The New World: Breakpoints Wanted

I'm working on a game of fantastical alternate history that I'm calling The New World. It is essentially Guns, Germs, and Steel meets The Years of Rice and Salt: The Role-Playing Game, with a dash of Roger Zelazny's Game of Blood and Dust

The meta-game involves the accumulation of four types of civilizational currency (Warfare [i.e., offensive technology--think guns], Life [i.e., population and biodiversity--think germs], Wealth [i.e., luxuries and ostentation--think "cargo," in the WWII cargo cult sense), and Knowledge [in particular, technical and scientific knowledge--think steel]). Those currencies pay for scenes that produce fictional outcomes, which then feed back into the meta-game. So each session is like a chapter in a book of never-was history.

But to prompt the historical imaginations of the players, I want to begin the game with a little alternate history mini-game that will tie alternate history breakpoints or "points of departure" (PODs) to playing cards. Each player (who in the meta-game will represent one or more "zones" or "civilizational centers"--basically continents) will have a small hand of cards (probably 3 to 5) to play a trick-taking game that changes the initial distribution of civilizational currencies in line with the imaginable consequences of the POD associated with that card.

So, for example, I'm playing the mini-game, representing North America, and I've got the Queen of Hearts, which I know means that a comet misses the Earth in 10,900 BC, so there's no Younger Dryas ice age, so mammoths survive in North America, giving North America +1 Warfare (because they have war mammoths) and +1 Life (because domesticated mammoths are a biological resource and a source of pathogens). I lead with that card, and that event happens. If someone throws a card with a lower value, its historically more recent event doesn't happen (probably because of the butterfly effect), but if someone throws a card with a higher value, its historically earlier event does happen. So, for example, if the player to my left goes with the King of Diamonds (Atlantis really existed but sank in pre-historic times, so Atlantean refugees bring their super-science with them, giving +2 Knowledge to the zone of her choice), then she's winning the trick and will lead next, assuming no one plays an ace. But if she plays the Five of Clubs, then she's thrown away the opportunity to have Mohammed killed while fleeing Mecca. After three to five tricks, you've got (a) the starting date for the game, based on the lowest card that anyone led, (b) a world-historical sketch with hopefully evocative fictional elements: Vikings in America! Native American war mammoths! Chinese treasure fleets in the Atlantic Ocean! and (c) a starting distribution for the meta-game "civilizational currencies." I think it's fun and elegant in a Rube Goldbergian way.

So what I need are more points of departure! Give me your favorite alternate historical breakpoints and their imagined consequences! I think I want to stick to stuff that's prior to 1500, though, so no alternate Civil Wars or World War IIs or any of that Turtledove stuff.

Caillois and Creative Agenda

In the rather fraught Internet-mediated discussion of role-playing, few things are more controversial than the Forge-derived typology of the creative agendas of play--the collective orientation of players to the game, in other words--called GNS for its categories of Gamism (or "Step on Up"), Narrativism ("Story Now"), and Simulationism ("Right to Dream"). In a recent discussion, I wondered if perhaps Roger Caillois's four-fold of typology of play could be used to "reconstruct" the typology of creative agendas in a different way. The resulting discussion prompted me to write this post, in which I try to take my own advice.

Part One: Why Bother With Alternatives to GNS?

Posted By: Eero Tuovinen on Story-GamesI especially agree that while challenging the existence of CA [Creative Agenda, i.e.] seems ludicrous to me, I could well imagine alternative or even more useful descriptions of of the entire field than GNS. . . . because Creative Agenda has many parts that can be tickled better or worse by different approaches -- different techniques. I'd like to say that the best thing I get out of GNS is that once I'm able to clearly verbalize that I want to do premise-ful play or whatever, that allows me to set aside all the other vistas and focus better on the smaller nuances that were never available to me when I spent all my time trying to negotiate the big basics.

Yes, exactly. The notion that descriptions of CA like GNS should be at root pragmatic game design tools strikes me as dead on. The further implication is that, because of the multiplicity of possible agendas for play, any particular description of "why people play" or "what people get out of playing" serves a normative function as well, helping to create the culture of play it purports to describe--at least insofar as people subscribe to it as a guide to design and play. This is as clear a case of the reflexivity of knowledge as one could ever hope to encounter.

In the case of GNS, one thing that it does very well--as Eero rather astutely points out--is call attention to a mode of play that it calls "narrativism." When you think about it, you realize that this mode is actually rather obscure, a kind of play that works by having one stand in a kind of alienation or distance from the character one plays in order to more strongly appreciate the moral weight of the decisions the character makes--this in contrast to the strong identification with character that is the desideratum of immersive play and the elision of character that is the hallmark of competitive play.

One side effect of this way of slicing up the phenomenon, as people use it to explore the design space that results, is that purely gamist designs become interesting as a way of examining the negative space of narrativism--in other words, of challenging the basic assumption of narrativist play and saying, hey, what if there's no character, not really, it's all just a contest between us here at the table, via the medium of a set of rather elaborately detailed pawns. It recapitulates the hoary old narratology versus ludology debate in a new form.

But another side-effect is to make "simulationism" inexplicable, or even pathological. I remember seeing a post on Vincent Baker's blog to the effect that while he understood gamism and he understood narrativism, simulationism struck him as puerile wish fulfillment power fantasy at best. I seem to recall the subordination of simulationism in some other context having driven David Berg to distraction, given his efforts to make sense of and reclaim the term. And I think the reason for that is that once you make yourself aware of the distance between player and character, and use that as a tool in your designs, then you have a tough time with a mode of play in which minimizing or hiding that distance is a sine qua non.

So in devising an alternate set of CAs, the answer to the "why bother" question (i.e., "why bother coming up with an alternative to GNS?") has to be in order to reveal a different space for play, or to open up new possible avenues for design, or minimally to render us more sensitive to the alternatives that may exist.

Part Two: Reconstructing Creative Agendas

What follows should be read with an eye on Eero's remark that the absence of narrativism from Callois's scheme has to be attributed to the paucity of "premise-ful" modes of play in the instances of play he examined, and that were he around today he'd surely incorporate that into his scheme. In other words, our theories should be constructed in light of the empirical evidence available. On the other hand, I always assumed that the reason that Caillois identified four categories--rather than three or five, say--had something to do with the linguistic structuralism associated with the Paris School of Semiotics, in which a huge semantic space is produced by the conceptual entanglement of opposites. So a "positive" term implies (the existence of) a corresponding negative, like yes implies no. But those terms can be "entangled" as both yes and no (i.e., "maybe") and as neither yes nor no (i.e., "I don't know"). Similarly, agon (skill) implies its opposite alea (not-skill: luck or chance). And those opposites can be entangled such that "both agon and alea" can be understood to mean mimicry, as successful mimicry is at once a skillful (albeit not wholly competitive) performance as well as a willingness to subject oneself to the dictates of fortune. By the same token, ilinx is clearly "neither agon nor alea" in that the dislocations or dissociations one experiences in ilingic play obviate both skill and luck.

Now, in this post-structuralist era, we don't believe that our categories are in any way essential or fundamental; they are analytic conveniences only.

So what happens if we imagine agon, alea, mimicry, and ilinx as the corners of a semiotic square? First of all, we notice that the underlying distinction in both the agon-alea and mimicry-ilinx pairs has something to do with the activity of the player; in the former, the player is active while in the latter the player is passive, in the sense that he or she is the object of the forces acting in the game, whether that’s the turn of the wheel of fortune or the elasticity of the bungee rope.



Secondly, we notice that the underlying distinction in both the agon-mimicry and the alea-ilinx pairs seems to be that the former in both instances presume the unalloyed agency of the player whereas the latter see the player as part of the field of play. In other words, whereas in both agon and alea you play the game, in both mimicry and ilinx the game plays you. You adopt a new persona, take on a new role, feel scared or excited, or otherwise lose control of yourself.

But these dualities are capable of being entangled, and we can use those entanglements to rebuild the CAs. We’ll follow Eero in suggesting that the combination of agon and alea is the Contest, in which players are interested in victory as the outcome of play. Conversely, the combination of mimicry and ilinx is Drama; players are interested in experiencing thematically resonant moments as the outcome of play. So far we’ve reconstructed the Gamism/Narrativism dichotomy in slightly different terms.

Looking at the orthogonal dimension, starting with the combination of agon and mimicry, I’d suggest that the appropriate metaphor or model is the Pageant, where players are interested in the skillful performance or faithful recreation of alternate roles. Its converse, the combination of alea and ilinx, is the Thrill Ride, in which players are willing to subject themselves to external control in return for the promise of a powerful or pleasant emotional experience. The effect of this, I’d say, is to reconstruct Simulationism as a kind of “agonistic mimicry” that stands in the same relationship to “Immersionism” as Narrativism does to Gamism.

Castle Bravo

The adventure I pitched to Simon Rogers of Pelgrane Press after Gencon last year is finally available as a PDF! I'm very pleased with how it turned out, and I hope people run it and tell me how it went, for good or ill.

Here's the premise: It's 1954, and you're a sailor or scientist aboard the USS Bairoko, an "escort carrier" detailed to support secret nuclear bomb tests in the Marshall Islands. The bomb goes off in the Bikini atoll, the ship gets a light dusting of radioactive fallout, and now the crew is acting crazy, distress calls are coming in from monitoring stations around the blast site, and strange blips are showing up on the radar screens. What do you do?

The art is by Jerome Huguenin and is creepy and evocative, as I hope the example at left shows. Jerome also did the layout of the PDF, and it looks great.

I give Pelgrane Press high marks for its playtesting process; I got a huge number of detailed reports from GMs and players telling me what they liked and disliked about the adventure, and I was able to use many of their suggestions to make running it easier for the Keeper, and to improve the storyline. I revised the playtest draft extensively after running it at Dreamation in February 2010. If you played a previous version, you will not recognize the adventure; it's much more coherent as a narrative, more tightly focused as a design, and creepier as an experience while still preserving the central Lovecraftian conceit.

