Is the "Great Impossible Thing" truly impossible?

[John Kim]

It's no good deriding modules because they don't present your play style. Modules in fact are the quintessential representations of how game designers expect their games to be played. If your play style does not match the modules, then you're not playing as the game designers intended. Modules clearly show The Impossible Thing in action. In competition modules, I would wager that a large part of "play" involves players trying to intuit what it is that they are "supposed" to do next.  [...] Modules insist that the players have complete control over their characters but referees control the story. That means that somehow the referee can always force the players to do A, B, C, and D, when they don't wish to do that, without overriding their autonomy. That is The Impossible Thing in sharp relief.

I wanted to pick up on the discussion of modules.  I agree with M.J. that modules are important for understanding the designers -- they tell more about what designers really think the game should be like, whereas the vague introductory text is generally seen as fluff.  

You know, the main thing I hear is that you (M.J.) don't like most game modules.  That is fine as a personal preference.  On the other hand, there are people who play and enjoy them, and their preference is also valid.  You say that modules show "The Impossible Thing in action", which is a direct contradiction.  If it is in action, then by definition it isn't impossible.  Even if the literal text describing role-playing is unclear, there are people who play the modules and I think the result is largely the way they were intended by the designers.  

I also think this addresses the preferences of many players. In my experience, players frequently do not want to control the larger plot.  They enjoy doing dialogue, characterization, and tactics -- but prefer that the general plot structure be in the hands of the GM.  Modules that define storyline are fine for players with this attitude.  

Lastly, different modules vary in their approach.  Many modules have little or no central storyline.  Instead, they primarily define a location and NPCs.  The GM and players are free to do whatever they want with these.

[Bruce Baugh]

From the author's and developer's point of view, I can say that modules are often at best a flawed and incomplete approximation of how we'd like the game to be played. It's really hard to do anything of significance beyond the most straightforward action when you know nothing about the characters, but every bit of narrowing and focus one puts in cuts off some of the audience...the end result is a hodge-podge of compromises. And sometimes problems turn up that neither we nor playtesters caught, for various reasons.

Those of us who write and develop adventures try hard. Adventures are, by a wide margin, the hardest work I do. It's just that the results inevitably suffere in some way, and what we have to do is hope that the way is relatively minor rather than central and inescapable.

[Mike Holmes]

Ralph, obviously I disagree. I didn't want to get into it, but...

You point out yourself that the player can control his actions, and the GM can control the world until such point as these things come into conflict. If that was what we were discussing, then that would make it the "Occasionally Impossible Thing".

But that's not it. I agree with you on the issue of authority. But with a particular definition of story, or even world, then the Impossible Thing becomes quite possible. It's precisely that point at which doing so causes the issue of authority to be demarcated well.

Sindyr,

Not the three part definition. No that would be too easy. No, Ron has created his own definition of Story as it pertains to RPGs. This is based on the work of Egri, but altered to make sense in the RPG paradigm. And this definition is that story is created when the player makes his character take some action that represents some decision that pertains to some satisfying moral or ethical dillemma, in such a way as this was entirely his choice."

So, for example the GM can lead the character to the Grail, but he can't have any idea what will happen afterwards.

Two things. First, in practice, since "story" has become contentious, the definition drops that out, and just deals with decisions on moral or ehtical dillemas. The problem remains, however, that a player who wants to make these sorts of decisions isn't supported by text that implies to the GM that they control the story. Because, in practice what usually happens is that the GM doesn't leave control in the hands of the player. The plot is his, with the player left to follow it, more or less.

Now, your style of play allows for this control, occasionally, you say. Then fine, at that point the player can play Narrativist or Sim at his choice. But if you're not leaving control to the player at all times, then sometimes you're supporting Sim play. As I've said, it's easy enough to shift back and forth on what you support. You just can't do both at the same time. Have control, leave control.

So why should you be concerned? You shouldn't be. The point of the Impossible Thing isn't that you can't play around the Immposible Thing, it's that the idea that there's one consistent style of play that does both at the same time is impossible. And thus we see that Ralph and I are talking about the same thing (IMO).

See, when you say that this sort of play is "all you can get" from RPGs, that belies the fact that you've not played really Narrativist games. I mean, I assume that you realize that Gamism exists, and are merely rejecting it (that's a personal preference, Gamism is valid). But in fact, there's a whole third sort of game that you've just not tried.

Note that there's no particular reason why you need to try it either. It's not superior, either. It's just different. From a POV of gaining experience, I'd suggest it to anyone. But it just might not be your thing. Certainly there's nothing wrong with what you claim as the sumum bonum of gaming as a style either. I like the idea of chasing a "reality".

