Chuck Wagon Racing

Few people outside Calgary know this, but as I write we're in the seventh day of the Calgary Stampede; I grew up in Calgary and I've had my fill of the event, so every year I avoid it like the plague ... but just for a change, I'll write about the part I liked most when I was a kid.  The chuck wagon races.

It's one of those things on this earth that's hard to grasp in its full capacity without seeing it in reality ... and truth be told, the closer someone is to the track, the more frightening the event is.  I went around looking for some video; there's plenty of it from nowadays, with high resolution and proper camera work, but the race has been changed quite a bit from what it was when I would see it live.  I wanted some video from the past, when there were more outriders, when the barrel that sat in the wagon was loose and could bounce onto the track, when safety regulations amounted to, "Don't be stupid."  That was the race I first watched when I was four or five.

Here is a Canadian National Film Board documentary from the year of my birth, 1964.  I apologize for the schlocky bad writing ... but if you'll jump forward to 04:30 in the video, it will help give a sense of the mayhem.

Feel free to compare that with races from Friday, July 6th.  You can see clearly the riders are sitting on a bench, there's no belt holding them on the wagon, there's no stirrup for their feet and they stand up occasionally while riding.  There are a lot of horses out there moving at the same time (there were more when I was a kid) and deaths were common.  Horses still die; a horse that suffered an injury Wednesday night was put down.  Every year now, the race fights a steady battle not to be put down itself.

There are a lot of stories that make their way around about how the chuck wagon races got started ... but the most consistent is also my favorite.  The story goes that in 1919, during the Rodeo and Stampede (which began in Calgary in 1912), there were two cooks who served barbecue in front of their chuck wagons, the early 20th century version of food trucks.  At the end of the day, the two cooks would race: first to get their equipment into their wagons, and then to get their wagons across the fairground, where they could stable their horses and store their goods.  The loser paid for the drinks that night.

As the two competed over the 10 day course of the Show, bystanders started to take notice and the cooks began to attract a crowd.  Eventually they attracted the attention of "Wildhorse" Jack Morton, who brought it up to Guy Weadick, the creator of the Stampede.  Chuck wagon racing became an official event of the Stampede in 1923.

As can be seen on the 1964 film, there used to be a big cage that hung out the back of the chuck wagon.  At the start of the race, a small barrel was thrown into it; it was called a "stove," and represented the cook's gear that had to be stored in the wagons before the real race began.  During a race, the stove was free to jump around ... and would occasionally bounce onto the track, amid the feet of all those horses.

As the race started, the stove had to be loaded before the wagon completed the top barrel turn (talking about the big barrels on the ground); you can see from the video that the wagons all make a proper figure 8 pattern before running onto the track.  Not getting the stove loaded was a time penalty.  Not having the stove in the wagon was a severe time penalty, not to mention a terrific danger to horses and riders.

That danger was stopped with that big rack was gotten rid of.  For a time the stove sat in a cage on the back of the wagon (couldn't find an image), so that if it "feel," it dropped to the bottom of the cage and did not actually fall on the ground.  Looking at the newest videos, I can't see a stove at all, though the rules still indicate that there is one.  That particular danger, however, has been legislated out of the race.

Chuck wagon racing was once very dangerous.  Rod Glass, who was a member of the Glass family of racers, going back generations all the way to the beginning, was killed as an outrider in 1971; I seem to remember being there, but I was seven and maybe I just heard tell of it.  George Normand was killed in 1994 while chuck wagon racing at the Ponoka Rodeo (Ponoka is a tiny town in central Alberta).  According to Wikipedia, there have been five human deaths related directly to the Calgary Stampede; the link on Wikipedia, from the CBC, July 4, 2005, is broken.  The last was 1999.

Has the sport been ruined.  Probably, yes.  It's not what it was.  Still, watching any horseflesh flying at breakneck speed has always been enough to grip my attention.  Horses are beautiful animals, particularly when they run.

But as a dark little cloud who wants to ruin things for everyone, this is how it had to be.  Like the embedded video says, the horses of 1923 were not the thoroughbreds of 1964.  The original concept for the race was already gone after the first forty years; the race was growing more competitive, more expensive and faster ... and the potential for a some truly horrific accident was inevitable.  So steps were taken, year by year, to keep adrenaline junkies from offing themselves in large numbers in front of an audience that included children, for everyone's own good.

There's only chuck wagon racing now because the money behind it is in the hands of old ranchers and owners who, like me, remember the glory days of the 1960s and don't want to let go of it, no matter how many horses die.  But those voices will be removed from the equation actuarially.  And the race will quietly, mercifully, disappear.

This, then, Dear Readers, is how to write a blog post about something that we did not create ourselves.  Write what you know.  Give enough information to explain it to people who know nothing about it. Show film and then comment on that film.  Provide background.  Discuss the key issues.  At the end, give your own opinion about what you think matters, and back that opinion up with your personal morality.  Take your time and write everything you can think to write, that might matter to someone reading this.  Get people interested enough that they will go and investigate some things on their own. ADD something to the discussion.

Don't phone it in.

Find Some Hustle

Since early yesterday morning, I've been arguing with myself not to write this post; but I've lost that fight. So now I'll try to write it with decency.  We'll see how that goes.

In a comment on my post Tee Ball, James remarked rhetorically, "I guess I shouldn't be expecting a review of 5e from you anytime soon?"  That is correct.  I won't be writing a review about any edition, or a review about any adventure module, or campaign setting, or any RPG product of any kind.  Which should be fine.

Yesterday and today, Dyson's Dodecahedron wrote a post about the Proving Grounds of the Mad Ogre Lord; From the Sorcerer's Skull wrote about The Aberration; Barking Alien wrote for a second time about his idea for a campaign based on the Incredibles; Frugal GM wrote about Beyond Skyrim Bruma; Inkwell Ideas wrote another post about 5e Creature Decks; Tenkars Tavern wrote about the White Ship Campaign Kickstarter; Calvin's Canadian Cave of Cool wrote a critique of Noah's Ark; Brighton Roleplayers wrote about 4th Edition; Dungeon Fantastic wrote about the Status of the Ken Shabby Memorial; and No School Like the Old School said a few words on the Lovecraft E-Zine Interview of Joe Salvador.  There's more.  Took me a few minutes to find these.  And this is a typical two day period in the blogosphere.

We ~ and this describes some of us more than others ~ spend our time writing about what other people make, what other people say, what other people do and what money other people want to raise.  It is the flesh, blood and bone of the RPG blogger publishing industry [we can call it that now, more than half of us are sorta doin' it for coin].  It flies because readers will read it.  That's all it takes for journalism to fly: readers.

Coffee and journalism have an immortal bond;
to keep writing, we keep drinking ~ while the readers
drink to keep reading

Writing about what others do has been a time-honored tradition since coffee shop-magazine journalism truly got on its feet with the Restoration ... so I have no complaints, no complaints.  It is certainly a way to make a buck.

In terms of the internet, it is called mainstreaming.  Off the internet, mainstreaming is a perfectly acceptable practice of making things acceptable to the mainstream population.  As a slang term, however, it is "the act of a vampire trying to fit in with human society, such as drinking synthetic blood while being able to be around the human population." [urbandictionary.com]

To put it another way, blogs want the cachet of appearing to be journalists, by pretending to write reviews or call outs of things in the RPG culture.  Unfortunately, it really isn't journalism.  Tenkar's Kickstarter post, linked above, is barely a 30-second radio spot, with Tenkar acting in the role of some actor from a recent high-rated sitcom pitching a coffee bean brand.  Barking Alien's ideas for an Incredibles Campaign is hardly more than a series of spoilers feasting off the familiarity his audience is bound to have with a very popular franchise.  Joe Salvador's name appearing on NSLTOS is a cocktail party name drop from someone pretending to have met the man once at a coin laundry.

That's not meant to be mean.  I only want to stress that these "journalists" are phoning it in.

Journalism is research.  It is explaining something to an audience who does not recognize the name or the product being dropped, who deserve to be informed.  It is relying on details: what is the product, what is it meant to achieve, how is it applies, how does it matter to the reader and why should we care.  Most of these questions are simply passed over, et al, you know who Salvador is because you're a gamer, you care because you're a gamer, you know what the product is for because you're a gamer, it matters because you're a gamer and so on and so forth.  Once the crutch, "Because my readers are gamers" becomes the final word, the requirement to write an explanatory, in-depth, perspective-giving examination of the product, event or person is easily dumped in the trash bin.  The reader already knows all that.  Why bother?

