 |
| Mad, mad, mad, mad science-man by qione |
Human Slaves of An Insect Nation, Part 8-Bullshit Science and you!
Quick, what
do the following types of sorcery have in common?
Alloymancy
Thaumaturgy
Clap-hands-twice-and-shit-appears (AKA
Fullmetal) Alchemy?
Necromancy
Technomancy
Math
SPOILER:
They’re all full of shit.
 |
| Trust me on this, I suck at math, see. |
The science
of upholding the suspension of disbelief is a delicate one, which requires
careful consideration of the presentation of a game. The suspension of
disbelief is what enables the presence of magic, super-technology, superpowers
or even just random horrible shit that might take place in a game that may or
may not violate every law of physics fitting the purview of your (or your
physics-nerd friend’s) knowledge.
 |
| It’s a city. It floats in the middle of nothing and is supported bynothing. Also, nothing about its architecture makes a lick of sense. No Dave,you can’t question its logic. BECAUSE IT’S MAGIC, DUDE! |
We’re not
talking about realism here, of course. We’re not referring to cross-referencing
magic with theoretical physics and the laws of the Universe weep halfway
through every session (and let’s not go into gun-nut territory, where I have
actually seen a guy slap another dude across the table for not getting how
sniper rifles work).
 |
| “No, they DO NOT have infinite range!” |
Bullshit
science is, instead, the art of making impossible things appear sensical within context, thus giving them that extra oomph
to help your players immerse themselves further in the setting.
 |
Unless they don’t because they came here to roll dice and chew bubblegum and they’ve been chewing dice instead of bubblegum. |
Keep in
mind that Bullshit Science is more a matter of flavor than mechanics. What you are trying to do is looking for a
way to embellish your existing magical system and to provide your setting with
a teensy bit of philosophical and historical (or cultural) depth, instead of
making up new shit as you go. At no point should this type of fluff contrast with
your crunch and there is no reason why your players should interpret your
narration for an actual ruleset (which we all know probably sucks since you
pulled it out of your ass last night).
 |
Unless you’re running a Mage
the Ascension campaign, wherein pulling stuff out of your rectum is not only a
given, it’s also pretty much the only way you can get shit done.
|
With that
in mind, let’s move on to…
THE SHAPESCAPES GUIDE TOWARD MAKING SHIT UP AND MAKING IT LOOK GOOD
 |
| It’s a member of the genus chronometazoid polytronus. They taste like chicken and enable time travel. |
Step One: History’s filled with plenty of ready-made bullshit.
From the
theory of Phlogiston (the made-up element that enables ignition of materials
but does not work on liquids or maybe it does and disappears as impossibly as it
appears), Orgone Radiation (the secret power that fuels the universe and is
generated via masturbating in special metal boxes), 15th century
Alchemical beliefs and the Druidic faith are but a tiny example of the many
crackpot theories mankind busied itself with, in the time before Science.
We used to
believe in a lot of shit that many exceedingly bright individuals spent their
entire lifetimes trying to prove, giving us a metric fuckton of material ready
for use. A proper and very useful example should be something in the lines of,
say, Aleister Crowley’s Demonology.
 |
The book written by the man who proved that Sex with prostitutes + Idiots =Magic (and possibly syphilis). |
It is a
book that sought to quantify and map the social hierarchy of Hell, as well as
the exact number of its denizens and the pyramid structure of its workings.
From Satan to the lowliest duke-sergeant, the whole gang of unspeakable assholes
is listed (power and rank included).
Not feeling
like you need to read into the horseshit written by a syphilitic fat guy? Then
why not go Oriental and look into Hindu Cosmology and Sorcery. Feeling the
burning need to make magic look like a horrible ordeal? The Aztecs are your
go-to guys.
Mythologies
and ancient belief systems are rife with ideas that you can borrow to generate
a magical background that has much more than plain old flair: it will have
pizzazz, razamatazz and, above all, character.
 |
Quoting obscure mythological sources during the game will also help you get laid (WARNING: may not help you get laid if you have the personality of a cardboard cat) |
Shamanistic
magic is a bloody, visceral ordeal. Egyptians are into goth shit. I can go on
and on before I start listing specifics on flavoring your magic fluff with the
magical properties of precious stones, that is.
