Progression in TTRPGS: Why your game might not even need Levels
(this post started as a reply to this post but it quickly got away from the point and became its own thing)
Character levels: they're a constant hallmark of Dungeons & Dragons and so, as a result, have shoehorned their way into being an assumed feature of ALL tabletop games, especially for people who are new to the hobby or primarily only experienced with D&D. And it makes sense, right? Progression is a rewarding part of games, getting stronger and developing your character is fun and cool! Tabletop RPGs get the added bonus of allowing for your character's mechanical progression to go hand-in-hand with their internal progression, as well as allowing for escalation of stakes naturally as characters overcome challenges to advance the game's plot! This is all true, but it also benefits us both as players and writers of games to examine progression more critically - what forms can progression take, what styles of play do those forms benefit, and in what cases is a progression system just superfluous? Note that when I talk about progression, I mean mechanical progression - this can intersect with a game's plot or a character's internal growth, and I'll touch on that when necessary, but this post is about when your numbers go up or you get new cool tricks. So, now for my hot fucking take:
“Levels” (usually numerous linear tiers of progression where characters receive proscribed new resources) are really often just an unnecessarily restrictive means of progression, tbh - I think they mostly work in crunch and combat-heavy games like Lancer. Though they feel intuitive, I argue that levels are a very "game-y" mechanic that can feel fairly unorganic. Having a group that advances in ability at roughly the same pace is desirable in plenty of game formats (I'll touch more on that later), but if you open your mind a little it becomes a pretty limiting piece of design, especially restrictive in the context of character customization and intra-party diversity. The most common alternative (and my preferred style) is what I'd call varied or asymmetric progression - the three big mainline examples of this that spring to my mind are Blades in the Dark, Vampire: the Masquerade, and Cyberpunk Red. (more under the break out of consideration for people scrolling)
Literally none of these systems feature conventional character levels (Cyberpunk comes closest which makes sense as it cares most abt combat out of the three), but they all also have very strong progression elements. Basically, you just get to decide which elements of your character you want to improve or what new things to acquire , with the varying tracks (usually some combination of ability scores, skills, and special abilities like Disciplines or Playbooks abilities) having different costs for improvement. This generally requires some kind of XP system, but XP is good actually and D&D just sucks at implementing it (these systems have robust and explicit mechanics for awarding XP based on characters achieving their goals or performing in their specialties, Cyberpunk’s system is my personal favourite). The weakness of these progression systems is that they can feel very...numbers go up, as gaining a fully new ability for your character is usually an expensive investment compared to bumping up a skill by a point or whatever. Special abilities become harder to balance when they're not constrained by Class or some similar system - judging how strong an ability is and how much progression should be required to achieve it is much easier when you have a rough idea of the *kind* of character that will be acquiring it compared to when it's theoretically available to anyone. Of the above systems, Cyberpunk is the one where this flaw is the most glaring, but Cyberpunk also makes a lot of its more dynamic progression elements tied to gear, assets, and other things that fall outside of normal character progression to make up for that. Blades is the strongest here, possibly because it cares the least about combat and hard numbers, but it's divergent from its fellows in plenty of other ways that make for a strange comparison. The advantage of levels , accordingly is that they (should) entail much flashier rewards.
Even though I just said above that I felt levels are best used in combat-focused games, it’s possible that what I’m actually noticing is the way varied progression syncs with “sandbox” campaigns. Another throughline between Cyberpunk, Vampire, and Blades is that they all seem to favour the idea of a character group that self-directs more or less within a specific setting area, with game storylines developing organically via the fallout of previous sessions and reoccurring challenges that the characters need to meet (entanglements, rent, hunting, etc.). Old-school D&D, as noted in the linked post, falls a bit closer to this model, as it generally assumed an episodic sandbox style. Lancer decidedly does not favour that style of game - although it has a Blades-like Downtime mechanic, it lacks a lot of the sideways progression elements that Blades uses downtime to enable and most of Lancer’s downtime mechanics are a means for a character to gain a temporary advantage going into their next Mission. Advancing LLs in Lancer happens at the end of each Mission, themselves a sort of combination between "arcs" (common to many ttrgps in modern day) and D&D's "Adventuring Day" in which players advance along a storyline while attempting to overcome multiple combat challenges with limited resources. Characters get their LL whether they succeed or fail, which is something I like - presumably either outcome has made the characters develop in some way.
