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    Applied Theory

    by [8]M.J. Young

     Introduction

    There are among gamers those who like to theorize, to attempt to

    understand and explain our hobby, why we do what we do, and why it works

    when it does. For some gamers, this makes no sense. We play to have fun;

    we design games in whatever way seems to be the most fun. Some despise

    theory, and see no use in it. If you have no use for theory, then this

    material's only offering is that perhaps someone else might. I am among

    those for whom theories are fundamental, so I would be interested in

    theories if they had no practical value to anyone. However, since I

    think that theory is the foundation for action, I can't imagine any

    theory that would have no practical application. I am thus exploring the

    practical application of role playing game theory.

    Specifically, I'm looking at the theory commonly known as GNS. This

    theory suggests that role play styles divide into Gamists who enjoy

    facing the challenges of play, Narrativists who enjoy great stories that

    involve themes or issues, and Simulationists who seek to know what

    another reality might be like. The theory, which owes much to many

    people over many years including the discussions on the

    rec.games.frp.advocacy newsgroup, first took this form with these names

    when formulated by Ron Edwards in his article [9]System Does Matter,

    originally published on [10]Gaming Outpost, but since lost and

    republished at The Forge. Mr. Edwards has expanded on this theory with

    [11]several other articles, and debates and discussions of the details

    have been held on the forums of several gamer web sites. Periodically in

    those discussions, someone suggests that the theory isn't much use,

    because it doesn't tell you how to design a better game.

    In response to this, it can be and often is answered that this is not

    really a theory about how to design games. It's a theory about what

    gamers are seeking when they play, and as such has its most effective

    application as a diagnostic tool for play groups that seem to be

    internally at odds. In this context, if we have players who are trying

    to get different things out of the game, having some terminology and

    definitions by which to discuss what each is seeking can be invaluable

    in resolving conflict. If all GNS theory did was resolve such conflicts,

    it would be valuable. However, one cannot read so much as the title of

    that first article, System Does Matter, without absorbing the idea that

    game design itself is part of the problem, and therefore could be part

    of the solution. Those who are asking how to do narrativist, or gamist,

    or simulationist design are asking valid questions; the answers

    generally given to these budding designers have been inadequate, as they

    in essence amount to telling people to design whatever they like and

    then test it through play to see how it works.

    Answers need not be quite so nebulous in this area. Once the theory is

    understood, there are aspects to it which suggest practical approaches

    to designing consistent games that support particular sorts of play.

    This isn't about rules heavy versus rules light design, or about setting

    detail, or even about things like whether you play your character in the

    first person or the third person or have control over things beyond the

    character. It's about how to create games which support and facilitate

    one approach to play under the theory. Once you have the basic concept

    of a game idea, application of the theory can greatly aid many of the

    design details.

    Game design has many areas; no one area will completely control how the

    game is played, nor is it necessary for design priorities to be

    considered in relation to all of these areas to be effective. The social

    context of the gaming group playing the game can have a significant

    impact on whether the game works at all, and whether it is played as

    designed. Once it is agreed that a particular group of players is

    interested in playing a particular kind of game, designing to that

    desire need not be so mysterious as some imply. Character generation,

    resolution mechanics, credibility distribution, advancement, and rewards

    are some of the aspects of design through which particular GNS

    preferences can be facilitated, and designers can devise approaches to

    each of these through such considerations long before test play begins.

    Underpinning this article, which will be somewhere on the edge between

    theory and practice, is this basic principle: conduct will be preferred

    if it is rewarded, and avoided if it is penalized.

    There's a lot to cover, so coverage will of necessity be sketchy;

    however, it is hoped that this will provide some foundation for

    practical applications of the theory to game design.

     Character Generation

    Nearly all role playing games include a section on how to create a

    character. Very few give more than a line or two to considering what you

    are creating when you do so. Failure to consider this aspect leads to

    design problems; in GNS terms, an understanding of what you are creating

    is far more important than how you are creating it. Put another way, if

    you know what you're creating, how to do that will more often than not

    fall into place. Too many games create characters without thought to

    what they are. Characters are not really people; they are functional

    components of a game world which are manipulated by players to achieve

    goals. They are, in a word, tools. It is at this point in play that you

    are attempting to guide the players into designing the right tools.

