"That will be 25,000 gp in diamonds, please."

There's a running joke that in high-magic fantasy games, death is naught but a revolving door and the party cleric is the doorman.  I haven't played much 4e myself, but I've heard many of the epic-level abilities start out "Once per day, when you die..."  If there's a bigger way to hang the "death doesn't matter" out for everyone to see, I haven't found it yet.

What about villains, though?  Unless everyone is playing a pulp-style adventure, having the villain inexplicably escape every time he's encountered can seem contrived and simple GM-fiat, but can the revolving door be used as a plot device to present the players with a unique challenge?

In our previous campaign, I introduced a group of villains who were for all intents and purposes immortal, able to re-form their bodies if they were physically destroyed.  While this could easily become 'cheezey' or unfair, the rationale fit with the background of the game in this case.  This changed the nature of the characters' interactions with the villains (who had no fear of death) and had some interesting effects on the story.

• The players were able to directly confront their enemies face-to-face from the start, they didn't have to crawl through layers of an organization to get to them.  Their enemy was quickly personified for them and they were able to attach their animosity to a single small group of entities instead of successive levels of middle management.
• Because the enemies couldn't re-form instantly, the characters were able to hinder their enemies through direct interaction.  The characters could vanquish a foe, costing them valuable time and possibly resources in the process, but the foe could come back for revenge eventually.
• I didn't have to worry about making the enemies miraculously escape, since in effect they couldn't be destroyed permanently.  No bodies hidden from view as they fall or magic just-in-time teleportations - if they died they died.

There's definitely a danger in this sort of thing of the whole setup being too heavy handed. If it's not explained sufficiently or just hand-waved, then revolving door villains can be just as frustrating to your players as the miraculous escapees.  But if you can create a plausible explanation that fits in your game world and doesn't break immersion, it can by an interesting plot device to exploit.

A gamemaster should watch his players' reactions and shouldn't let this go on too long - at some point the players should obtain the ability to defeat their opponents permanently, otherwise the game will get quickly become repetitive and predictable.  When the enemies realize the characters have obtained a way around their insurance policy, they'll suddenly have to approach them in a new way, as they have to learn how to think like mortals again.  Maybe some will defect to the characters' side, or others will start to seek non-direct means of interacting with the party.  No matter how things change, the gamemaster has the opportunity to take the relationships that the players have built with their enemies and twist it in interesting ways.

There's also the issue of the omnipotent adversary.  Inexperienced gamemasters can fall into the trap of giving their adversaries full knowledge of the party's actions even if said adversary lacked a sufficient means to gain such information (by spying, scrying, etc).  But again you can run into the trap of the cookie-cutter with things like the traditional wizard with a crystal ball.

When my turn to gamemaster came around in our current game, I decided to use a little trick to get the party invested in one of their adversaries as well as explain why the characters had been oiled in their recent attempts to accomplish their goal.  Unbeknownst to the players, I made one of their characters the adversary.

Occasionally we've found ways to write our own characters out of the story temporarily when it comes to our turn at the head of the table.  Early in the campaign, one player helped another get their character out the session before the second player took over as gamemaster.  There was an elderly woman, we believe some sort of wizard,  who offered to show him information regarding a conflict he had set up in his background.  The character agreed, promising to catch up to the party when he returned.

The character showed up a few sessions later but soon thereafter the party suffered a number of setbacks.  When I took over as gamemaster, I continued the setbacks, including the theft of the party's MacGuffin.  Given how exacting the theft, the party knew that it has to be an inside job, but they were all alone and there were no NPCs around who could have sold them out. Suspicions started mounting and tensions built, but no accusations were made aloud just yet.

The party tracked the thieves to a ruined temple and as they prepared to launch their surprise attack, I handed the following note to the player whose character (Saxon) had just got back from his leave of absence.

Note: Through the Looking Glass
You may not read this aloud.

