Author: Robert Bohl

Where does “hard and soft moves” come from?

In discussing PbtA games, I often hear talk of hard and soft moves, but in my (admittedly limited) reading of the books themselves, I have yet to come across the term.

What game innovated this language? What games use it?

(Note: I’m not seeking definitions of hard and soft moves, here. I just want to understand the idea’s origins.)

My AW 2 hack is humming! Here’s an AP report from today.

Originally shared by Robert Bohl

Everyone’s a Hardholder

I just finished a session of Demihumans at the first Gauntlet NYC minicon (an extension of the fandom for the RPG podcast, The Gauntlet). After a lovely morning session of Meguey Baker’s Psi*Run, I wound up getting three players for my character and world creation and play session, Rob Abrazado, Michael, and Dylan Ross.

Rob played Vinculus the Gnome, Michael played Mosi the Halfling, and Dylan played Ragnar the Orc. They’re living in the capital of a human nation called Varkesh, in its capital city (also called Varkesh). This is a city that, during the eons of genocidal war between the orcs and humans, passed ownership and control of it back and forth between them. Ultimately, both sides arrived at a power-sharing agreement, splitting the city in half between Varkesh and its orcish name, “Vet Su’ok.” Over time, Vet Su’ok got smaller and smaller, until it’s now a ghetto of 200-300 demihumans (mostly halflings and orcs) in a tiny, narrow enclave with the same name.

Varkesh is nominally an aristocracy, but it’s so old and developed that the bureaucracy has great sway both over who wins succession, and what they’re capable of achieving while crowned. Its laws and rules are Byzantine and stringently-adhered-to. This has bled into Vet Su’ok, which also has a lot of laws and rules, and is ruled by an oligarchical council of important people, families, and organizations.

Anyway, in the characters’ Gnosis questions, we learned that Mosi the Halfling’s cousin (Reed) and Ragnar the Orc got into a scuffle with Garrald Andson, a human “adventurer” and aristocrat. He’d been stealing magical baubles from the shops, and they stopped him, kicked his ass, and stole what he’d been stealing for themselves.

Play began with Ragnar’s sister Tarkva coming to him while he did constabulary duty on horseback, to let him know Garrald was back, with a host of retainers and hirelings in tow. He’d been accused of assault and attempted murder against Reed the Halflng, Mosi’s cousin. Reed was missing and Garrald and his people had been picked up by the constables and were sitting in stocks with a growing crowd around them. Tarkva delivered a jury summons, calling on Ragnar and two others to investigate the crime and pass judgment. As he opened the summons, he (failing a persevere under duress roll) feels the weight of its magic fall on him. He’ll find no rest until he discharges his duty as a juror.

Around the same time, Vinculus the Gnome was puttering around his office when Ainway (an elvish child who was apprenticing to learn strange magic from the gnome) delivered the jury summons. He also failed his roll, and decided to head down to the stocks with his apprentice in tow.

For her part, Mosi is informed by Ash, her brother and chief rival to take over the family when the current leader passes control off. He tells her the same story about Reed getting assaulted and maybe killed, and she heads to the militia’s stables, where the humans were being held.

Garrald is a beautiful, rich, and famous man who has brought an adventuring party with him to Vet Su’ok (a dimwitted giant of a man, a woman who only whispered and was encased in black leather, etc.) and they’re all in the stocks, too. The citizens of the enclave are loving it, throwing things at them and jeering. The story about the attempted murder has spread and people are mad.

For a while, Mosi is able to dodge the constable that’s trying to deliver her the jury summons, until Ragnar takes it from her and gives it to Mosi, who decides to stop dodging the inevitable. When she opens the summons though, she gets a partial success at persevering through duress, and learns that she may, one time, ignore her duties and take an act jurors are not permitted.

Meanwhile, the crowd wants blood, and Garrald is trying to antagonize his captors into brutalizing him or letting him go so he can kill them. He’s being sneering and racist when people try to talk to him, so Ragnar bites off the tip of his nose and scares him into more respect, and into stopping trying to get free. They interrogate the more-pliant guy and his servants. His story winds up being that he was coming into the enclave to buy a potion (his friends teasingly said it was to fix his limp dick), and got assaulted in an alley by Reed and Ash.

