It Slices! It Dices!

The one major rule-of-thumb for me in making decisions as a GameMaster [always capitalize: it may be the only bennie...] has been:

If it's funny, it probably works.

The truth of the matter isn't in the "funny," but in the "Does it get the [appropriate] reaction?" This is true for any expression: writing, singing, making many levels of choices... if it's for your own catharsis or kicks, sharing it with others may not be the best use of your design. (I'm all for public masturbation, provided consensual indulgence on the part of the audience.)

There's a lot of GMing that has to be done from the proverbial "seat of the pants." When I make a ruling, irrelevant of the roll of the dice, I try to keep foremost in my head, "What will make the player jump?" (Or laugh, or cry, or...) If it's a negotiation roll, heck, I once ran a Shadowrun game where Mr. Johnson flubbed his roll terribly... he gave the runners an unlimited expense account.

If I recall correctly, they bought shares in the competing company, expecting the stock of the corp they were working for to suddenly plummet. They bought "supplies" of dubious value... and one runner bought the editing of a pornographic video to include himself and a known Dragon... did I say he bought editing? He bought himself an Enemy...

It was a one-shot so I didn't really concern myself too much with the details, but sometimes doing things a little over-the-top is good.

Many of the stories I hear about gaming are all similar: the amazing roll of the dice, the quip that has the opportunity to repeat itself, and the GM who lets it happen... 'cause it was funny.

Some of my games have suffered from the, "What Do You Do Next?" syndrome, whereupon my players scratch their heads and ask, "What are we supposed to do?"

This used to frustrate me to no end. After all, these same people don't stand around each and every day, asking, "Um...so what am I supposed to be doing?" (Well, OK, maybe a couple of them did, but most of my players were fairly strong "self-starters" [as the terminology of the want ads put it] in real life.)

This especially didn't work in con games. Sure, I can tell you it's a beautiful, intriguing world, but you're not going to see much of it in 4 hours. It's more of a lay-over in my Neverlands.

I got better. I'm starting to learn that there need to be options...reminders, heck, in a PBeM, Oberon might have said to get Deirdre as an ambassador in the morning, but the morning was three months ago...

The concept is based on a simple but little known truth: freedom inhibits creativity. There are nothing like restrictions to get you thinking.

The quote talks about making rules for yourself in writing, like, "I can only write using these tools," or "I have to write x words a day," or "I have to use a new word in each message." It's a matter of discipline, matched with a structure.

Sometimes, the structure is simply in the design. When I run a con game, I'm looking at a design that needs to tell the players what the goal is, what the "winning circumstances" are...and interpret it to the characters in such a way that it isn't entirely obvious, isn't circumvented by silliness, and fits a certain feel I'm trying to develop.

We begin to impose additional structures: genre is the cake mix, style is the icing. "I have to use a new word in each message," but the new word is teaching me (or my players) a foreign language. The proper tool to produce the proper results, of course.

I can manipulate my reminders, and my structures. I could mention that the player is reminded that they have to Trump Deirdre...but not why. I could mention that Oberon wanted someone as an ambassador...but not who... and in most ways it's fair: it means the player has to do the detail work, but more specifically, I can use it to push a plot. Especially when, three months later, details have changed.

Neglecting the tool, however, means I'm using one less skill for the game, and that means my players are missing out...

The idea of the diced vs. diceless arguments I have meandered into seem to rely on the concept of some utter "fairness" (avoiding the idea of whether or not "fair" is necessarily "fun") in random results. The exchange generally seems to go along this route:

Dice advocates seem to believe, "A diceless game puts more 'bias' into the hands of one person, detracting from the overall fairness of the game. Dice remove the implications of that bias when the GM makes resolutions."

Diceless advocates tend to believe, "Random resolution is just that: random. It takes the GM to make the real decisions..."

The usual medium role is, "The device du jour is the tool one applies to _aid_ in that decision making."

The overarching concern I generally see is the question of character death. In a diceless game, the GM is solely responsible for whether or not a character dies. In a diced game, it can be the matter of an unlucky roll.

Neither of these situations are acceptable... for it is implied that death in diceless is a matter of GM whim, and death in diced games is a matter of random chance.

Doesn't that sound like "murder" versus "accident" to you?

(Except when a GM has killed a character out of self defense... [grin])

I can't speak for other GMs, but it is of utmost importance to me, as a diceless GM, to retain the trust of my players. With that consideration, my decisions take into account both the story being told (which is written a little in advance of the players, but not so much that it isn't constantly changing) and the will of the players. If I decide that an action ends in death, it has to be acceptable (meaning believable and appropriate) to the players as a whole. It's not random or willful, but it is a consequence that ties into that story being told.

Is that any different with dice? Not really... a lot of it's just "behind the scenes."

Are the GAMES any different with dice? Yes, and that's a different story altogether.

"There's a bear?"

"Anomalies are where the action is, creatively speaking."

A number of books I've read have said that average success is boring. Most of us expect to be able to walk across the room. The first time your child does it, it's a chance to jump up and shriek and enjoy the milestone. When you trip on your own pant leg, roll over, and spend fifteen minutes with the giggles before you make it to the doorway, it's either tragedy or comedy.

There are a lot of examples of things made just slightly more interesting because they don't go the way you expect. Pornography and comedy (and I fear there is a difference) is full of examples. ("Whoo-hoo, look at who I'm boffin'!" "Normally it'd be wrong, but it feels...sooooo....good.") To some extent, that's the theory behind random elements in gaming. "I didn't expect to roll a critical success/failure."

However, it's also the key to plot design. Conflict creates plot, but if "the good guy" is always successful, the story continues with less concern. It is the struggles of the hero, the occasional injury, the near-death match with the antagonist... that's what gets me involved. I can see I have another 270 pages to go, and while I as an author might spend 100 wrapping up the loose ends should the protagonist bite it, I as a reader have fairly certain meta-knowledge that this isn't the fight where it happens.

One has to be perceptive for the anomalies. The example that makes the title for this post is an old gaming clich? (which, as you notice, has the word "lich" in it, meaning "evil undead"), wherein the GM describes the room thusly:

"There's a candle, a bed, a bear, rug, table, some chairs, and nicely fluffed up pillows." Whereupon as a reader you see that I've put a comma between "bear" and "rug," the listener has to be sure that that isn't "a bear rug" so when the bear attacks (it's Goldilocks' house, after all) they're ready.

I read it to Rainbow K and asked, "What's in the room that's going to attack you?"

She sized me up quickly. "Maybe the bed...the table..the chairs... quite possibly a pillow." She added "Candle and bear," after a moment. Her eyes clearly said, "With you as a GM, anything is possible."

She's going to be a great gamer some day.

Impulse. I know some gamers who are intense planners, seeing every confrontation like a chess game. I'll do what "doesn't make sense to be done next," as long as it still fits the game "mood." I will, in a game, make mistakes.