The last thing you remember clearly is stepping through the portal with the old woman that night between Perrin and Kroson.  After that everything was dark for a time, then you became vaguely aware of your surroundings, though through a haze of pain.

You’re not sure how long everything lasted, but you remember having things done to you.  Experimentation.  Operation.  You were never conscious enough to know exactly what was going on but you were always aware of the pain.  Especially when they carved out your eye and did... something.

Unsurprisingly, this should be confusing to you – it’s not something that your character knew about.  That’s because the character you are currently playing is not Saxon.  Who or what he is is irrelevant but right now you are not playing Saxon.

When the battle below is joined, you have specific instructions:

• Draw Plot Points until you have 10.  You may spend these freely and you will get back however many you have right now +4 when you regain control of your original character.
• Turn on the party.  I would suggest starting weaving your flame wind spell “to help”, then after it’s up surprising folks by hitting a party member.  I would ask you to put a big hit on Marcus first (we’re 100% he can take it ), but from there do whatever you want to cause problems for the party.
• Add a d4 to all Channeling rolls.

Your actual character is one of the people bound and hooded up front.  Every round I will be rolling Saxon’s dice to escape his bonds.  When he is free you may assume control of him and I will take faux-Saxon.

As expected, hilarity ensued.

Not the "malicious gamemaster likes to mess with players' characters" or the "evil gamemaster likes to watch his players get screwed" kind of evils either.  I had approached the player about the disfigurement previously and he agreed to it, though he didn't know the context at the time.  And the players weren't mad at my "hijacking" a character at all.  In fact it made all of their sabotages of their previous few goals make perfect sense.  There was no resentment towards a player for turning on the party, because the player never actually did until I made him (and only for one fight).

I think it's a testament to my group's maturity and the trust that exists between each player/gm that this went as smoothly as it did, and I wouldn't recommend it to a gamemaster unless he was sure that it would go over positively with his group.  Without trust players can feel cheated because the one thing they control in the world - their character - just got pulled out from under them.

If your group is willing to accept this sort of plot twisting, it's not hard to set up.  It works best when there was an opportunity for the switch to be done that the player put their own character in.  In this case it was Saxon's side trek off camera with the old woman (who turned out to be one of the campaign's antagonists).

After that it's just a matter of observing the party's dynamics and having the character do things when he gets the chance to work against the party and not telling the player.  Things like (in our case) taking the MacGuffins out of their storage place while he was supposed to be on watch and delivering them to an NPC that had been tracking the party.

There is the danger of resetting a character too much, though.  In our case we added two players to the group since Saxon's replacement, meaning he (Saxon, not the player) was away from the party for four sessions.  So the relationships that he had formed with the new characters had to be re-formed.  This wasn't an issue for our group but it's something that a gamemaster has to be cautious of.  If you reveal an impostor after dozens of sessions, that's a lot for the player to try and rewind in his head and keep straight.

I've gotten a lot of positive feedback from my group regarding Saxon's replacement and betrayal.  But like any good gamemastering advice, this is going to boil down to knowing your group.  A role-playing group is built around trust between the players, and the last thing a gamemaster needs to do is ruin inter-player trust.  But if that trust exists, twists like this can be very enjoyable for everyone involved.

First Dawn started well enough, with the characters interacting with the various residents of the kaer. Everyone had the opportunity to show off a bit of their character's background and motivations (except the ork's player who couldn't make it) which I think they all enjoyed. After that the party was gathered together for a ceremony that ended with the kaer doors being opened and the party heading out through the traps to the surface with tokens which were supposed to disable the traps for them.

At the far end of the trapped area, the party was introduced to the obsidiman that was supposed to act as their guide. Centuries ago he had volunteered to enter the kaer and enter the Dreaming through the Scourge to be able to guide its people back to the surface when the time came. The party, being told he was how they would open the kaer doors but thinking he was just a statue/key, had drag him up to the surface with the aid of a disk of True Air which levitated him and allowed him to be floated to the front antechamber. Due to the proximity to the surface awoke while the party was resting, leading to some interesting interaction.

