Guest Contributor: Trust is Not Transferable

by Maggie

Trust is vital to any roleplaying experience. You might not need much of it, if the situation is light, and you might need a lot more, if the topic is heavy and dark. If I'm meeting an NPC, and they're leading my group on a module, I don't need much trust at all. I just need to know that yes, they're NPCing, and have the basic faith that whatever they're running has been okayed by staff. This is a trust pretty inherent when an NPC comes up to talk to you about going to do something.

However, if a situation is somewhat intimate, highly emotional, or involves some sort of risky physical challenge, it's important to have a lot more trust in that person. Sometimes, you can take a leap of faith and discover you really like roleplaying/gaming with that person, and sometimes your trust is mislaid, and it turns out to be something you didn't want to get involved with.

My primary example happened many years ago in a game I was PCing.*

Tempering Toxicity

Toxicity, which I define as a special brand of negativity, can be a large problem in LARPs. I'm curious as to how readers understand gamecentric toxicity, and how they counter it. So, I'm going to give you my operative definition of "toxicity," and then ask a few questions that I feel are productive for bettering game environment.

"Toxicity" is, technically speaking, the extent to which a substance can cause damage to an organism-- in other words, the extent to which something is poisonous. In larp terms, I understand this as negativity, coming from individuals and groups, which spreads throughout the player base, and proceeds to damage a game. While every single player experiences negativity-- and can be negativity-- toxicity, to me, is that negativity channeled in a way that is detrimental to the larger community. Toxicity can hurt a game's reputation, damage staff relationships with players, damage players' relationships with one another, and drive talented people-- staff or pc-- away from the game. It has many causes, and can originate in things like valid complaints, justified interpersonal problems, and/or plain, old dysfunction. Some questions (answer some, all, or make up your own)...

1) What sorts of things cause toxicity? What are some of the most frequent causes of toxicity?
2) When does negativity (dissatisfaction with a game, either momentary or continuous) transition into toxicity?
3) How can toxicity be avoided (understanding that everyone is going to have bad events, from time to time)? How, once it starts can it be fixed?
4) Have you had any experiences with a toxic game environment? (No need to name names, if uncomfortable with doing so-- if you think it's productive, feel free. But, again, constructive work and productivity are the goals of this blog.)
5) Negativity can often be productive for games (it generates, for instance, constructive criticism). How do you channel negativity into something constructive?

NPC Spot: Shade from Endgame

Shade's makeup consists of white cake makeup,

which is cheap and sadly streaky, and black and blue Mehron 

eye pencils, and some bronze eye-shadow powder.

So, I'm notoriously bad at taking pictures of any and all makeup that I do for NPCs. (It's the only reason I took "Alternate Appearance" in Mirror, Mirror.) For this reason, I decided to attempt to recreate and photograph some of the makeup I've done for larps. I did this for my benefit, but figured I'd make a blog post out of it. (I did this makeup project in humid, 88 degrees Farenheit weather-- poor choice). And, so, without further ado, I present to you Shade, one of my Endgame NPCs. I had a good time with her costuming, though I've only preserved her final form.

Shade was based on sea creatures. In her final form, she was like a jellyfish mermaid thing.

Villainy and Demise

Villains, as I have mentioned before, are important parts of many games: they motivate plot; they stir players' emotional investments; they provide adversity and strife; they allow game writers to explore the less savory corners of the game universe; they let NPCs sink their teeth into rich and unpredictable characters. Crafting the villain arc, however, can be difficult. How does a staff introduce a villain? How does that villain bubble and boil into an evil that is greater than simply problematic? How does that villain, once made into an arch nemesis, maintain intensity over a long-running plot? I have seen many plots where the villain-- due to over-exposure, over-writing, and poor timing-- becomes a comical, unbelievable mess of excess. However, I have also seen many brilliant plots where the villain is a living, breathing, seething creature who garners both hatred and empathy from PCs.

For these latter plots, a singularly important questions pops into my mind: how does one end a villain's narrative? What makes a satisfying end for a well-crafted villain? I think there are many answers to this question, and I'm curious to hear responses (one of my responses is below). How have your favorite villains been successfully ended? Why was it satisfying?

