Make People Interact With Your Character (Not Your Class)

Karroun Valesh is not the sort of man one forgets easily. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, he bore the dark mane of a lion, and the winking smile of a rogue that wasn't helped by his single, gold tooth. He always bought the first round, and he never let a companion (nor even an enemy) go hungry. His hammer-headed horse was an ugly, cantankerous thing, but she was fierce in battle, and he always brushed and cleaned her with his own hands. He fought ferociously, his scimitar flashing in the desert sun, but he rarely fought with hatred in his heart. He stood by his allies, and made sure everyone was accorded a fair share of the loot they had earned.

The fact that Valesh was a paladin never once comes up in this description, because that shouldn't be the first thing the rest of the table sees when they interact with him.

Sick to death of catching shit for my samurai levels, too.

I've harped on this before in posts like What's In A Name? How Character Class is Limiting Your Creativity, but most of the time I talk from the perspective of the player. About how class name, and traditional character archetypes, can make it hard for us to step outside our usual preconceptions when we're trying to make fresh, new characters.

Today I'd like to talk about something different. About how you can bypass your table's preconceptions, and get them to see your character, instead of the stats on that character's sheet.

It All Starts At Conception

I don't claim to know how other players get prepped for a game, but when I join a table the only person I give the nitty gritty on my background and mechanics to is the DM. During Session 0 (more on this at The Importance of Session 0 in Your Tabletop Games if you're not familiar with the concept), I will refer to the role I picture my character filling instead of who they are, or what building blocks make them up. For example, I might tell the rest of the group, "I'll bring a beat stick," "I'll play the blaster," or, "I'll bring the healer," but I won't get more specific than that. That way my group knows what skill sets are covered, but they don't get to peek behind the curtain to see the details of what I'm putting on the table.

Whatever form it may take.

The next step is to pull my DM aside, and to confab with them. I lay out the character's history, the build I'm planning on using, and I make sure everything I want to do is kosher. If the DM has questions, or wants me to explain part of my plan, this is the time where I do it. Once I have the seal of approval, and the game actually starts, is when the magic trick begins.

Show Your Character (But Don't Tell The Table Who They Are)

So, the game is beginning. Assuming that you don't have pre-existing connections with other characters (you can, but that isn't a universal strategy), you need to decide what kind of impression you want to give when you introduce your PC. So you need to ask what they look like, but also if there are any details that might intrigue passersby. Does the character have a unique or exotic weapon, particular items of interest, unusual tattoos, prominent scars, or something else remarkable about them? Rope scar around the throat? Missing hand? A living, prosthetic arm? Freckles?

He has a rather... memorable face.

The most important thing you need to do, though, is create the impression of who your character is. For example, if the party sees a heavy-handed bruiser in a black, armored coat with messy hair and the sunken knuckles of a brawler, they'll remember that. If they note that he has a thick accent, city-dwelling habits, and that he can put a man down with a single punch, those are also things his companions will take note of. But it may take a session or two before the character casts a spell, revealing to the players that he's a warpriest, instead of a common brawler.

I brought this very character to a Pathfinder Society game. Despite looking over his sheet, the DM continually forgot he was a warpriest just because he didn't prosthelytize, never invoked the name of his goddess, and sounded more like a back alley thug than he did the sort of man the divine would choose to put their faith in. For more about him, check out Gaspar Dell'Amore, the Black Rose of Edme.

First Impressions Make All The Difference

First impressions matter, and they are really difficult to change. If the first thing someone learns about your character is their class, then that is going to be nearly impossible for them to shake. You may find that you're referred to as the barbarian, or the paladin, or the wizard, despite having a name, a background, and a history with people.

