Developing a Story
By
Matthew McFarland
A story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. That much you probably knew. This is essay examines how to begin a role-playing story, how to fill its middle with interesting and juicy events, and finally, how to bring it a climactic end.
NOTE: Before reading this essay, go read “Starting From Scratch”. That essay tells you how to get a game going; that is, getting players to the game and setting things up. This essay actually discusses how to get a story going. See the difference?
All the characters are in a bar/tavern/pub/nightclub, and this big gang of bikers/orcs/Scotsmen/ravers comes in and starts a fight. You get swept up in it, and end up fighting next to (insert another player’s description here). After the fight ends, the characters are the only ones standing.
Yick.
The barfight beginning to a story is a cliché. In fact, beginning a game with a fight of any sort is kind of stale. So why is it so common? Well, for one thing, it helps to introduce new gamers to the combat system, which is nice. Combat is fairly common in a lot of roleplaying games, so it’s usually good to know how that system works. Also, if the characters do indeed side with one another, it forms a basis for them interacting in the future. So that’s not so bad, right?
Well…sort of. It really depends on what kind of game you’re running. If you’re running a fantasy hack-n-slash game, a fight is actually a good idea. A more original setting might be advisable, though. If, however, you are running a modern day game, consider the ramifications of a fight. Police come. People get injured or dead. And how quick would the characters be to join in? I know I wouldn’t be in a hurry to jump into a bar fight. I think I’d beat hell out of there. So in modern context, the bar fight isn’t quite as useful.
So, how to get things rolling? Well, during the chargen orgy, if you’ve done one (see “Starting From Scratch” for tips on this) you might have thought to establish a connection between the characters. Then, you can begin the game as a normal day with some interesting occurrences and see what happens. For example, I ran a game once where all of the characters were Ohio State University students. When the game started, they were normal human beings (by the end of it all, they weren’t, but that’s not important). The first session, they ended up at a concert, talking, having fun, drinking, and so on. It gave them a chance to really nail down how they felt about each other, to chat about what had happened that day (I had run little “preludes” with each one of them for that purpose) and to get a feel of how their “normal” lives went.
But what if the characters don’t know each other? Well, you’ve got a couple of options.
• Voice from on high: Some authority figure tells the characters to work together to solve a problem. Not a bad method if done with some style, but it requires characters who will respond to such prompting. Also, what happens when the problem is solved? Have they become friends over the course of the story, or will they be glad to be rid of each other?
• Special event: Coronation, party, unveiling, whatever. Something special happens, and the characters are on hand to witness it. And then something strange goes down (a shot rings out, the statue winks at them, or what have you) and they’re the only ones who notice. Again, requires characters who care, but since no one’s forcing them to do anything, you can expect more enthusiasm. Still have the “stay together when crisis has passed” issue, however.
• Survival: I ran a one-shot Vampire game once where, when it came time to determine how much blood each character had to start with (blood is used to power special abilities, and it gets used up night to night), they all rolled abysmally low. Since I had no prior ideas on how the game should go, each character woke in the same locked room in sewer, beaten to a pulp, riddled with bullets (not a big concern for vampires) and nearly out of his mind with hunger. All they knew was that someone had it in for them, and that they stood a better chance of survival if they worked together. That was a good motivation for them to work together, since they knew that whatever they were facing was tough enough to beat them senseless individually. This method works well for one-shots or convention games, but could conceivably be used to start a longer chronicle.
• Evolution: This is the way I start most of my games. The characters start out on their own, meet the others by twists of fate, and eventually notice that they have similar concerns. The advantage is, it’s a development-heavy method and by the time the characters are willing to call each other friends (or at least comrades-in-arms), they know each other pretty well. The major disadvantage is that it takes time, and involves a lot of cross-cutting (that is, shifting the scene back and forth between characters, which means that player interaction is low and that there’s somebody twiddling their thumbs). Not a bad idea if you know where the game is going, but don’t just starting running and hope the characters will meet up. That’s a big risk.