So like - that's just milestone XP, right? It's just an explicitly regulated version of milestone XP, which is the most popular version of progression in D&D because most D&D tables run campaigns that are closer to the branching linearity of Lancer than the sandbox of Blades in the Dark (and also because 5e's XP system is doodoo shitty). The perceived linearity of this system still beats the hell out of the simplistic levelling of 5e, because an LL actually provides the character with a ton of different places to invest their resources - Talent ranks, mech skill points, the mech license itself; Lancer gives you a web of connected progression trees to work with. Next to that, D&D's levels become essentially a ladder that branches on occasion, with the option to jump onto another ladder if you so desire (though this comes at a very heavy cost). While I strongly prefer Lancer's progression to D&D's and will happily put it forward as an example of level-based progression being situational rather than strictly worse than variable progression, it should be noted that Lancer still runs aground on the flaw that haunts almost every progression system but is most glaring in Levelled progression: high-end play is fucking nonsense. LL 12 is, put simply, well above what most anyone will actually reach (though it is less egregious than D&D in this regard) and warps balance beyond recognition. The wonderful character agency of Lancer's progression introduces a new issue, where by around LL 7 or 8, your character probably has basically every mechanical option they want and the choices become superfluous. This isn't a huge issue practically as most tables will never advance far enough to encounter it, but it is a weird area of diminishing design space returns. With that said, even if either of these systems worked perfectly, heavy progression elements are still a choice, they aren't a neutral necessity of game design. So when does mechanical progression stop mattering?
Well, like, in oneshots or very short campaigns, obviously. Call of Cthulhu and Alien both have VERY limited mechanics for long term character advancement - a CoC character can improve their skills and recover from ailments (or boost their mythos score), as can an Alien character, but that's basically it. CoC's lack of progression mechanics is especially obvious when put next to its young niece/nephew (is there a gender neutral term for that?), Delta Green. Delta Green has many of the same elements of CoC, but ties in character growth via bonds and features a softcore version of Downtime Actions. This isn't necessarily better than CoC, it just indicates that CoC (like Alien) is far more interested in one-off scenarios or short sequences of linked scenarios, rather than extended campaign play. Eureka!, the brilliant indie mystery title by @anim-ttrpgs, leans into this wholeheartedly by featuring essentially no character progression mechanics.
This may sound at first like a strict detriment, but is in fact a pretty amazing feat of focused design. Eureka! is about playing a mystery story across a small number of sessions, and while you could run a Scooby-Doo or Knives Out style episodic campaign with it, that's not its primary purpose. Instead, Eureka! character creation allows the player to make a competent, skilled character from the very beginning - you know, like a mystery protagonist often is. You do not have to wait for your build to come online, a concept that clashes with the idea of short scenarios for obvious reasons, you just get to be good at what you want to be good at. Eureka! is also free from the weird little imbalances that come from certain long-campaign mechanics: Luck in Call of Cthulhu is a precious pool your character can spend to improve dice rolls, it refills pretty slowly and is clearly intended to preserve characters across deadly campaigns while also being a resource that should be spent carefully. In a oneshot, though, luck can be spent extremely liberally - you won't be needing it later, after all! Similarly, Delta Green's Bonds are a wonderfully grimdark way of providing characters with Sanity armor - but these bonds can ablate, and literally represent the trauma of your character's work destroying their relationships outside of the work, something you are encouraged to roleplay between missions (a price all its own). But in a oneshot, who cares? SAN becomes a very minor concern, which it absolutely is not supposed to be.
This is what I mean when I say featuring heavy progression at all, let alone the form it takes, ought too be a considered choice when designing a game or choosing a system. Progression is, like most mechanical frameworks, a choice that comes with opportunity costs - think about the goal for your game and evaluate progression mechanics based on that goal! Simultaneously, when you read a TTRPG, its progression system or lack thereof is (or at least, should be) a hint as to what sort of stories it is suited to telling! I highly recommend looking further into the TTRPGs mentioned in this post as well as the post linked above - comparing the way these systems work across games is a great way to improve your design literacy, and will improve your skills as a GM, dev, or just a critic.
Expect a lot more big ass text posts in future, I've got rambley nonsense crowding my upstairs it's gonna be everyone's fuckin problem
My playgroup started a campaign using Hot Spots: Draconis Reach on Wednesday and I thought it might be fun to keep track of it here on Tumblr! The post with my list is here, our other players are representing the Draconis Combine, Federated Suns, and another merc crew.