A Farewell Toast

On Sunday, the long-running campaign, Endgame, came to its conclusion. There are many things that could be said about this game-- and many discussions about how games end, and how, in my opinion, this did LARP endings proud. But, instead, I will be brief.

For me personally, Endgame has meant a lot. It's the first game I really NPC'd. It's the first game I staffed. It's also the game that taught me-- to borrow from a fellow player-- that LARPing isn't just a hobby, it's an art form. It taught me that modules and encounters can be difficult, challenging, and deeply personal. It taught me that PCs will usually surprise you. It taught me how to write characters that are as dynamic and unpredictable as those PCs. It taught me that narrative is fluid, and I should never have expectations of where "my" story will go. It taught me how to collaborate with like-minded people. It taught me, in short, how to LARP.

To my fellow players-- I raise my glass (of water-- I'm still mildly dehydrated). Thank you, Mac, for leading us into places unknown. Thank you, staff, for trusting me with parts of your gameworld. Thank you, NPCs, for helping me make stories come alive (and for being really patient when climatic modules required, essentially, a hike through the camp grounds). And thank you, PCs, for teaching me what it means to really, deeply care about a player-base.

(And thanks to all of you for dealing with a few of my bouts of extreme profanity, which were just a little loud. It was never planned, but it always seemed appropriate.)

Cheers, Endgamers. I think we've made something just a little bit magic.

(I open the floor to all of you-- share your favorite moments, your reflections, your appreciations... whatever you want.)

A Commemorative Address on the Eve of the Nepalu Expedition

Most of you have probably seen this already, but, hey... I'm just about out of brain power at this point. The Clockwork Skies "teaser," put together by myself and a few other staff members. There is relatively little mention of the weather, per a certain individual's well-taken predilection. Monday or Tuesday will involve a Clockwork related blog post, but, for now... enjoy!


Commemorative Address on the Eve of the Nepalu Expedition
The League of Arcane Sciences, East Meridian
(Susan Grimsheld, Madhuri Lalit, Theodore Marlin, Thomas Moorehouse, and Jayanthi Nayan)

On this day,
the 23rd day of the 5th month in the 13th year,
in celebration of the Nepalu Expedition,
with the collaboration of the fine minds at the University of Jhumar,
we present to you a synthesized report from the first ever International Crystal Communications Network. While we could, enthusiastically, supply you-- our international friends and allies-- with political, diplomatic, and/or scientific conversation concerning the Expedition, we have decided, in the spirit of exploration, to instead celebrate those who are boldly venturing towards the new island. Based on the developments from the University of Jumar School of Lithomancy, we have collected personal accounts from each of the Nations represented on the Nepalu Expedition. It is our pleasure, using such networks, to present individual narrative accounts of those involved in the Expedition. To quote our Jhumari colleague, Professor Madhuri Lalit, “You will be able to read, for the first time, the narrative trajectory of those living across the known world.” By offering these personal accounts, reactions and perspectives on the Expedition, we hope to foster a spirit of international cooperation and camaraderie. May we move forward, together, with vigor and friendship! From Sindrissil to Meridian, our fellow islanders have offered to us their innermost thoughts. Please, allow yourselves to settle into moments of quiet and intimate reflection.


From the deep forests of Sindrissil...
He hefts his boar-spear, and adjusts the pack slung over his shoulder. His father and mother stand in the crowd gathered to watch the Citizens departing for the expedition. They are stoic and stone-faced, but he can see the pride in their eyes. A bittersweet moment, leaving family behind, but striding forward to adventure and glory.
A shove from behind sends him forward up the gangway.
"Walk, Osser. Mother and Father will be here when you return. The sooner we arrive the sooner I can start brewing," his sister says-- she is hauling twice the weight in gear that he is, most of it affixed to a broad shield on her back. "You represent Sindrissil, that means you're a warrior and a trader. You've strong arms and quick wits. Gawking mournfully at your parents like a child before his first hunt does the Empire disservice. Stop being a damn poet and be a man."
Had anyone other than his sister had spoken such words to him, he would have their blood to grease his scabbard. But she is his kin, and she is right: the expedition will rely on his skills in trade. Plus, she is faster than he, and he has no desire to see his own blood today...

