Okay!  The second Capes session at DexCon!

I was stuck with a bit of a poser.  My original thinking, when I scheduled the three events, was that I would take the story that emerged from the first event, and roll it forward into the second event.  That ... well ... not so much.  Since the first session will be forever remembered for the Magical President of Magical Paraguay, and similar joyful chaos, it didn't strike me as a hugely good foundation to build on.  Maybe that was my loss.

In any event, I decided to go ahead from scratch, but still keep with the blurb for the second session:  Hunted.  The idea was to have the heroes defeated and on the run.  But they hadn't actually been defeated yet!  Awkward.

Nonetheless, here were the extra Comics Code entries (above and beyond typical stuff like "Heroes will not be killed" which is only conspicuous if it is absent):

• The heroes cannot find any place that is safe ... they can hunker down in Cheyenne Mountain behind a hundred tons of concrete, but just when they think they're safe the bad guys will find a way in.
• The heroes cannot be captured
• The heroes cannot win a stand-up fight.

For those not familiar with the rules system, this means that all of these things are gloatable:  the heroes can't achieve them, but they get big points for driving toward them anyway.  This didn't appear explicitly in the game (none of us gave people the opportunity to gloat things) but it hugely informed tactics.  Preventing gloating was an important consideration.

Now another important consideration was the fact that, unlike the previous session, this one was filled by people who knew and had played the system.  That means, on the gross practical level, I didn't have to diffuse our energies at the beginning by explaining the game rules.  But I suspect that it meant a lot more.

Throughout the game I saw a laser focus that I never expected from a convention game:  We knew what we were collectively doing at the table, and while we had huge conflicts over specific points, the following things were perfectly clear:

• Ideological lines would be drawn between Major Victory (native defender of America, democracy, choice and one presumes apple pie) and Lady Victory (attacker from the alternate reality where, under her charge, America has established a brutal world-wide empire of forced democracy).  All other characters would fit into that overarching structure.
• The native heroes were destined for a beat-down ... obviously, from the Comics code.  The folks playing them were, nonetheless, excited to get in their and go down swinging.

It was glorious.  We had a scene in Millenium Plaza (now dotted with invading machine-gun nests and emplacements) where Major Victory confronted Lady Victory, both hammering away with arguments and fists.

Major Victory:  You don't want to bring people democracy!  You're just shoving your way down their throats whether they want it or not.  You want to be a slaveholder!
Lady Victory:  And you!  You want to put their choice up on a pedestal so that when they make the clearly wrong choice you have an excuse to wring your hands and do nothing rather than make the hard call.  Coward!

And, of course, they were tearing up the city-scape in their super-powered fight.  And, of course, they were both wearing the flag.  They were surrounded by the symbols of both freedom and oppression, and we were totally ready to make those part of the argument as well.

I think my favorite was when the guy playing Major Victory (I am sadly blanking on many of the names at this session, as they were not familiar to me from past games) threw my character, Lady Victory, back into a tangle of barbed wire.  As he narrated an argument about how military solutions always beget more military solutions he also described that my character was tangled in the barbed wire.  On my reaction I narrated that Lady Victory said "But military solutions are solutions!" and grabbed a handful of the barbed wire, wrapping her hand in it, and used it to punch Major Victory in the face.

Subtle we weren't.

The fight ended, as it had to, with no conclusive triumph for either side, but Major Victory executing a (heh) "strategic withdrawal."  Our second and final scene was with a whole handful of the native heroes gathered in a decommissioned revolutionary war museum in Philadelphia.  So, as we talked about stuff like "Can we risk the lives of the people by continuing to fight against oppression?" and "What is our first priority, achieving our goals or keeping to the principles of America?" we were constantly narrating how the paintings of Washington and Jefferson and other founding fathers looked down on us impassively.  Too cool.

The guy playing Mayor Weakely really cleaned up in this scene:  we spent a lot of time pounding steel into his surrender-monkey backbone, and he mined us for crazy story tokens.  In the end though, the bad guys found us (as it was inevitable they would).  The guy playing Weakely laid down "Event:  Betrayal" and just left it at that.  We fought hard for that ... like playing hot potato with a live hand grenade.

The narrator at the end described that Major Victory betrayed the revolution and got us all put into custody.  There was barely time for some characters (notably Gun Bunny, MV's ex-sidekick) to express their outrage and others (Commissioner Blake) to express their confidence that if MV was doing it then the surrender must be part of a greater plan ... then the session was over.