Le Blanc, Federated Suns, 3151
“The job wasn’t exactly glamorous, but working for the Draconis Combine rarely was. The Dracs had been forced to abandon Le Blanc, an arid border world, to the Federated Suns in 3150, and the newly re-opened hiring hall on the planet had promptly become a coordinating point for FedSun-sponsored raids into the Combine. It was a reliable, predictable angle for enterprising lucrewarriors - but we were going to be working the other side of it. Tai-i Rebecca Anderson, the most overworked and frazzled mercenary relations officer I’ve ever seen, was working with the yakuza clans still on-world to destablize merc activity on Le Blanc, maybe even make a go for the FedSun headquarters or the hiring hall if things went well. All she needed was some mercenaries of her own to provide the muscle - and that’s where we came in. The job probably wouldn’t make us popular with the region’s small-time merc crews (and I despise desert planets), but that was a risk I was willing to take. The way I figured it, we’d dust off with a fat influx of sea-bills well before anyone could even think about retaliation. No Guts, No Galaxy, like that kid on the holoshows used to say.”
“Our first two months on the job were spent planning the raid from orbit with Tai-i Anderson (who, for the record, never let on that she was ISB, but definitely was) and the major oyabuns and then being smuggled onto Le Blanc by the yakuza and preparing our positions. Come March, everything was ready for us to make our attack on the city of Port Paix. With some enthusiastic yakuza at our back, all that stood between us and those juicy supply depots was a Lance or so of greenhorn scrubs. And a surprise sandstorm, which forced us to pay our techs for overtime. Did I mention I hate desert planets?”
- Corbin “Blackguard” Beckett, Captain of the Varangian Guard
Battle Report under Break
Pregame
My opponent (the other mercenary) and I ended up taking our first contracts on Le Blanc, one of the recommended starting planets, while our House-affiliated group mates duked it out…elsewhere (I really don’t know). Since he said he didn’t care which half of the contract he did, I claimed the “raid” half of things, figuring it would probably favour my speedy, close-range oriented force. I used rep to get a higher base pay, as i was satisfied with 50% transport coverage and wasn’t really planning on doing too much salvage from my opponent anyways. The first Track on our contract was the Raid objective, with the caveat that I was supposed to destroy the two indicated buildings rather than steal things from them. I would receive 50 bonus SP for each building destroyed with the caveat that more than half of my starting units needed to cross the center line, and he would receive 100 SP for each non-support unit of mine he destroyed or crippled. This seems like a more balanced objective than the base Raid at first blush, since the attacker can’t be screwed over by a lack of hand actuators, but the fact is that defending buildings (especially 30SP buildings) from a human opponent is basically impossible since BT lacks any kind of aggro mechanic. I doubt I would have fared any better on the defense than my opponent did.
We started off by rolling for maps (we ended up with two copies of the Corporate Center map sheet, which the Draconis player graciously provided) and complications. I was on Liason command rights while my opponent was Integrated, which I regard as basically a death sentence. I rolled a result that meant I was caught in a sandstorm - I had to spend 25 SP per unit deployed or else have that unit take -1MP for the entire game. Given my list and objective, this was not an option, so I burned the full 125 SP. ouch, considering that I was already in the red from transport costs. My opponent though, proved my view of Integrated correct when he rolled a result that gave me a “small” force of Yakuza allies - 4 BSP galleons and 4 BSP motorized infantry. These were ultimately too slow and weak to be much more than initiative sinks, but they were a welcome addition regardless. After setting up the map, my opponent designated two adjacent buildings as the objectives and deployed his force.
His mercenaries were a very artillery-centric list, consisting of an Archer ARC-5W, a Battle Cobra I, a Kit Fox V, a Mad Dog V, a BSP LRM Carrier, and two BSP Warrior copters with tag. This was slightly bullshit since Tag on the BSP units meant he could dodge the BV tax, but I still wasn’t especially worried. Arrow IV is nasty, but my ‘mechs were fast enough to get under them and the city would afford me ample cover. I should clarify here that while I overall like my opponent, I was a little annoyed by his sportsmanship here. The main thing was that despite having brought a list with Arrow IV launchers (and TAG), he knew basically none of the rules for artillery, down to whether or not Arrow IV does damage in clusters (it does). I understand that BattleTech has a lot of weird niche mechanics and I’d certainly never expect anyone to know all of them, but I think if you’re going to build around something and have access to the rules you should at least look it up ahead of time. That and one other thing I’ll get to later in the game made me raise my eyebrows a little, but it was still fun regardless.
