We recently began giving sporadic consideration to adventure design. After considering how to build an adventure around the actions of the Antagonists, we focused on models for quest-based adventures. We looked at the Flag Captures model of telling the players where they need to go and letting them choose the path, and the Treasure Hunt approach of leading them from one clue to the next toward some ultimate known or possibly unknown goal. We’re not finished with quest models yet; but there is an important aspect of quest design not yet considered, which is commonly if opaquely called The McGuffin.
Alfred Hitchcock coined the term while working on a film set in Scotland. He explained that this is the thing everyone in the story wants, that motivates their actions. It didn’t much matter what it was, as long as the viewer could be persuaded that it mattered to the characters. In designing quest-type adventures, you need a McGuffin, something that the characters badly enough want to reach that they will work to overcome the obstacles. Given that the characters can only reflect their players, it is important that the motivation make sufficient sense that the players want this, too.
Of course, it’s not always vital in every gaming group for there to be rhyme or reason to the McGuffin. Some will be quite content with adventures in which their characters are off on some quest for no better reason than that it gives them something to do, some reason to go on this adventure. As long as we are satisfied that this is what the character wants to do, we’ll do it. Even so, understanding why the character wants to do this goes a long way to establishing the firmness of his resolve, and taking the step beyond that to identifying with his motivation makes the roleplaying more credible, the successes more joyful, and the failures more poignant. Thus a well-crafted McGuffin can be a major factor in making a quest more fun.
It turns out, though, that Hitchcock is right. It doesn’t matter at all what the McGuffin actually is. It can be a slip of paper, an ancient golden idol, a missing person, a scrap of information, an infectious organism–practically, anything can be the object of the quest. What matters is not what the McGuffin is, but that the characters want it. To design that, you have to consider why the characters want anything, and find a reason credible and compelling enough to carry them through the obstacles posed along the way.
There are a number of good motivational drivers for characters on quests, and this article will miss some. However, five main types of generally strong motivators will be described, and McGuffins may be designed to appeal to one or more of these.
The most common sort of motivator in the earliest role playing adventures usually involved wealth or power; these two sorts are the same, the profit motive: success will benefit the character in direct, tangible ways. This is the basest and most crass sort of motivation that can be attached to a McGuffin; it’s also frequently very effective. Treasure hunters abound even in our modern world, whether they dig or dive, for buried treasure on Oak Island or for the sunken Spanish Silver Train. The Goonies kept pushing forward because they believed they would find pirate treasure at the end. The drive to rule the world has been a key motivation of many cruel villains and of some characters who were perhaps more benign. The desire to be rich beyond the dreams of avarice has led many to take great risks. Even good characters can be pushed forward by the idea, just think of the good you could do with all that wealth and power.
This motivation, though, can be fickle. An old song says, I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that. There may be a that, a risk that is too great to take for the promised reward. It’s not worth losing your life, one says; another, What good is all that gold if you can’t enjoy it?. Power may appeal to some, but others aren’t interested in ruling the world, merely in avoiding it. At some level, the players are going to do the sort of cost-benefit analysis we discussed in Opportunity Costs, setting the cost against the profit, discounted by the risk of failure. If they decide that the return on their investment isn’t going to make it worth their while, the adventure is over. Profit motives must always appear profitable, or they cease to motivate.
Honor and reputation for many characters hold a much more powerful motivation. The noble knight will rescue a maiden in distress because that’s his job, and should he not attempt this he would be disgraced, unable to show his face in public. Many noble and honorable characters have undertaken quests for no better reason than that they feel it to be their duty as decent human beings. The motive is not limited to decent human beings, either. Many a thief has been coerced into doing something he’d rather not, because his reputation was at stake. In FX, the special effects wizard is prodded to overcome his reservations about the job by the suggestion that perhaps his chief rival in the business would be able to do it if he couldn’t. The search for Nessie is driven in part by the desire of the searchers to be known as the ones who proved she was there. This, then, could be called the pride motive. People will go to extraordinary lengths to prove themselves when that which they perceive as their greatest virtues or abilities are questioned, or even when success will prove their own greatness, and this can drive a character into an adventure.
Again, though, there are limits to how far this will carry a character, and those limits are very individual to the character. Many a thief has admitted himself a coward without embarrassment, if there’s more risk involved than he likes. Pushed to the extreme, even the noblest samurai may reach the point at which he questions whether bushido is so noble and correct a thing as he had believed, or whether perhaps that which he felt honor-bound to do has brought him to a place where completing it would mar his honor. Pride may be a stronger motive than profit, and it may be a more reliable one, but it is also an uncertain target which may carry the character in surprising directions once it is unleashed. The knight may feel honor-bound to escort the princess back to her homeland; he may also feel honor-bound to challenge her wicked father to mortal combat when he gets there.
Some stability is achieved by combining the profit motive and the pride motive. It is unfortunately a tired cliché, but has become so largely because it is effective. Characters may pursue the McGuffin because they have agreed to do so. A contract or a personal obligation may drive the character to undertake the quest for someone else, someone to whom the character owes a debt, or who has agreed to compensate the character for the successful completion of the task.