The Company/jury decides they need to find out what Ash’s story is and where Reed is. They get Ash to bring them to the crime scene, and it’s quickly clear that he’s lying to them and making up details of his story on the fly. Their investigations on what details Ash can come up with don’t fit his story. They haul him back toward Garrald to question him more and make his accuser face him. On the way, just before they arrive, Ash gives Ragnar, who’s dragging him, a vicious, poisoned cut to the leg, then the gut. He twists away and disappears into the alleyways.

They then interrogate Gerrald again. His wound is identical to the wounds Ash gave Ragnar, and his story’s details hold together better than Ash’s. The Company starts trying to figure out how to let the falsely-imprisoned human nobleman free without causing a riot or letting him come back at them after this, even angrier. They get him to agree to drop everything if they get the guys who framed them. Garrald agrees, but no one believes it, and the crowd is furious that it looks like the jury is trying to reason with the criminal.

So they go out looking for the halflings, use the enclave’s gold from the start of session move to pay a reward for information on them, and find them trying to escape via a gnomish dirigible that’s attached to a leaning building, keeping it from collapsing. Vinculus casts an illusion of Ragnar, up on the dirigible, waiting for them, which chases them down and out the front door into the waiting Company’s arms. The halflings are brought to justice, and Garrald and his people are released under cover of night.

It’s only a one shot, so that’s where it ends, but we had a ton of lovely dangling threads. Garrald’s revenge and the backlash from Vet Su’ok’s citizens over freeing a terrible, violent man.

—

This game went great. I’m not sure why I’m surprised that a light hack of Apocalypse World 2E was so smooth and easy, but I am.

The key exciting revelation for me was learning that this is a game where everyone is the Hardholder. Mosi was trying to reason with her family, who could only see as far as revenge and rage when it hit me. Not only are the Hardholder’s two moves broken out and available to everyone, but everyone cares about keeping the enclave alive and not spinning out of control. Maybe I think talking is the way to get there, and you think biting off someone’s nose is, but neither of us is a Battlebabe-like agent of directionless chaos.

I’m so happy this game is humming.

I suspect this Community will have a lot of advice on this.

Originally shared by Robert Bohl

Online play and PbtA

What considerations do you suggest in adapting Powered by the Apocalypse games (especially those closer in ruleset to Apocalypse World) when you are going to play online?

I’m considering trying some online play for the Powered by the Apocalypse hack I’m writing (Demihumans, a game about non-human people as the human world moves inexorably on toward their extinction). I don’t have a lot of online play experience, but I think this is a valuable way to get playtests. It’s also a style of play that’s increasing in prevalence, and thus worth taking into consideration when designing.

(My personal issues with online play revolve mostly around how hard it is for me not to interrupt, and how a lot of my accommodations around that rely on more of a face-to-face dynamic.)

Originally shared by Robert Bohl

What Powered by the Apocalypse is, to me

I’ve heard people talk about things like the “core” of PbtA or “what PbtA does well.” I don’t think there’s anything to those ideas. I’ve been thinking about how to express myself on this stuff, then (in a “Simpsons Already Did It” way), Meguey Baker and Vincent Baker say it better for me in this interview with Jason Pitre.

Each game, including each PbtA game, is unique. You need to approach the game from the context of what the rules tell you to do. That’s how a board game works, or sportsball game. You look at the rules and do what they tell you to do.

To me, “Powered by the Apocalypse” is primarily an acknowledgement of design lineage and a pass at marketing (which is not to denigrate marketing, necessarily). That’s what that phrase communicates to me about a game. But also, as they say on this podcast, an approach to game design. Just like levels and to-hit rolls are an approach to game design.

Vincent also points out that PbtA is a design assistant. You can begin with a structure that works and diverge from it.

Back to my own ideas for a moment, PbtA could also be a creative constraint. You can be trying to align your ideas to the PbtA lineage and see what it produces.

That’s why “what PbtA does well” doesn’t work for me as a thing. “PbtA’s” meaning is too wide for me for it to merely contain the previous examples we’ve seen. And I find it exciting when games break my expectations of what other PbtA games have shown me.

There are audio issues in this interview. It’s worth it. Use headphones. Give it a listen.