I don't expect to change the status quo.  Most bloggers have nothing else of importance or interest to write about, are basically fan-boys gushing over material that releases dopamine or seratonin for themselves and their readers, and are not legitimate writers beyond the work they were expected to produce in high school for English credit.  The blog is a low bar and it's fun to write, and see visitors, and get comments, and pitch for regular readers to donate a little here and there.  It is great to be liked, and to do something we're liked for.  Blogging offers a sense of proprietary wealth, of ownership, of purposeful self-possession of one's thoughts and feelings.  It doesn't require much skill to get the benefit of what the platform mostly offers for most people.

However, I urge those who want to excel to do a little more research than you're doing.  To think a little more about what you're writing than you have.  To write a little more about the subject with each post.  And thereby, to make each post more valuable to the reader.  This will be, I promise, to your benefit.

The reader is a very bored entity, wandering the internet like a prospector, looking for something that will glint among the rocks.  And while wandering, the prospector will turn over a lot of rocks just to view what's there.  Most "views" are nothing more.  Just a bored reader turning over your rock, only to drop it and move onto the next rock.  To the reader, it's a disappointment.  Is that really the journalism you want to provide?  A means to disappointment?

Come on.  Work a little more.  Be a little more engaged.  Offer more visuals.  Draw them yourself if need be.  Move ahead of the hundreds of blogs that can't be bothered.  Getting ahead of the competition isn't as hard as you think.

Journalism has always been a cutthroat business. The losers have always been those without hustle.

Tee Ball

From an interview with Bryce Lynch, from 2016, that I only found this morning:

Patrick Stuart: "Why are most adventures so bad? Why do people want the wrong things?"

Lynch: "I'm not sure that's a good question. No one wants the wrong thing. I would say that it's easy to go with the flow. Adventurer's League, show up on Wednesday night and play. WOTC pushes an adventure to the DM every week, almost no prep. And if you try and run something NOT Adventurers League, or D&D, or the most current version of D&D, then you face additional hurdles. I'm not sure that 'Apathy' is the right word, but a lot (a majority?) of folks are happy enough. I'm guessing that just enough of their sessions have just enough fun to keep them strung along, as they chase the high. It takes effort to seek out something different. It takes effort to get out of your comfort zone. When I'm at my best I want every thing in every day to always be awesome, and everything else isn't worth my time."

Yes.  It takes an effort.  The Adventurer's League, as Lynch says, is board-game night D&D.  And not running the board game version, you do face additional hurdles.  I want to ask, what hurdles?

I've read through the interview and it is hard to tell.  Lynch wants to "always be awesome," but his self-described "perfect" version of the Dragon Magazine, further down in the interview, is a list of the same schlock we've read since 1980.  He describes his "beauty of interest" as "The wonder of childlike imagination."  He disparages the WOTC for producing lame, poor quality, inexcusable content that "sucks donkey balls," but then proceeds to gush exhaustively on indie games and especially Fiasco, only to pause mid-orgasm to remind us that he really hates indie games.  Though Lynch is obstensibly a game reviewer, I must admit that my eyes glazed over as the began to describe Fiasco.  I can't say I understand anything about the game from his description ... which seems a problem where a review is concerned.

In any case, what hurdles does a DM face if the goal is not to run sessions that are "just enough fun to keep them strung along," enabling the players to get their high.  What is something different?  What is the comfort zone?  At one point, Stuart refers to "tight writing, usability or clear layout."  What does that mean?

Frankly, I have no idea.  These phrases are so generalized as to be meaningless.  Which begs the question, if we can't describe RPG quality in concrete terms, then what good is a review?

[I was going to waste a bunch of time here comparing rpg module reviews with movie reviews, to explain how movies have an indentifiable logos, but I thought better of it]

Before I can discuss something that is "different" from an Adventurer's League game, I have to start with what a League game is.  Here's a fairly straight-up explanation from Stackexchange.com:

"Local stores host games (often with volunteer DMs, sometimes with paid ones). Players play point-build or array-build characters in whatever adventure is being run. Character's experience total is tracked, and players can drop-in/drop-out on a session by session basis."

"From the DM perspective, the DM gets his marching orders from the store. The store either gives him the download password or gives him the adventure to run. The DM then runs the adventure at the store in the allotted time for the first 7 players who sit down for it."

Hm.  Y'know, if we take out the marching orders, the point or array builds, the tracking, the pre-generated adventure and the store, this is exactly the game I run.  Give or take.

And regardless of the disgust I feel, all that junk that the League adds is primarily for the benefit of players who, a) have no one else to play with; b) are total strangers and therefore must be contained from displaying highly aberrant behavior; c) enable the mass management of many strangers by a few coordinators; and d) exist to sell the game as a positive rather than a negative experience.

While my argument about booting assholes from the game table is rational where it comes to my table and my friends, that doesn't work very well when the goal is to service strangers who buy products.  If I were running a game store, my personal feelings would absolutely not enter into the equation; paying the rent, the property taxes and the stock costs come first.  For a lot of game store owners, who have no ethical opinion of D&D or, for the most part, of customers who may also be assholes, the Adventurer's League concept is manna from heaven.

But aside from the "official" structure, is D&D at a League event a different game?  Okay, it works off 5th Edition; and, no doubt, I would consider the actual game material to suck donkey balls.  Yet I'd have to argue that, aside from the rules, and the quality, that no, it is not fundamentally different.

It doesn't get cuter than this.

It's Tee Ball.  Structurally, it can teach players just enough to enable them to learn a game that can be far better, far more functional, than what's offered at the game store.  It will also teach them a lot of bad habits ... but bad habits can be gotten over.

Playing the game at a higher level would certainly challenge the "comfort zone" for many an Adventurer's League player.  Some children resist the leap to baseball.  Some children quit because baseball is too hard.  But from a DM's perspective, the comfort zone problem is largely made up of the following "hurdles":

• You must provide your own space (though that might still be at the game store, but on a different night)
• You will have to establish the ground rules of the system you're playing, without the benefit of a community of others to help you police or enforce those rules.
• You will have to find players without the benefit of a preset community game night.
• You will have to choose, obtain or self-write your own adventure.
• You will have to designate, yourself, when the game starts and when the game ends.

That's not much.  I suppose for someone who has played their first three years of gaming in the League, at the game store, going it on your own will seem daunting.  Perhaps enough that some will never find the courage.  Which is a little sad, since all of the above is the equivalent of organizing people for a game of scrub baseball, or to play Monopoly.  Things I was doing at age 8.

How about "tight writing"?  I think its clear that means a good adventure, one where the various elements of the setting mesh together logically and effectively to create a good campaign.  I don't have a problem with the language here.  I do have an issue with what IS considered quality work in the role-playing market.

In the interview, Lynch refers to "coming off a pretty damn good game of Call of Cthulhu."  I have no doubts that it was; but the system of Cthulhu is, was and probably always will be a clusterfuck of shoggothian proportions.  To DM Cthulhu you have to really want it ... and you have to get a group of players together who are prepared ~ nay, duty oriented ~ to be deliberately mind-fucked while the game master scrambles to pull threads together in order to make shit make sense.  This is something that all Cthulhu players painstakingly overlook ~ because the creep factor and the concept is too fetching to ignore.  Let's be honest, however.  Call of Cthulhu is never an example of "tight writing."  It's father figure, Lovecraft, was never much of an example of tight writing either, though I say this understanding that I'm speaking heresy.  Not that I'm concerned.  I've done enough service to the old ones that I'm sure to be in the first million that's gobbled up.

This is the principle issue of describing any game ~ or written adventure ~ as "good."  How is good defined.  Looking over the internet, I find two basic written reviews of the game Fiasco:

"I like the game"

"I don't like the game"

Neither means much.  Until we can identify meaningfully what tight writing is, and not only how to define it, but how to reproduce it, we're not going to get much of anywhere.  And for the record, regarding the far larger Literary Community, nothing that has ever been written and published about RPG gaming would qualify as better than pulp: cheap, run-of-the-mill, low-quality, exploitative writing.  The sort of publications that did not, on the whole, consider Lovecraft's work as good enough.

Not that I agree.  I definitely think that Lovecraft was good enough for pulp magazines.  I'm just saying that where it comes to any of our ilk describing "tight writing" in reference to RPGs, that is one big belly-laugh for 113 billion dollar publishing industry.

As for "usability" ... well ... that really depends on what rule set you've chosen to employ.  And what sort of DM you are.  We all start by playing Tee Ball.  The usability of the tools of the game climb just as high as you're prepared to go, once you install a pitcher and three bases.  Your "usability" rating of a bat when playing in the major leagues is somewhat different than, say, that of Mookie Betts.  The game is the same.  Betts simply plays it on a higher level.

That is my issue with those who are calling for a "clear layout" where it comes to this game and the way that it is played.  We've been pursuing this unicorn for 40+ years now; this idea that, somehow, if someone could just make it clear and simple and better (with no real effort to explain how that would be), this game would "always be awesome."

