[Mod note--the + status has been removed from this thread, as it is merely a statement of the OP's position, not an invitation to debate. The + status is for starting discussions seeking a possible solution which take the premise on board, not for soapboxing without dissent or disagreement.]
A tangent came up in a recent thread regarding the importance of verisimilitude, specifically with regard to its value (or lack thereof) when its presence in a setting conflicted with a player's idea(s) for their character. While several posters put forward the idea that verisimilitude wasn't an important consideration, or was necessarily less important than players being able to play whatever character idea they wanted, there are legitimate reasons for thinking otherwise, even to the point of the GM disallowing certain character ideas (e.g. races, classes, backgrounds, etc.) from being played within the scope of a given setting or campaign.
But first, let's take a step back and figure out what we mean when we say "verisimilitude."
A. Making Sense from the Inside
"Hey, you're ripping off my style!" @Snarf Zagyg, probably
Dictionary.com's primary definition of the word verisimilitude is "the appearance or semblance of truth; genuineness; authenticity." Within the context of a tabletop RPG, however, we are (as gamers so often do) redefining the word slightly to refer to a world that "makes sense," often despite its fantastical elements (and quite often in spite of its gamisms, such as hit points).
You'll notice, here, that I've avoided using the term "realism," simply because that word is often understood to mean "functions as per the real world." While that's sometimes what people mean, more often (in my experience) they're referring to the definition which I'm assigning to the tabletop RPG version of verismilitude: a world that operates in a manner consistent with its own internal logic. This internal logic is presumed to permeate the game world, and shapes elements ranging from the way magic works to sociopolitical situations between kingdoms to simple issues of (N)PC capabilities. There's a
reason that things are the way they are, work the way they work, and even the exceptions to these (if there are any) will function according to comprehensible underlying principles. In many cases, these principles can be understood from an in-character perspective.
What's notable about this is that it transcends questions of how "realistic" (to reuse that "according to the real world" idea) something is. Just because you have spellcasting, fire-breathing dragons (which violate all kinds of real-life physical laws) doesn't mean that questions regarding why a belligerent kingdom with a huge army hasn't conquered a small, peaceful neighboring kingdom are necessarily irrelevant. That's because both are measured by the same yardstick, which is "how/why do things work in this setting?" with the last three words being the most salient. That's true even if you (in the general sense of "you") find the political tension less compelling than the dragon, or vice versa.
B. Verisimilitude in Play
"In this setting, lightning is caused by divine flatulence; it's why Zeus is also the god of beans" -if William Shatner had tried to write fantasy.
So now that we've established what verisimilitude is, we come to the next logical question, which is
"what's for lunch today?" "what does that bring to the game table?" The answer is, to use yet another ill-defined term fraught with assumptions, immersion.
Playing in a tabletop RPG is playing in an imaginary world. But because the imagination is whimsical and capricious, we seek to ground that mental construct according to rules and limits, imbuing it with characteristics that are (by mutual agreement with ourselves, our fellow players, and other fans of the game/setting) held to operate in a certain way, giving the setting a sense of groundedness that makes it come across as something more stable and concrete than a flight of fancy. And the more that world's operations, characteristics, and specifics are defined, the more grounded it becomes, making it more engaging as we're better able to transport ourselves "into" that world during the course of play.
Now, it need not be said that there are limits to this...but I'll go ahead and say it anyway. It's self-evident that anything, taken too an extreme, becomes burdensome; no GM wants to chart out every single NPC in their capital city of 100,000 people, no player wants to sit through an economic treatise as to why silver weapons cost more than steel ones, and no publisher can be expected to put out a thick hardcover of nothing but their setting's history (the Forgotten Realms
notwithstanding). Just like with simulationism (verisimilitude's cousin, who keeps giving it those uncomfortably long stares), too much can bog down actually playing the game.
And the thing to remember is that adherents of versimilitude know that. Even if we leave aside that different people will have different preferred styles of play, want different degrees of math in the rules, and like different settings, the idea of "verisimilitude
uber alles" tends to be something put up by opponents of verisimilitude (as a consideration in play) rather than by the people who actually value it. While there are always third- and fourth-hand stories about some frustrated novelist serving as a GM, most of the time this isn't going to be the case. Different strokes for different folks, and all that.
But what happens when there's a conflict between investment in verisimilitude and player expectations right there at the table?
C. Verisimilitude versus PC Expectations
"Just because we're playing Pendragon is no reason I can't be a ninja!" -Chang, if Community had made more role-playing episodes
Sometimes a player's idea for a character just doesn't fit the setting. This can be due to them wanting to play a race that doesn't exist in that world, a class that represents a power which isn't available in that world, or a background which clashes tonally. This can happen even in campaigns which aren't Dark Sun.