The Feng Shui RPG described one of my favourite "mistakes": to be the hero that gets kidnap'ed... after all, that way one can find out what's really happening straight from "the bad guys" themselves.

As a GM, I never force it. It's the anomalies waking up and crawling out, careful of the early bird. It's a call to listen for the "something different." Seek out the magic. Be an anomaly.

Explain. When we learn something, it's because we have invented an explanation for it. We have explained it to ourselves.

This is another (like the "anomaly" phrase) of Shank's Maxims of Creativity. It is also a great gamemaster's technique.

Too often we have a habit of "pushing the recall button," where we say, "And our characters explain what's been going on to the (N)PC." It's a time-saver, but it doesn't provide any analysis.

I don't know about you, but when I tell a story, it's not just a, "We did this." It's a, "We did this...did you know how I felt about this? Once upon a time, I did this, and it led me to believe this..." full surround-information kind of experience. It's not only about what happened, but why things happened, or why the decisions were made that led to such things happening.

It's OK, I can't tell a joke, either.

I ran a game with the LintKing once, wherein his Ubiquitous Halfling Thief reluctantly scouted ahead to a room. He saw a number of undead attempting to re-enact some sort of dinner scene. He reported back.

"There's a bunch of zombie mimes."

Years later, that line still makes me giggle.

One of the GMing problems I've struggled to improve is listening to my players. What they hear is NOT necessarily what you've told them is happening. You're trying to be sneaky, nonlinear... and sometimes you don't hear it when they're NOT understanding what's happening.

One of the solutions is to have them tell you. Feedback is vital, and part of that is understanding it in the players' own words. This is the advantage of character contributions such as diaries, as well: a character might understand another differently than you expected or designed.

How would you describe your game? How many times have you been mislead because of a fancy blurb for a convention game that was nothing like what it read? How would your players describe it?

The profit from "explanation," is also offered in-game. How do I best offer information about NPCs via NPCs? Description is also a level of explanation.

My first goal in gaming is shared vision.

If I and the players see things the same way, we have gotten closer to the synergy that disposes of the redundant details. When your players can give directions with their hands as to what direction the main ballroom of the castle is from where they're standing in Fiona's suite, and that is second nature to them, they're living in the world you've created together.

Once you've gotten the details down, you can game. Your actions are all of the automatic sort wherein you don't feel like you have to "roll dice" or "check with the GM" if your favourite liquor is in the cabinet behind the bar. The narrative expands to include the occasional gaming action, but it feels more seamless: so that the simulation of the world is not intrusive. When it intrudes, it interrupts the magic.

Refuse to learn the rules. You must pick your spots for rebellion, be sure that you have reason on your side, and be prepared to take the consequences.

This is another one of Shank's Maxims of Creativity, and one that's difficult for me to get behind, entirely...at the same time, I understand this one instinctively as a player, and as an administrator.

I recently read in another blog how someone was disappointed by a gaming system because he "couldn't do that." In other words, that the gaming system didn't have any method of resolution for his action.

The idea infuriates me.

I want to shout and wave my fist in the air with a, "What was your GM thinking? What kind of ignorant response was that? If it's something your character might do, make UP a rule...or if not a rule, make up a difficulty and continue with the action!"

You want to know why I run a lot of Amber?

I hate making characters.

It's not just the whole, "Alright, if I take this many points here, and I calculate the square root of the attribute here, and then I multiply by a random number here..." but because if given free rein, I -will- abuse the system. You want a munchkin, heck, that used to be my nickname...

Because I'm short.

Alright, I'm not quite that bad. I do like being superb in one attribute.

The rules of a game will indicate, however, where the abuses of a game lie.

I love it when a game states, "You absolutely cannot be this," because this fey werewolf abomination who has come back from the dead because of his awakened magical powers is just the kind of character someone wants to play.

"Have reason on your side." I should be able to do this, because this makes sense in the context we've developed. Why is it against the rules? The rules need to work for what I'm doing, and if they don't, they're no good for me.

Break the rules. Test things. But don't do it just to rebel. Do it smart.

Sometimes the consequences are more interesting this way.

"The difficult part is changing one's own attitude toward one's own ability to think."

In the article about creativity I was reading, this statement appeared to suggest a level of required confidence, and in context, how people often felt they had a certain design to how they approached things that was hard to break out of... "the rules," such as they may be.

To me, this statement seemed apt in regards to learning how to use magic.

I mentioned magic because to a large extent, that's part of how I think... it may not be inside or outside any metaphorical "boxes," but I allow a little bit of chance to run away from analysis, a little bit of coincidence to be shaped by my will, and a little bit of pattern-forming to inspire thoughts of conspiracy.

It's also some of what allows me to be a GM. While I have the line, "It's a conspiracy of cartographers?" ringing in my head, GMing to me is like having a map you give someone, and then being willing to go on the expedition to help fill in a lot of the blanks. Sometimes that map is a character sheet, sometimes it's a literal map, a dungeon, or a city...

As roleplayers, we are often called upon changes in our way of thinking in order to play characters who may not have a lot in common with ourselves. (I would say especially as GMs, but that's the typical experience.) Whether it's to change gender, species, occupation, or any of the other labels we commonly associate with description, the differences are telling.

Sometimes I go with, "assumption," as my method. "How would a man react to this?" Well, I don't have the anatomy, but I've a respect for men that suggests that they really wouldn't handle this any differently than I would as a woman. Sometimes I go with research. "Hey, hon, you're a man, what do you think about this?"

(OK, one or two points of data do not "legitimate research" make, unless we're dealing with a question of how my man would react to the ineffable this. That's not gathering data, that's direct observation of the source.)

Of course, my methods of research, as well as my methods of explaining things to myself will colour the results. This is why I sometimes dream that I'm Fiona.

The question I have, when I'm dreaming that I'm Fiona, is, "Which one am I?" I've designed several versions of the character, and their differences aren't always obvious until put into play.

Of course, the answer is, I'm my Fiona. The conglomerate, the aspect of me that makes it so easy to write from "her" perspective. The labels I use to differentiate the versions are removed to focus on the essence of my overall design.

There are methods to encourage getting into the "character mode," including (but not limited to) the rituals of musical prompts, literature, certain movements or positions, and the environment.

I wonder to some extent if that works any differently with GMing. What kinds of rituals help someone get into that mode, as opposed to focused on a single character?

More than just changing how one thinks one thinks, if you would, there's also how someone handles the knowledge. In the old days of BBSing there were opportunities (nay, requirements!) for being "more than one person," on the boards. (On the internet, it's not only too time-consuming, but fairly redundant. [grinning]) My "on-line personas" and I would have to handle messages very differently.

The best way to handle this was via creating patterns... couching them in the terms of "likes" and "dislikes," of course, with emphasis on knowledge that I would split between us... like one of us might be an expert on one field about which the other would disclaim any idea.

