Four Examples of Extrinsic Leveling

Last Week: Gear-Based Leveling and the Allure of Extrinsic Rewards

Scrolls, Staves, Wands, and Objects of Power

Want to be a magic-user? You need scrolls, grimoires, wands, or similar instruments. There is no Vancian retention of magic within the mind. The wizard’s power is purely a measure of their ability to coax magic out of such eldritch tools.

With its slot-based system, Knave already assumes that spells come from physical objects. The only addition is to take Kill It With Fire’s concept and add leveling. This is already implicit with the caster’s level scaling the effect of many Knave 1E spells (Knave 2E – in non-final form, as of time of writing – moves this to INT and expands it to more spells).

Weapons and Armor

Want to be a fighter? Level those weapons up. Use the same weapon often enough, and your character not only does more damage, but also can execute maneuvers and advanced techniques. The typical D&D fighter is a generalist, equally skilled with each weapon in the player’s handbook. A fighter in this system is much more defined by the weapon or weapons they actually wield.

But there is also tension in specializing versus broadening their skillset. If a fighter spends a handful of sessions building their skills with an ordinary sword, and then finds a magical axe, they face an interesting decision point. Stick with the sword, and hope to find a magical one in the future? Or switch to the axe, begin building up those skills, and reap the benefits of its magic right away? If this system feels too restrictive, weapons could be organized into families that partially or fully share the benefits of progress (e.g., all swords).

Holy Relics

Want to be a cleric? Your connection to the divine is only as strong as the symbols, texts, reliquaries, and sacred bones you carry on your person.

It’s worth thinking about how relics should feel different from the tomes and scrolls of the wizard. Especially in a classless system, we need to be deliberate about how such things work, so it can’t be boiled down to interchangeable numbers and mechanics. 

The Knave 2E rules again provide a helpful way of thinking about this. Patrons, through shrines and relics, give characters missions. PCs completing them can gain blessings. The blessings can grow or wane as the PCs earn or lose favor with the patron.

So leveling up item-based divine powers depends on balancing the patron’s interests against the PC’s other goals and incentives in their adventuring life. And the patron could issue ever-more-demanding and important missions and become increasingly particular about the PC’s adherence to their domain. Finally, in contrast to PCs in many other fantasy RPGs, nothing prevents PCs from bearing relics for multiple patrons (potentially even opposed patrons). PCs can have as many relics as they wish, though the number of blessings active at any time is capped by their Charisma.

Tools and Tricks

Want to be a thief? You need tools.

Rogues and other “expert” classes suffer in high-magic fantasy games. Because of the insufficiently low level of abstraction in certain fantasy TTRPGs, there’s only so much room to plausibly scale mundane power. But in a low-magic game, it’s much easier to build expertise with tools with out exceeding the reasonable bounds of what characters can do in the world.

Some of these extrinsic advances are obvious; leveling up with the lockpick improves the ability to pick locks. There’s ample class-based progression in D&D and other games to model this. 

Leveling up a torch or lantern gives the user finer control over how the light is projected, who perceives it, and how it spreads fire. Leveling up a hacksaw allows one to cut through increasingly difficult materials, or to dismantle and destroy things with greater stealth and effectiveness. Leveling a smoke bomb allows one to use it with progressively less chance of blinding themselves, or even their allies. 

But what does it mean to become more experienced with a chisel? Or glue? Or a birdcage? Or a mule?

OK, I don’t have an answer for every tool in the Knave 2E book. Some of the more abstract, less obvious options would require a dialogue with the player to understand what they want to do and how they are mentally modeling their character’s use of the tool in question. But we can test out some examples. 

Multiclassing and Multitasking

I’ve used the four classic class archetypes of D&D as a guide for thinking through leveling options. But in a classless game like Knave, there’s no need to steer into just one course. A character could level up some mix of gear that meets the actual challenges they face and the particular concept that emerges from play.

Gear-Based Leveling and the Allure of Extrinsic Rewards

A thought-provoking post on the Kill It With Fire! blog presents a method for leveling up spells through frequent use. I like this idea across several dimensions. I enjoy that it combines similar spells from the same “family” of effects into one idea. This approach cuts through the built-up layers of spells in modern D&D and similar games, where too many similar effects work in slightly different ways rather than hewing to a coherent, simple framework.