The longer you avoid tipping your hand regarding your class, the less of an impact the revelation will have. For example, if you go most of the first session as Hark, a former Nirmathan Irregular, woodsman, and expert archer, that's what the table will remember. Not that he has three levels of the Archer fighter archetype. If the party meets the handsome, broad-shouldered Prince Caldrain, the fact that he's a bloodrager isn't going to phase them. He has a name, and even a title, which are what will take precedence. No one is going to care that Dozer is a bard, because by the time they see his magic in action, they're already well aware of the motivational power a bellowing half-orc with a great ax in one hand can have.

Who gave you permission to bleed?!

Now, that might seem like a lot of work to some players. Like you're planning some kind of secret party, or something. If it's too much for you to do, that's your call. However, if you want to introduce deeper roleplaying into your game, and avoid using so much meta terminology for what's going on, the first step is to make sure people see your character, and not the class or classes you've put together behind the scenes to let them do what they do.

That's all for this week's Moon Pope Monday update. Hopefully you all enjoyed my thoughts on the subject, and I promise I'll give this particular dead horse a rest for a few weeks before coming back from a different angle. If you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, then drop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to leave some change in my jar. All it takes is $1 a month to make a difference, and to earn yourself some sweet swag while you're at it. Lastly, if you haven't followed me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter yet, well, why not start today?

Improve Your Combat Roleplaying With Combat Description Cards From Conflict Games LLC.

Regular blog readers likely caught my recent post How To Roleplay During Combat, where I laid out a series of suggestions for improving roleplay during your initiative order. The post got a big response from players across a variety of games, but one of the most common points that was made was that not all players are capable of pulling out vivid descriptions on command.

That's a valid point. In response to this point though I'd like to point out that these exist.

And they're marvelous.

What you're looking at are Combat Description Cards from Conflict Games LLC. These cards are, simply put, a randomizer that allows players to always have something clever on hand when they manage to land a blow. Whether they're ranged fighters, power fighters, or finesse fighters, and whether they're using blunt, slashing, or piercing weapons there is something here for everyone.

Except magic users... because you already have descriptions in the book for what your spells look like.

If you'd like to support Improved Initiative so I can keep bringing you the latest and greatest in gaming posts and news then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page and become a patron today! Also if you want to get all of my updates then make sure you follow me on Facebook and Tumblr so you don't get left out of the loop.

Tips For Roleplaying Monstrous Characters

Roleplaying games are all about escapism, and one of the most extreme forms of escapism is playing a monstrous character. Whether it's a vampire living out an immortal existence in the shadows or an orc war-chief seeking blood and glory, monstrous player characters have a certain appeal to them. For players who really want to get into the inhuman spirit though, it's important to really develop that persona. This week Improved Initiative would like to provide a few helpful hints.

See through their eyes. Or don't, if you don't have psychotropic drugs handy.

What Can They Do?

The easiest way to really make characters pop is to look at their abilities and ask how that would show up in day-to-day life. Monstrous characters are, well, monsters, and what they are shapes the way they view the world.

Let's start off with an easy example; take the tiefling. A tiefling with a prehensile tail will not move in a human way because of the additional balance this limb provides. Since the tail can draw items from a belt the character might use it to grasp objects in daily life without a second thought. Alternatively, a player might create a whole system of etiquette regarding the tail. The tail drooping might be a sign of submission, whereas whipping it back and forth could be a sign of aggression. The tail curled around the waist, or wrapped around the leg, might be a sign of fear or comfort. There could even be a sort of secret sign language amount tailed tieflings.

Let's try a few others. An ifrit naturally has fire resistance 5, and we may assume that's been the case since birth. How has that affected the character's outlook? Does she sit on stoves or sun herself on hot rocks? Does she rub a hot coal across her forehead when she has a headache, the way other races might use ice? Does she cook without utensils, simply plunging her hands into hot coals to take out meals without a second thought?

If someone is playing a dwarf, does that characters read or play cards in the dark since having darkvision makes the need for a light source moot? Do elves reference events from generations past, and then remember abruptly that may have been two or three generations before the rest of the party was even alive (sort of like how your grandparents will talk about what a building was fifty years ago like it was yesterday)? If a character has the ability to scent like an animal, will he refuse to go into certain places like low-quarter taverns or perfume shops because of his sensitive proboscis?