I think of Castle Bravo as Lovecraft meets atomic horror. I forget where I saw this--maybe the Illuminatus trilogy--but somewhere it's been pointed out that some of Lovecraft's monsters can be read as prefiguring horrors of modernity. When Azathoth is described as a "seething nuclear chaos," in other words, what else can we picture but a roiling mushroom cloud rising over ground zero? One of Castle Bravo's playtesters, a fellow named Sam Zeitlin, made a similar point. "Maybe," he said, "the real horror is the atomic bomb."

The adventure in its final form takes advantage of that insight, and I think the adventure is satisfying as a result, albeit dense. I'll run Castle Bravo at Dexcon 2010 so that anyone who is thinking about running it can see how to manage all of its moving parts; I'll record the game and make the audio available on-line as well.

Simon says he's looking for other adventures set outside the typical 1930s Trail of Cthulhu setting, so I'm working on another 1950s adventure, putting a Mythos spin on the 1952 death of occultist rocket scientist Jack Parsons. I think Cthulhu gaming is crying out for this adventure; the story is just too bizarre. A first draft should be ready for Dexcon as well, and I'm scheduled to run it at Gencon.

Civilization and the New World

Simon Rogers, the impresario behind Pelgrane Press, has challenged me to write a colonization game. The basic framework of the challenge is this:

• It's a role-playing game, not a god game. You play a character.
• The fate of the colony is intertwined with your actions as a character in that colony.

So I've been doing my homework. I'm not done yet, but it's been instructive. I've taken another look at Jared Diamond's Collapse, and read popular accounts of recent scholarship in pre-Columbian history, as well as some of the ethnohistory upon which those accounts draw. I'm also reading a textbook on cultural ecology. But I've also been looking at criticism of the computer game Civilization, and I’ve begun to think of my colonization game as the anti-Civilization, a post-colonial game. I want to talk a little bit about what that means, because it directly informs the game I want to write.

McKenzie Wark's Gam3r 7h3ory (later published as Gamer Theory) includes a chapter on Civilization III. Wark sees the game as exemplifying an artistry that marks a movement from the novelistic and topical (e.g., James Fenimore Cooper's Last of the Mohicans) through the cinematic and topographical (e.g., John Ford's Stagecoach) to the strategic and topological. I read Wark as saying that the topical organizes itself by categories of idea and experience (i.e., the historical: these things took place) whereas the topographical emphasizes spatial configurations: this butte, that arroyo, these things took place here (i.e., the geographical). The novel is topical; the movie, topographical—more or less.

But the strategy game, according to Wark, is topological, more or less. Recall that topology is that branch of mathematics in which a coffee cup is equivalent to a doughnut because they are both toroidal (i.e., have a hole in them). Wark goes on:

Any and every space is a network of lines, pulsing with digital data, on which players act and react. In work and play, it is not the novel, not cinema, not television that offers the line within which to grasp the form of everyday life, it is the game.

So the point he's trying to make, or so I gather, is that as a genre the strategy game obviates the specificity of history and geography, extracting from them a general system of causal relations that is available for manipulation and experimentation, like a puzzle or a machine. Idea gives way to place gives way in turn to network. In Civilization, “the frontier” is simply the boundary of the system, which a la Nicholas Luhmann, seeks to extend itself to the edge of the visible environment.

Gamespace turns descriptions into a database, and storyline into navigation—an interface to line upon line of data. Sid Meier, known as a voracious reader, turns history and anthropology books into strategy game. Civilization III even comes with its own ‘Cyclopedia’, a one-eyed reference work for to a parallel world. But this is more than the remediation of old forms into new. Rather, the algorithm consumes the topographic and turns it into the topological. In the database, all description is numerical, equivalent in form. Everything within it can be related to or transformed into everything else. A new kind of symmetry operates. The navigation of the database replaces a narration via description.

The teleology of Civilization is thus one of constant expansion, incorporation, development, and progress; a panoptical cybernetics concerned with information and control. But besides being a metaphor for and instance of what Wark calls “gamespace,” the game also incorporates the ideology of American exceptionalism, an “allegorithm” of manifest destiny. As Christopher Douglas observes in the journal Postmodern Culture:

Civilization III and its predecessors posit the land as both inhabited and not inhabited by populations that seem to be on the land yet somehow, paradoxically, don't occupy it . . . Here one meets the first paradox of the American national symbolic staged by the game. American mythology has it that the Americas were essentially empty of inhabitants prior to colonization by European powers. What the Civilization series stages is the contradiction between this comforting “national fantasy” of the virgin land and the reality of the complex aboriginal societies all over the Americas.

Douglas reads the algorithms of Civilization and finds it “infused with an American ideology that is comforting insofar as it justifies genocidal practices and the stealing of land by positing an empty virgin continent that is paradoxically populated by what the game manual calls ‘minor tribes’ that can't improve the land and tame the wilderness.”

The irony is that this new genre—so postmodern, so sophisticated—exactly replicates the hoariest Victorian notions of civilizing the savages and taking up the white man’s burden. It’s not even funny, especially in the context of recent findings about pre-Columbian and early post-contact history in the Americas.

These new histories underscore the agency of native peoples in shaping the landscape in the centuries prior to the arrival of Europeans and in responding to their incursion from over the seas, as well as expanding our understanding of the diversity and complexity of the social, political, and cultural responses to the upheavals brought about by disease and dispossession. They also remind us that, at least in the earliest post-contact period, many colonies failed, by virtue of the indolence or ignorance of the colonists, the hostility of natives or other colonial powers, the indifference of backers, and similar causes.

So the game I want to write stands the ethos of Civilization on its head. Rather than seeing the New World as a virgin territory, untouched by human hands, and destined to exalted by the civilizing imperative, I want to imagine it as a site of contact between two Old Worlds, one European (and African) and the other American, a crucible without aim or end. I want it to contest rather than reinforce the myths of the American frontier, allowing us to re-imagine the New World in which we live. That would be a powerful and satisfying game.

Any Publicity Is Good Publicity

I was interested to receive this e-mail message today, reproduced below:

Hi Bill,

You may already know this, but there's a review of Ganakagok in last month's Knights of the Dinner Table (the gaming magazine/comic). The review is a good one, although the reviewer doesn't seem to have played the game. But tons of people read that comic, so good for you.

However ... the game is credited to John Harper. As if that dude didn't get enough props.

Anyway, in case you weren't aware of the review or the mis-crediting, there you go.

HARPERRRRRRRRRR!

Ganakagok and Cultural Appropriation

Reiterating a point that Jonathan made recently, Chris Chinn posted this severely critical comment about Ganakagok on his blog, Deeper in the Game:

Ganakagok is, “a quasi-Inuit Silmarillion as seen from the inside looking out”. A bunch of folks had recommended it as a great game. It uses a sort of tarot-system to set up the situation, the characters, and play out the game. I picked up a copy yesterday, as I’ve been meaning to check it out for sometime.

Skimming through, my first big twitch was the images of the example cards, using Pacific Northwest NDN artwork… UM. And then stuff like character names: “The name should be primitive and icy, vaguely Inuit in sound and form.” WTF is “icy”? Then there’s “Shaman”, “Good Medicine” and “Bad Medicine” …

For a game that claims to be a look from the inside-out, it’s chock full of exotification.

This brings us back to the larger media issue- we’re forced to either only indulge in things where we’re invisible (“Look, we don’t show up, so no problematic imagery… uh, yay, I guess?”) or things where we show up distorted and stereotypes (“At least I get to have media with people who look vaguely like me… I’ll just imagine there’s scenes and spaces where we get to see them as normal”). Which pretty much sums up my love/hate relationship of L5R.

And beyond that, the bigger social issue of why us telling stories, about ourselves, is absolutely required in the face of cultural genocide.

I suppose that’s also why roleplaying as a hobby, is where it is.

Who gets to tell your story? Right?

So I sent Chris this message:

Thanks for the chance to talk about the issue of cultural appropriation and representation in gaming. As Ganakagok’s designer, I’m chagrined to meet with disapproval, even mortified. But I’m prepared to take my lumps so long as they’re fair.

I’m saddened to have to admit that using Northwest Indian art as imagery on some of the cards was ultimately a bad idea from the standpoint of communicating the game, even if they are some of the most powerful images in the deck. My reasoning in approving those images was that they were broadly evocative of Native American culture, and thus appropriate for a fantasy game whose entire point was to dispense with the usual tropes of quasi-medieval European Tolkienesque fantasy. As it turns out, those images lose their free-floating symbolic power to the extent that the interpreter already has referents for them (already knows them), and thus familiarity (with the images) in this case breeds contempt (for the game): exactly the opposite effect than I’d intended. So that’s clearly a failure, and if I’d listened to Jason Morningstar I would have avoided it.

Umbrage at the language “primitive and icy” is probably justified, but a more generous reading of the rules text at that place I hope confirms my contention that what I’m trying to do there is tell the GM to take the naming of names seriously in the game: no “Nanook of the North,” no “Bob the Eskimo,” nor any of those other tricks of ironic distance in which players will sometimes engage. A better way of saying what I was trying to say there is “Enforce the setting in play. Make it sound right.” The least successful Ganakagok games I’ve played are the ones in which a player wants to be an outsider of one sort or another–usually a Viking, occasionally a colonist.

There are terms with which you take issue where perhaps there are connotations of which I’m unaware. For example, I’m not sure that I get why “shaman” as a potential part of a character’s identity is problematic. I can sort of see that using the term “Medicine” might call to mind bad Saturday afternoon cowboy movies, but as a way of signaling to players that the game revolves around a currency of karma, mojo, cosmic afflatus, or what-have-you, it’s perfect.

As I think about it, I suppose that the use of the terms contributes to the “exotification” you see in the text, which I take as referring to a Said-like Orientalism–a “Borealism,” if you’ll permit me–that is a kind of fetishization of the Other, which results in (as you say later) “us showing up as distorted and stereotypes” as the only alternative to invisibility in games.