But more importantly, leveling up things that the PCs can acquire focuses the game on extrinsic gains rather than intrinsic ones. Many RPGs (especially fantasy games) have some sense of gear progression. Getting better armor or a magic weapon is a standard feature of the genre. But modern D&D focuses on intrinsic gains (principally class progression) over extrinsic ones (better gear or other “things” acquired in the game world).

The advantages of extrinsic gains are clear.

Creating Verisimilitude. It’s a common complaint in RPGs. “Why did the thief’s Pick Pockets skill improve when they didn’t use that ability a single time in between character creation and reaching level 2?” That’s not necessarily a problem that needs to be solved. It’s OK for mechanics to imply off-screen events, and working too hard to “fix” those “problems” fetishizes realism over verisimilitude. But upgrading gear neatly avoids this issue, by tying advancement to the character’s actual choices and actions in session. You only get better with the tools you actually use.

Justifying Adventure. If leveling up is about unlocking intrinsic abilities, many players will seek the path of least resistance. They’ll stay in town as much as possible. At dungeons or adventuring sites, they’ll avoid risky gambles and pick conservative approaches. Who cares if they don’t find all of the treasure? As long as they are leveling up, they know they’ll get stronger. Equipment-focused extrinsic advancement avoids this problem. The PCs must go to dangerous places to get the really good stuff.

Going Places. Kill It With Fire uses dungeons visited as the metric for advancement. I think that’s right for a sandbox campaign. In a megadungeon campaign, it could be rooms explored, or dungeon levels visited. A more crunchy, tactical game could count combat encounters. A game about outdoor survival, exploration, and travel could use cities visited. The important thing is that advancement is tied to things or events out there in the world, not something within the characters.

In my next post, I'll go through this approach using Knave as a baseline. I think a classless game like Knave is particularly well-suited to this form of leveling, because the equipment a PC carries basically defines their “class,” with the option to “respec” whenever needed. But it could be applied to a class system as well, as long as it was sufficiently rules-light to accommodate the additional mechanical layer.

Next week: Four Examples of Extrinsic Leveling

Anachronistic Weapons Aging Like Fine Wine

Everyone loves swords. And not just for fantasy games. In every game. No one cares if they’re anachronistic and don’t make sense. They’ll use them anyway. Swords in our modern games. Swords in our sci-fi games. Does it make sense that the mecha fights with a sword? No. No one cares.

It’s OK if it doesn’t make sense. It is more important for a game to be fun than to be realistic. But thinking about why swords are in the game can build verisimilitude that makes the game more engaging and interesting. So what kind of worldbuilding would support introducing old weapons into modern or futuristic games?

Ancient Weapons, Ample Power

Here is one idea. When a weapon is first created, it works as expected. The vast majority of weapons are destroyed, lost, or worn down to uselessness over time.

A few weapons survive though some combination of luck, craftsmanship, and careful preservation. Through magic or whatever equivalent supernormal force exists in the setting in question, these weapons slowly accumulate an animus of power. The longer they continue to exist in a usable state, the stronger they become. If they continue to see active use through the years, they accumulate power more quickly.

These need to be genuine weapons designed for use in combat. This does not include weapons designed for ceremonial or “parade” purposes – it only applies to weapons used in actual battle, with the intent to inflict harm. 

Such weapons become more deadly and powerful. But they’re not supernaturally durable, and can’t be substantially changed from their original construction; they can’t be reforged or re-engineered with more modern techniques and materials. Any repair or maintenance would have to stick to comparable materials and techniques from the weapon’s creation. A neanderthal’s obsidian axe would be immensely powerful because of its great age, but could only be used a few times before it would break. An ancient stone arrowhead would likewise be very powerful, but comparatively fragile.

In this world, this aspect of weapons is a relatively new discovery. Perhaps someone can mass-produce modern weapons that would take advantage of this quality in several hundred years, but that’s outside the scope of the game world. For the time being, those who wish to leverage the power of these ancient weapons must find the rare pieces in museums or private collections or ancient battlefields that survived to the present.

Parceling out the GM's Hats

There are TTRPG games with a traditional GM, and there are GM-less games. Is there any useful space in between? 

I previously wrote about games in which the GM role switches mid-session. As I said at the time, I think that mid-session-switching games will only appeal to a narrow band of experienced players. If your entire group is made up of GMs who have past experience running games, sure, no problem. But that’s not most groups.