Thanks, Shane Liebling, for putting this in my way on The Gauntlet podcast’s Patreon*-only Slack instance.

* www.patreon.com/gauntlet

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/rpg-design-panelcast/id580012396?mt=2#

Fallen Empires question

How does one handle the proesthetics and vehicles rules from AW in FE? I would imagine most people ignore them, but does anyone use them in some way?

“barf forth apocalyptica” is an inspired phrase in every way. The crassness of “barf” juxtaposed with the properness of “forth” and the academic obscurity and pretentiousness of “apocalyptica” is like Apocalypse World in a nutshell; it’s like having Shit head and Venus in the same crew together. It is itself a “grotesque juxtaposition.” Barf suggests an uncontrollable and sloppy spewing of details that might have been a conscious decision at one time but the autonomic system has kicked in and has spun out of control. Barf captures the messiness and unsanitary conditions of the post-apocalyptic world in which our poor heroes are struggling. When the players hand you a bit of fiction and you barf up apocalyptica on it and hand it back to them, they should say, “Ewwwww.” In a book full of brilliant and memorable phrases, this one is among the most brilliant and most memorable.

Jason D’Angelo’s wonderful series continues. Get on this, if you’re not already.

Originally shared by Jason D’Angelo

I went back and forth between trying to cover all the principles in one mad post and tackling them each individually. For now, I’ll take them on one by one, primarily because this collection is about Apocalypse World as a text as much as it is about it as a game.

So let’s make with the text:

Barf forth apocalyptica. Cultivate an imagination full of harsh landscapes, garish bloody images, and grotesque juxtapositions. In Apocalypse World, when the rain falls it’s full of fine black grit like toner, and all the plants’ leaves turn gray from absorbing it. Out among the wrecked cars, wild dogs fight for territory, with each other and with the rats, and one of the breeds is developing a protective inner eyelid of blank bone. If you get too close to them you can hear the click-click when they blink.

Generally, I think the order of the principles is significant, and of course specifically, this principle is A-number-one. Everything you say as MC while playing Apocalypse World should have a little barfed up apocalyptica on it, right? Making a move but misdirecting? Smear some apocalyptica on it. Making an NPC human? Don’t forget to coat her with apocalyptica. Responding with fuckery? You bet your ass that is some apocalyptic fuckery you are putting down.

What I love about this particular passage is the way it gets down to the cause-and-effect details of the apocalyptica being barfed forth. The plants’ leaves are grey because they have been absorbing the toner-like grit that poisons the rain. The rats’ eyelids make click-click noises because they are developing a protective inner eyelid because of the poisoned environment. It’s an unspoken lesson in daydreaming to create an internally logical world, one with cause and effect, because that internal logic is the root of playing the Fiction when you are the MC of AW. We will see this reliance on a world with its own internally consistent logic as a recurring motif in these principles, and it is subtly alluded to from the first principle, the principle principle, if you will.

I know that it doesn’t need saying, but I am going to say it anyway because I never promised you original, insightful, or stellar commentary: “barf forth apocalyptica” is an inspired phrase in every way. The crassness of “barf” juxtaposed with the properness of “forth” and the academic obscurity and pretentiousness of “apocalyptica” is like Apocalypse World in a nutshell; it’s like having Shit head and Venus in the same crew together. It is itself a “grotesque juxtaposition.” Barf suggests an uncontrollable and sloppy spewing of details that might have been a conscious decision at one time but the autonomic system has kicked in and has spun out of control. Barf captures the messiness and unsanitary conditions of the post-apocalyptic world in which our poor heroes are struggling. When the players hand you a bit of fiction and you barf up apocalyptica on it and hand it back to them, they should say, “Ewwwww.” In a book full of brilliant and memorable phrases, this one is among the most brilliant and most memorable.

In a game in which the fiction is king, it is only proper that the first principle is the thematic guide for what your fiction should look like. Give your players those details to visualize and grab onto and they will have their characters sliding through your muck and swinging from your jungle gym of apocalyptic imagery in no time. You won’t need to ask, “Cool, what do you do?” because they will be to busy wrestling with the fictitious circumstances you have piled upon them.

Communicating that information through a move is brilliant, because even if you never trigger the move, that information is there—you now know that.

