(Painting by René Magritte)

This rant of a blogpost was inspired by Full Metal RPG Episode 57 – “Heather, 5^th Edition Vampire the Masquerade, Vampire the Requiem, Omega Zone Review.”

(You should check out FMRPG, they’re fucking rad)

I’ll start this philosophical bullshit with a strange question:

If we can play pretend for free and at any moment we choose, why bother paying a clerk in paper or electronic trust to deliver a packaged experience made by some far distant organization of people?

Plainspeak: Why bother buying RPG books when you can make it up yourself for free?

I see at least 4 great reasons: 1) people who write/create collaboratively for a living are more likely to create excellent content, 2) To have an agreed upon common language (aka rules/setting/character options), 3) to feel a sense of belonging to the group that uses this same common language, and 4) to commiserate with afterwards (between games) with people who speak the same common language.

We buy rule books because that’s the cost of entry into the gaming club. When players and game masters have rules to go by they have a social currency they can agree on, comprehend, and adhere to. It leads to an experience that can be repeated again and again, across the globe, regardless of personalities or circumstances.  It offers consistency, predictability, and comfort. It also offers a sense of belonging.

Twice in one week I was out in public with the common rabble of my fellow humans and I was called out for wearing symbols emblematic of my hobby interests. Someone spotted my d20 spinner ring and asked if I played D&D. Someone else spotted my “Lake Geneva Games” t-shirt and asked where I got it and if I knew any good places for people to run a game of D&D. The effect of both interactions was a surge of dopamine in my brain and a flash of smiling recognition. I immediately knew something about these people and they knew something about me. By no means was this a complete recognition, we might have argued over religion or politics or whether or not Dark Side of The Moon was the quintessential Pink Floyd album, but we had at least the common ground of Dungeons and Dragons and all that entails.

Without me wearing symbols of my interests and without companies creating rule books and people purchasing these products these moments would have never happened. I would know nothing of my connection to a wider world and human moments of empathy would have been lost.

A club can be used to fulfill the human need for belonging, or it can be used to bludgeon an “other” over the head because they don’t belong.

At their core, clubs and labels fulfill our brains innate desire to rationally comprehend the world around us. Flooded with sensory input from the external world as well as our own internal thoughts, in order to function we need to prioritize and compartmentalize information. If we refuse to do this or perhaps if our brains cannot do this for some physiological reason, we will quickly find ourselves unable to relate or cope with day to day modern human life.

Language itself is compartmentalized information. If we didn’t have language we could not express ourselves and meet our basic needs. I don’t see people scrambling to create a language revolution where we return to the good ol’ days of grunts and pointing. But people perennially love to discuss the oppression of labels and clubs. Personally, I think we’re having the wrong discussion. The oppression we should really be talking about is human cruelty. The insufferable insanity of crowds and mob mentality. The ever present evil of blindly following orders. The cults of personality and devotion that lead ordinary people to defend the honor and image of people they have never even met. Labels and clubs are not to blame for how people may misuse them.

I find it amusing that a podcast (FMRPG) that refers to its loyal audience as “cultists” recently discussed the sins of labels and clubs. This dramatic irony will not be lost on my friend Brendan of FMRPG. This isn’t me saying he’s a fool and a charlatan. I just like giving him shit. (I will admit, it’s easy for me to sit here and dissect and create points and counterpoints when I have the luxury of pausing and replaying the conversation on the podcast.)

The following is a brief transcription of the discussion in question (between timestamps 1:08:13 –  1:11:41)

Heather: “My biggest problem with vampire games is the way that they make you have to be in some kind of club…Why do vampires have to be in their own little clubs and fight each other?”