    Put that way, it becomes obvious that GNS considerations are very

    important to the question of what you are designing. If you guide the

    players into designing hammers, they're going to wind up with tools that

    are very good for hitting things; if you want them instead to write

    stories, you need to have them design pens. You need the right tool for

    the job; if you don't have it, there will be a tendency to try to make

    the job fit the tool.

    So what kinds of tools are needed for the major types of jobs?

    Gamist tools are easy to recognize and easy to design. A gamist

    character has to be up to the challenges which lie ahead. What that

    means in detail depends on the nature of the game in play and the

    preferences of the designer. Some gamist characters can be extremely

    focused on the central challenges of the game. Combat is the most common

    example of this, and a character's effectiveness in a certain type of

    gamist design would be measured by his abilities to deal damage and

    survive damage, to stand up to the fight. In a very different sort of

    game, racing could be the challenge, and character design would be

    narrowly about how fast the character is without reference to much else.

    However, skill-driven games can also have a strong gamist design

    foundation, if the skills are geared to meet potential in-game

    challenges. Driving or piloting skill, medical skill, hacking, picking

    locks, and hiding are all candidates for gamist design, because they are

    there to provide the player with options, ways to beat challenges

    presented in play.

    That's not to say that narrativist characters can't have either power or

    skills; they can. However, narrativist characters need to be connected

    to the world. They need to be built such that things matter to them, and

    they matter to things.

    Just as there are multiple ways to design a character effective against

    the challenges ahead, so too there are multiple ways to integrate a

    character into the world. Creating relationships with other characters

    is a valuable factor; giving the character beliefs or principles which

    will be challenged by events is also useful. Character history and

    character goals might matter, provided these are of a sort from which

    issues arise. A long-standing feud might be merely fodder for another

    fight; done right, it might become an issue for exploration. To build a

    narrativist tool, you should have something that is already tied in to

    the ideas you hope to explore.

    Simulationist tools are perhaps the most difficult to see or to design.

    There is a sense in which no words which describe a simulationist

    character don't apply equally well to another sort. He must be

    effective, able to change his world; but then, gamist characters must be

    effective in that sense. He must be human, seeming like a real person;

    this is true of narrativist characters, certainly. Perhaps the most

    important characteristic of a simulationist character is that he must be

    accurate, that is, he must clearly express something real and credible

    within the setting such that he has exactly the amount of impact on

    events and persons around him that he should have, no more and no less.

    This does not mean and should not be confused to mean that a

    simulationist character is more detailed than any other. A simulationist

    character could have history, principles, character, goals,

    relationships, skills, and all the things that support other forms of

    play; he could as easily be three numbers on a statistics sheet defining

    his effectiveness. What matters is that he is given form as an

    integrated part of the world, where he fits as if he were born and

    raised within it. To understand him is to understand the essentials of

    the world in which he lives, and vice versa. He is what he is, and in

    some sense not what anyone outside his world wants him to be. He is in

    the world and of the world, and as a tool he reveals the world to us

    through himself.

    Now that we've got some idea of what kind of tool, what sort of

    character, we're trying to create, how do we create him? Do we use point

    systems for gamist characters, lifepaths for narrativists, and dice for

    simulationists? Wrong on all counts. Those methodological considerations

    in themselves have nothing to do with what we are creating. You can

    create any sort of character with any of them.

