Role-Playing games—many people begin with the classic Dungeons & Dragons. They hack their way through a myriad of Tolkien-esque goblins and orcs, never to consider the possibility of taking their game into the stylistically different realm of story telling. At the same time, another group of RPGers, more akin to authors and theatrical playwrights, collaborate to create epic tales of heroism and moral ambiguity. The term “game” in fact does no service to the spectrum of players and their hobby. Edwards comments, “The use of ‘game’ to refer to role-playing is completely historical and carries no informational content beyond its indication of a leisure activity.” Indeed, some game designers have gone so far as to call the activity of role-playing an emerging “art form” (Laws). With the very definition of what exactly an rpg is, a need for some coherent body of thought on the subject grew within discussion rings and groups of industry writers. In the late 90’s questions were raised concerning styles of play, the function of mechanics in respect to those styles, and the “optimal” way to perform the act of role-playing and role-playing design. Most notably, on the rec.games.frp.advocacy newsgroup, participants devised the Gamist/Dramatist/Simulationist (GDS) threefold model of gaming. The discussion gave birth to rpg theory in a formal and structured model. For some however, the birth of academic models for a leisurely pastime seemed far too serious an idea.
Although recent advocates of threefold models have spawned entire web sites devoted to the development of rpg theory and its application to game design, others would prefer to pursue a more pragmatic approach to the subject. Regardless, there are a large number of players unhappy with their role-playing sessions, and almost all of them seek to remedy the dysfunction through one means or another—but where does theory fit into the picture? Edwards, author of the largest essay on role-playing theory today, proposes that his article does not target “[t]he person who is entirely satisfied with his or her role-playing experience,” suggesting that theory serves only to solve the problems many encounter. On the other hand he also states, “My goal in this writing is to provide vocabulary and perspective that enable people to articulate what they want and like out of the activity.” So while Edwards limits his essay to unsatisfied players, he admits also that his GNS model will help to define the common trends and mechanics in all role-playing games. Herein lies the real strength of theory when applied to RPGs. By allowing both gamers and designers to communicate with a common language—a language that will accurately convey what a group hopes to achieve through role-playing—theory helps to propel the hobby in new directions. Specifically, game designers can use the goals a model like GNS, GDS, or GENder defines to target an audience, thereby improving general satisfaction with their product. Theory, however is not the end all solution for gaming dysfunction. Edwards sets his hopes high, but regardless of how well a game facilitates a style of play, there is no substitution for communication and other down-to-earth solutions for a group’s problems. Role-playing, independent of style, always involves social interaction, and to neglect the real-life difficulties of each individual player renders all theory useless.
Gaming theory in general has been around for decades, but not until recently has the hobby of role-playing really come into its own. Early rpg theorists concentrated on categorizing players and defining what is and is not a role-playing game. Far and away, the most common type of theory began by telling the reader how he or she was playing “incorrectly.” Still others restricted their thoughts to well intended advice for the everyday player. Formal theory, in its present form, was slow to advance—most players received their information via published books and the occasional fan-boy newsletter. With the advent of the Internet however, role-players moved their discussions into a quick-paced, debate driven medium with participants from all over the world. As such, rpg theory developed by leaps and bounds in the early 90’s. In 1995 Kubasik wrote a series of four articles that clearly defines a different style of play: “Game designers often try to disguise the origins of their games, replacing the word ‘roleplaying’ with ‘storytelling.’” Kubasik cites the shifting vocabulary of game designers as forward progress away from role-playing’s war-gaming past towards storytelling. In fact, Kubasik actually notices the gap between early narrativist play and the traditional gamism, but Kubasik lacked the terminology to articulate his thoughts as such. Like many theorists of the time, Kubasik believed that one style of role-playing encompassed all that role-playing had to offer—that one true style of play existed. Padol writes one year later, “A game session is a collaborative art, intended to be appreciated by the collaborators themselves.” Padol presumes that any given player comes to the table as an artist. Indeed, role-players exercise their creativity during each session, but both Kubasik and Padol fail to include an entire group of role-players to which the game provides little beyond simple escapism or maybe an exercise in tactical command. So while these early articles each have their strengths, they still assume that their work applies to every gamer. What they lacked was the answer to the question: “Why do people role-play?” Most early theory concentrates, and successfully analyzes only one style of play, but no existing distinction separated one player’s goals from another. As a result, the reader was unable to make sense of early theory unless their style of play matched that of the author’s. These situations created a great many frustrated gamers, all of whom argued over a heap of advice and mixed opinions. Most discussion reverted back to the statement, “you are gaming incorrectly and my way is the only way.” As players started to discuss their frustrations over the net, and distinguishing between different modes of play, a formalized and still debated set of classification terms came into common usage. These terms form the basis for rpg theory today.
