[Co-Design!] Tactical, Structured-Freeform Minis

My early forays into geekery included playing Warhammer and other miniatures war-games. I was really excited by it for a number of reasons:

  • I liked the visual and spatial tactics,
  • I liked coming up with cool army themes (my Mad Max-styled Orks, my converted-to-Slaanesh Sisters of Battle),
  • I liked the lonely fun of designing new army lists,
  • I liked the implied worlds that these games were set in.

An image of a WarMachine game in progress.

As I’ve grown up (ever so slightly), my tastes and expectations have  changed. Most tabletop minis games don’t work for me anymore, for the following reasons:

  • They require an incredible financial investment before you can start playing,
  • They require an incredible knowledge investment before you can start playing well,
  • They reward rules mastery and punish rules oversight,
  • They don’t allow you to easily/inexpensively change up your army roster between games,
  • Sometimes hard to make compelling situations emerge from such a fixed & closed mechanical loop,
  • They’re all about combat and slaughter.

So I had this idea. In short: to design a tactical miniatures game that  didn’t have numbers or dice or “hard mechanics”, but that still managed to deliver on the stuff I loved (visual and spatial tactics, developing cool army themes, the lonely fun of tweaking army lists). Bonus points if it managed to reward players tinkering with their army lists and scenarios between game days. Additional bonus points if it wasn’t about combat and slaughter.

I’ve been pondering over the past month what a structured-freeform tactical minis game could look like. I’ve come up with some compelling ideas that together form an incomplete picture. Here’s my current thinking, positing a bog-standard skirmish warfare thing for the moment:

There are different troop types. Each troop type has a description including a mention of: their strengths, their unique skills, and their weaknesses. You build squads of troops, and outfit them with special stuff like leadership and weapons. All of these troops & options have a write-up in a book (or on a website), but the writeup contains only descriptions and narrative tags. So the Hammerhead Bikers might have a write-up for their bikes: “Fast bikes with exceptional acceleration but shaky handling in rough terrain. Gas-fuelled. Handlebar-mounted sub-machine gun (unstable).”

Fictional positioning (as well as physical positioning) would govern how things went down. You’d slide your Hammerhead Bikers into position and say, “The Hammerheads are pulling around this rocky corner, laying down some scattered fire to make sure that no one feels safe taking a shot at them.” And then I’d respond by saying, “Well, I think that a couple of my Indigo Braves are going to suicide charge you, rushing out from behind their ledge with some live explosives.” And you’d pause in surprise, and say, “Shit. My bikes have shaky handling right now. What does it say about your explosives?” And then you’d read it out, right, and we’d judge how it went down. The play-style would demand that people play to find out what happens and carefully cultivate verisimilitude, even while acknowledging a desire to win. I think it’s possible to design in that space, but also acknowledge that it’s largely untapped and unexplored. Maybe a third player serves as impartial referee? I dunno.

So, there are a million unanswered questions, wrt this idea. I posted about it to Twitter, and got lots of feedback. This led me to an idea: to allow this to evolve via open design, giving anyone interested a chance to participate in the game’s development. I really liked following projects like Craft the Creature, so will borrow some of those ideas. This game is going to build itself up (theme, structure, presentation, material components, etc) right here, designed by committee. It’ll either be an awesome process or a disastrous failure. Each post will include a poll, a discussion topic, a number of responsibilities to delegate out, or something in a similar vein. Participate as much as you’d like to.

To start, a poll!

I think it’d be cool to have a minis game that wasn’t about combat and slaughter, but that was still sincerely a tactical minis game. But I’m worried that trying to juggle too many radical ideas at once can lead to an incoherent design that doesn’t have an audience. That’s my fear; I don’t know if it’s founded.

We’re going to design a structured-freeform minis game.

Should this game be about combat?

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If we design a non-combat game, what should it be about? I’m really wanting something that involves constructing “army lists” and relies upon spatial tactics. The options that I can think of are:

If not combat, what should this game be about?

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The Joy of Hacking

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In days past, I didn’t really “get” the appeal of hacking existing games. (A tentative definition of hacking, for anyone who doesn’t already know the term: taking an existing game system and modifying it until it’s a new game.) I thought that it was lazy design that produced incoherent results.

