Tales from the Sketchbook: Don’t Let the Pigeon Get the Drop on You

Posted by Ravyn on September 3, 2010

A picture paints a thousand words; a picture with context can say a lot about a game; but explanations of the random sketches of an artist-gamer can say the most of all. In this series, I look at the just-had-to-draw-them images distilled from my games: what they are, what they mean, why they demanded drawing, and what techniques and in-jokes went into them.

The final fight in my friend’s short-term Dresden Files RPG game was one of those ones that just made me want to draw—and interestingly, the three pictures that popped out of it were all in functionally different styles. This one was the second of the three; while in the end, it isn’t the one I put the most work into (unless you count making a special trip out to buy watercolors one evening), it’s certainly the one for which I put the most effort into technique and mood.

Coo.

This is Arthur. He’s a British werepigeon, played by my boyfriend, who’d gotten the idea from his annoyance with the general portfolio for were-creatures. “They’re always either carnivores, or things with claws and fangs,” he’d commented, before suggesting that one thing he really wanted to see was a were-kiwi. Originally, the pigeon (a were-kiwi of any nationality in Britain was a bit improbable even for this group) was my backup character concept; when I settled on the bibliomancy-theme that eventually coalesced into Aisling, he took up the feathers and added a bit of spellcasting to boot. Our two characters tend to keep each other out of trouble half the time and exploit synergy the other half; it’s great fun.

More specifically, this is Arthur the werepigeon posing dramatically as he unleashes (offscreen) a booby trap involving a lot of holy water through the gargoyles on the church we were holed up in on a dark god-thing flying upward towards his position. I’m pretty sure it was the most visually evocative moment of the entire battle, so when I found myself bored in front of a computer with an itchy sketchbook finger, it’s what resulted.

Arthur here was drawn from a combination of two reference pictures: one for the face and one, when I realized I needed a pigeon on a flat surface rather than a wire, for his posture and body markings. The rest of the picture ended up as a series of experiments, seeing if I could actually do new techniques. Watercolor in the background—the first time I’d actually touched watercolor paints since I was in elementary school. Use of partially erased #2 pencil as a darkener on the feathers, when none of my grays would work. And then there was the gargoyle—the texture there is what happens when I rest the picture against a brick, color it with a standard #2 pencil, and then color over that with a white colored pencil. (White colored pencil, it seems, is my answer to everything.)

Category Categories: For Roleplayers, Tales from the Sketchbook  |  Tag Tags: , ,  |  Comments 2 Comments »

Magical Location Design: Ravyn’s Guide to Geomancy

Posted by Ravyn on September 2, 2010

In yesterday’s post about creating magical locations based on their purpose, I mentioned the possibility of the purpose being to channel magic, and said I’d discuss it later. “The following day” counts as later, don’t you think?

Like necromancy’s slow shift from “My divinations require a corpse of some sort, preferably fresh” to “OMG FEAR MY ZOMBIE ARMIEZ”, geomancy has gone from “divinations based on looking at the earth and the environment” to letting supernatural landscaping and architecture take shelter under its umbrella. The idea is simple: assuming that energy in some way flows throughout the environment, use landscape and architectural elements to shape the direction(s) and overall flavor of said flows, thereby channeling them into some ulterior purpose. For the setting creator, this can also go the other way, using elements of landscape and sometimes architecture to indicate what kind of energy is flowing through the system and what it’s likely to do without someone’s interference.

As with design by intended mood, one of the best ways of managing geomancy is to start with associations. But instead of choosing an intended emotional impact and coming up with a long list of things with which people might associate it, geomancy works by choosing a flavor of magic, or an overall goal for which the energies themselves are being channeled, and pulling up a long list of associations based on that. Sometimes these things are direct—someone wanting to play with fire magic would probably use lots of reds and oranges, things that generate heat, flickering lights and burning incense, while someone looking for water would probably include a pond full of fish. But coming up with less direct, or more esoteric, associations can provide both a way to stretch the mind and a greater range of options to choose from—that, and it’s often necessary when designing these things for their final effect rather than their flavor. Something that assists with seeing things, for instance, might be channeled through a place where there is no point that the light from a single source doesn’t reach.