After some discussion with the obsidimen about who he was and then ultimately what to expect outside, the adepts finally opened the front doors to the kaer and saw the destruction the Scourge had caused to the countryside. With that visual the first session ended. In hindsight it was a successful session and had hit all of the goals and themes I had set (with the exception of the missing player).

Everything went downhill from there.

Before session two began I received an email from Thok's player telling me he wouldn't be able to play in the campaign. While that was disappointing, the player had a whole lot going on and I didn't blame him for recognizing he didn't have the time and admitting it instead of trying to fit too much in to his schedule. So we continued the campaign down one player and up one NPC.

The second session began with the party exiting the kaer. After descriptions of the changed landscape and interactions with the obsidiman regarding what the land looked like before the Scourge, I wanted to finally give the players the chance to try out their characters skills in combat. Seeing as the characters were advanced, I decided to use something that wasn't quite a push over and could hint that the horrors were still present in the world but not quite as strong. My solution was a small group of tainted ogres (led by a tainted ogre twin) that had been kept alive from before the Scourge by a crystal entity which was severely weakened by the lower magic level.

It was a fairly simple concept but one which caused a couple of problems. The characters had a rough time in the initial encounter with a couple of the ogres, and even though I adjusted the creatures' stats on the fly they still faired poorly. Part of the result was due to die roll disparity and part was due to the fact that the non-melee characters (which meant everyone but the swordmaster) had fairly low Toughness scores and correspondingly low damage ratings.

Still, the characters defeated the cadaver-ogres and pulled back to rest. The characters correctly deduced the source of the creatures must be in the nearby cave and decided to investigate. As the party leader and a stealthy adept to boot, Holthan said he'd check the cave out and see what he could find. Despite Holthan's order to stay behind, Eltherin, the elf archer, decided to accompany him. I called for stealth rolls right away just to emphasis their skill levels and Holthan nearly tripled Eltherin's result as expected. Holthan's player picked up on what I was trying to subtly imply about their comparative chances of remaining quiet and in character pointed out how loud the elf was being and reiterated instructions to remain behind, but the elf refused.

As expected Eltherin was detected further inside the cave. When a single ogre came out to investigate Holthan melted into the shadows. After trying unsuccessfully to hide Eltherin decided to stand and shoot the ogre instead of running and wound up getting killed. Holthan was able to make his way back out and share the news and the party fell back to regroup. Since we had an extra NPC, Eltherin's player took over Thok. As they were recovering I had an animated Eltherin come and have the horror use him to offer the adepts safe passage if they left immediately.

Although the adepts toyed with the idea of leaving, they eventually decided they had to try to destroy the horror that lived so close to their kaer and launched a successful attack that killed the crystal entity. Afterwards the party made a crucial decision - they decided that since they had witnessed horrors still active in the world their mission was complete and they should return to the kaer, inform the council, and reseal themselves in.

And thus, the campaign was quickly sidetracked by the combination of a number of issues.

• Poor choice of enemies. Although I wanted to show the party horrors were still around, I should have done so further into the campaign with weaker enemies. Doing so would have allowed the party to see non-horror opposition then meet horror-backed opposition that was in some ways weaker, meaning manageable by adepts.
• Untimely party death. The world of Earthdawn is dangerous, and I'm always afraid pulling punches will cheapen the experience. Still I won't kill characters over crappy die rolls, but the elf's player realized how powerful the enemies were and ignored the opportunity (and urgings from his fellow players) to flee so I let the dice fall where they may.
• Misuse of Earthdawn themes. If you fight a horror, loose a party member, and flee to seek refuge nearby, it's entirely in genre for a horror to animate the corpse of your former friend and use it to torment and dishearten you. However I did so when the party's courage was already fading and it just served to help push them to the decision to conclude their mission over and return home, claiming it was far to dangerous out. Bad move on my part.

