that choice. “Alignment” was also one of the first categories, with each choice including a short description of how that related to one’s class. My “starting moves” included several actions exclusive to fighters, but then a menu-driven “signature weapon” move that allowed me to customize my dwarf’s axe with a few special abilities. Determining one’s gear also used a menu checklist with certain limitations. The sheet even included appropriate lists from which to choose names and aspects of one’s appearance (which inevitably led to numerous jokes about the paladin’s stunning hair).

Both games remove the element of referencing character elements from the rulebook and put it right on the character sheet itself, streamlining things further by employing menus to some degree.

These games illustrate an extreme of sorts. Rather than sending players into vast tomes of character creation rules and options, they concisely list a representative menu of options players can choose on class-oriented character sheets. Like most of my choices in game design, my tendencies lean toward some middle ground closer to the more beginner-friendly technique rather than one extreme or the other. While putting every option in a menu on the character sheet is a bit more than I prefer in my own game design endeavors, it proves the effectiveness of clearly and concisely providing character creation rules and options in one place (even if still in a rulebook).

The Hobbit as Fantasy Resource

I’ve finished reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic The Hobbit to my toddler son -- for the second time -- as part of his bedtime routine. Over the course of two recent readings I’ve realized how many traditional fantasy roleplaying game elements emerge from this particular classic, a far more concise and straightforward vision of Tolkien’s Middle-earth setting than his other works.

Certainly inspiration for fantasy roleplaying games existed well before The Hobbit’s publication in 1937. Tolkien drew on a rich heritage of European folktales that still permeates much of Western collective consciousness. My examination of The Hobbit’s inspiration isn’t meant to challenge the efficacy of Appendix N of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Masters Guide, or its equivalent “Inspiration Source Material” list in my beloved Moldvay-edition Basic Dungeons & Dragons rulebook through which many entered the hobby in the early 1980s (arguably the “Golden Age of Roleplaying”). Many sources influenced Gygax, Arneson, and their contemporaries who forged early concepts of roleplaying games. The Hobbit seems to have earned a place in mainstream fantasy literature as both an accessible and culturally ubiquitous work compared to other stories.

The Hobbit reinforces certain literary themes and illustrates them in one of the earliest and most popular medieval-fantasy settings. Thorin and company embark on a quest typical of many launched in past folklore and literature. Individual episodes lead across a greater story arc toward the ultimate goal, with heroes facing and overcoming challenges and ultimately evolving over the course of the journey. Themes of good versus evil, suspicion of others, and the overarching theme of treasure-inspired greed (felt by nearly everyone, from Thorin and the dwarves to the Elvenking, the Master of Lake-town, the goblin and warg army, and even Bard on some levels) also blanket the book.

But in reading The Hobbit one cannot fail to see core stereotypes beyond the basic literary tropes, elements now taken for granted in fantasy roleplaying games:

Fantasy Races: Arguably the stereotypical fantasy races of elves and dwarves have existed in various forms throughout European folklore, though Tolkien refines these for a medieval fantasy setting with specific examples within the depth of the novel. He reinforces such stereotypes as elves as nature-loving, graceful creatures and dwarves as greedy, conspiratorial warriors concerned only with honor and treasure. Perhaps Tolkien’s greatest contribution is that of hobbits, or “halfling” as translated to a more generic, non-copyright-infringing term. Although he establishes a very particular, cozy vision of hobbits, Tolkien offers up an entirely new “little race” fantasy roleplaying has embellished into a more generic adventurer type on equal footing with elves and dwarves.

Maps: Not only does The Hobbit use maps to orient readers to a strange new fantasy world and enable them to follow Thorin and company’s progress across “Wilderland,” but a map with magical moon letters forms the focus of the quest and the essential clue to opening the secret door leading to the dragon’s hoard. I’m no expert on fantasy literature, so I can’t say whether earlier works of medieval fantasy included maps that have, since The Hobbit, become almost required for any such novel creating a new world. While the dungeon map remains a unique byproduct of hack-and-slash roleplaying games, wilderness maps form the basis for many game settings, from Greyhawk to the Forgotten Realms and beyond.