I joke that my husband channels the spirit of one of his Amber characters when he plays pinball. He wasn't as good until he created the Pinball Character.

Of course, does that mean with Fiona, I'm now mistress of snarky comments? Nah, I gave up that title a while ago...

While there are many methods and tricks for designing NPCs, I am a great believer of the GTH technique.

GTH stands for, "a goal, a tactic, and a habit." It's an old writer's trick (I think it was credited to Samuel Delany last time I read about it) on creating characters. The idea of this method is that in order to create an NPC, while you can continue adding details, the essentials for using the character is to know one goal, one tactic, and one habit.

As a writer, I have collected over the years a number of quizzes and questions one's supposed to ask to develop characters. They talk about the last five years of the character's life, the physical details, the stories behind scars (emotional and physical) as well as motivations, family secrets, and the closest they've ever come to dying.

The problem is, they're of limited use. I know these answers, or I can make them up as necessary. (I once spent some time of an evening deciding which of my gaming characters would be most likely to shave their pubic hair. Don't ask.) The questions are basically there to help round out the characters... they don't necessarily tell you how to play them.

Three of the most important questions I try to ask my players of their characters are:

1. What are the character's greatest hopes and fears?

2. What circumstances would turn the character into a hero?

3. What makes this character interesting enough to play?

The first, their hopes and fears tie directly into my game design. I want the PCs' hopes to come true... and I want to use their fears against them. It sets up the first layer of conflict against the PCs. It tells me what kinds of threats are going to be effective, as well as what kinds of goals to develop.

The second, the circumstances for heroics is another plot-developing situation. The style of answer here tells me quite a bit, too: is the character already a hero? It gives me the follow-up question of, "Who are the character's heroes," as that also tells me what the character strives for, and sets a layer of stylistic development as I examine the environment necessary. Heroes rarely develop from simplistic success... even tricksters need to be hungry to create.

The third, what makes the character interesting in the player's mind gives me insight into the PC and the player. I sometimes follow it up with, "Why should I have the character in this campaign?" as the explanation tells me what the player knows (or thinks he or she knows) about the campaign as much as it gives me an idea of what they want from the campaign. In some ways, if I had to ask only one question, this would be it: in one sense, this tells me everything I need to know as a GM.

The truth is, asking these sorts of questions should be done at more than one point during the campaign. A character develops as much (if not more) in play than by deliberate design. While in the beginning it may be Damascus' goal to "get lucky," (isn't that true for all Bad Stuff characters? [grinning]) and take some much-needed rest, during the game it may become much more important for Damascus to learn who "the IBF" is, even if it interferes with her original character goal.

"How has this character changed?" is a measure of the impact of the story. One of the differences between diced and diceless games comes up right here: in diced games, sometimes legends are built on a significant die roll.

In the only real World of Darkness game I played, my character (who happened to be a WoD-version of myself, like the rest of the players) changed upon an unreal defensive roll against a very, very nasty blade coming towards me. The kind of, "It could happen in real life, maybe," situation, and the GM decided that the roll was significant enough to realize in-game the potential of my PC... [in this case, to trigger my transformation into a werespider.]

In diceless games, the process is a lot more a mutual development between GM and player. If the above scenario had been played diceless, I as a player probably wouldn't have determined it enough of a concern... and probably would have pushed for it to happen instead when my in-game loved ones had been threatened, or something suitably theatrical. Summed up, it reads:

Dice are a method of development in gaming characters.

...and not just in character creation, either.

Control of the development of a character can happen outside game circumstances as well. I didn't have any real idea how to play Damascus until I started trying to write some feats and exploits from her background. The character quiz got me started...but it didn't give me the necessary hook, the handle I needed.

In Damascus' case, it was a couple of quirks that actually took her into 3-dimensions for me: her "personal rules," and her "biting things at random to see how they taste."

At the same time, I knew Jinx-Jobina instinctively once I heard "her song." I hadn't been looking for it, but upon hearing it I mentally nodded and made a note. Whenever I needed to get into Jinx-Jobina's mindset, I could play the song, or think about how the song made me feel.

Creating characters is not the same as playing the characters. There are stress points, situations that the design wasn't intended to take. This goes for NPCs as much as PCs, and maybe doubly so, because there may be the tendency to make NPCs "one-trick ponies." (This is a flaw with the GTH technique: once the goal, tactic, or habit has been exhausted, I need to either destroy the character or develop further depth...sometimes "on the fly.")

This is also true of campaigns... but that's a discussion for another day.

Intuition is the inner catalogue of cues (physical, emotional, mental), a composite of idiosyncratic perceptions that direct you to recognizing patterns that would be invisible to the conscious mind.

In the Myers-Briggs test, the dynamic lies between "Intuitive" and "Sensing," suggesting that intuition is a way of experiencing the world in opposition to the information gained from the senses. As a distinct sensualist (with the highest possible Intuition score on my Myers-Brigg) I reject that dynamic. I consider my sensory experiences as part of the "inner library" against which I check my intuitive projections.

When I read Tarot (I've been somewhat amused by Morgan's Tarot site lately) I must weave a pattern from random card choice. It has to be a design, a web of connection. I have to have inspiration and see connections in an almost altered state of perception to "make it work."

How do you "make it work" in a gaming sense? On a meta-scale it's the sudden grasp of a connection that makes sense of clues that you as GM hadn't entirely planned for, or you as player suddenly grasp from the sowing of the GM. It's the sudden dramatic moment you can seize, no matter on what side of the GM screen you sit.

How do you play this one out within the game?

I played a character in a mixed White Wolf game with "eight dots" in Occult. It was a pretty significant score (boosted because of my sudden metamorphosis into a giant blood-sucking werespider, but...) and I had only a weak grasp on the metaphysics of the White Wolf "gothic-punk" universe.

I did what I'd hope a player in my position would do if I was a GM: I posited. I theorized. I made thin strings of coincidence into conspiracy theories. I decided that with my skill anything I said might have been "possible," unless the GM made me roll for it.

Even then, it was just a little less likely. [grinning]

As a GM, who am I to deny the connections? Especially if it furthers the aims of plot? What someone pays attention to develops; that's one of the aims of organic gaming. Creativity is born of inspiration and inspiration evolves from your passions. What creates passion in gaming? What can you gather from your intuitive grasp of the world and how it is perceived by your players?

A character designed around intuition in one of my campaigns will be given glimpses. "It seems likely," is a fair warning. "You think there might be a connection," is a hint. Without having it unbalance the campaign, intuition is input into something a character/player might want to have happen... good and bad. It is something you can guide, and something that can guide you.

But how to use it? Use your intuition.

In my Amber Bits blog you may have read my struggles with designing games for the convention setting. There is a distinct difference in the design between that and that for FtF or PBeM. (The short synopsis is: very different expectations. The slightly longer one: too used to playing with my group. Anything longer and it would no longer be a synopsis.)