I realize that many more articles were written on theory than the ones referenced above. Some of these articles date back to the original D&D days—some even earlier. However, a real desire for theory did not surface until companies like White Wolf and AEG began to publish games with mechanics obviously contradictory to the game’s stated goals. A gamer reading Vampire or 7th Sea for example is told in the text that the designers were hoping to encourage “storytelling” or swashbuckling drama; but the mechanics of the system reflect a need for exacting detail in combat situations, or advocate complete control by the GM over all aspects of his game. Elements of realistic combat simulation or ultimate game master control historically facilitate simulationist or gamist play. Vampire suffers from a divided sense of goals. The game’s appeal for many are the angst ridden-characters and a struggle with humanity, but what they get in the mechanics are a set of combat rules and a reward system that encourages overcoming obstacles. Nowhere do the mechanics directly encourage players to explore the theme of lost humanity. While I believe it is possible to design a successful narrativist game using some of the above techniques, I also see no reason for them to overpower the game as whole. White Wolf’s Storyteller’s series, to cite only one example, does just such a thing. If White Wolf had possessed the language of rpg theory, they may have been able to consider formalized narrativist goals as a possible design implementation. Instead they helped to catalyze the dysfunctional gaming that led to the explosion of rpg theory conversation. The articles quoted in this essay are part of the movement I see beginning sometime in or around 1995.
The first well-known body of theory concerning role-playing games was the GDS model, the main tenant of that theory being the Threefold Model. I quote Casey’s summary:
This model says that there are three basic approaches to playing… dramatism is about the story. The gamist approach considers the game primarily as a game: that is, as a set of challenges designed for the players to… overcome… Simulationism[’s] main interest is on “what would really happen” under the given circumstances… any real person’s style is generally… a mix of these three
For the most part, this early model has been replaced with Ron Edward’s GNS, but the basic principle remains the same. By dividing the hobby into three major styles of play, a gamer can identify his gaming objectives and consequently choose a system that encourages them. Ideally, when a player uses a game that has been designed to facilitate only one of the three styles and that player associates himself with others looking for similar goals, the resulting session will become more rewarding. The ideal of perfect play-sessions is hard realized however. It requires more than simply saying, “Everyone wants to play a simulationist game.” The successful session depends on communication between all those involved with the game, and continual discussion, out-of-character, of exactly what a player hopes to achieve in-character. As Edwards states, dysfunction arises in certain cases because players are, “unwilling to compromise about the differences.” Even if all players are participating in a simulationist game for example, and their chosen system facilitates their goals perfectly, some players will still disagree on sub-styles of simulationist play. The discussion of stances, balance of power, and other nuances of rpg theory that make up the various sub-styles of play is beyond the scope of this paper; but needless to say, if players disagree on a great number of them, any given game can degenerate. Many people, some of whom were once intimately involved with the development of the theory itself, have become disgusted with it, at least in part, from frustration felt over the smaller details in rpg theory. Many attempt to classify their games into one of the threefold styles, but still face problems with their games because they cannot agree on, with their fellow players, what stances should be encouraged, or what balance of power best represents their goals. Keep in mind these disagreements do not take place in between the gaming session, but rather dissatisfied players continue to push the game in conflicting directions while actually playing—this is where they encounter resistance, and therefore become increasingly unhappy with the game. One discussion on the web triggered a response from a person posting under the handle Scarlet Jester: “I don’t believe the cure is in classifying your games with GNS… I don’t believe the cure is in finding the perfect system… I believe the cure is solely in communicating with the other players about what you really want to roleplay.” His solution seems obvious: if everyone intelligently applies their post-game wrap-up discussions to future sessions, the problems of the group would cease to exist. You could go one step further, and say that by utilizing certain general principles from GNS, a player could find a more cohesive group to game with, but Scarlet Jester wants to throw out the models entirely. He writes, “they model dysfunctional games,” and then continues to discredit them in all application of game design. I pose the following question however: “How can players successfully communicate with their fellow gamers if they have no vocabulary to do so?”