I started thinking about this some more after some conversations with several players who had strong creative instincts, but were reluctant to run their own games. I generally believe that most people are too hesitant to try running a game. They believe it’s a unique skill that they don’t possess. I usually advise them that it’s much easier than they realize, and they should at least run a one-shot to try it out. And I still believe that.

But after those conversations, I also realized that the reasons players don’t want to run games are more nuanced than just hesitation. Some potential GMs love worldbuilding, but hate rules. Some are interested in tactical and crunchy mechanics, but don’t like portraying NPCs. Some are happy to act as a master of ceremonies, but don’t want to serve as a judge. 

Some of these preferences are things these people should interrogate to see just how deeply they are rooted. But some of them are just hard stops, and keep people from running games, if they aren’t comfortable wearing each of the hats on the GM’s many-armed hat rack.

So could we divide GM duties into different roles?

A couple caveats before I proceed. I have not (yet) tested this idea in a game, so it could shatter on impact with actual players. I’m also sure that some game has done this before; I just don’t know which game it is. I’m not suggesting that this is a completely new idea.

The Architect. This is the part of the GM job concerned with creating stuff during prep. It might be worldbuilding or dungeon maps or even creating monsters. Players who love laboring over intricate backstories and lore are well-suited to this role.

The Actor. This role characterizes NPCs. Players who enjoy roleplay itself will gravitate toward this role.

The Adjudicator. This is the judge, the GM who interprets the dice and the action of the world. Players who know the rules front to back often enjoy this role.

The Antagonist. The antagonist is simply a player who controls monsters and other hostile creatures. Their resources are limited to what the Architect has placed in the current milieu; but they can otherwise devote their tactical energy to providing a challenge for the players. A player who loves combat – or just coming up with complex plans and ambushes – can handle this role.

This is a simplified model; we could make a longer list if we needed to. And most games won’t need or want four different GMs. But two people could wear two hats each; for example, a creative type who enjoys serving as architect and actor, while leaving the crunchy stuff to a second GM who acts as adjudicator and antagonist. And these roles can’t cover everything the GM is required to do; the GMs would need to navigate places where their roles leave gaps, or overlap. But I believe it would be an interesting experiment.

Searching for the Answer

“Is there anything else interesting?”

“I look around some more to see if there is anything unusual.”

“I search the whole room for anything useful.”

Anyone who has GM’d more than a few games has probably heard variations on these statements from players -- particularly in games with serious exploration elements. The players know (or at least suspect) that there is something worth interacting with in the space. Something that will get them what they want – treasure, information, or an edge in a potential conflict. So they ask again for more detail on the place they're exploring. And ask again. And again.

I don’t think players are intending to misbehave here. Navigating a shared imagined space, primarily through question-and-answer, is difficult in the best of circumstances. The players are trying to engage with the fiction. 

But when players try to move forward by repeatedly executing general searches, it feels like moving around the room in a video game while blindly spamming the action/interact button. That’s understandable when you get stuck in a video game, as there are limited ways to communicate with the game. Sometimes you have to either look things up, or brute force it.

But the GM does not suffer from that limitation. The players can (and should) ask any number of variations on their questions. The GM just needs to help them understand how that dialogue works.

I’ve found it helpful to explain that when players want to extract more information from the physical space their character is interacting with, one of two things is possible*:

• When I (as GM) introduced the fictional space or set the scene, I listed everything that was of interest; I did not purposefully omit anything their character would be interested in.
• If there is something they would be interested in beyond what I identified at the beginning of the scene, it will only become apparent through deeper interaction with the objects and people already established.

*I suppose that “I forgot something” is another possibility, but that’s not something the player can solve; I need to correct those errors on my own time.

It can also help to simply prompt the player to be more specific. The illustrative examples I provided at the start of this post are characterized by their ambiguity and generalness. So the GM should ask more questions to advance the scene. 

• What do you mean by “interesting”? This tomb has been sealed for a thousand years, there are many “interesting” things within it. What specifically would be most interesting to your character in this space? 
• What do you mean by useful? Were you expecting to find something in particular in this space? What particular problem is front-of-mind for you right now?
• What do you mean by unusual? You’re exploring an alien spaceship. Everything about it is fundamentally unusual. Where are you focusing your attention?