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Some loose thoughts on some TTRPGS

A bunch of games I played and how they make me feel.

At this point, I’ve played enough tabletop RPGs to at least look like I know what I’m talking about to a non-player. I’ve discussed each of these systems in our weekly What did we play? entries, but I’ve decided to put my thoughts together more formally and look at each of them within the context of my larger experience in the medium. And specifically, I want to look deeper into how each system makes me feel when I play it.

Lancer

The central aesthetic idea of Lancer is that you’re a pilot of a giant mech getting into space battles, and it certainly works to make you feel like a large blunt object with a lot of cool abilities. One uses a d20 (a twenty-sided die) as a way of determining success or failure, and this is modified by d6s that are either added onto or taken away from the roll, depending on abilities and contexts; when one is behind soft cover, attacking enemies will roll a d6 and take that off the roll, for example. This is extremely simple combat compared to most RPGs I’ve played, and it’s what makes you feel, ironically, larger and tougher.

The key gameplay aspect of Lancer is how modular it is. The closest thing the game has to classes is models of your mech, and not only does each have a significant number of options of abilities, one can mix-and-match parts from other models as they level up (or gain ‘licence levels’, as the game calls it). The upshot is that it looks incredibly complicated but plays incredibly smoothly; one really does feel like a mechanic working on a vehicle inbetween combat and like a pilot of a big badass mech during. Players often feel very strongly as part of a team, quantifying their roles around each other as they solve puzzles.

Out-of-mech roleplaying is deliberately kept as simple as possible; skills are limited and usually almost arbitrary, encouraging you to stay in the mech as often as possible and for GMs to commit to mech battles. On the flipside, the lore of the game is very strongly tied into the gameplay – each model is developed by a larger organisation, and that organisation has history and design philosophy, and the enemies even moreso. Each individual ability is intimately tied to technology and the people who built it. One feels like part of a specific world within it.

Draw Steel

This is a very new RPG that I’m still learning how to play, but the basic design philosophy is already very obvious. For one thing, attacks never actually miss – one is simply rolling to see how effective the attack is. This is the central design philosophy; the player is intended to feel heroic and powerful. The other major element is Heroic Resources; each class in the game has a Resource that builds up over the course of a fight; for example, the Conduit, a holy warrior who gets their powers from praying to a god, gains Piety, which they spend on spells and abilities (including healing).

What effectively happens is that the player characters quickly build up resources over the course of a fight, and indeed are doing so by feeding off each other. In our game, I play as a Conduit who worships Nature and War spirits (currently, she’s not sure who it is she worships, but that’s a story decision the GM and I made), and one effect of this is that I gain Piety the first time someone delivers acid, cold, lightning, poison, or sonic damage within ten squares of me, as well as when someone within ten squares takes eleven points of damage. Another player happens to be playing a race that delivers lightning damage as a matter of course, and a class that deals in loads of damage, so you can imagine the joy we have playing off each other. 

Dungeons & Dragons, Fifth Edition

The greatest strength of this system is also its greatest weakness: it’s trying to be all things to all people. One tiny detail that summarizes its qualities is that the Medicine skill is associated with the Wisdom stat as opposed to Intelligence as seems intuitively logical, and it’s clear that the reason it’s like this is because Clerics are traditionally the healer of the group, and Clerics rely on Wisdom as their main stat for magic.

This is the central pillar of Dungeons & Dragons. Because it’s the original and biggest TTRPG on the market, it’s bound by both traditions and the need to be accessible, and this leaves a lot of gameplay details that flatly contradict each other. It’s my belief that the core gameplay of 5e tends towards modularity, with no classes and a lot of options; indeed, I experimented with modding 5e quite heavily to bring this out, and that aspect of it worked quite well.

At a certain point, classes become almost academic; between multiclassing (in which one takes levels in other classes) and feats, one can wonder what the point of the classes even is. Races are even moreso; the updated 2024 version of 5e seems to flatten races out even moreso, moving most of the core features of them over to ‘origins’, reducing race to a flavour rather than a major gameplay element.