But that’s a false dichotomy, isn’t it? When you say of games like mine, “I’ll just imagine there are scenes and spaces where we get to see them as normal,” you’re begging the question. Maybe several questions, actually, but the important one for my purposes is the extent to which Ganakagok play produces a human experience–whether or not it produces “scenes and spaces where we get to see [characters] as normal.” I want to assert that it does, often powerfully so. In a recent game, the drama revolved around a curmudgeonly traditionalist learning to love and care for his child, and an arrogant young man coming to grips with the necessary compromises of maturity. In other games, I’ve seen players grapple with issues of loyalty and betrayal, love and loss, fear and hope. The game is more conducive to a dramatic exploration of human experience than it is the fetishistic exoticization of alien otherness. In fact, my friend Don Corcoran told me that when he tried to run it that way, an over-the-top wire-fu Crouching Polar Bear, Hidden Orca-style game, the images and motifs on the cards (!) brought the game back down to earth.

Having said that, I want to clarify that I’m not arguing that Ganakagok is an authentic representation of Inuit culture. It’s not, and it’s not supposed to be. Rather, it produces stories that feel like the genuine fables of an imaginary people; the term “quasi-Inuit” is there advisedly.

Now, it may be that I can’t have it both ways: I do rely on the associations that people — players! — have in their heads for “Eskimo” to drive a fantasy of life on an island of ice in a star-lit night-time world. To call it a cognitive short-cut is merely to avoid using the word “stereotype.” I get that. But game-play often produces moments that are so satisfying and beautiful that I am moved anew when I recall them.

I also am not trying to argue that the phenomenon you’re talking about isn’t real. I was browsing the RPG Site a few minutes ago, trying to make myself feel better by looking at some real hate (it’s hard to explain), when I came upon this quote in somebody’s signature:

“I had no concept of historical anything. I think I even put in magic in there, like one of the indians summoned a ghost buffalo that was marauding the town, because he was helping some desperadoes steal the gold out of the mine…and we had to gun him down. It was a plot I lifted from Scooby Doo.”

In a word: Oy.

To sum up, I’d say I’m guilty of cultural appropriation but not of cultural misrepresentation. In the rules, I tell prospective GMs that the game “plays like a quasi-Inuit Silmarillion as seen from the inside looking out.” Thatplays like is important; it’s meant to describe the experience of playing the game, not of reading the rules, which I concede is dreadful. But game play is more often than not dramatic, illuminating, and powerful.

Thanks again for this opportunity to talk about the game. I hope we can continue the conversation and see where it gets us.

Chris was generous enough to reply:

Hi Bill,

I'm sure Ganakagok produces great stories and lots of fun for some group of people. It's also hurtful for a large number of people as a part of a larger historical action of cultural appropriation by outsiders for fun and profit... whether it was intended to be hurtful or not.

If you are interested in knowing more about how your game fits in with that, perhaps for improving future editions or avoiding such things in later games, you might consider reading some of the links on the sidebar of my blog under the "NDN" category, or perhaps googling some of the many blogs and websites by various indigenous people on the damage and effects of "well meaning" media.

Chris Chinn

Which led me here. The essay argues that existing copyright law inadequately protects indigenous folklore from cultural appropriation, and offers some alternative legal concepts that would ameliorate the problem while at the same time permitting appropriate artistic uses. After reading it, I told Chris:

My short-term obligations seem clear: (1) make a donation, and encourage others to donate, to an organization like the Nunavut Arts & Crafts Association as a kind of recognition of domain publique payant, and (2) provide an account on the game's Web site of the provenance of the indigenous art used in the deck in acknowledgement of the moral rights of its creators.

So if you have enjoyed playing Ganakagok, please consider making a donation to:

Nunavut Arts and Crafts Association
P.O. Box 1539
Iqaluit NU X0A 0H0

Thanks!

Two Games, One Name

My friend Nathan Paoletta is running a design contest called "Two Games, One Name," where pairs of designers are given the same title for a game and a set of contrasting constraints (e.g., "design a game for solo play" vs. "design a game to be played via text message") and asked to create games.

My assignment was The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, which fit nicely into something I'd been thinking about since Gencon. My constraint was "music must be central to resolution," which I interpreted fairly broadly, using a musical analogy for the sort of exchange-level game-mechanical focus I first used in The Perilous Realm. I'm not sure whether to consider this a cheat or a bit of cleverness.

A draft of the game is here. Let me know what you think.

Designing Ganakagok Essay at Flames Rising

When I was at GenCon this summer, the impresario behind the Flames Rising webzine invited me to write an essay about designing Ganakagok. So I did. Let me know what you think of it, if you get a chance.

The New World

At Gencon, I played Ganakagok with Simon Rogers, the impresario behind Pelgrane Press. Later, I had a conversation with him, and he told me that there was a game he wanted to play that, based on his experience with Ganakagok, he thought I could write. The game in his head is a colonization game, essentially Guns, Germs, & Steel, the RPG. What follows is what I pitched to him; we'll see whether the game in my head matches the one in his.

THE NEW WORLD

A Roleplaying Game

by Bill White

You must leave everything behind.

You must forge a new life for yourself in an alien land where everything is strange.

You must journey to THE NEW WORLD.

The New World is about the encounter between the Old World and the New. It can be played as a straight historical game, or in a more speculative mode. Thus, a given instance of play could be a quasi-historical game about Vikings in Greenland, an “allohistorical” or alternate history game about Chinese admiral Zheng He’s colonization of the West Coast of North America, an homage to Eisner’s stories about Jewish immigrants on Dropsy Avenue, a fantasy of conquistadors seeking the Seven Cities of Cibola and the Fountain of Youth, or a science fiction epic about the terraforming of Mars.

Basic Concept of the Game

The New World is a tabletop version of games like Civilization and Colonization. But rather than attempting to be a quantitative strategic simulation—something that computer games facilitate far better than tabletop play—the game is a qualitative, impressionistic simulation of the experience of leaving your home and voyaging to a distant land that may change you, break you, or kill you.

The game is thus played at the macro level and the micro level, where the macro level models the movement of peoples, resources, and ideas in time and space, and the micro level involves playing out the little dramas of individual choice, action, and experience. The two levels feed into each other, with the macro establishing the situation at the micro level and the micro informing the parameters that the macro level comprises. In other words, player decisions at the macro level have consequences at the micro level, and vice versa.

One player is the Game Master; the others are Player-Characters. In general, the GM represents the resistance of the New World to efforts at colonization, while the PCs are the agents of the Old World, will he or nil he. Each player-turn consists of a scene that intimates the material and cultural flows taking place at the macro level but is played out at the micro level of character action.

Macro Level

The macro level is constituted in how the Frontier mediates the Old World and the New World. Players brainstorm, or the GM concocts, contrasting descriptors for both domains in terms of Geography, Ecology, Economy, and Culture; e.g., well-mapped/trackless; cultivated/wild; agrarian/nomadic; civilized/savage.

The Frontier is defined in terms of cultural ecology concepts (after Diamond): Development, Sustainability, Hostility, Trade/Support, and Cultural Change. Comparisons among those elements determine what’s happening in the colony; e.g., if Development is greater than Sustainability, then some sort of environmental damage takes place.

Micro Level

Characters are leaders or exemplars of what’s happening in the world. They are defined minimally by assigning a different die type (d4, d6, d8, d12) to each of four domains: Physical, Social, Mental, and Moral. They may have other, scenario-dependent special abilities as well. Players probably create new characters for each scene.

The Game

The game is played out in scenes.

Each scene is about an encounter between the Old World and the New, on the Frontier (in a colony, that is to say). This encounter may be literal, as in meeting the natives upon stepping off the boat, or figurative, as in a single individual choosing between the values of her immigrant parents and those of the community beyond the ghetto.

Each “side” (GM=New World, PCs=Old World) starts the game with a pool of tokens representing their available resources, with different colored tokens signifying different resources. The size of the pool is probably tied to the qualitative description system in some way.

Color	Old World Action	New World Attribute
RED	Exploration	Vastness, Extensiveness
GREEN	Conquest	Deadliness, Danger
BLUE	Exploitation	Richness, Diversity
WHITE	Colonization	Strangeness, Unfamiliarity

On his or her turn, each player plays a token from the Old World’s pool to signify the larger macro-level activity in which his or her character is engaged, involved, or enrolled. The GM responds by playing a token from the New World’s stock. Playing a token commits a player to a particular mode of action in the scene, and shapes the macro-level stakes of the scene (i.e., the effects on the Frontier).

Development: Green/Red, Blue/Blue

Sustainability: Blue/Blue, Blue/Green

Hostility: Blue/Red, Green/Green

Trade: Blue/White, White/White

Cultural Change: Green/White, Red/White.

So, for example, if I’m a PC (a Player-Colonist, naturally) then I’m playing out a scene against the GM (Geographical Mediator). I define my character by putting my d12 in Physical, my d8 in Mental, my d6 in Social, and my d4 in Moral. I’m a tough and ruthless navigator with a sturdy crew and a mercenary eye on the main chance.

I take a Red token from the Old World in order to engage in some Exploration. This has some sort of in-game meaning as well, e.g., “I travel up the river, hoping that it leads to the Northwest Passage.” The GM chooses a Blue token, and has to describe the richness of the environment, “You are struck by the many streams that drain into the river, and the great number of beaver dams that block the streams.”

But the stakes of the scene now have something to do with the presence of hostile neighbors or natives. The GM gets to introduce a character. She describes a tribe of innocent natives, noble savages living in a neolithic utopia, and assigns her dice by putting the d12 in Moral, the d8 in Physical, the d6 in Social, and the d4 in Mental.

We declare our actions; I go first, saying “I give them gifts of steel axeheads and pretty beads.” I roll my Social die, a d6, and get a 4. The GM says, “They examine the gifts you bring with great interest. One elder of the tribe says, ‘These gifts are good, but I am afraid that they will cause jealousy among the younger men. Let us throw them in the river, so that there will be peace among the youths, and no strife.’” She rolls her d12 (because her reaction was moral), and gets an 11, which beats my die (and is also prime).

The GM has the high die, so she gets to describe what happens next—something involving my umbrage at the refusal of my trade goods. She also gets to increase the Frontier’s hostility by 1, because she won. If I’d won, I’d have been able to reduce it by one.

