Casting Shadows

No Ambrose Bierces were harmed in the making of this post.

The bones of this post actually date back to the launch of this blog in May of 2010 though the content is much older. I had a few conflicting ideas about the blog in those days as it was inspired by the loss of my friend Tom (a genius) and the sense of dismay it sparked to know that there would be no more talks about games, life, or onion soup with him, and to know that a person like that was gone from the world. Worse, all the conversations we had had about gaming were now only the version in my memory – and of the two of us, he liked and got along with people much better than I do. As I started exploring the Internet’s take on RPGs late in 2009, what I noticed first was how the varying but compatible cultures of play I had found in my travels across Canada, while still ‘out there’ seemed to be being drowned out online by the noise and widescale, uncritical adoption of one mass-produced culture of play. I wanted to do something to help preserve the culture of play that centered around Tom and to help preserve the ones that had grown up in groups I had started or joined. I wanted to preserve his inquisitive and curious nature in terms of RPGs and life in general, and I wanted to follow his example of meeting people where they were, getting in tune with their ideas, and asking questions about other ideas – if needed. One of the bigger problems, that of the scale of one voice in contrast to thousands of unified voices, did not bother me. What I was sure of then and am sure of now is that far more people keep their gaming life offline and out of public forums than who make their gaming public and speak for clicks. I don’t need to persuade the “industry” of anything. All I need to do is be that small voice in the back of the room that lets the person who doesn’t speak know that they are not alone.

The biggest problem, of course, is that I am not Tom.

You all would have liked, Tom. I sure did.

Tom and I had different ideas about games. We had a lot of overlap, but there were fundamental differences which made the fact of how much we enjoyed each other’s games a fascinating thing to consider. Those thoughts made the best conversations, too; the ones about what really mattered in the alchemy of play.

With this blog, it would have been the simplest thing in the world to look at the last of Tom’s examples, his sudden exit, and just share my own ideas about gaming before they too are lost. Instead, I tried to follow Tom’s example of learning how other people talk about games, and slip in the occasional question or hint to prompt discussion if needed. That has worked quite well. Here and more directly on YouTube I have seen signs of the hobby as it is, untouched and largely unconcerned about the social media cloak tossed carelessly over it. It’s good.

So now, as we come up on 15 years without Tom, and 15 years of the Casting Shadows blog, it might be time to start talking more clearly about my thoughts on play, unfiltered by lingo, conceptions, misconceptions, talking points, and marketing demands of the assumed masses and the industry which serves them. If you read the blog when I sporadically produce a post, you have seen signs of that already over the past two years. Things are always better started from 13, don’t you think? What still gives me pause is that very often an idea, once planted in accepting soil, tends to choke the growth of other ideas, while if planted in sand, withers and dies. When we name things and show the amount of truth in it that we are able to see, we run the risk of stifling the observations that we are unable to make in exchange for possibly sparking predictable and unpredictable benefits.

I guess Tom would have taken the risk.

So, this long introduction aside, this post – if I release it – will give a survey of some of the core ideas which have been a part of my understanding of gaming since the late 80s and early 90s and with which I have been experimenting since then, looking for hints of them in other people’s games and conversations, and at times – like with Tom – having real or veiled conversations about.

Conversation is the Medium of RPGs

This is the basis of understanding what we do when we play. We communicate information verbally. What that means is that through a combination of the spoken and written words we have to communicate the details we value about an imagined world, its people, and events. The way we write and the way we speak conveys more about the world than the words we say, and often – we are left feeling like words, gesture, tone, expression, and metaphor are not enough to convey those details. We turn then to images and maps, we turn to allegory and more direct reference, we pay homage or steal settings and events outright to enhance connection to context, and we march miniature figures in orderly grids and hexes in the pursuit of clarity and immediacy of imagination and comprehension. Sometimes, we move play from the table and onto a set for live action roleplay, trading the ease of access to system around a table for the ease of communicating all the details of an actual place and actual people through senses, rather than words.

Perhaps the two key points about how conversation is the medium of RPG play are found on opposite sides of its blade. On one edge, it is powerful and effective. It can move us, it can thrill us, it can fill our minds with wonder and with a personal knowledge of imagined places and people. On the other edge, it leaves us convinced of certain transfer of information only to discover that a connection was not made, and we had conversations near each other, speaking our minds, but not hearing the meaning of the other. Of course, as this metaphorical blade of conversation is one tool with two edges, it is possible for both effects to be felt at the same time. It is this truth which drives us to add more to our play than words alone, which pushes us to see the faces and gestures of our fellow players, to sketch maps madly in the moment, or to spend weeks crafting terrain for an event that is played in a night and represents mere seconds of time.

Until we understand the medium and what its power and its weakness mean to us with ‘this group, this game, this time, played this way, in these conditions’ we will not see the alchemy of play and instead see only a game that did or didn’t work, or a group that does or doesn’t play correctly.

