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Opinion: If you want to be a good roleplayer, you need to know how to write, and you need to know how to act. You don’t have to be an absolute master of those disciplines, but you should at least know the fundamentals. You need to know something about how to plot, and how to structure a story. Beginning, middle, end. Foreshadowing. Closure. You need to understand character motivations, identify emotional hooks and proper emotional responses, know what feels right for any particular character to do in any given situation.
Game systems exist only to offer structure, define (and limit) possibilities, enforce genre rules, and provide a means for conflict resolution. That’s a lot. Story and character are not mechanical functions. Yes, games have character sheets that offer up information about the character, but that’s not who the character is, it’s a guideline as best. It doesn’t define their reactions, their hopes, dreams, triumphs, tragedies. That’s all you. A game can provide some guidelines on how to design encounters, even lay out the beats, but it doesn’t provide the emotions that drive the story — love, hate, revenge, honor, greed, all those messy emotions that fire the machinations of villains and the ambitions of heroes.
Story and plot are conscious choices, decisions you make. They may be influenced by dice or other randomized information, but the interpretation of that data is a choice. The villain doesn’t kidnap the princess because he’s “evil”. He kidnaps the princess because he needs to sacrifice her to a demon in return for power, or because he lusts after the princess. His motivations are power, or sex. He chooses his methodologies because he’s evil, and operates under a different code of ethics and morality. The paladin might lust after the princess too, but that’s a whole other conflict.
It doesn’t matter what books you read on the topics of writing and acting, so long as they work for you and offer up some sort of advice you can use. Listen to DVD commentaries on your favorite films and shows to see why the people involved made the creative choices they did. Watch interviews with actors and directors about their craft. Read interviews with writers. Talk to those sorts of people when you can. Talk to really good gamemasters and roleplayers about the choices they made on story and plot. Developing these skills, as both a gamemaster and a player, will result in a far more rewarding roleplaying experience.
Rolpunk (one L, no E) is about pure, stripped down, no BS tabletop gaming. It’s about taking your game back to its bare bones roots: play a character, chuck some dice, period. It’s about not letting other people tell you how to play your games. It’s not about telling other people how to play their games, either; don’t be that fascist. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, man, not other peoples’ and especially not your own. It’s about having fun, because if you’re not having fun you’ve discovered the only way possible to do it wrong. It’s about embracing the do-it-yourself ethic of the hobby and sharing your stuff, even if it’s just with your own game group. But it’s not about rejecting stuff, dismissing stuff out of hand because of whatever pretentious filters other people have set up to dictate what’s cool and what’s not cool. Screw them. Reject attitudes, not games. It’s about accepting the potential of everything, salvaging what works for you and ignoring the rest. It’s about shaping your own identity as a gamer, about letting your group and your campaign and the rules at your table take their own form based on your creative needs. Don’t be a game sheep.
Read the uncensored version here (NSFW PDF).
The rolpunk manifesto was written by Berin Kinsman of UncleBear.com. Pass it on. This work, including the logos, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
One of the central conceits of the show is that we’ve gotten the whole band back together, and it’s not true. There are a few members that simply aren’t available, or interested. We are enacting our geek mid-life crises on screen, after all, and I understand why some people wouldn’t be comfortable with that.
One person we absolutely couldn’t do this without is Johnny. In many ways, he’s the glue that holds the team together. He’s not our leader, exactly. More like our spiritual advisor. Our ombudsman. The one who keeps us all honest.
His given name, so far as we know, is Johnny Staggering Elk. Not John; Johnny. His ID says Johnny. He’s an Indian, although we don’t know if he’s Navajo, Zuni, Pueblo, or what. We’ve never asked. We assume he’s from New Mexico, although now that I think about it, there’s some evidence that he might be Canadian. He works putting up drywall, and he’s a hard worker. He also hosted a kids’ TV show, The Best Little Roadhouse In Puppetville, for a while. He’s deeply into heavy metal — the musical genre, not the movie.
In my mind, Johnny is a zen master. When things go wrong, he’ll say “bro, let’s go drywall something”. He understands that simple labor can heal the spirit and calm the mind. His last name, sadly, makes him sound like he’s a bad stereotype drunken Indian, but I’ve never known him to touch a drop. Every single one of us loves Johnny, and all of us continue to quote things he’s said over the years.