If you look at my games for AmberCon NorthWest 2001 you can read my extensive notes for the games I ran, most of which were very successful. (Heck, if you wanted to, you could take them and run your own games. I don't mind.) You will note that they are far more developed than, "Coyote. Bird. Evil. Evil," the sum total of notes for a game the previous year.

Why? Because I'm a wargamer at heart, and I need charts and definitions! Frankly, out of self-evaluation. I finally took a very long, hard look at what was failing in my (and others') games and what was succeeding. While I was capable of creating plots and descriptions on-the-spot, my time and energy was thus being tragically misspent. Even having a list of "descriptive words," in an adventure could keep me focused on the actual GMing, not the designing.

It would be a crass generalization to suggest that there are only two kinds of convention games: exploration and puzzle-solving. Of course, I was similarly crass in suggesting that there were only two types of LARPS (mysteries and treasure hunts) so you should be familiar with it. [When it comes down to it, there's only two types of people in this world: people who separate things into categories, and people who don't. (grinning)]

"Puzzle-solving" games are fairly straightforward. I tend to prefer them because the conditions for success or failure are more defined. Determine the pieces, put them in order, and voila! Game is clear-cut, has a beginning, an ending, and everything is neatly tied up one way or another.

"Exploration" games, however, are by their very nature more nebulous. Whether the exploration is of the characters' psyche, the political situation, or even an old-fashioned dungeon crawl, it relies far more on the GM to expend energy to present the design.

My PBeMs tend to be exploration games. There's a meta-arc, and there's a list of "victory conditions," but most of the game pace is spent in character development outside of the impersonal demands of plot. Where in a puzzle-solving game the plot insists on a certain pacing, a certain amount of screen-time, the exploration game has the plot attending to the characters, rather than vice versa. My FtF tend to be a combination, each meeting intended to be a bit more "episodic" with a "victory" or "failure" in each session, continued in an overall exploratory plot.

I have been in games of both types at conventions. Puzzle-type games tend to frustrate me a little because I have a perpendicular method of approach. [grin] Exploratory games, however, have had as many "failures" as "successes."

What makes it successful? I don't know. Sometimes it may just be the energy level, GM, and combination of players. I do have three basic observations that stand out as being significant.

1) Player comfort with their characters.

The GM has responsibility here in making sure the character goals are succinct, satisfactory to the player and scenario, and are fairly feasible. This applies to player-generated as well as pre-generated characters rather equitably. The more easily a player can slide into character, the easier the character will slide into the plot.

Sometimes I think that the GM's job is mostly as a host. They need to fluff up the pillows and make things available for the players, keeping them comfortable. I don't want to feel like a guest: I want to feel like someone who knows where everything is in the kitchen and can help myself to a bowl of cereal. OK, and also to the breadknife when something tries to make it through the window. The GM has no obligation to make the characters' lives comfortable; in fact, it may be just the opposite.

2) The GM's enthusiasm, encouragement, and involvement.

Remember that "perpendicular" comment? I need a GM who can make me feel like I can cast out for far-out ideas and connections, but who will reel me in a little so we're not wasting time. I need feedback. Too many times the GM will sit back, "so as not to give anything away," whereas this kind of game almost needs the GM reacting as a fellow player.

My groups tend to be the "raze and pillage" sorts. If it's not nailed down, they'll take it. If it's nailed down, it'll be burnt to ashes. The GM needs to understand, "damage control," and where to pull back on the reins, and when to apply the crop.

3) Strategy for character interplay.

The exploratory game is supposed to rely on the way the players take control and have their characters interact. This has, in my experience, worked best when the GM has outlined why the characters will have a certain style intrplay. Initiative is fine as far as it goes, but not everyone will have the same level of it.

I played "the nice guy," in an Elders game whose verbal barbs were vicious. I didn't mind as a player, but I could see no reasoning behind the sparring. That meant it hard to understand in-character.

These are three imporant differences between leaving openings for the characters to gently divert the game, and leaving huge holes that jarringly derail the experience. It's like the difference between applying "direction" and "dictation" to the experience.

It is a common perception that to some extent, the rules differ for the NPCs. A wise 'netter who I otherwise cannot give attribution to (due to somehow losing it in my quotes file) wrote the truism:

The Game is about the PCs. If the Game is NOT about the PCs then the players should be playing the characters the game IS about.

I will start by saying that I do not write out (to the extent I demand from my players) the same information for my NPCs as my PCs, except in very rare cases. The levels of my NPC development run roughly as follows:

4. Extras

Also known as "mooks" (taken from the Feng Shui game), or as "people around you," in many a crowd-scene description. An "extra" is someone who is meant to fill in the blanks, with no name, maybe a couple of distinguishing characteristics (only if the PCs investigate) and no staying power.

3. Cameos

A cameo is someone who is either so well known to the players that I don't need to describe them unless there is a significant difference, or a walk-on part that expresses something important and then goes away. "Oberon" in an Amber campaign is generally a good cameo character. I don't have to develop the NPC besides answering any uncommon questions.

2. Guest Stars

A Guest Star is someone appearing in a game with a purpose. Usually someone who has an important or recurring role with the PCs. I need to know the motive, I need to know the style, and I need to know how they will react.

1. Pivot Points

This is the kind of NPC that I spend my pre-game design on, building them to the level of what I expect for knowing the PCs. I expect these characters to root into the plot, and grow with it.

With player attention anyone in a lower-level category can ascend in importance, of course. The Bard Pel, from The Glitter and the Glamour, for example, has been raised from a Cameo to a Guest Star... and might even have room to be a Pivot Point in my (nefarious) plans.

The level of consideration also implies the amount to which the rules apply to the NPC in my games. For example, if you want to slaughter a bazillion Extras, depending on the power level of the game, I'm just going to let you do it. None of this, "They have four hit points. Your arrows can do from one to six hit points. You fire two per round," business. Extras are just one step away from scenery, so the rules don't apply to them as much...

A Cameo of the Unicorn in Amber is also going to be loose on the rules. You're not usually intended to interact with a Cameo for too long... although the more you interact with one, the more rules apply.

Once you get to being a Pivot Point, the rules are absolutely equivalent to PCs, if not a little bit more strict. (I might let a player get away with something if it amuses or otherwise seems appropriate.)

See, the truth is, I do have favourite NPCs...but the game is more important. If I kill an NPC in one game, it doesn't mean he's "dead forever." My NPCs are fairly endless: I can always "make more." The PCs are finite: they're bound by both the rules and what the players want them to be able to do (sometimes much tougher than any mere statistic.)

The importance of my NPCs thus need to vary with the demands of the PCs. Do I need the Unicorn to be an all-powerful creature, or is it merely an herbivore with a luck blessing?

One can write the game for an NPC. For example, I think there is a temptation to make the "bad guy" powerful, so that there is a certain "level of challenge." Plots revolve around the "bad guy" and what he is doing.