This session was palpably different from all Capes games I had run in conventions prior to that.  It had a great deal more similarity with the Capes games I've played at home, with friends who know each other and know the system.  It would have made a good comic book (DC, mid-80s, Superman and Green Arrow).  There are tons of little details that I haven't mentioned (I haven't even discussed Glory Boy's fairly vital role throughout) but all of those details lined up with the main thematic confrontations going on.  There wasn't anything there that wasn't there for a reason.  The results were writerly.

Now what I'm wondering is this:  What are the factors that turn the game from silly to serious?

Is it that, once the novelty of the system wears off, players can stop saying "I can do this, therefore I will do this" and say instead "Okay, I can do anything, now what should I do?"

Is it that this group wanted serious and that group wanted silly, and they simply got what they wanted?

Is it some ineffable "artistic integrity" thing?  That seems a cop-out to me.

How, in short, can I work to make sure that I get more of this type of game in future?  'cuz I want more.

Tony,

What kind of talk went on at the table before play actually started?  I know the Comics Code had to have been passed out or read to the players.  Anything else?  Was tone/style of the game discussed at all or did you just jump right in?

I told 'em the Comics Code, and I gave (I think) an example or two.  I said the whole "You can hole up in Cheyenne mountain, but then at the end the bad guys will get in," for instance.

And I passed around pre-generated characters, which involved telling people my takes on a lot of them.  So that may have slanted them towards Major Victory and Lady Victory, as I described them one after the other.

If I'd started by describing Gun Bunny ("She's bitter about the fact that MV was so much more interested in having a flunky than in having a partner") and Glory Boy ("Sure, Lady Victory's done some things that are hard to swallow, but she's such a good mentor that it's easy for Glory Boy to trust that she's doing the right thing for the world, just like she's doing the right thing for him,") then it might have slanted the story toward something else.

There really wasn't a lot of back-and-forth at the beginning.  People looked very eager to get down to play.  That having been said, I got the distinct sense that the players were sitting there watching my descriptions with the intention of mining my presentation for ideas of how to drive the game.  They chose characters quickly, and with great determination.

I have run a lot of Capes one-shots and they've run the gamut from serious to funny to some pretty amazing blends of the two. It seems as though it all comes down to what people want out of the game. The first one-shot I ever ran was with my friends Mike and Sarah and we wanted to do a metahuman detective game, and apart from one silly goal set down by me (the detectives were pumping a bum for information in their office and I laid down "Goal: Urinate on rug.") it was totally serious. Another game I ran with my friends Sean and Chris who are intelligent, funny guys ended up being funny but in a dark and thoughtful way - a cowboy hunting demons for the Catholic Church was at different times hilariously stupid, eerily insane, and possessed of a powerful faith. And then in a game I ran at Arcon the plot was goofy and barely coherent, but still fun. The differences I can see were in how well I knew the people at the table, and whether they sat down with something in mind as far as what they wanted to do.

In my games with friends I think we vibe off each other better and as a result the Conflicts end up better since we know each other well, even if it's their first time playing. At con games, the combination of people who are unfamiliar with the rules and unfamiliar with each other leaves them grasping for something to hang on to, and in a game with as much freedom as Capes allows they can sometimes have a hard time finding something to hang on to. So my coherent, focused game experiences seem to be because of one of two things:

- The people at the table know each other.
- The people at the table know the rules.

And I've found either makes for more focused stories than lacking both.

As an addendum, I was in the game running side-by-side with yours, and it wasn't nearly as coherent or focused as yours. We had two players who didn't know the system at all (Shawn De Arment and another man whose name I've forgotten), and one who'd only ever played in the Magical Paraguay game (Elizabeth). Which I think lends some more oomph to my idea that you need one of the two things I've mentioned - we lacked both.

Huh?  Now I'm doubting my own memories of events.

I'd like to think that, even in convention haze, I wouldn't have moved myself away from the table where there were people who didn't know the rules.  I generally try to facilitate events.

Wierd.  Did the guys at my table know the rules, or is that my memory playing tricks on me?  I'd forgotten that this was one of the times with a second table, for instance, so ... yoinks.

Convention sleep-deprivation does not make for the most coherent AP reports.  I shoulda taken notes.  Hopefully the guys who were in the game will drift 'round and post their experiences.  Presumably they at least remember whether they knew the game going in.

My experience in playing Capes is that, even though it is technically a game without a GM, whoever organizes the session can make a big difference, in an almost GM-like way.  Since it isn't my thread, I won't provide examples, but I am convinced that whoever starts the thing off has a lot of control on how it goes. 