While I still believe that hacking has some big wide pitfalls to avoid, I have seen the light. Hacking is a liberating and accessible design process. It allows people to create based upon their strengths instead of their needs. It lets designers dialogue with one another, and stand on one another’s shoulders. It creates diy communities instead of diy lighthouses. I’m going to unpack each of those statements, and then relate it back to Monsterhearts, my hack of Apocalypse World that tells teen monster drama stories. The post is going to end with a preview of Monsterhearts, if you want to skip the big unpacking.

Hacking Has Some Big Wide Pitfalls to Avoid

Games are designed to accomplish certain things – to create a specific type of story, to have a specific impact on players, to support specific tactics or approaches. And the tricky thing is that not all of those goals are going to be listed on the outside of the tin. When you hack a game, you risk removing the critical element that makes the game fun and magical. The best practice here is that if you’re going to hack, you must do so in a critical and self-examined way. When designing systems from scratch, you need to spend lots of energy making the system do what you want it to do. When designing systems by hacking, you need to spend lots of energy learning why a system does things the way it does them.

I think that it’s only in the past 10 years that people have really wrapped their head around how to make good hacks. It isn’t about creating new weapon lists and character classes, it is about learning how and why a game works, and then getting up to your elbows in that structure so you change it and make it into something new. Simply replicating a system for a new setting or media property is going to lead to either a drab game or an incoherent game.

Now, with the words of warning out of the way, here’s what I’ve learned about the joys of hacking!

Hacking is a Liberating and Accessible Design Process

Glancing up at my menu bar, you can see that I’ve designed a number of games. When you start a game from scratch, you need to make a thousand interrelated decisions. Those decisions are contingent upon one another, meaning that it can be hard to isolate what works and what doesn’t work throughout the design process. If part of the game falls flat in playtesting, you need to ask yourself so many questions: are my design goals valid and appropriate? Do the mechanics I’ve designed here actually uphold my design goals? Is this specific mechanic too complicated or too simple? Do I need to fix the problem at the specific and immediate level, or by overhauling the whole system? Should this game actually be diceless? Because that’s how designing a new game system works, you need to ask yourself all these questions simultaneously.

When you hack a game, you don’t need to ask yourself all of those questions. You’re starting with a complete set of answers, and you’re only changing the ones that matter to you and to your game concept. You’re liberated from having to weigh important decisions that you don’t particularly care about.

Monsterhearts is a hack of Apocalypse World. Anything I didn’t really care about answering for myself, Vincent Baker had already provided me an answer for. I really cared about how relationships were represented and changed via the mechanics, so I spent a lot of time developing those answers for myself. I didn’t really care about how success/failure worked – just that I wanted characters to sometimes get their way and sometimes land themselves in a sticky mess – so I leaned upon Apocalypse World’s existing answers, here. “Roll 2d6 + a stat, with 6- being a failure, 7-9 being a mixed result or hard bargain, and 10+ being a clean success” is simple and fun, and crafting my own mechanics from scratch here would have been arduous and uninteresting to me. Hacking Apocalypse World liberated me from having to craft my own answers when I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another. Though, pleasantly enough, as I continued to work on the design, I found myself continually getting invested in more of the questions. But that process was never forced at gunpoint, the same way it is when you design from scratch.

It Allows People To Create Based on Their Strengths, Not Their Needs

This point is pretty similar to the first one. A game needs a lot of things in order to work and to achieve all of your design goals. As a designer, you have a set of design strengths. Your strengths and your needs aren’t always going to overlap, even if you’re designing a project that’s “just right for you.” There’s a couple different ways to respond to that a-synchronicity. First, you can just work really hard and design through your weaknesses. Sometimes you overcome them and design something brilliant, sometimes your design is generally brilliant but held back in ways. Second, you can outsource the parts of the design process that you don’t excel at. Many of us already do this with editing, layout, and art. You can partner your creative wellspring mind with a big-picture analytical mind, or vice versa, in order to lift one another up. And finally, you can hack an existing game, one that is already successful and strong in the design areas that your strengths aren’t situated.

It Lets Designers Dialogue with One Another, and Stand On One Another’s Shoulders

A hack is more than just a method for producing a game. It’s also a method for interacting with a game you really like (or, in some cases, a game you really want to like but identify problems with). It’s a dialogue between designers. Whether it’s your goal or not, you’re creating a community of exploration, each of you proving new applications to a core set of ideas. They show you a cool idea, you respond with your own cool idea that builds on it. Yes, And.