You should be following Jason D’Angelo’s Collection; it’s great.

Originally shared by Jason D’Angelo

Let’s talk about sex moves, or as they are called in Apocalypse World, special moves. On the 2nd edition playbooks, the special moves are placed front and center on the first page. Here is how MCs are told to introduce the moves during character creation (“Introducing the Special Moves”—page 73):

. . . They’re based on the idea that when you have sex with someone, you get to know them better than you did before.

Sometimes they’re straightforward and positive: now you know each other better, and that’s good. Sometimes they’re more complicated: now you know each other better, and is it cool or awkward? Some of them can be a little creepy: now you know each other better, and do you like what you’ve learned?

The special moves tell us how each type of character handles initimacy. We know that AW centers not only the protagonists but the relationships between our protagonists. Having the sex moves right there on the front page of the playbooks reminds us of two things. First, that intimacy between these characters is possible and encouraged by the rules of the game. Second, that our character generally interacts with others in particular ways.

The Angel, she’s an awesome lover:

If you and another character have sex, your Hx with them on your sheet immediately goes to +3, and they immediately get +1 to their Hx with you on their sheet.

The Angel pays so much attention to her lover that her Hx goes as high as it can for this level of intimacy. Not only that, the Angel is an open lover, revealing things about herself in such a way that her lover knows her better too.

Compare that to the Battlebabe:

If you and another character have sex, nullify the other character’s sex move. Whatever it is, it just doesn’t happen.

Damn. She gives nothing away and she looks for nothing in return. She might be very competent in the sack, but she guards her secrets even in the most intimate moments, nor does she probe into the secrets of her lover. And if that’s how she is at the most stripped-down moments, imagine her openness the rest of the time. These moves tell us tons about how the archetypical character interacts with people.

Or the Chopper:

If you and another character have sex, they immediately change their sheet to say HX+3 with you. They also choose whether to give you -1 or +1 to your Hx with them on your sheet.

Now the Chopper might be a skilled lover, but she is in it for herself and she gives herself to the act with abandon. Fucking a Chopper tells you everything you can know about them in a single encounter. Meanwhile, you can decide if you give of yourself or if you disguise yourself. The Chopper won’t notice if you fake your orgasms. Hell, she probably won’t notice if you even have orgasms.

There are clearly rewards built into these exchanges to make you want to have your characters have sex with each other (gaining Hx leads to XP, the Brainer gets to scan, the Gunlugger gets a +1forward, etc.), but those rewards, to me, seem secondary at best to the flavor of how these characters handle intimacy. Hardholders give of themselves through gifts. Savvyheads are in-tuned to their lovers, but in a clinical way like they approach the machinery they work on (or perhaps they approach their machinery with warmth and intuitive curiosity in the same way they approach a lover). Whenever the Maestro D’ hooks you up with anything, that act is as intimate as sex. So much color and cool shit here.

Communicating that information through a move is brilliant, because even if you never trigger the move, that information is there—you now know that. And I think that as a move, it has a greater buy-in with the player (or at least has a chance for a better buy-in with the player). If that same information was told to you just via flavor text, the player could easily say, don’t tell me how to make my character. But as a move, that’s it, there it is; if you don’t want to trigger it, stay celibate, because there is no “may” clause built into the moves. Appropriately, when you do it, you do it.

It was all a part of my plan, an MC move for a superhero game

Invert the last “win” the heroes had in the story to reveal it was all a part of the villain’s plan.

+1 forward or advantage?

What’s the mechanical / numerical comparison between taking +1 forward versus taking an advantage die (adding a third die to roll and keeping the best two) forward? Is one more generous than the other? Or more punishing, when used as a penalty?

Does anyone know why there are two (or three) name lists per playbook in AW? For example, for the Angel:

Duo, Bon, Abe, Boo, T, Kal, Bai, Char, Jan, Ruth, Wei, Jay, Nee, Kim, Lan, Di, or Dez.

Doc, Core, Wheels, Buzz, key, Game, Biz, Bish, Line, Inch, Grip, or Setter.

Nothing really distinguishes these lists from each other; there’s a mixture of names, words, and non-eithers in each. Is it just so that you don’t have one long list to look through? Or is there some other meaning I’m missing?