If you want to try a Narrativist game, one that you can't screw up at all (well, not without really intentionally trying to play in another mode) is SOAP. Hmm. Since that's not free anymore, you can check out The Pool, if you haven't already, at: http://www.randomordercreations.com/thepool.html

Mike

[John Kim]

See, when you say that this sort of play is "all you can get" from RPGs, that belies the fact that you've not played really Narrativist games. I mean, I assume that you realize that Gamism exists, and are merely rejecting it (that's a personal preference, Gamism is valid). But in fact, there's a whole third sort of game that you've just not tried.  

Well, I would go further than that.  There are a LOT more than three sorts of games, and I think it is extremely deceptive to suggest otherwise.  It may be that they can all be fit with one or more of 3 labels, but two solidly Simulationist games can be radically different from each other.  

Even if you have played in a Narrativist game, that doesn't mean that there aren't all sorts of games which you haven't tried and don't have any clear conception of.  My rough impression is that Ralph is talking about a game where the GM does not have a plotline in mind, but rather creates situations to be explored.  In my experience, this is rare.  Most people have not played in a Simulationist game where the players can and do direct the plot.

[Sindyr]

OK, I am becoming confuseder and confuseder. :(

I started out thinking that I knew what The Inpossible Thing was... and now I am less certain than ever.

So...

ONE:  Can we NOT talk about GNS?  I do not have enough of a handle on GNS to include that into the discussion here - and that goes for most of the specialized lexicon used here: drift, abashed, currency, stances, etc...

It's not that I am claiming that I do not understand those terms - but I am not *confident* that I "get" them the way others may use them, and I don't want to leave any loopholes where confusion can slip through...

So, can we talk about The Impossible Thing without needing to use this specialized lexicon?

TWO If the answer to ONE was yes, can someone give me a clear and well defined explanation of what the Impossible thing really is?  In normal english, mind you, no references to GNS thingamahootchie, etc..

Additionally, can you guys get togther so that I dont wind up getting 3 similar but actually different definitions?  If person 1 says that the Impossible thing is A, and person 2 says that it is B, etc; and if A, B, C et al are similar enough to each other, it may look like A, B, etc are different ways to say the same thing.

BUT if A, B, C, etc are not *really* the same thing, then what I have is three or more seperate and different version of the Impossible Thing - and that will only make me MORE lost and short on sanity.

And I don't have a ton of sanity to begin with.

So lets start from scratch:

What is a clear and well defined explanation of The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast that does not use jargon like GNS and that all of you agree on (for the most part)?

Thank you.

-Sindyr

[Jack Spencer Jr]

What is a clear and well defined explanation of The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast that does not use jargon like GNS and that all of you agree on (for the most part)?

OK, I'll start.

The Impossible Thing is the belief that the GM can control the story while the players can control the character. "Story" in this case refese to Narrativist style of play. When Ron wrote that essay, he exclusively used the term "story" for Narrativism even stated that Gamism and Simulationism had no story at one point.

So what is Narrativism? It is attempting to create a thematicly statisfying story based on a Premise. Premise was described in Lajos Egri's Art of Dramatic Writing and modified by Ron Edwards to RPG theory in the GNS and realted essays. A premise has been defined as a moral or ethical questioned to be answered by the events that unfold during play.

Sorry, but it is rather impossible to discuss this without the jargon.

So, back to the Impossible Thing. The GM controls the story? But he does not control the characters. If the players control the characters how can he be said to be in control of the story? The characters are a major part of the story so if he doesn't control them, he really doesn't control the story. And if the GM does control then the players really don't control the characters for the same reason. Instead, it's a collaborative effort to create a story. This leads to Ron's band analogy with the GM acting like the bass player, laying down the beat and supporting the other players while the riff and solo. The GM isn't in control of the story in this case. The players are in control more-or-less because they control their characters and are putting their characters through the paces to address the Premise. The GM is providing whatever support may be necessary to help the players address this premise and out of this comes the Story in the Egri/Edwards sense.

[Sindyr]

ARGH!

After I asked nicely too! :)

Ok, thanks, but that did not help much cause you used jargon.

Can you do it again *without* referencing Gamism, Simulationism or Narrativism?

If The Impossible Thing cannot be described and defined without resorting to jargon, then I guess I don't feel that it is significant enough to bother with.

But I am betting that it can be described without all the forge-specific jargon.

As a computer professional, one thing I have heard helpful for giving explanations to the uninitiated is to pretend you are trying to explain it to your mother.

If I go back to the one thing you said before the jargon whipped out:

The Impossible Thing is the belief that the GM can control the story while the players can control the character.

than I would ask if that 's the same as saying the GM controls the world [everything apart from the PC's] and the player's control their characters.
Except of course where the rules or logical consistency overide them both.

-Sindyr

[bladamson]

Can you do it again *without* referencing Gamism, Simulationism or Narrativism?

