The basic idea is that one person starts writing the story (or writing and drawing, as most often these stories can be described as comics).  After one or two panels, the author solicits ideas from the audience.  After suggestions are provided, the author picks however many he or she likes, then draws another set of panels.  Repeat.

I believe these stories are meant to emulate computer games.  That’s why they’re so often written in second person, as in “You open the door”; e.g. “What Do You Do?“.

MS Paint Adventures is not a game. Except that it is a game, absolutely.

—Greg Costikyan

Of course, there are also obvious parallels to various forms of role-playing (cf. Parsely).

What are the characteristics of this “thing”?

By providing suggestions, the readers have a sense of being more involved in the story.  The process of suggesting courses of action naturally leads to an engaged community of readers.  Some choices generate enough suggestions to be put to a vote by the readers.  (Ruby Quest notably did this several times.)  Obviously, this form of storytelling is well suited to online forums; readers can discuss and have input on the story even if they only check the forum once a day.  (It depends on the speed of the story, of course.)

Another thing to note is that the readers don’t need to do much work to interact with the story.  This allows for even casual readers to participate, even if they don’t actually affect the story.  (See also 42 Entertainment’s inverted pyramid player model.)

In this form of storytelling, the author can pick and choose whichever suggestions he or she desires to take.  The characters in the story can even reject suggestions judged to be absurd.  (“That would be a stupid idea!”)  Cynical readers will say that the author is “forcing” certain actions into the story (or “railroading”, a term that I suspect is from roleplaying game fandom).  I think this is actually an intriguing criticism, because it comes from the viewpoint that interactivity is expected.  In other words, because the net-native nature of the story allows readers to influence the plot, they should be able to.

As for myself, I think the balance between “order” and “chaos” has to be worked out with each individual author and audience; in fact, with each individual story.  However, I will say that the potential of net-native literature has, at this point, barely been tapped.  If you want to create something entirely new, you’ll need to let the audience influence the story.

What do we call this “thing”?

People on the MSPA Forum call them “Forum Adventures”, which is fine for their community, but I don’t think it would work as a true umbrella term.  (After all, there are other possible game and roleplaying forms that could occur on a forum.)

1d4chan calls them “Quests”, because so many started popping up that they had to call them something.  (Enough to warrant an entirely new forum!)  However, I don’t think this term is descriptive enough.  (What doesn’t “quest” mean at this point?)

I’ve come up with a number of possible terms:

• Improvisational storytelling—This art form does appear to have a lot in common with improv comedy.
• Many-to-one storytelling—Descriptive, but academic.
• Many-to-one roleplaying—”Roleplaying” seems more in line with Parsely than this particular narrative form.  But this does make me curious as to what many-to-one roleplaying would really be like.  (I suspect there have been one or two games that tried it, but I can’t recall at the moment.)
• Crowd-sourced storytelling—Actually, this sounds like it might be something different.  It seems to imply that there is no one author/moderator.  Once again, it makes me wonder what “crowd-sourced storytelling” would really be like.
• Audience-prompted storytelling—This is my favorite of the terms (as you can probably tell from the title of this entry).  I think this term well captures the idea of the author creating stuff prompted by the audience.

Where can we take this in the future?

Most of the current audience-prompted stories take the forum of webcomics, with a few completely text-based ones.  There’s the whole universe of graphic design to draw on (acrylics? pencil sketches on notepaper?), but let’s go farther.  It’s easy to imagine other media forms involved, like video.  (Anyone else get a shiver imagining Joss Whedon and Neil Patrick Harris with a video camera and a web forum?)

This can lead us to think of audience-prompted storytelling as a process:

1. Author provides content.
2. Audience discusses content.
3. Audience provides suggestions.
4. Author considers suggestions for inspiration of new content.
5. Repeat.

This definition is broad enough that many existing works fit into it.  In theory, a massively multiplayer game that pushes sets of new content has probably let player comments influence the creation of that content.  Legend of the Five Rings and its “deep, evolving story” are a better example.