From the hallowed halls of the University of Jhumar...

A young man, stooped of shoulder and thin, attempts to cram the last of several dozen scrolls into an over-stuffed trunk.
“Is that the last of them, Mr. Maresh?” an impatient voice calls from the corner of the room.
“Yes, professor. Fifteen field guides on expected categories of flora and fauna, Five accounts of arcanical manipulations across international borders, Professor Kajaltha’s predictive model on the Kajaltha-4 caves, and--”
“What about Damedra’s index of probable elemental collision matrices?”
“I had, uh, forgotten it, professor,” the young man’s face colors slightly, “and my trunk is full.”
“Oh, honestly, Mr. Maresh! How pointless was your semester at the School of Illusions?”
“Wha-- oh. Er, of course... Mabhradi’s Circle of Expansion...” the young man moves to the trunk, and begins to move his fingers in oppositional spirals. The trunk, stuffed with books and supplies, begins to glow a radiant indigo...

From the deserts of Saliana...
“What about your-”
“Got it, mere.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
The young woman smiles, and kisses her mother on the forehead. “Ne vous inquietez pas, Maman....don’t worry. There ain’t another lick of room in the trunk, anyhow.”
She looks into her mother’s red-rimmed eyes, fighting to smile when all she wants to do is cry as much as her parents have in the past weeks and months. Travelling so far away has been her dream since childhood, but now that it is here, she isn’t sure she is cut out for the Nepalu Expedition after all. She rubs the small pendant around her neck and forces the grin wider-- instead of thinking about all the possibilities.
“Les Feux sont bons. Fire is good, Maman, I’ll be alright. I hear Papa and the buckboard...it’s time to go.” She picks up the handle of one side of the trunk, allowing the squeaky old wheels to take most of the weight, and goes out into the bright sunlight...

From the tulip-filled gardens of Vandervelde...

“And you’re quite ready to leave, Mr. Kemperman?” asks a rotund man with an impressively bushy mustache.
“Why, of course, Mr. Kemperman!” responds another man, sporting the national symbol as his lapel pin.
“Jansen, Jansen, and Spronk is lucky to have you as an employee-representative on this Expedition, Mr. Kemperman,” says the mustached man.
“Why thank you, Mr. Kemperman. I couldn’t do it without the Company. Ms. Kemperman, of Gaslight Dramatics, has even provided me with a new series of advertisements to bring to potential consumers,” Mr. Kemperman, the pinned, nods proudly.
“Fantastic! That woman is so productive... might I hear the newest one?” asks the somewhat walrusine Mr. Kemperman.
“Of course... Ms. Kemperman wrote this item specifically for the JJS line of lady’s rouge:
‘Sugar smile defeated!
A wrinkle! Eye baggy dreamtime!
Face touch with the blush and red,
the soul is vibrant peach pinkly,’” the not-so-walrusine Mr. Kemperman finishes with a smug smile.
“Marvelous! That Ms. Kemperman-- an ear for the populace, I say!” claps Mr. Kemperman...

From the mountain groves of Aeolia...

"I'm scared," he says candidly.
His tribesman squeezes him on the arm, and offers a lopsided smile before returning to the carving he is working on. "Really, it would be strange if you weren't. That just makes you smart, more than anything." The two sit for a few minutes in a quiet broken only by the soft wooden sounds of chips being worn from the carving. "What is it you are most scared of?"
"Their ways are not our ways," he sighs and shakes his head, "but... truly... it's the idea that I might not be able to live with the spirits as we do here."
Anything further he might have to say is cut off by the enthusiastic scolding of a squirrel in a nearby tree. As the squirrel scrambles down and approaches, the young man smiles a little, in recognition of squirrel and genuine scolding alike.
The squirrel darts back and forth between the two, tail twitching furiously. "Is it that you think the spirits are not so strong, is that it?"
The young man shakes his head, "Of course not, it's that --"
"It's that you are thinking the spirits are bound by the same terms as you!" scolds the squirrel. "You think we need some ship of air to go where we choose, as you do?" Sitting on its back legs, it declares with arrogant assurance, "We do not."
The young man's smile is full and genuine now, and he heaves a deep breath of relief. "No. You're right! Of course you do not."

