Never On Sunday

A crazy night at yesterday’s game, in which my duties as GM came uncharacteristically into conflict with my goals as GM.

The scenario is complicated because each player is currently handling two PCs, which may have conflicting interests. These PCs are rarely “on-screen” at the same time, but as the campaign comes to a climax, we have increasingly seen players handling different characters in consecutive scenes.

In one scene last night, the issue at hand was whether the (mostly NPC) crew of (PC) pirate captain Roan would mutiny, having been pressed to the limits of reasonable danger to body and soul. The crew included exactly one PC, Arik. In another scene, Roan and his scholarly buddies (all PCs) were reunited with (PC) Z’ev, long held prisoner by the invading Ajini fleet. Both Z’ev and Arik had loyalty issues: Arik because he might well agree, in character, with his fellow pirates despite every reason to disagree out of character, Z’ev because he’s decided he rather likes his Ajini captors, largely for out-of-character reasons. And both Arik and Z’ev belong to the same player, who is becoming a “problem player.”

Some causes of this transformation are beyond her control. A change of membership in our group has shifted the demographics of gamer types from an even (and often awkward) mix of many types to a predominantly plot-driven group, stranding her as the lone character-driven player. Perhaps the long campaign, or the conspiracy genre, or the basic conflict bore or frustrate her. Certainly, we are tragicomically unable to communicate at times. Other causes of the transformation are problems of her own making: a growing habit of blogging rather than paying full attention to the game, and a long history of designing characters with little concern for integrating them into the setting. As a result, she has recently made a series of choices which threw monkey wrenches into the story line—classic examples of the age-old conflict between individual character integrity and the needs of the broader narrative. Always frustrating for a GM, such derailments have grown blatant enough and frequent enough to trigger resentment from other players, as well.

Specifically, last night, Arik decided to defuse the mutiny. Arik’s player was undoubtedly just trying to do the right thing: keep his fellow PCs’ options open and save them from being marooned on a zombie-infested island, helpless to stop the Evil Conspiracy. Unfortunately, I wanted the mutiny as a way to raise the tension and force captain Roan to seek out the violent and alien Ajini as his only escape, and Roan’s player wanted to be marooned so as to indulge his perverse delight in seeing PCs boned. In this case, the obviously helpful choice was in fact not helpful, and not fun.

Later that night, Z’ev decided not to flee with his fellow PCs when opportunity presented itself. The decision was motivated by a complex web of factors, some in character, some decidedly out of character. Regardless, it dislocated the obvious direction of the story and denied the other players their moment of triumph in rescuing Z’ev.

Z’ev’s choice, following so closely on the heels of Arik’s decision, and on the heels of blatantly contrarian behavior in recent sessions, triggered howls of protest from the players around the table. Believe me, I shared their frustration! Nevertheless, I had to step in and defend Zev’s player.

Player independence, the free will of the PC, is sacrosanct. For many players, the opportunity for free expression is the whole damn point of role-playing games, and it’s a vital element to producing satisfying games even for the rest. Unfortunately, freedom includes the freedom to screw things up. Players whose primary concern is their own character’s integrity often screw things up for fellow players, but even the most altruistic player occasionally does the same. It’s just in the nature of the beast, and not entirely a bad thing. Awkward individual decisions are a vital source of dramatic conflict in RPGs. The “cure” of eliminating free will would be worse than the “disease” of obstreperous choices.

So, despite all that I desired to the contrary while wearing my “storyteller” hat—the controlled rise of dramatic tension, the need to steer events to a conclusion through the Ajini, an opportunity for Z’ev to inform his fellow PCs about the Ajini and their motives, everything—my “judge” hat took precedence. The fundamental need to preserve everyone’s rights trumps the fundamental objective of pursuing the group’s fun as a whole, and the job falls to the GM to enforce it, because he’s the only one with the authority to do so.