• Home Team: This is an easy one. The characters all start as part of the same “team”. Games like Chill, Werewolf, Paranoia, and In Nomine make this method a good choice; the game assumes that the characters are part of a group of some sort. This can include elements of the Voice from On High methods, but since the group is an important aspect of the game, it should receive some detailing during chargen.
Once you’ve got ‘em together, what then? Well, the best method, I think, is to present them with some challenge or conflict that can be resolved (at least partially) by the end of the session. That allows the characters to work together and see some results right away. If they aren’t being forced together by some other method, it’s good for them to be able to see reasons to hang around together. Try to find links between the characters — common interests, foes, friends, etc. — and use that sort of thing to forge those bonds. You can introduce such characters during the first session. I’m notorious for having NPCs get people together and then hitting them with an unrelated threat, which leaves the question, even after the threat is defeated, of “Who was that masked NPC?” Whatever you do, the end of the first story should leave some questions unanswered, some deeds that need to be done, but most important, it should leave them wanting more.
So, the first “chapter” to the game has gone well. You’ve introduced some memorable NPCs, perhaps given the characters a glimpse of whatever they’re facing, and now you’re ready to really get going into the plot.
Scary word, that.
What does “plot” mean, anyway? It doesn’t really mean “what happens during a story”. What “plot” refers to is (take notes) “a series of events leading up to a change in a major character.” Let’s take an example or two.
The Crow: The series of events (the deaths of the men who killed the main character, his rescue of Sarah, the revelation that Top Dollar was ultimately responsible and then killing him) leads up to a major change in Eric — he moves on and leaves the living world behind. Easy, right?
The Taming of the Shrew: Katarina is a bit of bitch in the beginning, but after a whole play of Petruchio torturing her (by denying her food, playing weird mind games) she becomes quite the devoted little wife. A little more subtle.
Get the idea? Now, roleplaying games are a bit different. You can’t plan what changes in a character your events will cause. About the most you can do as the GM is to present events that have an impact, and knowing how to do that goes back to knowing the characters (I’m beginning to feel like a stuck record, but that should impress how important it is to know the player’s characters well). For example, if the characters don’t have any strong patriotic feelings, then an NPC who loudly badmouths their country won’t get a rise out of them. But hitting them where it hurts — their jobs, their loved ones, or best yet, their ideals — that’ll get them moving. And in taking action, they will hopefully reflect on why this is important enough for them to act, and that may lead to a change in the character.
Really, though, this sort of development takes time to spot. After each session, try asking the players what their characters learned. You’re looking less for factual information here (“I learned that the Ugleforp Cult has a stronghold in Boise, Idaho!”) and more for insights about the character (“I learned that my character is really only paying lip service to Lord FeeNeeNee, and is staying in his place only because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”). See the difference? While its well and good to learn things about the game and the mysteries it entails, it’s more helpful to the GM if the players are giving you glimpses into their character’s minds…because you can (and should) exploit those glimpses for all your worth.
All right, now that you know about plot and how to track it (to a point), how do you create scenarios that will make your players drool with anticipation?
First of all, have a sense of how things will happen if the players don’t act. Drawing up a rough timeline might help in this regard. If the characters do not step in — they attend to other matters, they don’t find their way towards the main events, or they just get complacent — what will the ramifications be? Can they be corrected? How will the characters’ non-action change what information they might receive or help they might expect? What this all boils down to is to keep the world around the characters in mind.
On the other hand, if the players don’t move toward the story you’ve devised, for whatever reason, what then? You have two real choices — change the story or try to bring it to the characters. Either can work; it really depends on why the players aren’t taking the bait.
If the players aren’t following leads because they are new to roleplaying, you might just need to explain to them (via an NPC) what they should do. Luke would never have gotten off Tattooine if not for Obi-Wan’s patient guidance, after all. In this instance, you need to make a course of action appear a bit more obvious, and build into subtlety later.
However, if the players don’t seem to like the plotline you’ve presented, or have seen something they like better, the best choice is to let them follow it. This comes hard to many GMs, especially those who laboriously design dungeons, castles, hotels, and other large, labyrinthine structures for the characters to explore. After all those hours of work, if the players decide that exploring some other place that you mentioned in passing three games ago and haven’t thought about since, you may well decide to drag them, kicking and screaming, into the scenario that you are prepared to run. DON’T.