Sure.  With the right unicorn, it probably would be.

But as long as no unicorn is coming along, how about we stop pretending that reviewing an endless deluge of RPG games that: a) most people will never play; and b) when they are played, will be entirely different games depending on the will, skill and experience of the DM; is pretty much a waste of time.

Reviewing the latest game is a way to fill a blog post.  For most blog writers, this is ALL they do.  They rely on the fetish quality of the player or the DM who can't play a game right now, who yet wants to feel that "wonder of childlike imagination" that only requires that you, Dear Reader, be easily duped by something that, surely, you ought to be jaded about by now.

Perhaps it's time for you to put the Tee away.

Suspiration

"We have to understand, that the world can only be grasped by action, not by contemplation.  The hand is more important that the eye.  We are not one of those contemplative civilizations of the Far East or the Middle Ages, that believe that the world has only to be seen and thought about, and who practiced no science.  We are active, and indeed we know in the evolution of man, that it is the hand that drives the suspirate evolution of the brain.  We find tools made by man before he became man ... even in pre-history, man already made tools that had an edge finer than they need have.  The hand is the cutting edge of the mind.  Civilization is not a collection of finished artifacts. It is the elaboration of processes.  In the end, the march of man is the refinement of the hand in action."

Jacob Bronowski, the Ascent of Man, Episode 3

Hand with Reflecting Sphere, by M.C. Escher

I strongly encourage the reader to watch the video contained in the link, despite it being aired in 1974 and despite the certain grandiose and dated presentation.  Bronawski passed away within a year of recording the series and, I have long felt, the world was lucky to have gained the insight of one of the brightest minds of the mid-20th century before it was too late.

I hadn't seen the third episode in some years before stumbling over it last night ... and as I listened to the conclusion of the episode, quoted above, I realized a connection it made with my recent post about worldbuilding, in which I encouraged the reader to make worlds based on what the reader knows, and for the reader to set out to know more than the reader does.

Let me add to that.

Take a moment and look at your hands.  Spread them, flex them; examine the curved, concave shape of the outstretched hand, in the way that it naturally wants to wrap itself around a sphere, or smooth a rough object, or twist a stem from a branch, or any of the hundreds of complex actions that can be managed with the balance of your fingers and your palm.  Then look about you at the hundreds, even thousands of objects in the room, and forget for a moment that we make these things by machine now ... remember that first, we made everything by hand, and that the machines we make duplicate that action, rather than run contrary to it.

If you have experienced raising a baby, you will remember that the baby learns almost everything by the grasp of its hand.  The clutching of the fingers comes into play almost immediately, as a newborn will grasp your fingers to know you even before it can clearly see.  For a long time, the hand is the only complex action a baby can take, as it examines everything that comes in reach of its grip.  This is not accidental; the pattern of a baby knowing things by touch establishes the mechanical means by which the brain processes its world; what Bronowski calls the suspirate evolution, the "breathing" evolution.  This means that in order to think at your highest measure, you must DO as well as think; you must apply your hands to a task, while you think; and in that manner, your thinking will clarify, and you will be able to create on levels you cannot, by thinking, fully understand.

For example, this post.  Like many posts that I write, I think of a few sentences to start the post, and some hint of the idea I wish to form ... but very rarely do I have the whole post in my mind at the moment that I start.  Yet once I do start, once my hands begin to move over the keyboard, my body and mind reach a state of mutual lucidity ... and I begin to realize sentences I would never have conceived without first starting to write.  The post takes shape as I write it, and comes together to a conclusion with both action and thought bonding together to form the final product.

I have done it thousands of times; and most times, when I look back at the post, and see what I have written, it does not seem that it was I that wrote it.  It seems to have taken form of its own accord; what the Greeks called the "muse" taking possession of me.  But the muse is my taking advantage of the learning process that I gained in my infancy, when I recognized my mother but did not understand anything about my mother, and when I gripped the bottle in my hand to assure my sustenance without understanding anything about needing sustenance.

That sentence I've just written came unbidden to me, as if an alien planted it into my fingers as I wrote it.

As a writer, I've come to trust this instinct.  I've come to place my faith in it, knowing that if I begin a post, even if I know nothing at all about what I will write, that somehow I will begin to write something that will be of importance.  And now I want you, the reader, to trust that instinct, in you.

I hear and see, again and again, that individuals do not know how to make a world for their RPGs.  They ask, what is the best way, and how do I make it believable, and how much do I need to build before I can play?  And I see the question, when do I stop worldbuilding and start writing?

If you're not doing both at the same time, you're not doing either.

Yes, create a world that you know, that you feel confident that you can walk through as long as you must for the sake of the players, or the readers if you're writing a book ... but create.  Draw, scribble notes, scratch directions out on paper, make maps if you must, create names for things and make connections between living things, objects and places in your world, as continuously as you are able.  Get out of your head.  Your head just wants to ask the meaning of what you're doing, and that's no good for you.  You have to get into your hands, or get into action.  You have to DO.  Make sense of what you've done after you've done it.

To that I'll add the crystalline rule of all writing, all art-making, all purposeful design of any kind, whether it is your game world, your place of living or your sand castle.  Once you're done making it, remake it.  Then remake it again.  And again.  And again.

Writing, as they say, is editing.  No work of art is ever finished, it is abandoned.  But before it is abandoned, it is built up, then torn apart to see how your hands and your mind put it together, then built again.  And again.  With each iteration, there is more to see, more to deconstruct, more to learn from what you've done, more mistakes to be found and corrected, more ideas to implement, more ways to attempt the project and more you have to discover about what you can do when you stop thinking with your contemplative brain and start thinking with your brain as it breathes life.

"And from that one intake of fire,

All creatures still warmly suspire."

Robert Frost, Sitting by a Bush in Broad Sunlight

Podcast, the Second Series

As I've finished the First Series of the Authentic Podcast ~ and apologies to those who recorded with me but did not seen that recording published, or those for who technical problems made connection possible ~ I am ready to talk about the next series.

It is not going to be more of the same. There probably is something more to gain out from examining the personal experiences of DMs (and someone ought to see a doctoral thesis in it), but I'm ready to move on. Here is what I propose, in two parts:

1. Tell your story of a campaign or an incident that took place while you were a player or a DM in a campaign (though I prefer from the player`s perspective). Take your time to explain the characters or the players involved, as much of the back story that you think is relevant and most importantly what happened. DMs are told that, before the campaign, they should "create a story"; let's instead look at those stories after the fact, when they've ceased to be the DM's agenda and have become the player's memory.

2.  Talk about what's happening in the campaign that you're involved with right now.  Feel free to support it with backstory, talk about how you got to where you are, and about what you expect, or hope, will happen in the near future.

The descriptions should be honest, descriptive ... and judgmental, if need be.  Authentic game play has always included both praising and talking trash about DMs and Other Players: though obviously, I must insist we leave names out of it.  Our agenda here is threefold: a) to depict what sort of games we're playing; b) to describe how those games affected us emotionally; c) and what about those games worked, in terms of their effect on (a) and (b).  We can't do that if we're tripping over politeness, so feel free to unleash on a DM or a Player who screwed up a gaming experience.

If a participant in the podcast wants to do so about my game, then I shall provide that participant with a platform, and give them a fair voice.  But it must be a player of any of my campaigns, and the content must apply to game events ~ not personal grudges having to do with me personally, my blog or my comments moderation.  Please know that you'll be saying these things while in conversation to me, and that I will do my level best not to bark, bite or cast discouragement.

Obviously, the podcast should not all be negative.  I encourage participants to speak with Great Praise about any game experience they've had, because obviously these are equally important and more common that we can imagine.

I hope to begin scheduling for recording starting in August.  Contributions from participants must be at least 4 minutes in length (I will be splicing together multiple short accounts to create a full podcast, in most cases), and so I will be requesting a simple application:

Please write out two pages of what you intend to say.  This can be structured sentences, or it can be mere notes.  I don't need to see the actual words, I only need to have evidence that you've thought out the concept ahead of time and that you're ready to talk for four minutes, at least (you can talk for four hours, if you keep my attention).  Feel free to write out the two pages long-hand or on computer.  If written, take a picture of it, or send the file to alexiss1@telus.net.  Once I see the proof of content, I'll put your name on the list for interviewing.

Best of luck.  I look forward to your helping me to create this second series of podcasts.

Authentic RPG Podcast, with Michael Borthwick

I won't pretend that I'm a wonderful podcaster.  It has been more than three weeks since posting my last podcast, but at last this one is ready.