While many experiences could fit into this mold, I think the real strength of this particular narrative form is h0w easy it is to participate.  Anyone can sign up to a forum and plop an idea down in the correct thread…and they might have a powerful influence on the story.  And even if they don’t, they may spark a discussion about their idea.

That’s the kind of thing that just might make people feel welcome in a new community…

Most games appear to consist of three basic components:

• Mechanics are the rules, the guidelines that tell you what happens, when.
• Statistics are data to be used with the rules.  They often tell you how to use certain things (ideas) with the rules.
• Setting is information that has no game effect; it’s there to explain the “world” to the players, set the mood and the atmosphere, and so on.

Some examples will make this clear.  Let’s think about, oh, say a space opera sci-fi RPG.

• The mechanics will tell you what character attributes mean, how to use dice to resolve things, how space combat differs from hand-held laser combat, and so on.
• The statistics will tell you how to use different spaceships, weapons, character races, etc. in the game.
• The setting will tell you what these various alien races are doing wandering around in the universe shooting at each other.

These divisions apply to computer games as well, of course.  Mechanics would be the game “engine”, the rules that specify how game elements interact; statistics are data and assets used with the game, specifying the game elements…and the setting would be anything displayed to the player that doesn’t have a direct game effect, as well as manuals and such things.

Thoughts About Mechanics

Mechanics generally comprise only a small portion of tabletop RPG books.  Of course, they’re perhaps the most important; merely changing how dice are rolled can have a very different effect on how a game plays.  Intuitively, it seems as though mechanics are “the most important”.

Historically, computer game mechanics have been the most difficult part of the game to create; that’s where you have to have the computer actually do stuff, after all, like input and output.  Recent tools are making this easier, though.  With modding, you can use someone else’s mechanics and your own stats and setting.

Thoughts About Stats

If mechanics comprise only a small part of a game system, then statistics probably make up the largest part.  They provide the environment the players wander around in, and that leads to interesting decisions.  For example, providing a list of weapons means players get to choose which one to equip.

RPG supplements are nearly all stat.  This is where a lot of the creative hard work is done.  (Mechanics seem more like “flashes of genius”, but I’m sure there’s a lot of testing and iteration involved.)

Some games are basically defined by their stats.  Magic: the Gathering, for example, releases a new set of cards every few months.  These cards almost all work with existing rules, with a few simple additions and revisions each time.

With more game engines and game tools becoming public, more and more people are getting into creating stats.

Thoughts About Setting

It might seem that setting is the least important of these three components.  By definition, it has no game effect.  However, playing a game is more than manipulating game elements; what really matters is the player’s experience.  That experience can be greatly affected by the setting material.  This is an opportunity that shouldn’t be neglected.  Of course, some players may be unwilling to read through a novel’s worth of text in order to play a game…I guess the trick is to create material that gets its point across quickly.  (You can always provide optional, longer versions—an in-game “encyclopedia”, for example—for those who are interested.)

1. The players spend all campaign tracking down a powerful villain.  Finally they confront the villain in a decisive battle.
2. One of the players makes a bad die roll; so bad that their character will die and the entire party will be doomed.
3. The game master/dungeon master/referee rules that the die roll “doesn’t count” and that the character doesn’t die.  (The players may or may not realize that the rules are being bent.)
4. The party defeats the villain and everyone’s happy.

So, as long as everyone’s happy, things are fine, right?  Yes, but some people are against dice fudging.  Personally, I’m against it, though perhaps not for the same reasons other people are.  Basically, I believe that while you may enjoy roleplaying with the occasional dice fudging, you would probably enjoy it even more if you understood why you do it and what alternatives there are.

I’ll explain what I mean, but first let’s look at the reasons dice fudging exists.

Different People Want Different Things, and Sometimes They Don’t Know What They Want

I don’t want to go through the entirety of GNS Theory in this post, suffice it to say that people get different kinds of enjoyment out of roleplaying.  If you want a certain kind of enjoyment, you play in a certain way.  Certain rule systems make it easier to play in different ways.