Not only that, but geomancy meshes surprisingly well with mood and mundane purpose. After all, the mundane purpose can itself be used as a channeling factor in architectural geomancy, using the very nature of the occupants’ behaviors to further shape the flows of the magic. Similarly, the mood might find itself synergizing with the flavor of magic in use: different flavors of tranquility for ‘holy’ sorts of magic or for a more calm sort of death, for instance.

In the end, not only does geomancy provide a springboard from which to design a magical location, but it can lead to locations that are absolutely spectacular.

Category Categories: Concepts, Description, For Roleplayers, For Writers, GM Advice, Magic systems, Places, Scening, Symbolism, Technique, World-building  |  Tag Tags: , , , ,  |  Comments No Comments »

Magical Location Design: To Every Place, a Purpose

Posted by Ravyn on September 1, 2010

One of the most common first approaches I see for designing a magical location is determining its purpose. Sometimes, it’s to channel magic in a certain way, but that’s less common and not necessarily likely to stand on its own—we’ll get into those later. But most of the time, even on an inherently magical building, the actual purpose (at least, as far as most of the people who use it are concerned) is going to be a bit more practical.

As with anything else, the first thing to figure out is, “What is this place for?” It might be something with a direct real-world equivalent, like a library or a hospital; it might be dual-purposed, made specifically to evoke a mood in its in-world visitors as well as serve a primary purpose, like an overlord’s ominous castle or a reverent cathedral. It might have a purpose peculiar to the culture that designed it, the forces that shaped it, or the fantastic nature of the world around it—perhaps it was built to house some sort of bound creature, or designed to itself be mobile.

Once you’ve got a purpose, think about how that might affect the structure. This might be just a matter of floorplan: a building meant to keep things safe might be a lot more complicated than one that’s meant to house people who need to be able to spring into action at a moment’s notice. It might also affect materials; somewhere that’s supposed to be defensible will need to be made out of stronger stuff than one that’s just for holding parties.

Think also about what kind of stuff is going to be in there, to fit the purpose. You aren’t going to have a library without books or an equivalent thereof, or a hospital without medicines, now, are you? Even living quarters are going to tend to have a few things in common. What about decorations? Sure, they’re technically optional, but have you ever seen the posters in a classroom or on a doctor’s wall? They might even hint at another purpose; one of the best restaurants near my workplace doubles as an art gallery for its owner’s work, so its walls are covered with all sorts of interesting paintings.

Don’t forget the inherently magical aspects of it. Sure, you can make a mage’s workroom look similar to a standard one, but where’s the fun in that? There are bound to be at least a few tools that don’t match up, or particularly odd book titles—you might even have places where the flow of energies creates effects mostly impossible in its real-world counterparts for improvement of one’s work, like a section in which the directions are reversed or one in which sounds are visible.

Starting with purpose makes for a clear template on which to build other aspects of the location. Do you have something in mind?

Category Categories: For Roleplayers, For Writers, GM Advice, Places, Scening, Technique, World-building  |  Tag Tags: , , , ,  |  Comments 1 Comment »

Magical Location Design: Establishing a Mood

Posted by Ravyn on August 31, 2010

I talked yesterday about designing a magical location around the effect it was supposed to have on the audience. But it’s one thing to say “I want this effect”, and another thing entirely to get the effect in question. How do you go about it?

First, of course, is actually choosing the effect. It goes without saying that this is usually the easiest part of the operation.

Now that you’ve gotten the effect chosen, start thinking about the sorts of things you associate with it. You might need a sheet of paper or a blank word processor document for this. Just start sitting down and listing out concepts. Once you’ve got a decent set, start winnowing them back down, figuring out which ones are worth using here and which are not. Don’t forget to consider what other people might react to as well; I’ve found that my perceptions and associations, at least, are often somewhat different from those of the people I create for.

Once you’ve got these associations, look for things that can evoke them. Sometimes, the association on its own is enough to do it; for instance, something like an air of silence or a particular loudness to the characters’ footsteps can carry itself on its own, without needing to come from something else. Other times, though, you have to come up with something to serve as a way of getting across the concept in question; if you’re looking for fear, for instance, and one of the concepts you’ve chosen is death, you might use the scent of rotting corpses, or liberal amounts of dried blood, or bone-based decorations.

