I haven't been on rpg.stackexchange for a while, but I felt it might be good to actually write about D&D... and, once upon a time, I could get an inspiration there. Questions used to circle around how to run, how to manage a character class, how to construct a town for a game and so on. Here, have a look at the last day of questions there now:
- What effects not mentioned in its spell description does Greater Restoration cure?
- Invisibility and Aura of Vitality
- Does Tactical Charge consume the creature's normal movement for the turn?
- Is there anything below a 9th-level spell that ends Lord Soth's fear?
- For a character primarily a Cleric, what is the lowest opportunity cost to get Sylunes Viper?
- Can monks use Psychic Blades as monk weapons, and do they benefit from monk unarmed damage scaling?
- Do you have to run a Braunstein "always on," or do I get to have a life, too?
- Suitable Dave Arneson pilgrimage location.
Phenomenal, ain't it?
The headings remind me of a list of cheat codes to be found with a logistics-heavy video game, where there are a massive number of elements the game offers and the players are seeking to get the most out of each. It's grasped that with the game's structure as it is now, there's a way to maximise the most efficient ways to use the abilities and classes, which presumably someone knows, and all I need to do in order to be a better player is to build up a practical knowledge of how these abilities can be massaged to function a little better. We've completely moved away from "what do I want to do in the game" to "how do I do what I already do, or want to do, better."
Thus we can understand that the problem to be solved is the acquisition of more power... but differently from the old school way, where fighting brought experience, so that once the player passed the next goal post, power was given. In this frame, power is granted spontaneously through knowledge... specifically, how can the internet show me the way that a reinterpretation of this spell allows my character to excel right now, circumventing my former interpretation, or the DM's interpretation.
Thus we can understand that the problem to be solved is the acquisition of more power... but differently from the old school way, where fighting brought experience, so that once the player passed the next goal post, power was given. In this frame, power is granted spontaneously through knowledge... specifically, how can the internet show me the way that a reinterpretation of this spell allows my character to excel right now, circumventing my former interpretation, or the DM's interpretation.
Sort of like learning how to game an airline rewards program: what combination of credit cards, transfer partners, status matches, fare classes, loopholes and timing tricks will give me the benefit now, or something close to it, if I better know how the system can be interpreted and combined.
It is so like a board room to create this kind of system — and, frankly, a fictional optimisation format that in fact doesn't cost the creating company when the user succeeds, unlike a system that tries to build new customers and thus people learn they can drop their monthly cost for something by unsubscribing on a Tuesday and resubscribing on the next Friday. D&D in this mode provides a complicated system that promises superior performance in a structure where "superior performance" doesn't help with your gas bills, your grocery bills, your credit card bills or even your chances to date better and hotter partners. No, here the optimisation is of one's own personal swagger-index: how smart can I appear to be through looking up something on the internet and then trotting it out at the next game setting, to win the oohs, the aahs, the grumbling or the resentment of my fellow players and DM? Very smart, apparently, if I'm cracking that low-end acquisition threshold for obtaining Sylunus Viper.
I'm not so sure the game's value is to be found in its swaggerability. I suppose, given that it's a group behaviour, there's some conscious need to rewrite the structure as a machine for producing social prestige, while the games enormously complicated present rule structure does create endless opportunities to massage one's superior command of it. The more components, exceptions, interactions and obscure acquisitions there are, the more room exists for some player to arrive with knowledge others lack. And since the distinction is "visible" — look at what my player can do now! — there's a straight off emotional payout that's there for the exploitation... if this is the sort of thing that really pumps your nads. Me, I'm a little, ah, six-seven about it. I don't think of anything as "mastery" if I'm copping it off line to excite my friends. My friends wouldn't be excited. They'd turn and say, with disdain or contempt, pick your sauce, "You read that on the internet, didn't you?"