Whatever a character can do, if it's part of his or her nature ask yourself how it shaped that person's worldview and how it might make them act very strangely when compared to more regular humans.

Where Do They Come From?

After he was demoted though, we summered in Acheron. Lovely hot springs.

If you've ever been to another country, or even to an event like Gen Con or the Pennsic War, you've experienced culture shock. Things you didn't even know you took for granted, like running water or the fact that no one in the room would understand the game references you're making, are thrown right out the window.

Now ask yourself what kind of cultural norms inhuman characters grew up with.

How would a vampire who was originally born and raised in the time of William Wallace adapt to the world around him? Or one made during the reign of Vlad the Impaler, or during the voyage of Leif Erikson? Would the paranoia and casual brutality of the Middle Ages, or the cultural cornerstones of the Roman Empire just fall by the wayside, or would those habits cling for life? Unlife... whatever.

If you don't want to do a bunch of historical research, then how would characters from different planes of existence act? Would an Aasimar raised on the celestial plane be able to lie? Or steal? Would the character understand concepts like hunger, or want? How would monstrous characters who grew up segregated among their own kind act, particularly if the common culture of the world is still foreign to them? Would a half-orc raised by orcs take meeting one's eyes as a challenge, thus forcing him to punch people who were only trying to be friendly? Would a creature with djinni blood, or natural lycanthropy be confused that there are people who are born without the abilities they possess? Would they keep those abilities to themselves out of politeness or the fear of being mocked? Might they instead look down on those who couldn't change their form, or float on a gust of wind?

Once you understand the culture that spawned your character, it leads to a lot of interesting twists. Don't be afraid to get creative either.

What's The Character's Primary Language?

You wanna say that one more time, real slow, in English?

I've harped on this one before (right here in this blog entry, in fact), but the language your characters speak influences so much about who they are, how they think, and how they act. You see this all the time in real world languages and professional jargon. There is a Russian slang term whose rough translation means "I love you, but hate you in this moment." One word. German has a word that means "to enjoy someone else's misery." These are more than funny linguistic turns; they inform the sort of outlook your character might have on the world.

Here's a personal example. I was playing a dwarven paladin, and the elf triggered a trap that dropped large rocks on her head. The dwarf laughed, and I belted out a completely made-up sounding word. The party asked what it meant and I explained to them it was a dwarven word which meant to have large rocks fall upon one's head in a tunnel that otherwise looked safe. I proceeded to explain other words, and built a culture around the idea that every kind of accident involving stone, from huge cave-ins to single rock injuries had a specific word in dwarven. There were over forty-five by the time I finished my aside. They had one word for sky though, and they took it from Common. Their subterranean culture simply had no need for a concept they rarely had to face.

Non-human characters tend to get racial languages for free; the concepts of these languages can shape perspective. If one learned Infernal before common, is there a strict, grammatical order that must always be followed for every concept? How many different words are there for the different parts of a negotiation? Would that lead to a clipped, precise manner of speaking? If someone learned Elven first, does that character have a lilting accent and a slow style of speech? Do words tend to refer to concepts as a whole, reflecting the elven view that all things are connected and cannot be individualized? If someone speaks goblin, are there personal pronouns? Or would a goblin have to use her proper name, or a phrase like "this one" because she comes from a brood-style society where individuality doesn't matter as much?

In The End

At the end of the day what makes monstrous characters unique is the same things that make human characters unique; a distinct sense of personality, feelings, and a compelling story. While some players might not look twice at a human character who seems to be a little too similar to the man behind the character sheet, people might start rolling their eyes if the half-ogre starts talking and acting just the like player who gave him life.


