Unhappiness

Let's move on and talk about the DM's running of characters at the table.  This is a next-to-impossible subject to undertake, given that situations of so many kinds can arise, it's hard to organise them all.  I'd like to eventually address answering questions, giving descriptions, adjudicating disagreements and awarding treasure, along with other things that may occur in the future, but today I'd like to discuss the matter of the DM bringing satisfaction to the players.

I don't want to get bogged down in the argument that it's the DM's role to ensure that the game is fun for the players, or that the player's enjoyment of the game is the DM's responsibility.  I've discussed these subjects before and on the whole, I think most people reading my blog are already of my mind where these things are concerned.

It's not possible for me to accomplish this task anyway.  I don't know the minds of my players sufficiently well to be spot on in creating moments and situations that are guaranteed to delight.  Often, something I've written off as a passing incident becomes enormously important to the players, while some moment I was sure would astound ended up fizzling.  Players are unpredictable ... and they are not of the same mind.  It's not practical to take the approach that creating the "right" sequence of events is going to create a good game.

The players must be allowed the freedom to pursue their own happiness.  They must learn to interact with one another and come to agreements about what they'd like to do collectively, without one or two members of the group being allowed to bully the others.  The DM has to wade in to settle disputes whether or not being asked to do so ... and the DM must take a position on who in the party is behaving positively vs. negatively.  Like it or not, the DM is defacto that authority in the room, and should embrace this responsibility with patience, tact and a firm ethical perspective.

Examples of positive behaviour occur when everyone in the party is fluidly discussing a situation, with each person interjecting their ideas spontaneously, without order or constant interruption.  Depending on the campaign, this may be common, rare or unseen.  Often, the possibility of such parlance occurring is thwarted by the DM imposing order as formalities and etiquette, intended to "fairly" distribute the right of speech to everyone.  While this can work to bring a chaotic party into line, it also squeezes the life out of genuine, excited discourse, where everyone wants to listen because they're more keen on what's being planned than on waiting for their turn to speak.

Negative behaviour includes players self-importantly speaking over other players, dictating the actions of other players or failing to take the wellbeing of other players into account when designing their actions.  More to the point, the real issue is not how the player plays, but rather the personality the player has ... a personality that would demonstrate itself regardless of the activity.  Thus, the DM's role is not to address the player's method of play, but to address the player's belief system.  This takes courage, a willingness to speak of things that might ordinarily be glossed over and the fortitude to take a position on matters of right and wrong behaviour.

This is something we can delve into further when discussing the settling of disputes.  I include the definitions here to explain what I mean by players pursuing their own happiness.  The game's play must include moments where the players are left to their own judgement on what to do and what they want.  They must be allowed to choose the best course of action.  Once that action is chosen, the DM must be of a mind that allows the best possibility of that action succeeding, while changing none of the precepts inherent in the situation.

Let's take two examples.  In both examples, the players have trapped an assassin, Garth, whom they have apparently at their mercy ... that is, the assassin is placed in the corner of a cellar, with four player characters between the assassin and the exit.  With the situation in place, the players are deciding whether to kill the assassin or to parley with him.

In the first example, Garth is armed with a dagger, is young, has little experience and that he's unassociated with any group or belief.  In this case, parley might be a practical alternative to killing.  Garth would likely view the circumstance as untenable, that he's lost the opportunity to assassinate the intended target and that his best chance is to negotiate and deal with the consequences thereafter.  Cave, and live to fight another day.

In the second example, Garth is armed with a dagger, is young, is a fanatic believer in the assassin's cult to which he belongs and is prepared to die rather than surrender.  To the party, this second Garth looks exactly the same as the first Garth.  The only difference is what we, as DM, have predetermined Garth's character and intent.  While listening to the players discuss the matter, we'd like to give some possibility of success if the players choose to parley, but in fact, we've already made parley an impossibility given this second Garth's outlook on the world.

This is what I mean by maintaining those precepts already in place.  The players' choice to negotiate does not automatically alter the fundamental details of the setting as they existed before the situation did.  The second Garth was always ready to die, and will attempt a last slash at the party before he goes down.  The first Garth was always ready to negotiate.  The DM's role is in fixedly deciding the game's conditions, so that these will be in place when the party steps up.  The party's role is to guess, for themselves, what their best action is.

Incidentally, the concept of alignment exists to take this agency from the players.  The players are told, long before Garth is ever encountered, the player's choices are decided.  The "good" player must parley, regardless; the "evil" player must sacrifice Garth in his or her own best interest.  This places the party members in conflict with one another, forcing one of them to invent some bullshit or another to explain why the good player can kill or why the evil player shouldn't.  Thus, the game becomes about the clever invention of bullshit explanations and not merely decisions made by players who simply do what they want to do.

Now suppose that we haven't decided, ahead of time what Garth's character is.  This happens.  Regularly, we create situations without considering every consequence.  Let's look at the statement above, again: 

"They [the players] must be allowed to choose the best course of action.  Once that action is chosen, the DM must be of a mind that allows the best possibility of that action succeeding, while changing none of the precepts inherent in the situation."