Mike was a terrific guest, and given his situation a perfect end to the first series, as the listener will soon learn.  He deserves some praise for his insight and his expertise in video game design, so let him know if you can how much you enjoyed his contribution.

In the next few days I'll be talking about the next series ~ and yes, there will be one.  I've learned a lot with this first go-around, and although I'll never be driven to doing a show a week (I'm really just a writer), I feel that the content I'm creating here needs to exist.  It certainly doesn't exist anywhere else.

I don't see this as entertainment; I see this as documentation.

One Tip on How to Be a Great Worldbuilder

Going to say as I'm writing this, I'm drinking an Americano that cost me four dollars, a dollar more than my patreon.  And it's not very good.

I am thinking ... If I would give advice now on how to build a world from scratch, what would I say?  With How to Run, I approached the discussion by defining what function a world was supposed to serve in the game, and what sort of structure a world should take, and how a world should affect the behaviour of the participants.  In short, I took a theoretical tack.

And the answers I received from many persons was, "I wish there had been more examples."  Readers don't want to know what a world is for or how to build one; they want a point-by-point guide that removes all that difficult design technique.  They want "10 things I need to know about worldbuilding."

It's out there.

And it is virtually useless.  You will need geography. And economy.  And women.  And so on.  Go. Make it happen.

For most, I confess that my book's effort was, well, high brow.  Reading the chapters on worldbuilding after ten years of designing several worlds that faceplanted might serve to focus your mindset, but if you haven't made a world before it is pretty nigh useless.  I would say the same for the hundreds of post I've written about building a trade economy, infrastructure or building blocks.  If there are people who need to see the words, "Those mountains had to come from somewhere," in order to think, "Hm, maybe I should include mountains in my game," then I am obviously preaching to an auditorium full of monkeys.

Still, I'm not terribly interested in writing a elementary primer for readers who are compelled to locate the answers to the  question, "Why is everyone [in your game world] straight/cis?"  Um, just no.

Fine.  What would I say?

If the reader is looking around for advice on this subject, chances are the subject of a map is going to present itself ~ and the reader is bound to think that making a map of the world is a good first step.  I want to help: if you don't know how maps work, and what purpose they serve ~ and you in particular can't find your way around using a city map ~ then don't make one.  You are wasting your time.  Before a tool can be of any use to you, you must learn how the tool works and get some experience using it.  If a real map in the real world can't hold your attention for more than a minute, then please, for the love of gawd, just write a list of stuff in your world and keep it handy.  How each thing relates to other things physically isn't that important to you.  Save your time.

Have you ever been in more than one kind of forest?  How much detail can you remember about how these trees looked, compared to how those trees looked?  If your knowledge of forests does not extend past what you've seen in a movie, then I strongly suggest you don't bother to name any of the "forests" in your world.  I suggest you just call them all, "the forest," in small letters.  Because your players won't remember, because they won't care.  All that will matter is that they are in the generic forest that you, the DM, can understand.

The same goes for mountains, and sea coasts, jungles, prairies and arctic tundra.  If you don't know how these places look or feel, then please, for the love of all that's holy, downplay their importance in your world.  For all the value they will add to your game, your world's environment might just as well be "gray space," the sort that makes the background for a typical video game.  It is out there, but it's just a screen saver.

If the reader is thinking of inventing some awesome and amazing culture that will exist only at your table, stop and think for a moment.  If you were to start describing YOUR culture, the one you're living in right now, how many hours could you speak about it before either a) getting tired and bored of speaking; or b) get wrapped up in talking about the shared media that every other culture also experiences?  Let me put that another way.  If you live in Savannah, Georgia, how long can you talk about Savannah, and just Savannah, before you stop talking?  An hour?  Two?  If it is anything less than 10 hours, don't pretend you can make a culture entirely out of your own imagination.  You really don't know anything about culture, even your own.  How are you going to talk about it for 50 or 60 hours over the next few months of running your game world?

This goes double for any history you think you can create for your world.  And treble for any race you think you can invent for your characters to play.  Can you talk about being human for 30 hours?  Give it a try.  Then come back and tell me how my snorfblat fighter thinks.

While we're at it, spare us your Arabian World, your Japanese World and your Mayan World.  Unless you've done your due diligence, and spent a hundred hours or so compiling enough information about these cultures to let you talk about them for 10, 20 or 30 hours, stick with your screen saver.  It is all that you can handle.

And this, for the clever reader, is the solution to your problem.  LEARN something.  Your next vacation, instead of flying out to Malaga, Mazatlan, Cuba or Las Vegas to lay on a beach or gamble, or get drunk with your buddies, get in your car and drive to an empty forest, mountain, desert or polar expanse and walk around.  You want to try a Japanese Campaign?  Fly to the Ryukyu Islands, south of Japan, far from the modern experience, and spend two weeks living in a hostel.  Not a hotel.  Learn Japanese and live with actual people.

Or at least learn a little more about the town you live in.  Learn about culture.  Start a business and learn how an economy works from the ground level.  Educate yourself.  Get some experience.

And please, learn how to talk more about things that you actually know.  Get a job as a tour guide where you live and get into the habit of explaining to outsiders how things are in Savannah, or wherever you are.  Being a guide or taking a volunteer position of any kind where you have to explain things to people who need guidance is the best experience you can ever have as a DM.  It will help you understand how maps work, as you explain to people how to use a map to get somewhere inside your city, or your country.  It will give you some experience into how people from other cultures think, and what matter to them ... so that your Arabian Campaign doesn't sound like Arabia, South Illinois.  More talking will make you more confident.  More talking will focus your goals.  More talking will educate you, as you have to listen to the questions other people will ask.

If you really need a list of things you need to know about how to build a world, you're not ready to build a world.  Go learn how to build.  Even if it is only a decent sandwich.

Nostalgia

I have heard from people who were not pleased with my treatment on Al and Chad's podcast.  But I do rush to point out, it was not I that set the agenda; nor the time constraint.  I approached the podcast with the desire to express my thorough belief that the game must be taken out of the hands of the game seller and put into the hands of the game player.  I feel I got that point across, and that it was made stronger by Al's repetition that I made good points, without either Al or Chad mounting an argument against me.

However, I would like to be interviewed by someone with a more pin-point agenda.  Rather that talking about the Satanic Panic and how outsiders built their case, I'd rather be talking about how we build a case today to change how outsiders feel about the game.  Rather than talking about whether edition wars are good or bad, I'd rather talk about why the change in content between editions created factions and what those specific factions stood for ~ that is, why people felt the need to hate others.  I'd rather dig down into the day-to-day subjects of play, game rulings and world design, than returning to the same questions about the past.

Building my own podcast, I questioned if I should ask DMs how they got started.  I felt it was a question that deserved examination, from the standpoint of each person, compared to each other person.  But having heard the story repeated, I am beginning to think it is the least valuable question we can ask one another.  Should I ask mathematicians to tell me about the first time they added numbers together?  Or politicians about the first time they did a book report in elementary school?  Or soldiers about the first time they played guns with their mates?  What is that going to tell us?  Why are we as participants in this game so infatuated with the way we started?

I argue it is because, for most people, playing this game exists in a constant universe of them having "lost" something.  Why investigate our memories of the Satanic Panic?  Why investigate our memories of when the game reached the mainstream?  Why ask our feelings about how the game has changed, without producing facts or evidence of investigation, so that at least we might be describing history?  Why is it that we are so locked into the past?  And specifically, that past when we first started playing?

I think it is because most people came to this game when they were children; younger than 16, at least.  And that in that first formative period of their participation, the imaginary element of the game was more keenly felt than it is today.  That as children, every adventure, every image, every moment of explaining what their character did, every argument over some rule, every nub and bobbin of the game was amazingly, astoundingly fresh and spectacularly divorced from the ordinary, common experience of being a kid in a school, under the control of authority figures.  I think it is because for most people, D&D, or Role-playing, was their first real experience with total independence as a self-aware person, discussing a passion with other similarly aged self-aware persons.

And now it is hard to remember exactly how that felt.

By talking about it, we have moments where we're momentarily in touch with that feeling.  It is visceral, not intellectual.  We can't express it.  We know it, but we can't grip it and hold onto it; for we don't think like we did when we were children.  We're different now.

Yet I feel there are a majority of players who sit down to D&D games every week as if the ritual of playing the game in its most familiar incarnation, the old structured format from their childhood days, will magically resurrect the childlike wonder, the awe, that once possessed us when we cast spells and fought giants, when we watched the die bouncing over the table with open-mouthed reverence.  I'm quite sure that many fully-grown adults believe this effect is exactly what the ritual produces.

I find that sad.