Her result of 11 was also prime, so she gets to inflict some sort of consequence on my character, moving him closer to his eventual deserts: death, madness, destitution, ignomy, and so forth. If I’d had a prime number (or 1) on my die, I’d have been able to move closer to my character’s stated goal: fame, fortune, discovery, and so forth.

Play continues in this vein until one side or the other runs out of tokens. During play, comparisons among Development, Sustainability, Hostility, Trade/Support, and Cultural Change will allow in-game events to be introduced, both in favor of the colony and in its despite.

The Book

The game book will consist of a a relatively short section on game mechanics and then a number of sample scenarios along the lines of those discussed above, plus guidelines for creating one’s own, either on the fly or as a prepared “adventure.”

This Just In from Gencon 2009

I met Ryan Macklin at Camp Nerdly in May 2009 and he's a good guy, a great player, and a clever game designer. This e-mail from him came off the rpgpodcasters mailing list:

A Last Minute Request for This Just In From GenCon

Posted by: "Ryan Macklin"

Wed Aug 5, 2009 1:47 pm (PDT)

Gang,

So, GenCon is a week away! I'm pretty excited, and as many of you
know, I'm doing the almost-live podcast news show called This Just In
From GenCon.

As a favor, I was hoping you guys might post on your blogs or forums
about it. I know some of you have run the promo, for which I'm wicked
grateful, and I'm hoping another bump in the textosphere might help
get the word out about the show -- since its success is measured by
people who are listening during GenCon as much as it is afterwards.

http://thisjustinfr omgencon. com/

Thank you,

- Ryan

--
Ryan Macklin
Master Plan: The People's Podcast About Game Design
http://masterplanpo dcast.net/

Fixing Trail of Cthulhu

On my brother Mel's podcast Virtual Play, I ask "Is Trail of Cthulhu broken, or is it just me?" To my chagrin, that prompted a somewhat defensive reaction from TOC's advocates on Story-Games. I actually really like the game, and the title was merely intended (a) as an allusion to critiques of Trail of Cthulhu I've seen elsewhere, and (b) to wink at the fact that I made some mistakes in running the game. I was pleased that the conversation was generally positive and constructive in tone, and I even sent my game notes to one of the participants in the thread, who wanted to run the adventure himself. And there was an admission that the game's author is writing a supplement that contains alternative magic rules "along the lines" of something I suggested in the podcast episode.

I ran the game at Camp Nerdly 3 at the end of May 2009, and had a great time; it was a very satisfying run. But I was sensitized to pay attention to problematic aspects of running the game. And a conversation I had with independent insurgent and indie game designer Rob Bohl helped me identify one.

In Trail of Cthulhu, when you have a "contest" between two characters -- one is chasing the other, or some such -- you roll until someone fails, spending your precious skill pool points on each roll. This has a number of unhappy effects, chief among which is that it makes contests largely an exercise in die-rolling and point-spending, with the edge going to the character who can outspend the other.

Fixing the Contest

It might be more fun if there were some "tactical" decision-making going on. The idea I had on the drive home from Nerdly was this: you spend for an automatic success, but the amount you have to spend goes up each round until you "reset" by rolling instead of spending.

So, for example, if you're chasing me, you spend from your Athletics and I spend from my Athletics and/or Fleeing.  On the first round, you spend 1 for an automatic success and so do I. On the next round, you roll and I spend 2 for an automatic success. On the third round, we both spend for automatic successes, but I have to spend 3 and you spend only 1, because you "reset" in the last round.

This strikes me as setting up an interesting choice for players each round. Now, I think that there should be a system for setting the difficulty of the roll based on the differential between the two pools. I think for every 3 points you are lower or higher than the opponent, your target number of 4 goes up or down by one, rounded down. So if your Athletics is 8 and my Fleeing is 12, my skill roll is 3 or higher and yours is 5 or better. 

This means that if the differential is 10 or more, the lower value automatically fails on the roll and the higher value automatically wins -- no rolling necessary. Or should there be a 6 always succeeds, 1 always fails rule? Probably yes.

You could use a similar system in combat, where a hit always takes an opponent out unless the victim succeeds on a roll of Health versus the damage.

I will try this at Dexcon and see if it works.

Whither Rune Saga? Post-Nerdly Prospects

I didn't run any Rune Saga at Camp Nerdly 3 this weekend (the run-down on what I did run ishere), but the game wasn't far from my mind, as I considered Bruce's comments in a previous thread: should I use the game to experiment with "jeepforged" structured freeform-type techniques, or develop it as a tabletop story-game. I had thought the former, but Bruce's comments gave me pause.

Bruce says:

Freeform/jeepforge is somewhat outside my comfort zone but I'm very interested in your efforts to develop "techniques to facilitate player engagement with their characters without sacrificing the narrative coherence that oracular mechanics provide." 

. . . To my mind, the tarot-based oracular game mechanics make Rune Saga unique so I wouldn't worry that In A Wicked Age occupies the same "space." I think the two games are very different despite the fact that they are both "sword-and-sorcery story games."

Whichever direction I take the game, I'd like to avoid the pitfalls of "parlor narration" -- a term of opprobrium that suggests that the game is a purely mechanical exercise with some fictional elements "tacked on" in an inessential sort of way. In other words, I want there to be a space for role-playing within the game, for engaging with the fiction to be essential to the game's forward movement: You get to the end, you've told a story, and you've felt it.

So in my last few designs, I've toyed with the idea of using emotion or attitude game-mechanically: in order to achieve this task or participate in this encounter, you have to act a particular way. Take a look at The Great City and The Perilous Realm and you'll see what I mean. My notion is that these things may give the player the freedom to act in character, rather than in purely "rational" utility-maximizing ways.

Bruce goes on:

For me a major appeal of your designs is the support they provide to situation generation during play. Generally RPGs rely on the DM and players to decide what situations the PCs are presented with. Mechanics are provided to determine success or failure and to arbitrate conflicts; guidelines may even be provided such as "threaten PC beliefs" etc; however it's largely down to the DM (or other participants) to come up with interesting situations which advance the fiction.

In your designs the participants aren't asked to determine "what happens next?" they're asked to interpret the cards. This is easier somehow and works surprisingly well considering there's no 'architect' guiding the story. There's a degree of 'magic' being employed here I think.

Yes! Magic, indeed. It's the same sort of magic that lets charlatans and mountebanks fool the unwary, but we use it for good. People's minds naturally want to impute meaning to patterns: random noise plus human perception equals deep significance, as someone once told me.

And that's why I think that when we're playing Ganakagok a card will come up as the situation or the consequence and people will laugh, because the appropriateness of the card in the context of what has gone before seems uncanny. It isn't, of course; it's just our minds filling in the blanks for us. This is to some extent a learned skill. These days, when I run the game for new players, I often find myself saying, "Now, there's an obvious interpretation of this card. . ." But it's not obvious at all; it's something I've learned how to do.

Anyway, I'm curious, did you consciously aim to target this in your designs or has the added 'support to situation generation' arisen out of other things?

I had been playing around with oracular systems prior to writing Ganakagok, but they were a solution without a problem for me until then. Then after the first run of the game in January 2005, sans cards, part of the feedback I got was that it was hard to figure out what to do. I had been relying on a kind of resource management thing to drive the action: you have such-and-such amounts of bone, oil, meat, and hide, so maybe you'd best go hunting. But it wasn't easy to tell what the numbers were saying you should do, and hard to keep track of in any case, so it was easiest to jettison those rules and replace them with a Rune Saga-like deck of cards that would serve as a qualitative  and descriptive system for coming up with statements about the world like "The people are starving." Best go hunting, then.

Since then, I've never looked back. Jason Morningstar has accused me of being a "slave" to my "house style," but I prefer to think of myself as inimitable.

Your Fourth Age D&D rules would appear to address this specifically for D&D. In your words turning it into more of a "pick-up game."

Exactly so. I'll be running a D&D mini-campaign this summer if all goes well; I'm regarding it as an experiment in "ganakagok-ified" gaming.

Thirdly, I wonder if you might divulge any elements of the process you went through to establish the card meanings in Rune Saga and Ganakagok? Do I detect some of Vladimir Propp's narrative functions? I'm intrigued and fascinated. The symbolism which you've assigned is not only very effective but resonates quite strongly with me personally.

The Rune Saga cards came first, and were created by re-skinning the I Ching's trigrams with some of the key major arcana from the Tarot (Child is really the Fool, Man is really the Magician, and so forth). The suits are thinly veiled Tarot suits assigned elemental meanings and used to create specific identities for each card. The events associated with each card are pure Propp. The interactions of card values (the "glyphs") are simplified versions of the I Ching hexagrams. 

It was a lot of work! Pleasant, puzzle-solving work, but work nonetheless.

Having done it once, though, it was easy to do it again for the Ganakagok deck. This time I simply re-skinned the meanings of the minor arcana of the Tarot with quasi-Inuit flavor, melding the Knight and the Page into the Child of any given suit when necessary. I think I extracted a Nitu numerology from the card meanings, but that came after the basic meanings were already fixed.

A few things helped me in the process: Robert Graves's The White Goddess, with its notion that poetry is the preservation of (druidic) knowledge of the world expressed in riddle and metaphor, and Algirdas Greimas's Structural Semantics, which is all about unpacking the latent semiotics of any given system of meanings.

So the thing to do, I think, is go back through these old designs and see which ideas are most compelling, interesting, or novel, and pull them in to a revised Rune Saga. In the meantime, I'll play around with Ganakagok Jeepforged to see what can be pulled from that game. Ultimately, I think I'd like the game to feel like The White Goddess: a powerful mythic connection to a time long-past-if-ever.

The Perilous Realm: An apocalyptic fantasy in three acts

Here's a game I ran last year at Dexcon; it proved a little unwieldy but has some neat ideas in it.

Act One: By What Strange Alchemy Are We Governed?

TO GET READY FOR THE GAME, the Game Master (GM) should prepare a “map” of Prester John’s kingdom consisting of an eight-by-eight grid of Tarot cards. The cards should be thought of as occupying eastings and northings, so that the southeast corner is (1,1) and the northwest corner is (8,8). 

