So last night I ran a playtest of Six Bullets for Vengeance with my regular gaming group. It was a spectacular failure, but a fascinating, if frustrating, playtest.

First, a little bit of background on the group. With the exception of one of the other guys, the group is very firmly entrenched in traditional roleplaying games – we normally play Earthdawn, WFRP, Savage Worlds or something similar. They’re curious enough about indie games to let me run a one-off of something every month or so, but I’ve yet to find one they’ll accept wholeheartedly. It’s frustrating at times, but for the most part we have fun regardless.

Needless to say, I was nervous about running them through Six Bullets, which is fairly far out of their comfort zone. This was coupled with my determination to go in blind with as minimum setup as possible, as discussed here.

I ran it straight out of the book as a Western, with the only bit of prep us discussing who would be the protagonist and who would be the antagonists. Oliver was the protagonist, whilst myself, Gaz and Dave took two antagonists each.

With hindsight I should have explained the game more, laying it out a bit more thoroughly how the game should play and what should happen, but as my explanations were generating confused looks I thought we’d be better off just starting. This turned out to be a mistake.

The game started quite strongly. Oliver framed the epilogue with a smoky saloon bar, albeit one littered with dead and dying bodies, arterial blood (very specific) sprayed everywhere. The protagonist, Mark Knox, stood across the bar from the antagonist, Ten Bears, both armed with knives. They talked, they fought, Ten Bears died, the End.

We rolled back to the start of chapter 6, I set the scene, distributed dice to other players to involve them in the scene and framed the saloon, this time filled with people, as Ten Bears entered. One slight problem - no Knox. Every attempt to include him in the scene ("oh look, there he is now!" "why here he is!" etc etc) was met with a stern "I'm not there" "no I'm not" and so on. It got a little silly after a while, and Ten Bears started to rip the place apart looking for him. There were times when I, playing Ten Bears, felt like the protagonist, rather than the antagonist.

And the game went on, telling a story of a seemingly random and arbitrary sequence of killings and encounters loosely connected to Ten Bears' tribe of rebels and outlaws and misfits but never quite making sense or clicking together. I botched the final chapter, mainly because I couldn't see where the story was going or where it all tied together, and we skimped on the epilogue. It had its moments, but it was, all in all, rather unsatisfactory.

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Rather than addressing specific points, I'll talk about the broader reasons why I thought the game failed to click:

1. The Protagonist

There were times when Oliver, as the protagonist, failed to drive the story, possibly waiting for the story to come to him. We had several occasions where the protagonist wasn't involved in the story, but attempts to draw him in were rebuffed. This verged on the ridiculous and frustrating on a couple of occasions. I don't mean this to be a critique of Oliver as a player, more of my inability to communicate what was required of the protagonist. I think the text needs to make it clear that the protagonist has to play aggressively, continually forcing the story and the situation and driving it along at a rapid pace.

2. Out of game antagonism

There was definitely an out of game antagonism between Oliver and Dave, possibly born out of a failure for the protagonist to engage. Dave kept hitting him with demeaning revelations ("he's killing cos he's impotent!" etc) which I tried to rebuff and deflect as inappropriate, but because I failed to communicate why and what would have been appropriate I think this just heightened the frustration.

This hearkens back to an incident here where my protagonist kept getting hit with personal revelations ("your legs are wooden!") and this just reminds me that it needs addressing explicitly. But how? Is it fair to simply rule out personal revelations about another character's motivations or situation? Or is this too heavy-handed?

On the other hand, this antagonism did draw the protagonist into the story a bit more, as he was forced to fight to keep his character in line with his vision and the story on track. At one point he was definitely sliding towards being the villain, in the eyes of the story.

3. Poor setup/explanation of the game

Although I explained the rules sufficiently (and for once the mechanics did not cause any issues in the game), I think I failed to communicate what the game should look like, how it should play and how it should click together. I skimped on the explanations because my initial attempts were causing bemused and confused looks by the players so I thought I'd launch in and see what happened. What happened was the players were left fumbling for what they were supposed to do, leading to unsatisfactory chapters and antagonists.

