Hi, I've been lurking around the Forge for the past month or so, but this is my first posting. Name's Albert. I've got some stuff waiting to be typed up for the Indie Games forum, so I think I'll save a longer introduction for then.

Anyway, I recently have found myself in the unfortunate position of being several thousand miles away from all of my gaming buddies. Eventually, in game-deprived desperation, I turned to the internet and a friend of mine with strange enough sleeping habits to render the eight hour time difference irrelevant.

After a bit of discussion, we settled on an experiment in heavily freeform improvisation. We started entirely from scratch: The first piece of in-game information that was thrown out was my first post.

To offset the lack of setting information, Peter, as the player, would be given broad powers of creation. When he asked what he could actually do, I replied, "Basically, don't just drop random anvils on the NPCs heads, and I won't drop one on yours. Other than that, feel free to introduce objects, setting elements, NPCs, motivations, and whatever fairly at will". I, as the GM, basically gave myself fiat over the results of his actions, with a little hint of fortune: Every so often, I'd roll a d20 for 'favorability', and if the roll gave a significantly different outcome than what I had decided, I went with the die. Just enough to keep things interesting on my end, too. Significant occasions are annotated as such in the transcript.

Notes on the proceedings:

-We settled fairly quickly into a Phillip K. Dick-style '50s sci-fi setting. After that, it drifted a bit towards cyber-punk. I'm not sure whether I'm going to try to correct that drift in future scenes by introducing and emphasizing setting elements with a more appropriate color. That said, with only minor changes early on, the setting could have been pretty much anything.

-The heavily improvisational nature made scene transitions difficult. I, at least, was never really planning more than a post or two ahead, so any time where there wasn't an immediate objective (get away from the SPs, convince Lydia to help), things stalled a bit.

-Similarly, I need to be less reactive. While making the whole thing one long chase scene doesn't sound so great, I should feel free to throw more incidental setting elements (like the bum) at him.

-I need to introduce more NPCs. I think my favorite of these scenes was the one with the bum, simply because it gave me the opportunity to bring a bit of actual character into the world. Of course, someone on the run from the SPs isn't exactly going to stop to talk to everyone.

-I like to think we've taken good advantage of the online medium. Specifically, in allowing more time to consider what's being said, add bits of incidental detail and characterization, and automatically create a transcript that is actually readable.

In any case, I hope some of you find this at least mildly interesting. I really think that an online chat-room-based medium has a lot of potential for the process of role-playing, and wouldn't mind any insights on how to refine its particular strengths. I'm almost tempted to experiment with this process a few more times and perhaps systematize it a bit.

