Pretendo Games

I prefer my tabletop RPG rules pared down—just this side of “Let’s Play Pretend.” I still deploy a range of rules, though, because my games often wear their inspirations on their sleeve, and those inspirations influence how I approach design. Here’s how that plays out in practice.

I start with a design element that evokes the feel of one of my inspirations. It might not be perfect—might even fly in the face of what I enjoy in other games—but something about it catches my attention, so I think through the implications of it. What might be the benefits, tradeoffs, and downstream implications? One design decision may lead to a whole chain reaction, for better or worse.

As I figure out how I want to address that decision, as I work in other inspirations, and as I shape them to fit around each other, I determine what’s worth keeping and what’s worth ditching. I end up with something that feels like mine. There should still be some thoughtful homage clear to those who know what to look for, but it shouldn’t feel like a cheap knockoff with the serial numbers filed off.

This is still pretty abstract, though. Let’s consider some examples from a specific game: Wastoid.

• Wastoid has seven ability scores ranging from 0 to 10: Weirdness, Agility, Strength, Toughness, Observation, Intelligence, and Demeanor.
• Grouped under each score are 10 character upgrades, called “tricks,” that players can choose from or roll randomly for when they gain a level.
• Players add their ability score to d20 rolls when attacking, defending, or testing to see if they succumb to a risk.
• After a successful attack roll in combat, players roll their weapon’s damage die, deducting the result from the target’s armor, with any excess applied to the target’s hit points.

Some of this may seem excessive for a designer who has professed his love for the pared-down, three-ability, no-upgrade approach of Into the Odd. (Heck, my best known games don’t even have hit points, let alone separate attack and damage rolls.) I made these decisions on purpose, though, to evoke certain inspirations. One decision led to another. Rules cascaded. I followed where it led. Here’s how that played out.

I started with a few assumptions: seven ability scores, earning character upgrades when you level up, and rolling a twenty-sided die. These were meant to evoke two major inspirations: the Fallout video game series and Dungeons & Dragons tabletop roleplaying games. Specifically, I planned for six of the abilities to line up with the classic D&D abilities. For the seventh, I declined to use Fallout’s “Luck”—too passive and arithmetic-heavy for tabletop, I thought, and I didn’t want to add another spendable currency (as in Dungeon Crawl Classics) to a game already emphasizing resource management. Instead, I opted to use “Weirdness” for psychic powers, mutations, and miscellaneous alienating behavior.

A potential benefit: “Widespread familiarity” is an obvious one, but not really the most important one to me. Designing games isn’t my day job; I’m not Kickstarting this or trying to make a mint on this. I do want it to be accessible to players, though. Anytime I stick a d20, level-up options, or separate attack and damage rolls into a game, it’s because I know that a substantial portion of players find these things fun. And actually, as a player, I find these things fun. My preference for simpler rules comes mostly from my perspective as a GM and a designer.

Another potential benefit: Seven abilities provides a nice framework to build character upgrades around, with clear niche protection across a group. You can have the face, the muscle, the brains, the sharpshooter, the sneak, the freak, etc. You can also mix and match with niche protection. (They can all be freaks.)

A tradeoff: Seven ability scores is still more than any one character will really need. Did I really want to make them all feel necessary? I decided I did not. Most people should treat Weirdness as a dump stat—unless you optimize for it, you’ll rarely roll it. And even if you do optimize for it, putting points in it generally represents “increased risk of being turned away from settlements for fear of being a radioactive cannibal.” That said, it does gate access to some of the most versatile character upgrades in the game. (It’s true what they say: radioactive cannibals have all the fun.)

Downstream implications: Seven abilities is a lot to track on a character sheet! Should armor act like an eighth ability? (No—armor should act differently. Let’s make it more like bonus hit points.)

Okay! Better make the most of those ability scores. Which one should be used to defend? (Agility, to dodge?)

Or Observation, for situational awareness? (Or Strength, to block melee attacks?)

That seems like a lot of rules exceptions. (Maybe we can just have that be something you can do if you take a character upgrade?)

And also you don’t want any one ability to become an über-stat. Make sure we’re not using the same thing for initiative, defense, and ranged attacks. What are we using for ranged attacks, by the way? Years of video games and D&D tell us that should be the Dexterity analog… (And those who’ve ever aimed a bow or a firearm make a strong case for the Wisdom/Perception analog…)

And so on. Rules cascade. Chain reactions.

All of this may seem like an obsessive attention to detail given that the audience may be fairly small, all told, and the odds are good that the groups that do play it are very likely to change some or all of the rules. But at least I’ll know I put in the rules I did for a reason.