Sadly, of course, Johnny isn’t real. We just all behave as if he were.
The origins of Johnny lie with Cameron. He’s based partly on a couple of real people, including a member of an Indian heavy metal band, and a guy who kept leaving messages on Cameron’s answering machine for someone named Johnny who deperately needed drywalling done. I have no idea where his last name came from. I worry that the character might be construed as racist, but as I said before, Johnny’s wiser than all of us and Johnny always wins. We’ve run the character by a few actual indians, and they all love the guy. A couple have offered to play him.
All of us “do” Johnny. The Navajo, in particular, have a distinctive accent. We take turns speaking for Johnny, although Cameron does him the best. It’s odd to outsiders, when suddenly one of us starts channelling him, and the conversation continues with his voice moving around the room from one Patroller to another without losing his train of thought.
In the show, Johnny will be represented by a couple of running jokes (at least, in the current draft of the script; this will be subject to change, but if I have my way as producer, this is how it will go). We’ll talk about him as if he’s a real person, quote him, and explain his continued absence through dialogue. He’ll also appear, somewhere, in each episode, in a picture, as a background character in a crowd scene, something. We’ll never connect the two. We’ll never say “they guy we’re talking about in scene 4? That’s the guy standing next to the bus in scene 5.”
But now you, dear reader, have some inside knowledge. You know some of Johnny’s secrets, and you know what to look for when the show comes out.
One way to build a world is to start with a single adventure and build outward. You make it up as you go along, based on elements suggested or implied by the setting. This can be a published adventure, whether or not it’s supposed to be part of a specific setting, or a story you make up on your own.
As an example, let’s take an old standby known to old gamers everywhere: You meet in a tavern. A merchant hires the player characters to guard his caravan. Along the way, the caravan is attacked by goblins. Or bandits. Or goblin bandits. The player characters fight off the goblins, the caravan arrives safely at its destination, and the player characters get paid. Let’s break this down, and see how we can start building a world.
You meet in a tavern.
Why this tavern? Is this a place where adventurers looking for work gather? Is it at a major crossroads in the relative middle of nowhere, or in a big city? Big tavern, or small tavern? The state of the tavern is going to inform the state of the local economy, and to some degree in turn the state of local politics, in the area. Is this tavern a one-shot location that we’ll never see again, or a possible base of operations for the adventuring party?
A merchant hires the player characters to guard his caravan.
Why doesn’t the merchant have his own guards? Were they killed? Did they quit? Can he not afford guards and is looking for gullible adventurers he can stiff at the end of the line? Why does he even need guards? What’s so dangerous along this trade route? If it’s a regular trade route, why doesn’t the local king or government dispatch men to protect it? If they did, what happened to them? Or is this a new trade route? If so, what’s at the other end and who does the merchant hope to sell to?
Along the way, the caravan is attacked by goblins.
Or bandits.
Or goblin bandits.
Everyone has a motivation, even villains and monsters. Especially villains and monsters, in good stories. Do the goblins consider this to be their land, and the humanoids are encroachers? Do they work as scouts and saboteurs for a neighboring kingdom that’s trying to start some trouble? Is there, in fact, a war on? Is the caravn carrying something special that the goblins, or whoever they work for, want or need? Have the human settlers ron off all the game, and the goblins are just hungry and trying to feed their families? Or are they just criminals, looking for easy prey because this trade route is unguarded for some other unrelated reason?
The player characters fight off the goblins, the caravan arrives safely at its destination, and the player characters get paid.
This is a big assumption. Do they get paid? What currency do they get paid in. What kind of cargo were they carrying, anyway? Was it simple trade goods, or stuff the people on this end needed, like medicine? Where are they, anyway? A city, a village, a military outpost? Now that they’re there, is the cargo going to get them in trouble? Were they hauling contraband? Is thise where all the normal protectors of the orad have ended up, gathering to fight something bigger? Does the merchant need an escort back? Is this is one-shot destination, or is this a recurring location, or even the new base of operations for the player characters?