What I like about Apocalypse World is the sense of desperation and the messy and transitory relationship webs. I like that the only constant is a lack of constancy. When I look at those things, my mind leaps to a different place than post-apocalyptica, though. It leaps to the volatile emotional journey that is adolescence. Monsterhearts is a big “Yes, and” statement to Apocalypse World. It’s a way for me to do more than just buy Vincent’s art, but to instead engage it and reply to it.

It Creates DIY Communities Instead of DIY Lighthouses

Let me tell you about a really motivating force that I had behind me while I was publishing Monsterhearts: I was not alone. This design path that I was walking, it wasn’t lonely. I was walking a path that Vincent had carved, and there were other pilgrims sharing the road with me. I might be doing things that didn’t apply to those other pilgrims – like designing the Strings mechanic or Darkest Selves – but I still felt the symbolic support of a community.

Hacking creates diy communities, whereas independent from-scratch design often creates diy lighthouses.

So, Monsterhearts

It started as a joke (most of my games do). I was playing around with the idea of using Apocalypse World to run Twilight, and then I sort of realized that I’d struck gold. Melodramatic teenage monster drama makes for fantastic storytelling, because it has a strong genre formula to lean upon as well as rewarding us for playing volatile characters involved in intense-and-immediate situations.

This is the first hack that I’ve seen through to publication, and it was a really rewarding design experience. Being able to stand upon the shoulders of a giant helped me reach the mountaintop in one piece. Having a hyper-focused design community around me gave me support and critical eyes whenever I needed it.

The game’s currently available for preorder on IndieGoGo. To give people a taste of the game, and to thank those who have backed the game so far, I’m releasing a little excerpt from the game: the long play example that will be located in the back of the book. As the final text is still with the editor, this is a draft version that might be changed or revised before printing.

Click Here For a Monsterhearts Preview

Pay With Purposeful Acts of Social Good; Pay Charity

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I have some pretty big issues with capitalism, as an ethos. As someone who sells games for money, it plays into that exchange. And I’ve spent some serious time thinking about that, and thinking about how to move forward. What follows is my interrelated set of solutions.

You can now pay for Perfect Unrevised (and future games I release) in two different currencies: dollars, or purposeful acts of social good. If you pay in dollars, some of those dollars are going to be donated to charities that support the kind of social causes championed or explored by the game. Details follow.

A Portion of Proceeds

$5 from every sale of Perfect Unrevised (PDF or Print+PDF) will be donated to PEN Canada. It’s an organization that provides advocacy and support to authors whose freedom of expression is under attack – including authors who are facing exile or imprisonment for their journalism and prose.

In the future, when I release Monsterhearts, I plan to donate a portion of the proceeds to It Gets Better, or a similar organization that provides outreach and support to queer youth.

Purposeful Acts of Social Good

I’m going to try offering people a new way to obtain my games without buying them or stealing them. It is this: do purposeful acts of social good, tell me about those purposeful acts of social good, and then you get the game. I’m going to start this experiment with two PDFs, as I face zero risk in doing so. In addition to Perfect Unrevised, the other PDF on the table is The Grotesque, a new Apocalypse World playbook.

AW: The Grotesque
A new Apocalypse World playbook that I wrote. It was workshopped with Johnstone, who’s really good at workshopping Apocalypse World design stuff. You are a mutant, a physical mirror for the maelstorm and the apocalypse. You are unpredictable and alien, but you also have something good to offer the community that accepts you. Oh, and you can have nested drones or retractable claws or you can produce food spores.

“Purposeful acts of social good” is a pretty abstract currency to be working in, obviously. So I’ll just paint a picture of roughly what I envision, and then whatever you do will be correct. Perfect Unrevised is worth about 3 of these acts of good, and The Grotesque is worth 1.

  • Baking bran muffins for everyone on your block/in your apartment building.
  • Offering to walk your over-burdened neighbor’s dog once a week.
  • Volunteer to do an hour of work at a community co-op radio station.
  • Donating ten dollars to a worthy charity.
  • Organizing a story games club for a local middle school.
  • Spending an hour walking around downtown telling strangers about how they’re beautiful.
  • Give a ride to a hitch-hiker, and go out of your way to deliver them to their destination.
  • Spend half an hour cleaning up garbage in a local park.
  • Do something subversive that provokes thoughtful discussion about the world we live in.

