luke
07-22-2003, 08:14 PM
I am the first to admit that I have very little experience in doing what my game so exhaustively describes. I have never milled lumber, cast a spell or wielded a weapon with the intent to kill. The weapons I've wielded have all been for demonstration purposes only and the few scuffles I've been in have shown me that I decidedly do not have the will to kill another person.
That said, how do I (or any other game designer, for that matter) come up with the representative mechanics for the above incidents (and the many more that I've left out of my example)?
Research of course. Research in the form of fiction--literary, pulpy, visual and even auditory-- game mechanical research, and, lastly, nonfiction/scholarly research.
The fictive and game mechanical research have, of course, been very inspiring and influential in the overall design and feel of The Burning Wheel. However, all good fiction has its roots in the "real world" and so does this game. The "scholarly" (and I use that term loosely) research I've done is the underpinning of this game. I've always tried to ensure that a player could logically perform all mundane and simple actions before I moved on to the crazy stuff like magic or elves or cannons.
One of the great strengths of the nonfictive research is that it demystifies and codifies the fictive side. Once you start reading about rebellions in China throughout the 19th century you start to see contemporary kung fu movies in a whole different light. Performances or actions that are glorified in fiction tend have rather humble roots.
Thus Burning Wheel combat. At its most basic, it is very dirty, very ugly and very tough. I am a self-professed lover of comicbooks, and kung fu moves so how did it get this way? Obviously, I mitigated these influences with research.
Many folks who have actual experience in the matters I describe have commented on the systems presented. Some have said, "that's not how it happens." An interesting comment. Since most of what is represented in the game has little to do with rolling dice and comparing numbers. I submit that these folks are too close to their own skills and experiences, or, alternately, too in love with the fictive resources to see clearly what is going on in Burning Wheel.
I'll admit, the system is very "gamey"-- it is a game played between two opponents within the superstructure of the game. But this is largely representative of the phenomena it emulates: adversarial close combat with the intent to kill tends to take its participants out of time and mental space and place them, momentarily, elsewhere.
In The Face of Battle, John Keegan states: "Warfare in the age of edged weapons required yet another vanished military quality, perhaps even more crucial to skill-at-arms than agility or good reflexes: a sort of empathy with one's adversary, lending the ability to anticipate his actions and forestall his blows...."
This mental state precisely what I have sought to emulate. To allow players to place themselves in the scenario and think their way through. To be the "adversary" and "anticipate actions." In fact, I went so far as to force players to think their way through a life-and-death struggle, rather than just to roll dice and gloss over the contest.
"Combat" in roleplay is often thought of as inconvenient or overlong--even I dread it sometimes. But what does that tell us about the scenario we are playing in if the life and death struggle has no meaning or threat? I think then that such struggles should not be there. Another situation perhaps would better suit the story or the players. If it is not going to be tense and harrowing, if death is not an unthinkable, ultimate consequence, then combat has no place at the table.
There are many many other scenarios to roleplay out that are equally entertaining and fulfilling--perhaps more so. When combat does come, it should be every bit as intense and fear-inducing as a near death experience should be--and just like those experiences players should at least have the opportunity to think their way through it. Even if their intentions sometimes fall short of preserving their lives...
-abzu
That said, how do I (or any other game designer, for that matter) come up with the representative mechanics for the above incidents (and the many more that I've left out of my example)?
Research of course. Research in the form of fiction--literary, pulpy, visual and even auditory-- game mechanical research, and, lastly, nonfiction/scholarly research.
The fictive and game mechanical research have, of course, been very inspiring and influential in the overall design and feel of The Burning Wheel. However, all good fiction has its roots in the "real world" and so does this game. The "scholarly" (and I use that term loosely) research I've done is the underpinning of this game. I've always tried to ensure that a player could logically perform all mundane and simple actions before I moved on to the crazy stuff like magic or elves or cannons.
One of the great strengths of the nonfictive research is that it demystifies and codifies the fictive side. Once you start reading about rebellions in China throughout the 19th century you start to see contemporary kung fu movies in a whole different light. Performances or actions that are glorified in fiction tend have rather humble roots.
Thus Burning Wheel combat. At its most basic, it is very dirty, very ugly and very tough. I am a self-professed lover of comicbooks, and kung fu moves so how did it get this way? Obviously, I mitigated these influences with research.
Many folks who have actual experience in the matters I describe have commented on the systems presented. Some have said, "that's not how it happens." An interesting comment. Since most of what is represented in the game has little to do with rolling dice and comparing numbers. I submit that these folks are too close to their own skills and experiences, or, alternately, too in love with the fictive resources to see clearly what is going on in Burning Wheel.
I'll admit, the system is very "gamey"-- it is a game played between two opponents within the superstructure of the game. But this is largely representative of the phenomena it emulates: adversarial close combat with the intent to kill tends to take its participants out of time and mental space and place them, momentarily, elsewhere.
In The Face of Battle, John Keegan states: "Warfare in the age of edged weapons required yet another vanished military quality, perhaps even more crucial to skill-at-arms than agility or good reflexes: a sort of empathy with one's adversary, lending the ability to anticipate his actions and forestall his blows...."
This mental state precisely what I have sought to emulate. To allow players to place themselves in the scenario and think their way through. To be the "adversary" and "anticipate actions." In fact, I went so far as to force players to think their way through a life-and-death struggle, rather than just to roll dice and gloss over the contest.
"Combat" in roleplay is often thought of as inconvenient or overlong--even I dread it sometimes. But what does that tell us about the scenario we are playing in if the life and death struggle has no meaning or threat? I think then that such struggles should not be there. Another situation perhaps would better suit the story or the players. If it is not going to be tense and harrowing, if death is not an unthinkable, ultimate consequence, then combat has no place at the table.
There are many many other scenarios to roleplay out that are equally entertaining and fulfilling--perhaps more so. When combat does come, it should be every bit as intense and fear-inducing as a near death experience should be--and just like those experiences players should at least have the opportunity to think their way through it. Even if their intentions sometimes fall short of preserving their lives...
-abzu