To DMs - Don't Obsess About The Rules

I'm breaking from my usual format of talking about technology-intensive video games to discuss something a little more low-tech: table-top roleplaying games. The kinds of games that run off of paper, pens, dice, your imagination, and Mountain Dew. Iconic examples include Dungeons & Dragons, Warhammer, Pathfinder, and GURPS, among others.

Not responsible for violent youths. Definitely responsible for kobold genocide.

For those who might be unfamiliar, let me explain briefly how table-top RPGs work. People gather around with papers and writing utensils (or using online tools, like Roll20,) to tell a story together. Most of the people are players, and one is the Dungeon Master (DM for short.) The players create a fantasy character to play as. The DM then creates a fantasy world and populates it with monsters, people who need help, gold, riches, traps, treachery, and all the other good stuff that makes adventuring fun. The players then run their characters through this world and, collaboratively, they and the DM end up telling a story.

"But how is this a game?" You might ask. "If you're just telling a story then where are the mechanics? How do you win at a story?"

And that's where randomization comes in.

Oh mighty d20, please be merciful.

All those weird-shaped dice you see that you'd never find in a box with Monopoly or Yahtzee are the driving forces of drama and tension in the table-top universe. See, what the books for D&D, Warhammer, Pathfinder, and all the rest really do is set up a series of rules and frameworks. Do you want your character to climb a tree? There's a defined protocol to see if s/he is successful or not. Do you want your character to sneak undetected through a bustling city-street, into the back-alley of the potion shop, pick the lock to the backdoor, and get in to filch some goodies? There are defined rolls and protocols for that as well. Typically, the more complex the action is, the harder the roll is and the greater the chance of failure. Almost anything you can imagine your character doing is possible through the rules set down by each gaming system.

So now imagine a game where the only limit is your imagination. A game with complete freedom. A game that has carefully predicted all of the things you may want to attempt in your imaginary universe and has given you all the guidelines to do so with the appropriate chances of failure.

And all you have to do is follow some rules. Sounds like the perfect game, right?

Well...

The key to a good table-top gaming session is collaboration and flow. If everyone is getting along, laughing, and having a good time, then the results of the game itself are of little consequence. I've had just as much fun having my entire party die through a series of hilarious mishaps as I've had successfully slaying a dragon and plundering his hoard. So long as everyone is interested and adding something fun to the scene, then the session will almost always go well.

This is why I'm issuing a warning to would-be DMs - try not to be too big a stickler on the rules.

The rules are there for a good reason: they introduce randomness to an otherwise perfect story, forcing players to adapt, and thus creating a sense of drama. The rules also give a good sense for how to operate in the confines of this imaginary world. Want to use magic? Read up on the differences between Arcane and Divine magic, and decide which suits your character best. Want to pull off some slick combat stunts? Brush up on your Feats. The rules are an important base that every player and DM should be familiar with.

But the sad truth is that sometimes the rules get in the way of having a good time.

Let me give you an example from my own experience. I was in a party with 3 other adventurers. I was playing a bard - a traveling musician. As it happens, I was injured and couldn't contribute much to combat. I won't go into too many details, but let's just say I'd committed a social faux pas with a local tavern wench and she had some "pointed" opinions about it. In any case, I was limping along in the back of the group as we made our way through a graveyard.

Without warning, the ground before us split open, and a giant skeleton unearthed itself and towered over us. The thing was at least 30 feet tall. Each footstep shook the ground beneath our feet. It fixed its green, glowing eye sockets at us, opened its mouth of rotted, festering teeth, and lunged.

I ducked behind a particularly large tombstone and shouted encouragements to my team. That's me; Mr. Morale.

Scarily accurate depiction of my bard in that moment.

The wizard sprinted out of reach of the calcium juggernaut and tried to get to safe distance in order to start blasting. Our fighter notched an arrow and fired it into the thing's face, only to have the arrow be shrugged off without even being noticed. Our cleric started muttering some holy mumbo-jumbo to try and get the skeleton to run away.

And that might have worked if the skeleton didn't wallop him so hard that he flew twenty feet and fell unconscious.

At this point, our fighter had had enough. So what'd the crazy b**tard do?

He climbed the skeleton.

He climbed the f***ing skeleton.

As he made his way vertically along the creature, it tried to shake him off but failed. The wizard, afraid to loose his arcane payload and risk hitting the fighter, started calling the musclehead every foul name in the book. He even invented some new ones. Me? I pulled out my lute and started playing an inspiring song. If you're going to die from blinding idiocy, you might as well go out with a dramatic score.

Only the fighter didn't die; he scaled the skeleton, drew his longsword with one hand, and drove it deep into the giant's skull. The eerie green light in its eyes exploded and went out. The bones tumbled apart, no longer held together by magic. After all the dust settled, the fighter was laying on a pile of bones with a grin on his face. "You know what they say - 'The bigger they are...'"