Once you’ve completed your purposeful acts of social good, email me at mcdaldno. That’s a gmail address. And I’ll hook you up with your PDF.

It should be stuff you weren’t planning to do already, if there’s a distinction. Go out of your way and do good, and that’s how you can pay for Perfect or The Grotesque. If this works, I’ll open the stage up for all my games, print and digital, maybe.

Why Not Free?

So, why not just give away my games for free? The answer comes down to what I want to get out of making games, and putting them into people’s hands. I want to foster an exchange and dialogue with people interested in my games. I want to feel validated for my efforts. I want people to understand these are major efforts with great worth. And, finally, I want these games to contribute to social good. I feel like, at the moment, these goals are best met by adopting a different type of exchange, rather than just giving them away. I’d love to hear other ideas, though, and to engage that conversation with you more. Comment!

Rejuvenation

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Winter was a difficult time for me, this year. I was unemployed and in a pretty isolated living situation (in a cabin, up a mountain, surrounded by heavy snowfall, without a driver’s license). My game design energies oscillated from frenetic to exasperated, but just couldn’t find a balanced resting place.

Spring brought with it a lot of hope and opportunity. But unexamined hope and opportunity bring with them their own mania, if you’re not careful. I was dreaming big, but still hitting that blank page syndrome that I’d experienced in winter. The gap between my vision and my practice was widening.

So I made a pact with myself, one that turned out to be a really good one. If I sat down to my computer, or to the table with a notebook in hand… if I wasn’t actually writing and creating within five minutes, I’d get up and do something physical instead.  I cleaned my room. I went through everything I owned and got rid of a bunch of stuff; Salvation Army received an entire car-load of donations from me. I started a garden. I expanded the garden. I expanded the garden again. That garden’s now growing squash, pumpkins, zucchini, two types of beets, radishes, carrots, two types of cucumbers, lettuce, chard, tomatoes, scotch bonnet peppers, and about 10 herbs.

It was feeling really good to work with my hands, to see tangible results, and to know that I was doing something real and good. I decided that if the inspiration didn’t strike me, I’d just not return to any of my writing and design projects. Indefinitely.

And then something really cool happened. A burning need to continue working on The Quiet Year (my newest project) surfaced. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was important. It was vital.

Other projects have been resurfacing as vital, too. Recently, I published a setting hack for Perfect Unrevised, allowing you to play games set in New Phyrexia (a setting from Magic). It was a fun little afternoon project. It wasn’t something I’d even thought about before that day. But when it arrived in my mind, it felt necessary. It felt vital.

I’ve got a couple observations I’m taking forward, from all this. The first is that it’s easy to burn out without realizing it. This is especially true when all of your projects are similar – all creative design endeavors, or all physical labor endeavors, or all experimental music endeavors. Pulling back from your insular bubble helps you see what’s important and what’s not. Contrast is rejuvenating.

On the topic of rejuvenation, I’ve got two Buried Without Ceremony announcements, of a sort. The first is that I’ve begun talking publicly about The Quiet Year, a game of post-collapse community building. There’s a page for it on this site, and it’s worth checking out.

The second announcement, much more visually obvious at this point, is that I’ve redesigned the look of the site, including making up a new logo. The old one presented some difficulties as a brand logo (difficult to place on a variety of backgrounds, too textured), and I feel like I’ve outgrown the dandelion. So, a rejuvenated look. What do ya think?

Perfect, Unreleased

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The print copies of Perfect, Unrevised have arrived. The pre-orders have shipped out, and several people have mentioned that they’ve received their copies already (including international orders). Shipping turned out to be quite a bit more than I’d anticipated, and the cost of shipping the 39 pre-orders was about $250 more than I charged. Yikes! Canada Post is awful.

Nevertheless, the game is finally done and released. We had a release party in Nelson last Friday – eating chili and cornbread, playing Ticket to Ride, and finally playing a short game of Perfect. It feels really good to be done such a monumental project. I’ve never spent so long on any single endeavor, in my whole life.

Interested in seeing a couple shots of the hard copy books?

I’m really proud of this product. People are saying awesome things about it, too.
If you want to pick up a copy for yourself, click the Perfect link on the site’s menu!

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