So I would change Bret's list somewhat, and say it is actually one of these two things that are important:

1 The people at the table know the rules.
2 The people at the table all have a clear direction to head in the story.

I don't think it matters quite so much if the people know each other, except in so far as it helps in quickly establishing point 2.  And I would argue that point 1 is by far the more important one; it is just too hard to keep track of what is going on when you are learning the rules of this complex game.  I won't say it is a precondition of coherent fiction, but it comes close.

Tony, I suggest that what you did, through your providing the characters, comics code, etc. was essentially fulfilled a GM-like role in the game.  Just reading that comics code gives me chills; it really sets the stage.  I am assuming you provided the first scene as well?  This provided the focus that was necessary to generate the cool and above all fairly coherent fiction.  This focus carried over into the 2nd scene, and conceivably would have carried over into a longer campaign.

Did you provide similar guidance for the wacky Paraguay session?  If so, did your guidance tend people towards the wacky?  I note in that thread you say something about the "Mephisto's Pantry" neighborhood; did you come up with this beforehand, or did someone else come up with it on the fly?  The name "Mephisto's Pantry" already sends a message that the game is liable to be a bit...goofy.

Hans wrote:
Tony, I suggest that what you did, through your providing the characters, comics code, etc. was essentially fulfilled a GM-like role in the game.

Hans wrote:
Did you provide similar guidance for the wacky Paraguay session?

Hans wrote:
The name "Mephisto's Pantry" already sends a message that the game is liable to be a bit...goofy.

TonyLB wrote:

Hans wrote:
The name "Mephisto's Pantry" already sends a message that the game is liable to be a bit...goofy.

Really?  I provided that.  I just read it as a gloss for "Hell's Kitchen."  If other people are reading it differently then maybe I need another name.  I agree that people have, by and large, played it as goofy rather than the salt-of-the-earth poor folk that I envision.  Hrmmm.  Such a big impact to be made in two little words.

TonyLB wrote:

Hans wrote:
Tony, I suggest that what you did, through your providing the characters, comics code, etc. was essentially fulfilled a GM-like role in the game.

...I'm not sure that I buy that this direction must be centralized in one person, though. 

• The native heroes cannot stop the attackers from achieving any material goal (yet!)
• The attackers cannot force any moral concesssion from the native heroes (yet!)

Hans wrote:
The name "Mephisto's Pantry" already sends a message that the game is liable to be a bit...goofy.

Cool.  I may just do something that doesn't even evoke Hell's Kitchen, rather than risk the parody element.  The same neighborhood, named (say) "Foundry Row" would be both more evocative (working-class immigrants laboring in the steel mills ... but now the mills are closed, and it's just decaying) and less apt to be parodied.

Sound about right?

TonyLB wrote:
"Foundry Row"

Ohhhhhhh ... I just realized something.

Foundry Row has to have debt.  It has a worldview that it (through its people) will fight for, and which can have setbacks.  One which has had setbacks, for decades.  Let me see ... Pride, Despair, Hope, Duty and Justice.

I love the idea of  a neighborhood having debt, Tony. I think you and I even posted back and forth about click-and-lock neighborhoods at some point.

On the "silly" vs. "serious" question:

It is astounding how seemingly tiny details can turn out to be the seed crystals for larger-scale patterns. I'd refer folks, for a theoretical analysis, to myoverly long post on Story Games about setting detail that constrains your imagination vs. setting detail that inspires it; and, as a specific example, to my attempt at encoding the entire Star Wars setting in four rules and two images.

A blank page is the most creativity-blocking thing there can be: Where do you start? That's why it's tremendously important to have, if not a "gamemaster" as such, a reasonably creative and assertive person to put that first idea out there. I've seen lots of Capes actual play reports of groups floundering because no one took this role.

A lavish, lovingly detailed, internally coherent, fully-fleshed out setting or character concept can be almost as bad a block: What could you possibly add? That's why it's tremendously self-defeating to read everything you can find before you start playing. Here too, there's lots of Actual Play evidence from everyone from White Wolf splatbook collectors to Tolkein enthusiasts.

But if you've got a lot of white space on your page, one or two small things you see already set down on it can end up structuring everything to come. This can be a general rule ("algorithm") like "the heroes can't win for losing" -- where the thematic significance is explicit, but the application abstract -- or a specific detail ("seed crystal") like the name "Foundry Row" or "Mephisto's Pantry" -- whose imagery is pretty concrete, but whose thematic significance is entirely implicit. (Or better yet, a combination of both). And the less you explicitly define, the more the implicit connations and resonances of words are going to matter, so the difference between the images called up by "Pantry" vs. "Kitchen" can loom large.