The Alchemy of Play

Quite simply, this is the magic of the roleplaying game. While it is true to say things like ‘system matters’ the truth is that each component of an RPG is necessary but even if the tools, system, location, and ease of play are matched perfectly, the curious quirks of the people, the alignment of time and situation, and each person’s interpretation of the game, genre, events, and everything else – each session played will be its own unique expression of an idiom formed only by that specific combination of elements. It’s why I say, obliquely that “Genre is Rule 0.” Of course, I wanted to say idiom, but for ease of use opted for genre instead. It’s a regret~

The alchemy of play is a metaphor for the influence of all the factors of play on an act of play. It’s the effect of “this group, this game, played this way this time for these reasons, in these conditions,” on our experience, and it is immense. It’s why we do or do not need the recurring process of an opening and closing ritual. It’s why we do or do not need sessions 0 or rules of order. It’s why this game is addictive with the Tuesday night group and makes you want to chew razor blades with the Wednesday night group, while being curious about what it might be like with the Saturday morning group. It’s why a yearly game with old friends feels like you played yesterday, and why a game played with people you have just met can feel like finding a home. It’s all the little things we think are nothing without forgetting the huge things. It’s not just how we combine to make moments of play, it is why we play at all.

The Story Divide

Even after 50 years of RPG development, the boundaries, ways, and means of roleplaying games are still in flux. While they may be expanding or contracting, evolving or fossilizing, the truth is that RPG discussions have not significantly pushed past those had by the first wave of gamers in their first year with RPGs – the first few years to be generous. The hobby, as a whole, does not really know itself, is still in relative youth as an activity, and most of the discourse described as helping us develop in it tends to direct things back through the same cycle for pass after pass of the same.

One change in the hobby that is, or should be, obvious to those who lived through it or who have learned games written before, during, and after it, is the shift in perspective from an RPG being an opportunity to step into the role of a character in an imaginary situation to one where RPGs are seen as being a storytelling activity. This change has been so pervasive that those who came after it and who have not yet explored games from before it, cannot even see that it occurred. For them, RPGs are a storytelling activity. The only questions are about what sort of story it will be and how it will be formed.

This shift in perspective, I feel, was in large part accidental without much intentional interference. It has, however, become self-replicating given the primarily amateur type of publishing that makes up the hobby, and it has been reinforced by those who resonate with the type of play it produces or came after it spread like a filter over the hobby as a whole. This has caused it to be unknowingly boosted by those with no idea that the hobby represents a broader spectrum of possibility. This broader spectrum is hidden by the promotional text describing practically all RPGs now. This was helped in no small part by the conflation of the limited nature of Computer RPGs with the less-limited nature of roleplaying games, the relative lack of study of RPGs outside of computer games with researchers able to note these and other differences, and by a vocal minority with a desire to design games to suit their preferences being unmatched – at present – by a cadre of designers in sufficient numbers from the other side of the divide and separate from the brand identity of D&D and its limiting effects on RPG discussion.

As noted above, the Story Divide is a separation in focus between acting, reacting, and interacting in the game world to experience the opportunity to make those decisions within the context of that world and acting, reacting, and interacting about the game world to experience the opportunity to make those decisions within the context of a story.

This is a divide rooted in a fundamental bias leading to an offshoot of related preferences developed by experience with gaming. It is informed by formative experiences with the understanding and early learning processes of RPGs, and it is maintained, ignored, and eroded by the usual forces of norms within the various communities to which each gamer belongs.

It is important to note that because RPGs involve decision-making by players for the actions, reactions, and interactions of characters or groups of characters over time, and the actions, reactions, and interactions of the players for themselves, description of the events of play is tied up into chronological and contextual sequences easily relayed in the classic forms of a story we tell about events that happened to us. In a very real sense, even the parts that took place in the imagined world of the game happened to people we know (the characters) and to us (the players). Playing will allow for retelling of the events of play in the form of a story. It will do so regardless of whether we have a direct hand in shaping or altering that story before it plays out, as it plays out, as a retcon to how it played out, or after it played out as a creative revision.

In a real sense, if a group had no awareness of this concept, we could say that those players are just playing. As we observe them, we may be able to detect signs of a bias to organize the information communicated in play as a set of events and experiences happening because of and to their characters, or to organize it as the progression of a story. If, however, the group is aware, they now have a choice of favoring one of these opposing natural biases each time they play. This can be the source of edition wars or hot takes that Game X is an RPG while Game Y is not. These biases represent the opposing directions of a spectrum, however, and so for many gamers whose bias places them somewhere between them, playing with the story to whatever degree or not doing so has no effect on enjoyment. In the present situation, they have little to no reason to complain and are accidentally contributing to the not-so-gradual disappearance of an entire way to conceive of play.