Round 1: Clay Pigeons and High Explosives
I ended up winning initiative for the first round, which meant little to my opponent as he was happy to keep his ‘mechs mostly immobile behind partial cover and staring down firing-line avenues. I started by cautiously moving my yakuza meatshields allies up behind buildings where they could hide from destructive Arrow Iv, while his machines either stood ready behind height one buildings or lined up angles down long streets. As my actual ‘mechs rolled up into the field, he sent his TAG-copters down aggressively to hopefully mark targets for the rockets, trusting in their +5 TMMs to keep them alive.
The board at the end of the first movement phase - note that his black lanner is a proxy for a Mad Dog, and I have two of his unpainted scouts proxying for galleons. The red dice at the far end of the map represent my objective buildings.
This shooting phase ultimately went pretty well for me - my Maxim peppered the battle cobra with SRM shots, forcing a PSR (which the Battle Cobra failed on a 4 - a harbinger of its poor performance overall this game), neither copter landed its TAG, the Kit Fox did some indirect shooting that ultimately did nothing, and the archer whiffed its shots against my firefly. By some miracle, Captain Beckett popped the fuck off when firing his large laser into one of the Warrior copters to activate TSM - he hit box cars and the fragile craft careened down into the roof of a corporate building. It wasn’t all rosy, though - that goddamned Mad Dog rolled an 11 and dropped an Arrow Iv rocker right onto my poor firefly - fortunately it survived with no armour breaches and Mechwarrior Tau passed her PSR, but that was tough. I would have to be especially cautious with the light ‘mech going forward. I held off on activating TSM with Foley’s Ostsol (I now believe this to have been a minor mistake), but the Neanderthal bounced up to 9 heat and prepared to smash. With first blood drawn and a strong aggressive position, I was very confident going into round 2.
Round 2: Requiem for a Battle Cobra
I lost initiative this round, and this is where having the insane numbers I did really started to pay off. Without expendable brave Yakuza backing me up, it would have been easier for my opponent to blunt the advance of my melee death machines, and possibly set up some truly punishing response fire. As it was, I had to play cagey for another round, doing my best to figure out where I could let my TMMs cover for aggressive positions. My opponent kept his mechs largely in the same positions, every unit standing still except for the Battle Cobra, which rose to its feet before holding its ground, and the surviving helicopter, which moved into position to hunt some yak. For my part, I ran my Ostsol right up to get to fisticuffs with the Battle Cobra, managing to get just under the guns of the Kit Fox, while my Neanderthal took cover behind a height one building to set up a next-turn advance on the objectives. The Maxim quickly ducked behind the same building the enemy Archer was using for shelter, hiding it from the eyes of dangerous enemies, and my Starslayer and Firefly jumped ahead to back up the Neanderthal’s upcoming attack.
Shooting here was a little bloodier, with the Mad Dog managing to blow up one of my Galleons and put some damage into my Neanderthal with secondary attacks while the Kit Fox used the AoE effect of artillery to target the space *behind* my Ostsol and still deal damage to it - fortunately, neither of the 5-damage groups found my Ostsol’s rear torso armour. Also on that front, the Battle Cobra missed both its point-blank LRM shots while the LRM carrier itself managed to put a 9-damage hit into the heavy’s center torso. The helicopter whiffed its TAG yet again, but the Archer brutalized my Starslayer slightly, which managed to make its PSR and keep its feet. On my end, the Ostsol dumped all its pulse lasers except one into the Battle Cobra (which did not repeat its pratfall from last turn), the Galleon and infantry utterly failed to shoot down the copter, but my Neanderthal managed to dump both a regular large laser and large pulse laser into the Archer's center torso, continuing a dominant performance by captain Beckett. The starslayer whiffed its own shots into the helicopter and the firefly did the same whilst trying to put ER medium lasers into the Battle Cobra. In melee, the Ostsol and Battle Cobra kicked one another with neither going down - while I kicked myself for not activating TSM on it the previous round. Had I hit the right leg instead of the left on the Cobra, it would have been forced to eat pavement for the remainder of the game.
The board after turn two (not shown - two slow units of yakuza bikers who are still in the back of the map. Fortunately our GM ruled that forces added by complications don’t count towards things like positioning orders).
Overall, things were still looking bullish going into turn 3 - I planned to get right up into my opponents teeth and end the game in explosive fashion while bloodying his nose on the way out.
Round 3: I'm Too Broke To Die!
I won't bury the lead here - that's basically what happened. Winning initiative here especially sealed the deal, as I used the bursts of TSM-enhanced speed from my heavier mechs to get right into my opponent's backline while he moved perhaps one unit. My Neanderthal got nose to nose with the objectives and very close tohis Archer, the Maxim scooted well into the backline, the Firefly kept heading into a flanking maneuver, the Ostsol ran past the Battle Cobra to get to grips with the Mad Dog, with the Starslayer taking position on the road to exchange fire once it became clear that the Cobra would be holding position. As before, my yakuza stooges buddies advanced steadily up, ready to sweep up the spoils.
