The Gaming Outpost

I have of late been ignoring the role playing theory discussions on the Web.  This is not because I chose to leave them but that they left me–the places where I was participating shut down those parts of their discussions and recommended that those interested in continuing the discussion do so in other places.  My schedule already overburdened, I did not attempt to tackle these larger areas in which what I would have considered discussion on point was considerably diluted by other topics.

However, one of those discussions wandered into an area I do visit periodically–and unfortunately ended before I was aware of it.  Still, I was not satisfied with the conclusion–or perhaps lack of conclusion–reached in the conversation I read, and the desire to provide a response (I hesitate to say “an answer”) has stayed with me for a few weeks.  I’ve not written a Gaming Outpost article for a while, but thought that I would address the matter here and see where that leads.

The discussion came to my attention in a thread entitled [Legends of Alyria] Traits! Traits! on the Dark Omen Games forum of The Forge.  That thread cites several previous threads in an ongoing discussion concerning how “Traits” are used as a game mechanic in various games, and noting two distinct mechanical applications.  Respected theoretician and game designer Ron Edwards brought the discussion to the Dark Omen Games forum because their game Legends of Alyria uses traits in an effective way in play, and so provided context for the discussion.  The issue at stake is how the use of traits is controlled in play.

To clarify this, the example of Legends of Alyria will help.  In that game, characters have three attributes and some number of traits.  Ron explains thus:

Traits are always defined as attitudes, expressed as a way to do something; for instance, they cannot be neutral abilities (good climber) or people (my brother).

Examples of traits might include fear of heights, love for a friend, self-effacing, proud of combat skill. 

In play, all conflict is between player characters.  When such a conflict arises, each player selects a character attribute (of his own character) on which to rely for resolution of the conflict.  This provides the target number for the other player to roll for success.  Each player then has the opportunity to invoke a trait, of either participating character, to replace either target attribute, provided that the involvement of that trait is supported by the flow of the narrative to that point.  One could, for a crude example, invoke an adversary’s fear of heights to his detriment if the conflict occurs in the web above the Citadel, but not if it occurs in the library of The Ark.  Love for friends could be invoked if it can reasonably be established that there is already a recognizable benefit or threat to one of the friends of the character, but such a factor cannot be invented on the spot–the player cannot decide abruptly that he is holding someone hostage without having established actions to capture that individual in advance.

Edwards makes the distinction between “Before” and “After” trait use.  Legends of Alyria, as he understands it (and author/designer Seth Ben-Ezra later confirms), is in the “Before” category.  This means, as noted, that the inclusion of the trait must be based on facts already established in the Shared Imagined Space (SIS in the cited thread).  Using his example, if I have the trait “Quick-witted” and I wish to rely on that for resolution, I must be in a situation where my use of my wit has been established in action in play, or I cannot use it.  The “After” category allows traits to be invoked without any established connection to the current situation, requiring only that if the character is then successful, the narration must incorporate how this trait led to the desired outcome.  Thus a character trying to climb a cliff face might in an “After” design invoke “Quick-witted” as the trait by which he hopes to succeed, and thereafter someone must determine how his wits enabled him to do so.

The question Edwards raises at that point is the one that caught my attention:

I’m not sure whether my own previous play or Seth’s play has been entirely faithful to that, but the trouble is, both groups are Trait-friendly, which means we have been making it work without knowing how or why.

He continues pointing up aspects of the problem:

There’s also an important issue hidden [here]. I’m talking now about the common constraint, or attempted constraint, of having the trait be plausible when used. I think this phrasing is actually code for a lot of different things….

The puzzle for me is that it’s never been an issue during play, but it’s also clear, upon looking at it (in its myriad forms throughout game texts) that the instructions themselves are not providing actual procedures to keep it from being an issue.

Even with “before,” explaining it isn’t as easy as I’d originally thought. For one thing, the trap exists of the always-there always-useful Trait. For another, apparently a number of groups fall into the problem of “sing for my supper,” in that a player feels he or she must put on an elaborate thespian act in order to get the bonus. With “after,” it’s hard too. If I can activate my “quick” trait and thus bring my quickness into things, then it’s basically always on-call unless some mechanical limit applies (as in “use once per session” or some equivalent). This is especially tricky when Traits are either qualities like quickness (which are in many cases redundant with other mechanics like a Speed attribute) or whole allied-characters….

I intend to reflect as accurately and critically as possible on how these mechanics play during our Alyria game….The thing is, I don’t anticipate any problems with them, so the question is, why is that?

Seth Ben-Ezra responded, noting:

I had to think pretty hard about the fictional constraint bit, because I don’t recall it ever having been problematic. Though, it might be better to express the Trait constraint as either being the result of previous actions taken or being a reasonable response to the conflict at hand.

He continues, recognizing the same uncertainty:

I still haven’t discussed why this works in our group. As Ron said, my group is a Trait-friendly group. How did this happen?

At this point, the best that I can figure is that our group has a lot of experience together…, which has resulted in a synchronizing of our aesthetic vision. Hmm. “Synchronizing” might be too strong. Perhaps “harmonizing” of our aesthetic vision might be a better way to put it. At this point, we generally know what the group will accept and what it won’t. I’m guessing that Ron’s group is similar.

It has taken us a while to get to that point, though. I wonder if applicability rulings on Traits is something that needs to be vested in a GM with the understanding that he is speaking for the group. I’m thinking here of a Sorcerer GM’s responsibility to hand out bonus dice. Sure, this is the GM’s job, but he is supposed to be aware of the “sense of the table” and respond accordingly. Perhaps Trait adjudication for “before” style games needs to be formally stated in this way.