The games we choose, how we think about them and come to understand them, and the techniques we use to play them end up tied to one of the two extremes, regardless of player bias or preference. Either we play and allow Story to be a By-Product of play, or we play to produce Story-as-a-Product of play. At present, from the ‘What is an RPG?’ section at the start of most games to the GM advice sequestered somewhere inside, the terms we use are reinforcing the singular notion that the actual description of RPGs is that they are a form of Storytelling. In other words, they reinforce that play of those games will produce Story-as-Product not Story-as-By-Product. This is unfortunate for those who would prefer the alternative, but it is not too late to rebalance the focus so that more of the hobby is visible to more of its participants. When that happens, we can get back to work on figuring out the real boundaries of the hobby, and moving on to conversations beyond those of that very first year or first few games.

Culture of Play

The intentional and unintentional, formal and informal, spoken and unspoken social rules and accepted behaviors that have arisen from being a group of gamers which facilitate and enhance the experience of being that group of gamers. This can be as complicated as written social contracts governing all behaviors in the group such as asking Out-of-Character questions in play, and lateness or cancellation, to more ephemeral understandings, such as that no one in the group really likes roll-and-total dice mechanisms or wants greasy fingerprints on their books. It includes the group’s shared understanding, both aware and unaware, of what it is we do when we play and how we can best achieve our goals as players of the games we play.

Stances

When in 2021 I finally read Ron Edwards’ Sorcerer game line and could fully assess his use of the word ‘stance’ in regard to play in ’98, I had mixed feelings. The first was that he had provided a helpful initial onramp to a discussion about the activities of play, but despite his clarity and brevity in that section, the Internet had its way with the word stance and lent it a nuance of rigidity and permanence – not to mention a bizarre self-identification fixation – that it does not deserve. I was glad to see him use it in concert with its actual nuance, saddened to then be able to track how it had been misrepresented and applied ‘out there’ on the web; and for a time at least, glad that I had refrained from sharing my own ideas as I know them.

Stances are fixed only in the sense that they are a posture formed in the moment of observation. They are a response to something, they are the initiation of something, they are an interaction with something. They are permanent in the sense that we always have one when active, and they are impermanent in the sense that they are often in flux unless we are completely at rest. They are the support for action, reaction, and interaction.

In my thoughts on gaming, one of the primary divisions I latched onto early as a gamer was the notion of In-Character and Out-of-Character (IC, OoC). What I found interesting to observe, first among the D&D players of my youth, then later in other games as I discovered them – regardless of what they were – was that many of the same behaviors, thoughts, and responses were not exclusive to just one of these two categories, and while some players stuck to just one, many players often shifted between them for certain parts of play. Some would deliver dialogue In-Character, but spend the rest of the time Out-of-Character. Some would resent shifts Out-of-Character, even roleplaying their attacks as they rolled dice, while others were uncomfortable anytime things got into IC roleplay. In other words, a whole session of quantitatively similar or identical information exchange could take place regardless of whether a player shifted in the typical fashion between IC and OoC, or stayed primarily in IC, or refused to shift from OoC to IC. What did reliably shift in their play was what they were paying attention to, even if their means of communicating their part of the conversation remained in more or less in one “stance.” (see layers and vectors)

So, for me, the two stances are functional positions relative to playing the game and distinguishing playing from not playing the game. The In-Character stance is the posture in play of restricting what we communicate to information that the character can and does know. From this stance, our attention is directed toward actions, reactions, and interactions pertinent to the character within the scope of their capabilities and identities within the imagined situation and the boundaries established by the system in concert with the procedures of the group for that system and in the context of our culture of play. The Out-of-Character stance is the posture in play where what we communicate is allowed to extend beyond the limits of the character. From this stance, our attention is from the perspective of the player of the game, but may shift through any of the vectors to any of the layers of use or interest in the moment. Information communicated from this stance is between players about the game itself, the events of play, the conditions of play, and so on. Information exchanges about real world matters are considered to be interruptions from outside the conversation which makes the game and so are not from a stance of play at all.

Layers of Play

Terms like layers and vectors both do and do not violate my notions of what makes a useful term or piece of jargon. I prefer jargon to be brief and comprehensible from its everyday context. That context applies to and transfers into the RPG discussion without changing and without real need of explanation when heard in context. In the case of layers, while the concept transfers directly and correctly, it can be a little opaque for those hearing it for the first time in some contexts. Every once in a while I want to call layers ‘components,’ but honestly the name came from baking and bookshelves and the image of layers of colorful silk scarves or stained glass capable of holding our attention individually but also able to blend together into harmonious combinations of their independent colors. Often, when talking about this, people suggest the term levels, but these arrangements are neither fixed nor hierarchical. Their nature is also not set across all games and cultures of play. Not all layers are present in all groups for all games.