GM : THUNK THUNK. The harsh thumps on the outside of the wooden door jolt you from your sleep. Through your first moments of waking haze, you catch a somewhat muffled, but still detectably authoritative, "Come out right now, Shicholo! You have escaped your fate long enough."
P : Struggling with both the tangled bedsheets and a truly unpleasant hangover, I shout "My deepest apologies, sir, but I'm afraid I've no idea who this 'Schicholo' fellow is."
GM : Another THUNK on the door, strong enough to slightly warp the hinges. "I am sure. Now, if you do not open this door, we shall be forced to break it down, and then you will be responsible for damages, too." The voice seems to find great humor in the potential addition of this meager surcharge.
P : I speak loudly in an attempt to cover the sounds of frantic packing, more shoving whatever possessions come to hand into the valise than anything resembling care. "Fine. I'm sure that you could find it in your infinite mercy to grant me a moment to dress? If I must meet my 'fate', as you put it, I'd really rather do it fully clothed." [note: Peter's use of 'valise' was what originally prodded me in the setting direction of '50sish sci-fi. It just struck me as a vaguely '50s word. Also, admittedly, I've been reading a bunch of PKD recently, so I was in the mood.]
GM : The knocking stops, and an increasingly irritated voice responds, "Fine. I expect you to be fully dressed and with the door open in five seconds, or else dignity becomes immaterial; no more. Five, four..."
P : It is a but a moment's work to decide that I was really never that attached to those particular possessions currently located outside of the valise. Thanking my prudence, foresight, and most importantly, luck for the selection of a second floor room, I open the window and prepare to leap.
GM : "...Two, one, zero. Out now, Shicholo!" And a moment later the door goes flying inward, followed immediately by a battering-ram of a meaty goon in the navy-blue SP uniform, G-pistol swiftly arcing up to sweep the room. An instant's delay is afforded before his CO, peeking over his shoulder through the scattering shavings, shouts, "Not this time! Just shoot!"
P :Surprised by the sudden entrance, my planned graceful leap turns into an ignominious fall, knocking the wind out of me and turning the headache from a major annoyance into a storm of lightning confined entirely to my skull. I scramble in the valise for my pistol, hoping that, just this once, I actually remembered to load the damn thing.
GM : For one brief, blessed moment, the alley beside you appears empty and quiet. Then, of course, the SPs make it to the window and aim wildly in your direction. Just as you whip your own sidearm out of the bag, you hear the electric snap of a G-pistol shot, coupled with the sizzle of a melting valise.
P : Were this a calmer moment, it'd be interesting to note the interaction of an adrenaline rush with a total lack of oxygen. As it is, I'll settle for limping down the alley and making a crude attempt at suppressive fire.
GM *: Your own bullets back them from the window quickly enough and for just long enough to allow you to turn the corner around the adjacent building. You've still only bought a happy-meal's worth of time, but at least it's something. [Made a roll for this, and got in the range of 14-16. That'll buy him a minute]
P :Well, I've just engaged in a gunfight with the SP on city streets. Not good times. First order of business is to get out of this place, then out of these clothes, then if I can arrange it, out of this face. Too bad the only even semi-reliable faceshaper in the city is probably the one who sold me out. I run towards the street.

GM : Around another corner, and you burst onto the sparsely populated sidewalk of the expressway. Ground cars stop and go along the pavement and the occasional aerocar zooms through the air above, on its way into or out of the city. A few blocks away, the blare of sirens keeps you on your toes.
P : I break into a full-out shamble into the path of the nearest groundcar. Damn bulletproof plastics. Going to have to do this the hard way. Drawing my pistol, I level it at my temple. "Out of the car! Now! I'll do it, I swear!"
GM : The car, about to accelerate through a new green, screeches to a swervy stop. The thin, tweed-suited businessman at the wheel stares dumbly through the windshield at you. You can practically read the utter lack of comprehension on his face. After a moment, honks start to build up from cars in the line behind him.
P : Nothing I like better than a big spectacle when I'm trying to run to ground...
P : I lean over, both hands on the hood, my face as close to his as possible. "GET OUT OF THE CAR!"
GM *: The poor guy twitches, eyes darting back and forth between your face and the pistol, face and pistol. In the midst of his paralysis, you can see the door to the car behind his open after a final bleat, and a heavyset man crossly get out and lumber forward, "Hey, buddy, what's go-- holy shit!" [rolled here and got middling result. He doesn't get the original car, but he still gets a car.]
P : I shamble towards him, and more importantly, his car. "Thanks for the donation, kind sir. I can assure you that when the local constubulary recovers your vehicle, as they most certainly will given the on-board tracking device, it will be mostly entirely unharmed."
GM : On the one hand, he would lose his car. On the other, he would avoid toying with the vagaries of a shabby man with strange mode of speech and a handgun. Deciding that cowardice is the better part of not getting shot, the man backs away, eyes wide with fright.
P : Peel plastic to the Stacks and ditch the car there. I'll need to keep moving on foot, but at least it's not likely that I'll run into too many police patrols on the sardine can side of town.