Brendan: “I think V5 acknowledges that…life doesn’t just get boiled down to what weird little group you’re in. I think that was a major failing of the original Masquerade material…it started out being this edgy different thing, ‘oh I get to choose a clan, and I’m part of a sect’ and these ideas of belonging that had never been expressed in roleplaying up till that point, felt very new and very fresh. But by the time you hit ’97 through ’99 people were starting to talk about ‘oh that character is the way they are because (and they would cite clan or cite sect).’ And then they started doing what I consider even more heinous things saying ‘this character can’t be because of clan or sect’ ‘Oh that characters not Brujah, Brujah would never be like that!’” (Alignment arguments anyone?)

Brendan: “This idea that you can break everything down into these finer and finer subgroups is actually destructive to creativity. It’s destructive to the way that games get played where everybody is always trying to analyze everything…what little nook can I slot you into?”

I agree with Heather and Brendan, but listening to the discussion I had my own thoughts I wanted to elucidate here. In my opinion it’s not clubs or labels that’s the real problem. What’s really to blame in these egregious situations is simply people being fucking shitheads.

I see where they’re coming from. I have been privy to conversations where people are diametrically opposed to what I believe or what I participate in. I have been “the other” in arguments that is bashed over the head with ideology and labels. I have bucked labels and tried to redefine myself. But in the end, all these years later, I realize how narrow my perspective was, and that I myself was conforming to just another set of rules and ideology. It’s like the person who says they want to rebel against society and its ideals of what is and isn’t acceptable and they purchase all their clothes from Hot Topic. It’s missing the point entirely.

The real point, as I see it, is that human beings can think stupidly and act outright disgusting to one another. When I was in high school I was abhorred that the “popular kids” started liking System of A Down. I didn’t want them joining my own edgy anti-establishment club of cool kids. Shouldn’t I have been happy that the band was succeeding in reaching a wider audience? Shouldn’t I have been using this common ground as an entryway for further understanding and empathy with my peers? Couldn’t I have just let it go and not be concerned with finding fault in others? Sure. But I wanted to throw a temper tantrum over what other people could and could not like based on my own prejudices.

“Oh you can’t play with us because you’re a (insert label here).” I’ve recently learned a little bit about this going on in the gaming community at large. I learned that we even have a label for this labeling. “Gatekeeping.” Keeping out people from a fandom or a hobby by direct or indirect means. This kind of behavior or language disgusts me. I want everyone to feel the rush of excitement I get when the final blow is struck with a critical hit against the Big Bad. I want everyone to feel welcome at my table and find a bit of solace from the too often confusing and chaotic real world. Not everyone needs to like what I like and everyone can find their own fun. Just don’t find your fun at the expense of others. Don’t be a wangrod to prove you’re right and others are wrong.

In summary: we need labels and rules and clubs to have a functioning society and in order for gaming to even happen in the first place. Just don’t be a fucking dick at/around/about the games we play. Fuck off with that shit.

Step 1: We admitted our Players were beyond our control and completely unmanageable.

This is only 50% a joke. If you’ve Dungeon Mastered any group ever, you’ll see why this isn’t wholly a joke. It’s a lot like herding cats. While theoretically possible, more often than not it is practically impossible. You want them to go right? They’ll go left with an attitude. You plan for 6 rooms? They only get through 3. You want deep intrigue and role-play? They’ll spend three hours shopping and just being dicks to poor defenseless merchants. The less you try to control outcomes, the simpler your life will be. The more you merely react to their actions, the happier the table as a whole will be.

 

Step 2: We came to believe that a DM greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Inevitably, you will turn to the internet for answers. You will Tweet Chris Perkins, or read up on Sage Advice. You will listen to podcasts. You will watch Youtube videos. You will rant to Reddit, and you will talk to those you trust. “There has to be a better way,” you think, “If only I was better at this shit.” You start to see and hear experiences of happier, less frustrated DMs. Maybe there’s hope for you and your group after all.

 

Step 3: We made a decision to turn our stories and our craft over to the care of DUNGEON MASTERING as we understood it.