The evident advantage of this motivation is that the two parts reinforce each other. It may be that at some point I question whether this job is worth the money, or whether it is unreasonable to expect this of me, but at that moment I also have the fact that I promised to do it, and am honor bound by my promise. It may be that I’m willing to bear the disgrace of the breach of the obligation, but then I’ve probably already come so far that it would be a shame not to be paid because at the last minute I reneged on the deal. The characters are encouraged to finish the quest because there are two reasons to do so.
However, the two reasons together, in this context, are rarely as potent as either reason alone. If I’m being paid to perform this, odds are there’s a profit to be made by my employer, and that profit covers my wages and then some; thus unless this is something that has value only to him or someone like him, it probably means I’m being underpaid. If this is in response to an obligation, that certainly does mean I’m bound by my honor; but I am more likely to question whether my honor truly binds me to this task if it does not relate directly to the source of my debt. Meanwhile, if the risk is too great I will come to the point at which it would be better to pay damages on breach of contract than to continue attempting to do that which is too difficult for me. Thus a contract motive is strengthened by the combination of pride and profit, but at the same time weakened by it.
Where the profit motive is the basest and most crass, the highest and most noble motivations are truth and justice. Here we hope and expect that success in the quest would make the world a better place. The only benefit sought by the character through such a quest is the knowledge that he made a difference, that something is better because of his efforts.
One is tempted to point to the signers of the Declaration of Independence, many of whom lost everything they owned because of their support for the war. Regrettably, it is doubtful they anticipated that outcome. Perhaps it is superheroes to whom we should look for this motive. Superman always does the right thing because it is the right thing, as he fights for truth and justice. Spiderman constantly remembers that with great power comes great responsibility. The desire to make the world a better place is a worthy motivation for a hero. We could in fact call it the hero motive.
That may be its weakness, as well. One has to be a hero, or at least want to be a hero and perceive oneself as a hero, for this to be that potent. This quest may have to be done by someone, but does it have to be done by us? Certainly the motive is present in the lives of lesser heroes; but it’s usually adulterated by other motives. Police detectives are on a quest to uncover the truth for its own sake; but they are usually also being paid to do this, and there is often some admixture of fear motive (up next). It is wonderful to have characters who will do the right thing solely because it is the right thing, and be so driven by this that they will see it through to the end over all obstacles or die trying. It is more normal for this to be the icing on the cake: they are going to hire us to go on this quest which will make us incredibly wealthy and famous, and it’s the right thing to do.
The fear motive just mentioned is in some ways the mirror image of the profit motive. There is some danger or fear that arises from failure of the quest. The weapon may fall into the wrong hands, or the bomb will explode killing millions of innocents, or the virus will spread beyond this quarantined town into the major population centers of the world, or the killer will strike again. The profit motive was about making our own lives better, and the hero motive about making the world better for everyone. The fear motive is merely about preventing things from becoming much, much worse.
Isaac Asimov’s Fantastic Voyage, steeped in the Cold War Balance of Terror mentality of its time, uses the fear motive as the impetus for its incredible quest. The life of the recently defected scientist is on the line. That in itself is not sufficient to try to save him. What does matter is that he may have developed something now in the hands of the enemy that will tip the balance of power to them resulting in our destruction, and saving his life may be the only way we can maintain parity. The quest must proceed to save us from them. The most famous quest in fantasy has a very strong fear motive in it: the One Ring must be destroyed to prevent it from falling into Sauron’s hands, for should it return to him there would not be enough strength left in Middle Earth to stop him. Indiana Jones pursued the Ark of the Covenant for several reasons, but one of them was to keep it out of the hands of the Nazis.
Fear motive may be the most effective; but it may be overused. It once was said of Doctor Who that he wandered around all space and time saving worlds, occasionally rising above it to save the entire universe. James Bond is always attempting to foil some plot related to world conquest or international chaos, and it keeps us on the edge of our seats. The constantly impending disaster makes a wonderful driver for story after story. What, though, happens the first time the player characters fail to save the world? If the world is destroyed, the game is pretty much over. If the world is saved anyway, it makes all previous character victories seem at least a bit hollow in retrospect. Ultimately if you use the fear motive as the driver for your McGuffin, you have to be willing to accept the consequences of failure, the realization of those fears.
There are other motivations for quests, other drivers for McGuffins. Many readers will have wondered about the revenge motive. Guilt has driven many people to action. We would not want to forget love as a reason to climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest ocean, and cross the widest desert. These, though, are much more difficult to build into an adventure; they rely too much on the emotions of the characters, and not enough on the nature of the McGuffin itself. If there is a way to make them work with a particular group, by all means use them. Recognize however that informing a player that a girl on whom he had a childhood crush which he has never outgrown has been kidnapped by pirates, and that his undying love for her is forcing him to rush to her rescue is one step worse than simply having some god manifest, tell him what to do, and then enspell him so he cannot refuse. It is far better to build your McGuffin around something on which the player and the character are already agreed, and let things take their course from there.
Next week, something different.
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M. Joseph Young is co-author of Multiverser and Vice President for Development at Valdron Inc. His many contributions to online literature are indexed for convenience, and he looks forward to discussing these things by e-mail or on our Gaming Outpost forums.
