The Cost of Withholding the Odds

When I run a role-playing game, I have a standard operating procedure when it comes to a player-character taking an action that requires a roll. Before the player commits to the action, I will offer an accurate estimate of its difficulty: easy, moderate, hard, etc. Once the player commits, I reveal the actual numerical difficulty or armor class. As I see it, once the risk is undertaken, the odds are revealed. There is no point in punishing the player in the name of immersion. I contend that not revealing the odds is a violation of verisimilitude. Once you attempt something, you can usually gauge your chance of success with a reasonable amount of accuracy simply by being aware of your own capabilities and the challenges you face in the moment. Furthermore, if you withhold the odds, you are withholding knowledge of the character's environment that a player-character needs in order to make meaningful decisions. It is frankly an infringement of player agency, and that, as far as I am concerned, is a breach of the role-playing social contract.

Withholding the odds can be even more consequential if a role-playing game employs a meta-currency such as luck. Why would anyone be motivated to use a scarce resource without knowing the odds? It makes game play less meaningful and, in my experience, less enjoyable. It makes more sense not to engage with that aspect of the rules at all, especially if the resource is rarely, if ever, replenished. But where is the fun in that?

The person running the game already has a vast informational advantage. In the name of good sportsmanship, at least let the players know what their chances are.

Let the Dice Fall Where They May

Dice in any game contribute suspense. Your strategy may appear flawless, but dice represent the fickle finger of Fate that tends to poke you in the eye just when victory is in sight. On the other hand, it can also point the way to safety just when you think all hope is lost. In a role-playing game, dice are the element of chance that is the great equalizer between the GM and the players. For the GM, dice are both a limitation and a liberation. The GM already bears the burden of describing a world and all the inhabitants the players encounter. When the dice are rolled, however, there is no such burden except to describe the results. Here is where the GM gets to participate like a player, where events in the world the GM created can be influenced by an external neutral force. For those GMs who rarely get the opportunity to be players, this is where they, too, can watch events unfold from a non-omniscient point of view.

In order for this dynamic to work, it is necessary for the dice to be rolled in the open. That is to say, the dice ought to be rolled in full view of the players and the GM. Certain kinds of rolls would still be made secretly by the GM, such as a percentage chance of a certain event or encounter happening or when a player character attempts a skill for which success is not readily discernible (e.g. searching for a secret door or detecting a trap), but rolls that represent a contest between characters or a character and the environment should be visible to all participants in the situation.

One problem this alleviates is distrust by the players. If a player can see the GM's roll, he or she knows that the GM is not fudging rolls for the players' benefit or detriment. Although some GMs are suspected of fudging rolls in favor of their NPCs or monsters, I suspect many more are actually guilty of fudging rolls in favor of the players because they do not wish to be too harsh. I suspect this because I was one of those GMs in my early days in the hobby. Mollycoddling players does them no good in the long run. You may think you are helping them, but in actuality you deprive them of the true taste of victory when they succeed if you withhold the bitterness of defeat when they fail. You are also obstructing their growth as gamers.

Any given dice-rolling tradition is probably as old as any other. Some GMs roll in the open; some roll in secret; some let the players roll, but never tell them the target number; some even roll for the players, too. Different groups have different needs. My needs, both as a GM and a player, require that I get to roll dice and let them fall where they may.

[Originally posted in Fudgery.net/fudgerylog on 27 December 2011.]

Character Death, Where Is Thy Sting?

In most adventure role-playing games, it is important for players to understand that death is a real possibility for characters. If the GM is constantly snatching player characters from the jaws of defeat with fudged dice rolls, an important aspect of the game is being sacrificed. Essentially, it encourages less intelligent decision-making on the part of the players, which usually results in a degradation of verisimilitude at the same time that it diminishes role-playing. Actions that have cushioned consequences (or none at all) lead to irrational and unrealistic character behavior. When the possibility of character death is eliminated, another thing is eliminated, too: risk. Risk is the very heart of game-playing itself. It is also the heart of what constitutes an adventure. So, what happens when you eliminate the element of risk from an adventure game? It makes the activity rather pointless, doesn't it?

Character death is not equal in all role-playing games, however. In some games a new character can be generated in five minutes. In others the process may take hours. In either case, if a player has been using a character for many months (or years), the sudden death of that character can carry quite a sting. Without detracting from the significance of a character's demise, it is possible to make the experience less painful for the player and perhaps even make it enjoyable.

When a character expires, it should be almost as much an occasion for celebration as for mourning, like a traditional New Orleans funeral procession. The character's journey has ended, but that doesn't preclude the player from role-playing the death scene to the hilt. If the scene is role-played well enough, whether seriously or comically, the player ought to be rewarded in some manner when they generate the next character. Depending upon the game, the GM might award the new character bonus experience points, a reroll of one attribute, an extra skill, a special ability, an increased chance for psionics, or anything else that appropriately encourages good role-playing and rewards good sportsmanship. And if any particular behavior should be encouraged above all others, for the health of the hobby and the enjoyment of all, it's good sportsmanship.

[Originally posted in Fudgery.net/fudgerylog on 18 December 2011.]