Does your head hurt? It should. Every decision you make, every detail you fill in, on this simple adventure will lead to more questions, more details to fill in, more story ideas. You’ve taken the first steps toward making your world unique. Give this exercise to 10 different gamemasters, and expect to see the seeds of 10 different fantasy worlds.
One of the keys to being a successful gamemaster is playing to your strengths. One of the ways to identify those strengths is to list out things that you like in the type of setting you want to run, and things you dislike. If you’re running a modern crime drama game, and you like heist stories, you’ll gravitate toward running heist stories. If you crime dramas about rape freak you out, don’t run stories that involve rape.
In the book No Plot? No Problem, Chris Baty calls these lists of likes and dislikes Magna Cartas. He pitches it as a tool for writers, but it’s useful for gamemasters and setting designers as well. Make two lists, one of things you like within the genre you’re working in, character types, stories, movies, TV shows, books. The stuff you dig. It can be as high level or as detailed as you want it to be. The only person who has to understand what it means is you. Make a second list of things you dislike. Keep these in a notebook somewhere, some place where you can refer to them from time to time.
Are these absolutes? Of course not. If you think of a good way to tell a story about something on your negative Magna Carta, do it. It’s simply a tool to help you form an idea of the type of world you want to create, the types of adventures you want to run, at the start of your worldbuilding process.
If you’re looking at running a long-term game with a regular group of players, consider sitting down and brainstorming group Magna Cartas. You find out that two of the people in the group love mafia stories, but someone is tired of stories about street gangs and drug dealers. Guess what? You now have an idea of the types of stories to tell that will make your players happy. Does that mean everyone gets what they want? Of course not. You can’t please all of the people, all of the time. But in knowing what they want, you can make some things pop and push other elements to the background, or make accomodations so that things fit better and feel better. Just go back into your story notes and change that gang-connected drug dealer into a mobster, for instance, or use the drug dealer story idea on the week that one player can’t make it. The players’ likes and dislikes will also feed you story ideas, especially when you start mixing and matching the group Magna Cartas with your own. Everyone will have a better roleplaying experience overall.
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This isn’t something UncleBear Media has the time or resources to do, but is an idea I’d like to see someone run with: a site that looks nearly identical to the Internet Movie Data Base, but containing roleplaying campaign information. Movie title = campaign title, director = gamemaster, player = actor, etc. So each campaign would have a page, listing the GM and players. Each player would have a page with all of the campaigns they’d been in, and the characters they played. Like IMDB, there would be a comments sections on each page.
Of what possible use could this be, you ask? I can think of several. First, imagine the idea mining you could do, looking at summaries of campaign and adventures (“episodes”, for IMDB TV listings). Want to check out a new player? See what types of things she’s played and the types of characters she’s run. Want to check out a GM? Again, see what he’s run; this could be especially useful if players are able to rate campaigns the way IMDB users rate movies. The character entries could link to character sheets, either text forms or uploaded PDFs. Forget your character sheet? Download him! Need some NPCs, complete with names and histories? Raid other campaigns.
I know that there are similar services online, geared toward campaign management. This would be more akin to a social network. Who’s done what, played what, run what. Link it with Google Maps or a similar service, and you can find people in your area. Link it to Obsidian Portal, and you can see the campaign data in detail. Link it to Pen & Paper and you can see what players have written. Link it to Amazon and/or DriveThruRPG and you can buy the games and adventures you’re reading about.
There’s so much potential in this idea. Sadly, as I said, UncleBear Media has neither the time nor the capital to undertake such a venture. I’m posting this in the hope that someone who has the resources will say “hey! great idea!” and pick up the ball and run with it. If you do, pleas contact me. I’d love to help in any way I can.
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Character rank is determined by the gamemaster, based on the type of character most appropriate to the campaign being run. Rank determines the number of experience points the player gets to build his or her character with. There are three ranks: novice, agent, and veteran.
Novice
You’re new at this. You may have just graduated college, ended a tour of duty in the military, completed the police academy, or been recruited from another profession, but you’re now to /this/. You’re just joined the force, come to work for the agency, been hired by the firm, or even struck out on your own. It doesn’t mean you’re inexperienced; you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have at least some skills and potential. What you know is mostly theory, though, or at least you haven’t applied what you know in the field.