This comes off to me as, if not a fear of alienating anyone, then at least an attempt to appeal to everyone ever. This reduces how special individual classes and races are, to an extent – not in that the game doesn’t hype you up, but in that there’s not much meaningful gameplay distinction between playing an 8 foot tall half-giant and a three foot tall gnome. The onus is on the player and the DM to bring creative meaning to that decision in the story; the gameplay doesn’t make you feel the difference the way Lancer makes you feel the difference between mech models.

This extends to the ridiculous scaling of the game. The first few levels leave you feeling quite fragile; starting about level ten, you effectively become unstoppable. This is especially notable in skills; you make a skill check by rolling a d20 and adding your points in the skill, which are a combination of the relevant stat modifier (for example, Acrobatics uses your Dexterity modifier) and, if you are ‘proficient’ in it, you proficiency bonus, a number that goes up as you level up. It’s very likely that, by level ten, you have at least +10 in one skill, making it so that you’ll only fail most skill checks if you roll a one (which is an autofail).

This extends to attacks and spells, and by the time you reach level ten (out of twenty, to be clear), you’ll have so many abilities that taking one’s turn can take an incredibly long time as you go over your abilities again to desperately see whatever’s relevant. Meanwhile, DMs can struggle to balance sessions, especially when players are starting to get ridiculously high. On the other hand… I end up missing this ridiculous scale when I’m away from the game. Most games are better balanced at level 1; I haven’t played Pathfinder enough to write it up here, but I do know it already makes you feel powerful at the first level.

But it can be frustrating getting deep into, say, Lancer and still not be rolling as many ridiculous dice or operating as, uh, operatic a scale as 5e D&D, where you’ll be fighting gods and armies if you keep going and going, striding about the world as an impossible genius. The upshot of 5e is that because it has little personality of its own beyond signifiers, it very much molds to the personality of the person running it, particularly because the lore and rules are so flexible.

Paranoia

A Saturday morning cartoon. One person I played this with criticized it as a game designed to make you feel incompetent, which captures what I find so fun about it. The gameplay is so simple that you’ll be doing almost no maths, and you’re given contradictory and often impossible goals that not only require you to act dangerously insane, they reward you heavily for it – when I played, I noticed that it was two people who were the most successful; the guy who took every problem completely seriously and tried to solve it to the best of his ability, and me, who launched himself into every problem with suicidal tenacity and no long-term thinking, cheerfully burning through nearly every life I was given.

Call Of Cthulhu, Seventh Edition

I’m still in very, very early days of playing with this, but it’s already clear that this is a game that encourages you to investigate. This has a much deeper skills system than anything else I’ve played; the player rolls a d100 attempting to roll below their percentage, and the lower the roll, the more successful they are. Some of the skills have a clear relationship to each other too that often factors into gameplay, like the size of the player that draws on a few different stats. On top of this is the Sanity score; a player makes a Sanity check upon witnessing a horror, and failure leads to a loss of Sanity. Losing all your Sanity leaves you incurably insane; losing too much in one go leaves you temporarily insane.

The end result is that you’re encouraged to solve problems, but at great risk to yourself. The aim of any game of CoC is to solve a mystery, but that mystery risks scarring you mentally; combat is possible but awkward and best avoided most of the time, and it’s really about using your skills to dig up the truth and make your way through as best you can. When you get to the end, you’ll come out with more knowledge but traumatised by those very facts; more capable of facing down the Cthulhu Mythos intellectually but not emotionally.

Interestingly, the game is also very clear about training its GMs – here called the Keeper – as well as the player. D&D is all about keeping one’s options open – telling you that you can do and prepare just about anything; Paranoia doesn’t seem to give advice but does attract a certain cruel sense of humour; Lancer doesn’t really give advice at all. CoC gives some advice, but it’s more that the specific structure of the game demands a Keeper that is willing to create a complex world with people moving through it, that the players will navigate and discover red herrings and clues and such until they find the mystery at its centre. So far, it’s one of the few TTRPGs I’ve looked at that really does that.