A (DM) has no (game) who has not slowly and painfully gathered one
together, adding to it, shaping it; and one's (game) is never complete
and final, it seems, but must always be undergoing modification.
I don't remember when it first occurred to my friends and I to draw a line from Australia to Central America on the Risk board, but if not a first step it was certainly a representative one. We were figuring out that we humble few could improve upon the rules of cherished, published and OFFICIAL games. As obsessive players we had put as much or more time into playing the game as its creator(s). We understood why capturing either of Australia or North America early 9 times out of 10 meant an ultimate victory. Europe was a blood bath. Conventional wisdom regarding land wars in Asia proved true, here on the imaginary battlefields of a two-dimensional Napoleonic world that never existed. Africa and South America were sometimes viable, sure, but results could vary. No, the savvy player in our group knew that Australia and North America were where it was at.
To the two players who each managed to possess one of these cherished continents, the game amounted to a linearly progressive movement toward their ultimate showdown, the fate of the world hanging in the balance. For up to five other players the game was a brutal slog through the blood-soaked fields of their collective demise. An early but unsatisfactory solution to this problem, the snarf, involved one player sacrificing their armies in an ill-fated, full bore frontal assault into the maw of the North American or Australian forces with the intent of assuring mutual destruction. The primary beneficiary of this act was usually a third (or fourth) player who would swoop in and take the desired continent. It took a special kind of nobility or pettiness to be snarf.
To the two players who each managed to possess one of these cherished continents, the game amounted to a linearly progressive movement toward their ultimate showdown, the fate of the world hanging in the balance. For up to five other players the game was a brutal slog through the blood-soaked fields of their collective demise. An early but unsatisfactory solution to this problem, the snarf, involved one player sacrificing their armies in an ill-fated, full bore frontal assault into the maw of the North American or Australian forces with the intent of assuring mutual destruction. The primary beneficiary of this act was usually a third (or fourth) player who would swoop in and take the desired continent. It took a special kind of nobility or pettiness to be snarf.
One line (okay, technically two lines but that's only because we play on a flat board) diminished what was a problematic advantage. Take the small, isolated fortress of the south-eastern corner and the army-generating machine with only three borders that dominated the north-west and put them in direct conflict. Simple, elegant and game changing. Of all the rules modifications and game variations and special die rolls and "automatic sixes" that came about both officially and unofficially in an attempt to improve or enhance the game, the two lines applied with red marker to our boards was always my favorite. It was the best because it directly addressed two problems at one stroke without fundamentally changing the intent of the game. Never mind that nobody could actually stage an effective attack on Mexico from Indonesia during the 18th century. Realistic simulation was never the game's intent, after all.
Obviously our small group was not unique. Others drew that line. Some drew it to Argentina for some reason, but they were on the right path. The point isn't that we invented anything on our own, but that we saw a problem with the way the game functioned and we sought a solution beyond anything the game's publishers were giving us. We were the sorts of people who wanted to improve the game. But Risk and games like it, being limited by their narrow scope, offer few chances for meaningful change before the game itself becomes something else.
Looking at RPGs, though, the opportunities seem limitless. Note the numerous rulebooks, revisions and editions to just D&D; the sheer amount of other role playing games that exist beyond D&D and the countless DMs and players who each constantly fiddle with, ignore, overturn or add to the rules so that the end result is an unaccountable number of personal variations all existing within the loose boundaries of RPGs, often still called by their original names despite the catalog of rule changes that could make up their own rulebooks. For the sorts of people who draw lines on boardgames, this was the next logical step.
D.H. Lawrence seemed to know something about RPGs 100 years or so before their relevance. These games "... must always be undergoing modification." Note the very personal nature of the modifications, the sheer number of individual RPG variants and the inherent contradiction of one claiming to play and adhere to a specific game's rules while giving no thought to adding to or deleting from them; to picking and choosing the rules that one likes, embracing rules from other games entirely; making up one's own rules where no game's creators have provided a satisfactory guideline; all while happily claiming to play D&D or whatever else. What else but religion, RPGs and maybe art provides such a widely accepted dichotomy? Maybe they're all three the same thing, or pieces of the same sort of thing important about the human condition.
D.H. Lawrence seemed to know something about RPGs 100 years or so before their relevance. These games "... must always be undergoing modification." Note the very personal nature of the modifications, the sheer number of individual RPG variants and the inherent contradiction of one claiming to play and adhere to a specific game's rules while giving no thought to adding to or deleting from them; to picking and choosing the rules that one likes, embracing rules from other games entirely; making up one's own rules where no game's creators have provided a satisfactory guideline; all while happily claiming to play D&D or whatever else. What else but religion, RPGs and maybe art provides such a widely accepted dichotomy? Maybe they're all three the same thing, or pieces of the same sort of thing important about the human condition.
But just what am I getting at? I'm circling around an idea, sword drawn and shield up. I'm about to take a whack at it. For all the legion of variations and changes, what has really changed in RPGs in 40 or so years? What has fundamentally improved? Sure, creative DMs, game designers and bloggers have shown us that collectively our tastes have grown varied and maybe even refined from the mish-mash kitchen sink of original D&D, but what fundamentally evolved about the game as a whole? What is objectively an improvement vs. simply a choice informed by taste and preference?
The truth is that objectively speaking nothing has improved except maybe the skills of the participants and the quantity of choices. There is no ongoing dialectic. We're not narrowing down, we're becoming dispersed. Five editions of D&D, all seemingly as active and relevant as the other demonstrate that easily enough, let alone a thousand other games. There has been no measurable progress with the game because we have no way to really measure it. What's the ideal? What's the intent? Do all RPG's have the same intent? Could they? What are the rules? Why this rule and not that one? More direct and meaningfully, what actually makes for a good game?
The truth is that objectively speaking nothing has improved except maybe the skills of the participants and the quantity of choices. There is no ongoing dialectic. We're not narrowing down, we're becoming dispersed. Five editions of D&D, all seemingly as active and relevant as the other demonstrate that easily enough, let alone a thousand other games. There has been no measurable progress with the game because we have no way to really measure it. What's the ideal? What's the intent? Do all RPG's have the same intent? Could they? What are the rules? Why this rule and not that one? More direct and meaningfully, what actually makes for a good game?
There are as many answers to that last question as there are players of the game. There's no wrong way to play the game because there doesn't seem to be any right way to play it. Those striving to find the "right" way who have been writing about it for any length of time seem to find agreement on only one admission: we are not arriving at the same place because we are on different paths. It's more about the process, the journey, than the destination. You find your own way. You find your own meaning. Not helpful.
I don't know if there's really any meaning in playing, designing and modifying these games. I worry that I seem to spend 100 hours or more thinking about or fiddling with RPG's for every hour that I actually get to play. Why? Why, with so many other things I could be doing to entertain myself, create art, further my career, enhance my education or improve my family do I re-write spell descriptions and wring my hands over how many coins a coat of mail should actually cost? I often worry that there is no point and I'm merely a case of arrested development or midlife crisis; some weird 40-something lab rat pulling a lever to recall a sensation I felt when I was 12. The only comfort in that thought is looking around and seeing all of the other lab rats cranking down on their levels. I fiddle with rules, I obsess over RPG's because I have to. The fiddling with rules gives me pleasure. That almost sounded dirty.
For whatever its worth I guess I'm just the sort of person who draws lines on Risk boards, draws maps of imaginary places and has decided I don't need to rationalize a whole lot over it, other than to say I like it. Future posts will be more gamey stuff, existential crisis on back burner. I hope to soon write some less diary-confessional content about my ongoing love affair with Savage Worlds.
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