Each square represents a province in the kingdom of Prester John, in truth an empire of many peoples spread across the regions of Sind, Hind, Zabajji, and Zanj; that is, central and south-central Asia, south-western Asia and the islands beyond, and parts of eastern Africa. The precise geography is, to be sure, not terribly important. 

• Swords (Chole) Open Plains, Steppe, or Desert
  
• Wands (Melanche) Forest, Jungle, or Valley
  
• Cups (Sange) Swamp, Marshland, or Coastlands
  
• Pentacles (Pneuma) Mountains, Highlands, or Hill Country
  
• Major Arcana (any) Town or Island
  

Additionally, the GM should assemble sufficient markers, tokens, pawns, chessmen, miniature figurines, and the like to represent various characters and locations on the map—perhaps a score of such counters, all told. Pennies or poker chips may be useful for keeping track of the in-game currency of “humours” (see below), but this may also be tracked with pencil and paper. Players will need copies of the individual play sheets in any case, as well as a set of polyhedral dice (d4, d6, d8, d12, and d20, to be specific; the ten-sided and percentile dice often included in such sets are not required for this game).

Mise en Scene

The time is the 12th century. The place is the Kingdom of Prester John, the much-storied Christian monarch of the Far East, Lord of the Four Indies. His empire is divided into the four domains of Hind, Sind, Zanj, and Zabajji, each with 16 provinces therein. The many provinces of Prester John’s empire range across deserts and jungles and include sun-soaked islands in the glimmering sea as well as snow-capped mountains at the top of the world. 

This empire is ruled from the grand and glorious city of Nysse, at whose center stands a palace of marvels, in which may be found all manner of wonders and a court that is peopled by men and women from across the known world, content in the king’s service and eager for his praise.

Prester John is reknowned far and wide as a great and wise lord, ruling justly over many nations with kindness and mercy. The grandeur of his presence and the benign dignity of his gaze has caused strong men to weep and wicked men to flee. He is the latest in a dynastic line converted to Christianity by the apostle Judas Didymus, whom apocryphal legends say was twin brother to Jesus.

But the Apocalypse of Judas Didymus foretells a time when great tribulation and calamity will befall the Four Indies and the world beyond. It tells of “a star called Wormwood” that will fall upon the land and unleash beasts of war, plague, famine, and poison to devour the people. The prophecies of Judas say also that heroes from far-off lands will rise to oppose those beasts, at great cost to themselves, and ultimately to little avail, for both they and the kingdom of the Four Indies will perish from the earth.

This game is the story of that time.

Dramatis Personae

Each player creates a character who is a traveler to the kingdom of Prester John, headed there for some reason or another. It is not necessarily the case that the characters will begin the game together; in fact, it is likely that they will start quite separate in space.

Begin with your four humours (Chole, Sange, Melanche, Pneuma) each set at 3. Your humours, which together are referred to as your temperament, act as a resource and constraint in play. During character creation, each step has an effect on the distribution of your humours as well as determining some in-game facet of your character.

• Chole (KOH lay). This humour, also called “green bile,” is associated with the digestive tract and internal organs, particularly the kidneys and spleen. Its element is fire. Its virtue is cleverness; its vice is cynicism. An excess of Chole is said to result in excitability, rage, and anger. A deficiency of Chole produces episodes of gullible foolishness. A character with high Chole is excitable, irascible, volatile, energetic, prone to enthusiasms and manias, given to angry outbursts and susceptible to rage, jealousy, and envy — but also alert, daring, keen of sense and sharp of mind. The elemental form associated with Chole is a tetrahedron (i.e., d4).
  
• Sange (SAN gay). This humour is said to be the major component of blood. It is  associated with the heart and the circulatory system. Its element is water. Its virtue is bravery; its vice is foolhardiness. An excess of Sange is said to result in high-spirited giddiness. A deficiency of Sange occasions cowardice. A character with high Sange is outgoing, gregarious, equanimous in adversity and content in prosperity; but he or she is liable to placidity and indolence, and susceptible to the pressures and blandishments of ostensible friends.  The elemental form associated with Sange is a dodecahedron (i.e., d12).
  
• Melanche (mel AYHN kay). This humour, also called “black bile,” is associated with the digestive tract and internal organs, particularly the liver. Its element is earth. Its virtue is wisdom; its vice is a tendency to abstraction. An excess of Melanche is said to produce fits of depression, grief, and sadness. A deficiency of Melanche shows itself as ignorance. A character with high Melanche is withdrawn and morose, given to black moods and sullen funks; he or she also tends to be strong-willed and self-disciplined. The elemental form associated with Melanche is a cube (i.e., d6).
  
• Pneuma (NOO mah). This humour is associated with the lungs and respiratory system. Its element is air. Its virtue is piety; its vice is cruelty. An excess of pneuma is said to cause emotional detachment and withdrawal. A deficiency of pneuma produces irreverence. A character with high Pneuma is serene and contemplative, but often naive and impractically idealistic. The elemental form associated with Pneuma is an octahedron (i.e., d8).
  

The Character Creation Process

1 Pilgrim (+1 Pneuma)

2 Emissary (+1 Melanche)

3 Merchant (+1 Sange)

4 Warrior (+1 Chole)

Roll 1d4 to determine your character’s purpose. This roll will add 1 point to one humour. A pilgrim journeys to find and visit a holy site or sacred relic. A emissary is someone who comes with something to say—a missionary, envoy, or ambassador, or perhaps a wild-eyed prophet. A merchant seeks a market or a source of goods; he or she may be a caravan master or a humble peddler. A warrior may fight for love or money, and may be an adventurer or a mercenary, or have taken crusading vows of monastic ascetism out of piety.

1. The Castle of Gathonolabe (P) +1 Melanche
   
2. The Wall of Gogmagog (Kt) +1 Chole
   
3. The Tomb of St. Judas Didymus (B) +1 Melanche
   
4. The Fountain of Youth (R) +1 Pneuma
   
5. The Firesilk Bazaar (Q) +1 Sange
   
6. The Court of Prester John (K) +1 Pneuma
   

Next, roll 1d6 to determine your character’s destination. This is the place that he or she wants to go, or where he or she must go, or the landmark nearest to his or her true destination. Again, note that the roll affects the character’s temperament, adding a point to one humour. The Castle of Gathonolabe is a mountain fortress wherein a rich and evil sorceror trains an order of assassins, rewarding them with hedonistic and sybaritic pleasures. The Wall of Gogmagog is a fortification built by Alexander the Great across a great mountain pass which pens beyond it tribes of cannibalistic nomads prophesied to someday serve as soldiers of the Antichrist. The Tomb of St. Judas Didymus is an ornate cathedral that houses the relics of the apostle sent to the Indies. The Fountain of Youth is a clear pool of sweet water somewhere in the middle of a tangled marsh or deep within a lonely grotto; those who drink from it three times in as many days are granted youthful vigor for the remainder of their lives.  The Firesilk Bazaar is where an iridescent, multi-colored fabric of the same name is woven by women of the city of Nysse from the silk of the fire-loving salamander. The Court of Prester John is the Emperor’s throne room and receiving hall, set within a palace that is graced with wonders from across the lands subject to the Emperor and those who have pled for his indulgence.

Roll 1d8 three times to determine your character’s alchemical archetype. Each roll is read as either a 0 or a 1; together, the three rolls result in one of eight possible archetypes (e.g, 0 0 0 is read as “1” and corresponds to the archetype of the Youth, or Maiden). Use the resulting archetype or archetypes to determine a trait, feature, or aspect of the character, and assign each trait to one of the character’s humours according the the virtue or vice it best expresses. For example, a character who was hot-tempered would probably make that a Chole trait, while one who was widely traveled might make that a Melanche trait.

1 0*

2-4 0

5-7 1

8 1*

* This is a “moving line” that turns into its opposite (i.e., 0 to 1, 1 to 0) for the character’s secondary archetype.

Each roll affects your character’s humours, as does the final alchemical archetype produced by concatenating lines (the “0” or “1”) of each roll. If you get any “moving” lines (i.e., the d8 showed a  1 or an 8), the character has a secondary archetype which also affects the character’s humours. This secondary archetype is determined by reversing any moving elements and examining the result. To be clear: a character with no moving lines has no secondary archetype.

1. 0 0 0 Youth (Maiden). Departure, initiation, potential. Sange +2, Melanche -1.
   
2. 0 0 1 Knight (Priestess). Pursuit, conflict, struggle. Chole +2, Pneuma -1.
   
3. 0 1 0 Mentor (Mother). Giving, sheltering, waiting. Pneuma +2, Chole -1.
   
4. 0 1 1 Hermit (Witch). Gathering, resistance, obscuring. Melanche +2, Sange -1.
   
5. 1 0 0 Bishop (Seeress). Judgment, revelation, command. Chole +2, Sange -1.
   
6. 1 0 1 Vagabond. Seeking, failing, wandering. Melanche +2, Chole -1.
   
7. 1 1 0 Hero(ine). Mastery, transformation, victory. Sange +2, Pneuma -1.
   
8. 1 1 1 King (Queen). Completion, arrival, totality. Pneuma +2, Melanche -1.

Now roll your d12 to determine your character’s zodiacal aspect, or star-sign. The character’s star-sign also determines the nature of the character’s special gift, and the humour required to invoke it in play. After rolling the d12, the player describes a special gift for his or her character based on one of the key words associated with the star-sign that he or she has rolled.

1. Capricorn (Melanche). Death, old age, failure, destruction.
   
2. Aquarius (Pneuma). Magic, treasure-seeking, cameraderie.
   
3. Pisces (Sange). Mysticism, religion, treachery, traveling.
   
4. Aries (Chole). Strength, combat, valor, action.
   
5. Taurus (Melanche). Health, rest, healing, endurance.
   
6. Gemini (Pneuma). Messages, gathering knowledge, things hidden or concealed.
   
7. Cancer (Sange). Fortune, luck, madness.
   
8. Leo (Chole). Worldly power, justice, leadership.
   
9. Virgo (Melanche). Worldly knowledge, mercy, love, sex.
   
10. Libra (Pneuma). Peace, cooperation, commerce, working together.
    
11. Scorpio (Sange). War, vengeance, evil deeds, scheming.
    
12. Sagittarius (Chole). Laughter, teaching, protection, resurrection, rebirth.
    

Finally, roll your d20 to determine your origin; that is, where you come from.