The
Internet is chock-full of ready-made shit, which brings me to…
Step Two: Not all of it is necessary all the time.
By using
historical superstistion, you save yourself a whole lot of trouble, but you
should be aware that not all of it is entirely necessary. Like I said in Part
7, your players don’t need the infodump (and come to think of it, you don’t
either).
The idea of
re-working a Tibetan Sky Burial into a Wind-Devil binding ritual is that you
are going to turn a series of rolls into something much greater: you are going
to make it into a pretty cool scene that the players will talk over drinks
after the game is over or brag about to their friends later.
 |
| i.e: turn this “Did I beat its Willpower test yet?” |
 |
Into: “YIELD, THOK-TAR! THE WIELDER OF THE WAND OF ROMOON-KA COMPLES THEE!” |
Retailing
existing lore can make everything fucking METAL, but if everything is metal the
entire time, then nothing is. Building narrative spectacle takes into
consideration that most times, things will be boring and linear and that’s a
good thing.
Because it
will make your next epic scene look all the cooler.
But there’s
than just ritual and special effects to magic. I mean, where the hell would
fantasy as a genre be without its impossible beasties and crawlies? Thus, we
get to…
Step Three: Monsters Need Love, Too.
 |
A dragon is
more than just a dragon. It’s an elemental artillery tank with goddamn wings
that give it virtual anti-gravitic flight capabilities. Undead beings are more
than just shambling mounds of flesh and bone. They are dead flesh, animated by
power that is the direct opposite of life itself. Golems aren’t just robots,
only magic. They can be the results of failed magical experiments or impossibly
patient hitmen, set to perform a task a thousand years after their creation
date.
Monsters,
for all their complexity, power and splendor can get boring. Even worse, they might get predictable (not so
much to your players, but to you, above all). Dungeons and Dragons is a game
that offers a truckload of monsters, but they didn’t start adding any variety
until they went the extra mile and started explaining their habitats and
cultures.
Of course,
you don’t need essays that go on and on forever about Illithid cultures or
explain the exact digestive cycles of Otyughs, but you can do the next best
(and not boring) thing:
Make
something look entirely different than it actually is.
Take for example,
the humble, yet vomit-inducing Urgulstasta:
 |
Motherfucker belongs on a Cannibal Corpse album cover. |
The
Urgulstrasta is in itself a pretty horrifying beastie, but it’s not exactly
player-memorable. I mean, after they’re gone through fighting amorphous
gibbering masses of ever-shifting flesh and living spells, they can’t exactly
go back to giving a shit about worms, can they?
Unless you
try something like this:
 |
They’re screaming your name while you sleep. |
The
Urgulstrasta is supposed to be a necromantic automaton, created by the knitted
flesh of the dead, held together by sheer death-magic. But how about we take
this further?
How about
we say that the beast was created in the times before history, in the years of
pagan ritual and darkness, when man would shun the weak and the sick and the
elderly to die in the millennium-long cold that blanketed the planet?
And those
disenfranchised and suffering masses, they huddled together for warmth,
impotent against the cold and the dark and the wildebeasts. They slept atop
each other, the weakest pushed to the edges, the strongest dwelling in the
center. So effective and useful was this method of survival that soon the
massed men, women and children began to get tangled; their limbs twining, their
spines and hair coming together until they became a great mass that moved in
unison, each of its actions dictated by its one mind.
Their hiveminds
a thing wholly alien (but above all, intelligent), the Ulgurstatas soon became
the predators of the Ice Age, pushed into the Dark Below, lingering there and
waiting and plotting, seeking to lure more hapless victims into their mass,
into their eternal warmth…
Now wasn’t
that interesting?
Giving
monsters a brand new look and lore, you can turn them into points of interest
or even adventures themselves. Changing up their immunities, capabilities and
even some tiny changes in the way their special attacks work, also goes a long
way.
