One of my favorite Ferengi Rules of Acquisition says, "Dignity and an empty sack is worth the sack." In the realm of rpg design, I might modify that to say, "A good adventure idea and an empty sack is worth the sack." In this case, I'm talking about grand, imaginative, thrilling adventure ideas that game masters envision for their players but, for whatever reason, never actually run in a game. A million-dollar vision that fails to become reality isn't worth much at all. This continues the early part of this review.
An essay called "Run Your Best Game Tonight" by Harley Stroh got me thinking about the value of ideas in rpg design. Stroh's essay appears in "How To Write Adventure Modules That Don't Suck" from Goodman Games. The book pairs essays on design theory with original encounters, a one-two punch that provides some thought-provoking, if uneven, content. Not every encounter will prove useful to all game masters, but most fit easily into virtually any fantasy rpg system, and a few of the encounters work with science-fiction elements and settings. In a previous post on EN World, I took a deep dive into another essay from the collection about how the game master-player divide informs adventure design. For part two of this discussion, I intend to unpack the most valuable points in Stroh's essay.
Stroh's essay draws several lessons from some of his less-than-spectacular attempts at running rpgs. But the most important part arises from his warning to game masters who plan grandiose campaigns in which players engage in a brilliant and climactic encounter – just as soon as they reach 10th level or some other distant milestone. Campaigns fall apart too easily, Stroh argues, for game masters to hold onto their best stuff for some later session that may never materialize.
"If you have a killer idea, use it," Stroh writes. "Life is too short to suffer through games that suck in hopes of the big payoff."
The essay argues that the difficulty of assembling a gaming group that meets regularly for months or years on end too often forces campaigns to come to a premature demise. Saving the big moments for later poses the risk that those moments will never happen.
I nearly pumped my fist in agreement reading that part of Stroh's essay. I'd also add, from my own early experience running games, that planning the big climax of a campaign too far in advance may impose a preconceived structure on the game. Maybe that's ok for some groups or systems, but if players value maximum agency, starting out a campaign with the climax in place may cheapen the experience. So throw caution to the wind, game masters. If you've cooked up some crazy idea that you think will be fun and thrilling for your players, by all means, unleash it at your first opportunity.
Then come up with a better idea for the next adventure that builds on how your players negotiated the previous adventure. Rinse and repeat. I've found following that method preserves spontaneity and flexibility while naturally escalating the stakes. As Stroh's essay indicates, every session is an opportunity for a game master to run his or her best-ever game. Embrace that! Don't put off your best session for a few more months while the story sets up properly. If a good idea and an empty sack is worthless, as the Ferengi would have you believe, a good idea that makes it to the table is worth all the gold-pressed latinum in the galaxy.
contributed by Fred Love
An essay called "Run Your Best Game Tonight" by Harley Stroh got me thinking about the value of ideas in rpg design. Stroh's essay appears in "How To Write Adventure Modules That Don't Suck" from Goodman Games. The book pairs essays on design theory with original encounters, a one-two punch that provides some thought-provoking, if uneven, content. Not every encounter will prove useful to all game masters, but most fit easily into virtually any fantasy rpg system, and a few of the encounters work with science-fiction elements and settings. In a previous post on EN World, I took a deep dive into another essay from the collection about how the game master-player divide informs adventure design. For part two of this discussion, I intend to unpack the most valuable points in Stroh's essay.
Stroh's essay draws several lessons from some of his less-than-spectacular attempts at running rpgs. But the most important part arises from his warning to game masters who plan grandiose campaigns in which players engage in a brilliant and climactic encounter – just as soon as they reach 10th level or some other distant milestone. Campaigns fall apart too easily, Stroh argues, for game masters to hold onto their best stuff for some later session that may never materialize.
"If you have a killer idea, use it," Stroh writes. "Life is too short to suffer through games that suck in hopes of the big payoff."
The essay argues that the difficulty of assembling a gaming group that meets regularly for months or years on end too often forces campaigns to come to a premature demise. Saving the big moments for later poses the risk that those moments will never happen.
I nearly pumped my fist in agreement reading that part of Stroh's essay. I'd also add, from my own early experience running games, that planning the big climax of a campaign too far in advance may impose a preconceived structure on the game. Maybe that's ok for some groups or systems, but if players value maximum agency, starting out a campaign with the climax in place may cheapen the experience. So throw caution to the wind, game masters. If you've cooked up some crazy idea that you think will be fun and thrilling for your players, by all means, unleash it at your first opportunity.
Then come up with a better idea for the next adventure that builds on how your players negotiated the previous adventure. Rinse and repeat. I've found following that method preserves spontaneity and flexibility while naturally escalating the stakes. As Stroh's essay indicates, every session is an opportunity for a game master to run his or her best-ever game. Embrace that! Don't put off your best session for a few more months while the story sets up properly. If a good idea and an empty sack is worthless, as the Ferengi would have you believe, a good idea that makes it to the table is worth all the gold-pressed latinum in the galaxy.
contributed by Fred Love