The usual argument in favor of dice fudging is a narrative one.  The players have in mind a story about heroes who grow in strength and ultimately triumph over evil.  A bad die roll would ruin this story.

But some players will look at it the situation differently.  If you view roleplaying as a game, then it needs to have well-defined, unchangeable rules.  If the party dies as a result of bad luck, that’s that; they lost the game.  Perhaps they were not prepared enough for the villain.  Fudging die rolls would be cheating, akin to save scumming.

Alternately, some players simply enjoy the simulation of a fantasy world with internal logic.  To them, die rolls represent the idea that reality is unpredictable.  Fudging a die roll would cause a glitch in this simulation.  To them, having all the players die to the villain would be plausible!  It could happen in “real life”, right?

Sin Boldly

So, I believe dice fudging is the result of wanting to create an interesting story.  The problem is that players often seem tentative about it, as if it were something that detracts from “normal” roleplaying and should only be used in the most extreme circumstances.

If you want to create an exciting story while roleplaying, then go for it.  Some games have rules designed to assist this agenda, or are entirely designed with it in mind.  These game mechanics range from Conan‘s “luck points” that assist any die roll in the game, to Polaris‘ “whoever wins this conflict gets to narrate what happens, with some negotiation from the other players”.

If you know what you want, go for it.  After all, isn’t roleplaying supposed to be fun?

First, let’s think about tabletop RPGs.  Specifically, let’s think about the Lumpley Principle.  To paraphrase Vincent Baker: “A system of rules is the means by which players agree to imagined events during play”.  This leads to a sort of flowchart of actions.

1. A player proposes that something happens in the game world.
2. Negotiation occurs with the other players, drawing upon the rules.
3. The negotiated action is considered to “have actually happened” in the game world.

There are a few interesting things about this flowchart.  For one thing, when I say “player” I could be referring to the “game master” or other similar position that often is found in game rules.  When I say “the negotiated action”, it may turn out to be something entirely different than the proposed action.  It could be that nothing at all happens.

That’s all well and good, and I could talk about the Lumpley Principle for hours.  However, I want to look at a slightly different facet of this subject.  The Lumpley Principle talks about the negotiation, the second and third steps…

…But what about the first step?  How do players decide what actions to take?  Here’s where we get to my little insight.

One responsibility of the system is to suggest actions to the players.

Here, by “system” I’m referring to the “setting”, “flavor text”, “background story” and even “artwork” involved in an RPG release.  Some people might consider that a little too inclusive.  (Perhaps “product” would be better, but for now I’ll stick with “system”.)

I think it’s appropriate to think of the Lumpley Principle as concerning itself with resolving (or heading off) arguments as to “what actually happens” in the game.  But an RPG has to do more than that, it has to suggest actions to the players.  It has to provide seeds of interesting stories.  Sure, you know how to simulate all sorts of actions—but what actions do you take, and why?

D&D suggests you portray a warrior who decks himself out in powerful magic items and engages in elaborate tactical planning.

Ars Magica suggests you follow the story of a wizard in medieval Europe who spends decades training his magical skills and researching specific spells…not to mention scribing and copying arcane tomes.

Call of Cthulhu suggests you experience the adventures of a Lovecraftian protagonist coming up against supernatural forces that drive him insane.

My Life With Master suggests you portray a monster created by a mad scientist, who rebels against his creator but is so wracked with self-loathing that he is driven to suicide.

These are not stories that players might have considered roleplaying a priori.  A group of roleplayers can sit down at a table and play out any story imaginable without any rules.  But it’s like staring at a blank page; The totality of possibility is a difficult thing to grasp.  It helps to have suggestions from the rules, seeds that will sprout into enjoyable stories.

Now let’s pull our gaze back a bit.  The Chaoseed Principle doesn’t only apply to tabletop roleplaying games.  In fact, it can apply to any game.  Final Fantasy VII, for example, suggests you play through a very specific story.  What I find most intriguing are games that provide interesting “seeds” without constraining the action very much.  Spore, or SimCity, or Dwarf Fortress.  Sure, you could sit down and try to draw an alien monster, but Spore gives you body parts and coloring tools to suggest a host of interesting species.