I'm not so sure the game's value is to be found in its swaggerability. I suppose, given that it's a group behaviour, there's some conscious need to rewrite the structure as a machine for producing social prestige, while the games enormously complicated present rule structure does create endless opportunities to massage one's superior command of it. The more components, exceptions, interactions and obscure acquisitions there are, the more room exists for some player to arrive with knowledge others lack. And since the distinction is "visible" — look at what my player can do now! — there's a straight off emotional payout that's there for the exploitation... if this is the sort of thing that really pumps your nads. Me, I'm a little, ah, six-seven about it. I don't think of anything as "mastery" if I'm copping it off line to excite my friends. My friends wouldn't be excited. They'd turn and say, with disdain or contempt, pick your sauce, "You read that on the internet, didn't you?"
In all honestly, there's nothing easier to design than prestige that doesn't have a price tag... especially when what we're talking about here is a pre-existing platform with a former legitimacy that is now being manipulated to extra more "value" of a kind, once the players are locked in. D&D is a lovely test case for Doctorow's enshittification ideas: everything about the game, almost from the beginning, long before the internet existed, has been a gradual manipulation of the edge parameters in order to produce one after another marginal advantage; let's give the ranger a bonus with the bow... no, let's double the bonus... no, let's permit the ranger to fire twice... no, lets rebrand the ranger as an "archer" so they can fire the bow even more often... wait, wait, you'll love this, let's increase the damage of the bow to a state so high that it obliterates enemies on a hit... no, three enemies at a time... no, five enemies at a time...
(sorry, I used a time machine and went into the future to grab some of those examples at the end there; I know I shouldn't, but it's just sitting in the corner gathering dust, and it did cost a fair chunk of change; there's a guy I know who says that I can make it run better if I eat three oranges before getting inside; apparently, the orange pulp enables the machine to better grasp my... well, nevermind; I'll write that post another day)
(sorry, I used a time machine and went into the future to grab some of those examples at the end there; I know I shouldn't, but it's just sitting in the corner gathering dust, and it did cost a fair chunk of change; there's a guy I know who says that I can make it run better if I eat three oranges before getting inside; apparently, the orange pulp enables the machine to better grasp my... well, nevermind; I'll write that post another day)
The interesting twist to all this is that the upgrading of an element of D&D need not take the form of making the product worse in the short term. An upgrade that really does expand the potentiality for game play is beneficial... but of course, there's always a desire to shortcut any thresholds to that upgrading if a need is perceived that this is needed.
For example... I've created my sage ability system specifically to increase the players access to abilities without incorporating a point-buy system. But it relies on a threshold that looks, initially, easy to crack... players only need between 8 and 12 thousand experience, or thereabouts, to get one study that unlocks a host of "authority-status" abilities, which makes the player feel pretty important. But since the next threshold after that requires another 50 thousand experience (on average), that threshold starts to hurt. No doubt, if the system were in widescale use, I'd be hearing all the time about DMs dropping the threshold, or increasing the number of points the players randomly rolled at each level, to soften the climb. Because that's what people do. They see others suffering, they can see easily how to relieve the suffering... and that relief becomes more important than any nuanced perception of how the game is damaged. The relief is blatant. The damage is theoretical and metaphysical. There's no contest in the minds of some people.
We see the same arguments in how much treasure "should" parties be given, or how fast "should" parties advance in a given number of sessions, or whether or not treasure "should" count as experience or not. These shoulds are not rational arguments... they fall into the realm of arguing if the players starting Monopoly should get $2,000 and not $1,500 to start, or if a player that's been to jail three times should suffer a "three-strike rule" and have to stay there nine turns instead of three, or whether a player should have to surrender $500 to every other player if they sneeze during game play. We could double rents after midnight, give the poorest player a subsidy or require a luxury tax every time someone passes Go with more than $2,200 cash on hand. All of these are completely justifiable rule possibilities, however strange they might sound. Would any of this "improve" Monopoly?
Yet we argue over such things in D&D with vehemence and absolutism because we already know the game as it is already played. The luxury tax rule isn't better, but it's different... and if we've been playing Monopoly for forty years and we're forced to play again for whatever reason, anything different is better. Because the game as written is fucking boring. At least, to our sensibilities now.