We know we have it in us. We know that this energy flows through the table when things are clicking. We’ve felt that electricity when we are brought to tears in character, when the whole table holds their breath on a single die roll. We have seen the greatness of gaming at our own table and the tables of others. We know that despite all our fears and failings, through all the drudgery of bad sessions, and all the times we ended disappointed, the love of the shared story keeps us going, keeps us prepping, keeps us dreaming up the next great campaign. This is the turning point. When we decide if we are Dungeon Masters or merely Players. When we decide to keep going, to listen better, to speak with confidence, to tell better stories, to be the best we can be.

Step 4: We made a fearless inventory of what we’re good at, and what we’re not.

Not everyone can act out NPC voices. Not everyone can craft unique and challenging puzzles. Not everyone can think strategically in combat. After all, there’s only one DM brain versus all those players. First try out a little of everything. Try character voices until it no longer feels goofy. Paint miniatures until their eyes aren’t googly. Read stat blocks till you find the hidden mechanics. Write descriptions till you don’t hate them. Then look back, take stock, and be honest with yourself. What’s your strongest tool? What’s your weakest link? Lean in to what you’re good at, and don’t try too hard with something you’re not proficient with.

Step 5: We admitted to ourselves and our players the exact nature of our wrongs.

If you made a bad call and you think you fucked up. Say it. Don’t hold it in. Your players will forgive you. And if they don’t, well, you need a new table because you were playing with assholes. We will make mistakes. That’s where we learn the most. I will personally never forget the one time I guessed the damage WAY wrong, and I let a single Ballista Bolt take out a Red Dragon. It was so painfully anticlimactic. I will never make that mistake again. And then there was the time I rolled initiative for 20 different Orc pirates on a ship and 10 different drunken Dwarven brawlers. Another time I did a round by round breakdown of a 2,000+ foot drop. You can’t know better ways to do things if you don’t do them horribly at least once. Cop to it. Learn. Move on.

Step 6: We became entirely ready for time and practice to remove our defects of DMing.

The only way to get better is to fail and do better next time. You will forget rules. You will wish you had not pulled punches in a combat encounter. You will fumble through endless notes looking for the details of an NPC you know are fucking somewhere. You gotta let that shit go. Do the best you can, and just like dice, roll with it.

Step 7: We humbly asked our players to help us improve our games.

When a session seems flat, or players seem disinterested, you have the power to ask for feedback. To poll your audience. Make adjustments based on their feedback and try to incorporate their ideas with your own. The more you do, the less work you will needlessly need. The more everyone will have more fun. A simple conversation may seem scary at times, but boy can it cut through the bullshit and wasted energy to just lay it all out on the table.

Step 8: We made lists of all the NPCs the PC’s had harmed and became willing to take revenge for them all.

Don’t just let things happen. Think of consequences for all their theft. Think of people who are jealous of all their gold coins. Think of people who want to spit in their faces for bringing death and destruction into their small town. We don’t play tabletop role-playing games so we can reload every dialog tree until we get the ending we wanted. We play tabletop role-playing games for that amazing sense of depth and consequence, the verisimilitude of a living breathing world. That feeling that “oh shit, once we do this, there’s no going back.” Don’t let those moments go unused. They can be glorious.

Step 9: We made direct revenge wherever possible, except when to do so would render the plot stupid and convoluted.

Not all bad guys know each other and work together in neat hierarchies of evil. Not everyone is part of the same massive crime syndicate that everyone knows but nobody can stop. Cut that shit out. There’s plenty of room at any table for diverse and varied villainy. Mix it up and bring them back only when it makes sense, if ever.

Step 10: We continued to take inventory, and when our rulings were petty we promptly admitted it.

Don’t make creatures auto-hit because you’re mad that the Paladin’s Aura of Protection gives everyone a +5 to all Saving Throws. Don’t punish your players because their characters are bad-ass or their hard work got them to where they are. Don’t take away Magic Items once you’ve given them. If things are going in unforeseen directions, follow that unknown path. In the words of Bear Grylls “Adapt, Improvise, Overcome.” If your PCs are strong you just need stronger monsters. Follow that murder-train until it’s the last stop. Just don’t take it personally when your Big Bad dies in one round. You’ve trained your Players to new heights of excellence. Be a proud Dungeon Master. Be a fan of their characters.