When the party decided to return the kaer, I couldn't say I blamed them. Although perhaps not the most heroic of options, it was certainly in-character to judge the world too dangerous after losing a party member just a day out of the kaer. Still as they made this decision I saw my campaign starting to go down the drain. All of the areas I had created for them to explore and the descriptions I wanted to provider weren't going to see use. Sure it would have been possible for the kaer council to turn the party around and say "go back out, you're not done" but the ogre encounters wound up lasting through the third session of what was planned to be a six-session campaign. Sending them back out meant either rushing the campaign or greatly expanding it past the idea length so I decided to push the timeline and have the final scenario with the kaer's denizens being sacrificed as the party returned.

Hindsight being what it is I made a bad choice. Even besides the way the campaign got sidetracked I had become frustrated with how the game was going - I was far from satisfied with the quality of my gamemastering and was angry at myself for not doing better with it. My frustration soon became apathy towards campaign, and some of the final encounters that should have been exciting and filled with entertaining descriptions turned into rather dull die rolls and narrations.

I'm ashamed to say that eventually I looked at the party and expressed my inability to conclude the game on a high note - they were chasing the final big bad through the kaer but I just couldn't give them the final encounter they deserve. Then for some reason Saultydog asked if I wanted him to take over. Figuring I had nothing to loose I agreed. He handed me his character sheet and I passed him the core book. After taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts and jot down some numbers, S-dog launched into us cornering the elf and having the horror emerge to be dealt with.

There was a difference between Saultydog's version and mine, though - he was immediately excited and his excitement was contagious. Because S-dog didn't have any expectations of what should have been, he was able to take a fresh perspective on the current encounter and make it cool on its own. Even I was sucked in and quickly began plotting a way to defeat the horror dramatically without just knocking of hit point after hit point. A running fight, battle-alchemy, and a chase through the kaer finally culminated in dropping the horror in a bottomless pit that was part of one of the traps the party had passed on their initial trip out of the kaer - all scenes we collaboratively built entirely from my initial description of the overgrown kaer when the expedition had returned and Saultydog's enthusiasm.

After the last encounter we had a post-game discussion. I confessed my frustration and then when asked went through the plot as it was intended to be. The reactions I got from the players assured me that had we gone through the intended story line, it would have been a fantastic game - they loved the encounters, plots, and how they tied into their character backgrounds. But hearing that was bittersweet - while it meant my creation was appreciated, it also meant the difference between teh awesum and teh suk was that great.

As disappointed as I was with the whole First Dawn experience, I did learn a valuable lesson. The Gamemaster's enthusiasm towards his game is paramount in allowing him to entertain the players successfully. I absolutely should have done one of two things - either realize that while my initial concept was cool a new plot could be just as entertaining and run with it, or break down and meta-game with the players, explaining how their decision to return would derail the campaign and ask what in-game events could help dissuade their characters and get them to change their minds. Instead my stubbornness and reluctance to meta-game combined with my frustration at what should have been killed my enthusiasm and led to substandard gamemastering. It's a mistake I intend not to repeat... assuming I can convince the group to let me behind the screen again.

In my opinion, nailing down a gamemastering style is more difficult than a playing style due to the different nature of gamemastering. This isn't true in all cases - some gamemasters run games completely transparently, where the players are aware of most of the decisions, difficulties, and stats surrounding everything he does. But I've noticed I don't run games like this, which can give players one perspective based on what they see while giving myself a different perspective knowing why I'm doing what I'm doing. This probably needs some clarification.

A player in my traditional fantasy game decides he wants to climb a tree to find a spot to hide so he can ambush an NPC. The player tells me of his intent and I ask for a Climbing check. He rolls the check, I think about the results, and then tell him he finds a tree with thick enough branches to conceal himself and makes his way about fifteen feet up without difficulty. This player sees me relying pretty heavily on the rules of the game which date if you want to climb a tree, you make a climbing check and need to beat a given difficulty. But is that all that's going on?