One thing to take advantage of is that magical locations such as these are, well, magical; you can use elements that just wouldn’t exist in a normal sort of building. It might simply be fantastical elements, like light from things that shouldn’t give off light (if it has a source at all), walking dead things, fire with a life of its own. Sometimes, it’s a magical effect that actively enforces the mood—for instance an area that’s dark not just because of absence of light, but because it absorbs or quenches any light that someone tries to bring in. And sometimes, the magic is inherent to the place itself, and you get walls made of moonlight, buildings that float, places that rearrange themselves…. you get the idea. All of which can, in turn, further feed into the desired impact.

Even if you don’t begin with mood, you can still use it to further embellish an image based on a different seed. Perhaps it allows you to distinguish trappings of one library from another. Or maybe it gives a certain edge to that pool in the center of the hidden glade where the only thing to be done is to cross the stepping stones—which themselves might sing, or scream, or just make for very difficult footing.

In all cases with mood, the important thing is to know how to evoke it, and to try to not let your elements work at cross-purposes to each other.

Category Categories: Description, For Roleplayers, For Writers, GM Advice, Mood, Places, Scening, Technique, Thematics, World-building  |  Tag Tags: , , , , ,  |  Comments 1 Comment »

Three Starting Points for Designing Magical Locations

Posted by Ravyn on August 30, 2010

What fun is a fantasy world without inherently magical locations? They make it clear which genre you’re operating in, provide a little color, and because of the ability to use elements not present in mundane locations, can often create a more intense and targeted mood than their mundane counterparts. I usually begin with a combination of three elements: what the place was built for in-world, what I want it to do for the audience, and/or something I want it to require the characters (whether they’re mine or someone else’s) to do.
The place’s purpose is often the most straightforward of these, particularly if it’s deliberately built rather than naturally occurring. Yes, some magical locations are built entirely to impress, and just need to be pretty. Some are functional for their owners, like hospitals, libraries, schools of magic—you get the idea. And some are there simply to be (or because they already are) magic channels, and thus have shapes that reflect and support what the magic being channeled through them is supposed to do. Every now and then, someone tries to do all three at once. But it doesn’t have to be deliberate, either; more natural magical locations, usually created through a surfeit of some sort of energy or spillover from an inherently magical resident/visitor, as often as not mirror whatever source gave them their distinctive qualities. Either way, using purpose as a springboard often makes for an easy basic image.

Sometimes, though, the object of the game is the impact that a location has on the audience, be they players or readers. Most of the time, it’s to establish a mood, either specifically for the location or to reinforce the mood of that part of the narrative. So the place might be made to get across an air of mystery, of the exotic, of vastness, of wrongness—but whatever it is, it’s going to have an effect. (It might also be that the place is written just to show off the writer’s ability to make things beautiful—but hey, that’s an impact too.)

Then there’s building a place to make characters do something, keyed to… well, whatever the something is. It can be an overall theme, like “go through puzzles and hunt secret doors” or “fight lots of enemies”; it can be a bit more location-specific, like “use this one rope to swing over this one chasm”; it might even be a choice that’s influenced by what the area’s like. Unless you’ve got a really strong idea for something you want them to do, this one’s not likely to come near as easily as the others.

While some aspects might be easier than others, there’s no “best aspect”. Just start with the one you have the clearest picture of, then figure out the others based on the first.

Category Categories: Concepts, For Roleplayers, For Writers, GM Advice, Places, Scening, Technique, Thematics, World-building  |  Tag Tags: , , , ,  |  Comments 5 Comments »

The Generic Villain on Recruitment Spiels

Posted by Ravyn on August 29, 2010

Decrease the ranks of Good by a few. Add to your own at the same time. Is it any wonder we like doing a little recruiting in our spare time? But if we’re going to try to recruit the forces of Good to our side, we need to do it well. Half-attempts only get us dying horribly, but if we do well? On very rare occasions, we might even succeed—if not, we’ve a decent chance of getting them to decide we’re far too interesting to kill. After all, some people are suckers for a good recruitment spiel.

