Thought Punks

Tag: game design

The Strange Confession
This entry is part 6 of 6 in the series RPG Theory
THE STRANGE CONFESSION

There are infinite ways to design games. This is one of them. It is based on the underlying philosophy of the SNAP! SRD by Thought Punks / Rev Casey. It is opinionated. We encourage you to also shamelessly share your visions. Write your manifestos. Post calls to action. Encourage the art you want to see.
- We believe the fiction and the structure are one thing with two mouths, not partners, not allies, indivisible.
- We believe the story must never stop, that stalls are design failure, that every roll must deliver something to hold.
- We believe genre is gravity, physics, natural law written into the bones of the game.
- We believe the silliest cartoon nonsense and the most devastating personal drama live at the same table in the same breath.
- We believe your character’s layers should fight each other and your flaws are the most valuable things you own.
- We believe relationships are engines and transformation is the point and the knife should always be shown before it cuts.
- We believe in stealing shamelessly from every tradition that has ever made a room disappear and pledging allegiance to none of them.
- We believe games are alchemical tools, that imagination does not respect the boundaries we draw around “just playing”, and that you can discover what is to be human with nothing but dice and index cards and a willingness to mean it.
If that sounds like the work you want to be doing: this is how we work. Come with us.

The room is gone. The boundary is gone. You are somewhere else now.

You are leaning forward and you do not remember leaning forward. Your hands stopped moving. Someone across the table is holding their breath and you can hear it, the absence of air, the held moment before whatever comes next. The fiction swallowed you whole and you went willingly, you went eagerly. Because this is it. This is the thing. This is why you came here and why you keep coming back and why nothing else scratches this particular itch.

The game is not a game anymore. It never was. It was always a door and you just walked through it.

We know. We’ve been there. We live there, when we are lucky, when the design works, when everything aligns and the table becomes a crucible and we are remade inside it. We are not interested in passive entertainment. We are interested in active transformation. We are interested in the place where the fiction stops being fiction. And especially where it starts being a tool for cracking yourself open and finding out what lives inside.

This is the forbidden alchemy. This is what we do. We use games to shatter the walls between the imagined and the lived, between the playful and the profound, between the ridiculous and the sacred. We believe human imagination is vast and wild and does not respect the polite boundaries we draw around “just a game”. We believe the internal worlds we build at tables are real in every way that matters. We design to honor that reality.

This is not an accident. This is not a gift the dice give when they feel generous. This can be built. This can be made more likely. This is architecture and we are architects. We will share our vision with you because we want you to build it too. Because the more of us who build this way, the more of these moments exist in the world. And we are greedy for them. We are hungry for them. We will never have enough.

A critical secret: fiction and structure are not two things.

We know how this sounds. We know you have been told they are partners, or allies, or that one serves the other. That “fluff” and “rules” live in their own separate universes. Forget that. Burn it.

The fiction and the structure are the same thing speaking with two mouths. When you feel the weight of a choice in your chest, that weight is coming from both at once, indivisible, one pressure with two names. The story says this matters. The structure says this costs. They are not agreeing. They are being the same thing.

Design that treats them as separate is a failure state here. The seam is the failure. The gap is the failure. We build until we cannot find the seam anymore. Until you cannot tell where the story ends and the structure begins. Until the question of which matters more becomes incoherent because there is nothing to compare. This is the foundation. We do not argue about this. We do not compromise on this. This is our truth.

We ride the paradox.

The same table, the same night, the same breath: You are laughing so hard your sides hurt, You are also learning something true about yourself that you will carry for years. The silly and the serious are not enemies. The casual and the transformative are not opposites. Genres are not distinct buckets.

We reject the demand to choose between them. We reject all the lies across the spectrum: that depth requires solemnity, that play must be frivolous, that you cannot explore what it fundamentally means to be human through a cartoon duck who fights crime or a vampire who misses their mother or a spaceship crew arguing about whose turn it is to clean the recycler.

Some of the most profound moments we’ve seen came wrapped in absurdity. The most healing catharsis we felt arrived through fiction so ridiculous we would be embarrassed to explain it to anyone who was not there. On the other side, there are laugh out loud moments enduring years later that came from scenes in otherwise deeply somber games. This is not a bug. This is the feature. Human beings are ridiculous and serious at the same time, in the same breath, and the games that honor both are the games that crack us open widest.

We are not a school. We are not a movement with an acronym. We do not care whether your inspiration comes from what people would call trad, indie, OSR, or some other perceived niche. We take what works. We steal shamelessly from every tradition that has produced a moment worth stealing from. Approaches over allegiances. Results over tribes. If it makes the room disappear, if it empowers the paradoxes, it belongs to us.

The story does not stop.

We refuse to let it. We design to make stillness impossible. Every touch of chance, every reach for a resource, delivers something. Every roll lands somewhere. Every moment opens into the next moment with something new to hold, something new to carry, something demanding your response. The river moves. The river must move. “Nothing happens” is a design failure, not bad luck, not a boring player, not an off night. The structure ought to prevent this. If it does not prevent this, the structure is broken.

Failure pushes forward. Success twists sideways. The world reacts, the world has opinions, the world is taking notes on what you did and how you did it and what it thinks you deserve. The dead pause, the empty result, the shrug and the sigh and the “okay so nothing changes”: these are wounds we are trying to heal. We have felt them. We watched tables bleed out from them. We will not permit them if we can prevent them, and we can prevent them, and so can you.

Genre is not decoration. Genre is gravity.

The cartoon character survives the fall because cartoon physics say she survives the fall. Because this is a world where bodies stretch and flatten and reconstitute, where the pain is real but the damage resets, where death is a vacation you come back from. This is not negotiable. This is not aesthetic preference. This is the law of that world, as binding as the speed of light in ours.

The noir detective finds the clue because noir physics say detectives find clues. Because the genre needs them found for the story to work. Because the shadows cooperate when the story requires cooperation. The horror victim dies alone because horror physics say isolation kills, because the genre enforces its own rules with the same blind indifference as a cliff enforces gravity on the body that falls from it.

Build for this. Write the genre into the structure until it feels like natural law. Until violating it feels wrong, body wrong, before the mind even notices. Until the constraints stop feeling like restraints and start feeling like the walls that make the room a room. The limitations are not limitations. The limitations are where you live. The limitations are the shape of the art.

You are not one thing. You never were.

You are the collision. The friction point. You are what happens when the story you came from scrapes against the nature you embody scrapes against the philosophy you carry. The layers do not agree because they were never supposed to agree. They pull in different directions and that pulling is where the drama lives. That tension is the engine, the disagreement that gives the fiction somewhere to go.

A character whose layers align perfectly like a mechanical song is a character who has finished before they started. Nothing to discover. Nothing to sacrifice. Nothing to choose between because all the choices point the same direction. We design for friction. We design for the moment when you realize you cannot serve all the parts of yourself at once. When something has to give. When you choose which piece of who you are gets to win and which pieces have to watch it happen and bitterly remember.

People matter. Connections matter. Not as backstory. Not as flavor. As engines.