Enchantment: Magic items have a long provenance in mythology, but Tolkien takes them one step further, putting them in the hands of more mundane heroes like Bilbo Baggins (though more heroic figures like Thorin and Gandalf use them, too). Numerous scenes in The Hobbit illustrate how such enchanted items operate, both their inherent magical qualities (the elven swords’ glow in the presence of goblins) and their secondary effects (fueling the goblins’ rage at seeing elven weapons). Enchantments aren’t simply tied to items like swords and rings, but to places as well; Elrond’s home at Rivendell and Beorn’s house seem to have restorative qualities for those staying there, and the infamous stream in Mirkwood befuddles those exposed to its waters with forgetfulness and weariness.

Treasure: Apart from the magical treasure Thorin and company discover along the way to the Lonely Mountain, the acquisition of the dragon’s hoard and the subsequent bickering over it between the dwarves, elves, and men reinforces the book’s theme of greed and provides a launching point for the importance of treasure and its equitable division in roleplaying games. Several iconic pieces of artwork (at least from the Moldvay-edition of the Basic/Expert Dungeons & Dragons rules) illustrate this concept of characters bickering over treasure; though it isn’t written into the rules, such disputes have no doubt fueled inter-character (and possibly inter-player) feuds at the gaming table.

Given how Tolkien drew on familiar European myth and folklore it’s no surprise he uses many elements fantasy roleplaying games adopted from those sources in different forms: not-so-powerful magic-users as Gandalf (though, technically, Gandalf is far more of a wizard in the greater Middle-earth setting); a party of adventurers going on a quest; and the bevy of monsters including goblins, spiders, dragons, were-bears, giants, and trolls (though more the Scandinavian type than the gangly, regenerating D&D type). The line between what Tolkien used from the collective consciousness of Western folklore and original elements that ultimately found their way into fantasy roleplaying games is, admittedly, quite gray and blurred; but The Hobbit developed key tropes that ultimately influenced adventure gaming and still informs it today. The novel continues serving as a gateway into fantasy literature and thus fantasy roleplaying games.

The Allure of Dice in Fantasy Games

Gamers love dice, especially those used in fantasy roleplaying games, which have from their inception relied on the intriguingly shaped polyhedral d4, d8, d10, d12, and d20…and, of course, the mundane d6. Aside from the oddity and allure of the strangely shaped polyhedral dice, they often receive obsessive attention from some gamers, whose fascination ranges from collecting interestingly colored dice and finding just the right dice bag (or other container) all the way to sequestering “special” dice they believe gives them some advantage in play (despite their random nature).

Rolling dice -- whether a single die or a handful -- possesses some enchantment in the primitive parts of gamers’ minds that hints at magical divination (technically cleromancy, fortune-telling by casting lots, bones, stones, or other randomizers through which a divine entity or fate itself reveals its intention). Hovering over the dice, counting their results with a combination of anxious anticipation and potential triumph, remains one of the core components of roleplaying games, particularly those of the “old school” that employ polyhedral dice. For fantasy roleplaying gamers casting the dice determines the fate of our characters; the act literally becomes a form of divination that actually manifests aspects of “reality” within the game for a player’s hero.

I’ve enjoyed some indie narrative roleplaying games, though they’re not really within the scope of my design interests. As a gamer steeped in the time-honored tradition of dice-based roleplaying games -- and one who discovered the hobby through the venerable Basic Dungeons & Dragonsand its slowly disintegrating soft-plastic polyhedral dice -- I’m reluctant to completely abandon dice in games (despite my inclination toward more rules light systems than heavy complexity mechanics). Dice remain an integral part of roleplaying games constantly seeking balance with the equally essential storytelling elements.

Polyhedral Pantheon or Six-Siders?

In developing a fantasy roleplaying game with an original system -- something combining elements of the old-school retro-clones with a framework to more easily introduce a younger generation to gaming -- I’m facing a dice dilemma: do I try incorporating the old-school inclination toward the full range of polyhedral dice or do I focus on six-sided dice for their familiarity to newcomers and their greater availability?

In exploring this question I balance my fondness for enthralling polyhedral dice against the realities of familiarity and accessibility. Few kids exploring gaming on their own -- without the tutelage of a gamer-geek parent who, presumably, owns hordes of dice -- know what a d8 or d20 is or looks like, nor would they know where to find them. Other newcomers face the same “dice literacy” challenge. Most have six-sided dice around the house somewhere in now-archaic analog board games, though as technology relentlessly marches forward such relics may soon become lost as digital die-rolling applications become more widespread for personal computers and smart phones.

