I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on to my introverts card as the membership committee takes a dim view of many of the activities I quite deeply enjoy doing. One of the renegade activities I partake in is running a role playing campaign in a fantasy world that involves a talking animals, hordes of zombies and a mysterious blue toxin that grants super powers when ingested.
On top of the horde and the blue toxin throw in chickens that talk with Russian accents, possums with ninja like abilities and wolverines that tend to end up without underwear and often on fire.
Oh, the motley crew that inhabits the world I’ve constructed.
If you’re wondering, the protagonists of this tale are mutated animals, just like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, only with much less pizza and much more profanity. Our group gathers every Sunday evening at my house, they come bearing paper, pencils, dice and munchies. The living room is colonized and the flat surfaces are fought over for the prime dice rolling/note taking places(not mentioning places with access to TIO’s heavenly veggie/chip dip). We start the game once everyone settles down, this can take anywhere from fifteen minuets to an hour as our group has a couple of extroverts that like to well, be extroverted.
I hate to admit it, as it goes against much of the fiber of my being, but I usually don’t plan the stories that unfold over the course of the evening. I mean, I did at one time make copious notes with tables and charts and what not; a carefully crafted plot line for my players to follow and discover. But what I often found happening is that my damn players often would do the most amazingly stupid creative things and take directions\actions I had not even remotely planned on them doing.
For instance, when battling an augmented human that had the ability to change into a fire form our intrepid Wolverine decided the best course of action would be to engage in close quarters combat – imagine giving a bonfire a loving hug – in the midst of performing a ‘stealthy reconnoiter’ of an auto mechanics shop. Another character, the ninja possum mentioned earlier, decided the best course of action would be to hotwire a car near this melee and promptly gun it in reverse through the bay door and down a embankment. You see, said possum had an electronics skill, but not a driving skill, thus hilarity ensued.
You really can’t plan for shit like this. It is like this most nights, our group wildly careens across (and often through) the story arcs I set before them haphazardly fighting, problem solving and running amok/away. The little preparation I do undertake mostly involves thinking about the broadest of themes, and where I would like them to end up, by hook or by crook, by the end of the evening. It was a bit of a learning curve in the beginning for me as I would offer choice A, B, or C and they as a group, would consistently choose “Q”.
Leaving much of the planning behind seemed like the best option and I haven’t looked back. I worry about consistency sometimes as our intrepid animal heroes have crossed into several different worlds/timelines as our story has unfolded. Keeping track of who is which side and for what reason is difficult and times and I get confused – but I buy myself sometime to get things straight by having some straight up combat for my players to tackle while I refocus my story telling chops. It usually works out fairly well, and everyone has fun as a result.
Being a story teller is definitely not on the top ten list of activities introverts are supposed to enjoy, but in some weird way it works for me, and I am happy to be the weaver of a narrative that allows my group to have as much fun as they do.
Maintaining the drive and energy of a campaign is difficult sometimes, and one of the best ways to avoid storytelling burn out is to hand off the reigns to someone else every second week and let them run a different story. My character in the second campaign we run isa dragon hatchling, ostensibly named “Pookie”, and let me assure you Pookie has a great deal of fun cavorting and generally causing higgildy-piggildty in his travels across the story arcs that someone else has to manufacture and maintain. :)
Anyone else from my fair readership that indulges in the deeply introvert-transgressive practice of role playing or story telling?
7 comments
March 6, 2014 at 6:22 am
blair
I jokingly call myself a well-trained introvert. My folks, concerned their bookworm daughter would never leave her room unless forced, started me in community theater.
Today, I run workshops and seminars, teach martial arts, and spent years acting in regional theater. But I’m an introvert who’d just as well spend bunches of time alone and undisturbed. I just happen to be an introvert who talks to people well. :)
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March 6, 2014 at 8:28 am
The Intransigent One
In my defense, my plan was that I would pin the fire-dude and then SOMEBODY (cough ninja possum cough) would use his speediness to show up with a fire extinguisher and nail that fucker. But no.
And I’m certainly not bitter about it.
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March 6, 2014 at 8:50 am
The Intransigent One
And I may as well brag… I made Arb a model of Pookie, look!
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March 6, 2014 at 10:55 am
The Arbourist
@TIO
Armed with my Dragon-Totem, pookie is unstoppable. :>
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March 6, 2014 at 11:08 am
The Arbourist
@Blair
Wow, community theatre. That must have been a rough beginning for you. My comfort level pretty much ends after we get past small group level. Being on stage and stuff…huh..kudos to you. :)
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March 6, 2014 at 5:10 pm
bleatmop
<3 Pen and Paper RPG's. Have not had a steady group since high school :(
I used to have one character way back when called Lord Erasmus Zed. This was AD&D seconds edition and Ol' Erasmus was a mage. He specialized in illusions and was a crazy chaotic neutral. Quite often he would cast an illusion of a throne, truly believing that he was conjuring a real throne. Then he would sit on his throne, made possible by his sincere believe in said throne and create/conjure up a sandwich for him to eat while he pondered how to destroy those pesky orcs that were trying to kill him. The orcs, who seeing him seemingly conjure up a throne from this air, and food to boot, were amazed by the seemingly god-like power of this apparent conjurer that they decided to worship him. Of course, so completely believing in Erasmus' illusions themselves, they all failed their saving throws when he decided to conjure/illusion giant swords to fall on their head and died as a result.
I may have abused the rules a little bit.
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March 8, 2014 at 7:44 am
The Arbourist
@Bleatmop
You don’t say… :)
Our choir’s performance schedule as of late is playing hell with our usual Sunday game times. Pookie is getting restless waiting in the wings.
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