Every relationship generates something. Obligation, affection, resentment, need, the memory of what you did, the memory of what you failed to do. They call in debts. They drift when ignored. They have opinions about you that will crystallize into action when the moment demands. The stakes are not abstract when someone you care about is standing in the fire. Victory means something different when the cost lands on someone whose face you have imagined, whose name you know.

Design to make this real. Make the connections bear mechanical weight. Make it impossible to write “family: loving, deceased” and forget about them forever. The web of relationship should generate play the way a generator generates electricity. It should be the reason you cannot rest, should be the reason the next session matters, should turn “I win” into “I win… but what does she think of me now”. The void without them is exactly that: void. A voice echoing back. Nothing at stake but numbers moving. Make them alive. Make them real. Make them matter.

The cracks are where the light comes in.

The flaws, the compulsions, the fears that freeze you, the hungers that make you reckless: Those are not penalties subtracted from your competence. These are the most valuable things you own. They generate scenes. They create friction. They are the reason anyone at the table leans forward when you speak.

We’ve watched it happen. Someone lets their character fail because the flaw demanded it. Someone chooses the worse option because that is what they would do, this person they are pretending to be, this fragile constructed thing they have poured themselves into. And everyone else at the table feels it land. The electricity is there. The moment is there. The room disappears.

Design to reward this. Make the flaw feel precious. Make it feel like a gift you get to give yourself, an engaging piece of discovering what happens, not a tax you pay for your strengths. The best moments come from weakness. They always have. The vulnerability is the point. The exposure is where the art lives.

You will not walk away unchanged.

We mean the character. The marks accumulate, the transformations compound, the person at the end is not the person at the beginning and that gap is visible and permanent. The wounds heal crooked. The memories weigh. What you did to survive becomes part of who you are and you cannot go back. And you were never supposed to go back.

But we also mean you. The player. The person at the table. You will learn things about yourself through the choices you make for people who do not exist. You will find cruelties you did not know you had, kindnesses you did not believe in, limits you did not know existed until you felt them give. The fiction is a mirror and sometimes the reflection stares back wrong and you feel something shift in your chest. Now lingers some understanding that was not there an hour ago, some weight you will carry out the door with you.

This is what we are trying to do. This is the actual work. Bleed is intentional. Design for transformation. Make it visible. Make it mechanical. Make it impossible to play long enough without becoming something you were not when you started.

Bleed is powerful. Transformation is powerful. And power demands care. When we say we design for bleed, we do not mean we ambush players. Build structures that make depth possible and visible. Treat that depth as something to steward, not exploit. The table is a shared creative space where intensity is invited, calibrated, and respected. Transformation should feel earned, chosen, and integrated, not extracted. Where fiction reaches into real places, do so with consent, with awareness, and with the understanding that every person at the table is more important than any given moment we are trying to create.

Show them the knife.

Let them see the edge. Let them understand, in their bodies, what happens if they reach for it. The surprise is cheap. The ambush is cheap. The gotcha is the tool of those who cannot make you afraid with your eyes open.

Tension is built from anticipation. From watching the threat approach and not knowing if you are fast enough, clever enough, willing to pay the price it will demand. From choosing to face it anyway, or choosing to run, or choosing to let someone else stand in front of you. The tension lives in the choosing. The teeth should be visible. The danger should be announced. Fear that comes from not knowing is just confusion. Fear that comes from knowing exactly what will happen if you fail? That is dread. That is what we are trying to build.

A system should want something.

Not flexibility. Not universality. Not the ability to do everything adequately. A system should push toward a particular experience, a particular quality of play, a particular set of values about what kinds of stories are worth telling and what it should feel like to tell them.

We design with opinions. We leave things out because they do not serve the vision. We cut what does not belong even when it hurts, even when someone is disappointed, because focus is the price of this work and we are willing to pay it. We bloodily create the empty space necessary for our vision to grow. Attempting to do everything is the refusal to commit to anything. We refuse the refusal. We commit.

We are trying to build the moment when the room disappears and you forget where the game ends and where you begin.

All of this. Everything. The unity of fiction and structure. The river that will not stop. The genre as gravity. The paradox of silly and serious. The identity as friction. The relationships as generators. The flaws as gifts. The transformation as purpose. The knife shown before it cuts. The vision that will not compromise. The refusal to pledge allegiance to any tribe except the tribe of this works, this lands, this makes something happen.

All of it exists to make that moment more likely. All of it exists because we have felt it, because we are ravenously hungry for it. Because we believe it can be built and pursued and made more frequent without losing its power. We are alchemists. Our common ritual tools are dice and index cards and pencils with the erasers worn down to nothing. With these absurd tools and a touch of creativity, we look inside human beings to find out what is living inside them, we casually erase the boundary between the real and the imagined.

The boundary between game and life is a lie we were told to keep us manageable. To allow us to pretend that it is “just a game” and everything that happens in it lives neatly inside its “magic circle”. But imagination is not contained. The internal worlds we build bleed into who we are, who we are bleeds into what we build, and the loop does not close and was never supposed to close. We do not apologize for this. We celebrate it. We design for the bleed. We design for the transformation. We design for the moment when you walk away from the table carrying something you did not have when you sat down.

We are not done.

We will never be done.

The door is open. Walk through it. Come build with us.

Signed in strange nonsense,

All those who confess with us

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February 18, 2026
Great TTRPG Newbie Paradox (they’re easier to teach)
This entry is part 1 of 6 in the series RPG Theory
Novice TTRPG Players and Simple Guidance

You should go make a game with Caltrop Core, maybe.

One of the great paradoxes I’ve noticed in TTRPGs is that newer players don’t always need the extensive examples and explanations that seasoned gamers often request. It’s fascinating how the learning process can differ so much depending on experience level. While experienced players may want every detail laid out to navigate complex systems, novice players tend to do just fine with simpler, more straightforward instructions. So why is that?

To really understand why this is, we have to look at how cognitive psychology, gaming culture, and design philosophy come into play. New players are engaging with the game in a fresh way, while veterans approach things with a wealth of past experiences and mental models already in place. This combination of factors explains why simple rules can be so effective for new players, but also why they might leave veterans wanting more.

Cognitive Load Management

Starting out in TTRPGs can be overwhelming. New players are diving into an entirely new hobby, and everything is unfamiliar. New players must grasp both game goals and effective roleplaying, which can be substantial learning challenges. Success requires reducing cognitive load: avoid overwhelming them with information. Simplify what players process to create approachable, enjoyable entry points.

That’s why simple, streamlined rules work so well. New players don’t need to memorize a bunch of rules upfront; they only need the basics to get started. Systems like Fate Accelerated or Lasers & Feelings are perfect for this! These rules-light systems remain accessible, letting players focus on fun rather than details. Without intimidating mechanics, they encourage creative exploration while fostering early accomplishment.

Managed cognitive load enables immediate gameplay immersion. Which itself enables more easily experiencing the game firsthand, which is often the most effective and engaging way for players to understand how it all fits together.

Learning Through Play

For new players, a good way to learn is often by diving in and engaging directly. Behavioral modeling plays a huge role here. Watching others navigate mechanics, solve problems, and roleplay their characters helps new players build an intuitive understanding of the game.