- Novice characters begin with 3000 points.
- Examples: Chuck Bartowski, Roland ‘Prez’ Pryzblewski, Roger Thornhill, Laura Dickens, Ray Langston.
Agent
You’ve been at this for a little while, a couple of years at least, and know the ropes. You still have areas of improvement — who doesn’t? — but you’re solid in the fundamental skill sets of your job. Overall, you’re competent at what you do, good at a few things, maybe even exceptional in one or two areas.
- Agent characters begin with 6000 points.
- Examples: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Thomas Magnum, James Gordon, Seeley Booth, Jimmy McNulty, Catherine Willows.
Veteran
You’ve seen things, and more importantly, you’ve done things. Things a standard agent couldn’t do. Sometimes, things most people wouldn’t do. You’re exceptional in many areas, the best of the best. They’ve given you the best training, and you’ve survived the hardest missions. It doesn’t mean you’re old, or ready for retirement; you’ve just done more, and in turn are capable of more.
- Veteran characters begin with 9000 points.
- Examples: Jack Bauer, Jason Bourne, John Steed, Emma Peel, Number 6, Batman, Captain America.
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While it’s far to early to make any specific announcements, I’d like one of the first settings released for Imagination’s Toybox to be a gnome-centric fantasy world. I’ve been playing gnomes for over 30 years, and both I and my characters have been bullied, teased, ridiculed, and disrespected. Gnomes are short like dwarves, but dwarves are tough and have reputations as badasses. Halflings are “cute”, like human children, and get blockbuster movie trilogies made about them. The world’s largest roleplaying game company shoves gnomes in the background in their latest edition, because they simply couldn’t figure out how to make them interesting or unique.
Here’s my take on gnomes, having been inside the heads of several of them and working out how they think based on how they’re treated. There has to be enough culture here to power a setting.
Gnomes go out of their way to be cheerful. They don’t want to be kicked in the teeth. They’re small, they don’t fight well, and they can’t just “cute” their way out of things like halflings. So they’re nice. They’re polite. They don’t want trouble. Does this mean they’re submissive and subservient? Far from it. Gnomes are vengeful. While you’re being patronizing, throwing you weight and height around, they’re looking you up and down and figuring out 87 different ways to mess you up. They’re not strong, but they work on being fast. Hit you three times before you can hit them once. Know where to hit you to make it count the most.
Gnomes are also vengeful. Okay nice human, you win, I’m not going to fight you. Not now. When you least expect it, I’m going to burn down your house, frame you for murder, and sleep with your wife. I will find ways to hurt you that don’t involve getting into a fight. And I’ll keep it to myself; most times, you won’t know that you’ve offended a gnome until all hell breaks loose. If you know that you’ve upset a gnome, you should be afraid; gnome revenge is legendary, because the depth of their wrath, cunning, and devious payback schemes is also their best defense. It’s the butterfly effect. Why did those orcs just burn down that village? Because 200 years ago, the mayor’s great-grandfather slighted some gnome’s great-grandfather, and no one’s ever apologized for it.
The small-and-weak thing is also why gnomes are thieves and tinkerers. Wait until your back is turned, and they’ll stab you in the kidneys. Most poisons? Invented by gnomes. Gunpowder? The great equalizer. A gnome will snipe you from 300 yards away and dynamite your keep.
Are gnomes evil? No. But being “small” and not taken seriously, they have to defend themselves in some way, and that means wits and reputation. You think that gnomes keeping badgers as pets, and using them as symbols and flags and heraldry, is a joke? Have you ever seen a cornered badger fight? They don’t want to fight. But if they have to, it will be brutal, because they want it over as quickly as possible.
Let’s not forget money. We have to explore the classic “gnomes of Zurich” cliche. Again, it’s a non-violent control thing. You want a gnome handling your books. You don’t want a gnome auditing your books. Or following your money. They’ll hire mercenaries to fight for them. They’ll hire your mercenaries away from you, for more money. It’s the golden rule: the one with the gold makes the rules.