Poking in the dark a little here...  Let's try to define the terms.  I'm new here myself and still trying to get a handle on the stuff. :)

Gamism- Treating the game as, well, a game.  Not a medium for creating a story or for simulating anything real.  Like Backgammon, tic-tac-toe, or a puzzlebox.  At the risk of starting a flame war, I will postulate that AD&D 2e is a gamist game.  The mechanics are not realistic, nor do they let the character do whatever they want in terms of story development.  One could argue that they are very well balanced though.

Simulationism- Trying to make the game simulate reality.  That is, have a mechanic that can cover any possible event, and to stick to that mechanic at the sake of the story.  At the risk of starting a flame war, I will postulate that Rolemaster, Cyberpunk, or Mythus are simulationist.

Narrativism- Treating the game as the meduim for creating a story.  It seems that these sorts of games are rules-light and unbalanced in a Gamist sense, but in being unrestrictive provide more leeway in creation of story.  At the risk of starting a flame war, I will postulate that The Window is a narrativist game.

If The Impossible Thing cannot be described and defined without resorting to jargon, then I guess I don't feel that it is significant enough to bother with.
But I am betting that it can be described without all the forge-specific jargon.
As a computer professional, one thing I have heard helpful for giving explanations to the uninitiated is to pretend you are trying to explain it to your mother.

If I go back to the one thing you said before the jargon whipped out:

The Impossible Thing is the belief that the GM can control the story while the players can control the character.

than I would ask if that 's the same as saying the GM controls the world [everything apart from the PC's] and the player's control their characters.
Except of course where the rules or logical consistency overide them both.

I _think_ what they are getting at is that if the sole purpose of play is to tell a story, the GM cannot control it.  He can give a situation to the players and take a peek at the outcome.  He can even "trick" them into following where he wishes the story to go.  But as soon as he starts railroading them they lose interest in contributing to the story, because they feel they can have no real effect on the outcome, and play breaks down.

These are all my guesses anyway.  Please correct me if I'm wrong. :)

[Jack Spencer Jr]

Ok, thanks, but that did not help much cause you used jargon.

I did appologize for it, but you might want to learn the jargon. I did attempt to explain the jargon I used. Did any of that help.

The problem with the Impossible Thing is it is a concept that is reliant on the understanding of a few key concepts, like GNS and Premise for example. It's a little like trying to learn algebra without understanding addition and subtraction. I'm not saying you have to get it completely, but a decent idea of what is meant by "Narrativism" or "Premise" is kind of necessary.

than I would ask if that 's the same as saying the GM controls the world [everything apart from the PC's] and the player's control their characters.

No. It's about Story as defined in Narrative play, which is generated by addressing Premise. (see above)

I'm not trying to be difficult, but these terms were created to facilitate communication of certain ideas and concepts here at the Forge. It would really help if people would understand the basic concepts. Check out the Simulationism essay. There's a handy Glossary at the end of it.

[Marco]

I'll take a stab. I'm sure someone will flog me for it.

The impossible thing is that both the players and the GM can act "as the GM" at the same time.

By "acting as the GM," I mean:

1. Creating major elements of the world (what could be called situation or more abstractly 'plot'--characters, outcomes, information--important, critical information, etc.)

2. That the players and the GM both act as the (very nearly) singular guide of their characters *in reference* not just to the character's actions--but the results--and do this at the same time.

In other words, in the jargon (AFAIK) "creation of story" only happens with GM-like power--and GM-like power, being more or less absolute (at least within a given 'theater') isn't shared.

So the no-brainer, non-contraversial way of stating it (to my understanding) is "you can't have two traditional-style GM's at the same time without ... something really werid happening ... and it's probably something you don't want (i.e. a 'did'/'did not' argument).

-Marco

[Jack Spencer Jr]

OK, I'm editing my previous post but removing all of the jargon I can. Let's see if this helps.

The Impossible Thing is the belief that the GM can control the story while the players can control the character. "Story" in this case refers to style of play that Ron Edwards prefers. When Ron wrote that essay, he exclusively used the term "story" for his prefered style which involve addressing a moral or ethical issue that the players, not the characters find interesting. This ethical/moral question was described in Lajos Egri's Art of Dramatic Writing and modified by Ron Edwards to RPG theory in the his essays. So this is the definition of "Story" as described by the Impossible Thing

So, the GM controls the story? But he does not control the characters. If the players control the characters how can he be said to be in control of the story? The characters are a major part of the story so if he doesn't control them, he really doesn't control the story. And if the GM does control then the players really don't control the characters for the same reason. Instead, it's a collaborative effort to create a story. This leads to Ron's band analogy with the GM acting like the bass player, laying down the beat and supporting the other players while the riff and solo. The GM isn't in control of the story in this case. The players are in control more-or-less because they control their characters and are putting their characters through the paces to address the ethical/moral question. The GM is providing whatever support may be necessary to help the players address this ethical/moral question and out of this comes the Story in the Egri/Edwards sense.