Reading about skill checks differs fundamentally from witnessing real-time dice rolls and reactions. Observing experienced GMs navigate challenges or players embody characters makes learning through example particularly effective.

This isn’t limited to group play, either. Solo roleplaying also teaches powerfully through play and reflection. Experimenting with rules, testing scenarios, and recognizing successful approaches provides irreplaceable feedback beyond manual reading. This learning-by-doing aligns with human psychology.

Experiential learning fundamentally drives this process. Acquiring new skills involves practice, experimentation, and gradual improvement. TTRPGs suit this perfectly through balanced structure and flexibility that encourages learning during play.

New players’ flexibility distinguishes them significantly. Lacking preconceived notions, they frequently adapt faster to rules and discover creative engagement methods. This adaptability becomes a powerful asset, helping them embrace guidance and maximize their experience.

Adaptability

What’s amazing about new players is their adaptability. They haven’t been trained to expect certain complexities, and that’s a huge advantage. Without preconceived notions about how rules “should” work, they’re open to whatever the system throws at them. With fewer expectations, they can engage with simple rules without overthinking them, allowing for a more organic experience. This flexibility makes them more open to experimentation and less likely to get caught up in analysis paralysis over myriad options.

The Tabula Rasa effect is big here. Novices often approach rules with fresh eyes, making them open to experimentation. Conversely, experienced players may often compare rules to prior systems and/or hold certain assumptions. Graceful degradation is something newer players excel at as a result. Novices will often default to common sense and broad principles, as well as more often collapse to core rules. Seasoned gamers will look for more nuance, more often look for edge cases, and generally expect more direct guidance.

The Takeaway for Game Designers

Game designers should prioritize simplicity. New players engage best without complex rules or lengthy explanations. Systems emphasizing straightforward mechanics and learning through play build novice confidence and enjoyment immediately.

Experienced Players and the Need for Detailed Guidance

Complexity Preference

For seasoned players, simplicity can sometimes feel like a limitation. After years of playing more complex systems, many veterans crave the depth and nuance that come with detailed rules. They want to be able to dive deep into the mechanics, optimize characters, and explore all the strategic options available.

Systems like Pathfinder and Shadowrun thrive in this space. They offer a level of granularity and choice that challenges experienced players and rewards those who enjoy analyzing every aspect of the game. These systems activate analytical thinking, rewarding those who relish strategic complexity. They also often reward system mastery, which encourages a desire for deep rules understandings.

Desire for Comprehensive Understanding

Experienced players often seek clarity on edge cases and exceptions. They need detailed rules and examples to navigate these situations confidently. For them, the finer points of a system matter, especially when the game isn’t going according to the usual script. A system that provides clarity on the exceptions and intricacies helps them play with confidence, ensuring that no one gets stuck in a situation where they’re unsure of how to proceed.

The can also want clarity on edge cases and exceptions because these often define the boundaries of creativity within the game. Detailed examples allow experienced players to confidently navigate unusual scenarios, ensuring they can “play to the rules” without stalling gameplay. In addition, gamers accustomed to systems like Dungeons & Dragons may expect clear guidance for adjudicating specific situations. Understanding this prior experience is key for seasoned gamers.

Integration with Prior Knowledge

Veteran players come into a game with a wealth of experience, so they’re naturally comparing new systems to the ones they already know. They’ve built mental models (or “schemas”) of how TTRPGs “should” work, and if the new system doesn’t align with those expectations, it can cause confusion.

Discrepancies between these expectations and a new game’s mechanics can lead to frustration without sufficient explanation. A well-designed system can acknowledge this by providing clear explanations of how it differs from other games or being very clear about its own nuances. Without these distinctions, experienced players may feel lost or frustrated trying to figure out how things work.

Challenges with Simple Rules for Experienced Players

Overinterpretation

Experienced players often struggle with simple systems because they assume there’s more complexity hidden in the rules. When the system feels too straightforward, they begin to look for deeper meaning or “unspoken” rules. This overthinking can lead to confusion, especially when the simplicity they encounter doesn’t match their mental models.

Cognitive Rigidity

Another challenge is cognitive rigidity. Long-time TTRPG players can become so accustomed to the intricacies of complex systems or robust presentations that transitioning to something simpler or more direct can feel like a step backward. Research indicates that experts in any field can develop a rigidity that limits their ability to adapt to new frameworks; this same psychological principle applies to TTRPGs. This rigidity can make it hard to adapt to lighter systems and simpler explanations that don’t provide the same level of depth they’re used to.

Expectation of Depth

Veterans can expect games to offer rich, strategic gameplay. They are often come to anticipate a certain level of complexity in gameplay and/or detail in rulebooks. Simpler texts may seem “shallow” to them, leaving them unsatisfied. They can feel those lighter books are lacking the intricate balance or emergent possibilities of more robust frameworks and explanations.

Balancing Rule Presentation for Different Players

Layered Rulebooks

One way to meet the needs of both novice and experienced players is to present rules in layers. Start with the core mechanics, keep it simple and easy to digest. Then add deeper, optional rules for those who want them. This approach lets new players engage without feeling overwhelmed while still providing the depth that experienced players crave.

However, balancing this can be tricky. If the rules aren’t organized well, it can feel like you’re constantly flipping through pages to find the right information, which can be frustrating.

Integrated Examples

Including examples directly in the text helps everyone, regardless of experience level. Novices can learn a lot from rules-in-action demonstrations. Gaming veterans often value edge-case clarifications. The most effective examples are relevant to both types of players, demonstrating rule applications across both contexts.

This demands balancing simplicity for novices against nuance for veterans. Simultaneously, maintaining readable flow and utility as a reference often prioritizes conciseness and directness, which can sacrifice granular detail. There is a careful balancing act for TTRPG authors.

Encouraging Exploration

Another way to bridge the gap between new and experienced players is by encouraging creativity within a structured system. Games that offer flexibility while still keeping things clear and simple can appeal to both groups. Designing systems that promote creativity within clear boundaries can engage both new and seasoned players, accommodating different preferences for complexity.

Systems like Powered by the Apocalypse do this well. New players get to co-create the story alongside the GM, while veteran players can still engage with the rules in a deeper, strategic way. It’s the best of both worlds.

A Few Final Thoughts

The Role of Player Psychology

The psychology of TTRPG players varies greatly. New players are often more risk-tolerant and excited to explore, while experienced players regularly seek mastery and optimization. These different approaches to the game highlight the importance of balancing rules in a way that caters to both. The more we understand these tendencies, the better we can design games that speak to a wider audience.

The Evolution of TTRPG Culture

TTRPGs have evolved a lot over the years, with indie games gaining traction and traditional systems like Dungeons & Dragons continuing to thrive. This diversity in gaming culture means that players bring different expectations based on their experiences. Designers need to be aware of these cultural shifts and cater to the broad spectrum of preferences.

Game Master Dynamics

The role of the GM also changes depending on experience. Novice GMs can benefit from systems that allow flexibility and creativity. Their lack of assumptions, along with the accompanying openness and adaptability, is their great strength. In contrast, veteran GMs typically look for more robust tools that help with complex storytelling and adjudicating rules. Their experience and system mastery, with the knowledge and rules familiarity they provide, form their strong points. Understanding these differences is key to making a game that works for all GMs.