So I’m moving forward with development of a core rules mechanic based on the most mundane of all the polyhedral dice. A single d6 won’t satisfy the depth of play I’m seeking; I’m looking at using multiple dice to reflect the character’s experience (“level” for those of you who recall I’m integrating old-school elements into my project). With this choice I face a new challenge of re-invigorate the boring old d6 with some of the fascination associated with the “casting the bones” aspect of dice in roleplaying games.

Sum or Successes?

“Reading” the dice and interpreting the results often boils down to two methods. Do gamers roll the dice and add the resulting values numerically, or do the numbers translate to successes and failures (or some other effect)? The first one seems more intuitive -- dice have numbers, so when rolling one or several the player naturally want to add them all up -- yet the latter method allows for some interpretation within the scope of the game.

My first involvement with a success system was with West End Games’ Hercules & Xena Roleplaying Game and with HeroQuest, produced jointly by Milton Bradley and Games Workshop. The core mechanic of each game required a multiple-dice roll in which one tallied the number of successes showing on the dice faces. In Hercules & Xena’s Legend System D6 variant four die faces showed successes (chakrams) and two failures (hydra heads). Each die pool roll also included a “wild die” with a critical hit (a lightning bolt of Zeus…an exploding success) and a critical failure (the eye of Hera) much like the “wild die” mechanic introduced in the second edition of West End’s Star Wars Roleplaying Game; rolling an exceptional success allowed that die to count one success and then was rolled again, with the critical failure either negating one success or causing a catastrophic failure.

In HeroQuest the die results depended on the action: three faces showed skulls representing hits, two displayed shields for hero defense, and one sported a monster-faced shield for creature defense. Additional supplements for the game added dice with different faces for various other rolls, but the core mechanic worked well for most situations in the basic game, primarily combat.

Both games provided special dice with theme-appropriate faces, though one could easily assign results to numerical die faces on regular six-sided dice (an alternative clearly provided in the Hercules & Xena Roleplaying Game).

In both cases players rolled dice and then examined the results not for a sum of die-face values but for a tally of certain results -- each weighted by its frequency on the die faces -- with the presence of more than one favorable result determining base success and in some cases the degree of success. This preserves some mystique of “reading” the dice, even if they’re still only six-sided; rolling a handful of dice to represent skill (the more skill, the more dice rolled) enables a broader spectrum of results and offers room for growth through experience.

Interpreting the Dice

To add to the allure of the dice in the game I’m developing each hero gains a few special abilities, some of which allow them to interpret the dice results differently. The inspiration for this comes from my limited exposure to and understanding of Cheapass Games’ Button Men game, in which players use various dice and their rolled values for different combat effects; in the mechanics of Button Men, players roll a pool of polyhedral dice unique to their character and use the resulting values to eliminate the opponent’s dice and thus win fights.

In the system I’m developing for the retro-clone, newcomer-appropriate fantasy roleplaying game I’m toying with the idea of having one die pool roll determine both attack success as well as defense. This reflects one reality that a high-scoring attack limits the amount of defense one can offer opponents, and the more one tries to defend, the less effective his attack becomes. One die face would provide a “wild” result heroes can interpret differently depending on certain special abilities they choose during character creation. For instance, the heavy weapons specialty would allow a hero using such a weapon to count any “wild” results as “hits.” Some abilities allow players to use defend results as hits or convert hits in combat into defend results.

In examining the allure dice have for gamers, I’ve managed to resolve several issues surrounding the core resolution mechanic for my roleplaying game project. All I need now is some time to hammer that out into some kind of viable playtest material to see how it works in actual play. Stay tuned for further developments….

Children’s Programming at Conventions

I’ve been to a number of game and fan conventions in my time, ranging from the granddaddy of them all, GenCon, all the way to small regional conventions and game days. While many of them have occasionally tried incorporating programs specifically for kids of varying age groups, I’ve rarely seen smaller conventions manage such offerings on a consistently successful scale.