This was one of my favorite moments I've ever had in a gaming session to date. Just imagining our brawny warrior scaling his tremendous foe, clinging to the creaking bones as the behemoth tried to get him off, and then felling the monster, single-handed, still gives me a thrill. It's the stuff you'd write songs about.

And it's in no way possible if you strictly follow the rules.

Reality is a harsh mistress.

According to the rules, the fighter would likely have had to make a grapple check against the creature. Then, he'd have to make a climb check with such a high roll (seeing as he was scaling something without good hand-holds that was freaking alive,) just to see if he made it 5 feet up the beast. He'd have to continue these climb checks each round to see if he even made it to the beast's shoulders. From there, drawing his sword would risk throwing him off the creature - another roll. Swinging without a good grip and steady footing would make his attack roll suffer. And even if he'd made it through all of that, odds are that a 30-foot skeleton, weighing many hundreds of pounds, would have an absurd amount of hit points. A single swing would not be enough to even put a dent into him.

But which is more entertaining: a triumphant victory with a plan that should not have worked, or the immediate death of all party members against a foe that is simply too powerful for them?

The answer to that is a matter of opinion. If our session was focused on realism, then every member of the party should have tried to outrun the colossus and flee to safety. But, since our session was more focused on fun and heroics, the absurd risk-taking made more sense. In the end, I treasure the memory of this absurd stunt more than I would have treasured limping away in the opposite direction.

One more story to illustrate my point from the other extreme.

In a different game, with different players, I was a bard (what can I say? I'm a creature of habit) and my party was fighting against some outlaws. One bandit was dying about 10 feet away from me, and 10 feet beyond him was another one locked into mortal combat with one of my teammates. So I tried to rush over and aid my ally.

What ensued was a 10 minute discussion over whether or not I could hop over the prone bandit without suffering a movement penalty. My party and my DM bickered back and forth, scouring the rulebooks for examples, to try and determine just how far I would be able to move, what kind of save I should roll to protect against tripping, whether a dying creature would offer any resistance or not, etc.

In the same time it took to decide one round of movement, my other party had toppled a rampaging mountain of bones.

I'm not saying that the rules should be ignored entirely. Far from it. That same fighter who climbed Mt. Bonemore eventually had his head caved in when he tried to fist-fight a troll while drunk. Ultimately, the decision lies with the group. Is strict adherence to the technical aspects of the rulebooks more important to the session, or is telling an entertaining story? In my experience, a little flexibility with the rules is all it takes to create some truly memorable experiences. And that's what pen-and-paper RPGs are all about - making creative memories with a group of friends.

Frozen: Why The Protagonist-Antagonist Setup Is Important

*Sigh*

It was only a matter of time before I wrote about Frozen. Might as well get it out of the way now in saying that I don't really care for this movie.

Hear that sound? That's the sound of Frozen fans ("Froz-ans?") navigating away from this post. I promise, while I am going to criticize it, I will not do so out of spite. The film does have great things going for it, but I'm using this post to explore some technical issues in the plot.

Even I can admit that the music is catchy, the animation is fantastic, and the story definitely goes for the heart. And the fact that it works against the common princess tropes is cool: one princess goes the whole film without finding a Prince Charming, the two sisters save each other through their kinship instead of needing help from others, and the obstacles the girls overcome are largely psychological instead of physical - Elza has to grapple with the anxiety of having powers, and Anna has to grow up and learn what real love is. In short, this a story about two young women who are coming into their own.

And that's fantastic, right? That has to be beyond criticism.

Alas,

Every story has a protagonist, a character we identify with and through whom we experience the story. In Frozen's case, I'd argue there are two protagonists - Elsa and Anna. We feel bad for Elsa after seeing how a childhood accident has forced her to suffer so much guilt and fear. We hope that, by the end of the film, she makes peace with what happened and gets to live a richer, fuller life. We also feel bad for Anna because she simply desires to be around people and have fun but this is stymied for reasons she doesn't understand. For Anna, we want a fairy-tale romance and a reunion with her older sister.

Most stories also have an antagonist, the character (or force) that makes things harder for the protagonist. Typically we're not supposed to like the antagonist and it is the conflict between the two that creates the drama and excitement of the story. Lord Voldemort is the antagonist to Harry Potter. Lex Luthor is an antagonist for Superman.

But who is the antagonist for Elsa and Anna?

Think carefully...

At first I had to wonder if Elsa was both the protagonist and antagonist. I mean, she does almost create an ice age, threatening the lives of everyone in Arendelle. She also started the film by freezing her sister's head, thus inadvertently driving a wedge between the two of them and forcing Anna to suffer from isolation. And the latter half of the movie is spent trying to warm Anna's heart, which was also Elsa's fault.