1. Byzantium
   
2. Cathay
   
3. Cipango
   
4. England
   
5. Ethiopia
   
6. Fatimid Egypt 
   
7. Frankish Lands
   
8. Holy Roman Empire
   
9. Kiev
   
10. Languedoc
    
11. Leon & Castile
    
12. Moorish Empire
    
13. Outremer
    
14. Rome
    
15. Scandinavia
    
16. Scotland
    
17. Seljuk Sultanate
    
18. Sicily & Apulia
    
19. Syria
    
20. Venice
    

• Byzantium is the hard-pressed and much-shrunken eastern Roman Empire, whose people are called Greeks by those from the Latin West and known for their subtle duplicity. The Emperor rules from the city of Constantinople. 
  
• Cathay is the great kingdom of the far east, whose Song Emperor presides over an elaborate bureaucracy and whose vibrant culture produces many marvels.
  
• Cipango is an insular island-kingdom beyond Cathay where the Heike and Genji noble families vie for influence with the emperor of their land.
  
• England is a kingdom in the far West conquered a generation or two ago by Norman princes from the continent, who retain lands in Normandy and Brittany.
  
• Ethiopia is a Christian kingdom in the far South whose ruling dynasty is descended from King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba; it has been cut off from the rest of Christendom by the expansion of Islam along with other Nubian kingdoms such as Alodia, Blemmyes, and Makuria.
  
• Fatimid Egypt is the center of one of the chief powers of Islam, with important cities such as Cairo and Alexandria in its domain. The rule of its weak caliphs is supported by cunning eunuch viziers and mighty generals.
  
• The Frankish lands include the Kingdom of France and its important principalities: the Duchy of Anjou, the County of Blois, and places such as Flanders and Aquitaine.
  
• The Holy Roman Empire encompasses much of what is now Germany and northern Italy and comprises a network of semi-autonomous city-states, principalities, baronies, bishoprics, and other sorts of polities, united under an emperor whose authority is at most symbolic.
  
• Kiev is one of the principalities that rules over the Russian steppes, and is an important corridor for trade between the far north and lands to the south. Its golden age is recently passed, and it faces pressures from rivals and nomads from the east.
  
• Languedoc is the name for the regions of southern France like Provence and Toulouse where a particular Frankish dialect is spoken; its people are proud and assertive.
  
• The Kingdom of Leon & Castile is the bulwark of Christendom against Moorish conquerors from the south, and is chief among the Spanish principalities that also include Valencia, Saragossa, Aragon, and Navarre.
  
• The Moorish Empire of the Almoravids includes large portions of northwestern and sub-Saharan west Africa as well as southern Spain, and consists of numerous fractious and rebellious peoples ruled from the city of Marrakech.
  
• Outremer is the name given to the imperilled crusader kingdoms established in the Holy Land by Norman and Frankish nobles late in the last century. It includes the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Principality of Antioch, and the County of Edessa.
  
• Rome is the seat of the Papacy, chief ecclesiastical authority of the Latin rite of Christianity and ruler of the surrounding Papal States.
  
• Scandinavia includes Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and the Orkneys, whose far-traveling vikings were once the scourge of the North.
  
• Scotland is a kingdom in the far north of the British islands.
  
• The Seljuk Sultanate is the chief rival of the Fatimid dynasty for control of the Muslim world. It has many fractious client states who owe their allegiance to the Sultan in Baghdad.
  
• Sicily and Apulia in the south of Italy have been conquered by Norman adventurers who cagily play off Muslim and Byzantine influence to open up opportunities for themselves.
  
• Syria includes numerous provinces and principalities nominally under the sway of the Seljuks but which seek to preserve their autonomy by subtle diplomacy; the cities of Damascus, Aleppo, and Mosul are prominent among them.
  
• Venice is a mercantile city in northern Italy whose sailors move aggressively to acquire rights and privileges in markets far from home.
  

Character Examples

One player rolls d4:3, d6:2, d8:4, d8:1, d8:7, d12:5, d20:8. The character is a merchant from the Holy Roman Empire headed for the Wall of Gogmagog. The d8 rolls produce the archetype 0 0* 1 (Knight or Priestess), with a secondary archetype of 0 1 1 (Hermit or Witch). The d12 roll gives the character the sign of Taurus, with a Melanche-activated special gift having to do with health, rest, healing, or endurance.

The character’s humours are calculated as follows:

The d4:3 adds +1 Sange (Chole 3, Sange 4, Melanche 3, Pneuma 3).

The d6:2 adds +1 Pneuma (Chole 3, Sange 4, Melanche 3, Pneuma 4).

The d8:4 adds +2 Chole, -1 Pneuma (Chole 5, Sange 4, Melanche 3, Pneuma 3).

The d8:1 adds +2 Melanche, -1 Sange (Chole 5, Sange 3, Melanche 5, Pneuma 3).

The d8:7 adds +2 Sange, -1 Pneuma (Chole 5, Sange 5, Melanche 5, Pneuma 2).

The 1st archetype adds +2 Chole, -1 Pneuma (Chole 7, Sange 5, Melanche 5, Pneuma 1).

The 2nd archetype adds +2 Melanche, -1 Sange (Chole 7, Sange 4, Melanche 7, Pneuma 1).

So the character’s temperament starts at Chole 7, Sange 4, Melanche 7, Pneuma 1, signifying a character who may be given to alternating bouts of mania and depression. The player starts from the notion of a healing gift to decide that his character is an itinerant chirurgeon—a medieval doctor skilled with a scalpel (a Sange trait from the Knight archetype) and who has spent long hours in solitary study (a Melanche trait from the Hermit archetype) at a university in northern Italy—who has been sent to the Wall of Gogmagog by his elderly teacher in response to a letter from the general who commands there (a German in the service of Prester John who happens to be an old friend of his instructor); the general needs a physician to tend to the chronic illness of his daughter, and the local doctors are stumped. Selling his services as a chirurgeon satisfies the requirement that the character be of the merchant type, and his character traits are sufficiently connected to the archetypes generated by the d8 rolls. The player defines his special gift as medical expertise; it requires no further definition at this point. He also gives the character an Italian-sounding name: Dottore Giacomo Abbrenzi of Milan.

A second player rolls d4:4, d6:3, d8:2, d8:8, d8:7, d12:4, d20:3. The character is a warrior from Cipango with the primary archetype 0 1* 1 (Hermit/Witch) and the secondary archetype 0 0 1 (Knight/Priestess) who is headed for the Tomb of St. Judas Didymus. The player likes the idea of a ninja assassin for a powerful warlord or daimyo of whom he is the sworn servant (a Sange trait from the Knight archetype) and in whose service he has grown cunning and cruel (a Pneuma trait from the Witch archetype) sent in pursuit of a thief whose location he has been told will be indisputably revealed in the waters surrounding the tomb. As a ninja, he is of course deadly with or without weapons (his special gift, from his star-sign of Aries). The character’s name is Tanaka Ichi, with the temperament Chole 8, Sange 4, Melanche 5, Pneuma 2.

A third player rolls d4:1, d6:3, d8:5, d8:1, d8:5, d12:2, d20:13. The character is a pilgrim from Outremer journeying to the Tomb of St. Judas Didymus with the primary archetype 1 0* 1 (Vagabond) and the secondary archetype 1 1 1 (King or Queen), with the star-sign Aquarius. The player decides that his character is Baldwin the Leper, prince of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, traveling to the saint’s tomb to visit its healing waters. His Melanche trait of leprous taint comes from the Vagabond archetype, and that of regal bearing (a Sange trait, the player decides) from the King archetype. His special gift is the companionship of three loyal retainers: a stern knight-at-arms to guard him, a wise monk to teach him, and a clever squire to be his friend (all justified by the cameraderie motif of the Aquarius star-sign). His humours are Chole 6, Sange 3, Melanche 4, Pneuma 6.

Prester John and Wormwood

The “metagame” or background against which the character’s actions take place is the apocalyptic struggle between Prester John and Wormwood, representing the forces of good and darkness respectively.

Create two grids representing the resources available to Prester John, Emperor of the Four Indies, and to Wormwood, Angel of the Apocalypse, during the game. 

Prester John begins with 16 of each humour while Wormwood begins at 0. During the first part of the game, however, Prester John will expend some of his humours while Wormwood will accumulate them. Once the final stage of the game is reached, the relative disparity between Wormwood and Prester John in each humour will shape the nature of the calamity that befalls the empire and the characters, and the difficulty of escaping or remedying it.

At the beginning of the game, all squares are under Prester John’s control; as the game progresses, squares may fall under the control of Wormwood.

Initial Position

Give Prester John and Wormwood their initial resources. The current state of Prester John's empire is determined by which of the pair has greater resources of the given type. So, for example, so long as Prester John has greater humours, the empire is in a state of peace, happiness, plenty, and harmony. Once Wormwood has higher values in a humour, the state changes to war, plague, famine, or discord. 

PRESTER JOHN

Chole 16 PEACE

Sange 16 HAPPINESS 

Melanche 16 PLENTY

Pneuma 16 HARMONY

WORMWOOD

Chole 0 WAR

Sange 0 PLAGUE

Melanche 0 FAMINE

Pneuma 0 DISCORD

Place a token representing each character on a square along the edge of the game-map. Roll 1d4 to determine the map edge from which the character enters (1 North, 2 East, 3 South, 4 West) and 1d8 to determine the specific square in which he or she arrives, reading from the eastern or southern corner as appropriate.

For each destination, roll 1d8 twice (first for the easting, and then for the northing) to determine its tentative initial location and place a token representing it in that square.

Summary

At the end of Act One, all the important characters have been described and have made their entrance upon the stage. Each character comprises at least a temperament of four humours; the ones controlled by the players (as compared to the ones controlled by the Game Master, or GM) also incorporate (a) one or two “alchemical” archetypes that in turn give shape to character traits, and (b) an astrological aspect or “star-sign” that is used to define the character’s special gift. Each trait is associated with one of the four humours, as is the special gift.