From my perspective, the player's asking to make a climbing check that really isn't necessary to the game. In fact if he wanted he could make his ambush from the ground by hiding well enough. So by the time I've asked for the climbing check, I've already decided to myself "if he doesn't botch he'll make it, and if he rolls well enough he'll get some bonus on top of normal surprise rules when he makes his attack." But most of the time the players never see this decision.

I've read advice columns where other gamemasters have written "if the outcome's not in question, don't roll the dice." I can see the merit in that approach - I use that general rule in some situations. But in the groups I've run for lately there's been at least some people who really like to roll the dice. For these players simply declaring "ok, you succeed" saps some of the fun out of the game. I understand there's a narrative player base who may cringe at this sort of thing. Personally I don't want to have to roll the dice for every action I as a player undertake either, but a fair number of the players I've been running games have preferred that method so I've tried to accommodate them.

Obviously I can't use this method for every task or it would get predictable. So for some tests there is a set difficulty that has to be overcome. Otherwise characters with different skill levels would have identical chances of success. This would basically make skill ranks pointless, which isn't what I want to accomplish. In addition I don't require a roll for every test. If a character wants to tie his shoe or climb a tree to get a better look of the valley, then that's not going to require a roll. Those really are situations where the threat of failure is neither measurable nor dramatic, so is ignored.

In addition I've found that die rolling tends to build tension. That's not to say tension can't or shouldn't be built in the narrative. The narrative is the best place to set tension and shouldn't be glossed over, but die rolling adds a sense of the anticipation to the game. Will you get the value you need, or will you botch the check? A character's skill plays a large part of their chance of success, but there's always the random die roll that can make or break you. And knowing that your success or failure boils down to the roll of the die can be exciting. From the groans that emanate from the players when a roll is botched to the cheers on a critical success, these experiences can make a game more enjoyable for the players.

I've talked a while about why I rely on die rolls in my games, but my aim isn't to ignore the narrative portions. Obviously the descriptions I give are the best vehicles to convey the feel of the game, and that's probably why I've talked so much more about the dice - the emphasis on the story seems like a given. I do like to use dice, but the rules themselves will take a backseat if it furthers the gaming experience. This is actually part of the reason for my "don't botch and you succeed" mentality. I don't care if you need to roll a 12 go climb the tree, a 6 is good enough this time.

I feel it's my job as a gamemaster to cheat to make the story more fun. If knowing a particular piece of information that he normally wouldn't will make an NPC a more interesting encounter, I'll have him know it and figure out how he learned it after the fact. I feel free to do whatever hand waving behind the screen as I need to as long as the story is believable.

So how's this work out at the table? I think the best way to explain would be to provide an example. In an Earthdawn game I was running a while back started with the group was fighting a flying creature from a drakkar - a small type of airship. On the creature's turn it sprayed the deck with fire, trying to burn the sails and the characters. One character took a fair amount of damage from the blast, so I thought there might be a chance of the force of the blast knocking him down. I could have just narrated him being shaken by the flame and almost falling and that would have been fine. But that's not what I did. Instead, I decided to call for a roll:

Me: Ok, roll Dexterity (thinking: Don't botch)

Aaron: Uh, I botched.

Me: The heat of the flame is disorientating, and you start to loose your balance. Unfortunately you're near the edge of the ship... better make another Dexterity check (thinking: don't botch and he just falls to the deck).

Aaron: Crap! Another one!

Me: As the flames die down you see Talon staggering by the edge of the railing. Suddenly, he begins to tumble over the edge!

Laura: I'll kick one of the oars, sliding it through its casing over the edge so he can grab on!

Me: Good idea; Laura, you and Aaron make Dex checks.

Aaron: I got a 5.

Laura: Um... I botched.

Me: Talon manages to twist and grab on to the oar, but his weight causes it to keep sliding... looks like it's going to slip out completely!