This *could* have been a very costly turn for me - it was for the Yakuza, certainly, who got two Galleons turned into burning husks by the Kit Fox. The Archer missed its lasers while sending its SRMs (and, hilariously, a NARC that was immediately rendered useless by the Neanderthal's ECM) into the Neanderthal for a grand total of 8 damage, but the Mad Dog clutched way up here as a result of the copter finally landing tag onto the Starslayer. It proceeded to fire a homing missile into the Starslayer for 20 damage while throwing blistering pulse laser-fire onto Foley's Ostsol - triggering two PSRs that I had to spend Edge to pass. Then came the second weird etiquette moment.
My opponent began asking why I was still attacking him when I started to declare targets, given that I was obviously going to take out the objectives this turn. I was kind of taken aback by this - it was asked in an overall neutral tone but the implication that I would be an asshole for returning fire and costing him campaign money kind of paralyzed me to the extent that I couldn't even come up with the reason that he had shot me up that same turn - let alone the reason of blunting him up for next track, which would be the same in-game month. So I just kinda stumbled into agreeing to withdraw, my Neandethal blasting apart the first objective with an alpha strike and then hatcheting the second down while my firefly whiffed shots (that he questioned why I was even making) into the Archer. Like, I don't think he was trying to wheedle for advantage intentionally, but it was just such a strange moment that I was left with a slightly sour taste. Looking back, I should have at least *tried* to punch some structure damage into the Mad Dog - next game I certainly will.
An overall shot of the board with a close-up of the action - note the Neanderthal about to go to town on the objectives.
But I'm still happy with the victory for certain, only my Starslayer ended the bout with structure damage (1 pip done to the left arm) with my Maxim being entirely fresh. Even with that sandstorm and armour repairs, this track has paid off handsomely - and I expect the next one will do even moreso. The Neanderthal was a real all-star here, landing some lucky hits and taking out both objectives, but I’d also like to spotlight the Ostsol for its blistering speed (seriously, this thing becomes a 7/11 with the TSM up) and the Maxim, which I half expected to die immediately but ended up knocking a Clantech medium on its ass - all in all, an excellent showing.
“My lasers melted the first supply depot into slag as the nearby enemy Archer futilely plinked missiles against my Neanderthal’s armour - the cockpit, already sweltering with activated TSM, grew noticeably hotter, and I blinked sweat out of my eyes before bringing the hatchet down on the second depot. The enormous blade crashed through the roof like a meteor, jagging to one side and cutting a deep furrow into the pavement as the building collapsed in a cloud of dust and debris. I had just yanked the weapon free to point threateningly at the Archer when their Captain, over in that Mad Dog, radioed in a surrender and request for mutual withdrawal. I was sorry tempted to refuse and pound these fuckers into scrap - they’d been happy enough to lob artillery at us after all, and it seemed unsporting to call things off now that we were finally at handshake range. But the yak were getting torn up, Molly’s Starslayer showed a gaping breach, and we’d still have another engagement. I accepted, watching these rocket enthusiasts power down weapons and retreat as my people did the same. Foley actually made his Ostsol wave at the retreating Mad Dog, calling out “have a nice day!” to its receding back as we took stock of the damage and regrouped. There wouldn’t be time for full repairs - Anderson wanted us to move on the Feddies’ headquarters, and we were eager to oblige. The sea-bills were sweet, but the prospect of round two was even sweeter.”
- Corbin “Blackguard” Beckett, Captain of the Varangian Guard
I’ve been running a Lancer campaign with some friends for about a year and a half now, and naturally the parasite in my brain has compelled me to come up with Battletech AU versions of their characters - and then to actually paint minis for them. I finally finished the first of four today, representing local neutral evil music festival girl SSC castoff mercenary Channeary Dovei (callsign: LOVEDAY)! Given her status as a backline Pegasus pilot and love for freaky looking mechs, I decided that only the Pack Hunter would do (AU Lore below pictures).
(Drawing and Retrograde Sprite by @aenysanus)
Channeary (Solaris VII Gladiator, Clan Sea Fox)
During the Wars of Reaving, the homeworld Clans employed pervasive rhetoric depicting the invader Clans as “corrupted” by the Inner Sphere - decadent, distracted from the ideals of Kerensky, no longer cleaving to clan tradition. Similar rhetoric is deployed by hardline members of Clans like Jade Falcon to describe the Clans that have altered their ways to survive and thrive in the inner sphere; in particular Clan Sea Fox. These are, of course, propagandistic nonsense - which doesn’t stop Channeary from perfectly embodying them.