Many proponents of theory often say things like, “I’m a narrativist and you’re a gamist, so we can’t play together.” Edwards even writes something to a similar effect in his essay: “I like potatoes, you like pink lemonade, have a nice game with your own group.” However, the statements above fail to recognize that many players are capable of participating in more than one style of game. Yes, when a person restricts himself to a single mode of play he will have a difficult time integrating with others, but the vast majority of gamers can play a gamist session on Monday, and a narrativist session on Tuesday. The key though, relies on a player’s ability to separate his Monday session from his Tuesday session. The group needs to facilitate and restrict themselves to gamism on Monday and then wholly change to narrativism the following day. In order to successfully shift styles though, everyone involved needs to communicate openly. A player who expects the same results from any game will find himself unsatisfied more times than not. To communicate with other players, a person needs to know two things: what he wants from the game, and what he expects from other players in the game—both of which theory helps to define. GNS gives the player a thoughtful language to communicate his desires with. If player A is looking for narrativism with authorial power, and player B wants narrativism with only actor stance encouraged, then the two disagree, but at least they know why they disagree. From that point forward the pair can begin to compromise a solution that will allow them to play rewarding games together. Without theory intelligent discussion can quickly turn into name calling sessions or exercises in futility. If a player cannot articulate why they disagree with another player, no one will reach a compromise. A more complicated situation arises when player A wants only narrativism and player B wants only simulationism: “I like potatoes, you like pink lemonade.” In other words, when two players are looking for an entirely different style of top-level play—when they are looking for different goals—then a compromise becomes increasingly difficult. In my own experience, games often drift from one goal to the next, and the original intent becomes foggy. Furthermore, the group consists of many players looking for different goals and a GM attempting to satisfy them all in one game. As a result, the entire session looses focus or worse, certain players suffer from boredom. GNS dysfunction alone will not cause boredom, but a lack of GNS communication will encourage it. Alternatively, if players come to the table expecting one style of play, they can tailor their characters and in-game actions towards the predefined goal. They will know what to expect, and as a result will not feel disappointed, or bored, when their narrativist goals are not realized in a simulationist session. Thinking practically however, many gamers have time for only one session a week or month, or maybe even every six months. If a player’s group prefers simulationsim, and he is looking to fulfill gamist goals, how does that player reconcile his ambitions with those of the group’s? Some would say that a player in said situation needs to find another group, but again practical and social limitations often prevent this. I point again to communication for the answer. Instead of giving up role-playing and complaining about his experiences in web-board discussions, that player may try working with the entire group to reach a creative compromise. I offer no suggestions for such a compromise at this time, but I believe that one may exist.
Role-playing games bring many players to the table; it is folly to assume that every player will happily coexist with all others. Game designers need to recognize the differences many players embrace, and learn to customize their projects for not all gamers, but a specific target audience. Theory, such as GNS, articulates goals and tools that designers may use to bring focus to their games. Role-playing, for many, goes beyond simple distraction. RPGs are a hobby, or possibly an art form; and game designers are the people providing the tools for that art form. Focused design does not come easy, but when successful the results may even open up role-playing to a wider audience. Kubasik suggests in a web post, “we have no idea how an English teacher might react to the opportunity of setting up a program with The Pool for a creative writing class.” A pipe dream maybe for an enthusiastic role-player such as myself, but a possibility nonetheless. GNS separates the calculation based games from theme based ones, and without the stereotype of “pocket-calculator nerds” attached to role-playing, the hobby may begin to seep into a more mainstream culture. The narrativist branch of role-playing is only one of the elements of GNS that may in the future push the hobby in new directions. Of course the likelihood of this happening will dwindle without sufficient communication between game designers and players; and between the players themselves. The strongest argument for role-playing theory states that a common language among gamers will serve as a catalyst for coherent and precise conversation about all elements of role-playing. Instead of explaining the foundation behind your viewpoint every time you encounter a discussion, gamers will instead spend their effort towards building upon those foundations.
Casey, Travis S. “The Building Blocks of RPGs, Part 1: Theoretical Bases.” Skotos. 4 May 2001.
Edwards, Ron. “GNS and Other Matters of Role-Playing Theory.” The Forge. 2001. 25 Feb. 2002.
< http://www.indie-rpgs.com/articles/gns/gns_introduction.html >.
Kubasik, Christopher. “The Interactive Toolkit.” The Oracle . 1995. 25 Feb. 2002.
Kubasik, Christopher. “The Narrativist Community.” Online posting. 20 Feb. 2002. The Forge. 25 Feb. 2002.
Padol, Lisa. “Playing Stories, Telling Games: Collaborative Storytelling in Role-Playing Games.” Recap Publications. 1996. 25 Feb. 2002.
Scarlet Jester. “Are RPGs About Playing or Creating?” Online posting. 17 Feb. 2002. The Gaming Outpost. 25 Feb. 2002.
< http://www.gamingoutpost.com/forums/index.cfm?fuseaction=ShowThread&threadID=58355&messageID=58355 >.
Scarlet Jester. “Roleplayers Unite Against Fascist Shit!” Online posting. 27 Jan. 2002. The Gaming Outpost. 25 Feb. 2002.
< http://www.gamingoutpost.com/forums/index.cfm?fuseaction=showthread&messageID=58513 >.
Tweet, Johnathan with Robin D. Laws. “The Literary Edge.” Over the Edge. By Laws. Atlas Games, 1997