As I said in the podcast, I did not come to D&D at 9 years of age.  There was no chance of that for me; the game did not exist until I was ten, and did not make its way into my world until I was 15.  Moreover, I was a much older 15 than my peers.  I could count several university students among my friends.  My teachers had asked my parents three times to push me forward to a higher grade (my parents always refused).  I was already deep into statistics and map-making, amateur astronomy (in which I would head out on my own into open farmer's fields in the summer time, after midnight, with binoculars and later a telescope, to record my sightings), writing books and plays, working as a summer camp counselor and so on.  I had all the tools I needed in my mental pocket to make being a DM my life's work.  I was never in awe of the game.  I was in love with it.

This infatuation with the past, with how we got started, or what it meant to us, or how it felt the first time we went to a game con, or what it was like to be a young DM ... it's lost on me.  I vaguely recall my first disastrous efforts, the desire to possess certain dice and miniatures, or the intensity of those around-the-clock sessions that would start at noon and go past midnight ... but that is not why I play now.  I play now because I love it now.

The way some people approach the game, it reminds me of a husband who loves his wife because once she was pretty and very popular, and he likes to have her around because he enjoys remembering the woman she was.  But I love my wife for the woman she IS ... the sweet, cuddly nearly-60-year-old who is fighting time with dignity and good humour.  She's not who she was, and nor am I ~ and how sad it would be if we were both clinging to each other fantasizing about something that is long gone, that can never change, because we wouldn't let it change.

That is not love for me.  Love is growth.  It is living and seeing the next day, and making that next day special for its own reasons, regardless of what happened once upon a time.  I am sad for people who are helplessly caught in their own nostalgia, who can think of nothing to talk about except what we did, what happened way back when, who used to think what and how terrible and awful it all that because a bunch of old people, who are most likely dead now, used to think the game was about worshipping Satan.

Geekery in General, Episode 200

A chance to hear me on someone else's podcast.

Here I'm interviewed by Al and co-host Chad Knight on DrivethruRPG.  As usual, I go off the rails while we discuss early D&D, the Satanic Panic, Edition Wars, where the game has been and where it's going, while I slam the company, belittle the mainstream media, talk about early convention in the 1980s, berate the poor hosts for caring about the publication of game modules and make as many solid, factual arguments as I can about the potential of role-playing games and D&D and why we're not reaching it.

Hook, Tale and Sting

An all round excellent book and
instructive for any Dungeon Master

I'd like to start by referencing events that I wrote about earlier, associated with the post, Who is Responsible.  One of the players foolishly attempted to cast an unknown spell inside a Merchant's Guild, which ended in his being taken off to prison.  Things looked certainly dire; the scene can be read on the first resource post from the Senex Campaign.

While the scene did not play out well for the player, as a DM I had no intention of executing the player for a simple mistake, which was reasonably a matter of not clearly understanding the rules.  Unless a player is deliberately obtuse, I consider it my responsibility to rebuild the situation into one that the player can rise out of ... and so I contrived a court scene that would end with the player character, Tiberius, receiving his freedom.

My perspective is that player foolishness is usually an opportunity for further events, which can set up a twist ... or, to see it another way, a sting.

In many ways, Dungeon Mastering is a confidence game.  The way in which con artists used to describe the process of fleecing their mark gives us the terms we still use in storytelling and in role-playing games.  The con's mark is given a "hook;" the hook is followed with a "tale" that baits the hook, encouraging the mark to want something so badly that they're willing to expose themselves. When the con artist takes advantage of that exposure, it is called the "sting."

For example, you're a mark; and you want to be very, very rich.  Being rich, however, is something hard to accomplish, so you're always looking for an easier way. This is what makes you a mark: your willingness to look for shortcuts.

The hook is the demonstrate that a short cut exists.  And the tale is the way that its revealed that you, if you're smart enough, and willing enough to break a few rules, can take advantage of this short cut.  And when you do try to take advantage ... I sting you.

That's what the Nigerian Prince is all about.  It's what most phishing scams are built around.  It's the tale behind Amway and most pyramid schemes.  "Do this, it's really easy, just get your friends to join, and once they get their friends to join, and so on, you'll be rich!  And in the meantime buy these products wholesale so you can make money off them, too!"

People believe because they want to believe.  Because they are desperate to believe.  Because the idea of not believing they can be rich fills them with angst and sorrow.

Role-players are excellent marks, because they have deliberately put their blinders on for the sake of enjoying the fantasy and taking risks that they wouldn't ordinarily take as real people.  They don't need much of a hook or a tale ... and though they are often doubtful, now and then they can be sweetly and beautifully stung ~ though personally, I like to do it in a manner that enables a continuing, satisfying and steadily profitable experience for the players.  This post is to explain how.

Of course, it's always possible to find some hook that can be baited for the player, but if we take a situation like Tiberius getting himself arrested, that's not necessary.  The player is already good and hooked, because the player is at the NPC's mercy.

I invented Johann Mizer carefully, on certain tried-and-true principles.  First, he had to be an important enough merchant that his word would be recognized by the Judge of the Court and be good enough to exonerate Tiberius:

Johann Mizer [known at this time only as a 'Gentleman']: “Your honor. I was present at the dinner in the Merchant’s Hall when this man’s honor was astoundingly and insultingly impugned by the action of the Hall’s concierge. The very idea that this man could stand in a public place and prepare to throw a spell in such a manner is utterly ridiculous and fully fantastical. This man is a well-known figure in the business world in Graz, in Syria, and is in the employ of the Baron von Furstenfeld, an upstanding gentleman and one of the Electoral College of the Empire, your honor. His faithfulness to the crown, to the well-being of his fellow man and to God is indisputable. I demand that compensation be made for this unforgivable attack!”

First and foremost, all of this is a lie.  The player behind Tiberius knows it is, but who facing a prison term would say so?  Obviously, if Tiberius did say so, as DM I would throw him in prison and ask him to roll a new character (for being deliberately stupid).  Secondly, the lie is ornate, excessive and full of names and details that I can advantage because my world is based on the Real Earth.  This is south Bavaria in the 17th century; Graz is an important trading city, there is an Electoral College in the Holy Roman Empire and Furstenfeld was a legitimate name of nobility.

Moreover, the details here took advantage of a background I gave to the character before the game started.  I did not create the background with this purpose; I didn't know the player was going to get thrown in jail so quickly.  But once I did know, I searched the background to find what I could exploit.  So that is Key: use the player's background, if there is one, to create a hook.
For Mizer's lie is a second hook, in that it leaves the player to wonder, "Why is this stranger lying for me?"

Connecting Tiberius to Mizer, as someone Tiberius knew once upon a time, helps create the hook we're going to tell.  The tale is this: Mizer always liked Tiberius, Mizer is rich, Mizer has power, Mizer has Tiberius' best interests at heart ~ and concordantly, the party's best interests also.  The virtue of the tale is that it helps convince the player, "1) If Mizer likes me, he'll help me. 2) If he's rich, he can help me with money.  3) If he's powerful, he can connect me with other people who can help me. 4) And he'll do all this because he likes me."

To make this work, we've got to be subtle and not heavy handed.  Mizer will help, but not now, because he's busy, he has to go talk to really important people.  Meet him tomorrow at a reputable place so we can talk about stuff.

Mizer's lack of availability sells point (3), as does the fact that the judge believed Mizer.  The importance of the people Mizer meets helps sell point (2). A public place suggests he has nothing to hide and helps sell point (1).  And 1 + 2 + 3 helps sell point (4).  We can do all of that with so little.

The story in the past that I gave was that once, Tiberius' master sold Mizer a blind horse; Tiberius was present as a stable boy.  Of course he wouldn't have dared, as a boy, speak up; and the player accepts that immediately, when Mizer says,

Johann: “You sold me a blind horse! Well, the Baron did. I think that’s the last time I did anything very foolish. Have you had a decent meal? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

The words are chosen very carefully!  He brings up the horse; he exonerates Tiberius in it, and Tiberius naturally assumes this was because Tiberius was just a stable boy.  And Mizer seems very content about it, blaming himself.  What a good guy this Mizer is!  And generous, too ... the generosity following immediately after the concept of blame/self-blame.  Look at Tiberius' response:

Tiberius: I laugh uneasily at Johann’s small joke. “My jailors treated me remarkably well. Food, water, a place to think. All well and good, considering.” Tiberius informs Johann of his accommodations at The Pig. “If I might ask, what brings you to Dachau? Besides helping an old acquaintance out of an unfortunate scrape?”

Hook taken.  Tiberius reveals his abode without hesitation.  Ask yourself as a person: how quick are you to tell near strangers where you live?  Tiberius the player trusts Mizer already.  As a DM, it is my role to figure out a way to transform that trust into a good game experience.


continued elsewhere ...