Channeary is a walking subversion of almost every stereotype about clanner Mechwarriors - she’s hedonistic, avaricious, entirely selfish, unconcerned with “honour” (never bothered to earn a Bloodname) and bad at taking orders. The parts of the stereotype she lives up to are being an utterly deadly ranged combatant and an unabashed technofetishist. These traits, taken together, made Channeary a natural fit for Clan Sea Fox’s “Babyface” initiative - to establish a Clan-sponsored stable of gladiators on Solaris VII in order to advertise their ‘mechs and weapons systems. It’s a role Channeary has taken to with aplomb, eagerly living the rockstar lifestyle of an arena champion complete with groupies and exotic drugs. Her pink Pack Hunter is a crowd favourite - the frame may be a Wolf-in-Exile design, but hers mounts Sea Fox weaponry (as well as uses Sea Fox paint). Its thin armor matters little to Channeary, who never was one for an up-close fight, and she delights in landing devastating shots on distracted opponents. The ‘mech is her pride and joy, and almost all of her promos are shot in its cockpit - extra convenient, given her obligation to remind the viewers that the best ER PPCs are manufactured by Clan Sea Fox.
Fuck you, I’m not gonna talk about warlocks. Done to death ass topic. anyway the best patron is 4e’s Pact of the Vestige, and I probably only think that bc @borimmortal had an insanely cool take on it back in Critical Hit.
Ok enough, now let’s talk about something I’m seeing creep more and more into tabletop roleplaying games not only as a fluff element but also as a mechanical feature: Group Patrons. Essentially, who is the person or faction or entity backing your group of characters?
For some groups and indeed, some systems, this isn’t a consideration at all. Sometimes this is because characters entirely self-direct and pursues their own in-universe goals while directly reacting to the world around them (superhero/villain rpgs like Mutants & Masterminds or Necessary Evil are usually like this, and investigative games like Call of Cthulhu or Eureka! can be as well), but it can also be because a group’s patron is an assumed element of the system (Delta Green comes immediately to mind here) and so isn’t something that needs to be decided on. Most often, a group’s patron is decided on either by the players or gm as part of a game’s premise (are the pilots at your Lancer table Union auxiliaries? A colonial militia unit? Mercenaries?), or it changes from scenario to scenario(who’s issuing this quest to your D&D party? Is your Blades in the Dark crew doing this job for themselves or for a reward from someone else?). As a game element, I feel this is often overlooked, both in discussions and mechanically. Off the top of my head, the game systems I know that put explicit mechanical emphasis on group patronage are Blades in the Dark and, oddly enough, The One Ring 2e.
In Blades, this occurs incidentally as a result of the faction reputation system- completing a Score on behalf of one of Doskvol’s power players increases your crew’s relationship with them while worsening your relationship with whoever was victimized by the Score. Navigating the resultant web of alliances, favours, wars, and enemies is a major part of Blades as a game, so choice of patron is important even in this incidental context. Taking it a step further is The One Ring 2e. Second edition takes deliberate steps to avoid being D&D 3.5 but in Middle Earth, as its predecessor often was: It sets its adventures West of the Misty Mountains (far from the high politics and danger of Gondor and Mordor, a thematically meaningful divide in Tolkien’s work) and its starter box has players take on the role not of hard-bitten adventurers but shire hobbits preparing for Bilbo’s birthday party. However, without the core concept of sword-and-sorcery heroes wandering Arda in search of gold and glory, The One Ring requires a new premise to bind diverse fellowships together and send them out into the wild. Its solution is Patrons - the players choose from one of several canon figures with an interest in the wider world who employ the characters to investigate rumours, gather information, and resolve problems. These patrons include Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf the Grey, even Tom Bombadil and Saruman. Patron choice informs not only the types of adventures that the fellowship might go on, but also grants that fellowship unique perks and advantages. It’s a very cool way to take the burden of bringing a party together off the GM’s shoulders while immersing the group in the setting!