Other times, it's less about what/who a character is and more to do with what their character can do. I've spoken before about a fellow I knew who preferred superheroes to high fantasy; when I asked him if he was interested in giving D&D a try, he asked if he could play a character with abilities like that of the Flash. I hesitatingly described character builds that could move three or four times as fast as most characters and gain one or two extra attacks per round, at which point he just shook his head sadly and replied "that's not even close to what the Flash can do."
In that case, the issue of verisimilitude was baked into the underlying assumptions of the game itself. For a campaign like Dark Sun, it's part of the campaign world. For some others, it could be something less intrinsic to the character, but still cause an issue with the underlying assumptions that the setting operates under. If a player wants their 1st-level character to start with an
apparatus of Kwalish, D&D's own version of an
AT-ST walker except with less guns and more claws, it's entirely reasonable for the DM to say that a 1st-level PC can't start the game with a legendary magic item, regardless of
that one online article swearing it won't unbalance your game.
That's because "balance" isn't really the issue, here. Rather, it's that immersion takes a hit if the aforementioned internal logic of the setting is flouted; if legendary magic items are rare, expensive, and subject to being stolen if by the local thieves' guild if they're not easily concealable, then it's going to be rather awkward to explain why that 1st-level character reliably has one (especially if there's an alternative magic item of lower power and less obtrusiveness that can achieve whatever effect they're looking for, such as
gauntlets of ogre power or
boots of striding and springing). While it's not inconceivable [note to self: work a Princess Bride joke in here before posting] that there will be occasional lapses where an explanation for some aspect of the world doesn't seem to fit, a lot of players are willing to forgive such minor blemishes if they're quietly shuffled off-stage and don't unravel the shared illusion. But that's not really an option when the hit to the setting's logic is another PC, who by definition is "on-stage" all of the time, even if they're not in the spotlight.
So when that happens, how can the issue be resolved?
D. Living in a Shared World
"I wanna be a catgirl! Or at least play one." -The Bros. Grinn (yes, really)
So what happens when an irresistible force (i.e. a player) meets an immovable object (what we call my local GM)?
The option that's usually reached for is a compromise; the preceding section alluded to that when it mentioned that, rather than an
apparatus of Kwalish, a player might be allowed to start with a lesser magic item in its place. Alternatively, a popular option is to present the PC as breaking some rule of the game world (or, less severely, having something that's outside of the baseline expectations for the setting), and making that be a focal point of play. Middle Earth was very much a low-magic world, but The Lord of the Rings still had no problem starting out giving a major artifact to a 1st-level halfling thief (who inherited it from his rich uncle).
But what happens when this doesn't work? If a GM doesn't want to a play in a game where the expectation is that the PCs are special, or if a player insists on having their PC be distinctive in some way that contravenes the setting, and no reconciliation of these ideas is possible?
That tends to be, as Grandma Alzrius liked to say, "when it's time to throw down." Of course, she said that through the telephone from across the glass panel, so that might not be the best advice.
More usually, there's an expectation that whoever wants it more should be acquiesced to. We see this a lot if someone says they have a great deal of personal investment in a given idea, and that not being able to put it into play will be injurious to them. In some cases, this is presented via a referendum on the other side's moral character, in that if they don't back down they're a bad person. Because magic elf games are very serious business indeed.
The thing I find it best to remember, when this sort of situation comes up, is that pointing out that a given idea clashes with a setting's verisimilitude isn't an indictment of that idea unto itself. No one is suggesting that a thri-kreen is inherently a bad idea for a character, and that they shouldn't exist; it's just a bad idea for a character in a Masque of the Red Death campaign, because they don't exist in Gothic Earth in the 1890s. That's going to be the case regardless of how badly you want to play a mantis-person; even if you come up with a reason for one to still exist, how well will they fit in when the action primarily takes place in downtown Chicago?
Ultimately, everyone is showing up to have fun, and that's the single most important fact to keep in mind when sitting down around the table. If you can't have fun unless you get to have things your way, then there's an implicit social contract that you're not living up to; and while that sword cuts both ways – toward the player who has a character idea they're invested in, and the GM who has a world they're invested in – I personally tend to find that an immersive world is fun for everyone, whereas an individual's PC tends to be fun mostly for them; hence, the PC should (more often than not) be the one to back down if the GM explains that their character isn't a good fit for this particular setting (though ideally that's a last resort, and the player's desires will be kept in mind when the next campaign is being designed).
YMMV, of course.
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