GM : The buildings get simultaneously taller and more shabby as you head north into a light drizzle, until you nearly get lost among the urban canyons of the housing projects. Stepping out of the car, you notice the usual bunch of addicts, pushers, and other lurkers huddling in entryways of run-down buildings and waiting out life.
P : Let's see, time to total my assets. One pistol, check. The clothes on my back, such as they are, check. One probably-soon-to-be-recovered car, check. Not going to get me very far. Guess I might as well loot the damn thing before I ditch it. I check the car's trunk/glove compartment/etc. for anything remotely useful.
GM* : Too bad, it looks like you stole the car of Dully McDullsville. All you turn up is a flashlight and a few music chits from the glove box, and an unremarkable briefcase in the back, with two pens, a pencil, small notebook half full of illegible scribbles, and a folder of boring accounting documents. Unless you've suddenly gained interest in the daily expenditures of the middle managers of the Philadelphia branch of SugaroCorp Ltd., it's nothing special. Oh, also a gray rain coat, which I suppose might be useful. [Rolled, rather low result. No cash or other really useful things in the glovebox]
P : Not too shabby overall. The raincoat makes me look less like a deranged, gun-toting lunatic and more like a respectable member of society. Too bad that respectable members of society don't tend to last long in the Stacks. Might as well toss the rest of the stuff and the keys in the briefcase. Not quite a replacement for my valise, but it'll do for now. Might as well leave the folder here, on second thought. I sold my SugaroCorp stock a long time ago.
GM : Well, reasonably equipped, you become even happier for the presence of the raincoat; the day's drizzle has intensified to a full on rain. As you turn from the car, you are confronted with a shabbily soaked black man, slumped over and looking at least as down on his luck as you are. "Hey buddy, spare a credit? A quarter, even?"
P : "Not a credit to my name, unfortunately."
P : "Don't suppose you'd happen to know anyone around here who's both real stupid and interested in buying a car real fast?"
GM : "A car? What, that one" He nods at the coupe. "Looks new enough to have one of those police trackers on it. You'd have to be hopped up pretty bad to fall for that one." Even so, he sticks his head inside and glances around, "Then again, you might be able to get a few creds for these chairs. Upholstry ain't bad, know what I mean? How long you got before they come lookin'?"
P : "10, 15 minutes tops."
GM : The man gives a sudden start, banging his head on the door frame while attempting to extricate himself, "What, you mean they already on the way? You jizzed, man! Ain't nobody gonna try to strip this car on that kinda deadline. I'm sorry I even stopped to talk with pigs that close!" Shooting you one last incredulous look, he takes off down the street.
P : I give the door one last kick. "Damn newfangled tech. He does have a point, though." I start moving down the street in a probabalistically ill-advised attempt to find a working vidbooth.