Act Two: We, In Some Unknown Power’s Employ, Move on a Rigorous Line

AS ACT TWO BEGINS, the characters created by the players have just entered the stage; that is, they are at the edge of the game-map, having entered severally from various directions. We already know a little bit about them, but the main function of Act Two is to develop the characters via role-playing their interactions with each other and with the Kingdom of Prester John. In addition, the progress of Act Two develops the apocalyptic metaplot as the power of Wormwood grows and that of Prester John weakens.

Order of Play

Determine the order of play by comparing characters’ temperaments: highest Chole goes first, resolving ties in order of highest Sange, highest Melanche, highest Pneuma. Keep this order throughout the game, even though the temperaments of the characters will change.

For example, in a game involving the three sample characters created above, the order of play would be Tanaka Ichi, Dottore Giacomo Abrenzi, and Baldwin the Leper.

A Character Turn Begins

A character turn begins with the active player (i.e., the player whose turn it is) selecting an interlocutor; that is, another player with whom to interact via the medium of their characters. Usually, or at least at first, the interlocutor will be the GM, but when player-controlled characters are in the same square, the active player may choose the player of a co-located character as the interlocutor. Additionally, the player may choose as interlocutor any other player with whose character his or her own character has a tie (i.e., a connection of love, hate, fear, or reverence—see the rules below), even if that character is not in the same square.

Each player then secretly chooses one humour whose interaction will determine the “plot point” that begins the scene (see the table below). EXCEPTION: The GM chooses openly and randomly, so that the player knows which humour he or she faces when making his or her choice. The GM uses Wormwood’s humours against the players and Prester John’s humours in their favor, except when it makes more sense narratively to do it the other way.

There are ten different plot points, each of which is broadly defined so as to potentially incorporate a wide variety of fictional events and which also specifies possible game-mechanical effects.

HUMOUR Chole     Sange     Melanche  Pneuma

Chole    Struggle  Loss      Victory   Masking

Sange  Arrival   Obstacle  Pursuit

Melanche  Departure Recognition

Pneuma  Remedy

• Arrival (Sange-Sange). The active character arrives at a destination; the active character overcomes an obstacle; the active character is joined by or reunited with companions. Move the character one square in a cardinal direction chosen by the active player, expending humours for direction and terrain; OR add a trait reflecting the event; OR move Prester John or another non-player character to the character’s square; OR move Wormwood to the character’s square if within the apocalyptic region (see below). Negate the effects of Obstacle.
  
• Departure (Melanche-Melanche). The active character begins or continues a journey, is dispatched by some authority or by his or her own initiative on a mission or other endeavor, or slips free of his or her current circumstances.  Move the character one square in a cardinal direction chosen by the interlocutor, expending humours for direction and terrain; OR add a trait reflecting the event. Negate the effects of Obstacle. Choose a new destination for the character, if desired. Leave pursuers and other characters behind, if desired.
  
• Loss (Chole-Sange). The active character loses a fight; something valuable is stolen or taken from the active character; the active character is hurt or injured. Define the character as in a physical (Chole), intellectual (Melanche), social (Sange) or moral (Pneuma) conflict. Remove a tie or a trait or reduce one humour by an amount depending on the interlocutor’s relevant humour: 1 to 3, 1d4; 3 to 8, 1d6; 9 to 15, 1d8; 16 or more, 1d12.
  
• Masking (Chole-Pneuma). The active character dons a disguise; the active character is marked, scarred, or branded; the active character hides from pursuers or other foes; the active character is forbidden to undertake some action or is otherwise constrained. Give the character a new trait or tie reflecting the event.
  
• Obstacle (Sange-Melanche). The active character faces a challenge, obstacle, obstruction, or other constraint; the active character is separated from companions; the active character is captured by foes. The character cannot move until Arrival, Departure, or Remedy is played. 
  
• Pursuit (Sange-Pneuma). The active character is chased, tracked, followed, or shadowed by foes. Create a new pursuer or move an existing pursuer into the character’s square. Until Masking, Struggle, or Victory are played, expend an additional Chole humour in order to move, and the pursuer follows.
  
• Recognition (Melanche-Pneuma). The active character abandons a disguise; the active character reveals a flaw or weakness; the active character’s brand, mark, or scar is noticed or otherwise proves in some way consequential. Add a new trait or tie to the character reflecting the event; OR tie another character to the character; OR remove any trait added by Masking.
  
• Remedy (Pneuma-Pneuma). The active character girds for war; the active character receives a useful gift; the active character learns how to overcome an obstacle. Add a new trait to the character reflecting the event; OR give the character a new special gift; OR negate the effects of Obstacle; OR restore a trait, tie, or special gift removed by Loss, OR add to one of the character’s humours by an amount depending on the interlocutor’s Pneuma: 1 to 3, 1d4; 3 to 8, 1d6; 9 to 15, 1d8; 16 or more, 1d12; 
  
• Struggle (Chole-Chole). The active character comes face-to-face with a foe or otherwise becomes engaged in some kind of conflict. Define the character as in a physical (Chole), intellectual (Melanche), social (Sange) or moral (Pneuma) conflict. Reduce one of the active character’s humours by an amount depending on the interlocutor’s humour: 1 to 3, 1d4; 3 to 8, 1d6; 9 to 15, 1d8; 16 or more, 1d12. The character cannot move until Loss, Masking, Pursuit, or Victory are played.
  
• Victory (Chole-Melanche). The active character defeats a foe; the active character receives a reward; the active character gains the respect, admiration, or love of another character; the active character is transfigured or transformed. Add a new trait to the character reflecting the event OR tie another character to the character OR add a new archetype to the character. Remove one apocalyptic designation from the square, if any.

Characters move when “plot points” (see below) permit; movement requires the character to spend humours based on the direction moved and the terrain entered.

(1) DIRECTION

to move south— -1 Melanche

to move west— -1 Pneuma

to move south— -1 Sange

to move east— -1 Chole

(2) TERRAIN 

into Swords (Open Plains, Steppe, or Desert)— -1 Chole

into Wands (Forest, Jungle, or Valley)— -1 Melanche

into Cups (Swamp, Marshland, or Coastlands)— -1 Sange

into Pentacles (Mountains, Highlands, or Hill Country)— -1 Pneuma

into major Arcana (Town or Island)— -1 of the player’s choice.

Expended humours are recorded as such on the character sheet, and then added to Wormwood’s temperament.

The player of the moving active character can choose to take other characters with him or her as long as that is warranted or supported by the game-fiction.

If there is no other character in the square available to the interlocutor (i.e., if no character is in the square that doesn’t already “belong” to someone other than the interlocutor), the interlocutor must generate one on-the-fly for the active character to interact with. Roll 1d8 and 1d12 to generate a character with an archetype and a star-sign. Use the results of these rolls along with the terrain of the square and the plot point shaping the scene to inspire the beginning of the scene. 

Kibbitzing from other players is encouraged, as is soliciting the input of the active player about what challenges and risks he or she is interested in having the character pursue. 

The scene framing shades into a bit of “open role-play” between the interlocutor and the active player in order to more fully get at the heart of the scene. The interlocutor is trying to get the active player to commit his or her character to a course of action whose resolution will engage the game mechanics as well as move the action of the game forward.

Scene Framing Example

Tanaka Ichi begins his turn in a farmland square. His player chooses the GM to be interlocutor, as he must. The GM secretly chooses Chole while Tanaka’s player secretly chooses Pneuma, resulting in the plot point of Masking (the active character dons a disguise; the active character is marked, scarred, or branded; the active character hides from pursuers or other foes; the active character is forbidden to undertake some action or is otherwise constrained). The GM rolls a 2 for the interlocutor character’s archetype and 10 for the interlocutor character’s star-sign, making that character a Knight/Priestess of Libra, one whose activities involve pursuit, conflict, or struggle associated with peace, commerce, cooperation, or working together in some way.

In the GM’s mind, a “knight of commerce” associated with farmland is a wealthy land-owner, with many bondsmen in service to him working the fields. Since Tanaka Ichi is a ninja, the GM absolutely wants him to don a disguise for this plot point, so the question becomes what sort of disguise would best drive the scene, and what rationale for that disguise would make the most sense. The GM tells the Tanaka’s player, “You’ve arrived at the fortified home of a wealthy farmer with many servants who is preparing to go on a pilgrimage to the Tomb of St. Judas Didymus; your plan is to join his party in disguise so that you can make your way to the tomb more easily and avoid alerting the thief you’re after, because he has has powerful friends in Nysse. How did you disguise yourself so that the wealthy farmer—his name is Panil Veda—will accept you as a member of his pilgrimage?”

Tanaka’s player says, “I disguise myself as a blind beggar who thinks that the relics of the saint can cure him, and play upon the rich man’s sympathies so that he’ll take me along.”

The GM tells Tanaka’s player to add disguised as a blind beggar to the character as a Chole trait (i.e., something that helps the character when he’s trying to be clever). He says, “The scene opens up with Tanaka Ichi coming at dusk up to the great mansion where Panil Veda makes his home. There is a great big front door, wide enough for a chariot to drive through; it is ornately carved and inlaid with panels of ivory. Around the back is the kitchen entrance, a small doorway at which beggars gather to receive whatever largesse the head cook is permitted to distribute to those who wait. What do you do?”

“I knock on the front door with my stick and wait to be admitted,” says the player of Tanaka Ichi.

“Okay,” the GM replies. “Let’s see what happens. Roll your dice.”

The Dice You Roll

Each participant in the scene rolls his or her d4 (Chole), d6 (Melanche), d8 (Pneuma), and d12 (Sange). He or she may also roll a d20 if during the “open role-playing” of scene framing, the player wove in the character making use of his or her special gift; in this case, the d20 is called the player’s “Quintessence die.” The Quintessence die may be used in place of any other die during the scene.

Playing Out the Scene

Once the scene is set, participants play it out by describing their actions and giving their words and deeds mechanical weight by assigning dice associated with their humours to the “scene grid” that characterizes those words and deeds.