4. A perceived lack of drama

This old chestnut cropped up again (it was first mentioned here), that the players felt that because they knew how the story ended already, there was no drama, tension or mystery. Although this hasn't been my perception in previous playtests, it was clearly felt here. The suggestion was that the game play as normal, but the epilogue is left open until the very end, when the story forwards back to the epilogue and the end of the story. I'm going to mull this suggestion over and see if it works, although it rankles with me a bit.

5. Not enough revelation tokens

There were times when the protagonist was being batted about by revelations, but had none of his own to dispute them with, or to introduce revelations in his favour. Revelation tokens only get handed out for participation in conflicts, which generally works but led to ...

6. Not enough dice

The protagonist felt that he was fighting a losing battle with the dice currency, as he felt he kept having to choose revelation tokens instead of dice to keep control of the story, but then kept running short of dice in conflicts.

This went hand in hand with the reward pool being neglected, as it only ever seemed to be me who was giving out reward dice. I'm not sure why, and I'm not sure how to encourage the giving out of reward dice either. I'm also toying with the idea of having rewards take the form of either more dice, or revelation tokens, as picked by the player getting the reward. Not sure whether this will lead to a surplus of revelation tokens yet though.

On the flip side, the antagonists never seemed to be short on dice, even after the major curtailing of antagonist dice following the Spodley Grange playtest. So this part of the game seems to be working.

7. No clear narrative authority

The issue of who can narrate what, when and who cropped up, and there were times when the various authorities (typically the chapter antagonist and the protagonist at any given time) clashed over who could specify what about a chapter. I think this needs to be very explicitly laid out, although I'm not sure how yet.

[hr]

So, although it's easy to dismiss this playtest and say "this game wasn't for them," I think it did provide some food for thought, most notably in how the game is structured and how clearly the procedure of the game is explained.

I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on the failure of the game in this instance, what I can learn from it and how I can make changes to the game in light of the playtest.

Andrew,

One possible explanation is that this is a game for experienced storytelling roleplayers: people who get a kick out of setting things up and explaining them in a later/earlier scene; people who don't mind taking risks. Perhaps it's not an easy game to play.

On the protagonist's absence from scenes, you could always use the Roach solution: if someone says the protagonist is in the scene, then he is; equally, if the protagonist demands to be in the scene, then he is. This would make a lot of sense, story-wise: sometimes, the protagonist can't escape his enemies. Why did Oliver say "no" to being incorporated into the scene?

If you could go back and explain it better, how would you do it? I think that'll be important: you'll need a quick, 15-second explanation of how to make the game better. Even if it's just "Set things up, that don't make sense at the time, and explain them later".

Reward dice are difficult, I think. I've often found with fan mail mechanics that, sometimes, they just don't get used and, in fact, I have to make a conscious effort to use them.

And how do you mean that Oliver felt that he had to spend tokens to keep control of the story? He shouldn't have full control of the story - it's not his to control, it's the group's - so...how do you mean?

Graham

Hi there,

My thinking is that "experience" is not the central issue.

It is present as a issue, in that many people's past history with role-playing is antithetical to anything you want to do. To dwell on this only for a moment: a person who has never experienced the SIS except as a powerful influence wielded over him ("you can't do that because the table is in the way," "you can't do that because this orc studied Egyptian," "you can't do that because your alignment says you can't") will, when presented with any opportunity to participate in it, seek to wield total control over others.

However, I also think that you are in danger of falling into the trap that "this game does not work, but if everyone agrees and acts as if it works, then it will be fun! That's called Social Contract!" This may be considered the New to Independent Game Design Fallacy #1. However, it is, in fact, nothing but the wretched and useless White Wolf Golden Rule dressed up in indie garb. You can see it in tons of the designs across the Game Chef and Ronnies contests, and all too often in proudly-presented Lulu and other insta-published books over the past two years. It is a retrograde phenomenon.

What I'm not seeing is currency in the functional, usable, play-sense, but currency over narrational authority - which in this game, is also currency over situational authority, and even an interference (i.e. railroading) mechanism via the "reasons you're here" aspects of play.