The gaming term for shoving characters around is “railroading”. They hate it. I’ve mentioned this in other essays. It is perfectly all right to nudge, hint, or even blatantly show a desired route for the characters to take but the instant the players feel that they’re being forced into it, they will feel railroaded and they will stop having fun. That’s what you don’t want. If they stop having fun, so will you, so if it comes to a choice between postponing a great idea and frustrating the players, let your idea wait. Just make sure to hit them with consequences later.
Let’s have an example.
Suppose you’re a GM and you’re running a modern-day game like Mage: The Ascension (from White Wolf, don’t ya know). Each of the characters is a sort of modern-day magic user, though “magic” is a fairly relative term (check out the game, it’s a lot of fun). Anyway, during the first session, the characters meet up at a political rally. The candidate, a young, straight-shooting, legalized-pot advocate also happens to be a mage, and his presence in the limelight might well pose a threat to other mages in the city (mages have enemies, and they’re well-organized and powerful. Of course, it’s White Wolf. The characters never have anything like an upper hand. J). So the characters meet up at the rally, recognize each other as mages one way or another, and chat. You introduce some NPCs, you let them chat, and you also let them notice that one of the reporters is a mage, too. Then you let it slip that he’s not a reporter (this is why it’s important to know what kind of contacts the characters have. Maybe somebody has a friend who’s a real reporter and can confirm this guy’s status or lack thereof, or whatever).
Now, break into what only the GM knows. The “reporter”, while he is a mage, is not at all a fan of the candidate. He is an outsider, on the run from the Technocracy (just think of it as a combination of the FBI and the thought police from 1984 and you’ve got the picture) and wants to keep them away from this city. He figures that if they find out that the candidate is a mage, they’ll be here scouring the city (which may or may not be true) and decides that by taking the candidate out of the race he can prevent that.
OK, back to the game. You let the characters meet the candidate. They impress him, hopefully, and he asks them to provide some support in any way they can. What this means is that they will be close to him…and they get to see the “reporter” always around when some new bad press about the candidate goes to press, snapping photos at an assassination attempt, etc. They’ll get to catch him eventually, and get the truth out of him, and then have to decide if he’s just paranoid of if his fears have merits. And what if they do have merit? How can the characters protect themselves?
Damn, that’s not bad. Think I’ll run this sometime.
Well, it’s not bad assuming that the characters notice the reporter. And assuming they don’t tackle him then and there. And assuming that the candidate’s politics agree with the characters. And so forth. But what if one or all of these things doesn’t pan out? What do you, the GM, do then? Scrap the plotline?
Nope. The only time to scrap a plotline is if the players really don’t care, and if you’ve done your job during character creation (asking questions, taking notes) you should know what the players will respond to. In this example, there are still many hooks to use.
For instance: if the characters do tackle the reporter then and there, you’ve got a fight to run. Have the guy make a lot of trouble for them. Have him scream for the cops and threaten to press charges. Have him escape, if you can do it without being obviously heavy-handed. Or, if they do catch him, have him spill his guts about his worries. All you’ve done in that case is move the timetable around a bit — if his fears are legitimate, it doesn’t matter when the characters learn about them; they’ll still have trouble when the Technocracy shows up. (Incidentally, if you ever use the Technocracy or any other Orwellian, post-modern menace, I recommend the Terminator 2 soundtrack. Superb paranoia-inducing music). If the characters and the candidate disagree politically, maybe his rivals would like a word with them. Or, maybe the candidate would still like them around for backup. If he’s connected enough to do some favors, perhaps the characters could look past their political beliefs? If they walk away outright, leave the plotline alone and run something else, but every now and then, hit them with a headline about the candidate, something like “JACK BLATT NARROWLY SURVIVES ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT”. If they still don’t investigate, maybe the reporter comes to them, panicked, because “They’ll be here soon! I tried, but I couldn’t shut that crazy guy up!” Worlds of possibility, whether or not the characters take the initial hook.