Better?

[John Kim]

In other words, in the jargon (AFAIK) "creation of story" only happens with GM-like power--and GM-like power, being more or less absolute (at least within a given 'theater') isn't shared.

So the no-brainer, non-controversial way of stating it (to my understanding) is "you can't have two traditional-style GM's at the same time without ... something really werid happening ... and it's probably something you don't want (i.e. a 'did'/'did not' argument).  

Sindyr -- I think the short answer appears to be that there is no clear agreement on what "The Impossible Thing" means.  Many people seem to think it means something important, because Ron is a cool guy :).  However, interpretations clearly vary.

Personally, I think it refers to the literal contradiction as illustrated in the quotes from the text of Vampire: The Masquerade given earlier.  What that text is trying to say, I think, is that the GM should be responsible for defining a good overarching plot, but should not micromanage and try to narrowly control PC actions.  As they put it, the GM defines the skeleton which the players flesh out.  Put another way, the GM should define what the PCs are supposed to do (i.e. defeat this villian), but the players must be free to define how they do it.  However, taken literally, the language is vague and arguably contradictory -- i.e. "impossible".

[Sindyr]

OK, i do want to thank everyone for helping me with this - and I think I have resolved, with your help, the following:

[*] I need to learn the jargon, especially GNS, before I can participate well in these discussions.  I am up for that. :)

[*]  It is possible that The Impossible Thing simply refers to the obvious contradiction of having the GM posess absolute control over the story or game or whatever at the same time as the Players also posess total control over the same.
A simple and blatant contradiction in terms.

[*]  It is possible that The Impossible Thing erroneously claims that one cannot have a GM author the world and plot points/devices while the players make significant choices for their characters.

[*]  It is possible that The Impossible Thing means something imprecise and different for each person, such that discussing it, or even *defining* it becomes ardous and mostly impossible.
[/list:u]

Given the above, I am going to completely table and drop my quest to understand just what The Impossible Thing is, and if it is truly impossible.

Instead, I will be focusing my enregies to trying to wrap my brain around GNS and what exactly G, N, and S are.

Thank you, I look forward to your participation in *that* new thread.

-Sindyr

[bladamson]

Given the above, I am going to completely table and drop my quest to understand just what The Impossible Thing is, and if it is truly impossible.

Ah, but _is_it_really_impossible_?

I have a hunch it's not.  That I need to look at it from a different angle.  But I want to contemplate it more before I stick my foot in my mouth some more. :)

[M. J. Young]

Mike, Ralph--how did you two ever manage to write a game together? It must be a good one. I know Multiverser came out of the collaboration of two gamers with completely opposite styles.

Ralph is right. The definition of story has nothing to do with it. The problem is simply that the rules give the referee complete control over the outcome of the story, seemingly in total disregard of what the player characters do, while at the same time granting total autonomy to the players to control their characters. It's sort of like saying that at three o'clock in the afternoon Mount Vesuvius is going to erupt and kill everyone, and there's nothing the player characters can do about it--except it isn't Mount Vesuvius erupting, it's every little thing in the referee's game plan. At point B the villain's henchmen are going to capture the player characters alive and take them to their leader--oh yeah? "You'll never catch me alive, said he," as the Aussie song goes. Gamist and even simulationist games keep suggesting these fully pre-plotted scenarios where the referee knows without doubt that in the twelfth scene the player characters are going to be standing in the throne room of Ming the Merciless prepared for their final confrontation where they prevent him from firing his ray at the earth. You can't possibly give players full autonomy over their characters and know where scene twelve is going to be. For all you know, by scene eight the PCs may have found a way to infiltrate Ming's castle and assassinate him in his sleep, despite your best laid plans. Either the referee can plot the story (in the least narrativist sense you can imagine, the story as presented in D&D modules, Gamma World scenarios, Star Frontiers adventures) or the players can make choices about what happens. Both cannot be true. The definition of story has nothing to do with it. It's merely a matter of whether the referee can decide what is going to happen to the characters later or not.