What I'm seeing is a power struggle over who gets to say what's going on, in a sense which tries to pit Narrativist and Gamist goals into the same process, which is not viable for reasons I explain in Gamism: Step On Up,

This is a valuable playtest experience but it is also potentially confusing, and I'd like you to consider two, distinct, and independent phenomena.

1. You cannot please people who do not get it and do not want to do it, nor even expect them to play to a minimal degree.

2. The game's mechanisms cannot provide an alternate means for the people in #1 to accomplish something else.

In this case, the guy was able to do something else, i.e., annoy everyone else given the power accorded to him by your current system. The fact that you had to keep stepping in and saying "no no, that's not what you're supposed to say, I mean, you can say anything you want, but not like that, that's not the way I want," can only indicate this problem is present. Whether he did this maliciously or out of helplessness or what isn't the point. The point is that the game must, given the operative aesthetic goal you have as designer, reward and function in line with that goal and with no other.

Best, Ron

Hi Ron,

Ron wrote: What I'm not seeing is currency in the functional, usable, play-sense, but currency over narrational authority - which in this game, is also currency over situational authority, and even an interference (i.e. railroading) mechanism via the "reasons you're here" aspects of play.

Hi Callan,

I'm not sure whether you are on target relative to this game, or whether I am for that matter, because my comments are based off of Andrew's posts, not from the current draft of the game or from playtesting of my own.

But to stick with what you've described, it's a fair paraphrase of what I'm trying to describe as non-functional design. Competing for the power to be in control is not fun. It's like getting touchdowns in order (first) to put in one of your players as referee, then (second) to put in one as announcer, then (third) to decree that others' touchdowns don't count, and so on.

Before anyone shouts "Capes Capes" at me, I'd be interested in reading an actual play account of Capes in which the Token system is demonstrated to work. So far, I haven't seen one. I predict that when and if I do, we'll see that the narrational authority in Capes can be won, but it cannot be held.

Best, Ron

I don't have time to post Actual Play, but I can confirm that "narrational authority in Capes can be won, but it cannot be held." I think that's because you by definition have a finite number of Story Tokens to spend, but for practical purposes an infinite number of things to spend them on -- specifically since each Conflict offers multiple opportunities to spend a Token for extra rolls, and you can create new Conflicts without spending any Tokens. This aspects of the game's currency may or may not be useful for Andrew.

What I think probably will be useful for Andrew is that there are relatively strict rules about how much narration any given person can win at any given time: The person who seizes control of narration of a particular event is restricted by the "Not Yet" rule from saying anything that prejudges other conflicts in play but as yet unresolved, for example.

Andrew,

Thinking about the authority thing further: I think that, when we played before, there was an implicit structure we used for each antagonist. Something like this:

1. The antagonist frames the "scene of the vengeance" and populates it with mooks.
2. At some point, the protagonist must narrate his entrance. He has control over how he enters, but he must enter.
3. Now, everything the protagonist does must be directed at killing the antagonist.
4. When the protagonist says he's doing something ("I'm running up the stairs"), the other players may either agree or place a mook in the way ("Two bodyguards block the way"). Say yes or roll the dice.
5. It takes a conflict to get past a mook: the protagonist may not narrate it away ("I dodge around him").
6. The other players could put non-mook obstacles in the way ("He locks a door behind him"), but it's understood that it doesn't take a conflict to get past them: the protagonist may simply narrate it away ("I kick through it!").
7. The protagonist may start a conflict by narrating attacking a mook; or the other players may start one by narrating a mook attacking the protagonist.
8. Continue until all the mooks are dead and so is the antagonist.

It may not be quite that strict, but it's pretty strict. So I think that you, as Ten Bears, aren't allowed to narrate ripping the place apart looking for him. That's Step 2, and it's the protagonist's turn to narrate, and he must narrate his entrance.