So how do we do it?

As I’ve already noted when talking about both whispering and weaponized psychology, one of the biggest elements of just about any attempt to talk with protagonists is knowing as much as possible about them—and more importantly, knowing how to use what you know. If you’re trying to exploit character flaws they don’t even have, you’d better be blasted good at making your targets think they have them, and if you’re going the “enemy of my enemy” route, you’d better make sure that all the enmities are in place.

Impress them with your own personality. Sure, mind control might let us turn someone who doesn’t like us, but mind control can generally be broken. On the other hand, if there’s something in us that they just have to respect, it’s that much easier to recruit them. So if there’s anything that can possibly make them more inclined to give you grudging respect rather than just hatred, this might be the time to kick it in. a lot of it plays off of being either similar to them or similar to what they wish they were; you’ve got a code or at least standards and are willing to enforce them, you always know exactly what to say, you’ve got pretty wicked sword skills, you get the idea. Sure, even when they know you’re irredeemably evil, they still have to respect that certain je ne sais quoi you wear like a dramatic cape.

Make sure they still understand that your power and potential—and theirs, should they choose to learn from you—is greater than, or at least complements, their own. In cases like this, the order of the day is “show, don’t tell”. If you tell them you’ve got a mess of hidden secrets that could be theirs, too, if they were to see reason, that’s one thing. But if you’re casually using something impressive they haven’t the foggiest idea how to create, let alone how to use, that shows them you’ve got what it takes. This is important—if you can convince them of your philosophy, but not your own importance, what’s to say they won’t try to kick you out of the way and try to do the job better themselves.

And above all, leave them with the impression that, in some way, possibly even by their standards, you’re right about something. The more somethings you’re right about, the better. It doesn’t necessarily have to be morals, mind you; they might still object to your approach. But being able to lean on things like the overall benefits of what you’re doing, the fact that the people around them are blooming (and more importantly, contagious) idiots whose stupidity will eventually grow beyond your target’s power to resist it, a point of inherent unfairness of the universe that your plan seeks to rectify—if you can get them to stop, blink and mutter, “Huh, she has a point”, then you’re partway to convincing them that they belong in your organization doing something about it.

Last of all, flatter them. Sure, there are heroes without decent egos, but they’re not much fun, and not too recruitable. Assuming you’ve successfully impressed them with your respectability, your skills, your position as someone who knows things they have yet to learn, and your disturbingly believable take on the world, being able to take all that and add “And she finds me interesting.” Even the people who currently think they’d never in a million years serve you are vulnerable to this; sure, it may not inspire them to join you, but it might well make them decide you’re interesting. Once you’re interesting, they’ll listen to you more.

It won’t guarantee your spiel—or at least, your spiel on that particular occasion—works. But it might make them a bit more receptive over time, and likelier to give you time to be convincing over.

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Impractical Applications (Carmilla Demonstrates Talky Villains)

Posted by Ravyn on August 28, 2010

I may pride myself on my talking-prone villains, but none of them are what inspired this week’s stretch of post. Rather, it was the running antagonist from the Dresden Files RPG game run by one of my friends during my hiatus, a Red Court vampire by name of Carmilla.

She’d started out as an element from our Infected, Juicer’s, backstory, apparently the one who’d turned him. In the first session she showed up, she cowed Juicer by existing, and—well, let’s just say that encounter was how I figured out that my own character, a wizard by name of Aisling, was the type to curse. (Or to mock, for that matter: “Give my regards to Laura!”)

I think things started shifting around the coin incident. Juicer changed his mind about her because of her rant on her motivation—then again, his player’s a sucker for the evil-by-being-misguided. Aisling, on the other hand, was probably most influenced by the “I did that?” element of the incident, in which she pulled herself out of a Sight-match she really shouldn’t have been able to handle and managed to hold off her resulting migraine long enough for a firm “Get. Out.” There’s something rather satisfying about the absurdly overpowered opponent hightailing it out of there.

Then he set up the main fight for that arc; as he explained it to me, this was seeing what I’d do with an Option A situation. Short version: duel between Carmilla and another vampire results in nasty god-thing rampaging around English countryside. Fortunately, we had advance warning, and my crazy planning tendencies kicked into overdrive early. Blackmail the vampire in order to power up a teammate? Yep.