So are group patrons solely a tool of convenience for the GM, a substitute for “you all meet at a tavern”? No. They do fill that role certainly, but a group patron (even a temporary one) is a very powerful narrative tool. All else being equal, a patron is the most direct string a GM can pull to direct or challenge the players. Most obviously this is done through quest giving - a patron can set an objective before the characters in exchange for a promised reward, providing motivation for the players to involve themselves in a story, but twisting that role is extremely common. Can the characters trust their patron? What will they do if they’re betrayed? How far are they willing to allow a patron to string them along, withholding their reward until more is done? Who else might be looking to catch the eye of their patron and usurp the characters’ position? What if their patron is captured or otherwise separated from the characters? There’s tons of possibilities to create scenarios or twist the characters around without relying on complex plot contrivances because ultimately, the group Patron is very much like a Gamemaster: they’re a figure with some level of authority over the characters, but they ultimately require the characters’ cooperation for their aims. Think carefully when you decide to whom your characters will report and what their relationship ought to be like - it not only sets the game’s tone, but it’s also your most direct link into the narrative!
The brain parasite that made me come up with Battletech AU versions of the characters in my two-year Lancer campaign (and paint minis for them) has awakened from its hibernation, and I finished the second of the four yesterday! This time it’s our favourite angst-ridden, traumatized, rage-prone Blackbeard pilot, Faith “CHASTITY” Tiyana. When I started this project, Faith actually was rocking a Metalmark, but recently swapped to the Blackbeard for a stronger focus on melee power. Given her backstory as a runaway from a Baronic house, I wanted to connect her to the Draconis Combine, probably as a deserter estranged from her family. The No-Dachi is, IMO, one of the most competent DCMS melee frames, so I went with that. Even the sword, which performs way worse than a hatchet most of the time, could reflect Faith’s ruthless, brutal combat style. Either way, it was a ton of fun to paint this wacky obscure mech! OC lore under the break.
(Retrograde mini by the player, art by @imbuedebauchery )
The military of the Draconis Combine is known for its high expectations, especially of those Mechwarriors who come from noble families. Faith Tiyanna is such a Mechwarrior. Almost from birth, she was set onto the path of a Samurai, training to honour the Dragon at the helm of a Battlemech. Despite showing affinity as a pilot, Faith chafed against the rigid structure of the DCMS - a serious problem, as the code of Bushido centres subservience to one’s lord. And so, after a disgraceful brawl with another student at the Sun Zhang academy over a mock battle exercise, Faith was assigned to the Legion of Vega upon graduation- the regiment where House Kurita sends all those misfits considered scarcely better than Ronin. Despite being given an officer’s position as a Chu-i, her parents effectively disowned her out of embarrassment. Disillusioned with the DCMS’s “ethics”, it didn’t take long for Faith to take her No-Dachi NDA-2KO and desert, signing on with Hansen’s Roughriders as a mercenary.
The No-Dachi suits Faith, who prefers the thick of the fight, bringing the brute force of her ‘mech to bear at point-blank range. She’s always been at her best when pushed to the edge, and the way her ‘mech’s TSM system encourages deliberate overheating to function optimally harmonizes perfectly with this peculiarity. The 2KO’s speed lets her close rapidly, its focus on energy weapons eliminates fear of ammo explosions, and even the rear-facing lasers (a feature derided by many Mechwarriors) protect her back arc in chaotic brawls. Her comrades in the Roughriders frequently question her choice to keep the No-Dachi’s sword instead of swapping it for a more-damaging hatchet, pointing out that she’s not a samurai anymore, that there’s no shame in using “barbaric” weapons. The truth is that Faith prefers the accuracy her ‘mech’s sword grants - the weight and the shape of the weapon makes it easier to seek out enemy cockpits. Faith is a confirmed pilot-killer, and the elegant brutality of the blade suits that style - it might not have as much raw damage potential as a hatchet, but that gap hardly matters to the opposing Mechwarriors smashed to paste on its edge.
Ok, so this *could* just be a post where I gush about Eureka! for a paragraph or two but I’d rather connect it with a few different ideas and just kinda stream of consciousness this one. Mysteries are one of those story genres that the D&D-only crowd will insist are just bad fits for ttrpgs, or alternatively they’ll give you some pretty wack advice like “oh whatever theory the players decide on, that’s true!”; when in fact it’s just that mysteries need specific design work that mostly isn’t present in trad or new-trad rpg systems.
I feel I should clarify what I mean by “mystery” because in fact it’s a pretty broad term. By strictest definition, most of my games have had mystery as a major component - a hallmark of my campaigns is the players getting caught up in and slowly unravelling some kind of grand conspiracy or intrigue. Though they aren’t necessarily doing a lot of independent investigation, the slow reveal of what’s *really* going on could be considered a mystery plot - this is how mysteries tend to work in most RPGs. The Mysteries that you often hear are bad fits for ttrpgs are whodunits: scenarios where the mystery is not incidental or linked to the main plot but *is* the plot- a Knives Out or Poirot type scenario.