As always, thanks for dropping by Improved Initiative. We have a snazzy new button, so if you want to keep updated just give us your email and you'll never miss a beat. If you'd like to help keep us going, please click the "Bribe the DM" button to donate with PayPal, or go check out our Patreon page. For more updates check us out on Facebook or Tumblr.

Dungeon Master Alchemy: Turning Stats Into Story

Numbers are the basis of most roleplaying games. In the World of Darkness you have dots, in Pathfinder you have skill ranks and ability scores, and in Deadlands you have traits and backgrounds, but at the end of the day they're all different names to describe what player characters can and can't do in the game world. These statistics are meant to help participants get a proper image of what's happening when they start rolling dice, and in order to build an effective character it's important for players and storytellers both to understand how these mechanics work together. That said though, there's something important to keep in mind.

Statistics, by themselves, are boring as hell.

My stats have bigger dicks than your stats.

If you want to make your game sessions interesting, push the story forward, and keep everyone's collective heads in the game, here are some rules you might want to institute when it's time to rattle the bones.

Rule #1: Visualize the Violence

Every roleplaying game on the market has violence in it. In some games, like Pathfinder and Dungeons and Dragons, that violence takes center stage. In other games, such as Vampire: the Requiem or Grimm, it's often a little more low key. Game designers know that sooner or later (probably sooner) a character is going to try and solve the plot by kicking it in the crotch. So when that violence happens you need to ask yourself one question; what the hell does it look like?

Make us feel this. I dare you.

Combat is very easy to muddle. Between attack rolls, damage rolls, skill checks, the number of actions a player can take, and which special abilities are being used it's easy to lose track of what's going on. Combat is supposed to be fast-paced and tense though, and numbers tend to put a blockage between the player and the action. As such, it's a good idea to encourage more description and roleplaying to keep everyone involved.

Players can go big or small with their narrations, depending on their comfort levels. For instance, if players don't want to take a lot of time they might add a little flair to their combat round with something like, "Arturo springs forward, rapier darting for the zombie's face." That's easy, it's serviceable, and it's worlds better than "I attack." If a player is feeling more verbose though, there's no reason to hold back. "Fangor crashes his hilt against his shield, charging forward and bellowing 'death to the unbelievers!', laying about him with reckless abandon," is a little more descriptive. Every player gets a moment in the spotlight, and they should feel free to make the most of it to add their own narration to the scene.

Once attacks have been made though, it's the storyteller's turn to pick up the thread. Say that Arturo the dashing swordsman rolled a 2 on his attack, which is a solid miss. That doesn't necessarily mean that the fighter who's trained his entire life in the martial arts suddenly becomes a fumble-fingered fool. Perhaps his sword glanced off the zombie's skull rather than piercing through its eye. Perhaps the corpse wheeled right unexpectedly, and the sword sailed past. If the creature has a weapon or a shield, maybe it parried. Showing the enemy's competence keeps the fight tense, and all participants stay riveted on the action.

Let's flip back over to Fangor the barbarian. Maybe his player's on fire, and she rolled a natural 20 on the attack. She confirms the critical hit, and deals some significant damage. The entire table heard how much damage she dealt; it's the storyteller's job to tell the players what that damage looks like. So, does Fangor's broadsword cleave up through a bandit's skull in a spurt of blood and brains? Does the warrior instead slam the sword up under his enemy's armpit, ramming it in through the heart? Or does he simply cut deeply across the other man's guts, doing him great harm without killing him outright? That's the sort of thing the storyteller should be doing. By giving players a real sense of what effect they're having, and allowing a moment to shine, the battle goes from an exchange of die rolling and number writing to real, visceral storytelling.

Also, don't forget that this can work the other way when the monsters attack the players. If they hit, let players be dramatic. If the monsters miss, let players explain how and why. Back and forth is great for scene building.

Rule #2: Selling Your Spells

Whether you're playing a high fantasy sorceress, a modern-day magus, or you've slipped on the skin of a vampire, characters with supernatural abilities need to work a little bit harder to do their part when it comes time to step into the spotlight.