As it stands, the above would be a post on its own; it makes a relevant, legitimate point, one that I hope most DMs will embrace.  I continue to make an effort to provide content both for those people who support me monetarily and those who do not.

There is more, however, that isn't said above.  This is the second of two such posts I have written in the month of June for the Tao's Master Class blog, where the rest of this post can be found. Examples on the Tao of D&D blog can be found for free, here and here.

To see the rest of this post, you must pledge at least $3 to my Patreon account. This will enable you to see all material to date on the Master Class, but you must do it soon. Patreon will account for all pledges starting in just two days; and any pledges made after July 1st will not be processed until August 1st.

Because it is difficult to keep track of who is donating $3 to me each month, I am no longer accepting small direct donations for the Master Class blog.

Senex Campaign 2: The Meyer's Homestead

Having not as yet settled on what action to take, the night catches up to the party and they settle down in their beds to sleep. In the cold light of morning, they awake to find a gentle falling rain. It is Monday, May 6. The Pig tavern quickly empties of guests, as those who spent the night in Dachau, visiting the market and seeing the performance, pull out before sunrise to return to their homes and to the small mills outside of town. The party wakes, having the Inn to themselves, as most time.

As the party’s board has been paid up until the end of May, Helmunt has a breakfast prepared and waiting for you: duck’s eggs, boiled sausage and porridge. You eschew the porch, for while there is an awning over the outside tables, the cloth leaks. So, you find yourselves inside, finishing your breakfast and wondering if the rain will end before the evening.

Josef Mieszko, the Cleric: Paid through ‘til May! Then we’re in no rush - I thought that we were in much more dire straits than this! OK guys, what to do today?

Anshelm Helbelinc, the Thief: I only takes a bit of porridge to break my fast, as the cotters’ meal from the night before has left me uncomfortable. “It would appear the locals are in a state of agitation. That might be a situation we could use to our advantage; of course, it could also mean our heads...from either side! P’raps we should see what Tiberius’ friend has to offer us in the way of work and wage.”

Delfig Kôlhupfer, the Bard: Being the late sleeper, I will grumble and groan, stand and stretch, nod appreciatively at Helmut. “I agree, we should see what becomes of Tiberius’s friend.”

Tiberius [Adelbert Volkmann], the Mage: I agree to go visit Johann at the Merchant’s Hall, once I have broken my fast.

Josef: Is Dachau divided into “quarters” – are the low and high class areas of the town physically separate? And if such sections exist, which are we in?

DM: There would be “quarters” of the town--specifically, there would be four quarters: a) the wealthier, merchant and noble’s quarter; b) the impoverished quarter; c) the Jew’s quarter; and d) the foreigner’s quarter. These are not the same size.

If you imagine a clock face, with the Cathedral, and The Pig across the street at the center of the clock, with 12 o’clock pointing north. From 9 to 12 on the face would be the merchant’s quarter. Extending outward from the Merchant’s hall on the main square are several walled estates; the mayor’s hall, the arsenal and the town bath. Past this are larger merchant’s houses, with artisan’s shops on the main floor and living quarters above, some of them four floors high. There are also half-timbered houses possessed by private clerks, city officials and independently wealthy persons. This area is built on a flat plateau above the Amper bottomland. The center of this plateau is dominated by a fortress, occupied rarely by the Duke of Bavaria, usually held by the Duke’s steward and occupied chiefly by soldiers and those town members who serve the soldiers: cooks, lamplighters, servers, stablers and so on.

Between 12 and 4 o’clock, the poor live in a wide, ramshackle circle, mixed with open gardens and cropland, scattered along the bottomland, below the merchant homes. The further away, the greater the poverty, descending from those living nearest the merchant quarter outwards, from strong laborers, to rat catchers and gong farmers, and finally to beggars.

Between 4 and 6 o’clock would be the Jew’s Quarter, strictly separated from the rest of the town by a wall built within the city. For other residents of Dachau, free passage is not denied; but the Jews are not permitted to freely roam into the remainder of the city.

Finally, between 6 and 9 o’clock is the foreigner’s corner, which is not as deep as the other quarters of the city, though it is an elongated neighborhood extending a third of the town’s circumference. It includes the largest monastery in the town, and the customs house.

The North Gate would pass between the Castle and the poor district, at 12 o’clock on our clock. The South Gate would come at 6 o’clock, between the Jew’s quarter and the foreigner’s quarter.

Delfig: After waiting for awhile, I comment to Anshelm, “Perhaps we should put our knowledge together, as we have had bits and pieces of conversations. Although we’ve been here awhile, we’ve just now learned that the merchants are squeezing the locals, and perhaps enforcing old grudges to clear them out of the way. This may be leading to some unknown end, as I overheard some of the higher class speaking of an unknown purpose to the building, perhaps for more soldiers. This leads me to believe that there will be a period of unrest coming. Tiberius and the cotters both spoke of the merchants looking for more soldiers. I noticed you were asking questions that seemed to annoy the patrons. Do you wish to share something that you’ve learned? You didn’t say much last night after the performance.”

“And Josef... have you anything to add?”

Anshelm: I agree with Delfig. “You have good sense for a mummer,” I say while reaching for my snuff. “I wasn’t able to glean all that much from the locals; they’re a suspicious lot and didn’t like me prying, asking about the recent unpleasantness around here.” I mention my overhearing from the coachmen about the four killings. “I, for one, am curious about these murders ...”

Delfig: I’m not going to get involved in fomenting rebellion unless there’s a damn good reason for me to risk my neck doing so.

Josef: I believe that the activities of the merchants and leaders of the town are common and will be the case in most of the market towns we come across in the Empire - and just as likely were we to go west. If the issue came up, I know which side I would favor - but I fear that the merchant-lords and bishop-brokers have the upper hand. They have the means to declare their will and then enforce it. However the commons resist, the money is entrenched. Perhaps there is a smaller village nearby that we could base ourselves, then come back here once we’ve somehow acquired some wealth.

Delfig [to Josef]: “I don’t know enough. The lay of the land feels quite treacherous with the murder of the innkeeper and now talk of other murders. We don’t have a good source of coins yet, so my belly tells me to take care of local business before I consider travelling abroad.”

Nothing else is said and the DM moves the game along.

DM: Let us presume the party’s meal is done. Rain continues to fall, steady and drearily, a bit more than light and less than heavy.

Tiberius: Any who wish to come with me to meet with Johann may do so. Otherwise, I will go out into the rain, cloak pulled tight around me, and see if Johann is in the guild hall.

Anshelm: I will accompany you.

Delfig: I am with you.

Josef: I will stay at The Pig, but I appreciate the offer. I’m afraid I don’t make a good impression on the upper-class.

Kazimir Kropt, the Assassin: Kazimir will stay at the Pig with Josef, having no desire to go out in the rain when there’s sausage to be had.

So we follow Tiberius, Anshelm and Delfig as they head out into the rain to cross the square. The group is somewhat damp as they poke in the front door of the Merchant’s Hall. It is quite different today. While there lingers a bit of the barnyard odor, you can also detect the strong smell of vinegar and lye that has been used to scrub the Hall’s floor and some of the walls and pillars. The hall is quite empty, except for a long, narrow table where sits a single gentleman, the insignia on his cloak identifying him as a clerk of the guild. An open book showing pages partly covered with signatures waits in front of him.

Tiberius: I step up to the clerk and ask politely if Johann Mizer is available.

Clerk (npc): “You are Herr Volkmann?”

Tiberius: “Yes. These are my companions.” I motion to the others.

DM: The clerk produces a bell from his tunic and a boy appears from behind a pillar; the boy then runs to fetch Mizer. When Johann appears, he will seem somewhat rushed. But he will reach out for your hand and greet you warmly. He asks after your companions and waits for you introduce them.

Tiberius: I return Johann’s warm greeting.

Johann Mizer (npc): “I did think we would get together, Adelbert,” says Mizer, “but not in the day. Tonight perhaps? I know an excellent beer garden near the baths.”

Tiberius: “Yes, that’s fine. We can meet with you later tonight.” I get the name and location of the beer garden and leave with my companions.

With no one speaking to the contrary, the group leaves and return back to The Pig. There, they find that Kazimir and Josef are already off.

Josef: Should the rain lighten, I would like to go wander the Foreign Quarter looking for vendors, bars, etc., looking perhaps toward Bohemian or Polish neighborhoods.

Kazimir: I will go with Josef to the Foreign Quarter.

DM: The rain is not that heavy at the moment. You head out, and soon see a sign hanging on the front of a building showing the word, “Gospoda.” This is a common description in Silesia for a tavern that caters to soldiers.

Josef: As it is early in the day, I would consider coming back to the Gospoda in the later evening.

[OOC: Perhaps when others go to meet Johann at the beer garden?]