    Take lifepaths for an example. We could start a character in his teens

    and move him, by a combination of die rolls and choices, through

    military training, education, private sector work, and other areas

    through which he builds up skills that prepare him for the challenges

    which will come. We might instead start a character younger, take him

    through his early years, develop school friends, relationships, family

    connections, life partners, coupled with the sort of moments that form

    opinions and beliefs, and so derive someone ready to explore the themes

    of the game. We could have a much broader selection of options, creating

    characters who have far less focus and more breadth of background and

    experience, who thus feel more real, as the tools we will use to explore

    the world. The idea of using lifepaths didn't matter; it was the way we

    used them that made the difference. It isn't how you build the

    character, but what kind of character you build. You'll certainly have

    to adjust the character generation system to build the right sort of

    character, and you might find that you have more luck making one

    mechanic type work than another for what you wish to do, but the answer

    isn't so much in the type of mechanic as in the targeted result.

    I make some suggestions on character generation systems in [12]Game

    Ideas Unlimited: CharGen (which gives some general thoughts and focuses

    on freeform design) and [13]Game Ideas Unlimited: Negative Points (ways

    to smooth out some of the problems in dice and points systems).

     Resolution Mechanics

    Mr. Edwards has said that system within a game is the equivalent of

    time. To understand this, you have to understand something about time:

    it is the medium for change. Without time, nothing changes. In the game,

    the system determines what happens, what changes; without it, nothing

    changes. Thus the system determines and controls change, and therefore

    is effectively time for the imagined world.

    Yet this, too, can be very important in supporting or impeding GNS

    preferences. How outcomes are resolved matters very much.

    Although it has been said many times, it is worth saying again that

    diceless systems don't in themselves support narrativist play. They may

    be used for narrativist play, but they may equally be used for gamist or

    simulationist play. So, too, such general matters as dice pools, bell

    curves, granularity, and the other aspects of system which garner so

    much discussion (particularly from system monkeys) are not in themselves

    relevant to GNS concerns. As with character generation, it is what you

    do that matters, and not these questions of how you do it.

    What are you attempting to do? The function of system is to provide the

    medium for change; more specifically, resolution mechanics are there to

    empower players to make the kinds of changes they wish to make within

    the game world and to interact with the consequences. To the gamist,

    resolution mechanics are in a sense both the obstacles to overcome and

    the means by which to overcome them. To the narrativist, they are the

    means by which the theme impacts the character and the character

    addresses the theme. In simulationist play, these are both the

    limitations on change and the power to explore it.

    For gamist mechanics, you want something resolute; there usually needs

    to be clear victory conditions, clear failure conditions. It also helps

    if the system is responsive to player choice, that is, if there are ways

    that the player, through his character, can impact the probability of

    success. This could arise from strategy, or from skill or equipment

    choice, or from any decision which should and does give the character an

    advantage. Few things are more frustrating to gamist play than for the

    character to do things that seem to the player to make sense as ways to

    improve the odds, only to have these amount to no effect.

    Even unrealistic strategies are helpful as gamist tools. A game that

    gives combat bonuses for sound, conservative defensive strategy can be

    very gamist, but so can one which gives combat bonuses for brash and

    brazen boldness, charging, screaming, doing over-the-top stunts. What

    matters is not how the bonuses are earned, but that in fact it is

    possible to manipulate the chance of success through character choices.

    Although combat is the example here, it should not be thought that it's

    only in combat that such things matter. If a character can improve his

    chance to pick a lock or hack a computer or repair a wound by taking

    particular actions, this gives support to gamist play. There is a

    challenge to meet. The resolution system will tell whether or not the

    player succeeded, with certainty, but the player has the ability to

    tweak his chance of success through his approach to the problem.

    Although it may sound strange to say that a resolution mechanic need not

    be resolute, for narrativist play it is often better that it not be. A

    gamist wants to know whether he succeeded or failed; a narrativist wants

    to know whether his efforts had an impact. In a combat mechanic for the

    use of guns, it is quite sufficient for a gamist system to determine

    whether the shot hit the opponent and how severe the injury is; for a

    narrativist system, things are probably a lot fuzzier (from a certain

    perspective). The shot should have the power to frighten the opponent

    and cause him to flee, for example. From the gamist perspective, that

    would be a miss; from a narrativist perspective, that's a success. Thus

    it helps narrativism if the resolution mechanic provides more of a

    degree of success rather than a strict success/failure determination.