I played a long game with a very effective illusionist referee. He always made us feel like we were winning, and always by the skin of our teeth. He kept us on the edge of our seats, worrying about whether we were going to survive this next situation or not. He gave kill ratios for his adventures, and we all felt we'd accomplished something if we beat his odds. It was all illusion. His monsters died when we had taken enough damage. We reached our destination when he wanted us to get there. He was just so good at it, we never caught on. Then one day he was talking to some of the players about a situation happening to a particular character, not one of theirs, and he told them what was going to happen. They didn't really get it; but the player whose character it was overheard, and realized that nothing he did would make a difference: the game was going to go where the referee wanted it to go, because the referee was telling his story and making us all feel like we were part of it. This was his solution to The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast: the illusion of player autonomy. Everything we did was just color that he incorporated into his story. Now, participationism says that's an entirely viable solution to The Impossible Thing. It's a completely different solution from the one Sindyr is claiming is "intended" by the rules of most games. Yet it is just as reasonable an interpretation of the rules as written as his. In both cases, an arbitrary decision has been made by agreement within the gaming group as to where the power of each ends. In Sindyr's case, they've got a pretty good grasp of what part of it is "the world" and what part is "the character", and they use that as the basis of cooperative creation. In participationism, they have a different division, in which it's clearly agreed that the players provide color and get to feel like they're part of the story--like little children telling their grandfather that the heroes of the story he's telling them have their names, and giving him details to work into the story from time to time. That's right, Bobbie, his name was Bobbie, and he did have a sword, just like yours. They've traded their ability to impact the story for the priviledge of having their characters be heroes who never make mistakes.

You know, the main thing I hear is that you (M.J.) don't like most game modules.

Oops--actually, I was responding to Syndir's comment to the effect that modules were badly written and didn't represent real game play. I've run a couple of modules; I'm usually too full of my own ideas to spend much time on them, but I've run a few. One I ran when my computer crashed and took a lot of the adventure in which the players were then involved with it, so I needed to divert them to something else in a hurry, so I grabbed a module I had and devised a hook to get them into it in response to an emergent situation. A couple others I ran because I was very busy with Multiverser work and needed to run something in a D&D game. I've even got a couple of modules I've always wanted to run because they seem really neat. I've also played in quite a few modules. In my early gaming career, I generally did all my own D&D creations, but the Star Frontiers and Gamma World referees in our group never created their own stuff, sticking to TSR modules.

I do perceive that the design of modules has this linear quality to it. Players will do this, then that, then the other thing, and finally will reach their goal. Sometimes there will optional sections, sometimes there will be multiple paths, or unsequenced materials--I'm currently running a module in which the clues are scattered around the inside of the building. The player characters will need to recognize and gather the clues, and do something with them, but the sequence in which they do does not particularly matter. Still, they have to do them all to move beyond this to the next part of the module.

I know there are ways around this. I've written a fair number of Multiverser scenerios in which there's nothing specific for player characters to do--just options from which they can choose, possibilities they can explore. I've also written scenarios for Multiverser that seem to have this guilt: that the players have to do certain things (or at least solve certain problems, even if they find a different way to do it) in order to finish the adventure. I don't think that's always a bad thing. I do think it presses close to this issue of player autonomy versus referee control.

You say that modules show "The Impossible Thing in action", which is a direct contradiction.

You go on to speak of player preferences, and everything you say is valid--but it also means that there is an inherent acceptance of the division of authority, which interestingly may be different both from that which Sydnir claims is intended by the games and that which has been defined as Participationism (although it may be closer to the latter).

I think that most players going into a module do accept that they are giving up autonomy over where the story is going. This is exactly the sort of autonomy that Syndir claims they always have, and the reason he rejected modules as representative of real play. When I say that the module represents The Impossible Thing "In Action", I mean that they (and this is a generalization, and therefore false) are written as if the players had complete control over their characters and were going to be "guided" by the referee (through whatever means are necessary) into hitting the marks, as it were, doing what they were supposed to do to be in the right place at the right time. The module takes it for granted that the players want to follow the outline of the adventure. Functional module play results because the players do want that; but in a sense, they cannot choose otherwise and continue with the module. Dysfunctional play occurs when the player characters decide to ignore the hooks or go off story, and the referee, locked into the module, turns up the heat to get them back to it.

Even something so general as The Keep on the Borderlands fails completely if the player characters say, I don't care if there's a temple of chaotic evil hidden in the mountain caves. Let the orcs and goblins do what they want in the wilderness. There has to be an initial agreement that the players are going to run characters who want to do what the module requires. This leads, in functional play, to players watching for the cues regarding what they are supposed to do next--which is exactly the opposite of the sort of autonomous character play Syndir claims is normative.

And I'm not even saying that "most" gamers don't play in Syndir's style, or in module style, or in illusionist/participationist style. I'm not even saying that any one of those is right or wrong or good or bad. All I'm saying is that Every one of those sidesteps The Impossible Thing by creating an implicit agreement as to where the balance of authority lies. Personally, I don't care where it lies (although I like to know). I tend to give a tremendous amount of autonomy to my players. If they go so completely off story that I have no idea what to do, I toss out my notes and improvise. That's fine--I like to do that, too. I can coerce players into doing what I want, often without them having a clue they've been coerced. I studied illusionism from a master, and am still learning his secrets as I look back on those games. I'll play any mode you want, and enjoy it. That has nothing to do with the matter at hand. The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast still shines out from rules and modules texts such that once you've actually seen it you wonder how you managed to miss it all these years.

