How to Run a Game (Part 8) - Finite and Infinite Games

Games have a variety of dimensions, some of which may be limited in scope, some of which may be open.

The two most obvious of these are time and protagonism. 

Time

At one end of the scale, there are plenty of tales about games that have gone on for decades. At the other end of the scale, some games might only last half an hour. Most games fall somewhere between these extremes. I don't have data immediately available on the average campaign length, but I vaguely remember reading something in the last couple of weeks that suggested the average length of a campaign is about 4 to 6 months. 

If you're playing a one-shot, time is an important factor because you want to tell a self-contained story that gets effectively resolved in the allotted period. If you're playing (or running) an open campaign, this isn't as rigid but it's often still a good ideas to ensure your story gets resolved before other factors get in the way. The kinds of factors I'm thinking of here are the way stories can get disrupted when players don't attend for a session, or when too many characters die (or suffer enough long-term penalties) that the campaign is no longer really viable.

Think of it like a TV series on Netflix. I like to divide my single sessions into episodes, I try to make sure a complete story fits into the session, just in case a player is unabe to show up for the next session. This way we don't need to explain why a character is suddenly no longer present if their player is no longer there when the next session completes the story. I don't try and fit everything into this single story, it's just a string of scenes that form a small piece of the overall saga. A few of these sessions are combined together into a full story with a satisfying conclusion, taking anywhere from 5 to 10 episode sessions. That's basically a season. If players wan to revisit their characters for another season, then we might pick up immediately after the last story has completed, or we might rejoin the characters at a later time in their lives after a few years have passed. When we think of it like a Netflix TV series, we can consider the idea that the show doesn't get picked u for a new season, and it can be very frustrating to end things on a cliffhanger. We hit the finite time barrier and don't have a satisfying conclusion, and this is not a good thing.

A finite time barrier is often most appropriate for those who play with a gamist agenda, because this is them a definite end point and a limit here they can determine whether they have "won" or "lost".

For those who are playing with a simulationist agenda, an endpoint is generally a good thing, because the longer a story goes for the more it needs to divert from the original interests to keep its interest alive. The more you divert from those original ideas, the more you potentially bump into the edges of what is known about the setting, and the more chances you'll run into situations that run counter to a player's understanding of how the setting or story "should" work. You can see this kind of thing with new movies in a franchise, Star Wars fans are notorious for not liking the directions of new media added to the setting, because that's not how they understand specific elements of that galaxy. Similarly, Marvel movies are needing to change up their formulae to avoid getting too stagnant, but that makes certain fanboys lose interest because the movies are no longer what they specifically want in the setting. It's a delicate balancing act and probably works better if the whole thing comes to a conclusion to allow something new to flourish.     

For those playing with a narrativist agenda, the timed endpoint is anathema, it is the worst possible thing because that style of play pushes a continuation of story to see where it will organically develop. This sort of player is always looking for new avenues of exploration, new side quests to uncover, new exploration, and new ways to reveal their inner character in reflection of the outside world.     

Knowing the types of players you have involved in a game session helps you work out what sort of campaign might be most appropriate for them. If you already know that there are time constraints, then this might help you be aware of what issues might arise when certain types of players are present. When we look at the three way tension between narrator, players and rules, the time constraint becomes one of the rules pulling at that side of the tension (it may not appear written in the rule book but it's still a rule that governs the social dynamics of the session).

Protagonism

The second post in this series mentioned a guy named Mr. X. Back in the day he was what we called a "Big Name Gamer". I mentioned that he was basically a novelist who got players to run through his pre-determined stories, and he didn't really allow a lot of choices from his players... especially ones that might derail his plans. In many gaming circles, this is considered the epitome of railroading. A guided narrative path through a specific story with a predetermined endpoint. 

A gamist player will chafe at this style of play because there's no real winning or losing. Instead, the players just follow the flow of the narrative. A narrativist player often hates this style of play because they have no meaningful choices, and often no choices at all. A simulationist player may enjoy this type of narrow storyline, especially if it fits their understanding of what the world should be or what the narrative should be.

I really delved into this quite a bit when I developed my vector theory of gaming back in 2010. The basic idea back then was that a story followed a straight line until a choice needed to be made, choices were made at node points that might be directed by randomising factors like die rolls, or player factors like specific choices about where to go next. Then the story would follow a straight line until the next node point where a new branch might begin. 

A totally open set of choices with no guide to how the story might play out is generally referred to as a sandbox game. In this style of play there is no limit to what can be done, except maybe what the laws of physics dictate, or rules within the setting that might have repercussions (in the form of injury, status loss, or other effects). The choices are still there, but if players deliberately make stupid choices for their characters they find out the results. 

In this style of play, the gamist player tries to make optimal choices that will make later choices easier, or give them greater rewards. The simulationist player makes choices that fit their understanding of the setting or the evolving story within that setting. The narrativist runs free, and doesn't care if they make good or bad choices, as long as the story is interesting as a result.

There are options between these two extremes, and these tend to be found commonly among the computer games that consider themselves "roleplying games". Over the course of the story, players will be given a series of choices for their character, and the story will follow a range of paths based on those choices made. The kinds of computer game that are considered "linear" will often lead to a pair of endings or cut scenes at the end regardless of the choices made. 

Some of the computer RPGs that are considered "better" often have more end points. 

I've been though phases in the past, notably when I was in high school where I thought it would be necessary to plot out every possible outcome. I drew story flowcharts because I didn't like the idea of players not being able to control their fate. However, gradually over time, I came to the conclusion that this was basically a futile endeavor. You can never account for the variety of possible decisions players might make, so it's probably better to have some loose ideas of what could happen in the story, and what trigger events might bring them into play. 

It's a bit like the debate between prescriptivism and descriptivism. Do you define things first and fit your worldview into those definitions (prescriptivism)? or do you follow the flow of the outside world, then try to define what you see based on what has been happening (descriptivism)? I try to find a balance between them, by defining wide sweeping concepts and potential possibilities, then refine those descriptions based on the events that unfold in the story.

As an example, in the storyline I was developing for our school D&D sessions, I had a vague threat coming from the south, and a range of towns along the foot of a mountain range (to the north). The threat combined undead elements, aberrations, and general corruption (with level draining effects to indicate how severe the threat is on an existential level). Many of the towns had developed their own defenses, and some had cut deals with the southern threat. I didn't really have much more than that planned. I knew that if I included a big bad villain, there would be a possibility that characters could kill them early, or maybe decide to run away from them entirely. Instead I set up a world with interconnected groups that had different responses to the threat and then players could start aligning themselves with (or against) these factions. Each of our D&D sessions is a small sequence of scenes that tells an immediate story but gradually builds to something bigger. We didn't know what that "bigger" was, but we had a few characters and players who were pushing for something Lovecraftian. So I made a climax fight for these players which put them into confrontation with "The King in Yellow". I think I've mentioned earlier that this ended up being a six/seven-week battle unfolding over three or four lunchtime breaks each week. I gave the players the choice to fight The King in Yellow, and they were cocky. They thought they could beat him, but I knew they couldn't necessarily do so unless they played a Hail Mary. 

One by one the players fell, then the final character sacrificed himself by throwing a portable hole into a bag of holding, and destabilized reality for a 1-mile radius. I allowed the characters to have the win for the campaign, a poignant moment where they realised how bad the villain truly is, and how he outmatched them completely in a straight fight. It was mostly railroad once the fight began, I generally knew how it would end up, but that final choice gave them meaning. The dice did their thing, and the final sacrifice tilted the story vector in an unexpected direction. The game for the characters was over, their season was concluded, but the campaign goes on.