But I'm going to dismiss this idea. None of those events really seem to be Elsa's fault. The first instance of freezing Anna was when they were both too young to understand the consequences of their actions. The near-apocalyptic ice storm was the result of releasing a lot of pent-up anxiety for once (something to which we, as humans with feelings, can relate.) And freezing Anna's heart was also an accident, stemming from her latent fear of getting close to people only to hurt them. In fact, I'll let this last one go just for the irony.

You're in the clear, Elsa.

I'll assume Anna isn't the antagonist because nothing but bad stuff seems to happen to her for the entire film, despite how sweet and upbeat she is. It's hard to earn the audience's ire when you're constantly being beaten up by the story. Also, she's voiced by Kristen Bell. That earns a free pass in my book.


So we're still looking for an antagonist. Another obvious choice could be Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. After all, he was trying to seize the kingdom by marrying into Arendelle royalty. Then, towards the end of the movie, he decides to let Anna freeze to death in order to usurp the throne even faster. He certainly looks like a good antagonist.

But remember this scene?

Hans meets Anna in a very adorable way, ends up in the ocean, watches her run away, and smiles fondly. Do this look like a cold-hearted antagonist to you? I mean, he stops Elsa from being shot by a crossbow in her ice castle for crying out loud! Film critics call this a "narrative cheat" - something that throws the audience off track, on purpose, to suit the plot later. Cheats often serve the purpose of making the "twist" at the end of the film more shocking. But while Hans' sudden transformation into a cold-hearted b**tard was shocking, and it did help Anna learn a lesson, Hans wasn't a major source of suffering in the film. He had 20 minutes or so of infamy and that's all. He was a nuisance at best, but not the driver of conflict for the whole story.

So Hans is off the hook. Who does that leave us with? The Duke of Weselton who was trying to steal Arendelle's secrets? He only brought a couple of goons and some comic relief. Again, more a nuisance than a bonafide antagonist.

What about the rock trolls? They steal children and can take the fun out of them (remember, the troll in the beginning of the film said, "I recommend we remove all magic... But don't worry. I'll leave the fun" - this could imply some kind of fun-sucking magical potential.)

I'm kidding, of course. They make for great adoptive parents, have their hearts set on playing matchmaker, and they're the ones that teach us about the power of true love. They're adorable, not antagonists.

"I think I'll keep you!"

So who does that leave?

What if I told you that the real antagonists of this film were Elsa and Anna's parents, the late King and Queen of Arendelle?

Dun-dun-DUNNNN! Now that's a twist!

What's the main conflict that our protagonists, Anna and Elsa, are suffering from? Separation. By being apart, Elsa is forced to try to contain her magical powers on her own, causing stress, anxiety, fear, and the occasional frosty outburst. This same separation also causes Anna to feel lonely and forces her to seek attention from anyone, including throne-stealing pretty-boys from the Southern Isles. Only by recovering their sisterhood is Anna's heart thawed, Elsa's powers controlled, and balance restored back to the narrative.

And what precipitated this divide between the sisters? After the King and Queen visited the rock trolls, the parents decided to limit all contact between Anna and Elsa. Understandable, maybe, since they were worried that any more contact with magic could kill their youngest daughter. But Pabbie the troll (I had to look his name up) never said that Anna shouldn't experience magic again. That was just the King and Queen's assumption. Later events in the film prove that Anna can watch Elsa work magic and not have any adverse reactions. So, The King and Queen, by separating their two daughters, end up creating the main conflict of the film, the separation of the sisters, that Elsa and Anna must overcome. As such, the parents are the primary antagonists.

Dick move, mom and dad. Dick move. I hope you tried to do better with Tarzan.

Back to the point.

The tertiary villains, like Hans and the Duke of Weselton, distract from the psychological drama going on between the sisters. And these challenges are compelling in their own right. What girl (or anyone, for that matter,) doesn't feel like they're going to burst at the seams if they have to maintain their composure 24/7? And how many of us can relate to desperately yearning for simple human contact when we're hurting? This primary conflict is inspired and has the potential to resonate with all viewers, old and young, male and female. It's a universal tale of the human connection.

Instead of trying to paint someone as the classically evil villain, or the quintessential antagonist, just let the parents be in the wrong. After all, that's what growing up is about: taking in all of the lessons you've learned from your parents, keeping the good, and fixing the bad. And as a coming-of-age tale, parents would make for perfectly fine antagonists.



Have something you want to add? Or do you disagree with me? Feel free to let me know in the comments below. Also, feel free to share this on whatever social media site you'd like. I'd love to have lots of angry Froz-ans blowing up my inbox.