I don't know, but there might be text in Multiverser that suggests it at some point. If so, I'm embarrassed. All my years of study in theology and law, learning to see people's unfounded suppositions and destroy them by taking out their underpinnings, and I may have let an error as glaring as that get by me. I hope not.

What is a clear and well defined explanation of The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast that does not use jargon like GNS and that all of you agree on (for the most part)?

Syndir, one of the reasons you are finding this so confusing is that it is clear people misunderstand this. Of course, I think my understanding is correct; and I think Ron said as much in a post in this thread. Ralph "Valamir" Mazza agrees with me. Mike and Jack seem to have a completely different idea about this which obviously I think is mistaken.

The Impossible Thing has nothing to do with GNS or any other part of game theory (except maybe Stance, but it can be discussed entirely apart from Stance).

It has to do with control and autonomy, or, in a term used in an earlier thread (did I coin it, or did someone beat me to it?), credibility.

It means that two people cannot control the same outcome simultaneously.

You have found a way to play your games which bypasses The Impossible Thing, because you and your players have agreed regarding what you control and what they control. By now it should be clear from my (rather long and getting longer by the moment) post here that yours is not the only solution to that. There may be scores of ways in which control may be divided in a game. Some people on these fora have built games which expressly state how such control is divided, sometimes suggesting that everyone is a referee, or there is no referee, or people can through in-game means become the referee, or the referee will change at some point, giving very clear statements of where the division of authority lies. But the major games--D&D, Vampire, Champions, well, you know what they are--all say that the referee controls where the story goes and the players control their characters' actions. (Please, I am not using "story" in a narrativist sense. No one has ever accused me of being a narrativist. My game has been labeled simulationist; my play style has much in it that is gamist. By "story" in this context, I mean nothing more than the overall sequence of events in the narrative being created.) Now, assuming that the players are the main characters in this story, how can the referee control where the story goes, unless he can control the choices and actions of the protagonists? He can't. BUT the RULES say that he CAN, WITHOUT impinging in player autonomy. How does he do this? He doesn't. He can't.

Your "solution" gets around it by deciding that the referee does not control where the story goes; he only controls where it starts, and the players control where it goes. That's a popular solution. Mike likes it. I play that way myself more often than not, on both sides of the table, I think. Yours is not the only solution, and it's not found in the game texts you're citing. You read your experience into the text. (Hey, I'm a theologian--I see stuff like that all the time.)

Participationism "solves" it by deciding that the players have no control over the story at all; they just provide color by describing character actions which the clever referee then works into the story he's telling without derailing his plot.

Module play "solves" it by an implicit agreement in the social contract that the players will play in a manner geared to discover what they are "supposed" to do, and do that.

None of these make The Impossible Thing possible. They all sidestep it; they all say, "The text is wrong; you can't do that. We'll do this instead."

In doing so, they create functional play.

That's very important. Please do not think that I am at all saying that you're playing incorrectly. I'm saying that you have found a way to play that works by recognizing the text is wrong, and providing a compromise that works for your group.

I am sorry this is getting so long; but there were some questions addressed specifically to me before all this other stuff broke out, so I'm going to try to approach them as briefly as I can.

M. J. Young:

I would like to know more about this Multiverser, do you have any links?

heh-heh

Yeah, we're legit. http://www.multiverser.com/ is the site for the game. You can order from http://www.valdron.com/">Valdron Inc directly, and it's available from most online booksellers, and can be ordered in nearly any bookstore (particularly the chain types with the computerized book catalogs--I know Borders and Barnes & Noble have it). Some game stores even carry it, but I have trouble getting lists.

As far as the Zenda example goes - is the GM using his GM abilities to force the players to a place/confrontation/outcome of his choosing?  If so, I would call that railroading and an abridgement of the GM/player divide.

Your examples follow, but I think you may be confusing things--place, confrontation, and outcome are entirely different matters, I would think.

In Zenda, there are in-game forces that are coercive; they are not controlling.

In Multiverser, players enter a new world in a seemingly random place; yet such entry points are often carefully selected. In Zenda, you enter in an empty sleeping berth on a train headed for Ruritania; it isn't going to stop again until it reaches the border. That's rather coercive: you're going to get off the train in Ruritania, which is where I want you to be.

But you don't want to go to Ruritania, so what do you do? You have to get off the train before you get there. This isn't impossible. Jump. Stop the train. There are ways to do it. Now what? Now you're wandering around in unfamiliar territory in an unknown German state, and you are the spitting image of the prince of Ruritania. You don't know where you're going. If you don't specifically head away from Ruritania, there's no reason why you can't walk right into it, and now you're there. But let's suppose you do head in the opposite direction. Now you come into some town, where the authorities recognize you as the leader of the adjacent state. You tell them it's not you, and what then? Either they don't believe you (ah, the king wishes to travel incognito, well, we'll escort him safely to his border anyway--we don't want to be responsible for something happening to him in our country), or they do--in which case they'll want to see identity papers (you don't have) and will find themselves in a particular pickle, because if you are the king, they'd be in serious trouble with their neighbor if something happened to you, and if you're not, well, you look so much like him that you must be involved in some plot. What should we do? The only thing that makes sense: turn you over to the Ruritanian authorities, and let them figure it out. So whatever you do, you wind up in Ruritania, or you wind up dead and out of this scenario altogether.