Nate: I'll drop my sword and grab it! ::rolls Dexterity, botching:: What?!

Me: You swipe at the oar, but only succeed in knocking it the rest of the way out of the casing!

Laura: That's it! I grab the nearby rope and dive over the edge after her!

Jim: With our luck I bet it's not secured.

Me: (thinking: Hah! They need to rescue him, but they can probably manage. And it's funnier if they call it.) ::rolls some dice behind the screen:: Looking down you notice you're right - it's not. I'm guessing you want to do something about that?

Jim: I'll tie it off quickly before the coil plays all the way out!

At this point I have Jim tie off the rope and Aaron and Laura don't botch their Strength checks to grab on to each other, ending the fiasco with them dangling over the jungle below. With the characters in such a compromising situation, another character decided to jump heroically from the drakkar to the creature's back, keeping it busy so it wouldn't eat his friends.

I knew right away I wasn't going to let Talon die in the first scene but by having it seem like the possibility existed got everyone in to the game immediately. I could have simply narrated Talon's disorientation in the first place but by calling for die rolls and reacting to the botches we created one of the most memorable scenes in the whole campaign.

So what kind of gamemaster does that make me? To tell you the truth I don't really know. Do I roll dice too often to be considered a narrativist? Is there too much dramatic storytelling to be a gamist? Then again, like any other label... does it really matter?

As the gamemaster, I typically can envision every scene in the games I run, from surroundings to mood to weather to supporting cast. However in my experience can be easy to fail to fully communicate this to my players. Maybe I skip over something that for me is a given based on my other descriptions but isn't for my players, or maybe I just get so wrapped up into detailing one aspect of the scene that I forget to describe another. It's never intentional, but sometimes it happens. Regardless, I can already see how I will be able to leverage this collaborative scene building technique in the future to help improve my own game.

First and foremost collaborative scene building will allow the players to fill in holes I left in my descriptions. Everyone's brain works differently, and everyone picks up on different senses or observations. I myself am a visual person - I get the most out of those types of elements in a scene. Thus when describing an alley in a modern or futuristic setting I might mention the long shadows between the buildings, the rusted dumpster surrounded by flies, or maybe the broken flower box on a windowsill. To a visual person such as myself, this is all that's needed to really get into the scene and normally I would turn the game over to the players and ask for actions.

However using collaborative scene building, I would instead pose the question of "what else is there?" to them. To which the aural person may make note of the noises of the busy street filtering down from the end of the alley. This is a great descriptive element, as it really says two things at once: not only that the main streets are busy but also just how quiet and still the alley is by contrast. It's certainly not something I would have thought of at the table, but now everyone's getting an even bigger a sense of foreboding than based on my description alone.

In addition to supplementing his own descriptions, an observant gamemaster can ensure his players are seeing the same setting as he has. What if a player doesn't fully get the foreboding I'm trying to build, and mentions a puppy walking up the alley, leading to some awwww's from various players. As the gamemaster, I know I don't want a cute cheerful puppy in my alley - this is supposed to be a dark and dreary alley where bad things will happen.

Removing the puppy would be contradictory and would be sending a message to the contributing player that he failed or somehow did a bad job. Instead, build on the description. Maybe the puppy is mangled and smelly and is looking around with a wild desperation in its eyes, growling at shadows. Now the players that thought this was just another alley should now be thinking, "well damn, this alley's not a happy place," which is exactly what I wanted them to be thinking. And it was done by guiding them back by addition, not contradiction.

Another benefit of collaborative scene building is that it keeps players involved. Even if a character isn't present at a scene, his player can contribute to setting the stage. It also builds an interest in not just the events taking place, but the environment itself.