OK, Actual Final Thoughts

The interplay between simplicity and complexity in TTRPG design reflects not only player experience levels but also evolving cultural and cognitive preferences. Novices often thrive on minimalist guidance that reduces cognitive load, encourages exploration, and builds confidence. Veterans, on the other hand, oft demand nuanced mechanics, detailed examples, and robust systems that align with their mental models and expectations.

However, this is all variable and nuanced based on the tabletop roleplaying game niche they embrace, their general mindset and preferences, and their overall experience. Game designers can meet these diverse needs through thoughtful layering of rules, embedded examples, and systems that balance creativity with clarity. Understanding the psychology and preferences of different player groups enables inclusive designs that enrich the TTRPG experience for everyone.

And as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! Leave a comment here and/or come scream at me about it on Bluesky.

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December 21, 2024
Dice Labels: The Heart of the Motif Approach
This entry is part 1 of 3 in the series Motif Thoughts
Thinking About Dice Labels and Narrative Dice in Motif

Also check out the free RPG I was inspired to share from my slushpile by this post!

When it comes to TTRPGs, rolling dice is often about success and failure. But what if the dice could do more? What if they could weave a rich, story-driven narrative with every roll? Enter Motif, a narrative dice system that transforms the simple act of rolling dice into a powerful tool for storytelling. Motif provides answers to questions as an oracle system. Motif’s magic lies in its use of labeled dice, each one offering a different aspect of the story.

Rather than being limited to basic success/failure metrics, Motif turns each die into a question about the world, the characters, or the situation. It’s this layered, dynamic approach that sets Motif apart and gives it such powerful potential, whether you’re a seasoned GM or flying solo on an adventure. Let’s take a deep dive into the core dice labels that make this system tick.

Core Dice Build: A Flexible Narrative Tool

At the heart of a core Motif build is a simple but incredibly versatile system of three dice. These dice don’t just measure success or failure, they bring your narrative to life layer by layer with each roll. While the standard Motif build uses the following labels, what’s great about Motif is that you can totally tweak these labels to suit your game. But let’s first look at how the system works with the classic three-label approach:
- 1st Die: Answer
  The first die is all about answering the question. It gives you the basic “yes/no” or “success/failure” outcome. Depending on how you set it up, this die will give you the simplest answer to your query.
  - 1-3: No
  - 4-6: Yes
  - Example: Let’s say your party is looking for shelter. You roll a 5, and you find a cabin nearby. Success!
- 2nd Die: Wrinkle
  The wrinkle die is where things get spicy. It adds depth and complexity to your simple answer. It doesn’t just let you say “Yes” or “No”; it modifies that response and makes the outcome more interesting. This die determines whether your success has an extra twist or your failure is worse than expected.
  - 1-2: But… (the outcome has a twist, alleviating or complicating things).
  - 3-4: Plain answer (straightforward and no complications).
  - 5-6: And… (the answer is strong, with an additional benefit or complication).
  - Example: The group rolls to see if they can find shelter. The answer die gives them a yes, but the wrinkle die adds a 6 (And). They find a cabin, and it turns out to be fully stocked with supplies. Bonus!
- 3rd Die: Flavor
  Ah, the flavor die. This is where things get really fun. The flavor die brings the thematic richness to your roll, adding more context or tone based on what’s important for the moment. Think of it as an extra dimension, highlighting what’s most crucial for the scene. Whether it’s Safety, Advantage, Favorability, or even Weirdness, the flavor die gives your answer a distinct personality.
  - Low rolls indicate a lack of that flavor (or the opposite of it).
  - High rolls emphasize that flavor in a big way.
  - Example: Your ragged crew’s scraping by in a poisoned wasteland, storms howling outside. You need shelter, now! The flavor die is set to Safety. A roll of 1 means the shelter is unsafe (maybe it’s crawling with threats), but a roll of 6 means the shelter is perfectly secure and safe.
Beyond the Standard Build: Customizing Dice Labels

Now, here’s where Motif really shines… flexibility. Sure, you can use the standard Answer, Wrinkle, and Flavor setup, but why stop there? Motif allows you to completely customize the dice labels to match whatever’s happening in your game. This means you can use the dice for anything, from treasure hoards to NPC interactions to world-building elements. The sky’s the limit!

Picture this: your party’s shoving aside rubble in some dead god’s temple, and bam! There it is. A chest, older than your wizard’s grudges. You can assign dice labels like this:
- 1st Die: Value (How valuable is the loot?)
- 2nd Die: Condition (What’s the condition of the items?)
- 3rd Die: Danger (How dangerous is it to get to this treasure?)
Let’s roll:
- 1st Die: 6 (High Value) – This is treasure worth fighting for!
- 2nd Die: 1 (Poor Condition) – Most of the loot is in bad shape, so it might not be worth the trouble.
- 3rd Die: 5 (High Danger) – Traps abound! You’ll have to be cautious, or you’re toast.
So, there something truly valuable deep in there, but most of the hoard has been ruined and the danger is real. That means the players have a tough choice: go for the gold and risk their lives, or walk away empty-handed?

You could easily change this up to use in other situations, such as for NPC encounters or scene setting. Here’s a few examples:
- NPC Interaction:
  - 1st Die: Relationship (How strong is the NPC’s bond with the group?)
  - 2nd Die: Mood (How good or bad is the NPC feeling?)
  - 3rd Die: Reaction (How well does the NPC respond to the party?)
- Scene Setting:
  - 1st Die: Atmosphere (What’s the tone of the scene, dark or bright?)
  - 2nd Die: Obstacles (How difficult are the problems or barriers here?)
  - 3rd Die: Opportunity (What are the chances like to find resources and treasure?)
Adding Narrative Dice Layers to Other Systems

But wait, there’s more! You don’t have to play a Motif game to use Motif’s labeled narrative dice. Here’s the kicker: Motif’s dice slot into ANY system with ease. Playing 5E? Savage Worlds? Solo journaling? Steal these labels. Now. Dropping them into a dungeon crawl? Suddenly that “orc encounter” roll also tells you how bad they smell (given your heroes a chance to notice them before turning that fateful corner). Running a one-shot? Use a Mood die to decide if the tavern’s rowdy or funereal and a Welcoming die to decide if they’re hostile or warm to strangers. It’s cheating in a way, the good kind!

Here’s how Motif can enhance other systems:
- Solo Play: Use the dice as oracles to answer questions, generate plot twists, or decide on story outcomes without needing a GM.
- Loot Generators: You could roll for value, condition, and danger or other appropriate labels to generate interesting treasure hoards.
- World-Building: Need to define a new region? Assign thematic labels (like Hospitality, Danger, Wealth) and roll to quickly determine the flavor of a new area.
You can also layer Motif onto or in-between existing mechanics to add flavor and important details, which can be especially useful in low prep GMing and solo RPG situations. Let’s use an illustrative example! Imagine you’re running a traditional dungeon crawl. Instead of just having players roll to “disarm trap,” use the dice labels to flesh out the trap mechanics. Maybe you assign labels like:
- 1st Die: Visibility (How hard is it to detect?)
- 2nd Die: Severity (How bad is the trap?)
- 3rd Die: Effectiveness (How hard is it to avoid the trap?)
A roll of 1, 6, 3 could mean it’s a hard-to-detect trap and very dangerous if triggered, though reasonable to avoid with the right skill.