Once you know what will happen if the players don’t act, you’re ready to figure out what will happen when they do. Let’s assume they’re hooked — whatever the initial enticement to get involved was, they bought it, and now the players and the characters have some motivation to see the plotline through. In short, they’re interested — now how to keep them there?
Probably the most important thing to remember is to allow some advancement each session. I dropped out of a game once because it wasn’t going anywhere; each session we learned a few facts, got a few more veiled threats dropped, but nothing happened, and there wasn’t any incentive to keep going. A minor victory — or defeat — each session keeps everybody interested and gives the players something to remember from game to game. Note, too, that these must build on each other. If they’re fighting the same band of orcs (or whatever) each game, they’ll get bored. Mix it up.
To continue the example: The characters have agreed to show up at Jack Blatt’s rallies and public appearances when possible, to show support and to watch out for him as a sort of mage-camaraderie thing. They see the “reporter” duck into a building moments before a shot rings out — perhaps they even see the gunman for a moment and have time to yell a warning or shove Jack out of the way. They go looking for the “reporter” and find him nowhere in the area, but one of the characters thinks to ask the other reporters covering the event (the real ones) and one of them did, in fact, get a shot of the “reporter” leaving the area. From that picture, the characters are able to identify the guy. They haven’t caught him, but through their own ingenuity, they know his name and can probably find out a bit more about him. I’d leave that game feeling pretty good about myself, and I’d be excited to play again so I could have my character start searching for this “reporter”. And not a shot fired, nor a drop of blood spilt. (Victory, after all, doesn’t have to mean combat).
Other things to do during the meat of the story:
• Drop Hints: As the game progresses, give them glimpses of things to come. NPCs you plan to use later, an odd memo on a desk that Jack quickly hides, a strange vision that all the characters get but seems to have no bearing on the task at hand — this is called foreshadowing. (It is often also called “pulling stuff out of your rear end”, but to the players, they’re often indistinguishable). This shows the players that you have plans for the future, and that this plotline will not end the story, but act as precursor to new chapters.
• Take Notes: I know I’ve said this before. You will not remember what’s been said to whom, or whom the characters have annoyed (or impressed) if you don’t write it down. You’ll get a hundred ideas for further plotlines every game session and unless you write them down somewhere, they will fly away. Likewise, if you get a good idea during everyday life, do your best to jot it down somewhere. My best ideas often came while I was doing dishes at the coffee shop I worked at, and my hands were too wet to write. That was bloody annoying.
• Keep it Simple: Plotlines can get really soap opera-esque, especially in long-running stories. You need to watch how many active plotlines you have going. There are really two reasons for this. The first is that it’s much less confusing for all involved if you’ve got one main plot and maybe two or three subplots, depending on the size of your group. The second is that games that run for years on end without losing players are indeed rare, and you don’t want to have to scrap a good plotline simply because you couldn’t get to it in time. When you have to choose between plotlines, pick the one that directly involves a player’s character. And with that in mind…
• Keep it personal: That is, if you have well-constructed characters that have backstories just screaming for direct attention in the game, you don’t need world-shattering plots. Plus, plots that are too grand in scope (“We must stop this strange new race of well-armed, nigh invulnerable beings before they conquer all existence!”) are hard to role-play; after all, how would you react to being humanity’s last hope? It’s fine to build up to a situation where the stakes are that high, but I find that more street-level (so to speak) games that involve the characters directly are more fun.
As of this writing, I’ve run thirteen games in my time as a GM that I’d consider chronicles or campaigns (that is, they lasted longer than three sessions and there was a good deal of character development going on). Of those, nine of them actually came to successful conclusions. By that I mean there was a “final chapter”, most of the major plotlines got resolved, and some attention was given to what happened to the characters after the story ended (sometimes they showed up in other games, in fact). That’s a pretty good percentage, considering that I’ve played in at least fifteen games where other people acted as GM, and of those, one ended. The rest…sputtered out (to be fair, in one of those it ended for me because I left town, but I’m not sure how long it continued thereafter). Concluding a game is just as tricky as running it at any other point in the story.