Otherwise this is what you'll look like. Seriously.

Just as fighters have to describe swinging swords and combat styles, magic-workers need to take the rules and claim them as their own. For instance, practically every game with magic has a spell that lashes out at enemies from a distance with a wave of energy. What does it look like when your character uses it? Some players might choose to use hand movements, doing some semi-arcane gesticulating before rolling a die. Others might speak a short series of Google translated words in Latin, German, or Japanese. Players who are less hands-on might describe a nimbus of blue light, or a shout that travels like a wave before smashing into the target. Spells that open pits in the ground could be accompanied by stomping a foot in the dirt, and those which grant flight might come with an avian howl or a halo of celestial light.

Magic and the supernatural is a prime example of "show, don't tell" (more on that here). For instance, if players are going up against a necromancer who summons a stream of black tendrils that sap away a fighter's strength, don't just tell the players what spell was cast unless they know what it is in-character. Describe the bells and whistles that go with the magic to keep the mood going. This happens with creatures that have some ability to shrug off damage, or who can regenerate health quickly. Whether players are fighting werewolves or dragons though, don't just say "not all of your damage went through." How? Why? Did the bullet wound close back up, pushing the slug back out? Did a thick hide prevent the knife from cutting deep enough? Does the crossbow bolt simply sit there, with no blood oozing out of the cold, dead flesh?

Rule #3: No Out of Character Numbers

It's easy for statistics on the character sheet to be used as short hand for in-character description. We talk about strength scores, hit points, dots of presence, etc., when what we need to be doing is taking a moment to discuss what other players are seeing.

You see a man with bronze skin, and an 18 strength.

In the aftermath of a battle, players should never say how many health levels they've lost. Instead, they should describe the sort of damage they've taken. Is the party leader limping because she took a stab wound in her calf? Does the cop who went toe-to-toe with the hungry dead have cuts on his arms and cheeks, or is there a seeping wound in his side just beneath his flak jacket? Is the knight simply singed, or has his skin been blackened by the dragon fire he walked through? These are things you need to know.

The same is true when it comes to first meetings or in-character description. A player shouldn't say "a bard walks up, flashing a smile that lets you know he has an 18 charisma or better." Sure, players at the table know what that means in game terms. Talking like that takes players out of their in-character head space though, and it doesn't really do much to explain what people are looking at. A better way to handle this might be to say something like, "a man strolls up to the party, his thumbs hooked behind his belt. He's brightly dressed, but chain armor glints beneath his shirt, and the short sword at his side looks very well-used. He grins, and when he tosses his hair back you can see his ears narrow to a point. His voice is pleasant, and it catches the ear of passerby." This is a pretty simple explanation of what a half-elf bard looks like, but at no point in time was he described using the words "half-elf" or "bard".

This goes for monsters and NPCs as well as PCs. Storytellers shouldn't use the names of creatures characters wouldn't know, even if the players do. Those who live in the mountains and have fought goblins their whole lives will recognize goblins when they come boiling out of caves to spring a trap. However, the exact nature of a spell-stitched ghoul might elude characters who are not experts in the arts of necromancy, or who have not made extensive studies of the undead. Storytellers can keep a lot of drama in a scene by keeping the players guessing about what is happening. Giving the players too much information calms their nerves and leaves them confident about their chances. Don't tell them. If they want to know the details, then players need to make in-character observations about the world in which they live.


As always, thanks for coming to Improved Initiative for your gaming needs. If you want to help keep us going then tell your family, tell your friends, and share the articles you like. Our previous posts are listed under Fluff and Crunch, with our funny posts under Moon Pope Monday and gaming stories at Table Talk on the right hand side of the page. If you'd like to make a donation then click the Bribe the DM button at the top right of the screen, or stop on over at our Patreon page. If you'd like to follow our regular updates, then hitch your wagon to our Facebook or Tumblr pages. May the bones be always in your favor!