The gamemaster can't just let the stage be set then not use it, however. If you don't tie in the aspects your players provide you, they're going to start feeling like they're not really contributing anything. That's not to say that you need to have every single descriptive element used, but be aware of the opportunities to do so. When the players in the alley are jumped, have the gunshot echo down the alley, ringing out above the din of the traffic. Maybe when the thugs rush forth from behind the buildings they step on the puppy. The aural player who described the quiet will hear the gunshot loud and clear, and the player who wanted the cute puppy is now shocked at how it was cruelly treated. Even if this is a random encounter with no other ties to your characters, you've just hooked a couple players simply on the scene and their ties to it.

Take care not to fall into the trap of having the opposition use the players' elements against them all the time. If all a player sees collaborate scene building as a way to give the gamemaster elements to use against them, they're going feel much less inclined to contribute. Let the players benefit from their provided elements as well even if it's as simple a having the puppy distract or trip a thug and an opportune moment.

Conversely don't be afraid to use your players' elements against them. If you have a player constantly providing cover for his gunman to hide behind, sometimes make it a hazard. The opposition doesn't have to be directly the cause of the hazard - maybe the cover is unstable and topples toward the player when he tries to hide behind it. Don't be malicious, but let the players know that it everything works both ways.

Players also need to be aware of their role in collaborative scene building. Adding fluff to add fluff is fine in that it will add to the setting, but you really need to be aware you're adding elements to be incorporated into the scene as a whole. If you want to add a purely decorative element, you need to be aware that the gamemaster may not be able to fully integrate it into the events of the scene. That's not to say decorative elements aren't as good - they can still add to the feel of the scene, they just might not get use once the scene picks up. Most of the time I'd suggest that players should try and give the gamemaster something he can work with and add to the encounter he has planned.

In addition, players should be on the look out to use the contributed elements themselves if the gamemaster hasn't immediately done so. If someone adds a pile of crates, dive behind it for cover! Don't forget your character's actions can draw an element's creator in just as well as an npc's, sometimes even more so. If my crates saved your character's bacon, I can take pride in that even though my character wasn't directly involved.

Collaborative scene building definitely isn't something you'll necessarily be able to institute flawlessly right away. My own group started with mixed results, but I'm sure this is going to lead to a much more descriptive, immersive game and I can't wait to continue its use in the future.

I quite possibly could be crazy, but if so it's for reasons other than my above claim. I'm not trying to convince all you role-players out there to go buy some pewter and put the smack down on your friends. And I'm certainly not saying that people who play wargames are inherently better at roleplaying than those that don't. What I am saying is that I've noticed an improvement in my own role-playing since I started playing Warmachine a year ago, and here's why.

Combat in a roleplaying game does serve a purpose: to provide a dangerous setting for characters to play out their physical struggles with an opponent and to provide a challenge for the characters and players to overcome or avoid. That's not to say you can't have a good game without it, but I do think it's an opportunity for the wise roleplayer to emphasize his character's personality. A ruthless character may choose not to leave any enemies alive. A crafty character may use stealth or the environment to his advantage. An extravagant character may fight with a daring but flashy style. A coward character may avoid direct conflict altogether. How a character handles a situation where someone or something is trying to kill him can certainly reveal a lot about that character and removing these encounters can deprive a player of these opportunities.

While I personally don't want combat to become the end-all-be-all of a campaign, I have to be honest - sometimes it's fun to roll some dice and attack some monsters. Combat, whether dramatic or gratuitous, gives me as a player a chance to flex my tactical muscles in overcoming an opponent (satisfying my competitive nature) and provides a stage for me to play up my character's personality. However in the past year since I've been playing Warmachine, when I have sat down to a roleplaying game I haven't really felt the need to get into combat. It's not that I don't enjoy a fight when it's appropriate to the story but I don't feel like I've missed anything if combat never happens. All of the urges to go out and strategize ways to defeat some enemies get fulfilled during my weekly Warmachine games.

So while moving little pewter men around my dining room table doesn't in and of itself make me a better roleplayer, it does allow me to concentrate on the parts of a roleplaying game I want to emphasize. And in my mind, that's an improvement.