Step 11: We sought through prep-time and medias to improve our conscious craft of DUNGEON MASTERING as we understood it, praying that when the Players turned the plot we carried it out plausibly.

They will go often the beaten path. Follow them. React in ways consistent with the game world you have been creating together. Think of the game when not at the table. Research on Youtube, film, T.V., videogames, and anything else that strikes your fancy. Inspiration can come from the most unlikely of places. Bring it back to the table and share the hidden gems you’ve found in your travels.

Step 12: Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other DMs and practice these principles in all of our sessions.

I wish back in 1999 there were Youtube tutorials to watch. I wish I had an older brother who played D&D and taught me how the fuck THAC0 works. I wish there was Adventurer’s League in my hometown. I wish that Roll20 and digital tabletops allowed people to play across any distance on the globe. Today, in this new golden renaissance of tabletop gaming, there are more opportunities than ever. The internet, Twitch, PDF downloads, and increased societal acceptance have revolutionized the game. Go forth and play. And share your stories with each other.

Splinter is an RPG by End Transmission Games that I picked up a year ago at Gen Con 50 in 2017. I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame because of the conceit of the game. You play a “Player” in a dystopian future Earth where all of human society revolves around watching “The Game.” Equal parts Pro-Sports/Game-Show/Reality T.V. The Game is live (and recorded) broadcasts of Players porting into an infinite virtual reality world called The Splinter, controlling native inhabitants as their Avatars, and engaging in exploring this massive fantasy world.

Splinter (the RPG) has a lot of really unique and interesting hooks for players and game masters to sink their teeth into. Unfortunately, sometimes in the core book there’s shards of poorly written and disorganized spastic thoughts that catch in your throat like broken glass. So here I am, compelled to share with you my thoughts about this great (and also terrible) rpg hidden gem.

It starts out great on the back cover: “YOU ARE THE PLAYER. Earth, 2471 AS. The only thing that matters is The Game. As a Player- a trained Professional or a conscripted Amateur- you Port into The Splinter with an audience of millions watching your every move. In a VR mega-dungeon of infinite size, you will struggle in conflicts dire, for your very life, and for the entertainment of the masses.”

And then: “YOU ARE THE AVATAR. The natives of The Splinter – taken by Players as their Avatars – don’t know it’s an ultra-violent spectator sport for Earth. To them, The Splinter is the True Realm: an ever-expanding, ever-changing, mega-dungeon labyrinth. The inhabitants of the Splinter are as strange as their environment: powerful shapeshifters gifted with the power to alter reality through will alone.”

And finally: “ON DYSTOPIAN EARTH, only the rich and famous can afford personal freedoms. And the only way to get famous is to put on the best show you can…or die trying. IN THE SPLINTER, everything’s out to kill you. Even your fellow Avatars. And when you die in the Splinter, you die on Earth. WILL YOU KILL YOUR WAY TO SUPERSTARDOM, OR WIND UP A SMEAR ON SOMEONE ELSE’S HIGHLIGHT REEL?”

fuck-ing-COOL. You got me. Shut up and take my money. This game is set in a weird world that feels like an insane mashup between Running Man, Death Race, The Matrix, Ready Player-One, Dark City, 1984, and Metalocalypse all rolled into one huge package. You have two characters, a Player and their Avatar. You get to roleplay in both sci-fi dystopia, and high magic fantasy. The two lives change and grow organically from one another. So for example a Player that develops their Earthside Strength will end up causing their Avatar to hit harder, and a popular Avatar that gets kills garnishes more Subscriber points for their Player which they can then spend on loot Earthside. And the two characters information can fit on a single 2 page character sheet (left side Player, right side Avatar). Like wtf!? This game is awesome!