Some examples of characters who should be gnomes: Benjamin Linus, on Lost. Littlefinger, in George R.R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire series. Scotty on Star Trek.
The general consensus among people who understand these sorts of things is that game systems can’t be copyrighted. You can only copyright the expression of an idea, not the idea itself. This is what makes retro-clones “legal”. You re-write and re-word things so that you’re not just copying and plagiarizing other peoples’ work. It kind of seems like a fine line and a bit of a cop out to justify using someone else’s work.
But the retro-clone movement isn’t about stealing other peoples’ work. It’s about keeping out of print games alive. It’s the same spirit demonstrated by anime fans who create their own dubbed and/or subtitled material not available outside of Japan, so that it can be experienced by others. There’s no intention to infringe upon intellectual property rights, and ethical anime fans cease making fansubs and fandub available if and when a legal copy of the work is available for purchase. For the most part, the anime industry seems to understand and appreciate this. It generates buzz and creates demand for a product without them having to spend much money at all on marketing.
Industry types tend not to talk about retro-clones much. Or at all. They don’t seem to want to acknowledge that they exist. That, or they’re too busy promoting their current games, which is absolutely understandable. I don’t think that retro-clones really represent competition. The people who buy and play retro-clones seem to be people who were fans of the original. They’ve had years to migrate to a new system, to spend money with current publishers on current products, if they so desired. They like what they like, though. They stick with the game that works for them. Or, they have moved on to other, in-print, officially supported systems and for one reason or another didn’t find them to their tastes and went back to the old game.
I’ve been asked, why bother creating a retro-clone? Scans of the original game can be downloaded from file-sharing sites. Old copies can be purchased through various online retailers. It’s a bit like reinventing the wheel, isn’t it? There are a few good reasons that I can give. First, as I stated before, it’s a way to introduce new players to the game. There are people, like myself, who avoid file sharing sites for legal, ethical, and computer hygiene reasons. There are those of us who just prefer printed books to PDFs, and sometimes used copies can be expensive. Most tabletop roleplayers also use the hell out of their books, and the availability of brand-new copies of retro-clones means we don’t have to treat the books gingerly, fearing to write in them, scuff the cover finish, or dog-ear them.
Retro-clones also mean that new publishers will be able to create new, compatible material for the game. Yes, it’s been proven that it’s perfectly legal to produce material compatible with another game, even without a license. There’s still the possibility of getting sued for it. As most retro-clones are either produced under Creative Commons licenses, or are published by generally amiable people, it’s a lot easier to say “for use with DoubleZero” on the cover than to risk saying “for use with the J********D RPG”.
This brings me to my final point (for now) about retro-clones: they’re just rules. They don’t include settings or characters, which is the intellectual property other companies actually get touchy about. That’s one of the reasons I have the profanity filter on this site set to automatically redact the name of DoubleZero’s “father”. Neither “he”, nor his supporting cast, nor the fictional elements of his setting are in the game. It’s just rules.
This is how the process is working, so far:
Once a week, the writers (who are also the main cast members) get together and play out an episode of Primetime Adaventures. We do this by the book, even though there probably won’t be “previously on” or “next time on” spots in individual episodes. Those serve to help us remember what we’ve done, and get us excited for next time.
We set things up for 10 episodes, which monkeyed with the PTA 5- or 9-episode structure. The first episode, which we treated as a pilot, had everyone with a screen presence of 2 and did not count toward the allocation of screen presence in the other 9 episodes.
As episodes are designed to be 5 to 7 minutes long (giving us about an hours’ worth of show for a future DVD release), we’re being mindful that scenes are only about a minute long. An episode will have five scenes. If we feel it runs short, we’ll insert a sixth scene. If a scene runs long and really feel like it needs to be long, we’ll cut the number of scenes to 4.
At the start of each episode, we figure out it’s overall Focus (plot or character) and Agenda (this is what needs to happen), the way you normally do for a scene in PTA. Individual scenes will have their own Focus and Agenda, but it should contribute toward fulfilling the episode’s Focus and Agenda.