This is not the same as making the bad guy able to see through all of the players' plans. Playing GM versus players is not a challenge: the GM has infinite hit points, and all the abilities of the universe.

Another place this fails is whether or not the PCs want to follow the "bad guy"'s events. They may get caught up in them anyway, but heck, if they want to go to Cuba, and have reason to do so, and Mr. Bad Guy has no Cuban holdings, let Mr. Bad Guy go for a while. When they try to get back to the U.S. and realize he's staged a military coup, well...that's can be even more fun. A Pivot Point is that: he changes the pivotal points, things pivot around him, and then...he's done. Let it be a device, not a conclusion.

One of the often unnoticed differences between PBeM and FtF gaming is the different senses and recognitions of authority. While a gamemaster may have ultimate authority in many places within the game, there remain positions where one character or one player alone may have the final decision.

For example, one common element of authority is "camera time." Whether this is a guaranteed fair-measure, or a "catch the GM's attention as one can," the person who the GM is giving attention to has authority. A loud voice or a pre-prepared action may be able to offer input, but there are concerns when interfering with that time.

Other elements may include character background, wherein a GM may suggest situations or events that occurred, but it is the authority of the player who created the character to determine whether things happened that way. There's consensus authority, wherein "we like this to have happened this way," can decide the fate of a conflict. There might be a natural leader, a character or player with charisma to which the rest of the group tends to allow to make decisions.

Groups without an authoritative structure may have characters with non-competitive goals or who otherwise have learned to play to their strengths, but I find that they are rare...generally, as a whole, gamers seem to tend to have ideas about who can tell whom what to do in which situation.

Enter one of the seven deadly sins: pride. It can be a gaming-group killer. A GM must often learn to swallow it, and a player who refuses to stand down starts a conflict that is difficult to administrate. After all, the first authority a player has is refusal to play.

Rule of thumb: People respect people who show them respect.

Games of pride can escalate quickly. Instigation comes both from within and without the game. Who answers to this? The GM? The players? Who has the authority to make a stand and declare a "winner"? When it is not merely a question of right vs. wrong, but someone who doesn't know when to admit that they're "beaten?" Who has the authority (and therefore, the responsibility) to handle the ensuing tension?

The common response is that the gamemaster has the authority, but it is paramount to understand that the investment into a game is mutual between the gamemaster and the players. There is no easy solution, but before making the GM the parent/babysitter, perhaps it is best that everyone involved has not only a chance for a decision that allows them to keep their pride intact, but an understanding that the shared power of group consensus is a much subtler tool than the blunt hammer of GM's fiat.

One of the most awkward acts of being a Game Master is "calling the session," admitting that maybe it didn't go where he or she wanted it to go, that everyone was tired, or that so many things happened wrong, it must have been some nightmare of epic proportions and the characters will wake up next week.

Actually, instead of calling out, "Re-do," the Minions had been known to call out, "Save Game!" at various points of the plot.

Game time is so precious to some of us, that it is very hard to say that all of that work, all of that effort "didn't actually happen." At the same time, not everyone may be fully 'there' for each and every game session, or even have the same needs. GM "X" spent all night writing a story for publication and really needs about a three hour nap, Player "Y" got home late from work and is hungry, and Player "Z" is having a fight with his boyfriend and really needs a stress-buster. Players A, B, and C, are there to play, but it's hot outside, and the fan is making noise...whatever the case may be. Sometimes everyone's "off," making up for times when everyone's "on."

The dynamics of a gaming group can change that, at least for me. Sometimes I may be lethargic in the beginning, but I "warm up" for the game. Events pull me in to the "mood," to adapt to the gaming environment. Sometimes, as GM, I set myself personal (and group) challenges.

There's the style of group that likes being in "deep." Who want to crawl to the bottom of the Abyss in order to make their way up and appreciate the journey. "Bring it on," they challenge the GM. "If we mess up, we want to mess up big."

That's actually a new gaming rule of mine, specifically for convention and FtF gaming: if you're going to do anything, do it big! PBeM is good for subtle, but I'll keep it in mind.

This is the group with whom I'll someday run the Kult game I've had brewing in my head for years. [grinning]

The advantage, of course, of that kind of angst is the incredible feeling of the heroics of getting through all of it. Bleeding, bruised, battered, but ultimately alive, a special kind of "high" we can share through our characters. The aspect of the adventure that really DOES make gamers "different."

So it's a tough choice. Do we shout, "re-do" or do we go on, go through with it, and hope for the best?

In relation to the post on "Growing Up Together" in which I learned a lot about why people felt something nonconsensual was happening in a past game, Ginger Stampley asked:

What happens when another player comes up with a concept that absolutely excludes the request? The player is faced with three unpalatable choices: (1) break your PC's concept; (2) break the other PC's concept; (3) break continuity/the world.

Personally, I believe a player in character creation (only) should never be allowed to "break the world." Character creation is excluded because it is a time and an opportunity wherein one is learning what the "feel" of the world is like. It is a matter of push and pull and getting a character that "fits" into the world made. The GM usually has to do a little adjustment of the world, a little tailoring to the characters, but the essential environment exists in order to facilitate whatever story was built in it.

Once the characters have been created, the world may be "broken" along the lines of appropriate character action. It depends on the GM in regards to how they want to deal with potentially earth-shaking actions.

No PC concept is guaranteed entry into a game. The LintKing has a wonderful character he developed that he'd like to play and, so far, hasn't really fit into any game I've run. It's (obviously) not that I don't think he can play it (although a GM is encouraged to make some level of judgment about that as well) it's that the character hooks make it far more of a challenge to fit any of the games I've run, and still express the whole concept.

A player can be told, "Give me another concept," especially if it's not working. There are players I've told, "Can't do that." Generally I will reject a concept that is too much work on my end, too much relying on my write-ups of information. I have also been known to reject concepts that are too close to others' already accepted, that rely on plot hooks I can't suspend my disbelief for, and for simply being deficient in the "amusing me" rule of thumb.

Now, as for breaking another PC's concept, that's something else, entirely. I will allow it as above: if I've already "got one of those," I might recommend a change. If the player wants to appeal, I'll work out as much as I can. I listen to players. They're the people who keep me in business.

What's more important to me as a GM; a plot consistent with my vision, or happy players? (Heck, if you asked me what the number two reason SwtE failed was, I'd say, "People thought there was a plot.")

I had this brief plot idea polished some by the LintKing.

A great mage is born, a mage whose power to summon elementals of the Earth itself. He (or she: gender is irrelevant to the adventure as it stands) is harnessed for use by Generic Evil Corporation from an early age, but as he gets older, he begins to hear from free elementals that he is a danger to himself and others. He begins to doubt himself, and quakes, eruptions, the like begin to occur. His maladjusted sense of responsibility begins to drive him slightly bonkers.

At some point, he is "rescued" (the word is probably closer to "stolen") by a group of 'Runners, whose magically-inclined Mr. Johnson has the Earth mage lifted into a plane, where he cannot access his powers. For many years, he is simply transferred from plane to plane. Then, something happens to Mr. Johnson, and his whole project is cancelled.

The scenario now kind of splits into two situations:

ONE) The mage is now quite maladjusted and is one of the most potent threats the world has ever seen. You might even need to hire a Toxic Juggernaut Shaman to help take him out.

TWO) The mage is now quite reformed (after all, this is a great opportunity for therapy) but the Earth misses him. He is overwhelmed by the energy, and there are magical repercussions worldwide... leading him to be used as a tool for someone else.

Did I ever tell you about awakened Jell-O molds?

I was reminded of this topic that I have ranted on before by an (apparently) off-handed comment by Mr. Novak from a post on Secrets from Turn of a Friendly Die.

"...For the same reason I don't like players in, say, GURPS, taking an advantage like `charismatic' if they can't play it."

There are a number of folks who feel that you must roleplay all your social encounters, and yet that it's perfectly reasonable to simulate combat with dice.

Trust me, I, personally, would be much more able to convince you of something while holding a six foot battle axe in the crook of my left arm, than I would be using my words alone. Even with my notorious poor luck at rolling the correct numbers. (Which is why my, "No kidding! There I was," dice stories are so rare, and so outrageous.)

Oh sure, there are times my charisma's turned on, and I've got the mojo, but those are noteworthy for their rarity. The truth is, I'm a much better fighter than I am talker, in real life.

...but I'll play a Fiona. I'll play a scheming, manipulative, balseraphic, talker type when I game. Because when I game, I'm playing someone I'm not... so I don't think it's fair to expect me to lead the crowd in a rousing speech myself, even if it is "in character."

Not unless you want me to defeat you in a contest of arms next time I kill a kobold.

(Alright, truthfully I've met gamers that would wipe the floor with me in any kind of physical contest, but the point's still there to be made.)

When it comes to greasy punning, I am the greasiest of the lot. When it comes to sly innuendo, I am the mistress of entendre. When it comes to humility, I've got it all, babe.

Erm.

When it comes to running a character, the obvious conclusion a non-gamer may make is that you're completely in control. You know what you're going to say, because heck, you make the words that come out of your character's mouth.

Go ahead and have your belly chuckle. I'll be right here after you roll on the floor and scare the cat.

I found out yesterday that my character, Queen Jelica is, well...how should I put it?

Gay.

I mean, knowing who I am (see above) it isn't that odd, but you know, it totally took me by surprise.

A non-gamer familiar with the concept of gaming might ask, "Did the GM make that happen?"

No, no, of course not. I fell into all of this on my own. It just made so much sense!

It's like coming out all over again. Except, this time, I'm not just mentioning to my dad that I might want a girlfriend. I just had to tell the GM.

While on our way home from dinner tonight, we came across a sign that read, "Carpet Remnants," in a very evocative almost Persian-style font.

It got me to thinking... perhaps those carpets whose edges are always flipping up, and you simply can't keep straight...are made from flying carpet remnants.

(You know, I'm listening to "Magic Carpet Ride" right now as it is. That's a very funny coincidence.)

For my "Illegal Gods" game, I'm playing with the idea of using your typical 52-card deck for resolutions, but I don't want just a high-card, low-card solution.

My first thought was that the type of God one was working for might be relevant to the suit. Love, peace, and harmony Gods would be represented by Hearts. Wealth and power Gods would be represented by Diamonds. War and implements of destruction Gods would be Clubs (knocking people over the head), and of course you'd have your agricultural Gods because you need to call a spade a Spade.

I didn't like that, because, frankly, the God of Runny Cheese ("I think the cat's got at et,") doesn't really fit into those categories. So I thought maybe I could set the suits into being active Churches of their own, maybe some sort of anti- or competitive-to-the-PC NPC organizations. Unfortunately, that took away the whole idea of using the deck for resolutions, unless it's a, "You try to do X. Draw a card. If you draw for example an 8 of Spades, the Church of the Outie Bellybutton has sent 8 minion squads against your cadre..." So that's out.

I could do it semi-Tarot style, ala a number of homebrews or even Everway, but that's not quite what I want, either. Lazy (Okay... let's call it, "Negotiable"?) arbitration is OK to play, but it's not good design.

Any thoughts?

(Proving I'm not spending all of my gamethink at the Bones Forum.)

What actions earn you experience? In something where there's plenty of experience scattered about (say, AD&D) I feel free granting xp for anything noteworthy (including quotes.) In something like BESM, though, full-play of sessions seem required. In G&G, experience is gained (and spent) primarily by getting one closer to the PC's personal goal.

Besides the "contributions" model, what are some of the reasons/ways you award experience?

The splatterporn is silly, and everything's gratuitous, although it wasn't always like that through the series. (I think The Laughing Corpse, Lunatic Cafe, Bloody Bones, and Blue Moon are probably the highlights of the series, but opinions vary. Frankly, I usually get my opinions disregarded when I explain how my favourite character could have been Gabriel, the wereleopard.) Still, we all have our guilty pleasures, erm, so to speak.

In deciding to run an Amber/Anita Blake crossover, I had to write down a variety of notes on the (vulner)abilities of various "preternatural creatures." Some spoilers are involved, but if you're "up to date," any input on this list would be appreciated...

{ednote: Made for an AD&D game that was played a couple sessions, along the lines of clerics for Shi'ir.}

Right now I think I'm building her somewhat more on the lines of the Discworld gods, and I don't know if you're doing them that way.

Shi'ir, Goddess of Leather & Lace

Probably one of my favourite revisited threads of all times are the listing of the humorous crossover opportunities between RPGs. This is a good example of humour in the "unexpected revelation;" the clever title (I still think In Anime is my favourite for that), the unusual mixture, or just the idea of Ewoks dressed as Street Samurai.

If you were going to boil down most of the game preparation articles, I think you would probably end up with something gooey, but it might just look like this:

Know what's going to happen, but let the players take you there.

That sums it up for me.

The Laws of World Turnings

3) The world does not exist in a stasis except for the PCs.
3a) The NPCs may have access to the same equipment as the PCs.
3b) Information may pass both ways.

When I'm designing a game I intend to run, I've noticed that one of the things I like to do is actually write up some descriptive details on paper, as opposed to working solely on the computer. I usually dabble a bit with the art that evokes ideas for the campaign, sometimes music, but generally it's the physical act of writing that cements the idea.

What's the first thing you do when coming up with a campaign idea?

After having come up with the original idea, and some evocative phrasing, I like to work on the character sheets. Sometimes the design of the sheets themselves helps me create mood, which is of major importance to the play of the game.

I do a lot of shopping for designer paper in bargain bins of places at office and art supply stores, and the local "dollar" stores often have strange backgrounds I can design against... although not always stuff appropriate for the games I'm running. Seasonal designs usually work better than the wedding genre, but I have a collection for printing with which I'm pretty happy. My ghostbusting priest game got Halloween paper. My "All Cats are Kings" got a kind of outdoorsy theme. I also buy the occasional interesting "note card" paper for LARPs for the same reason.

I do most of my designing in MS Publisher these days, as PageMaker isn't available to me anymore. [sighs]

A lot of designing the character sheet is deciding what to have on it, and I usually do that in tandem with what challenges I feel comfortable giving as a GM, rather than adhering closely to the system. Do I want the statistics to be the most important item, or the qualities? What statistics are important? I can mess with the order if I want to emphasize one over another... and I can leave some out. Do I leave room for a description or is it something I don't care about having on the sheet?

Do you design character sheets? How?

"Roll 4d6, drop the lowest number."

You know what I'm talking about...you've probably done it a few times. It's the Easy Way.

Until you're trying to explain it to children, even (maybe especially) bright ones.

So I bought PTA as a pre-birthday present for myself, hoping to run it with my little sisters and nephew, and, of course, anyone else who wanted to tag along. We were going to do it at the Pirate Birthday Party, but ended up just doing other stuff instead. So I was itching to play it, especially after Doyce's example, and what with having a couple hours to kill before we were ready to go to bed, my husband and I gave it a spin.

So last Sunday I had been invited to Doyce's whimsical Spirit of the Century character creation get-together (along with such infamous individuals as ***Dave and the inimitable Margie, their exuberant daughter K, the always piquant Mr. Trimmer, and John Barnes (not as reported previously, and I don't know why it was written differently on my notepad. [sighs] [thanks Doyce for the update]). I pushed myself to go (normally I don't drive up to Denver on a whim) but I knew, turning the corner off my street and towards Adventure! I would be glad to go, and I was!

If you're not familiar with the [comic] series, I'll sum it up very generally to say Elfquest is based off the travels of a chief of a tribe of elves called the "Wolfriders" (who have a special bond with their canine kin), and how this chief deals with the other kinds of elves he discovers, and finally with the origins of the elves on this world with two moons (Abode.) It's a story of change, exploration, survival, with all sorts of romances and betrayals, and some great soap opera, so, of course, you would think that it would be a world ripe for gaming!

I would agree, but now you're waiting for the, "except..."

When it comes to breaking anything into two types, you usually have the ones "in the know" and the ones out of it. (Or the ones who can't count.) I, myself, prefer to lean into the "develop in play" method of character development. That's from years and years of writing 20 page character histories and then finding out in the middle of session two, "Oh, that isn't how it happened at all, and, by the way, I didn't know this at all before, but my character is like, gay. Totally gay. Gay, gay, gay, gay, flaming homosexual gay."

Please note that I am actively soliciting comments and game-design questions here on this post, so if you're feeling like you've got something that'll work, or even work "better," please chime in!

edited to add:comments now work [sigh]

So we completely reworked the way we had been doing magic, as a skill roll combination that didn't really fit the comic's view or the system very well. Number of successes and effect weren't really rolled together.

I don't think it's necessarily munchkinism that has some of our players taking advantage of the fact that several "standard actions" in the system rely on a couple combinations of rolls, and putting all their points in those combinations, but it's close enough to give me a frown. Does that count?

I wrote on my Twitter:

"I can sum up my ACNW game submissions on Twitter: `It's all gone wrong. It's your fault. Can you fix it?' and have characters left over."

The reason I'm talking about it here and not on my Amber Blog is because this isn't inherent in any fashion to ACNW, Amber, or even my games.

It's indicative of a methodology I've embarked upon in changing the way I GM.

Paladins no longer have to do stuff to be paladins.

This is the note that starts the list of aggravations for the last session of our 4E game. It used to be that being a Paladin didn't just require an unlikely succession of die rolls for attributes, but the GM's constant surveillance of your demeanor and actions. If you acted in anything but a Paladinesque fashion, you were stripped of your special abilities, and became Just An Ordinary Fighter.

So, we had a fairly successful game of InSpectres with some friends a handful of months ago at one of the semi-local game emporiums and coffee shops. While I still need to show some examples of solid Confessionals (I, myself, have failed at that) I saw that it worked well for these friends, and we talked about using it again. More specifically, I saw the opportunity to blend a favourite flavour (in this case, Harry Potter) with it, if only for the duplicated Confessionals between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger: "I am SURROUNDED by IDIOTS."

So our Elfquest game (yes, I'll actually post some more about that later) was on hiatus as we were missing our healer-trickster (two great tastes that don't taste great together) and our working-class lust goddess (um, yeah) so I offered to run a quick one-shot if people still wanted to get together, and since I'd been hinting at this game for a while, I got the go-ahead early.

Disclaimer:

Someone I know chants, "My process is not your process," and that applies. That's why this series is called, "How I Design a LARP," not, "The One True Method as to How to Design LARPs and why you're stupid and ugly if you don't do this same thing."

If I happen to be giving the same advice as someone else, please point me to them, because maybe they have a solution I don't for some of my issues. Otherwise, I am mostly writing this down as a guide for my co-GMs of the future.

Disclaimer:

Someone I know chants, "My process is not your process," and that applies. This series is called, "How I Design a LARP," not, "If you don't do it this way, you're WRONG."

I am always open to questions and suggestions, but I'm writing this down so future (and current) co-GMs have a piece of my mindset and method to my madness.

Disclaimer:

Someone I know chants, "My process is not your process," and that applies. The series is called, "How I Design a LARP," not, "Any Other Way is Unworthy."

Ask me questions, because I'm sure I am missing something integral to the way I will be running these, and I need good co-GMs who understand my whimsical ways.

[copied to Tumblr]

So, we've moved. Well, I have to say it in past tense because we're living out of the house, and we've got everything out of the four storage rooms and into storage in our place, but really, while the binary switch has been flipped, the act of "moving" has merely metamorphosized from nymph to pupa stage.

We're setting up the front room with the idea that we're going to start gaming again... and while there are social issues ("We can't simply get new, less flammable friends," I explain) involved, I'm of course less worried about that than starting to work on a new campaign.

So, I finally decided that I'd hack to death a few systems to get the kind of characters I wanted for this game. I figured I'd kind of document the process here.

The first thing I should do is at least pin a title on the game so we know what we're talking about... in this case, it's called "Skin of the Naranpelo." We'll call it "Skin" for short, and perhaps humourous opportunities. (The Naranpelo is an alchemical fruit that's very important to the Arancimar royal family, and thus, the characters.)

OK, what do we start with on every character sheet? Ah yes, Player Name. Why? I mean, I'll know people by character name quickly enough... Is there any other reason than when we pass the sheets back out between games we want to know who has what?

I've slowly grown into the "take them back at the end of the game, pass them out in the beginning" for three main reasons.

1. It allows me to review and revise against my information when I have a chance to look at it. This also provides the option to see, "Oh, X has a specialty in wine tasting. I so need to get that into play."
   
2. It is a central location where it goes with the rest of the "game stuff" and is less likely to be lost in-between sessions. I mean, if my notes are gone, everything's gone. The players don't have to leave it in the car, or accidentally turn it in with their homework or that sales report...
   
3. It prevents any temptation for player fraud. This is a low-priority item for me, but maybe your group isn't quite as liberal.
   

So maybe we'll start with Character Name instead. And I'll let the players choose that... I've been tempted otherwise at times, and I should probably give them some guidelines as to the "feel" or cultural style to names. In this case, Arancimar could have kind of a Mediterranean feel (at least, that's the climate I'm picking for it.) So I'll make some kinds of suggestions along those lines.

Character Gender will actually have an importance in this game - most of the people in power are women. Men are having a bit of a renaissance in authority, and that's a political point the characters could influence, but all the economic influence are in families noted by their matriarchal lineages.

If I want to include Character Race I need to have some differentiation. It's not about attribute bonuses - everyone's human (I might accept a half-elf) but it'd be a cultural designation. I think this is something I might want to tilt towards the aspect side of things, because otherwise it starts to be more pre-game study for the players and, well, PCs are (IMO) exceptional individuals so they might not fall into the various stereotypes of their races anyway. They'll learn in-game about the stereotypes for sure.

Physical characteristics? Hmmm. Maybe in the next segment.

In the world "Skin" takes place, there are many diverse ethnic groups. As the game begins in Arancimar, a city-state to the east of the Margato Expanse (should be a sea, but the Arancimar traders irritated a Sole magistrate who changed the official records) we will start there.

Arancimar. The "Marid" (as they self-style themselves - the epithet is "Rancid") are dark of eye, olive-skinned, and dark-haired. The royal family line has the light eyes of the elf blood that once intermingled, and once in a while a Matriarch has hints of gold or red in their hair from the same source. Elves are not unknown in Arancimar, but while they are less feared than they are in the rest of the Empire, they're still a source of awe and concern. There is a Half-elven faction within the Arancimar Alchemical Institute known as "The Gilded Irios" whose works compete with the best in the Empire. Marid are stereotyped as being foppish and slightly anti-technology.

The Erza live just west and north of the Margato Expanse and are historically likely the progenitors of the Marid, They are split between the Quilha and Placa districts, or island or continent. Quilha are more likely to ruddy hair and skin colours, with eyes just as dark as the Marid's common folk, while Placa tend to lighter skin and hair. It is said that Elves avoided the small islands of the Erza's outer Quilha (the split between the continental mass and the strange islands separated by deep canals) and thus Elves travelling in that region are regarded with suspicion. Erza are stereotyped as being sneaky bureaucrats, with the general thought of, "They can hide anything in those deep straits...and probably do." Western (Placa) Erza tend to think of their Eastern Quilha brethren as fast-talking thieves, whereas the Quilha think of the Placa as slow to speak but likely to have generation-long schemes.

North of Erza are the Teimoto, and home of the Empire's Palaces. The Teimoto live in a land covered with beautiful ghost-lit vistas and the world's most dangerous weather. Proverbs from Teimoto often reflect that if it isn't hurricane season, it must be time for blizzards. Teimoto tend to be taller, light-skinned folk, with red eyes and a trace of epicanthic fold. They're somewhat protected from the light that comes from both sky and stone. Only in Teimoto is the rare glowing Urhante stone mined. (And it's non-radioactive! Awesome pebbles of continuous light!) [Sole's Aubril crystal is the closest cousin, and makes up Sole's (Sol-ay)'s (and thus the Empire's) most lucrative currency.] Teimoto are considered stubborn and large (therefore often clumsy) but often given the backhanded compliment (from those who have been there) that the view is worth it, when, you know, not covered in rain or snow. Or fog. Or ash. Or... well, you get the picture. The First Palace of Teimoto was an Elven city, but while Elves still wander the land after the War of Teimoto Rule, they say it is not time to return.

The large deserts of the Sole and their beautiful dark-skinned people (mostly brown or darker with purple sheen) are to the South of Arancimar. Sole are categorized as extremely hard working, tough, and fair, but somewhat greedy for all that. ("Why would they work so hard if they didn't want...things?" the Erza ask.) Many Sole act as judges and arbitrators for the Empire. There are rumours of "dark elves" that intermingle with Sole, but the land is parched of anything the Elves tend to claim of value. The gentle climate of Northern Sole has the largest population, but new routes to the mostly unexplored and uninhabited Southern Island (really a continent) are the hope of the Empire's Tradesmistress. Sole's many northern states go to ceremonial war with each other regularly - few are killed, much is bet on the results, and each of the states vie for honor points. It is quite a phenomenon for the tourist.

South of Sole it is said there be Dragons.

South of Erza are the jungles of Matanouse. The Mata people gave homes to the Elves and other nonhuman species, which have made them a fairly liberal society of crossbreeds. Mata are smaller folk, skin the color of Sole's sands, with eye and hair colors all over the spectrum due to the large concentration of wild magics there. Many Mata have slightly animal features. The Marid have their rivals in the Mata College for Alchemical Artistry, and the natural bounty of the Matanouse foliage often makes for interesting reagents. The ruling Mata family have a genetic anomaly showing in their four-fingered hands and prehensile tails, and it is said that no Matriarch can rule without these traits. This leads many skeptical of their financial success to say they lie with beasts to preserve their sense of beauty. Mata are often considered promiscuous, and they treat their men as equals, so they are often discriminated against in northern territories. The Empire counts the Matanouse as part of its territory. The Mata do not always agree. The freehold pirates off their eastern coast in Adrazar claim to be Mata, and often the Mata's First Family pays ridiculous fines for their acts. If the Adrazar suffer any retribution for this, northerners do not know.

East of Matanouse is Adrazar, and the boundaries of the Empire. Not much is known of the areas past that, for too much further East lies Southern Sole Isle, and, well, Dragons.

West of Matanouse is the mountainous region of Chelonia, and those of the Chelon are not part of the civilized world. Chelonians are grey-skinned to deathly pale, and their eyes are grey to pure white, said to be the result of black alchemy they practiced in the past. Most Chelons are blind, although they may have compensated through other means. The Empire is officially at war with Chelonia, but not individual Chelon (although they can be arrested at any time.) Chelons are mostly descended from exiled prisoners of the War for Teimoto Rule, but the land has changed them.

South of Chelonia is Takatakastag which is the "place that nothing flies." Not much is known about this place, and if there are native folk here, they must look like some other group. Beware anyone who says they are from anywhere in Takatakastag. They are likely liars.