As I've said in this alternate case, we have no precepts.  We haven't previously considered what Garth would do.  Therefore, in following the rule, the player's action dictates our responsibility as DM.  WE must allows Garth's personality to be such that allows the players "the best possibility."  Having been asked, Garth willingly agrees to parley in good faith.

By following this rule of thumb, the DM is sure to create better situations and possibilities for the players.  Further, it places an onus on the DM to create as many precepts as possible — especially universal defaults that are always true unless we've chosen to make this situation unusual.  For example, one of my defaults is that guards are trained professionals and cannot be bribed by total strangers, or talked out of doing their jobs, no matter how much money a player offers or how much talking a player does.  Of course there are exceptions.  But I choose when the exception occurs, ahead of time; if I haven't done so, then the default is that the guard is inflexible, and will call for aid if offered a bribe.

Unless the character offering the bribe has a special sage ability enabling them to successfully circumvent the default.

I have hundreds of like defaults, perhaps more than a thousand.  Very slowly I am writing these out on my wiki, one page at a time.  They stem from a perception of what my game setting should be like, as a means to provide the players the best possible experience.  It's too easy to simply bribe one's way past a guard.  Guards should be an imposing obstacle.  Otherwise, why do they exist?

If the players hired a guard, what kind of guard would they want?  This dichotomy is an important part of choosing the precepts underlying one's game.  On the one hand, I'm making the character's situation more difficult by imposing harsh, often levelled guards between them and their goals.  On the other hand, I'm making the character's situation easier by making available reliable, strong guards to protect the players' stuff.

Formally, "precepts" are general rules intended to regulate setting behaviour and design.  We can call them principles, doctrines, guidelines and so on, but they amount to the same thing.  A DM should sit and think about each aspect of the game setting down to the micromanagement of how things in the setting behave, from guards to rats to mind flayers, and also with regards to little girls, buttercups and clowns.  Rivers, lakes, land, skies, towns, mountains and so on also require varying precepts regarding how these things work, interact with the players and incorporate themselves into the setting.  For the most part, the default on these things ought to be easy.  What's a little girl like?  Well, what are little girls usually like, in your opinion?  How do mountains usually respond?  What's the usual situation that follows entering a town?  Is that situation good enough for us?  If it is, then we should adopt that precept and move to the next ... and if it is not, then we should either produce a new precept, or invent exceptions to specific little girls, mountains and towns.  These things are up to us, after all.

But what about more volatile situations, where things change rapidly and unpredictably, such as general situations where the players are surrounded by scores of people ... like the aforementioned town, for instance.  Here, we have many possible things interacting at once, each with their own purpose and direction, moving round the players, bumping into them, offering to sell the players things and so on.  In the larger sense, the whole setting is like this, with millions swirling around, both near and far from the players, affecting one another, putting schemes into motion, producing waves of actions like political and religious struggles, wars and ideas — each with the potential to threaten the players unexpectedly in some manner.  How are these things dealt with from the DM's perspective.  We can't build a precept for everything.

Here, we have to build an "ethic" for the game world.  By definition, this is a set of right and wrong behaviours relating to or affirming a specified group, field or form of conduct.  Essentially, how does the world "act" for or against the players?  What is the "law" of nature specifically as it addresses the party's existence and place in the game setting?  Is the world against the party?  Some of the world?  And if some, which parts are for, and which parts are against, what the party wants to do?

Understand, here I am not expressing the game's setting as being aware of the party, but rather that when the DM uses the world to act for or against the party, upon what ethic does the DM act?  Is it okay for the DM to ensure the player characters always live?  Is it okay for the DM to purposefully hurt the players?  If so, to what degree?  And if it's not okay for the DM to cause hurt and unhappiness, then what is the role of the DM in ensuring the players always ultimately get what they want?  These are essential metaphysical questions surrounding the nature of the campaign setting ... and for the most part, while they can be ignored, if they're addressed successfully, the effect this thinking has on game play is tremendously enhanced.

Unless you're nodding your head at this point, it's hard to make to make the reader understand.  These are, after all, questions that humans have been asking themselves for millennia.  But, for the sake of an attempt to explain, let me bring you back to where we started in this post.

Consider again the ethic that the DM's role is to make the game fun for the players, and that if the DM isn't doing this, somehow the DM is not running the game right.  This is a commonly held approach, though rarely examined ... and again, this post won't devolve into a discussion of whether or not this is true.

Instead, let's approach the question from the player's pursuit of happiness, that I've already argued must be done by the players.  How does the DM make the game fun, while enabling the players to pursue happiness?

Have to go around the barn for this one, I'm afraid.

A few years ago, I watched the movie Hector & the Search for Happiness.  This recently emerged on Netflix, so if you have that service, I recommend watching the film.  It will help you and your perspective as a DM providing a game setting for others who are essentially pursuing Hector's search (though admittedly, with weapons and the collection of treasure).  The film addresses the following point:

Avoiding unhappiness is not the road to happiness.