As Producer, I’m also acting as scribe. I write down the Focus, Location, and Agenda of each episode, and each scene. I actually pound it out on my Alphasmart. I write questions for later (music, props, locations needed, things like that) on 3×5 cards. I don’t try to grab everything we say; I write down the “beats” of what happens, along with good jokes and bits of dialogue (if it gets someone Fan Mail, it gets documented).
A couple of days after the session, I edit my notes, clean it up, and email it out to the crew. They add notes, jokes and bits and things they thought of after the fact. We get all this together, and at the start of the next session we go over the last session’s notes.
What we end up with is a tight outline. What happens, where it happens, who’s there, some dialogue, some stage direction. Not a script, but a solid frame to build a script on.
Once we’ve played out the entire 10 episodes and have it all outlined, we’ll go over the whole thing to make sure it hangs together as one solid story. Add things that make make the episodes connect better, delete bits that don’t fit into the whole, adjust for good ideas we didn’t fall into until later episodes.
When we’re happy with the outline, then we’ll start on the real script. Each person will get assigned episodes to write, and then we’ll pass those first drafts around. If I write an episode, I’ll pass it to Dave (for example) so he can doctor it. We’ll then re-convene and go over the whole script. When we’re happy, then we move into production.
It’s as democratic a process as we can muster, and there are obvious perils to doing this by committee, but we’re all on the same wavelengths and play to each others’ strengths and compensate for each others’ weaknesses. It’s also why we’re looking at taking 3 to 4 months just to get the script. It doesn’t mean we don’t have other facets of production going on in the background, but for our first outing we figure if the script isn’t tight, we’re sunk.
The original system that DoubleZero is based on, which going forward I’ll refer to as “the legacy system”, is a brilliant piece of game design. That doesn’t mean that it isn’t without its flaws and quirks. I love playing it, I love running it, but in writing a retro-clone there were things that as a designer drive me up a tree. In early drafts I addressed these things and tried to “fix” them. They’re not broken, though, just… weird. The final version of DoubleZero will leave these oddities intact, but with some alternate, entirely optional rules to address things that feel a bit off compared to modern game design sensibilities. Here are the things in the system that drive me a little nuts.
Base 15
It’s a percentile system, but attributes and skills range from 1 to 15. Why? Sure, in D&D you’ve got stats ranging from 3 to 18, but that’s because (in most versions) you roll 3d6 to generate that range. No logical reason for 15 is presented in the legacy material. I can speculate that it’s so base chances exceed 20, allowing characters a higher percentage to succeed at most skills, but that’s just speculation.
The way I made my peace with it is to view it not as a single range, but as three ranges: 1-5 for poor stats, 6-10 for average stats, 11-15 for exceptional stats. It’s not explicitly stated in the legacy material, but it’s consistent with the sample characters. Why three ranges of 5 is easier for me to deal with, I don’t know. That’s my personal quirk.
Ease, Not Difficulty
There are no other systems that I know of* that calculate target numbers based on how easy something is, rather than how hard it is. It seems counter-intuitive and I know some players who had trouble grasping it. The urge to simply invert things was almost overwhelming. Players would want to roll high, instead of roll low. It would also address the pesky “00″ issue.
The Pesky “00″ Issue
In the legacy game’s setting, a pair of zeroes holds the connotation of being the best of the best. In the game system, one would think if you rolled “00″ on percentile dice it would mean you’ve achieved the best possible success, right? Wrong. It’s always a failure. Always. No matter how good your character is at any given thing, you fail. Sure, I understand that the object is to roll low, so failure at the highest end of the spectrum makes sense in that context. But throw me a bone, here.
This is one place I couldn’t resist throwing in an optional rule. In DoubleZero, you can play it the legacy way and fail when you roll “00″. Or, with the optional rule, it means something spectacular happens. Roll again, same target number. If you succeed, then it’s the best possible success and narratively something wonderful happens. If you fail the second roll, then it is the most disastrously horrible failure you can imagine (or that the gamemaster can manage to describe). In either case, the player gets a Hero Point and a “00″ roll /means/ something.
d6 Initiative
The entire game is percentile based… except for initiative, which is rolled on a d6. Why? Oh, there’s a formula to calculate the character’s speed rating, which goes from 1 to 3 and is added to the d6 roll, but couldn’t they have found another formula in the legacy system, like add your Dexterity and Perception to a percentile roll? Did they think it would be too hard for players to figure out that the character who rolled a 76 goes before the one who rolled a 48? That can’t be, because this is a game where you’re expected to multiply 17 by 7 to calculate a base chance. Maybe they couldn’t figure out how to fit an initiative table on the character sheet.