So the duel goes, and Carmilla barely wins, and her second drags her to where we’re hanging out and waiting for our part of the fight. I’m not sure if it was Juicer’s pleading, or Aisling’s own belief in standing behind the combat monster, or a combination of the above, but the end result was Aisling engaging in a combination of preexisting spellwork and improvisational evocation to get her back on her feet and something approximating armed, during which Carmilla dropped a not-quite-recruiting pitch, and after which she was willing to admit to a certain level of gratitude.

It was really odd from my standpoint as a player, in the partial-group game a bit later, when Aisling found herself not-quite-advocating keeping the lady around.

What worked with her? She never actually got in a fight with us, keeping her confrontations verbal in nature (but still quite confrontational) and thereby ensuring that she stuck around. She was willing to admit when we had the advantage. Her motivations and her overall personality made her interesting, particularly as she played to two different players’ favored qualities for their opponents. And she was at one point set up in a not-quite-enemies situation near the end of the first arc. As a result, she grew on us.

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The Uses of Ancient Civilizations

Posted by Ravyn on August 27, 2010

There’s one in every world, isn’t there? Somewhere in history, there was a civilization. It was advanced, or at least looked advanced, probably in the areas of magic or technology. At least one society is descended from it, one way or another (or so they claim). And it’s not here now.

Ancient civilizations are ubiquitous because they’re useful; there are a lot of ways that they can be used to flavor a world, motivate characters, or advance a plot. What are they?

  • Establishing wonder and a sense of age in the world. Whether the ancients could do impossible with their buildings or not, a lot of the time they could certainly do spectacular, and even the remnants can be pretty breathtaking. Now imagine being at the foot of one of those near-skyscraper statues, or in the midst of the former city with its mossed-over domes, and realizing that this thing has been gathering moss since long before your own home was even considered (extra credit if the character considering this is from one of those places with A History). Like that.
  • Providing an excuse to have, but not be able to create, technological or magical marvels. More often than not, the lost civilizations had better tech than anyone, and when they were lost, the secrets to this tech—but not necessarily the tech itself—was lost with them. Does occasionally have suspension of disbelief issues (we can’t retroengineer it why, exactly?), but it’s a pretty well-accepted explanation. Which leads us to…
  • Something to dangle in front of the knowledge/crafting buffs. Forgotten secrets? The history of a dead civilization? Pack us a lunch and let’s go!
  • Or just provide a place to explore. Ruins are very, very good for that sort of thing, and the hazards therein (or sometimes even the trip there) will often double as a way to put almost everyone’s skills to good use.
  • A political excuse to set things in motion. The ancients are interesting, and their works often have great material, academic or symbolic value. So of course people fight over possession of them, or try to destroy them to deny someone else that value, or raid them for shinies, or do any of a number of things that could lead to conflict.
  • History, history, history! There’s what the outside people say about the civilization, what whatever records people can find say about the civilization, its impact on the world, the impact of its loss on the world, whatever legends it happens to have left behind, whatever legends people dreamed up about it…. between the history, and the stories, you’ve got a lot of flavor to play with.

So if you’re going to have an ancient civilization, know how to use it!

Category Categories: Cultures, For Roleplayers, For Writers, GM Advice, History, Motivation, Technique, World-building  |  Tag Tags: , , ,  |  Comments 6 Comments »

Characterization Exercise: Who’s Your Ideal Enemy?

Posted by Ravyn on August 26, 2010

There’s a lot to be said about the peculiar dance between two enemies: a blend of mutual hatred, a peculiar sort of chemistry, and who knows what in the middle. It makes conflicts interesting—but like a good romance, it requires that the two enemies be, in their own way, a good match.

And you can learn so much about a character from figuring out what that good match is.

Consider the source of opposition. Some characters are enemies through incompatible morals. Others, through loyalties to groups that are themselves opposed. There are the ones who don’t even know why they’re enemies, just that That’s How Things Are Around Here; there are the ones who base their enmities on something the enemy did to them or something they value; heck, in some cases, there are even the ones who are enemies because they needed a good enemy and this person looked like a decent option. The kinds of things that one half of the equation can’t stand about the other are vital.