From the well-scrubbed decks of the Independent Fleet...

After kissing it three times, the young woman removes the crystal, and places it in the small crate. It is nestled in between the other things: the violet ink-pot, the snapped wishbone, the molar, and the tiny, bald porcelain doll. She sighs, staring at the empty shelf in front of her-- it has never looked so lonely before.
“Imagine that,” a voice interrupts her quiet packing, “I never thought I would live to see the day you got rid of that creepy thing.”
As a red-headed woman enters, the young voyager laughs lightly, “I guess I have to find a new shelf for all this stuff.”
The red-head crouches beside her, peering into the box of objects. “It’s going to be weird, you know, living on land all the time,” she says.
“I’ll get used to it... and, besides, you can’t fly without running into a Fleet ship, y’know? I’ll get my fair share of wind and rain, I’m sure.”
The red-head smiles, and, with a gentle hesitation, asks, “Why are you going, anyways?”
The girl smirks vaguely, and, after a beat, says, “Fate, I guess.”
The red-head stands up again, and clucking her tongue lightly, chides “You’re getting predictable.”

From the tumbling valleys of the Caerleon Directive...
“It is so nice to have met you. I understand that you recently attained a great honor from Miss Kindersley?” The Minister smiles, although it does not touch his eyes.
“She did give me a scrying mirror of her own design and make,” the girl’s voice is very small in this large room, yet she dares not speak above a whisper.
“I do hope that you will put it to good use once you join the expedition. Do not allow such talents to go to waste.” He takes her hand, and leans in towards her conspiratorially. “You carry the reputation of the Directive upon your shoulders. Do not forget that.” All trace of a smile is gone, and she simply nods, wanting to return to her trunks and packages.
As quickly as it disappeared, the smile is back, “Travel safely, citizen!”

From the sweeping cathedrals of Vox...

Her hands pressed against her chest, and her head bowed, the robed woman whispers fervently to herself. The church is dark and empty-- only a few dozen candles, guttering noisily, cast light upon the many panes of stained glass. In the half-dark, the faces of long-dead clerics and paladins, usually smiling benevolently from the windowpanes, seem ominous and uneasy.
“Lady, give me the strength to guide those who would walk the path of Light,” murmurs the woman. “Lady, grant me the love to purify my own defilement. Let me walk not in the alleys of Contempt, Pride, Guilt, Obsession. Let me walk, free of these well-trod roads.”
“Sister, are you ready to depart?” asks a cool voice, unseen in the billowy shadows.
“Lady, in your Light, offer me the wisdom to show them their weaknesses, and gather with them their strengths. Vox veritas vita.” She bows her head once more, and, slowly, rises...

And from our noble nation-city of Meridian...

The soldier looks to the throngs of people behind him. His final glance home. He has no words, and, really, he should have no fear. This is one more mission. One more campaign.
But... it’s not, is it? This is different.
This is something... new.
He takes the first step forward. The crowd behind him feels distant and strange.


Presented by the League of Arcane Sciences, in collaboration with the University of Jhumar.
23rd Day, 5th Month, 13th Year

What makes a good RP encounter?

This is a fairly simple question, but one that's important for most players: what makes a good RP encounter?

Whether you're a PC or an NPC, I find, it's really easy to tell when you've had a solid RP encounter. It's a feeling. For me, the best RP encounters are understated: a mostly unspoken understanding that occurs between players. Something you can't really describe, because it belongs so wholly to a particular moment. As an NPC, it's rewarding for me when this happens-- it means, in a somewhat limited time frame, I've facilitated a meaningful narrative. As a PC, good RP anchors me to the gameworld. I'm easily distracted, and I need this.

As either an NPC or a PC, how do you know/intuit that you've had a good RP encounter? Of what does a good RP encounter consist? Moreover, how do you work towards positive RP encounters? Or do you try not to think about it?

So many feelings.*

* Yes. I'm aware that I just sabotaged the integrity of my own blog.