Until you start to parse through the rules.

Page 1 rubbed me the wrong way:

“CAVEAT If this is your very first RPG…put this book down, play another one first, and then come back. The weirdness will be waiting.”

Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do rule-book. Tell me how to play your fucking awesome game and why I shouldn’t bother with other books. Don’t tell me I’m not smart enough for your game. Fuck you sir. BAD WRITING. TERRIBLE MARKETING. But it pissed me off enough to be determined to understand and master the “we’re too edgy for you” rules.

Then the first 18 pages are a short story. A vignette of what play could “look” like. Why? To show you how cool this game is but not tell you how to actually start playing.  Page 20 finally gives a solid setting to grasp. The Game is everything. If you don’t watch The Game you’re rebel scum. Cool. Great. HOW DO I FUCKING PLAY THIS FUCKING GAME?!

Page 24. Player Creation. Here we go again with shitty writing.

DON’T YOU MEAN CHARACTER CREATION? In most games you, the player, create a character. In this game, you, the person create a Player AND you create their Avatar, the “character” that they “play” inside the Splinter itself. Complicated? Yes. A bit of a mind screw? Definitely. But that’s the way we like it. Later on in this book, the word Player, when capitalized, in these rules refers to the character you play, who is, within the game, a Player. When we refer instead to you, we will do everything possible t make it clear; usually, we will just say “you”, not “the player”.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

1. Stop condescending your readers.
2. Stop writing things 3 different ways explaining the same fucking thing.
3. Nobody cares how fucking edgy you think you are.
4. TELL ME HOW TO PLAY YOUR FUCKING GAME.

I will momentarily stop ranting about the poorly written arrogance of the author of this rule book and tell you now why I’m excited to run the game despite all the roadblocks of syntax and posturing.

Creating a Player you have 4 Attributes that factor into everything you could possibly do. You pick Skills based on a point buy system (deliberately open-ended so you can have a Bootlicking Skill if you really wanted it). As an Amateur you probably had illegal bacon that wasn’t approved by your corporate overlords. You get conscripted into The Game as punishment. You have no money. No possessions. You only matter if you can score some Subscribers (Twitch anyone?). If you live long enough and get enough Subscribers you can port back out of The Game in one piece. Maybe eventually make enough to even get a Mansion for 7 million Credits, a sweet ride for 60,000 Credits, and complete it  all with some Barbiturates and a High Class Escort for 5,000 credits a day. Live the rich life above the scum.

But then you have to eventually port back into the Splinter. Don’t wanna lose Subscribers because you got fat, sassy, and irrelevant. Playing an Avatar you have access to incredible Tuning powers that allow you to bend and warp reality. You can shapeshift between a Man form, a Hybrid form, and a Beast form. You play in Deathmatches against other Player’s Avatars, you try your luck in Escape matches where failing to find a working Exit Port by the time limit means instant death by poison. You rise up in Subscriber Points and can improve your Avatars stats by the experiences you gained staying alive.

But the Splinter is still a massive mystery to you and your corporate sponsors. And your corporate overlords keep pushing you into even more death defying shows. Maybe Guerilla Radio is right? Maybe it’s time to use your wealth and fame to overthrow Gamescorp. Self-destruct it from the inside. But how? The Wardens, their painless masked militia, will riot shock baton you to the ground in a puddle of piss before you even get to an Executives office. You’ll have to work hard to climb the ladder before you can set the whole thing ablaze. But when you finally have all that money and all that power will you really buck the system that made you?

This is why I’m prepping a fresh new Splinter campaign for next Thursday. This is why I trudged through the sometimes tedious and opaque rules of the core book. Because it is FUCKING KICKASS. If you can exercise patience and can forgive poorly formatted writing and layouts, Splinter is well worth the price of admission. I’ll make another post after our first session.

You can download Splinter here at DriveThruRPG https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/105066/Splinter