Try Letting Your Dice Tell the Story

The dice labels in Motif aren’t just random numbers on a die, they’re powerful storytelling tools. By giving each die a distinct role in your game, you’re creating a world that responds to the choices your players make in dynamic, unpredictable ways. Whether you’re deep in the heart of a Motif game or using these dice as a supplement to your favorite system, the possibilities are endless. You’re not just rolling dice, you’re crafting stories.

If this kind of thing interests you, be sure to check out the free duo TTRPG about a dying immortal I’m sharing from my slushpile because of this post!

So, what are you waiting for? How will you label your dice? What new stories are you going to tell? Let’s get rolling! If this spurred any thoughts, come scream at me on Bluesky about it.

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December 18, 2024
RPG Idea: Hard Road Ahead
This entry is part 3 of 4 in the series Free Games
Something I may never complete. Inspired to share this from my slush pile by my post about Ghibli-inspired games. Putting this out there for anyone else to finish, if they want. Fully open license, public domain. Use as you will.

Hard Road Ahead

A two-player micro-RPG inspired by the darker elements of Studio Ghibli.

Overview

One player takes the role of The Young Person, someone desperately striving to save a loved one who will die without their help. The other plays The World That Is, a callous, indifferent force that cares only for the endless cycles of life, death, and the laws of the universe. Together, you will tell a story of hardship, fleeting hope, and the cruel beauty of persistence.

What You Need
- 6-sided dice (d6), at least three.
- Paper and pen for tracking progress.
- A quiet space to reflect and tell your story.
Setup
1. The Young Person names their loved one and describes why they must save them. Define the relationship and what makes this bond vital.
2. The World That Is describes the setting: is it a crumbling city, a storm-lashed forest, or a war-torn countryside? Frame the narrative tone.
3. Both players collaboratively decide on the loved one’s three essential needs:
  - Medicine to treat or prevent sickness. What treatment do they need?
  - Food to stave off starvation. What kind of allergies and other food issues must you avoid?
  - Clothes to protect against deprivation. What is needed for the season, weather, and terrain?
4. Draw two trackers:
  - Young Person’s Needs: Hunger, Exposure, and Exhaustion, each starting at 0.
  - Loved One’s Needs: Sickness, Starvation, and Deprivation, each starting at 0.
How to Play

The story unfolds across at least five quests that The Young Person must pass to gather the resources their loved one needs. Each quest is an encounter, framed by The World That Is, which presents as (roll a d6):
- 1-2, A Social Trap: An overprotective guardian, a deceptive merchant, or others with conflicting goals.
- 3-4, A Task: Delivering messages, retrieving a lost item, or fulfilling a troubling request.
- 5-6, Internal Struggles: Phantoms or hallucinations of doubt and despair.
For each quest, the conditions available in the quest may offer a chance to reduce negative conditions for the player and there are two possible outcomes:
- Pass: The Young Person earns a vital item (Medicine, Food, or Clothes) and/or a step of relief for their own Needs.
- Fail: The World That Is offers a deus ex machina escape at a steep cost: an increase of 1 in either Sickness, Starvation, or Deprivation for the loved one, as well as usually an increase of one of the young person’s Needs.
Mechanics
1. Encounter Timers: Each encounter is resolved in three rolls or less, symbolizing the limited time available. The timer reflects urgency, a collapsing bridge, approaching danger, or window of opportunity closing.
2. Rolling for Progress: The Young Person rolls 1d6 per action. Actions must align with their described approach to the challenge. They may choose to accept 1 negative track for +2 dice. Once per encounter, you may also pick one of your loved one’s Needs and roll twice as many extra dice as the track is at. But if you take a cost (partial success or failure), it adds +1 to one of their other Needs tracks in addition to the young person’s. However, if you succeed, reduce the loved one’s Need used by 1. Possible results:
  - 6: Overwhelming success.
  - 4-5: Partial progress; the player may advance but at a cost, such as 1 Hunger, Exposure, or Exhaustion.
  - 1-3: Failure; no progress and +1 to one of the young person’s Need tracks.
3. Tracking Needs: Needs can be alleviated to some degree by the encounters, such as eating at a strange festival to reduce Hunger or taking shelter with that witch for a while to reduce Exposure. When any of The Young Person’s Needs (Hunger, Exposure, or Exhaustion) reaches 5, they collapse, lost to the indifferent world. The game ends with tragedy, as they are discovered dying by their (probably also soon to perish) loved one.
4. Loved One’s Condition: Failures during encounters add to the loved one’s Sickness, Starvation, or Deprivation. They cannot be alleviated under they are reached by the Young Person. However much Medicine, Food, and Clothing they have reduces Sickness, Starvation, and Deprivation that much. If the game ends with any higher than 1, or 1 in all, their future is ambiguous. 1 or 0 in all, except for all 1s, they go on to be well. When any of these reach 3, the loved one succumbs before The Young Person can reach them. The story ends in sorrow.
5. Winning the Game: If The Young Person successfully passes at least five quests and delivers at least 1 Medicine, Food, or Clothes, they reach their loved one in time, saving them (at least for now) from death. Note the loved one’s condition to judge their epilogue. And the journey’s toll remains, leaving scars and questions about what was lost to succeed.
Example Encounter

The World That Is: “You step briefly inside a well-maintained old cottage and suddenly an old woman blocks your way. Her house is warm, filled with food, and she offers you shelter. But she insists you stay and never leave. Her smile is kind, but her grip on your arm is iron the moment you step anywhere near the doors or windows.”

The Young Person: “At first I may have no choice, so I will rest a while and eat a bit to put her at ease.”

The World That Is: “The old woman seems happy that you accept so easily. She presents course after course of food, then covers you with a blanket as you rest afterward in a deep comfortable chair, reducing both your Hunger and Exhaustion by 1.”

The Young Person: “When she settles down herself, that is my chance. I will try to distract her by singing a lullaby to make her sleepy.”

Successful Quest

The young person rolls a 4, a partial success with a cost. The old woman’s eyes droop, but she shakes her head and her gaze remains fixed on them. They also take 1 Exhaustion as they sing a lullaby but resist the urge to sleep. Continuing to sing, they make a second roll. The old woman finally nods off, lulled to sleep by the soft melody. The Young Person gathers food and escapes, having some time while the woman sleeps so both reducing their Hunger by 1 and earning 1 Food for their loved one.

Failed Quest

The young person rolls a 2, a failure. The song is off-tune as the old woman eyes them suspiciously and remains perfectly alert as she sips her tea. The awkward tension is draining and adds +1 to Exhaustion.

The Young Person: “I see this isn’t working. I’m going to try making increasingly bothersome requests to see if I can get her away long enough to slip out.”