    Simulationism wants to know what would actually happen, given the

    assumptions of the setting. That doesn't mean realistic, in the ordinary

    sense; it means believable within the bounds of the imagined world. A

    fighter putting his spear in the ground and then using it as a bracing

    point as he runs across the chests of his adversaries kicking them is

    not terribly realistic, but it does fit the imagined reality of a

    certain sort of world, and thus could be incorporated into simulationist

    play in that world. In fact, if it has been established that a

    particular fighter can do that, simulationist play would dictate that he

    do so in any situation in which that would be the obvious response,

    unless there is reason to think he would do something else at that

    moment.

    Thus resolution mechanics which support simulationist play are those

    which make outcomes correct within the setting. Much as with

    narrativism, this is often served by some form of relative success and

    relative failure, a determination of how well the character did; but

    like gamism, this generally needs to be resolute. A simulationist

    doesn't just want to know that he missed; he wants to know how close he

    came to hitting.

    It might help put the entire question of resolution mechanics in

    perspective by imagining that a character runs, perhaps fleeing from an

    attacker. The gamist wants to know whether he ran fast enough. The

    narrativist wants to know how running mattered. The simulationist wants

    to know how fast he ran. Although in a sense, all three are concerned

    about escaping the adversary, they view this in different ways.

     Credibility Distribution

    Before anything can be said about credibility distribution, some

    explanation of what this means is important.

    In roleplaying theory, it is recognized that there is within the game a

    shared imagined reality in which actions occur. Players, including the

    referee, contribute to the content of this reality through statements

    made to each other. These statements amount to, "This is what I want to

    have happen in our shared imagined world."

    Of course, player statements may be contradictory; after all, players

    have different aims. Bob's character and Bill's character might get into

    a fight, and Bob might say that his character hits Bill's in the nose,

    to which Bill answers that his character ducks that punch and knocks

    Bob's to the floor. Now we need to know what actually happens in our

    shared imaginative space, or we're no longer imagining the same reality.

    Game systems must apportion credibility to address these issues.

    Credibility is the degree to which any person at the table has the power

    to define what is happening in the shared space.

    You might think that in traditional games, only the referee has

    credibility. That is incorrect. All players have a measured amount of

    credibility. The referee rarely is able to say what actions any player's

    character would take--only whether he succeeded in that action. Thus

    non-referee players have credibility, too, even in such games, as they

    get to state what their characters attempt. Credibility means someone

    gets to decide what rules apply to the situation, when resolution

    mechanics are used, what the dice mean, and ultimately what happens in

    the shared space; it also means stating what actions characters are

    attempting, what they are saying to each other, and how they are

    reacting. Credibility is always shared. The issue is how it is shared.

    This is sometimes confused with something called narration rights, that

    is, who gets to describe the scene. There is some connection between the

    two, but it is not absolute. For example, a game could state that each

    player at the table is allowed to contribute one fact which must be

    included in the outcome of the event, and then the player who has the

    narration rights must state what happened in such a manner that all of

    these facts are included. He himself might not have determined anything

    that happened despite narrating all of it. In most instances, narration

    rights include credibility; yet even in games which pass narration

    rights around, it may be the case that the referee can veto something

    stated in the narration if it goes counter to something known to him but

    not revealed to the players.

    Gamist play is best supported in most cases by narrowly and clearly

    delineated credibility. Because the point of play is to overcome the

    challenge, it is not usually effective for the player facing the

    challenge to decide that he was successful. Since it is also possible

    that the players may find themselves in competition, it would be equally

    problematic for that decision to be made by a potentially opposing

    player. It is important to gamist play that credibility be clearly

    distributed, and that the player who determines the outcome does not

    himself have a stake in the outcome. This is why traditional games

    placed this power with the referee. He was viewed as the neutral

    arbiter, and as long as the players trusted his neutrality he could

    determine what occurred in the game world without problem. It is not

    impossible to eliminate the role of the referee from gamist play, but to

    do so the design must clearly establish who has credibility under each

    circumstance, so that disputes do not occur over success and failure.