Which brings us to the substance of the stack exchange list of rules and how the game I played as a boy has transformed into this: the unfortunate and hard to imagine idea that for the vast number of players, including many of those who say they "love D&D," the game is boring. That is why the old school renaissance wasn't sustainable. That's why the endless exhortations to return to AD&D for whatever reason just won't work. It's not new enough, it's not interesting enough, it's not enough. It's boring. We're bored with it. We don't want to play a game that's boring. We want to play a game with really kewl things in it like "Sylunus Viper" and "Psychic Blades." YEAH, baby. Bring that shit on!
Or, to look at this another way, it is a question of materialism.
The things I like about the game are not the abilties or the spells or the magic items. The Eye of Vecna has as much romanticism and mystery for me as a reversible ratcheting socket wrench with a flex head and telescoping handle. It's a tool, made for a purpose in the game, not a thing that is beloved or that makes my heart race in my chest to imagine handing it over to a party. It's a powerful tool, too, quite capable of destroying a campaign once given... as is any pile of abilities, spells and magic items.
Those people who claim to have been playing D&D for two thousand years, who still gush over these things leave me cold. I can't remotely get weepy about Castle-what-the-Fuck on the Dell or the Smudgy Flume Hill. I just don't care. D&D is not about material things for me. It is about the same things that keep me from being bored in the real world: can I think faster than the players, can they think faster than me, can it be close enough that we're both excited to see how it all plays out. I keep connecting D&D to sports and not board games because for me, board games are procedural hells where it's obvious who's going to win by the third turn, while it may be the bottom of the ninth and the team at bat is four runs behind and we still don't know for sure how it'll end. Not that I watch sports, no... because I'm not interested in see whether or not other people I'm not invested in win... I'm pretty comfortable someone will and I'm not up to getting excited about laundry. But when I used to play sports, then yes, I got pretty worked up by whether or not WE were going to win.
I guess there are some my age who find it helps to remember that "getting worked up" by watching other, younger people getting worked up. Only I don't. My memory serves just fine.
I still get worked up, after all. See my last post.
Also, the game post this last week is an excellent example of this principle. The players did not know to the last half hour who might die, or if anyone would, right to the very bitter end when someone did. Everyone participating was fast talking, stressed, forlorn on some occasions, even anguished and desperate as things just would not come together to get everyone out safely. Tempers were not expressed... but there was quite a lot of just plain discomfort in the voices of the contestants, while I was struggling not to play the trogs as smarter than they actually were. An excellent session. Not because I "made trogs interesting," which would be bullshit, I did nothing but play the game as written, but because the game as I've designed it and as I run it IS interesting on occasion in a really spectacular fashion. You know, like soccer can be... if you don't go into it with an American's expectations.
I really hate the soccer talk but if there's something I hate worse? It's the dreck babble leaking out of the house next door about how soccer isn't a real game because too often the combined score is less than three... jeebus...
When I played soccer (I did it just about the time dinosaurs were no longer permitted on the field), I both won and lost quite a lot of 1-0 games... and I don't remember any where I turned to another player and said, "gee, this is boring. Why do we play this game?"
That said, I don't think trying to figure out the best way to pimp out my character's ride with a lot of stackexchange reads is going to make me feel anything but dirty. But that's me. Like I said, I used to run with dinosaurs. That... does something to a person.
For example... I've created my sage ability system specifically to increase the players access to abilities without incorporating a point-buy system. But it relies on a threshold that looks, initially, easy to crack... players only need between 8 and 12 thousand experience, or thereabouts, to get one study that unlocks a host of "authority-status" abilities, which makes the player feel pretty important. But since the next threshold after that requires another 50 thousand experience (on average), that threshold starts to hurt. No doubt, if the system were in widescale use, I'd be hearing all the time about DMs dropping the threshold, or increasing the number of points the players randomly rolled at each level, to soften the climb. Because that's what people do. They see others suffering, they can see easily how to relieve the suffering... and that relief becomes more important than any nuanced perception of how the game is damaged. The relief is blatant. The damage is theoretical and metaphysical. There's no contest in the minds of some people.