The young person groans as they roll a 3, another failure. They ask for different blankets, pillows, obscure snacks, and the whole lot of it but she never has to leave the room to accommodate the young person. The whole process is so tiring and adds another +1 to Exhaustion. Their Exhaustion is creeping very high and they decide to not risk any further action.

The Young Person: “If I can, I’m going to accept that there is no escape for now and rest to recover a bit before the other shoe drops.”

The World That Is: “You may remove one of those Exhaustions you gained. As you fitfully nap, you are rudely awakened being pushed out of the chair. The old woman is screaming at you about some request you made while half-asleep. As far as you can tell it was for some kind of cookie or snack, but she is taking it as a deadly insult. You are thrown out of the house in the middle of a storm, gaining 1 Exposure. Reflecting the plenty that you’re leaving behind, your loved one’s Starvation goes up by 1.”

Themes of Reflection

After each quest, The Young Person pauses for a moment of introspection. The player must describe what keeps them going despite the rising toll and stress, while The World That Is narrates how the environment reacts: indifferent stars, whispering winds, or the cold indifference of a collapsing society.

Conclusion

Hard Road Ahead is not about triumph or comfort but persistence against the odds. It captures the heartache, fleeting beauty, and relentless hardships that echo the darker undertones of Studio Ghibli’s masterpieces, while also mixing in non-traditional conflicts and whimsical encounters to reflect the other side of the inspiration. Will you make it in time, or will the world’s callousness win?

Have you hacked this into a more complete game? Are you incorporating some of these ideas into your own game? Or have you even tried giving this raw/mini version a try? Please, shout at me on Bluesky about it.

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December 17, 2024
Getting in the (Dice) Swing of Things
This entry is part 3 of 3 in the series Motif Thoughts
On Swingy Dice: The Design of Motif

Dice systems play a key role in shaping the dynamics of tabletop RPGs. They not only determine the mechanics of success or failure but also create the emotional backbone of tension, excitement, and consequence in gameplay. In Motif, swingy dice (those that produce wide variations in outcomes) are a deliberate feature that enhances the game both as an oracle and a game engine. Let’s dive into why this choice is central to Motif’s design and how it contributes to the overall experience.

Why Swingy Dice?

Motif is meant to be swingy despite being 2d6/3d6. Because each die is counted individually, so they’re swingy. This swinginess creates excitement and uncertainty, a perfect fit for an oracle system. Here’s why:
- Small Range, High Impact
  The dice in Motif (d6) stay within a small range, reducing the risk of extreme streaks. The range is small (limiting/mitigating streaks) and it’s an answer oracle, so you want it weighted random. This limitation prevents outcomes from becoming overwhelming while still allowing for significant swings that can drive the narrative forward.
  - The combination of small numerical values (1-6) and independent rolls means that variability remains dynamic yet manageable, unlike systems with broader ranges like d20. This balance ensures that the game’s mechanics feel lively without derailing play.
- Individual Randomness
  Because each die is counted individually, each one represents a unique factor or aspect of the answer. With each die being swingy, this creates a complex random pattern of answers. The outcome isn’t a smooth progression but rather a series of varied shifts, where each die’s result contributes to the overall response in unpredictable and dynamic ways.
  - In practical terms, this design choice mirrors the chaos of real-life decision-making, where multiple variables can pull in different directions. This keeps players engaged and reactive, adapting to each roll as the narrative unfolds.
- Impactful Modifiers
  The small scale makes simple +/-1 and 2 modifiers meaningful. The small range of the dice ensures that even small shifts in modifiers can dramatically influence the outcome, keeping the stakes high and the decisions weighty.
  - This contrasts with systems like d20, where a +1 modifier might have a subtler impact, or percentile systems, where slight adjustments can feel almost negligible. In Motif, every modifier directly affects the narrative’s momentum, making every choice resonate more strongly with players.
Distribution and Narrative Impact

Dice distributions directly shape the flow and tone of a narrative by controlling how predictable outcomes are and where results tend to cluster. Swingy systems, such as Motif, create a wide range of outcomes that amplify uncertainty and tension, whereas bell-curved systems lean toward predictability and realism.

For example, the Motif system’s use of individual d6 results means every roll offers a spread of possibilities, contributing to a dynamic and fluid narrative structure. Each roll feels less like a calculation and more like a narrative catalyst. In contrast, systems like 3d6 summed create a bell curve, where middle-range results dominate. This design favors games where outcomes need to reflect consistent skill levels or controlled probabilities, such as simulationist RPGs.

Tension and Stakes in Dice Systems

One of the most critical elements of a dice system is its ability to manage player tension and stakes. Swingy dice systems like Motif excel in this area by creating outcomes that are unpredictable yet significant. Players can never fully anticipate results, keeping the stakes high and the narrative alive.

Modifiers interact differently across dice systems and can drastically alter tension. In Motif, where small changes to a d6’s outcome have a profound impact, a +1 modifier could entirely shift the narrative’s direction. In bell-curved systems or large scale die systems (like d20), modifiers often produce more subtle shifts, with their impact most pronounced at the extreme ends of the probability curve.

Dice pools, like those found in systems such as Blades in the Dark, emphasize the number of successes over individual rolls, creating another form of tension. Adding a single die to a pool can significantly improve odds, making even small adjustments feel meaningful. These systems, however, trade the swinginess of individual rolls for the aggregated predictability of multiple dice.

Embracing Uncertainty

While great for detailed mechanical gameplay and reliability, bell curved systems can lack the dramatic unpredictability that swingy dice provide. In Motif, the swinginess serves to amplify the storytelling aspect, ensuring that every roll feels significant and emotionally charged. This approach captures the chaotic and improvisational spirit central to the approach’s design.

The uncertainty and excitement are great. Swingy dice encourage unpredictable outcomes, which create tension and drama. Unlike bell-curved dice systems, which tend to cluster results around the average, Motif’s dice allow for more variance, giving every roll a feeling of consequence and unpredictability.

Ultimately, each approach tailors the level of tension and the stakes players experience. Swingy systems like Motif excel at delivering dramatic highs and lows, while bell-curved systems smooth out the experience, favoring consistency over chaos.

Reflect on Your Dice System

Take some time to think about your chosen dice system. Is it swingy? Bell curved? What is the range like? How do the modifiers interact with the odds? What is the general feel? These questions are key when designing or choosing a dice system, as each system influences the tone and pacing of the game. Consider these examples:
- Bell Curves (3d6 Summed or Dice Pools)
  Bell curves produce more predictable outcomes, ideal for games focused on consistency or skill-based challenges. They reduce uncertainty but sometimes may not generate the same high tension. This makes them excellent for simulating realistic systems where skill or practice governs success.
- Percentile Systems (d100)
  Percentile systems offer high precision, which is perfect for games where exact outcomes matter. % systems are great for high-stakes or high-tension games where that exacting, unforgiving vibe works. While these systems can feel cold or overly mechanical, they shine in contexts where specificity is vital.
- Swingy Dice (Motif or d20)
  Swingy dice systems like Motif fuel tension and surprise. With unpredictable results, every roll feels consequential, and players are always kept on edge. The resulting emotional intensity complements games emphasizing improvisation and narrative twists.
Final Thoughts

Motif’s use of swingy dice enhances the game’s unpredictability, creating excitement and meaningful choices in a compact system. Whether you’re designing your own game or playing with others, understanding how dice mechanics affect the overall experience is crucial. Are your dice systems swingy or predictable? How do they affect the tension and stakes of your game? By reflecting on these factors, you can better align your mechanics with the experience you want to deliver.