    Too much player credibility can actually thwart gamist play preferences,

    since a player who can merely decide his character has been successful

    has lost all sense that there was any challenge to the victory.

    This does not mean that players cannot be given credibility beyond the

    control of their character actions. The credibility to add color and

    detail to a scene are not contrary to gamist concerns. What matters is

    that such credibility cannot provide ways to eliminate the challenge

    itself. As one of my sons observed, you can't give the gamist player the

    power to invent a plus four sword lying on the table within reach and

    expect the game to be functional at a gamist level. The challenge must

    be maintained.

    Narrativism usually requires more credibility in the hands of the

    players. Players are not competing with each other nor trying to beat

    the game, so giving them credibility is not detrimental to play in the

    same way it tends to be for gamist play. Rather, players need to be

    empowered to address the theme. Director stance, that is, the ability

    for the character players to add elements to the setting and events on

    the fly, is not uncommon in narrativist play. It is not essential to it,

    but works better with it than it does with the other preferences.

    Severely restricting credibility tends to stifle narrativist play, as it

    takes from the players their ability to make the statements they wish to

    make.

    It is much more difficult to address credibility distribution in

    simulationism. What matters here is the verisimilitude and consistency

    of the shared imagined reality; that is, all players must see the same

    thing and believe it. This does not preclude broadly shared credibility;

    it does require a solid agreement on the nature of the reality. If we're

    playing in a medieval fantasy world, exploring an abandoned castle, a

    player given credibility could announce that he saw objects on a table,

    and describe the objects he saw. As long as those objects do not upset

    the agreed nature of the reality, such credibility is not problematic.

    Thus it is evident that the objects could include bottles and lamps,

    perhaps swords and daggers, possibly jewelry, all things which would

    typically be found on such tables. Were the player to describe seeing

    laser guns or kinetic blasters there, this would clearly violate the

    agreed reality, and his credibility would cease at that moment. However,

    there are difficult cases here. The player might describe finding the

    famed lost jewel of Prince Balthazzar, or opening a bottle to release a

    djinni, or discovering a scroll with a map to a hidden treasure. These,

    too, are all plausible within the setting, but may be stretching the

    credibility of the player. For this reason, it is more common for

    simulationist games to prefer narrower credibility for the players and

    broader credibility for the referee. It is not a necessary arrangement,

    but it does tend to support simulationism better.

    Again, credibility distribution does not determine the sort of play that

    will occur in itself; it tends to support different preferences when

    configured different ways, and thought should be given to the amount of

    credibility players should have to facilitate reaching their goals.

     Advancement

    It must be asked whether it is necessary for characters to improve

    during play; the answer is that this is never necessary. It is not

    necessary for simulationist play, certainly not for narrativist play,

    and surprisingly not for gamist play. However, it is often desirable in

    each mode that characters have the power to improve and advance in some

    sense. The more significant question is, in what sense can the character

    advance?

    Most of us are conditioned to think of character advancement or

    improvement in strictly gamist terms: a character advances by getting

    better at what he does. That is, his ability to face the challenges

    increases. That there could be character advancement that has nothing

    whatever to do with this is surprising to many players. Yet

    consideration of this mode of improvement should give us some clues

    regarding how to improve characters for simulationist and narrativist

    play.

    In discussing character generation, it was recognized that the character

    was a tool which the player used to achieve goals. Improving a character

    means making it into a better tool. Thus if a starting character in a

    gamist game is a rubber mallet, improvement might take it through stages

    of being a tack hammer, claw hammer, ball peen hammer, sledge hammer,

    jack hammer, and ultimately pile driver. That is, the character gets

    more effective at meeting the challenge, because it is a tool designed

    to meet challenges.