When you start up Zoo Tycoon you can play a “Freeform” game, a complete tabula rasa which you can develop in any fashion you see fit.  There is a losing condition–your zoo loses so much money that it goes out of business.  However, there is no true win condition and no restrictions (other than initial conditions like zoo size and starting money).  Instead of playing a Freeform game, you can instead play through “Scenarios”, each of which gives you a very specific set of constraints.  Often the zoo is partially built when you get there, and often your construction options are limited.  There is always a set of objectives that must be completed, within a set time limit, for you to win the scenario.

Of course, Zoo Tycoon isn’t the first game to implement scenarios; they’re a pretty common tool in strategy games.  SimCity Societies encourages you to attain Achievements, each of which is basically a scenario in itself.  Galactic Civilizations 2 has a number of scenarios that form a history of the war against the Dreadlords…and some that are completely different, just for a change of pace.

So, what is a scenario exactly?  I’ll go ahead and advance a definition:

A scenario is a set of objectives and constraints within a game.  It is possible to play the game in a completely unrestricted way, but while playing the scenario the player attempts to fulfill the objectives while working within the constraints.  There is an initial condition, the situation in which the player starts, and a win condition, which the player is working toward.

The interesting part of this definition is the second sentence, which implies that a scenario places unusual constraints on the player, thereby creating an experience that is somehow outside the norm.  Without this caveat, the definition could apply to anything.  It could apply to Super Mario Bros., for example; the player attempts to defeat Bowser while working within the constraints of the level designs and gravity.  This reductionist viewpoint could be useful, so we’ll keep it in mind.

So, to have a scenario you need gameplay that is restricted in a special case.  A good example of this is the web-based game Billy vs. Snakeman, specifically the Wasteland missions.  During Wasteland missions, ordinary Strength bonuses don’t count; Range, therefore, becomes much more important.  The usual bonuses of allies do not take effect; only special Wasteland allies can be used.  Similarly, Chakra costs are multiplied by 10 (and even, eventually, 100), meaning that only special Wasteland Jutsu can be used.  The player must scramble to find items, allies and bonuses that will allow him or her to solve these special missions.

The Wasteland missions are basically a “side quest”; there is nothing that forces you to complete them.  When you start out, you have no Wasteland gear, so your initial condition is fairly weak.  There is a win condition–one final Wasteland quest that provides a permanent reward.  (There is no “losing condition”, in that the only way you can lose is by giving up and turning your attention to some other part of the game!)  So, in my view, this is a good example of a scenario.

The interesting thing here is that most people might not think of Billy vs. Snakeman as a “strategy game” in the same vein as SimCity Societies or Galactic Civilizations 2.  However, it does allow the player to develop a situation (your character) over time, and it does allow a certain amount of freedom as to which actions to perform.  And if you don’t like your situation, you can start over…by creating a new character, if nothing else!

Another valuable example is Kingdom of Loathing.  Another web-based character development game, KoL focuses on humor, but it does have a lot of content and some elaborate strategy.  To summarize: Once you have completed the main quest in KoL, you may “ascend“.  When you ascend, your character’s status is reduced to starting levels and you do the whole thing over again–with a couple of differences, of course.  You may change your class, which results in a very different experience.  You may also choose a few sets of constraints to make your new playthrough more exciting–in other words, scenarios.  “Casual” allows you to use items from your previous ascension(s); “Hardcore” does not.  “Teetotaler” disallows consumption of alcoholic drinks (a good source of extra turns and stats) in exchange for the promise of a special bonus item upon completion of the run.  “Moon signs” unlock different special areas, each of which provides their own unique items and bonuses to assist you in your new life.  Not only that, players have created their own scenarios to play through to provide even more interesting experiences.