It's also critical to realize that the game system can provide these kinds of general principles and specific details. Players will tend to adopt very different solutions to in-game problems in a game where the "Combat" chapter is 20 pages and "Diplomacy" is a one-paragraph skill description, vs. a game where shooting someone and smiling coyly are described by the exact same conflict resolution mechanics (see Tony's "free to be subtle" paragraph in the other Dexcon thread). Players will react very differently to a "Foundry Row" represented by a hex map with a precise scale correlated to the game's table of firearms and ranged superpower effects, versus a "Foundry Row" is represented by a sheet with "Despair: 5" at the top. Vincent Baker's idiosyncratic use of the term "cues" for the physical props of gameplay suddenly strikes me as the perfect word.

Sydney wrote:
A blank page is the most creativity-blocking thing there can be: Where do you start? That's why it's tremendously important to have, if not a "gamemaster" as such, a reasonably creative and assertive person to put that first idea out there. I've seen lots of Capes actual play reports of groups floundering because no one took this role.

A lavish, lovingly detailed, internally coherent, fully-fleshed out setting or character concept can be almost as bad a block: What could you possibly add? That's why it's tremendously self-defeating to read everything you can find before you start playing. Here too, there's lots of Actual Play evidence from everyone from White Wolf splatbook collectors to Tolkein enthusiasts.

I'm Paul, the guy who played Glory Boy/Mayor Weakley. Hmm...my perceptions of the session were slightly different than Tony's.

To start with, my knowledge of the game rules weren't as extensive as Tony would have you think. I was constantly asking for clarifications and such. My home group had tried the game a while back and, as it turned out, mangled the rules extensively. I had the general feel down, though.

If I looked like I was listening to the intro with the idea of using it to "game the game," well, that was more or less accurate. Partially I wanted to see the Gloating rules in action, and partially I wanted to win. :)

My memory of "Event:Betrayal" was also a bit different. I put it down then claimed one side. I expected you and the other guy (whose name I've also forgotten, I'm sorry) to fight over the other side, maybe even split it into three. Instead, you both rolled up my claim. I was tempted to try to roll up the other side to keep it alive -- my whole point in introducing it was to milk story tokens -- but then someone (I think Tony) staked debt, and powerless Mayor Weakley was stuck explaining who betrayed whom. I wasn't expecting that.

I also don't remember it as being particularly "serious." Coherent, yes, but I thought the whole thing as being light and fun. I particularly played Mayor Weakley for laughs, I thought. And Glory Boy, for that matter. ("Gosh, his point is both rhetorical AND violent!")

A great session, though. Thanks for running it. :)

Paul

Hans wrote:
The key is to find the exact right level of detail to start things with that works for the game you are playing and the experience you are trying to create; just enough blank space, and just enough words.  This level of detail is very different for different games.  With Capes convention play, I suggest this might be:

* A solid, non-generic Comics Code (i.e. a Code that specifically creates a mood, theme, or points to a particular genre).
* A first scene idea that builds conflict immediately.

Crap...dang lack of edit.

I meant to also add that

* A set of pre-generated characters that at least give the players the idea, even if they are not required to be played.

Now that's a thought: Pregenerated characters are really important in setting the tone even if no one actually plays them. They're seed crystals.

Ralph, I'm going to snap that idea of yours right onto the intellectual armature I'm developing over here. Thanks! These are important issues for any game, but especially critical for ones like Universalis and Capes where you do not and cannot have ten pages of mediocre setting fiction in the front of the book as a guide.

Paul, welcome to the Forge! Allow me to give you a big internet high-five you for "gaming the system" -- that's what you're supposed to do, in Capes, and the designer (Tony) came away very happy with the story that emerged. And I don't think it's possible to tell a serious superhero story without some ludicrously silly details; superheroes are a ludicrously silly concept in the first place, which is part of their power.

Oh, and:

AATLEMIDRM wrote:
[On] "Event:Betrayal" ...I expected you and the other guy (whose name I've also forgotten, I'm sorry) to fight over the other side, maybe even split it into three. Instead, you both rolled up my claim. I was tempted to try to roll up the other side to keep it alive -- my whole point in introducing it was to milk story tokens -- but then someone (I think Tony) staked debt, and powerless Mayor Weakley was stuck explaining who betrayed whom. I wasn't expecting that.

Yeah, Mephisto's Pantry invokes silliness, in my opinion. Foundry Row seems more gritty and real.