And so that was a short journey. The rain seems to cut short the players’ interest in doing much of anything, at least until the evening.

Tiberius: Not wanting to catch pneumonia, I will stay out of the rain for most of the day, taking the time to dry out at The Pig.

Anshelm: I will be accompanying Tiberius to the beer garden.

Delfig: I will be with him too.

We wait with the party. The rain ceases to fall in the early afternoon, though the weather remains gloomy for the remainder of the day. The high hills to the southwest of Dachau retain a shroud of fog into the evening, with no sign that it will lift before sunset. It is, altogether, a dreary day.

In the afternoon, a message arrives from Johann Mizer as to the location of the beer garden, and an indication that Tiberius and his friends should meet him there at six bells. It is not a great distance; Helmunt, ever eager to please, offers to send a boy with the party to show the way, if only a copper piece is given. One way or another, through the wet streets the trio find their way to the garden, which at first glance is unfortunately in the out of doors.

No Medieval image could be found.

Stepping through an arch constructed of latticework and holly branches, the party finds a group of wet wooden tables and benches. The latticework extends over their heads, and weaved into the frame are more branches, not quite thickly grown with holly leaves—this will take a few weeks yet. In the sunshine it would be a beautiful shaded recluse.

To the group’s delight, however, it is discovered that half the beer garden is roofed, and a solid structure built on three sides. On the fourth side is a roaring fire, fully eight feet wide and four feet deep, in which burns hemlock and yew. Stepping between a few puddles still filling the hollows between the exposed benches, Tiberius, Anshelm and Delfig join the hearty throng of forty people sitting in the warm comfort provided by the fire.

Mizer is there; he happily greets each one of you; introductions are made, and Mizer pleasantly insists that he buy the first round. The day did not begin too well for him; but an arrangement has been made and a silversmith is to be ousted from his rented property a few miles out of town, so that it will be put under Mizer’s ownership.

While hearing this tale, the trio cannot help noticing that the barmaids are exceptional - all beautiful, all quite young and with remarkable ashen skin and near-perfect teeth. This last, of course, would be quite rare to their experience, and Mizer will laugh when he sees his companions noticing it.

He’s quite happy to explain the happenstance. The beer garden is in part owned by an adventurous young fellow, who a few years ago took part as a mercenary in the recent 30 Year’s Holy War, in Saxony. He made his fortune in silver. This young fellow, a paladin, Eberhardt Hornung by name, has since become the darling of the town, and this beer garden is a contribution to his fame. It is true, adds Mizer discreetly, that Hornung also manages a string of harlots … the “cleanest” harlots in Bavaria, since none ever suffers from any disease, not even in their teeth. But Mizer suggests not spreading such rumours that one might hear in a beer garden.

Anshelm: I chuckle to myself as Mizer tells Hornung’s story. “This silversmith ... what’d he do?” I inquire after a moment, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

Johann (npc): “Oh nothing, I suppose. But it’s not his land, is it? I might have a look at his books, see if he’s worth having as a tenant ... but I’m thinking I’d like to turn the land over to cattle. There might be some trouble, depending on what sort of man he turns out to be - but I’ll send a group of hooligans if I must.”

Anshelm: “Indeed. Sometimes you just need to crack a few skulls when tenants become insolent.”

continued elsewhere ...

This is just a small part of the full post, which contains more than 10,000 words.  To see the rest of this post, you must pledge at least $3 to my Patreon account. This will enable you to see all material to date on the Master Class, but you must do it soon if you wish to see this post before waiting another full month until August 1st.

Messing Up

Sometimes, as DMs we get things confused.  And as we confuse them ourselves, we transfer that confusion in messages to the party, which only confuses things further.  It has happened to everyone, and more often than we like.  It's simply a part of playing a complex game.

In writing out a part of the early Senex campaign [The Meyer Homestead], I have stumbled across just such a moment.  I'm going to try to describe why I lost the thread of what was happening, and how that was made worse by my failure as a DM to contain a player who was behaving erratically.

The scene takes place near a farmhouse, and begins with an oh-so-common problem.  The party is deciding who is going forward to see the farmhouse, and who is staying behind.  That is where the confusion begins ... with the post ahead of the one linked above [The Journey West].

It's the usual thing.  Players stating their intentions, and then changing their minds, without acknowledging the change and in general, using language which is not absolutely definite.  In this case, we have five characters: Anshelm, Delfig, Josef, Kazimir and Tiberius.  And so begins a dance that many a DM has had to face in many a game ~ and sometimes to the point where we are screaming at players to make up their minds.

We'll start with Tiberius.  During the exchange on The Journey West, Tiberius is non-existent.  Not a single comment.  Though this is a bigger problem in an online campaign, it certainly comes up at a game table often, as players don't show up for a particular session or show up an hour late, or a similar scenario.  It is expected for the other players to carry on, and for the late or absent player to fit into the game when he or she gets back.

That's what happened here.  The other four players set out to decide for themselves.

Next, Kazimir.  Here is a different problem.  Throughout the campaign, Kazimir's involvement was never peak.  His commitment to checking the campaign and posting his own participation was exceptionally lax.  He rarely commented at all, and when he did, the contribution could be easily dismissed.  His entire involvement in this decision amounted to only this:  "Kazimir is present.  His sling is ready with a stone in it. Ready to proceed."

As a DM, I should have demanded he make this more clear, since it absolutely does not say whether or not he decides to stay behind and protect the gear, or go ahead and approach the farmhouse (they're supposed to be goons, pushing the resident off the land).  But ... I had already given up on Kazimir.  In a month of posts, I'd seen about five comments, all like the above.  I frankly didn't care if he came or not.  I let it slide, and got myself into trouble.

At varying times in the flurry of comments that followed, I made up my mind at one point that he had gone ahead with the others; and at another point, I'd decided he stayed behind.  I never got it straight in my head ... and because I hadn't been running a blog campaign very long, I didn't try to get it straight.  DM Error #1.

Then there was Josef.  Gawd, Josef.  In Josef I had a player who was ready to say anything, then disagree with it in the very next comment.  Or ask questions about matters that had been resolved (along with his taking part in resolving it), only to open the matter up again as it made people think it wasn't resolved.  Mixed in with this was a tendency for Josef to just blather on about things that made no sense.  All this has an effect on me as a DM.  I stop listening.  I wind up, for good or ill, trying to get everyone sorted, expecting that once that's done I can get a final answer from someone like Josef.

During The Journey West post, Josef made a host of suggestions, to move into the trees and observe the farmhouse, to knock on the front door, to burn the farmhouse down ... which was fine, except that nothing that he said was answering anyone else's statements.  Josef was merely tossing out random words, not taking part in solving the problem, only adding other suggestions that, in turn, no one answered.

Finally, it was established that he would stay behind.  But then, with a sudden intention to run the game, Josef declared,

"... delfig and anshelm stelth-up forward to scout while me, kazimir & tiberius stay behind ..."

Players who set out to run other players are a problem.  I should have stomped on him for doing it, right then, but I didn't.  Again, I hadn't been running online much and since my next line was to say that "Kazimir and Anshelm were going forward, possibly with Delfig," I felt I'd sorted the situation.  And though neither Delfig nor Anshelm had made a plan to approach stealthily, except as a suggestion, they HAD said they were going to scout, so it was an honest mistake.  No problem. 

At this point, as I started writing The Meyer Homestead post, I had it in my mind that Tiberius and Josef were hanging back, with the dogsbody Ells that showed the party how to get to this place, and the other three were going forward.

Why do I say 'stomp'?

If you don't contain the bad habits of your players right out of the gate, those bad habits will fester and infect your whole game.  There are a host of bad habits that every DM faces ... and in my experience, that most poor DMs allow to fester.  Players who won't make up their minds, who declare what other player characters do, who set themselves up as the final authority, who speak but who do not converse, and finally who do not understand that sometimes it isn't appropriate to speak at all.

The only proper way to manage this is to make it clear, out loud, that we know what the player is doing, describing it in detail if necessary ... and then stating that we want the player to stop it.  And then, every time the player does it, call it out.  Make the player admit it.  And then, if there's no sign of improvement, boot the player.

A lot of people in role-playing games think that is excessive.  But imagine that we are playing soccer (or football, if you prefer); and the player repeatedly touches the ball, however slightly, with his or her hands.  Repeatedly.  In spite of it being pointed out and in spite of it being made clear that it doesn't matter how little you touch the ball with your hands ... It. Is. Wrong.  And if the player won't transcend that habit?  Then fuck yes, you boot the player from the game.  That's how every other game playing group treats the rules, whether it's soccer or pool or backgammon.  Don't fuck with proper etiquette.  Play the game appropriately.

I should have stomped on Josef but I didn't.  DM Error #2.

