Unbalanced, Part 3: System Matters

Next in the series of posts about my wacky extreme opinions: is it true that the particular tabletop RPG you’re playing, its rules and setting–the “system”–doesn’t matter with respect to the fun had at the table? There are some who would say indeed not, it’s all about the players, or specifically the person running or teaching the game. This may not be so gonzo as low-carb or no-copyright, but it does get some folks’ backs up, so it fits.

Adulath Caracai:

The Radical Notion

System always matters. Good players or bad, skilled GM or unskilled, the choice of what rules to use shapes the experience of play and has a major effect on the quality of that experience.

Details, and the Usual Objections

People argue over what constitutes a “game,” but this much is true of games if not definitional: they provide a context for understanding words and actions that differs from ordinary life. A hand wave might normally have practical purpose, to draw attention to yourself or something near you, or social purpose, to greet someone. But in the context of a game, that same wave might indicate a catch completed, a point scored, or a penalty incurred. In ordinary conversation, “essence” means a thing’s intangible basic nature, or perhaps a concentrated extract of something. In Exalted or In Nomine, it refers to a sort of energy or fuel for supernatural powers. Rolling a die or drawing cards is meaningless without a game to say that the random result means a critical hit, a bust, or a flush. The game’s rules and objectives (the system, in other words) encourage players to undertake all manner of actions and say different things that would not ordinarily happen, or would happen with different frequency and meaning, in life outside the game.

Games themselves have purposes, too. A sport is undertaken to entertain a crowd, to make money for a league or franchise, and to promote athleticism, tactics, and teamwork via competition. There are games intended to teach skills, promote good habits, or motivate fitness. Among tabletop RPGs, typical purposes include “fun”–the engagement and satisfaction of the players–and the creation of a story with a particular style, feel, or genre.

Put these two concepts together and it’s clear what’s meant to say that a game is well or poorly designed, and from there that system matters to play experience. A game shapes and redefines behavior via its system; a game has purposes; however the game’s system succeeds in achieving its purpose tells us how well designed it is. Exalted, for instance, tends to fail in that its stated purpose of telling stories of mighty heroes and fast-paced action does not match the rules, which tend to instantly kill characters for brief tactical mistakes, and can take tens or scores of minutes to resolve a single character’s combat maneuvers.

As an aside, it’s also been my experience that focused games tend to succeed at their narrow purposes more often than universal or kitchen-sink games succeed at their broad purposes. GURPS tries to represent all genres, and ends up doing disservice to many of them. Meanwhile, Dogs in the Vineyard is built to the narrow story structure of unraveling social ills and pronouncing judgment on their perpetrators, and does that surpassingly well. It’s not exactly a corollary of the above, nor is it universally true, but does go hand in hand with these discussions. It’s an important part of my beliefs on the topic.

At this juncture, the system-doesn’t-matter advocates might say, “That’s all well and good, but it misses what I’m saying. Of course you can have crappily designed games and well designed ones. But the point is that a great GM or players can make even a crappy game work and be fun, and no awesome game design will ever transform a crappy GM or players into awesome ones.”

I concede the above. It’s not necessary to my position that the game system’s design be the only factor in the quality of a session or campaign of it. Rather, it’s that the design always counts for something; it makes a difference for all players, both good and bad. It’s more work for a strong GM to bash out the kinks in a flawed system to get it to her high standards than it would be to run a well designed game purposed to those standards in the first place. And assuming our “crappy” players at least try to follow the rules of their chosen game, they’ll end up with a less crappy experience if they’re using a solid system than if they’re flailing about with a disorganized mess of a design.

The analogy I favor is that game systems are like athletic equipment: say, ice skates. Anyone can have a fun time doofing around on the ice with old, poorly sharpened, low-budget skates. But if you care at all about your speed, ability to turn, balance, and so forth, higher quality skates will help you. The casual skater will fall less and have a more pleasant experience overall; the pro athlete will be better able to reach the pinnacle of their potential. RPG designs are like that. Folks sometimes chafe at the fact that Dungeon World gives the GM lots of instructions on what to do and say in game: “I already do all that! I don’t need rules for it.” But the way it shakes out, new players learn how to run a good game much easier by having that advice, and experienced players still benefit from the reminders and the ways DW applies old best practices to the smooth operation of its own rules.

How I’m Not Really So Out There As All That

You may not be able to convince me that choice of game system doesn’t matter to enjoyment, but I’m not accusing anyone of “BadWrongFun.” At its absolute harshest (a distance I rarely take this to anymore, given my reluctance to get into heated Internet arguments), it’s a means-ends chide: if you care about good play experience/faithful genre emulation/etc., you’re crimping your own style if you choose a poor match of system to those goals. That’s all.

Furthermore, I acknowledge and can totally understand that good match of system to purpose isn’t always someone’s top priority. The classic “my group is familiar with this system, and it’d be a pain in the ass to learn a new one” is an example. Nostalgia is another motivation for choosing a system that might not, objectively speaking, provide as fun a time as something newer and tighter designed. I myself sometimes like to play games that are an unholy mess design-wise, to enjoy a quirky charm that other games don’t supply. Basically, one can set aside the typical purposes of smooth play, enjoyable tactical choices, and the like, prioritizing “the Werewolf: The Apocalypse experience” or “the energy our group has for learning new things” instead, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just know what you’re getting into! Saying the system straight-up doesn’t matter might be blinding you to the possibility of a much better time.

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