    If we consider the function of the narrativist character, we find that

    it exists to enable the player to address the theme, and as such it has

    to be tied in to the issues of play. Improving the character means

    connecting it more deeply or in new ways with the theme. It can mean

    deeper commitments, stronger relationships, more determined moral

    positions; it could also mean greater conflicts, increased doubts, more

    personal connections. In a game exploring issues of sexual identity, a

    character who has always decried homosexuality as a moral perversion

    could be advanced by the discovery that his best friend is homosexual,

    creating a tension between his friendship and his beliefs. It's not

    impossible for narrativist characters to get better at things they do,

    but it is far more supportive of narrativist play for them to advance by

    becoming more integrated into the issues. The tool that started as a pen

    has advanced to becoming a word processor: it is now able to address the

    issues at new levels and in more facets.

    Since simulationist play is about exploring the imagined reality,

    character advancement is best if it enhances that ability to explore.

    Our magnifying glass gradually advances to an electron microscope; our

    field glasses to become the Hubble telescope. The particulars of how

    this works are greatly dependent on what the game is exploring. If the

    exploration is of a physical world, greater mobility within that world

    is the logical route to improvement. Given exploration of a complex

    society, increased contacts and exposure within the society provide the

    answer. Exploration of historic or fictional events requires greater

    access to the events. Combat effectiveness or skill improvement can be

    simulationist if these empower the player to explore more difficult or

    dangerous areas of the game world. The variety of possibilities makes it

    difficult to be specific, but the answer in any situation is found the

    same way: identify what the tool facilitates, and how to make it

    facilitate this more effectively. One thing that is consistent across

    simulationist play in this area is that character advancement, like

    everything else, must mesh with the in-game reality. A character

    exploring the setting by working as a local reporter can advance through

    being assigned to a larger beat, but only if it makes sense in the

    context of the world that this character would receive that assignment.

    Again, it is not necessary in any style of play for characters to

    improve or advance. Gamist play can be about beating increasingly

    difficult opponents with the same resources with which you started.

    Narrativist play can interact with the world through a static character.

    Simulationist play can be limited to that which the character can

    access. All play styles can be enhanced by the ability to improve and

    advance characters within their own terms. More importantly, if a game

    design provides character advancement options, these will influence the

    way in which players approach the game.

     Rewards

    I have written elsewhere of rewards systems, and the necessity that they

    be two-pronged. I first considered the issue on the forums at The Forge,

    and later contributed a brief statement on it to RoleplayingTips.com.

    The clearest and most complete statement on the subject is in the

    aptly-named [14]Game Ideas Unlimited: Rewards; but as that is for Gaming

    Outpost subscribers only I'll recap some of it here.

    There are two aspects to rewards systems, both equally important. Many

    designers fail to realize this, and so design rewards systems that are

    internally conflicted--they encourage opposing play priorities.

    There is a clear example of this found in examining the popular

    experience points systems of games in which you kill monsters and get

    treasure, which gives you points, which raises your character level or

    skills, which makes you better able to kill monsters and get treasure.

    This is a coherent gamist rewards system: everything in it is geared to

    encourage the process of killing monsters and getting treasure, that is,

    overcoming the challenges of the game. It is a system that does not need

    repair, because it works extremely well at doing what it is supposed to

    do.

    However, there are many referees who don't like what it does. They think

    it encourages players to focus on killing monsters and getting treasure

    (which is correct, because that's exactly what it's supposed to do).

    They don't want that to be the focus of the game; they want to encourage

    role playing, or character development, or dialogue, or helping people,

    or any of uncounted other roleplay preferences. So they strip away at

    least some of the points gained for killing monsters and getting

    treasure, and instead give them for performing the desired conduct,

    whatever it is. Now a player character gains experience points by

    helping the poor, or pursuing his private hobbies; these points increase

    his level--which makes him better at killing monsters and getting

    treasure. The rewards are now given for one sort of play, but they still

    facilitate the other.

    It's not necessary to have a rewards system in a game. Stripped of such

    artificial rewards, many players will discover that play is its own

    reward. After all, players play because they enjoy the game. They enjoy

    different aspects of the game, but whatever it is that they enjoy is

    inherent in the play itself. Rewards systems, in the main, are icing on

    the cake. Done right, they encourage the desired form of play. Done

    wrong, they can clash horribly with the entire game.