As the father of a future gamer geek and media fan I always hope the Little Guy will have opportunities soon to experiment in the realm of geeky pursuits (he’s almost three years old, so we’re slowly approaching the point where I can start introducing elements of fandom). As a game aficionado and designer I hope to cultivate a new, younger generation as an audience. Conventions offer opportunities for gamers and fans to bond in person over their favorite subjects. For those with children, attending a convention sometimes forces a choice between going alone or taking the entire family, including the kids; this poses some logistical as well as the expected financial challenges. I’ve seen programs at conventions for disinterested spouses, or offerings of borderline geek pursuits that might interest spouses (such as knitting); but adult spouses can take care of themselves if left alone at a con…kids cannot.

Larger conventions like GenCon and Origins can (and should) offer children’s programming tracks; they have a broad base of volunteers and available space for such events that cater to a growing population among their general con attendees. Smaller conventions, however, face more challenges in providing kid-friendly programming. They have far more limited resources in volunteers, space, and materials. Some have more limited themes -- like miniature wargaming conventions -- that don’t lend themselves to broad children’s programming.

I’ve seen one-shot game sessions specifically geared toward older kids, generally between eight and twelve years old…basic tank combat games and most any Wings of War/Glory event come to mind. I’m encouraged by small conventions like HAVOC, which actively recruits gamemasters to run kid-friendly games. Some convention games openly encourage young people to participate, though usually with a parent or other mentor. These events offer older children a chance to explore their parents’ strange hobbies, with or without their parents hovering over them, but they don’t and can’t appeal to much younger children.

Children’s programming outside the normal scope of normal convention activities takes quite a bit more effort than simply running a game or two suitable for kids. Involving younger children, even with the participation of their parents (a given, in my book), opens convention organizers up to individual parent’s criticisms over what’s acceptable for their kids. I also appreciate such programs carry with them inherent liabilities and insurance risks. Having volunteers in the child-care industry might help properly plan activities and provide some degree of professionalism to ensure success.

I’d love to hear more about successful children’s programming at game and fan conventions. For now, based on my limited observations and experience, I offer a few suggestions convention organizers might wish to explore in creating programming suitable for kids.

Ground Rules: Any children’s programming should incorporate a few basic guidelines. Areas away from the loud hustle and bustle of the con might best serve younger kids easily overwhelmed by a convention’s many activities. Make sure parents know any program, for whatever length, isn’t a babysitting service (much as they’d like one); be clear a parent is expected to participate in activities. To help insure success advertise and promote children’s programming in advance to make sure people know they can bring their kids; for some this may make the difference between one person and an entire family attending the convention.

Movie Room: Many fan conventions have a dedicated screening room for showing genre films, anime, and other relevant fare. Conventions might program child-appropriate films during the morning or afternoon, or have a separate kid-oriented (and parent-friendly) video room. Yes, perhaps kids might just go here to veg out (preferably with their parents), but it might offer a short break amidst all the convention’s writhing chaos. For those with toddlers it might prove a nice place to sit down and watch television or interact with their peers until they calm down and doze off for a nap.

Storytime: Younger kids (2-5) might enjoy storytime with an engaging reader and geek-related children’s books. The format many local libraries use could work well with this age group; storybook reading alternated with sing-alongs or dances, with a coloring session or free play at the end.

Make & Take: Offer simple craft activities with geeky themes, depending on the age level. Make a paper toy or folded paper airplane. Color a simple stuffed doll with markers. Create (or simply color) a basic board game. I’m a fan of the Made By Joel website which offers many great craft ideas for younger children.

Games: Offer age-appropriate games for kids. Younger ones might simply enjoy a free-play session with toys, instruments, or empty boxes. One can purchase cardboard castles, playhouses, and pirate ships adults can assemble and kids can color and play within. With enough space simple group playground games might work. Older kids might appreciate playing typical children’s board game fare; oversized games might captivate kids and avoid the use of small parts younger children might wish to stick in their mouths.

These are just a few suggestions and ideas based on my own experiences as a father, gamer, and convention attendee; I’m in no way an expert, but seek to foster a discussion on the subject with an eye toward seeing more kid-friendly programming, from single events to entire tracks of activities, for children of con-goers not yet able to fully participate in their parents’ geeky interests.