Kingdom of Loathing has enough variety in the player actions that these scenarios can be interesting; the constraints can really create new experiences.  But let’s go further, let’s try to hybridize these two kinds of scenarios.

What if, in Kingdom of Loathing, there was an accessory that provided a stat cap; each stat could not be more than 50 while you were wearing it.  And there was an area that you could only visit if you were wearing that accessory.  And there was a quest that required adventuring in this area to receive a special reward, with monsters that were difficult.  Players would have to find skills or items that provided effects other than stat bonuses to defeat the monsters guarding the treasure.  This would provide an experience outside the norm, and that is the point of scenarios.  This is a tool that could be applied to many games, opening up the range of experiences they can provide.

First, let’s think about games. Single player games, for now. One of the definitions of games given in Rules of Play is that game players deal with unnecessary obstacles. Imagine Super Mario Bros., for example; there are all sorts of obstacles in the path to the Princess at the end. In a sense, there is no reason why these obstacles are there; one could easily imagine a version of SMB that lets you just walk a flat, enemy-less path to the end. But the obstacles make it a game. (I highly recommend reading the book, because it’s much better written than my fumbling summary.)

So, SMB contains obstacles. We can think of these obstacles as skill tests. If you fail at a skill test–that is, if you miss a jump or can’t dodge an enemy–you are sent back to your most recent checkpoint. You have a certain number of chances, and if you use up all yoru chances, the game is over. So, SMB is focused on skill tests.

Now let’s think about another game, Knights of the Old Republic. If you haven’t played KotOR, it’s the type of computer game called an “RPG”, set in the Star Wars continuity. (“RPG” in this case is kind of a misnomer, but I’m not going to address that in this post.) KotOR is a fun game and I highly recommend it. If you’ve ever played any of the “main” Final Fantasy games, as well as Dragon Warrior/Dragon Quest, Atelier Iris or any of a thousand other RPGs…then you know the basic flow of the game. But let’s go over it to refresh our memories…

Knights of the Old Republic also has obstacles and skill tests, but its structure is slightly more complex. During most of the game you have the option to explore various areas at whatever pace you wish, and while there is always someplace to go (often many places), the game doesn’t force you along as much as SMB’s screen that only scrolls to the right. In KotOR you can take time to explore areas and increase the power of your party. This is important because the skill tests in KotOR are dependent on how powerful your party is, and to a lesser extent your strategy; you really need to spend time increasing the in-game power of your characters. Practicing–that is, developing your own skills–won’t get you far. Of course, this in-game power-up process isn’t too onerous, because mere exploration and moving from place to place will provide some of it. The game is pretty well “balanced” in that respect.

Let me take a moment to explain that last statement. “Balanced” is a term that can have several meanings. In the context of single-player games, like I’m using it, it usually means “not too difficult and not too easy”. In other words, the game provides you with a challenge that’s appropriate to your skill level; it’s fun. As I’ve said, most of the “skill” tests in KotOR deal with your characters’ in-game power, but the game includes a lot of exploration and questing that will increase that power. In other words, things that you were already expecting to do–exploration and questing–increase your in-game power enough to pass the “power tests”. Therefore, it doesn’t seem like you have to do anything “special” to pass these tests.

My point is that there are things people expect to do in games and things they don’t really want to do. Playing an RPG like KotOR, people expect to spend time exploring vast areas, fighting monsters along the way, solving problems for NPCs…those are things that players usually think are fun. However, in some games you can reach a point where your characters are just not powerful enough to pass the power test; in this case you have to do something to increase your characters’ in-game power. You have to take time out from the fun stuff you were doing and, say, go kill monsters for a while. Often this is referred to as “grinding”, a word that wonderfully evokes the mindless, fun-less nature of the task. RPG players aren’t exactly surprised when they have to do this, but the more grinding is necessary, the less balanced the game seems to be.

(I realize that I’m making sweeping generalizations about what players find “fun”. Different players find different sorts of fun in games–that’s something that’s been hammered into me over the years, no question. But it’s all in service to my points!)