Now that I've got you in Ruritania, you're going to be spotted by Colonel Sapt and Fritz Tarlenheim, the King's closest aids; you're going to meet the king and discover this remarkable resemblance. He, being the sort of person that he is, is going to insist that you come have a drink with him while the two of you sort out why you look so much alike (you must be related, probably through one of the famous scandals of the Elfborg house). If you decline, Colonel Sapt is going to grow considerably more suspicious and detain you--after all, he already suspects that you look like the king for some nefarious reason, and your unwillingness to cooperate intensifies that. I'd rather all this happened because you wandered into the royal game preserve. If you start walking, I can get you there, because you have no idea where you are. But if not, I can have it happen pretty much anywhere.

But why am I doing this?

Forgive this seeming digression. I've got a D&D module that begins with this story about how the kingdom needed to get some people who would be able to go on a special mission for them (I remember none of the details, I fear), so they had a contest to find the best people, and you, the player characters, won. I had three reactions to this. One was, yeah, right--like, my player's characters are going to be the best of the best, particularly given their diversity. The second was, how would I work this into the game, without completely blowing the calendar? The third was, this sounds really cool. Could I create these contests and let the players run their characters through them, so that it would be part of the story?

Now, really, the story of Prisoner of Zenda gets started when the king is drugged; everything that happens before that is geared to get the protagonist into a place where he can be asked to replace the king. All of this coercive stuff is exactly the same as me reading from the module that the characters went through these contests, except that it's played out. The moment we discover that the king is drugged, things start to loosen up drastically. Sure, if the player character won't replace the King, Sapt might arrest him as suspect in the poisoning; but the longer it goes, the less I care what the player chooses to do. Let him marry the princess, take Hentzau's bargain, ignore the letter from Maubon, whatever he wants to do is fine. I wanted to get him to the beginning of the story, fill in what was happening, and push him in the right direction; I wanted to do it as play, not description.

So yes, the player was railroaded to the place where the story begins; but then, any time the referee sets up events for the beginning of an adventure, one way or another the players are railroaded to the starting point. Then they can walk away, if that's what they want.

The alternative is never to set up a starting point. This can be done--you can just wait to see what the players are going to do, and invent the story around them--but you can't do a story like Prisoner of Zenda that way, because you have to set it up sufficiently at the starting point for it to go forward. Multiverser claims that it can run any story or world at all, without limitation. It would be silly if something as simple as this stymied it.

He then presents The Example. We'll skip the details.

Choice 1) Player: I do nothing, and keep on walking to my house.

I have no problem with that. Your analysis is pretty good. In Multiverser, there would have to be an extremely compelling reason (a listed character weakness, for example) for a referee to require any kind of roll for a character to be forced to forego this option.

What you're suggesting is that the referee set up this particular scene as a hook to get the character to chase the crook, and the character didn't bite. The right answer for the referee is get better tackle. Seriously, I think it's important for a referee to get to know his regular players well enough that he'll know what kinds of things particularly catch them, and that he use these judiciously so that the players don't learn that they always mean trouble.

Choice 2) Player: I shoot the thug five times in the chest.

The part about shooting him specifically in the chest maybe I'd ignore; I generally assume that potentially lethal attacks with unspecified targets are aimed for the best spots possible. This sort of thing leads to all kinds of potential complications--he's got his back to you, as he's running away, tht sort of thing. I'll ignore a specified location if it's not tactically important (as your next one is). That way if due to range or whatever the shots don't all hit and are not fatal, it doesn't seem incredibly strange that the guy is running away.

This actually raises a Fortune In the Middle versus Fortune at the End issue. In Multiverser, it's Fortune at the End, so even though you're saying "I shoot him in the chest" you mean "I attack him, intending to shoot him in the chest". The dice then determine whether you hit him at all, and how badly. Fortune in the Middle would mean you would state that you intend to attack him, and then roll the dice, and then depending on the determined degree of success, you could say, "I shoot him five times in the chest", meaning that this is the outcome indicated by the dice. But that's an entirely separate issue--ignore it for now.

Choice 3) Player: I shoot the thug in the leg.

Again, your analysis is correct, in my understanding.

Choice 4) Player: I chase the thug.

Right.