With any luck I'll be able to follow each session with a blargpost discussing an aspect of the game - either setting, system, or meta - that came up in that session. At some point I'd like to take some time to discuss the d20 system and it's fit for the game as a whole, but for my first topic I've chosen to talk about the variation of the flashback technique with which we started the campaign.

After we had given our characters to the gamemaster, he took our character sheets and applied a template to convert the characters into 0-level younglings. We were handed these characters as soon as the game stared and were thrown into a situation where we had to deal with a fire that had broken out in our dormitory in the Praxeum. Throughout the first session we switched back and forth between the two timelines for a total of three youngling phases and two adult phases.

I liked this setup for the game for a number of reasons. The first is how it helped character development. I'll be honest - making a character for this game was unexpectedly difficult for me this time around. I'm not sure why it was so difficult for this campaign in particulr, but since musing on possible answers would fill up a blarg of its own I'm not going to do so here. But what I had when I had finished character creation was an idea of the primary events in his background that shaped his perspective and his general personality.

By going back and starting the game playing as a younger version of the character, I was able to explore additional childhood events that foreshadow or lead to the adult character's personality without having to adjust for years of having the Jedi Code embedded within his moral fiber. In particular, I had envisioned my character to be one that was somewhat less than brave. Playing the child version of my character allowed me to play up on his cowardice before the "fear leads to anger..." Jedi mantra was deeply ingrained in him. I really got to get into head of a child who at first wakes up to find his home is on fire, and then a child that barely made it out and had time to reflect on just what happened.

The fire wasn't the only youngling scene we played through, though. And each scene let us build upon our younger selves' personalities. There were acts of rebellion against our teachers where we misbehaved to satisfy our curiosity. There were acts of delusion where one could cling to a donned training blast helmet as if it would provide protection from the roaring flames. There were acts of fear where a child character could be consumed with the horrors of just how close to death he had come. There were acts of quixotism where a thankful smile from "the cute girl" could embolden a character more than any amount of hit points and saving throw bonuses could.

It was definitely a rewarding experience, and let me set up further character development down the road. We now know that the fire had terrified and really affected my character, and that wasn't something I had added to his backstory before hand.

Unfortunately there were a few pitfalls to this technique, most notably the blurring of the line between the youngling and the adult characters. It was important to keep in mind that the youngling characters couldn't draw any conclusions based on information that would later be gained as adults. So if the adults were to uncover a possible clue as to what was going on when they were younglings, the players had to remember not to use this knowledge when they were playing their youngling characters.

Obviously the reverse of this isn't as obvious but also holds just as true. It was important to remember that the adult scenes didn't take place directly following the youngling scenes from the characters' perspective. So anything that was experienced, conclusions that were drawn, or opinions that were formed during the youngling timeline had to be tempered by the roughly eighteen years of experience that happened between the two.

Some of you may be saying that this is all a given and should be assumed, but sometimes it's easy for someone to get too into the story and forget to separate the two. In reality this is just another example of metagaming - letting out-of-game knowledge affect in-game play. And metagaming can have a negative impact on the game.

I should note here that I'm a firm believer that metagaming isn't always evil. Certainly if you take advantage of knowledge your character wouldn't have to solve a puzzle he normally wouldn't be able to solve then there is a problem. But take for example my character. I knew the adult version would wind up spending years training as a negotiator and diplomat, so when the opportunity presented itself I tried to foreshadow this development. In this campaign the foreshadowing occurred by trying to negotiate (and ultimately try to bluff) an instructor who had caught us out after curfew. As a 0-level character with no skills, my failure to smooth-talk the instructor was never really in doubt. But I was able to display my character's preference for negotiating even when other options - such as running and hiding - may have had more success.

In all likelihood we won't be returning to our youngling characters in The Twilight Path campaign - the story proper is set to take place in the adult timeline. Still, I was glad I had the opportunity to try this method for starting a campaign out. I'll definitely have to keep how much I enjoyed it in mind when planning how to start my own campaigns in the future.