We see the same arguments in how much treasure "should" parties be given, or how fast "should" parties advance in a given number of sessions, or whether or not treasure "should" count as experience or not. These shoulds are not rational arguments... they fall into the realm of arguing if the players starting Monopoly should get $2,000 and not $1,500 to start, or if a player that's been to jail three times should suffer a "three-strike rule" and have to stay there nine turns instead of three, or whether a player should have to surrender $500 to every other player if they sneeze during game play. We could double rents after midnight, give the poorest player a subsidy or require a luxury tax every time someone passes Go with more than $2,200 cash on hand. All of these are completely justifiable rule possibilities, however strange they might sound. Would any of this "improve" Monopoly?
Yet we argue over such things in D&D with vehemence and absolutism because we already know the game as it is already played. The luxury tax rule isn't better, but it's different... and if we've been playing Monopoly for forty years and we're forced to play again for whatever reason, anything different is better. Because the game as written is fucking boring. At least, to our sensibilities now.
Which brings us to the substance of the stack exchange list of rules and how the game I played as a boy has transformed into this: the unfortunate and hard to imagine idea that for the vast number of players, including many of those who say they "love D&D," the game is boring. That is why the old school renaissance wasn't sustainable. That's why the endless exhortations to return to AD&D for whatever reason just won't work. It's not new enough, it's not interesting enough, it's not enough. It's boring. We're bored with it. We don't want to play a game that's boring. We want to play a game with really kewl things in it like "Sylunus Viper" and "Psychic Blades." YEAH, baby. Bring that shit on!
Or, to look at this another way, it is a question of materialism.
The things I like about the game are not the abilties or the spells or the magic items. The Eye of Vecna has as much romanticism and mystery for me as a reversible ratcheting socket wrench with a flex head and telescoping handle. It's a tool, made for a purpose in the game, not a thing that is beloved or that makes my heart race in my chest to imagine handing it over to a party. It's a powerful tool, too, quite capable of destroying a campaign once given... as is any pile of abilities, spells and magic items.
Those people who claim to have been playing D&D for two thousand years, who still gush over these things leave me cold. I can't remotely get weepy about Castle-what-the-Fuck on the Dell or the Smudgy Flume Hill. I just don't care. D&D is not about material things for me. It is about the same things that keep me from being bored in the real world: can I think faster than the players, can they think faster than me, can it be close enough that we're both excited to see how it all plays out. I keep connecting D&D to sports and not board games because for me, board games are procedural hells where it's obvious who's going to win by the third turn, while it may be the bottom of the ninth and the team at bat is four runs behind and we still don't know for sure how it'll end. Not that I watch sports, no... because I'm not interested in see whether or not other people I'm not invested in win... I'm pretty comfortable someone will and I'm not up to getting excited about laundry. But when I used to play sports, then yes, I got pretty worked up by whether or not WE were going to win.
I guess there are some my age who find it helps to remember that "getting worked up" by watching other, younger people getting worked up. Only I don't. My memory serves just fine.
I still get worked up, after all. See my last post.
Also, the game post this last week is an excellent example of this principle. The players did not know to the last half hour who might die, or if anyone would, right to the very bitter end when someone did. Everyone participating was fast talking, stressed, forlorn on some occasions, even anguished and desperate as things just would not come together to get everyone out safely. Tempers were not expressed... but there was quite a lot of just plain discomfort in the voices of the contestants, while I was struggling not to play the trogs as smarter than they actually were. An excellent session. Not because I "made trogs interesting," which would be bullshit, I did nothing but play the game as written, but because the game as I've designed it and as I run it IS interesting on occasion in a really spectacular fashion. You know, like soccer can be... if you don't go into it with an American's expectations.
I really hate the soccer talk but if there's something I hate worse? It's the dreck babble leaking out of the house next door about how soccer isn't a real game because too often the combined score is less than three... jeebus...
When I played soccer (I did it just about the time dinosaurs were no longer permitted on the field), I both won and lost quite a lot of 1-0 games... and I don't remember any where I turned to another player and said, "gee, this is boring. Why do we play this game?"
That said, I don't think trying to figure out the best way to pimp out my character's ride with a lot of stackexchange reads is going to make me feel anything but dirty. But that's me. Like I said, I used to run with dinosaurs. That... does something to a person.
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