If the thug enters the Sandhu Corporate Building, the PC may break off the chase, not wanting to get involved with his rival corporation.  Or, the player may choose to have the PC follow him in, for a host of reasons.
But what the GM cannot do is force or trick the player into entering the building.  Now, if this is a plot by the Sandhu people, it is possible that in-game the Sandhu *people* will try to force or trick the PC into going into the building after the thug, but that is quite different from the GM doing that.

I understand.

You don't allow for the sort of thing--well, the climactic scene of The Man With One Red Shoe is a perfect example. Knowing they are being chased, Lori Singer's character leads Dabney Coleman's character into the Senate hearing room where the entire matter of covert ops is being investigated, and turns him in right there. Caught up in the chase, he is completely unaware of his location. There's a big difference between "The man you're chasing runs into the front door of an office building" and "The man you're chasing runs into the front door of the Sandhu office building". I can see either being done in a game; but if I do the former and the player doesn't ask what office it is, I don't feel I've treated him unfairly by not telling him--and if he does ask what office it is, I don't feel I'm being unfair if I ask if he intends to slow down to look at the signs.

Choice 5) Player: I concentrate real hard, perhaps harder then I ever have before, and mentally command the thug to stop in his tracks.

Well, in Multiverser, I'd let him roll, and then tell him nothing happened--but that's a quirk of Multiverser. Neither the player nor the character necessarily will know what is and is not possible in this world until he tries, and even then he may have tried and failed in a world where it is possible.

So, what have all the above examples shown?

That you still don't understand the problem?

It shows that you have a particular play style which works quite well; it shows that it's not much different from mine or Mikes. It does not show either that this is how everyone plays or that The Impossible Thing is possible. It only shows that in these specific situations, you and I would resolve matters in much the same way. These are, if you'll forgive my saying so, rather simple situations.

That illusionist referee I mentioned--I'd worked out that he was illusionist (not the word, but the method), but was still enjoying the game. He goaded me, based on my character's values, into taking on a venture that I considered incredibly dangerous. My character was one of those types that has no fear, and valued personal honor, so I knew he would not back down. I was terrified. Fortunately, though, I had stumbled on a single-use device that from what I could tell had great power, and for me as a player this was my security, my hole card. The character would take it with him, because he would take everything useful with him, and if things got impossible, he would use it.

It was about the third session of this venture that we reached what might be the point of no return. We'd gotten far enough along that there really was no turning back. Then, almost out of nowhere, we were attacked by an incredibly powerful force, the sort of thing that should have been our final battle in most people's games. We fought. I used ever bit of strategy and tactics I could muster, organized my people into defensible positions that would provide good attack opportunites and require the enemy to divide its forces against us, and kept things going. In the end, all of our people lived, although many were temporarily disabled and would require attention, and we killed all of them but one, who fled.

Even before I could assess the damages, that one returned with reinforcements, an army twenty times what we'd just barely repelled. We were already hurting, we would have had no chance against this at full strength, and we were running out of options. I played my hole card.

As soon as I played it, the enemy began to retreat, fleeing back to their strongholds out of our reach. We'd won.

It was later that night that I realized what had happened. The entire scenario had been designed to force me to sacrifice my security blanket. The referee had maneuvered me into playing that because he didn't want me to have it. It would mess up his plans.

I think we played once more. There were other reasons why the group broke up (social reasons), but I'd lost my taste for the game. It was then that I realized that nothing I did mattered. It was all color; he was in control.

Now, you will tell me that that referee was playing the "wrong" way. However, most of that gaming group went on to play with him for several more years, because they enjoyed it. They knew quite well that it was all illusionist; some of them went way over the edge, trying to bring things into the story that he couldn't handle, just to see what he would do with them. At that point, it went from illusionism to participationism--a group of players who are enjoying letting the referee tell them a story about their characters over which they know they have no control beyond color.

Note, please, that he never told me I had to play that hole card. Yet it was clear that he forced me to do it, and that this was his intent. You seem to think that because your play style works, it is 1) the only way to do it and 2) what the game texts mean when they say what they say. Yet he was equally convinced that texts saying he was the final arbiter in his game and controlled the story meant exactly this kind of play, that the players had full control over what their characters did within his ability to coerce them into his story and incorporate their actions into what he'd already decided was going to happen. You and he have both sidestepped The Impossible Thing by determining who gets to decide what. You've placed the lines in different places. Neither of you actually believes that the referee has full control over the story and the players have full control over their character actions. You've modified that by interpretation, creating a line where you think it belongs. That line is not in the text.

I think it shows that the role of the GM and the role or the players are not naturally in conflict.

As you define them, they are not.

As the books define them, they are.

That is the problem of The Impossible Thing Before Breakfast.

I apologize that this has taken so many words; I hope it has helped. I think I did manage to avoid most of the jargon, save only to say that it was irrelevant--and since it's getting close to time for me to wake up and I haven't been to bed, I'm not going to proofread this, so please also forgive any mistakes of that sort.

--M. J. Young