Now, plenty of game systems tout this as a focus, with varying degrees of success. Call of Cthulhu is the oldest such game and is, frankly, only more suited to the task than D&D by virtue of having more skills associated with things like Library Use, Science (Chemistry), etc. I’m not the first to note that CoC is much more of a resident evil dungeon-crawler type horror game than it is investigative (not a bad thing necessarily, just a clash between presentation and rules actuality). The games that are more successful are the ones that have figured out what elements of trad rpgs make them clash with Mysteries: they place too much emphasis on the act of gathering clues rather than assembling them. (more under break)
The fun of a mystery, when presented in a book or on film, is that the reader can attempt to work out the solution before the protagonist with the same information. Yes, it’s more than possible to connect with characters as well, but understanding their thought process and methods when determining that conclusion and comparing it to your own can be a part of that too! Unfortunately, the way CoC and D&D are designed invites the DM to make hitting a mechanical test necessary to find clues - which means the group can easily become stuck or miss out on vital information. The real fun of mysteries comes with theorycrafting, discussion, and using the existing evidence to question NPCs or direct further exploration. Delta Green (and especially Fall of Delta Green) takes a page from GUMSHOE’s book by making it so characters discover clues without rolling if they have the relevant skill developed enough - and usually allow a roll if the skill is below that level. This, in my opinion, strikes a good balance between making the characters feel competent (as they ought, assuming you aren’t going for a high comedy vibe) while still making your allocation of character resources (“skill points”, etc) meaningful - it also shifts focus away from rolling search in every single goddamn room to actually piecing evidence together.
So what about actually making those connections? What, if any mechanical frameworks should there be to assist players in putting the pieces together? The fact is, you might want to play Columbo or Miss Marple in the session, but your character lacks their most crucial advantage: being written by someone who knows the solution. I don’t wanna speak for everyone, but I don’t want to have to actually be as smart as fictional character Benoit Blanc in order to play my ttrpg character based on him. D&D (and most games) navigate gaps between player and character ability with ability rolls - see the fucking persuasion check discourse - but rolling INT and being handed the solution to the game is brutally unsatisfying, so a happy medium is needed. A lot of games use a kind of Hint mechanic, something a character can utilize when they are completely out of ideas and don't know where to go next. For example, CoC has idea rolls, but without ways to earn them organically they *really* feel like some unsatisfying outside help bullshit. It's a fine line to walk - I don't think Hint mechanics are inherently awful, but it's pretty easy to overuse them and cheat the whole experience. Ultimately the necessity of a Hint mechanic is usually due to wonky adventure design, where progression is gated behind a single clue or connection and there's very little redundancy (or, for something like Delta Green and arguably CoC, where mystery is secondary to another mode of genre play).
Eureka! puts a tremendous amount of emphasis on scenario design, and this is a big part of why it recommends starting out with a module so heavily. The thing about the D&D-only crew I alluded to above is that they aren't like, entirely wrong. Mysteries are tricky in ttrpgs, where the protagonists and culprit(so to speak) aren't sharing space inside the same skull(s). Mechanical support is crucial, but some of the burden has to rest on how those mechanics are deployed at the table, which is closer to a play practice issue. This is why Eureka! is so open about telling its reader what good play practices are, something seen as overreach in many other games. As an example. where Eureka! shines is its titular mechanic: your characters' investigative actions can earn them Eureka! points, which you spend to find information from a clue you missed or make a new connection. Essentially, they let you go back and succeed (via your character's reflection and analysis) on a roll you failed earlier. This is a cool, genre-savvy way to solve the problem of missing clues, but it only functions properly if characters are making *lots* of investigation rolls to generate points. This, in turn, is why the game says the GM should fill locations with descriptions beyond the actual points of interest there, and any attempt on the part of the players to look deeper into them should be an investigative roll. Ignoring this advice to cut down on the amount of dice rolling at the table leaves you starved for Eureka! points and begging your GM for a hint - when people talk about how reading the beta rules for Eureka! makes you understand game design better, this is what they mean. Explanations of intended play practice lay bare the reasons for design elements, and make your job as a GM a lot easier. If i wanted to be cheesy about it, I'd say that it makes mechanical development another mystery solved.
You can check out Eureka! here, I shill for the game a lot but with good reason. GUMSHOE is great and all, but this indie game is gonna be one to watch.
