Post by robkuntz on Jun 23, 2018 17:00:52 GMT -5
From A New Ethos in Game Design, Copyright 2014-2018, Robert J. Kuntz. All Rights and Permissions Reserved.
C34: Imagine: You are in this conceptual realm of a city. You know it’s a city because the GM says it’s a city and in turn associates it with several points within it for the year that you are there amongst a party/of players: The inn where you are staying, its common room, the sleeping room, the stables. Outside of that you are aware of a merchant who buys and sells goods that the party interfaces with to buy what is needed and otherwise to dispose of what is not. You learned of this merchant because you asked a broker for the GM, the innkeeper, to verify that there was a place to buy and sell goods at. You didn’t even ask for the innkeeper’s name for he is just an innkeeper with information you need to know in game terms. So the innkeeper is a convenient information booth, nameless, faceless, and useful for both the GM and the players in that sense alone, just as with the merchant and the dungeon.
The “adventure” continues in this manner, into and out of the adjacent ruins, back and forth, from dungeon to merchant to inn. It’s quite equal to what many people do in their daily routines: go to work, go to store, go home. And it has as much life in it as the latter, which is, very little.
When asked by one of the grandkids in the game what ‘Father-Fighter did in the olden days, the latter proudly attests to being at a city for a year, staying at an inn, whose name and innkeeper’s name he cannot recall, of dealing with a merchant, whose name he likewise cannot recall, and of adventuring into a “dangerous” dungeon wherein all manner of monsters, now all forgotten because they were just a grouped paycheck, were defeated in frightful battles (with lots of 20’s rolled on his part), and wherefrom treasure galore was obtained, the latter being noteworthy as treasure only because it was exchangeable for gold and gems from the merchant with no name or face.
The boy-child asks: “What about the city, papa? What was it like?
”
The grizzled fighter pauses for a moment, perplexed, and then says, “As I noted, it had a inn where we stayed, a merchant… and outside of it was the dungeon.”
The boy, in turn, looks perplexed, but before he can ask his next question the man interjects: “You’d have understood if you’d been there. Those were the days… The days of High Fantasy like no other…”
The moral of the story? Three linear servings of one-dimension do not make for a three-dimensional meal.
C34: Imagine: You are in this conceptual realm of a city. You know it’s a city because the GM says it’s a city and in turn associates it with several points within it for the year that you are there amongst a party/of players: The inn where you are staying, its common room, the sleeping room, the stables. Outside of that you are aware of a merchant who buys and sells goods that the party interfaces with to buy what is needed and otherwise to dispose of what is not. You learned of this merchant because you asked a broker for the GM, the innkeeper, to verify that there was a place to buy and sell goods at. You didn’t even ask for the innkeeper’s name for he is just an innkeeper with information you need to know in game terms. So the innkeeper is a convenient information booth, nameless, faceless, and useful for both the GM and the players in that sense alone, just as with the merchant and the dungeon.
The “adventure” continues in this manner, into and out of the adjacent ruins, back and forth, from dungeon to merchant to inn. It’s quite equal to what many people do in their daily routines: go to work, go to store, go home. And it has as much life in it as the latter, which is, very little.
When asked by one of the grandkids in the game what ‘Father-Fighter did in the olden days, the latter proudly attests to being at a city for a year, staying at an inn, whose name and innkeeper’s name he cannot recall, of dealing with a merchant, whose name he likewise cannot recall, and of adventuring into a “dangerous” dungeon wherein all manner of monsters, now all forgotten because they were just a grouped paycheck, were defeated in frightful battles (with lots of 20’s rolled on his part), and wherefrom treasure galore was obtained, the latter being noteworthy as treasure only because it was exchangeable for gold and gems from the merchant with no name or face.
The boy-child asks: “What about the city, papa? What was it like?
”
The grizzled fighter pauses for a moment, perplexed, and then says, “As I noted, it had a inn where we stayed, a merchant… and outside of it was the dungeon.”
The boy, in turn, looks perplexed, but before he can ask his next question the man interjects: “You’d have understood if you’d been there. Those were the days… The days of High Fantasy like no other…”
The moral of the story? Three linear servings of one-dimension do not make for a three-dimensional meal.