We can move onto The Meyer Homestead post now.  I've linked it again for convenience.

I've made it quite clear in my descriptions that the players are in a forest.  And I say that the cart track rises over a small spur, a mere 30 foot climb. The players, as is seen in many comments afterwards, seemed to think that the top of the spur was just 30 feet from where Josef was waiting.  The 30 foot climb was meant to be its vertical distance ... and since carts and most walkers don't like super-steep roads, it should have been understood that the real walking distance was much further, far enough that when the party reached the top of the spur, or ridge, where they could see the farmhouse below, it would be way far away from Josef ... too far for any kind of discourse between Josef and the others.

Picking up the new post, let's start again with Tiberius.  The player behind Tiberius had a tendency to forget to change nicks before commenting on the game ... and was unfortunately named "Joseph."  Early on, this similarity got some confused, particularly Josef that I've been discussing ... and at the beginning of the Meyer post this is how Tiberius comes back into the game, saying, "Can Tiberius cast Armor [the spell] before going?"

Notice: NO reference to the previous post; NO query regarding if it is too late.  Just the immediate assumption he can do whatever, despite not being here around.  I'm guessing some readers have encountered this before, too.  And it, too, is a bad habit and it too needs to be stomped.  Good manners, right?  But here we are, it's on a blog post, manners take time to write out and I'm just trying to get everyone on board ... so I just overlook it and let him cast Armor.  But it's not good DMing.  DM Error #3.

Whereupon Delfig and Anshelm get about the business of playing, when Josef, way back in the woods, mutters in a comment, "(back at the ranch ... 'you know Hund - beets are and aphrodesiac.  I suppose you know enough about that..." [edited for punctuation]
Now, I definitely should have stomped on that shit.  It's attention-seeking, it's drivel, it's a vague reference to the dogsbody Ells (who has trouble speaking, so it's insulting as well), and worst of all, Josef has no other players around him.

My immediate answer should have been, "Josef, you're not here.  Please keep the channel clear while we resolve what's happening."  Instead, I said nothing.  I supposed it was going to be a one-off comment and that it could be ignored.  Nope.  That was not the case.

As Anshelm decides to go around to look at the back of the homestead, Josef continues: "(back at the ranch) must rut like a dog ... mizer ever buy a woman for you Ells?  Eh?"

Again, more drivel. It's a reference to Johann Mizer, the NPC the party is working for, but it is flagrantly abusive and in poor taste.  It is distracting from what's actually going on ... and I would have probably stomped on it, except, almost right after, one of the other players, Delfig, writes, "OOC - Josef, yer crackin' me up!"

To which Josef replies, putting two comments together, "creepy ... ha ha.  Kazimir?  You up doing recon?"

And this starts two ricochets in my head.  First, that I don't want to stomp on Josef if he's making the other players laugh, which is just a goddamn stupid thought for me to have in my head as a DM. At a real table, there's no way I would go there ... but as I'm dealing with total strangers, on the internet, whose faces I can't read and whose commitment I can't count on, not this early in the game ... I find myself swayed by this.  I let it go and the situation proceeds to worsen.  DM Error #4.

The other ricochet is that I start thinking, at this point, that Kazimir is THERE, with Josef.  I haven't seen Kazimir make a comment and he almost never does, so I forget that I've put him up with the others above the homestead and suddenly, in my head, he's where Josef can talk directly to him.  Which he can't.  But I'm concentrating on the details surrounding the homestead, and what Anshelm is doing, and how annoyed I'm getting with Josef ... and that last detail slips in my thoughts.  It will come back to bite me later.  DM Error #5.

Then Anshelm makes an error.  When he gives up on the reconnaissance through the forest, he says, "Anshelm works back to where Josef and company are standing."  And then he adds a statement in quotes, which doesn't make sense unless he says it to Delfig, so ...

Now Anshelm is in two places.  He's gone all the way back to Josef, in which case Josef would have no idea what the hell Anshelm is talking about, or he's gone back to Delfig and the inclusion of Josef in that statement was an oversight.  An oversight probably brought on by Josef talking directly about stuff to the party, which wasn't possible but which I let go on.  And that only gets worse, as the floodgates open and Josef and the players just start chatting away at each other, with Josef making suggestions about what to do about the homestead and the other players answering and/or debating his ideas.

And where was I?  Messing up.  Seriously gawddamn messing up.

Josef, after that, goes completely off the reservation.  He starts talking about using "L" [by which he means the dogsbody, Ells] by killing the dogsbody and dropping the body in Meyer's yard as a threat, since there's no horsehead handy.  Next, while debating ideas with Delfig, Josef is suggesting they pretend to be travelling performers, with Josef juggling sling bullets.  Then he's back to berating the dogsbody again, talking about having a leash and collar, making Ells play fetch, then making a vague reference to a guild patch that Ells wears, as his master Joseph Mizer, the party's employer here, is a merchant.

Throughout some of this, Ells has been trying to warn the party that there are huge bombadier beetles in the forest, but as he has a speech impediment, he can only express these as "beet."  Josef designates Ells as a "beet-lover", and then becomes progressively more and more confusing in the comments section.

Reading this years later, it is just fucking weird.  As I parse through the various comments, which it was clear was all being read as humorous at the time (and which I remember was merely annoying, as I was trying to follow what the party was doing), I feel like the player behind Josef had some kind of ... mental deficiency.  This has become more and more clear as I have been editing the content of the campaign, and noticing how often Josef's comments are non-sequential and often irrational.

In the midst of this madness, even though I don't make a comment for quite a long time, Anshelm remarks on his coming back to where he is reunited (with no specific person named), while Delfig also assumes that Anshelm has worked his way back, presumably to join Delfig ... and I admit that I missed his return and ~ finally ~ I tell Josef to cut out the dreck.

Josef ignores me, at which point he decides to cast command on the dogsbody and kill him with a mace.  And I ... fuck, I don't believe it ... I just go along with it.

No doubt, I was thinking, "Well, it's his problem.  He can explain it to Mizer later.  I don't care."  But in fact, I should have cared, not because it was wrong to kill the dogsbody, which I don't care about, but because the whole sequence was clearly staged for the sake of getting attention.  Josef did not give a damn about any of the other players and was having a great time spoiling.  As I said, I should have stomped him; but I didn't, even when he "went crazy."  DM Error #6.

Which, viewed as a series of statements made and actions taken, it looks like.  Josef appears on the post to be a sociopath.  It's demented.

Hopelessly confused, I post, "Let me recap, then: Anshelm, Tiberius and Kazimir are watching Josef dragging the dead body of Ells into the woods, on the rise overlooking the meadow and homestead.
Delfig has been asked if he will wait while Frau Meyer fetches her husband."

Which is utterly, utterly wrong.  With all the chatter back and forth between the party and Josef, at one point Anshelm shouts, "What are you doing!?" as Josef kills Ells.  Josef answers, "He is a werewolf." [D&D munchkin cliche]  So I think they're actually talking, so I put Anshelm with Josef.  And Tiberius, because he hasn't said much since deciding at the top of the post to go along, and Kazimir, because he never says anything ... and the thread of the whole damn post is gone because I did not kick the ever-living shit out of Josef at the start.

DM Error #7, forgetting where everyone is.

Looking over the material, I see I didn't sort it out even with the next post, as there's a long discussion as people at a long distance from each other discuss how to explain the murder.  Strange.  In the back of my mind I always had a feeling that something had gone terribly wrong with the visit to the Meyer Homestead.  Now, looking at it in detail, trying to edit it, I see what that was.

All this post was written to explain, in my official rewrite of the events, what the hell went wrong.  It is my intention to clean up the campaign, and to link this post to it as a footnote.  I intend to get everyone in their right places, to eliminate illogical conversations and discussions, to return Anshelm to Delfig and keep Kazimir and Tiberius there as well, and to depict Josef as a raving, murderous lunatic.  I intend the edited version to make sense.

Some people, I know, will see that as "not the true face" of D&D.  I have another version.  In my version of "truth," Anshelm and Delfig were trying very hard to play well, at a game that mattered to them, in a manner that showed their commitment.  And three other players showed either a total lack of commitment or a maliciously selfish agenda that attempted to piss on everything that was happening.

I know which players' content I wish to preserve, and which I prefer to bury in a lime-soaked latrine out back.

There is little difference between this and a post on my Masterclass blog, except this one is for free.  I don't care that I've made errors as a DM, as long as I learn from them, and as long as they can be a sign for others to see, and thus avoid pitfalls.

And while some will think that it is "posterity" to save every tick and letter of the original campaign, I do not.  I will rework the campaign text for me, and for what I see as important.  I am not a bean-counter.  I am a star gazer.