What’s your take on swingy dice? Share your thoughts and let’s discuss how different dice systems shape gameplay! Shout at us over on Bluesky.

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December 14, 2024
TTRPG Mechanics Model: Granularity, Modularity, Connectivity, Fidelity
This entry is part 3 of 6 in the series RPG Theory
Understanding TTRPG Design Through Four Overlapping Scales

When discussing tabletop RPGs, terms like “crunch” or “narrative focus” frequently arise. While useful, these discussions can become muddled, lacking a structured way to examine what makes each game unique. To frame this conversation, we can use a model of four overlapping scales: granularity, modularity, connectivity, and fidelity. Each of these represents a distinct axis of design, shaping how we experience and engage with games.

Let’s break down each scale and explore how they influence play.

1. Granularity (aka “Crunch”)

Granularity measures how detailed a game’s mechanics are. High-granularity systems, like GURPS or Pathfinder, offer intricate rules that cover a broad array of situations, from combat maneuvers to nuanced skill checks. On the other hand, low-granularity games like FATE or Lasers & Feelings simplify mechanics, focusing on streamlined gameplay. The level of granularity directly impacts pacing and player focus, influencing whether the experience feels like a tactical simulation or an improvisational story.
- High granularity: Provides clarity and structure but often slows down play with extensive rules. These systems excel when precision and fairness are crucial, such as in detailed simulations or competitive campaigns.
- Low granularity: Prioritizes narrative flow and accessibility, sacrificing precision for speed and creativity. Minimalist rules can empower players to improvise and lean into storytelling.
Granularity’s importance depends on player preferences. High granularity caters to those who enjoy mastering detailed mechanics or exploring tactical depth. Conversely, players seeking fast-paced, story-driven sessions might prefer the flexibility of low-granularity systems.

The interaction between granularity and other scales is key. For example, high granularity often pairs well with high fidelity when realism is a goal, as in games like Call of Cthulhu. However, it might clash with high connectivity when detailed mechanics interfere with narrative immersion.

2. Modularity

Modularity examines whether a game’s mechanics can function independently or integrate additional subsystems without disrupting the core rules. While modular games excel in flexibility and customizability, tightly integrated systems maintain consistency and reinforce their themes.
- High modularity: Games like Dungeons & Dragons thrive here, allowing the addition of feats, crafting systems, or optional rules without breaking the foundation. This adaptability has enabled D&D’s long-lasting popularity and its ability to support various playstyles and genres.
- Low modularity: Systems like Blades in the Dark or Apocalypse World have tightly integrated mechanics that are harder to separate or tweak without losing the intended experience. These games rely on focused systems that ensure every rule reinforces the theme.
High modularity supports flexibility and customization, enabling GMs and players to tailor the experience to their preferences. This is especially valuable in long-running campaigns or for groups with specific narrative or mechanical interests. In contrast, low modularity ensures a unified play experience where every rule contributes to the game’s thematic and narrative goals.

For example, a modular game like GURPS allows players to create entirely new genres or settings, while a low-modularity game like Blades in the Dark deeply intertwines its heist mechanics with its narrative, making it harder to adapt without losing its essence.

3. Connectivity

Connectivity refers to how closely the game’s mechanics link to its setting or story. High connectivity fosters immersion, embedding players deeply in the game world. However, low connectivity can allow the same system to support wildly different stories.
- High connectivity: Games like Apocalypse World tie their mechanics directly to narrative beats and thematic elements. Moves in these systems feel intrinsically tied to the world and its flavor, creating a strong sense of immersion.
- Low connectivity: Systems like Savage Worlds or GURPS use universal mechanics designed to adapt across genres, settings, or styles. Their flexibility allows for a wide variety of stories but can result in a less immersive experience.
Mechanics in high connectivity games are designed to evoke the tone, mood, and flavor of the setting. Conversely, low-connectivity systems prioritize flexibility, enabling creators to use the same mechanics across multiple genres and settings.

An excellent example of high connectivity is Call of Cthulhu, where the Sanity system deeply reflects its themes of cosmic horror. In contrast, Savage Worlds or GURPS offers flexibility, allowing players to jump from pulp adventure to hard science fiction without needing entirely new rules.

Call of Cthulhu and Pendragon (also from Chaosium) also reflect an interesting intersection: low connectivity systems can be developed into high connectivity games. BRP is a generic roleplaying system that both use. However, their implementations are high connectivity with the way Sanity is integrated in CoC and the way morality is directly tied into the mechanics for Pendragon.

4. Fidelity

Fidelity measures how well a game’s rules express its core genre or themes. High fidelity creates genre-rich experiences but may alienate those unfamiliar with its style. Low fidelity broadens accessibility, making it easier to approach but sometimes losing specific thematic weight.
- High fidelity: A game like Call of Cthulhu uses its Sanity mechanics to evoke the horror of cosmic dread, weaving the theme into every aspect of play.
- Low fidelity: Systems with generic mechanics, such as FATE, prioritize versatility over thematic depth. While these games can be tailored to fit many genres, they may not evoke specific moods as strongly as high-fidelity systems.
High fidelity creates genre-rich experiences but may alienate those unfamiliar with its style or unwilling to embrace its thematic focus. Low fidelity broadens accessibility, allowing games to be more flexible and replayable across genres.

The impact of fidelity on play can be profound. A high-fidelity game like Cthulhu Dark leverages simplicity to heighten its horror themes, while a low-fidelity system like FATE allows players to create settings and genres tailored to their specific desires, at the expense of specific thematic resonance.

Clarity: Distinguishing Connectivity and Fidelity

Connectivity and fidelity are closely related with some overlap, but are nevertheless distinct aspects of TTRPG design. Connectivity is focused on how mechanics push the narrative forward, how they shape and influence the story. Games with high connectivity, like Apocalypse World, have mechanics that tie directly to the development of the story and its characters, driving the narrative momentum.

Fidelity, however, is about how well a game’s mechanics represent its core genre or theme. High-fidelity games, such as Blades in the Dark, reinforce the setting’s dark, gritty nature through mechanics like stress and trauma, which emphasize the risks and emotional weight of the game’s actions. Morality and corruption mechanics are also often high fidelity, but also quite often only drive the narrative forward by their interpreted consequences and future play rather than a direct high connectivity narrative mechanic (Vampire: The Masquerade presents a good example).

Fidelity isn’t just about advancing the story; it’s about enhancing the mood and emotional engagement with the genre or game concept itself. The key difference is that while connectivity is about narrative flow and how the mechanics influence the direction of the story, fidelity is about how deeply the mechanics immerse players in the themes and atmosphere of the setting.