As with other things, you can play DoubleZero with legacy initiative rules, but an optional rule using percentiles will also be presented.
*Feel free to tell me about other published, well known, not home-brewed or obscure, systems that use ease rather than difficulty in the comments.
All characters have five Attributes rated on a scale from 1 to 15, with 1-5 being a poor rating, 6-10 being within the range of human average, and 11-15 being exceptional. Characters also have Skills rated from 1 to 15, with the same levels indicating poor, average, and exceptional ranges.
Each Skill has an associated Attribute. The Attribute and Skill ratings are added together to determine the Skill’s base chance, a number from 2 to 30.
The gamemaster determines how difficult a task is to perform, and assigns an Edge Factor to reflect the character’s advantages in performing the task. This is on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 reflecting the least advantage/hardest to accomplish, 5 being average, and 10 showing the greatest advantage/simplest to accomplish.
The player multiplies the Base Chance by the Edge Factor to determine the Target number. Don’t worry, there are tables for this and they’ll be included on the character sheet. If your Base Chance is 20, for example, and the Edge Factor is 5, the Target number is 100.
Roll percentile dice, which are two 10-sided dice with one die representing 10’s and the other representing 1’s. If you roll a 7 on the 10’s die, for example, and 6 on the 1’s die, you’ve rolled a 76. The goal is to roll under the Target number. A roll of 01 always succeeds. A roll of 00 always fails.
Most competent characters will succeed most of the time. What is more important is the degree of success, called the Quality Result. Did the character barely make it, or did something spectacular just happen? Interpreting what the Quality Results means in the context of the scene is one of the things that makes DoubleZero more than just a nuts-and-bolts tactical game and offers opportunities for storytelling. Quality Result is determined by what you rolled in comparison to your Target number. If you rolled under 10% of your target number (for instance, if your Target was 70 and you rolled under 7), that’s an Excellent success, the best you can get. If you roll under 20% of your Target (you needed 110, and you rolled less than 22), that’s a Very Good success. If you roll less than 50% of your Target (you need to roll 130, and you rolled less than 65), you scored a good success, better than average. Anything from 51% to the Target number is average. Again, don’t sweat the math, there are tables for this and they address rounding issues as well.
Those are the basics. Everything builds from there. If nothing else, remember that you’re rolling percentile dice and you always want to roll low.
My friend Chris was in a car accident a few years ago and sustained a head injury. It wasn’t terribly serious, but it left him with memory holes. He remembers things clearly, but with odd details missing. For example, he and our friend Dave lived in the same apartment complex for a few years. He remembers that. He remembers what Dave’s place looks like, he remembers things that happened there. But he couldn’t remember which apartment was Dave’s until someone told him. He could stand outside this place he’s been hundreds of times, and not be able to tell you which door to knock on.
It was Chris who decided to put this quirk into The Damage Patrol, and into his Primetime Adventures character. It’s his eponymous character’s issue for the first season. I love him for this, because he’s willing to use his own handicap for comedy. As the PTA Producer, it’s easy conflict; Chris needs to do something, but does he remember some person, place, or thing needed to do it? Let’s draw cards and spend some Fan Mail to find out!
It’s also a great hook because beyond the laughter it makes Chris a sympathetic character. He’s self-deprecating about it, but it’s painful sometimes to watch him struggle. It hurts him when he doesn’t remember people, because he’s afraid he’ll hurt their feelings. I know it pains him when he doesn’t remember shared experiences, good times and bad times that people have gone through with him. It makes the lug that much more lovable, in real life, on screen, and in the game.