By the way, the structure above makes me think about stakes. It strikes me that the stakes will invariably include the death (or capture or otherwise taking out) of a mook or the antagonist. They can include other things as well, sure, but I don't think you'll ever get a conflict over, say, opening a safe. Because who'd narrate the safe being there? I don't think the antagonists are allowed to, unless the safe is a form of mook.

Stop me if I'm wrong on this, of course.

Graham

Graham wrote: It may not be quite that strict, but it's pretty strict. So I think that you, as Ten Bears, aren't allowed to narrate ripping the place apart looking for him. That's Step 2, and it's the protagonist's turn to narrate, and he must narrate his entrance.

Graham wrote: By the way, the structure above makes me think about stakes. It strikes me that the stakes will invariably include the death (or capture or otherwise taking out) of a mook or the antagonist. They can include other things as well, sure, but I don't think you'll ever get a conflict over, say, opening a safe. Because who'd narrate the safe being there? I don't think the antagonists are allowed to, unless the safe is a form of mook.

Graham wrote: On the protagonist's absence from scenes, you could always use the Roach solution: if someone says the protagonist is in the scene, then he is; equally, if the protagonist demands to be in the scene, then he is. This would make a lot of sense, story-wise: sometimes, the protagonist can't escape his enemies. Why did Oliver say "no" to being incorporated into the scene?

Graham wrote: Reward dice are difficult, I think. I've often found with fan mail mechanics that, sometimes, they just don't get used and, in fact, I have to make a conscious effort to use them.

Graham wrote: And how do you mean that Oliver felt that he had to spend tokens to keep control of the story? He shouldn't have full control of the story - it's not his to control, it's the group's - so...how do you mean?

I wonder...and I hope it doesn't seem like I'm tearing your game apart here...whether the revelation tokens are serving you well?

It works like this, I think: you can introduce a revelation with a revelation token; but someone else can combat that revelation, with one of their own, by spending a token themselves.

That sounds like what Ron was saying (paraphrased, perhaps badly) about competing for narrative authority not being fun. And, in fact, it sounds, in your first post, as though it created a play problem:

The protagonist felt that he was fighting a losing battle with the dice currency, as he felt he kept having to choose revelation tokens instead of dice to keep control of the story...

The revelations up til Oliver stopped taking bonus dice and started taking revelation tokens were entirely dominated by Dave, which effectively painted Oliver's character as some sort of serial killer instead of Oliver's idealised view as a gunslinger.

It'd be interesting if the group wrote down generic revelations (could apply to anyone) before play, like six each. Each person passes them to another randomly determined player, who chucks out any they don't like. They are then all thrown in a hat and when it comes to making a revelation, you pull out three of them and choose which one you go with.

That's probably a bit of a mind meld of personal acceptance and random opportunity, but it'd certainly be surprising/a revelation! :)

Agreed with Graham. As the resident Capes expert (not a hotly contended title), I'd point out that "even" Capes has two limits on narrating things about other people's characters: first, you can't contradict anything that's established as true on their character sheet, i.e. who their Connections are and what their Drives are; and second, there's a (not very clearly articulated) expectation that any revelation that people take seriously as part of the fiction is the result of someone winning a Conflict that gives everyone else a chance to fight for their vision of what the revelation should be or whether it should occur at all.

Also agreeing with Graham:

1. The antagonist frames the "scene of the vengeance" and populates it with mooks.
2. At some point, the protagonist must narrate his entrance. He has control over how he enters, but he must enter.
3. Now, everything the protagonist does must be directed at killing the antagonist.
4. When the protagonist says he's doing something ("I'm running up the stairs"), the other players may either agree or place a mook in the way ("Two bodyguards block the way"). Say yes or roll the dice.
5. It takes a conflict to get past a mook: the protagonist may not narrate it away ("I dodge around him").
6. The other players could put non-mook obstacles in the way ("He locks a door behind him"), but it's understood that it doesn't take a conflict to get past them: the protagonist may simply narrate it away ("I kick through it!").
7. The protagonist may start a conflict by narrating attacking a mook; or the other players may start one by narrating a mook attacking the protagonist.
8. Continue until all the mooks are dead and so is the antagonist.