So, the point is–Ideally, when players play games, they don’t have to spend any time on tasks that aren’t fun. Assuming players enjoy exploring and questing more than they do wandering around finding monsters to kill–a truly “balanced” game shouldn’t require any monster-kill grinding. Sure, without obstacles it wouldn’t be a game, but what we’re looking for is that line that separates “obstacles the player enjoys overcoming” and “tasks the player feels forced to accomplish in order to get back to the fun”. That, to me, is what every game designer searches for (even if they don’t consciously realize they’re doing so).

Okay, that’s cool. But let’s back up a bit. Let’s think about KotOR again and its “power tests”. When I talk about these tests, I’m usually thinking of bosses. These are in-game characters or creatures that the player must defeat in battle to advance to the next stage of the game. The player’s in-game power must be powerful enough to defeat the boss; therefore, to reduce the boss to its most simple form, it’s a test of the player’s in-game power.

So what happens when you go through this test? There are usually two options:

• Pass the test–Go on to the next stage of the game.
• Fail the test–Game over. Start over from your last saved game or some other checkpoint.

But wait–This reminds me of something. It reminds me of a post or article over on The Forge, although I wasn’t able to find the specific reference. I bet it was something posted by Ron Edwards; I’ll try to recreate the argument as best I can.

Now we’re moving away from computer games and talking about pen-and-paper roleplaying games–Dungeons & Dragons being the most famous example. For those not aware, Ron Edwards has spent a lot of time thinking and writing about RPGs, coming up with new models for what they actually include. Of course there’s debate, but here’s one basic point that he (and many other people) agree on: A lot of published RPG rule systems do the same basic stuff because “that’s how everyone does it”, but there are other ways to do things that are worth exploring. Hence, a site about “indie” RPGs, where people who are interested in non-mainstream stuff (or, to put it another way, bored with mainstream stuff) congregate.

Here’s one example of a different way to do things in RPGs. Let’s imagine there’s a character with a “Pick Locks” skill. They sneak into an enemy compound in order to steal some documents. They come upon a door they need to get through to advance further; the door is locked. So, they do a power test–they roll some dice and look at their Pick Locks skill.

Let’s say they fail the roll.

So…Now what? The character is stuck. They can’t advance until they succeed at their roll. Just like KotOR–back to the last saved game.

Now, in a real RPG session you usually have a GM who is there to improvise in some way. One simple way to deal with this problem is to let the character break down the door–but this might attract the attention of guards, making the character’s situation stickier.

Some RPG systems tackle this problem by developing the notion of “stakes” more. In the original scenario, the stakes were simple:

• If you win this test, the door is open and you can advance.
• If you lose, you cannot advance.

But there are other ways to do this. Let’s imagine the stakes of the conflict were set as follows:

• If you win this test, the door is open and you can advance.
• If you lose, you get the door open, but you make so much noise that guards are attracted.

In a sense, all we’ve done is fold some improvisation into the conflict. (RPG theorists often refer to these “tests” as “conflicts”.) We’ve made more explicit the idea that this test doesn’t put a halt to the game; instead, failure puts more pressure on the character and makes the story more interesting. The focus is not as much on the mechanics of the in-game power; the focus is more on how the story will develop and what (hopefully interesting) things will happen to the character next.

So, going back to KotOR’s power tests, now they look a bit limiting. Basically a KotOR boss can be summarized as follows:

• If you win, you advance.
• If you lose, reload your save and grind until you think you can try again.

So, do we have to do it like this? We can take a page from the indie RPGs and create different stakes than something “win/retry”. But now we’re getting into a branching storyline and exponential growth of content. In other words, if you want a “lose” option, you have to write and develop it; that could be hard.

Perhaps there are ways to more easily develop branching and adaptive storylines. But that’s a post for another day…

Apparently there’s a new TIGSource competition. I don’t really have any good ideas for this one…most of the games I’d really like to remake are already, like, SNES-level. Hm. So, I probably won’t be trying this one out.