Why These Scales Matter

Each game balances these scales differently, creating unique experiences for players and GMs. For example:
- A gritty cyberpunk game might lean heavily into high granularity, high connectivity, and high fidelity to emphasize its dystopian tone.
- A pulpy adventure game might favor modularity and low granularity for fast-paced, action-packed play.
Games that deliberately subvert these scales often create surprising or innovative experiences. For instance:
- A modular, low-fidelity system like early D&D used in a thematic setting like Dragonlance.
- A rules-lite, high-fidelity system like Cthulhu Dark, where simplicity reinforces the core horror theme.
By recognizing how these scales interact, designers and players can make intentional choices that suit their desired play experience. Balancing granularity, modularity, connectivity, and fidelity allows for rich, varied TTRPG experiences that cater to diverse preferences and playstyles.

What do you think about this model? How do you see these factors? Poke us on Bluesky and let us know!

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December 14, 2024
Immersion and Authoring in TTRPGs
This entry is part 4 of 6 in the series RPG Theory
Immersion and Authoring: Two Pillars of TTRPG Playstyles

When exploring RPG mechanics and playstyles, two concepts frequently come to mind: immersion and authoring. These approaches are central to how we experience and create stories, yet they lead to profoundly different player experiences. Understanding their nuances can deepen appreciation for tabletop role-playing games and help both players and game masters refine their craft. Let’s dive into these ideas and how they shape the way we play.

What is Immersion in TTRPGs?

Immersion is all about being present in the game world. It’s the feeling of stepping into your character’s shoes, seeing through their eyes, and reacting instinctively to their circumstances. This playstyle emphasizes an almost method-actor-like approach to gameplay. The goal is to lose oneself in the character’s experiences.
- It’s visceral and emotional, pulling players into the moment-to-moment experiences of their characters.
- A deeply immersive scene might involve feeling your heart race during a tense negotiation or aching with loss after a companion’s betrayal.
Think of immersion as an actor completely inhabiting their role, their decisions flowing naturally from the character’s perspective. For example, in a dangerous dungeon crawl, an immersive player might worry about their dwindling torchlight not because of the mechanics, but because their character would feel that same anxiety. Immersion prioritizes instinct over meta-thinking, pushing players to engage deeply with the fiction and their character’s emotional world.

The key strength of immersion lies in its ability to create intense personal connections to the story. However, this focus on “in-the-moment” play can occasionally lead to tension if other players or the game master adopt a more meta or narrative-driven approach. Still, for those who thrive on emotional and visceral role-playing, immersion offers a uniquely rewarding experience.

What is Authoring in TTRPGs?

Authoring, by contrast, is about crafting the broader narrative. This playstyle encourages players to take a step back, view the story as a whole, and make decisions based on dramatic or thematic impact. It’s an approach that treats the game as a shared storytelling canvas, where each decision is a brushstroke.
- It’s about asking, “What would make this moment more engaging or memorable for everyone?”
- For example, an authoring player in a negotiation scene might say, “What if I make a bold, unexpected offer to heighten tension?”
Authoring feels like being the director of a play, consciously shaping arcs and scenes for maximum impact. Instead of being solely concerned with their character’s perspective, authoring players consider the needs of the group and the story. For instance, they might create a rivalry with another character, not because it’s what their character would naturally do, but because it adds intrigue to the campaign.

The strength of authoring lies in its ability to elevate the shared narrative. Players using this approach often take the initiative to create dramatic moments, plot twists, or resolutions that enrich the story for everyone. However, its reliance on meta-awareness can sometimes clash with purely immersive playstyles, as the player’s focus on narrative structure might break the illusion of the game world.

Comparing Immersion and Authoring

These two approaches might seem at odds, but they complement each other in practice. Both styles bring unique strengths to the table:
- Immersion: Grounded in the immediate experience, it creates depth and emotional connection. Players driven by immersion feel the highs and lows of their character’s journey, fostering a sense of personal investment.
- Authoring: Focused on the larger picture, it enhances storytelling and group dynamics. By stepping outside their character’s perspective, authoring players ensure the story remains engaging and cohesive.
Despite their differences, the two styles are not mutually exclusive. Many players shift between these approaches depending on the scene, the system, or the group dynamics. For example, a player might immerse themselves in their character’s fear during a dangerous encounter but step back into an authoring role to suggest a flashback that deepens the story’s emotional stakes.

Ultimately, the interplay between immersion and authoring reflects the collaborative nature of TTRPGs. A group that respects and balances these styles can create a richer, more layered experience.

The Role of Game Mechanics

Different systems lean toward one approach or the other, often shaping the way players engage with the game.
- Immersion-heavy systems: Games like traditional Dungeons & Dragons or dungeon crawlers emphasize in-character decision-making, focusing on what the character knows or perceives in the moment. Mechanics like fog of war or hidden rolls reinforce this immediacy, keeping players in their characters’ perspectives.
- Authoring-heavy systems: Games like Blades in the Dark or Fiasco encourage players to think outside the character, prioritizing dramatic twists or collaborative storytelling. Tools like flashbacks, narrative control tokens, or scene-setting mechanics invite players to shape the story actively.
While some systems explicitly cater to one style, others blur the lines. For instance, Powered by the Apocalypse games often combine immersive character moves with mechanics that encourage authorial input, such as collaboratively building the setting or defining relationships. This blend allows players to seamlessly transition between immersion and authoring as the story demands.

Designing for Balance

For game designers, the challenge is in balancing these two playstyles. Striking this balance ensures that players with different preferences can coexist within the same game.
- Immersion-focused mechanics: could include hidden information, in-character roleplay prompts, or dice rolls that represent uncertainty. For example, a system that keeps the GM’s rolls private might enhance the player’s immersion by preserving the mystery.
- Authoring-focused mechanics: might involve meta-tools like flashbacks (Blades in the Dark) or explicit narrative framing (Fate). These tools give players direct control over the story’s direction, empowering them to craft memorable moments.
Games that successfully balance these elements, like Apocalypse World or Burning Wheel, allow players to explore both immediate character experiences and larger narrative arcs. Designers can also provide optional rules or modules that cater to different playstyles, letting groups customize the game to their preferences.

A Negotiation Scene Example

To see how these styles might play out in practice:
- An immersive player in a tense negotiation might focus solely on their character’s immediate goals: “My character would never accept that deal; they’d demand a better offer.”
- An authoring player might instead think about the drama of the moment: “What if I threaten to walk away? It could create a great turning point for our story.”
Both approaches enrich the game, but in different ways. Immersion creates an authentic, character-driven experience, while authoring ensures the scene has a compelling narrative structure. Together, they can transform a simple negotiation into a multilayered, unforgettable moment.

What’s Your Preference?

Are you someone who loves to feel the world through your character’s eyes, living in the moment and letting instincts guide your choices? Or do you lean toward shaping the story from a broader perspective, crafting dramatic arcs and unforgettable moments?

Maybe you’ve played games that cater to one extreme, or you’ve found a system that strikes the perfect balance. Share your experiences and thoughts in the comments. We’d love to hear how immersion and authoring shape your playstyle! Come yell at us on Bluesky about it!

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December 14, 2024