The problem is summarized, not resolved, by Edwards:

I think we’re in the same boat in terms of not being able to articulate this well. You’re pretty much saying “we can do it because we can do it.” The closest I came to breaking out of that was in describing demo play, and that may not be the best indicator of what I, and you, are doing, or what our groups are doing, in the context of an ongoing social and creative situation. And to make it more difficult, clearly the process occurred a long time ago while playing some other game, so it’s probably not possible to observe us now to see how such an understanding can be brought about.

To make it even crazily more difficult, we’re not only talking about one kind of Trait usage, but about a group understanding of the range of Trait use, such that we can pick up games with widely differing approaches to the concept and make any of them work, without even knowing that we’re processing them differently. I mean, for ten years, you and I have been dissecting out role-playing processes with every ounce of self-reflection and critical thinking we can muster, and neither of us recognized this entire issue until Markus pointed it out.

Their discussion continues, involving several others, for what prints out as nine pages of small type.  However, it did not seem to resolve this essential issue:  how is trait use constrained in practice during play?  Yet it seems to me that the answer lies in the discussion of the question.  Perhaps as Edwards and Ben-Ezra admit, they have resolved the problem so long ago that it has not been a problem for them, and thus they cannot recall how it was resolved.  The moderator closed the thread before I was aware that it was open (I had a bad month or so from Thanksgiving to New Years, and must have missed every one of my regular Thursday visits to that forum), and I was left wondering whether I had an answer they had overlooked.

It seemed easiest, for some reason, to put my answer here.  Abstract theory posts are still welcome here, and they’re the sort I tend to write–I think much more about how people think than about what they do.

I think that that thing around which Edwards, Ben-Ezra, and others were all talking could be described, in a phrase, as the inherent limitation of credibility dictated by the social contract.

There is often (or at least, has been in the past) a significant amount of freestyle role playing happening in Internet chat rooms.  My experience with these dates from Quantum Link, the online service designed specifically for Commodore 64 users whose operators eventually launched America Online.  There were many chat rooms with specific characteristics in those days.  One of the outstanding ones was the Red Dragon Inn.  There, fantasy gamers appeared as invincible characters from any milieu and announced what they were doing.  There was a clear one-upmanship happening, as no participant (and I hesitate to call them players) would ever admit that any other was superior, and so all these incredible magical, psionic, technological, and body-based powers were bouncing around the room wreaking great havoc in the first breath, and being completely undone by someone else in the next–perhaps something like this:

• Brakkus:  I fireball at the bar; the glass of the mirror and the bottles melts, the alcoholic liquor flaring up and lighting the room.
• Mentat:  Seeing the fireball, I focus my crygenesis on it, chilling it to a simple sphere of light which harmlessly illumines the room.  Then I telekinetically left Brakkus from his place and pin him to the ceiling.
• Brakkus:  As Mentat attempts to grab me, I phase shift to a parallel dimension so that only an illusory form of me remains in the room, and there is nothing to grab.

Nothing was ever resolvable, and I learned a great deal about how not to play role playing games from those visits.  It was truly much more enjoyable to visit the various coffee house chatrooms, where one imagined music playing while talking with other visitors over hot beverages.

The point is, what constrains trait use in Legends of Alyria is, ultimately, exactly the same thing that prevents Dungeons & Dragons players from inventing secret escape hatches:  the social contract apportions credibility such that each player can say so much and no more.

That is certainly nothing new nor anything original.  I wrote of it in Theory 101:  System and the Shared Imagined Space.  Others deserve credit for recognizing this aspect of role playing games, that events are resolved according to the social contract, the interactions of the players in ways structured by specific rules which determine what can be posited into the shared imagined space by each of them.  I do not think this is stating something new.

However, it surprises me, given that understanding, that the process is not also equally clear.  The social contract is developed through the social process.  Every participant gains an inherent understanding of exactly what the social contract allows, primarily by observing and following each other’s examples.  If one player tends to up the ante, taking more liberties with what is permitted in the use of traits, one of two things happen.  Either everyone else follows suit, using these parameters as the new definition of what is permissible, or the group balks and disallows the use of the trait as a group.  It will often devolve into a brief discussion:

• “I’m using my fast reflexes trait”
• “Wait–you can’t use fast reflexes here”
• “Oh, I don’t know–I think maybe he can.  What are you envisioning?”

The consensus is reached as to whether this use is reasonable within the shared imagined space, and it further defines the standard within the social contract concerning limits of credibility in relation to trait use.

Of course, the “rules”, including whether the trait must previously have been established in the situation (Edwards’ “Before” case) or can be incorporated in subsequent narration (the “After” case), are part of this.  They remain as authority, as described in the aforementioned Theory 101 article, something objective to which players can appeal in forming the social response.  Players gain credibility for their statements by appealing to these authorities.  Thus when the “fast reflexes” trait is called, someone can state that the rules require trait use to be “plausible when used”, and on that basis assert that the “fast reflexes” trait is not plausible in the present context and so should not be permitted.  The rule does not answer the problem–rules never do, it is the interpretive application of rules by those given credibility to make those interpretations in play that provide the answers–but it gives a basis for the group to determine whether the first player has the credibility to invoke that trait.

It is my hope that this recognition both of the role of social contract in trait use, as in rules applications generally, and of the formation of social contract through social interaction, will help our understanding of game design and play.

Thank you for your consideration of these ideas.  I invite response in our Gaming Outpost Roleplaying discussion forum or by e-mail.