So how to do it? Well, the first thing to do is maintain the interest of people as fickle as gamers for an extended period of time, and there you’re on your own. Follow the suggestions I’ve given here, be persistent and consistent in getting players together and keep the action centered around their characters, and you should be all right. But assuming they’ve stuck with you until the bitter end, exactly how bitter should you make it?
I don’t know about you, but I detest movies and books that just…end. Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash, while it was a superb book in all other respects (and I highly recommend it, despite what I’m about to say) did just that. There were several unanswered questions at the end of the book, and it didn’t really have much in the way of resolution. The film Welcome to the Dollhouse ended rather abruptly as well, I thought. So make the last chapter something to remember. Ask your players if there are any NPCs they’d like to see again, even if they have quite hostile reasons for doing so. If there’s a recurring villain in your game, bring him out, guns blazing.
Where combat and PC death are concerned, all bets are off in the final chapter. I recommend playing the game for dramatic effect, but not pulling punches. If someone dies, let them die heroically. Read some of the Norse mythos about the battles of Ragnorak — that’s classic stuff (literally). Ancient grudge matches, all the prisoners free, mass chaos! Quite exciting.
Also, give the players moments with each other and with the friendlier NPCs. If a character has had a crush on an NPC for months, now’s the time. If there’s been treason brewing in the ranks, now the time. The players will typically get into the “now or never” spirit, so expect them to take chances they wouldn’t normally. Be ready, more than ever, to give them what they want. And, now more than ever, don’t frustrate them! Here are some examples:
An example of what not to do: I had a character in a game of Changeling: The Dreaming from White Wolf who had a girlfriend who was very much a normal human…so I thought. Turned out she had a multiple personality, and her alter ego was, in fact, this butt-kicking, supernatural-being hunting, Trinity-crossed-with-Lora-Croft-badass-grrl. That could have been cool. It was actually set up pretty nicely. I got hints that something was wrong, but I wasn’t sure exactly what. But then the last game (that I was there for, anyway; this was the one where I left town) I got to witness the change, I learned her secrets, and I confronted her. Changelings are somewhat MPD themselves, so I descended into my “nastier” side (Unseelie Legacy, for you White Wolfers) to deal with her. But it seemed like every clever, dramatic, heart-wrenching solution I came up with was shot down because the GM had other ideas. He did have some kind of nifty end in mind for my character and his lady-love (in the Great Beyond, as it happened) but by the time I got to see it, I was annoyed and thoroughly depressed. Not because of what happened to Damien (my character) but because I felt like my vision of him, which I’d shared pretty thoroughly with the GM, had been treated carelessly.
An example of what to do: I recently finished running a game of Werewolf: The Apocalypse, also from White Wolf. (A picture of that group is available for your perusal here). During the last session, the characters were embroiled in an attempt to create a holy place called a caern. This is a massive spiritual undertaking, a veritable miracle, and the game system is set up so that you know you’ve got a real slim chance. So, the player controlling the character who was heading the show was praying to succeed in her rolls, and everybody in the room (myself included) thought it would be cool for her to succeed. She didn’t. So I had a choice: say “Them’s the breaks”, which I knew would be a major letdown and just wouldn’t seem fair, or I could lie (I was keeping track of how well she was doing; she really didn’t know) and make everybody happy.
OK, pop quiz: What’s the point, again? To have fun, that’s right. So I lied. I let her succeed, I had some great Storytelling moments, and everybody had a great time witnessing the miracle that she — that the whole group — created. That was frickin’ cool.
Now, would I have been within my rights to let her fail and have the story end on a tragic note? Sure, if that’s what you and your group would find satisfying. Just make sure that there’s resolution. Where do the characters go afterwards? It’s a good idea to do an “Epilogue” to a game after it’s ended. Let each player give a brief description of what comes next for his/her character. Never know, it might spark an idea for a new chronicle, or give a player a desire to be a Storyteller for a while.
Because, after a really well-run game, you might just need a rest.
© 2000 Matthew McFarland. No
reproduction is allowed without the author’s express permission.
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