The Action Round  Beginning with the active player, each player describes his or her character’s deeds or words and moves a die to the appropriate box on the scene grid, role-playing appropriately. The action round continues going around the table until all dice are placed or everyone has passed (i.e., one may refrain from playing a die if one does not wish to characterize one’s actions as it requires). If, when playing a die, one can narrate in a trait associated with the same humour (whether that trait belongs to your character or not) to one’s own advantage, one may use that trait to “roll up” (or roll down) one’s own die by one point. You may also spend points from the corresponding humour in order to increase your roll up to the maximum die result.

Words and Deeds

During the action round, when you place a die, narrate or role-play your corresponding behavior as either words (i.e., expressions intended to convey something to a hearer) or deeds (i.e., actions with some sort of non-expressive physical purpose). Note that there is some overlap between the two types of behavior—e.g., a physical action not intended to signal anything but which in fact does, albeit inadvertantly)—and clever players will leverage that overlap to their advantage when necessary.

A Note on Ties

Ties are a special kind of trait that characters may gain as a result of their travels in the kingdom of Prester John. A tie is an emotional relationship with another character, categorized as either Hatred, Friendship, Fear, or Reverence and associated with Chole, Sange, Melanche, and Pneuma, respectively. Whenever that other character is present in a scene, the character with the tie may use it as a trait to add one to the die for that humour when it is played during a scene.  Ties are unilateral (they go from one character to another), potentially multiplex (a character may have more than one kind of tie to another character), and may be reciprocated asymmetrically (hating another character does not prevent that character from loving you).Depending on the value of the die, the words or deeds being described need to be able to be characterized in a particular way. In general, when the die shows its highest value, the behavior should match the positive aspect of the corresponding humour; when it shows its lowest value (i.e., a 1) it should match some negative aspect of the humour, associated either with a superabundance or a deficiency, at the player’s option.

If your Chole die shows a 1, your words are either foolish or cynical.

If your Chole die shows a 4, your words are clever.

Otherwise, your words are honest.

If your Sange die shows a 1, your deeds are either cowardly or foolhardy.

If your Sange die shows a 9 through 12, your deeds are brave.

Otherwise, your deeds are prudent.

If your Melanche die shows a 1, your words are either ignorant or abstruse.

If your Melanche die shows a 6, your words are wise.

Otherwise, your words are innocent.

If your Pneuma die shows a 1, your deeds are either blasphemous or cruel.

If your Pneuma die shows an 8, your deeds are righteous.

Otherwise, your deeds are proper.

When you expend humours for any reason, you record the expenditure on your character sheet; it becomes important during Act III (end-game).

As you narrate your action, move the relevant die to its proper place on the scene grid. 

If your narration invokes any of your traits or ties listed under that humour you may increase the relevant humour; traits and ties may be invoked once during any given turn and must be narrated in a different manner each time they are subsequently invoked. Invoking a trait or tie gives you a +1 to the relevant die result.

The box on the scene grid in which you place your die to characterize your words or deeds will also show if you should raise or lower the humour associated with the die. 

Furthermore, you may gain humours depending on the way you role-play:

If you roleplay fierce rage or intense passion, +1 Chole.

If you roleplay giddy elation or childish high spirits, +1 Sange.

If you roleplay deep and woeful sadness or black depression, +1 Melanche.

If you roleplay serene and dispassionate placidity, +1 Pneuma.

After the final player in the round goes, the player with the highest die result gets to choose which dice of those played determine the outcome of the round. If there are only two participants in the round, then this is no choice at all, of course.

Use the humours associated with the dice chosen to determine the plot point that results from the actions of the round. The player with the highest die between the two selected narrates the plot point; the GM adjudicates the game-mechanical result.

If you narrate in your special gift, roll 1d20 and use its result to see whether you (a) get to choose which dice determine the plot point for the round, and (b) get to narrate the plot point.  

As a plot point (Departure), the character may be assigned a new destination. This may be (a) a location already on the map; (b) a new location invented during the scene or prior to it, or (c) off the map by a specific map edge.  The character may return to the map on his or her next turn, or may take one or more scenes “off the map,” presumably in his or her home country, and return with an Arrival or Departure plot point.

At the end of the action round, the narrator of the round may choose to end the scene or let it continue for another round, if there are still dice to play. If the result of a plot point is to move the active character into a new square, the scene ends.

At the end of the scene, record the dice played as expenditures of humours.

Making Progress

When a character enters a square containing a destination, roll 1d8 and consult this chart:

1 2 3

Origin (8) 4

7 6 5

If the die roll is an 8, the destination is in the map-square as supposed. Otherwise, it is potentially in a different square. If the number on the die corresponds to a square that has not been entered by any character yet, move the destination to that square. If the corresponding square has been entered, the destination remains where it is.

When a character finally arrives at his or her destination, the player may immediately spend his or her humours in order to introduce a plot point that resolves or brings closure to the character’s journey. This plot point may be taken as an extension of scene framing or as the resolution of the scene.

At the end of each turn, turn over the top card remaining in the tarot deck. 

• If the card is a 2 or 3, transfer 1 humour from the relevant suit from Prester John to Wormwood (Swords = Chole, Wands = Melanche; Cups = Sange; Pentacles = Pneuma). 
  
• If the card is between 4 and 8, transfer 2 humours. 
  
• If the card is a 9 or 10, transfer 3 humours. If the card is a face card, transfer 4 humours. 
  
• If the card is a major arcana, transfer 5 humours from Prester John’s highest humour to Wormwood.

Act III: Well Met Are We Upon Megiddo Plain

As the game progresses, humours from Prester John’s temperament will diminish and accrue on Wormwood’s plexus; i.e., his grid.

At the end of every scene, check to see if any of the dark angel’s humours exceed Prester John’s. When this happens, randomly select a map-square and designate it as the center of the apocalypse.  Place a token representing Wormwood in that square, which becomes the center of the “apocalyptic region,” which consists simply of those squares upon which the evils of war, plague, pestilence, or poison (that is, malicious strife among neighbors as well as an unclean and debilitating environment) have been visited.

• War squares require an additional Chole to move out of.
  
• Plague squares require an additional Melanche to move out of.
  
• Pestilence squares require an additional Pneuma to move out of.
  
• Poison squares require an additional Sange to move out of.
  

Place another token representing Prester John at the court of Prester John (or, if he’s been determined to be elsewhere, where ever he’s been determined to be, or in a random location).

Have each character on the map declare for Prester John or for Wormwood. Players of course decide for themselves. Other characters declare based on their ties to the players’  characters, siding with the character if they have ties of friendship or reverence and against the character if they have ties of fear or hatred.  Characters without ties remain neutral until they have ties.

At this point, the remaining cards in the deck are no longer used to transfer humours from Prester John to Wormwood. Instead, at the end of each scene, the apocalyptic region increases by up to four squares (roll 1d4), no more than one square in any given direction, and Wormwood gains a number of humours equal to the number of squares added, divided as the GM decides. In no case may any of Wormwood’s humours exceed 16.

A player whose character declared for Prester John may choose whether Prester John moves or not, and whether to expend their own humours or the king’s in order to do so, during his or her turn. Wormwood may move or not, paying his own humours in order to do so, as the GM decides, during each turn.

If a character is in the same square as Prester John, the player may expend Prester John’s or his or her own humours in order to introduce a plot point before or after his or her turn.  The player must have declared for Prester John in order to do so. The “active character” for the plot point may be any character.

If a character is in the same square as Wormwood, the GM may expend Wormwood’s humours in order to introduce a plot point before or after the player’s turn.

If Prester John and Wormwood are in the same square, then at the end of each scene, have the active player and the GM secretly decide how many humours to expend, from one to five, and then roll a die based on the amount expended (1=d4, 2=d6, 3=d8, 5=d12). Each side must lose humours equal to the opponent’s die roll; non-player characters may be sacrificed, counting as 1 humour each.

Each time one of Wormwood’s humours exceeds Prester John’s, randomly determine the square in which the new evil originates. But Wormwood can only add a total of up to four squares to the apocalyptic region at the end of each scene, divided among the various centers.

A character is defeated when his humours are reduced to zero. During this phase, if a character leaves the map, he or she may not re-enter.

The game ends when (a) Wormwood is defeated, (b) Prester John is defeated or leaves the map, or (c) all the characters who’ve declared for Prester John are either defeated or have left the map.

Once the game ends, a final round of narration takes place. The player with highest Pneuma narrates the outcome of the apocalypse, based on a comparison of Prester John’s and Wormwood’s humours:

• If Prester John has higher Chole, then peace comes; otherwise, war will spread across the nations.
  
• If Prester John has higher Sange, then the people obtain health and happiness; otherwise, plague devastates the nations.
  
• If Prester John has higher Melanche, then there will be a time of prosperity and plenty; otherwise, the people face famine and starvation.
  
• If Prester John has higher Pneuma, then the people live in a spirit of harmony and good-neighborliness; otherwise, there is internecine strife and secret murder.

Each player then narrates his or her own final fate based on a comparison of his or her expended humours with each other.

• If expended Chole is greater than expended Pneuma, the character is doomed to hell; otherwise, the character is granted heaven.
  
• If expended Melanche is greater than expended Sange, the character faces death; otherwise, the character is blessedwith life.
  

Note both that these fates may be regarded as metaphorical (i.e., “life” may mean a legend that lives on after the character dies) and that they may be informed by each other (i.e., “life” and “hell” may suggest a character doomed to a life of servitude—in other words, a living hell).

Once each player has narrated the final fate of his or her character, the game ends.

References and Inspiration

• Calvino, Italo (1974). Invisible Cities (William Weaver, Trans.). New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.
  
• Chabon, Michael (2007). Gentlemen of the Road. New York: Del Rey.
  
• d’Ormesson, Jean (1974). The Glory of the Empire (Barbara Bray, Trans.). New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
  
• Eco, Umberto (2002). Baudolino (William Weaver, Trans.). New York: Harcourt.
  
• Philips, J.R.S. (1988). The Medieval Expansion of Europe. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press.
  
• Wright, John Kirtland (1925/1965). The Geographical Lore of the Time of the Crusades: A Study in the History of Medieval Science and Tradition in Western Europe. New York: Dover Publications