On the other hand, there’s got to be something that keeps the enmity going, rather than one just destroying the other and being done with it. As a result, the perfect enemy will have something that the character respects, as well as something she abhors. Sometimes more than one something, for added confusion. Competence, style and power are popular; for the particularly honorable character, a code of ethics might be a way to separate the perfect antagonist from the okay ones. Several of the characters I’ve run for, and most of the ones I play, tend to give extra points for wit. Others look at what the enemy has to offer, particularly if it’s an enemy with a recruiting pitch.

Ideally, what sort of form would their conflict dynamic take? For some people, the key is getting into a prolonged fight every Tuesday. Some are in constant verbal contact, trying to win each other onto their sides. There are those who engage in duels of manipulation, each trying to trick the other into helping her advance her goals. And that’s just a sampler. While I find that matched forms of conflict make for a better dynamic, every now and then you get a pair where one’s playing manipulator to the other who is trying to find the first and beat the tar out of him, and that’s what works for both sides. As long as it’s the kind of conflict that works for the characters….

For every relationship, there’s something that would cause one or more parties to just break it off. While it’s not quite the same thing, a good nemesis dynamic also has those sorts of triggers. Would changing the conflict dynamic change the character’s opinion of her enemy? Is there something that the enemy could do that would turn the character’s view of him from “too interesting to destroy” to “you will die now”? Is there a quality the enemy has the absence of which would be a deal-breaker?

Plot-neutral character seeks long-term nemesis. What’s that personal ad going to look like for this character?

Category Categories: Character dynamics, Characterization, Characters in the world, Exercises, For Roleplayers, For Writers, GM Advice, Player Advice  |  Tag Tags: , , , ,  |  Comments 1 Comment »

Tales from the Sketchbook: The Peacock

Posted by Ravyn on August 25, 2010

A picture paints a thousand words; a picture with context can say a lot about a game; but explanations of the random sketches of an artist-gamer can say the most of all. In this series, I look at the just-had-to-draw-them images distilled from my games: what they are, what they mean, why they demanded drawing, and what techniques and in-jokes went into them.

Most of my Tales sketches are pre-existing characters (mine or someone else’s, I’m not picky), or characters I’m going to need really soon and know exactly how to introduce. This one, though, isn’t.

Seriously, what was I thinking?

This is The Peacock, from my primary game’s timeline. If it has a name, it hasn’t told me what it is, simply that it’s a demon, and connected to my demon-spider Akhterim. I’ve played with a couple ideas about its history, some of which did work their way into the artwork itself, but I can’t really commit on anything yet; I want to keep a few secrets, after all. It’ll show up; one of my players, seeing the artwork, even requested that it make an appearance. Just… not yet.

It’s not just the context that makes the Peacock different from my other creations. One aspect is how it was created—unlike most of my animal pictures (take Shizuyo, for instance), it didn’t have a reference picture. (Fortunately, demon peacock feathers don’t have to look like other peacocks’ feathers.) Another is the sheer level of complexity; while I’ve had segments of a project that could be construed as similarly complex, I haven’t done something that ambitious since. While it was before I really understood penciling techniques, it was after I learned to appreciate the power of inking—so yes, if the color changes, there is a line there, usually in .005 stationery pen.

As for the picture itself, it’s a classic example of “I got bored, therefore…” In this case, the situation was a really, really long train trip up the US West Coast. I love the Coast Starlight, but it’s a long enough trip to begin with, and worse when it runs into the usual shared-track delays. And that time around, I hadn’t packed near enough reading material. So partway in, I drew the body, then started in on the feathers. The pencil version was done by the time I finished the trip; the inking and coloring, after I made a ‘coloring sheet copy’, took a week at my parents’ house and my first month of my senior year of college. (I imagine the girl whose patience I complimented, not realizing the irony of doing so while I was working on the fourth feather, must have gotten an interesting impression.)

Category Categories: For Roleplayers, For Writers, Tales from the Sketchbook  |  Tag Tags: , , ,  |  Comments No Comments »