The layers of play (layers) refer to any aspect of play which can hold our attention on their own. Some core examples of layers are those for character, setting, system, ourselves (the player layer!), and story. This list is not exhaustive. As play progresses, some of these layers will be in effect together on the moment of play and thereby hold our attention equally, merging into one harmonized layer of interest to and relevance to the player. When in an IC stance, the player will tend to restrict their attention to those layers which operate within the confines of the information available to the character, such as the setting and character layers. In some cases, this may include the system layer when it can serve as an analog for action (ie, rolling a die comes to feel like lobbing a grenade, picking a lock, or punching a ne’er-do-well in the kisser). In other cases, the system layer might provide or require information beyond the scope of the character (ie. identifying a toxin from the described symptoms by looking at the poison list in the book). Cases where the layer(s) needing attention fall outside the IC restriction on character-only information require a shift to an OoC stance.

Vectors of Attention

As vague as this term might seem at first, it describes the shifting focal path of our Attention from one layer to another and from one stance to the other and back again over the course of play. This term is intended to help describe the intention behind our attention and the resulting relevance of the information we draw from that scrutiny.

So here is where metaphorical lego bricks click together: Stance + Vector + Layer reveals the boundaries of the conversation of play and helps us understand what is commonly called ‘immersion.’

In play we tend to shift between two stances with occasional breaks to step away from the game altogether. The things we focus on in a given moment in play have distinct aspects (layers) which can hold our attention. The intention behind that focus (vectors) governs what information is most clearly in our mind and informing our actions, reactions, and interactions as characters and/or players for that moment. Those vectors are how and why we are paying attention to things. Among the common vectors we find is a focus on receiving and using information as the character would. This is called As Character play. Another is As Author where play and how we think and speak of the character is more about that character than as that character. Another very common one is As Player, where we receive and use the information as ourselves only.

Combinded with a stance, we get a clear idea of what is happening in any given moment of play once we take the time to speak with the players about their experiences of the session, such as when, how, and if they imagined anything, what sparked a willing shift in attention between layers, and what caused them to shift unwillingly, and how they remember the session now that it is over.

So, once we know a player, in an actual moment of play, we might realize that they are operating IC:AC or In-Character: As Character and for that particular player (see Imagination in this video) that means that a good way to interact with them as the GM might be to give them the information that their senses would, without commentary, analysis, or explanation. For example, you might prefer to use “The waitress jerks her head toward the kitchen door, her brow furrowed and her eyes flicking from you to the door repeatedly,” rather than “The waitress warns you that someone is hiding in the kitchen.” This allows that player to imagine that interaction and reach their own conclusions, As the Character. For a different player, the requirement might be different, but the deciding factor tends to be more about their imagination. The stance and vector of attention follow the same rules, but how we help facilitate better experiences through our descriptions may vary. For example, someone playing a character more perspicacious than themselves might find it more effective for imagining to hear that the waitress is signalling them to a specific threat as that gives them more of the experience of being that character than trying to figure out what the waitress is suggesting. It’s useful, therefore, to have talks with the players about what, when, and if they imagine during play and how that all relates to how they conceive of their characters.

Interaction with a player who is IC:AP (In-Character: As Player) is much easier. You can speak to them as the person they are in real life. You can shift focus to most layers and you can fall back on descriptions tied to the system, such as “roll initiative” or “Take 4 points of SAN loss”. What you cannot do is talk to them about things that their character does not and cannot know. That is the realm of the Out-of-Character stance. Depending on which side of the Story Divide they fall on, you might not be able to focus on the story layer, either.

For a final example of vectors and layers in play, a player who is In-Character: As Author (IC:AA) in the moment has similar requirements to an IC:AC player, but we may find that the character is more of a work in progress than we would expect from that IC:AC player. They may want to be able to set their imaginations free about the character and the situation that they are in so that although they operate within the same IC restrictions of using only the knowledge that the character could have, they might be willing to retcon it as their understanding of the character solidifies, or they might be willing to adjust or add to it over the course of long-form play. This might show up as starting a character with a high score for Contacts, none of which are defined. The IC:AC vector, puts more of a requirement on knowing more about those Contacts before play starts, but the IC:AA vector is open to defining this and other things which “must be or must have had to be true” about the character in order for them to be who they are. They are open to looking at and thinking about the character in ways that the IC:AC player would find disruptive to their perspective of being the character and seeing the world through their eyes.

Let’s say this survey of concepts is done for now. There is more to discuss, but I have found just this, and the ideas about so-called ‘immersion’ (blog post here) to be useful tools for getting to more satisfactory play more often and with less wasted time. Combined with the holy trinity of RPG advice (Talk with the Players, Choose the Right Game, Facilitate Solutions) this framework forms a potent Dao of Gaming and hopefully holds a fitting place as the first page of this Lucifer’s Lexicon of RPG Terms – as potentially destructive as it is useful~