A roleplaying game should be played like a symphony.

It should start quiet and calm, like a single cello. The opening scenes should be played in a deep and protracted rythm, going on like a meditation on a theme; the slowly changing weather, some dust dancing in the wind, leafs falling, the food on the table being eaten in silence. The Gm should establish this with care, using few words and a lot of silence, talking calmly and low, making the setting come alive like some dizzy mirage; sketchy; bleak; wavering. The players should be required to answer him in the same voice, and be instructed to limit their initiatives to the elements presented by the GM. There should be no dialogue, only description from the GM, and thoughts and tinkering from the roles.

Then the violines starts to play, and the dialogues awakens. NPCs will talk to the roles, on insignificant things, what beer they want, the weather, begging for coins, wishing them well, thanking them for the payment, admonishing them to eat the porridge. The players should be incited to start conversations themselves, between the roles, keeping the themes low-key, still in contact with the cello-mood, but with the occational burst of fresh violines.

Then a significant figure presents itself, stating a business with the roles, demanding or praying for actions with the force of trumpets. The GM raise from his chair, challenging the roles from a standing position, using all his authority to manipulate them. This is an imposing figure, and it wants the roles to do its bidding. Now the cello moves to the background, but still there, colouring the scene. The violines play up against the trumpets, like the NPCs starts to react to the dramatic figure, maybe admonishing the roles not to follow his lead, or supporting him. Still; it is the dramatic figure that dominates the scene, with his loud and insisting trumpets, bursting with anger and energy!

This is a time for action! The roles marches to war, sneaks away to steal their treasuere, or rides boldly out on their quest. The drums are following them, like warnings of their strenght and cunning. The drums play out their fighting spirit, showing them off and building them up to an early bloom at the start of the adventure. The Gm challenges each and every player to stand and state the thoughts of the roles, as they ride forth. And the GM use all his skill to portrait the villagers or soldiers or wifes waving to them, admiring them, hoping for them to succeed in their quest. The drums speaks of deeds to be done, treasures to be found, and death to be faced. The deep drumming speaks of possible disasters, shadows following them, portents of evil. Dark is the drumming, and foreboding.

And it all explodes in a chaos of sound, all instruments blasting off at the same time, as the adventure reach its finale. The GM will hammer his fists on the table, throwing away his jumper, leaning forward and shouting the actions of his vile monsters and maniacs. He will blow the horns of doom, and explode in a frenzy of brute force! No pardon will be given. the players must fend for themselves, as the GM poses them questions on what their roles do, but he does not wait for them to answer. If they don't answer at once, he will strike them down, smite them, harass them and kill them wantonly. His is the orchestra, the world, and all evil in it. His to command, and to bring upon the roles. The players are the only guardians of the roles, and the roles are their only tool. They must meet evil, and conquer it, in a dramatic finale where hell rages around them, and the GM throw away his thin cloac of civility. Boom! boom! Boom!

And then it is over. The fight is won, or lost. Swords sink to the ground, roles look around, and the world is still standing. They rides home, the heroes of our adventure. The trumpets are playing their sad defeat or happy victory. But the trumpets get weaker after a while, like all defeats and victories are forgotten. The violines chatters on about the happening, distorting it, making it bigger or lesser than it was. But eventually they also will quiet down, leaving the rest to the wind and the leaves. The single cello plays on, restoring the game to its initial atmosphere, returning to the theme of tranquility, silencing all talk between the players, all talk on deeds and heroes, or any kind of extraordinary action. Nothing is left but some low key comments on the wind in the leaves, the birds singing familiar tunes in the trees, and the slow breath of a sleeping role.

A roleplaying game should be played like a symphony.

The following paragraph has been changed, to better reflect the build up towards the finale:

This is a time for action! The roles marches to war, sneaks away to steal their treasuere, or rides boldly out on their quest. The drums are following them, like warnings of their strenght and cunning. The drums play out their fighting spirit, showing them off and building them up to an early bloom at the start of the adventure. The Gm challenges each and every player to stand and state the thoughts of the roles, as they ride forth. And the GM use all his skill to portrait the villagers or soldiers or wifes waving to them, admiring them, hoping for them to succeed in their quest. The drums speaks of deeds to be done, treasures to be found, and death to be faced. The deep drumming speaks of possible disasters, shadows following them, portents of evil. And as they meet the challenges, the drums beat wildly, the plot thickens, the adversaries swarm over them, and they must fight to hold their ground, and to advance through darkness. This is the time when the game climbs towards climax, with problems hunting the characters all the way, stemming their march, undermining their belief in themselves as heroes. Dark is the drumming, and foreboding.

That is one way to do it.

I challenge the use of the word "should".

But then, as a musician and composer, I'm not certain whether all symphonies follow the pattern you've described, either.

--M. J. Young

M. J. Young wrote: That is one way to do it.

Does this apply, do you think to single sessions, or is the cycle that you described meant to cover multi-session play?

Mike

Hi Mike,

I have not reflected on that. I'd think that it would fit best within a single session, as the finale is so closely dependant on the build up to really function on such a level.

I believe that a player group doing the build up, then breaking up and meeting again for a new session next week, to play the finale, would have trouble establishing the same intensity and finding the right mood.

This example is similar to all other roleplaying in that respect; you don't break off in the middle of action, if you don't have to.

On the other side; it could be that such a dramatic curve would function in a greater scale too, giving a campaign a consistent feel of primary idleness, developing in stages into some sort of final frenzy (perhaps lasting for several sessions, or only one spectacular one), and then subsiding quite quickly into the old and familiar idleness for some sessions (an aftermath of conflict).