Chris’s example also also illustrates how real life can be mined for character hooks and roleplaying bits. While this example is pretty specific, it does demonstrate how disadvantages in any game system can be bent to serve story needs and develop character. Think of some quirk, frailty, or annoyance in your own life. Consider things that friends, relatives, and co-workers talk about and struggle with. They’re not just a source of extra points, they’re not just combat disadvantages, they’re roleplaying hooks. Giving characters some sort of flaw makes them more real, my sympathetic, easier to relate to and easier to cheer for. In systems that don’t have disadvantage systems, you can create a back story for a low stat, or provide descriptions for abstract concepts like losing a lot of hit points, and use those as character bits.
Illegitimi non carborundum,
Berin
Everything in the game system is rated on a scale from 1 to 10, with one being the lowest possible value, 5 being “average”, and 10 being the highest possible value.
The game system uses 10-sided dice. These are available from most quality game retailers. If you don’t have access to 10-sided dice, you can use a deck of playing cards with the face cards (jokers, queens, kings, jacks) removed, and draw cards instead of rolling dice.
Your character’s ability score is the number of dice you roll when your character uses that ability. If your character wants to use an ability rated as 7, you roll 7 10-sided dice, or 7d10.
The difficulty rating for a task is determined by the gamemaster. The bigger the number, the harder the task. You need to roll that number or higher on your 10-sided dice. If the difficulty is 5, you need to roll 5 of higher.
The number of successes is how well the character did. Using the above examples, you roll 7d10 for your character’s ability. The difficulty is 5, so you need to roll 5 or higher. You roll 1, 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10. That is 4 successes, a quality result of 4 on scale of 1 to 10, a little below average.
Most competent characters will succeed most of the time. What is more important is the degree of success. Did the character barely make it, or did something spectacular just happen? This is one of the things that makes Imagination’s Toybox more than just a nuts-and-bolts tactical game and offers opportunities for storytelling.
That’s how the game works, at its most fundamental level. All other rules build from there.
For those of you who see this blog through a feed reader, the UncleBear.com site now has integrated forums. You can use the same login to post to the forum that you use to leave comments, and vice-versa. There’s an UncleBear Media forum for general announcements, your questions, and trouble tickets; a Table Talk forum for off-topic socializing and chat; and a forum for each project UncleBear Media is involved in. Drop in and give it a look!
A couple of years ago I started playing around with the idea of writing a retro-clone of a popular but lamentably out of print espionage roleplaying game. I wrote a draft, and released it to the public domain, but then got sidetracked. The first problem was that I had too many other projects on my plate to give it the attention it deserved. The second was that I wanted to give it an overhaul, make it a sort of “second edition” of the original game that incorporated a lot of design theory that had come about since its demise. A lot of people disliked that approach, and rightfully so; it stopped being a retro-clone and morphed into something that payed homage to the original but was very much its own thing.
Sometimes, things benefit from simmering on the back burner. Fate led me to reconnect with the guy I played the hell out of the original game with, back in the day. We’re playing the original game again. As is, out of the box, with only a few minor house rules. I’ve remembered why I loved this system to begin with, and why I wanted to write a retro-clone. I want to share the joy of this game with those who can’t lay hands on the original, and make it easy for people to develop new material for it.
DoubleZero, the percentile-based espionage RPG, is officially back in production. It is being completely re-written, as a straight retro-clone but with a few new optional rules that update the system only if you so desire. It will have updated careers, skills, and fields of experience to match how the world has changed in nearly 30 years since the original game’s publication. It will have updated vehicles, weapons, and gadgets. And it will absolutely be released into the public domain, so while you will be able to purchase a print copy or formatted PDF to help support Uncle Bear Media’s efforts to create it, anyone can publish it and add their own spin.
I will continue to blog about the game’s development in this space. I want to thank everyone for their ongoing support, and remind you to never say never!
Illegitimi non carborundum,
Berin
If you’re looking for older UncleBear blog posts, they’re currently housed at unclebear.wordpress.com. If you know the direct URL, just stick “wordpress” in the middle. So if you’re looking for, say, http://unclebear.com/?p=4119 it becomes http://unclebear.wordpress.com/?p=4119, and http://unclebear.com/?p=3127 becomes http://unclebear.wordpress.com/?p=3127
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