Your happiness as a person is directly related to your perspective, your experiences and most importantly, what you've overcome.  It seems counter-intuitive, but the less you've had to overcome in your life, the fewer unpleasant experiences you've been forced to acquire.  This has narrowed your perspective to things that are effectively pleasant, but it has also removed most comparisons you might make between that which is pleasant and that which is unpleasant.

Where you've been says a lot about where you are now.  What you've escaped from is more relevant to how free you feel, than is how free you are.  Your ability to face death well depends greatly upon how many times you've faced death before ... or, in fact, what you've faced that is perhaps worse.  If you've never faced anything, if every part of your life up to date has been beautific, then you're absolutely not ready to face most anything dreadful.

Consider that D&D is often first played by children.  This might lead you to think that the death of a character would be a difficult experience for them, because compared to an adult, a child's life is relatively easy ... especially if we're speaking of the sort of lifestyle that allows the time, space and education that's needed to play D&D at all.  That is, a largely middle-class lifestyle.  Such children take things like a bed to sleep in, food to eat, a roof to sleep under, a loving family and so on for granted.  And so, having their character killed, a thing the child has become attached to, is surely a considerable blow.

But it's not.  Children do not grasp loss as adults do; they haven't the context to view anything as permanent.  If I were to tell you that every year, without exception, you're going to be removed from your place of work and put somewhere else, with a different boss, higher expectations, constant training and only some familiar faces around you — while disallowing you the option of quitting this new job — you'd go insane in about three years.  Children view this shake-up as normal.  They may sleep in the same bed, but that bed may be in five different cities in the space of five years, depending on the parent's work record.  We hand children off casually to grandparents, aunts and uncles, sometimes for two or more weeks, never asking the child's permission.  Moreover, children grow up hearing endless stories of divorces, with friends suddenly vanishing forever from their lives because those parents have moved away or placed their child into a different private or religious school.  Children grow up realising that nothing is permanent.  The loss of a character is disappointing, but after so much disappointment, it doesn't take long to get over.

It's only when the child begins to settle down, gains control over his or her life, begins to make all the decisions and feels "free" from imposed authority that one more loss feels unacceptable.  Sometimes, children experience far, far worse that adults, and have to live with those experiences all their lives; sometimes, the child emerges from the home so pampered and safe that they've experienced nothing.  Point in fact, however, neither of these groups are likely to have played D&D as children.  The first usually has a family so toxic that cruelty and want are so pervasive that there's no opportunity to play a regular game of any kind.  The second has parents that won't let their child out of the house to play anything that sounds as "toxic" as D&D.  No, it's the middle group that has D&D players among their number.  And this middle group is fairly comfortable with the death of a character.  They play many kinds of games, unlike adults; and all games have winners and losers.

A lesson that, strangely, many adults seem to forget.

All right, all right, heading on around the barn.

The age of the player when they come to D&D matters, as does how much experience that player has with life, games and loss.  A DM running a group of softly raised older players who have recently come to the game will experience much more push-back than someone running players who have lost many characters already.

As a DM, it's part of the role to provide the players with unhappiness.  Unhappiness upsets, brings complaint, threatens the player's comfort level and potentially gives them a reason to quit the game, or that campaign ... but it also raises the game's stakes and relevance.  The best game occurs when the players have been unhappy — and have now extricated themselves from their previous situation.  The comparison is what matters.  Death, loss, misery, despair ... these things have threatened and these things have been overcome.

Difficulty is not sufficient.  Puzzles and problem solving are not sufficient.  These are intellectual exercises and have as much emotional impact as what you feel if you're unable to finish a crossword puzzle.  We're not speaking of disappointment.  We're speaking specifically of the character's being sincerely unsatisfied and unpleased with the situation at hand, potentially because it seems impossible to resolve.

It's not the DM's right to impose unhappiness ... it's the DM's imperative.  If unhappiness is not imposed, the players will never fully engage in the game.  More to the point, they won't be able to, because they've been taught by life that anything easy is not necessary or worth bothering about.  

Course, this creates a problem.  People quit when things are too hard ... and they quit when things are too easy.  Creating unhappiness is a fine art.  Too much, and people will find the campaign too hard.  Create none at all, and people will grow bored.  We want to slip in as much unhappiness as the players can possibly withstand ... while simultaneously maintaining some glimmer of hope that there's a way to emerge from this misery with success and treasure.  Getting the measure right takes practice ... and at the beginning, it's wise to incorporate unhappiness in small doses.

That said, the more unhappiness the players have overcome, the more experience they have with it.  Like Pavlov's dog, once they've gotten used to the unhappiness bell, they'll think of the success first and the misery after.  After awhile, no matter how unhappy you make the players, they'll be so focused on their "inevitable" success that they'll tolerate blocks of misery high enough to blot out the sun.

Takes time.  Does work though.