GM *: Perhaps finding one isn't so hard... It's finding a working one that gets iffy. You do spot a vidbooth after a mere two blocks, so covered in assorted graffiti as to be almost unrecognizable. When the handset is picked up, the screen itself just crackles, though you heard a regular dial tone through the earpiece. [middling result on the roll. Things would more likely be interesting if he found one than if he didn't, so I gave it]
P : What the hell, give it a shot. I attempt to collect call Lyida.
GM : Blrrrlrrrlrrr, Blrrrlrrrlrrr. The ring tones seem to go on forever before the sound clicks through. "Hello?" Lydia's soft voice, confused perhaps because of the lack of visual feed, buzzes through. Sound quality's not as good as normal, but still intelligible.
P : "Hey. It's Simon. Sorry about the, uh, sudden disappearence. I was kind of running from the SP for a while. Well, technically, I still am. That's not really the important part, though. The important part is, have you seen that bastard Doc Kaneda around lately?"
GM : Now the confusion almost certainly has nothing to do with the lack of visual feed. "God, Simon, it's been weeks! The SP? What do the SP want with you?" Perhaps a hint of fear, too.
P :"Well, judging from the way they've been shooting, it looks like they want to kill me. As to why... it's somewhat unclear. I did sell some very tangentially related stuff that our poor departed Adam Marzik grabbed off some piddly government server a while ago, but it's not exactly the next Operation Firecracker; the stuff sure as hell isn't worth the effort of tracking me down."
GM : "What? Simon, I thought we agreed that you were going to stop stealing government documents after that Mainframe-breaking and entering misdemeanor last summer! Especially after the trouble it got Eric into..." Wrong thing to say, perhaps. She definitely sounds huffy.
P : "That's the thing. I didn't steal them. Adam did. I just fenced them."
P : "I would never do something that risky. More than the one time, I mean."
GM : "Don't mince words with me, Simon!" Oh yeah, she's pissed. "If you're going to be like that, I don't know why I should help you. Kaneda's moved on, over to New Jersey. Go on, find him, but," a pause for a threshold-crossing breath, "Don't bother coming back. I want no part of this!"
P : "Look, Lydia. I'm sorry. It's just been a very stressful day. I've been shot at. I have no money, and no transportation. I'm stuck in the Stacks. Can't we just both calm down and think this over?"
GM* : Her anger seems to almost melt into the edges of sobs, "Damn it, I'm sorry, Simon, but the SPs! If they've put out a public notice for your arrest, they could come get me for even talking to you... It's just... scary, Simon... You disappeared with no warning, and now this, and you're telling me you've still been dealing with the black market..." [She was about to hang up on him, but I rolled a natural 20...]
P : "I'm sorry. It's scary for me too, believe me. I'll get this whole thing sorted out soon, get a new face, get the SP off my back... it'll work out, just give me a little time. Everything's going to be alright. Just me take a shower, pick up a few things, and then I won't be anywhere near you until the whole thing's blown over. You'll be perfectly safe."
GM : "Look," Her voice has stabilized a bit, but still quavers around the edges, "I'll hide a key under the bonsai sugaro and go see a movie with a friend, okay? Don't spend the night, but get your things and do what you need to."
P : "Thanks. You're a lifesaver. I'll see you soon, hopefully."
P : "I don't suppose you can chain me to a cab company?"
GM : "I guess... sure. Take care, Simon..." A click and a whirr brings you back to a ringing tone. "heLLO! This is Philadelphia Gold Cabs. Can I help you, sir or madam?"
P : "Yeah. Can I get a cab at" <leaning out of the booth to peer at a street sign> "the corner of MLK and 45th?
GM : clicklick click clickick "MLK and 45th? And where is your projected destination, sir?"
P : "Willow and 2nd." A few blocks from Lydia's place.
GM : "I see sir." click cklickick, "We have a cab currently on Harrison and 38th. He should be there in about five minutes. Based on current traffic conditions, the estimated cost will be 16 credits 73. Who should the driver look for?"
P : "Gray raincoat, suitcase."
GM : "I see, sir. Please wait on the northeast side of the intersection, and your cab should be there shortly."
P : "Thanks." <Hang up>
GM : The heavier rain, cold and wet as it is, has served one purpose: Through its gray sheets, effective visibility in the canyons has been reduced to a block or less. Unless the SP happen to wander down this particular street in search of you before the cab arrives, you should be fine.
P : Well... I guess that went better than could be expected. Kind of lucky the vid was busted; she'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea of the new face before she actually has to see it. That's the way my luck works, I guess. Doesn't win me the big 12, but it keeps me from getting screwed when I really deserve it. That's assuming she's willing to see me again, of course. Even if she is, I've got no fucking chance of talking the SP into letting poor little me be. Not a lot of leads, either. Adam's gone, Kaneda split... I can't make heads or tails of a pattern in the data... [At this point, it was getting a bit late, so we closed the scene and the session for the night.]

[edited just a bit to provide clearer explanation of the startup process]

Hey Albert,

Welcome to the Forge. I don't know if you're familiar with the Indie-netgaming group, but you should probably check it out if you're interested in chat-room based play. You can go to Indie-netgaming to find out more. We do a whole lot of IRC based play there, as well as some play-by-post over email, message board, or Wiki based setup.

You can find a thread here that concerns some play in a very similar style over IRC.

Personally, I find the style of play that you're talking about (no-myth play) to be much easier on the GM, and much more successful, if the GM has a good idea of what the players want (what goals they have for their characters, etc.). Not so that you can give it to them so much as present opportunities for them to make those desires bear fruit. As a GM, you're in a much better position to set conflicts in motion that the players find interesting if you know what kinds of situations the players wish to explore during play.

All that applies to any style of play, but I think it's absolutely crucial to satisfying no-myth play.

-Chris

*Edited to note that no-myth play has nothing to do with a free-form or "rules lite" system. It's about setting creation in an improvisational manner and no pre-game preperation in regards to "what's going to happen", or even "what might happen". All the magic takes place during actual play. Look in the Articles section at the Provisional Glossary for (soon to be) official definitions.