Enter, for
example, the Wyrd:
 |
| Natives of the Nightmare Realm |
The Wyrd
were a low-level antagonist I had introduced in a D&D campaign ages ago.
They weren’t exceedingly tough, or powerful or even all that smart. But you
know what made them such insufferable, hated (and above all feared) cunts?
They were invincible
when exposed to moonlight.
These scrawny,
spindly bastards who harvested the dreams of children and ate the hearts of
adults that you could just smash into bits with a good swing of a baseball bat
were tougher than goddamn Superman under a full moon. Now, I want you to
imagine your players’ faces when they go the distance in researching the
fuckers and then bust their asses looking for a way to lure them out on a
starless night so they can kill every fucking last one of them.
Let me tell
you, it’s the gift that keeps on giving…
But
roleplaying games aren’t all about magic and monsters stomping shit into fine
powder. Sometimes, they’re about science. Which brings us to…
Step Four: The Science of Sounding Scientific
 |
It’s elementary, really: all
you need to do is re-calibrate the flux of quasiputronic energy by manipulating
the shape of the Tri-Capacitron via forceful application of goat’s blood into
the mainframe and presto! You’ve just created life!
|
I suck at
science. Perhaps you don’t, which is why this part of the article isn’t for you.
But sometimes, just sometimes, games require some grasp of scientific knowledge
that may go beyond a simple Wikipedia search. So how do you resolve this?
Well, I do
it by not getting into detail, thus avoiding embarrassing myself any further.
But when I just can’t fucking avoid it, then…
 |
| I bust a move like a snake-oil salesman in need of a new kidney. |
Unless you
are going for a downright serious hard science fiction setting, then
your…’sciences’ can be a bit rubbery. Maybe you don’t have a full grasp of how
gravity works. Wing it. Perhaps you fucked up in front of the party biologist
and made a virus act like a bacteria. Wing it. Maybe you confused Venus for
Mars. Granted, that’s pretty goddamn stupid on your part, but you know what?
 |
Fucking wing it.
|
Rpgs aren’t
there for you to flaunt your extensive knowledge on academia. They’re there for
you to have fun and to mess up. Make up your own rules on instances of physics
going awry and always be prepared for a flimsy explanation that will hold
unless it finds itself under scrutiny.
This is,
after all, the very way of thinking that made Dr. Who possible in the first
place. And who the fuck are you to argue with Doctor Who?
 |
“You looking to get yer teeth
kicked in, ya little shite?”
|
And
speaking of Doctor Who…
Step Five: Time Travel is never an option.
 |
| To be honest, I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner. |
Do not
attempt time travel in your campaign. Do not hint at it or allow your players
to attempt it. Do not present it, speak of it or even imply it could be
possible. Do not encourage or actively try to hinder a player for achieving it.
If you are thinking how to implement it in your campaign even as you are
reading this article, then smash the keyboard against your face until you have
reconsidered.
TIME TRAVEL
DOES NOT WORK IN TABLETOP ROLEPLAYING.
Wanna know
why? Because by doing it, YOU ALLOW EVERY CHARACTER WITH ACCESS TO IT TO CHANGE
EVERYTHING THAT’S TAKING PLACE AT ANY TIME EVERYWHERE.
In short,
by allowing Time Travel, you are willingly shoving an unlubricated horse-dildo
up your rectum while trying to keep a straight face.
With that
out of the way…
Step Six: Dimensional and Outer Space Travel, however, is.
 |
Gas giants,
alternate histories, acidic deserts, war-worlds, cities made out of solid fire
and wells filled with the very essence of unlife; oceans in eternal freefall,
infinite vistas of suffering, cities of chrome and dust, toiling silently in
the spaces between dimensions.
Players
want to see weird shit, especially the weird shit that you made, so they can
explore, map them and kill their inhabitants so they can take their stuff. Give
them as much of those as you like and can take and they’re gonna love you for
it.
Make them
as mad (but at the same time as sane) as you can handle and they will worship
you.
Build
yourself a carnival of mad delights and let them run around in it. Give them a
cosmology and a system of beliefs that simple for them to memorize, handle and
consider special and the players will do your work for you.
Post a Comment
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου