The Creation of Narrative in Tabletop Role-Playing Games Part 4

In addition to inspiring novels and stories, campaigns often inspire adventure modules. However, the relationship between modules and novels is quite different. In my interview with Monte Cook, he explained that he often tested ideas for his rule book or module by playing them with his gaming group. Likewise, the original Temple module comes from Gygaxas personal gaming group (C. Broadhurst, personal communication, July 1, 2009). In the module itself, Gygax seems to digress and talk about his personal campaign a bit in his notes for the DM. When he talks about the world of Greyhawk setting, he explains, aThis epic adventure formed the basis for a mini-campaign within the larger Greyhawk campaign. It wasnat exactly a side show, as it turned out, but the adventuring began that waya (Gygax & Mentzer, 1985, p. 28). Although I was not able to interview anyone from the original Greyhawk campaign, this line seems to indicate that the players within that campaign may have steered things toward a certain direction so that Templebecame even more important than Gygax had originally envisioned. They arenat given authorship credit for the publication of the module, but the players no doubt guided Gygaxas creation of the Temple story.

The RPGA provides a particularly interesting example of how players affect the writing of modules and the creation of storyworlds. Under 3rd edition D&D rules the RPGA games took place in the Greyhawk universe, but since 4th edition, they now happen in Forgotten Realms. Players from a small home campaign, like Sorpraedor, often influence the DM as he or she creates the story and world but the RPGA boasts members from around the globe, and players may not consistently meet with the same group or have the same DM. Yet, in order to maintain consistency in this world, the members that write modules must be aware of what has happened before in that game universe, and DMs must stick more closely to the written module than they would in a home campaign. Creighton Broadhurst, who was in charge of the core modules for the Living Greyhawk world, explains that if a DM ventures too far off the pre-written adventure, players might get confused in subsequent RPGA adventures (personal communication, July 1, 2009). In addition, players report the results of the module to the RPGA and based on the most consistent result, RPGA leaders determine the official conclusion to an adventure. In this way the actions players take in their gaming session affect the way the game in the larger community progresses. Broadhurst explains, aThis official result affects the region in which the adventure is set and in the case of the Forgotten Realms may influence future productsa (personal communication, July 1, 2009). Writers for RPGA modules often come from within the RPGA community rather than being outside game designers. Players, DMs, and game writers all work together to provide a coherent story within this larger group.

Unlike the modules that Cook and Gygax wrote based on their own long-standing games, RPGA writers must continually produce modules that will be used by the group. Adventures are released on a weekly basis (www.wizards.com). These modules may not come from campaigns that are already complete but will help shape the larger campaign world of the organization; a world that multiple authors, DMs, players, and module writers continually contribute to. The RPGA writer must also be aware of the feedback from players and the way they are taking the adventure, but these players will not just be from an individual group. Rather, these players come from a collective that has played that adventure in many smaller groups with many different variations. Since Living Greyhawk, Wizards of the Coast and the RPGA have begun to adapt the way things are run to incorporate even more player feedback. Answers to adventure questions are collected from those that have played a particular module so that future writers will be aware what types of activities are happening throughout the campaign world. Although shared-world campaigning originally discouraged the DM from making adjustments, the RPGA now boasts that aDMs are now empowered to adjust adventures to accomplish this task, just like they would in their home gamesa (Tulach, 2008). It appears that the increased amount of feedback collected from the RPGA has enabled Wizards of the Coast to produce modules that more directly respond to the wants and needs of their players. While it is tempting to say that the module writers are the primary authors of RPGA adventures, what they write is based in part on the results reported by the players.

The main difference in how a DM in a home campaign might make use of a module is in terms of the way he or she incorporates that module along side other texts. Rather than use the text as is, the DM building a home campaign often samples from various modules to create his or her own world and story. In terms of the Sorpraedor campaign, it is difficult to trace the influence and use of gaming modules. Unlike the core rule books, modules are often published by various authors and companies, and often these smaller companies do not last. One of the key settings in Sorpraedor was the city of Gateway, which came from the module aGateway: City of Living Watera by Darrin Drader and Tony Bounds. This module was published in 2001 by Dark Portal Games. It was one of the many that took advantage of the Open Gaming License to publish D&D adventures using the d20 system. However, Dark Portal Games went out of business and what used to be a free PDF on their website became difficult to obtain. In addition, Scott found it difficult to remember exactly what parts of the Sorpraedor adventure he had taken from which source and what had made up completely from whole cloth. When questioned about the Blaze Arrow adventure, he thought that it was mostly spontaneous; however, he later mentioned that he did remember reading a module that may have influenced the gaming session but could not recall the details. This lack of distinction between text created by the DM and text created by game designers shows just how problematic the idea of authorship is within the TRPG, particularly in a home run campaign. The DM will take a snippet here, and idea therea"a name, a map, a charactera"and will incorporate these into his or her own world. This sort of atextual poaching,a to use Jenkinsas (1992) word to describe the way that fans rewrite TV shows, is common and acceptable in home TRPGs.

Unlike fan fiction writers, who take the text in a direction that the TV producers and writers donat necessarily support, TPRG modules are meant to be adapted in this way. As previously discussed, they are written more like technical manuals than novels. These various sections help ill.u.s.trate that modules are indeed manuals rather than stories themselves. They follow a fairly rigid formula that begins with an introduction, adventure background, synopsis, and adventure hooks (www.wizards.com). After the summary of the key parts of the adventure, the adventure hooks are designed to get the players interested in starting the adventure and give their characters a reason for being there. Often these hooks antic.i.p.ate that the players have been together for a while in a regular campaign setting. After the adventure hooks, the writer of the module outlines encounters. Encounters are any actions that take place in the game. Often these are combats that occur where the players fight a monster, but they can also be key locations where players must interact with a Non-Player Character (NPC) or gain an important clue.

Of course, the players can always take the encounters in a different direction. A module may detail how a monster will fight in combat and be designed for such a combat to occur, but the players may decide (like we did with the orcs at Blaze Arrow) to negotiate, and the DM may have to come up with a completely different response from what is dictated in the module. When I DMed the Speaker in Dreams module, I found that the text in the module gave me tips for combat and the skills and abilities I needed for the NPCs to fight; however, it gave me no insight as to how to initiate the combat or what to do if the players did not engage in combat. As an inexperienced DM, who naively thought I could just follow what was in the book, this lead to an awkward moment where the characters entered a room, saw the NPCs, and stood there. Unsure how to get things started, I had the NPCs immediately become threatening and tell the characters to leave or else. This signaled to the players that a combat was the intended outcome of entering that room, but did not prove for a very interesting story. A good DM must take an authorial role at this point, come up with dialog, and engage the characters and players in the encounter. Interestingly, module writing has shifted from the early days of Temple where Gygax and Mentzer organized the module by location rather than encounter and included many superfluous locations where no encounters would take place. Either method gives the DM a great deal of flexibility. When extra locations that do not have encounters included, the DM can exercise creativity to make these locations interesting or to add encounters. When the module is organized by encounters, the DM may need to add additional locations to complete the world and answer player questions.

For Scott, the Gateway module served more as a location for his own story than as a story of its own. This particular module was designed more as a setting and was organized around locations in the town of Gateway. Scott took the map from the module along with the general description of the city and incorporated them into the world of Sorpraedor. For example, the city in the module is powered on water turbines, has a large population of n.o.bles, and several powerful thievesa guilds. These elements were all key in the city of Gateway in the Sorpraedor campaign. For example, a larger story element within Sorpraedor was the growing discontent of the gnome population. Within Gateway, Scott decided that the gnomes were the one responsible for maintaining and running the water turbines that powered the city. Thus, as tensions increased within the gnome community, the city gradually began to fall apart. The gnomes went on strike, and eventually refused to operate the turbines altogether. The player characters were involved in this plot only to a small degree, although they could have pursued it more if they had chosen. Instead, the party pursued one of the key underground guilds, the Obsidian Brotherhood, which was based loosely on the Scarlet Sashes from the Gateway module. In this way, the DM must author many possible stories, but be willing to go whichever direction the players choose. In our case, the party was scarcely aware of the gnome problema"despite a series of clues and hints provideda"until the entire city of Gateway shut down, and we were forced to leave. Because the players did not choose to pursue this plotline, it was auth.o.r.ed more solely by the DM than through collaborative effort; however, other plotlines were auth.o.r.ed more by players.

Re-writing Rule Books.

Although modules are often used in both home campaigns and RPGA gatherings, the game rule books always serve as a key text that the players and DM interact with. Three main rule books are needed to play D&D. These books include the Playeras Handbook, The Dungeon Masteras Guide (DMG), and The Monster Manual. The first is necessary for players in the game while the DM will likely use all three books. As new editions of D&D have been released, these books have been changed and updated, but the same three books remain essential. The Playeras Handbook contains information needed to create and run a character, including character cla.s.ses, spells, feats, skills, and even possible deities for characters to worship. The Dungeon Masteras Guide is what a DM will need for running a campaign, including information on how to distribute experience points, create NPCs, and treasure that can be purchased or gained as rewards. The Monster Manual is also a tool for use by the DM that gives stats for various monsters that the players may fight in the game. In addition to these three core books, there are a large variety of additional materials available for both the DM and the player. For example, a player may acquire a book that is specific to the character cla.s.s he or she wants to play. I used a book called Tome and Blood (Cordell & Williams, 2001) designed for magic users that listed additional spells and additional cla.s.ses that my character could eventually gain. Likewise, a DM might use a book that details a campaign setting, such as Forgotten Realms.

Again, we might say that the writers of the rule books are primary authors, but as I have noted, these rule books are not the final say on the way that the game is run. The DM has control (authorship, if you will) over the campaign world and the rules used in his or her game, and this is particularly true of a home campaign where the DM can inst.i.tute new rules. Rather than use a pre-made campaign settings (as one would in the RPGA), Scott created Sorpraedor himself, and he wanted certain things to be true about the world that did not line up perfectly with the rule books. In terms of being a continuity editor, the changes he made to the rules were also important to maintaining the realism and consistency he wanted in his world. To explain the way the DM, the rule books, and the players interact, I turn to an email exchange between Scott and Mark. This exchange occurred after Mark had been playing in the game for approximately a year and half. At this point, he began to feel frustrated at the amount of treasure his character received and asked Scott to explain his philosophy on this point. Mark writes: Realize that a real discrepancy exists between where Cuthalion is, and where I expected him to be in terms of wealth and magic items... This discrepancy exists because a smaller amount of treasure is being handed out than I had antic.i.p.ated, and the free market economy you created is eroding the value of what we do take away. Cuthalion is a 9th level charactera"almost 10th level. 9,000 GP shy of where the v3.5 DMG would put his wealth as a 9th level character.

Mark refers here to his expectations for his character, and it seems clear that these expectations come from the DMG rule book. His character has significantly less in the way of gold pieces (GPs) than if he were to start a character at 9th level and take the recommended amount of gold from the rule book. This discrepancy concerns Mark because he feels that players might be encouraged to discard a character they are currently playing and start over with a character that has more gold; something he considers doing with Cuthalion. An inconsistency like this would not happen in the RPGA where it is important that characters of a certain level are equal to other characters of that level in case the player moves to a different adventure with a different DM.

However, Scottas response to Mark clearly shows how and why a DM might change rules from a book to fit a specific campaign.

Part of my philosophy for the world is that magic isnat uncommon, not by any means, but it *is* special. Wars are fought over it, entire races die in pursuit of it, eons of conquest and feuding have been wagered on acquiring and taming it.

In the world of Sorpraedor, Scott does not envision that any character can just walk into a store and buy the powerful magic item that the player sees in the DMG. In fact, to maintain consistent logic within the world, he made certain items particularly difficult to obtain. Mark had wanted to purchase a special type of arrow designed for killing undead creatures. He inquired about it at a local merchant and was told that it was not readily available and would have to be created specially for him, costing 500 GPs more than the listed price for such an item in the DMG. Mark baulked at the exorbitant price, to which Scott responded: I am not trying to penalize a character for thinking, planning, and being smart and figuring out anything, I am just accounting for the rarity of an item. Take, for example, your idea of buying undead slaying arrows because you think a vampire is in control of the city. Donat you think the vampire would be rather irate if his smiths were cranking out undead killing stuff? So, prices will be higher to compensate cost.

We see here that Scott does use the rule books, but that he also changes things as is fitting for his world and his campaign.2 He does acknowledge that undead slaying arrows exist as an item that can be found both in the rule book and in his world. However, since a vampire is in charge of the city, Scott makes it more difficult to obtain this item. His change to the rule book not only is consistent with the world of Sorpraedor, but no doubt signals to Mark that he is correct about the leader of the city being a vampire. The fact that the merchants donat seem to carry items for fighting undead also signals to Mark (playing Cuthalion) that the people in the city know that their leader is one of the undead, and that they have perhaps had unpleasant encounters with him in the past.

In addition, Scottas response to Mark on the issue of the game being light on treasure shows that he also adapts the game to fit the players and their needs. Dividing up treasure can be problematic for any gaming group. Rather than being a.s.signed to any one player, the DM usually lets the entire party know what riches are discovered in an adventure and leaves it up to them to divide the spoils. After much deliberation, the Sorpraedor group decided that the total value of all the items would be divided evenly among the players, and then they could decide to either take that gold piece sum or abuya one of the items found in the treasure from the group. This method worked well in terms of equitable distribution but made it so that it was unlikely that a really valuable magic item would remain in the group since the chance of any one player being able to afford an item were slim.

All of the decisions on how to divide treasure were made through negotiation among the players in the group, and the DM did not vote or express an opinion on how this should be done. However, he did compensate for the decision made by the players in the way that he handed out treasure. Scott explained to Mark: The way the party divides treasure means that if I put a +3 flaming sword in the haul, even if one of the group wanted it, they couldnat afford it as their share unless I made everything else in the haul worth 32,000gp each as well. So, I put items that *could* be powerful in a haul, so that if someone takes the right item, it will grow with them.

What Scott alludes to here is a type of item he created called leveled items. He got the idea for this modification from an official Wizards of the Coast publication, Dragon magazine, but made his own items specific for the characters in the Sorpraedor campaign. These items would gain powers as they went, as characters do. Usually when characters meet a challenge in the game, they are awarded experience points. Characters gain experience points and new skills, but items are not usually malleable like this. However, leveled items can be given some of a characteras experience points and can also level up and gain new features. By adding these items to the game, Scott was able to give the party a seemingly low powered item in a haul, but that item might feel special to a particular character and might become more powerful with time. This prevented the players from simply selling all the best magic items. For example, Whisper was obsessed with dragons and found a pair of dragonskin gloves. These gloves did not seem overly valuable at first, but my character was instantly attracted to them and took them as her share of the treasure. As she gave experience points to the gloves, she was given choices such as whether she wanted them to be thicker and more protective or whether she wanted them to help her do damage. In this manner, I was able to work with Scott to create a powerful magic item for my character that would be unique and not available in any rule books. Adding these items to the game also allowed Scott to adjust the typical rules to make magic items more accessible within the method of treasure distribution decided upon by his specific gaming group; but to also make magic more special as per his philosophy for the world of Sorpraedor. Had my gloves been found at full power either in a treasure horde or a magic shop in Sorpraedor, I would likely have not been able to afford them. Because Scott was working with five players rather than an entire community, as seen in the RPGA, he was able to adjust these rules to fit our game and his vision for the storyworld.

Collaborative Storytelling.

The DM works from published texts, such as modules and rule books, but must also accommodate different types of players with different styles of gaming and somehow pull together a coherent adventure. While Broadhurst explains that the author of an RPGA module acanat make any specific a.s.sumptions about the party mix and so cannot design encounters which require a specific power/cla.s.s/race/etc to overcomea (personal communication, July 1, 2009), the home DM knows exactly who his players and characters are and can allow them to influence the story more directly. As I mentioned, the dragonskin gloves were created solely with my character in mind. The DM will steer players toward things that he knows will interest them. This level of attentiveness is most common in on-going campaigns where the DM knows the players and their characters well; however, this might happen on a more general level in other gaming session, such as guiding the wizard in the party toward the magic item. In so-doing, we see the DM in the role of director and producer rather than sole author. A good DM must allow the players a chance to partic.i.p.ate and author their own characters and parts of the world, but he must still direct these activities to fit in with the world and story he has auth.o.r.ed.

In the world of Sorpraedor, Mary was particularly involved in authoring Maureenas story, in part due to her gaming style and in part due to her absences from multiple gaming sessions. A player missing a gaming session can cause a hole in the coherence of the game, one that the DM must carefully mend. When Mark missed a session he left Cuthalion in the hands of other players, but when Mary missed out, she worked collaboratively with Scott, over email and in person, to devise an alternate plotline for Maureen. Maureenas unique storyline started from her conception as a character. Mary decided that her character, a rogue, was in jail at one point and worked with Scott to come up with the specifics of the backstory. In a personal email, she expressed this idea to Scott, explaining that she hoped her character could have escaped from a prison and have evil enemies pursuing her. Scott replied with some ideas on how to work this into the already existing Sorpraedor campaign: There is a rogueas guild (or four) in the city of Gateway. One of them in particular is very displeased with Whisper and her party. What better place for someone on the run to go, but to people who also are hated by your nemesis? Perhaps you even used to be a part of this organization and you can only leave feet first, unless you are a resourceful rogue who manages to escape.

Thus, Scott folded in Maryas idea for a character backstory with already existing parts of the Sorpraedor world. Adding a pre-existing relationship between Maureen and the Obsidian Brotherhood gang, added to the interest of the group in this particular plotline. A player and character with an individual stake in a particular event or plot can thus steer the party in a particular direction.

Individually oriented plots like this can also give players more of a chance to narrate their own stories. Mary (playing Maureen) ended up knowing a great deal of information that the party as a whole was not privy to. In chapter 3, I noted that much of the plot and storyline behind Temple was written in the module, but not presented as text for the DM to read aloud. Thus, it was up to each DM what information to reveal to players and when. By giving Mary her own plotline, Scott turned some of this power over to her. She knew key information that she could share with the party when (and if) she pleased. Because the game continued over the course of many sessions, this power could more easily be turned over to a player than if all of the information needed conveyed in a short 4a"6 hour time span, as might be the case for a one-time RPGA adventure.

Mary chose to narrate only small bits of the story to the group. She also used the opportunity to develop an individualized plotline as a chance to engage with adult themes that might not have come up as frequently in regular face-to-face gameplay. She requested that her character be a victim of torture and become involved in drug use. Scott responded with a narrative email telling the story of Maureenas capture and imprisonment, complete with the torture of being forcibly tattooed. He told Mary clearly that she could share as much or as little of this story as she wanted with the group. Maureen showed the party her tattoo, but did not explain the entire story that Mary and Scott had worked together to create. As a result, the group spent a good deal of time trying to figure out if the tattoo was magical and if the Obsidian Brotherhood were using it to spy on the party. It also raised suspicion among the group as to where Maureen had come from and just what she had been up to. In the story of Blaze Arrow, we see the party capture and interrogate a would-be a.s.sa.s.sin who has attacked their camp. Whisper a.s.sumed, as did I, that this attacker was sent by one of her previous enemies, and interrogates the prisoner about Thaddeus, the drow. However, the captive responds that he was sent by Soren, a name I did not recognize. This name was unknown to any of the party except for Mary (playing Maureen). Soren was her connection in the Obsidian Brotherhood and the one who had tortured her in prison. Rather than reveal this plotline, Maureen killed the prisoner, leaving the rest of the party somewhat baffled.

The example of the warning from Soren shows how the DM can manage multiple plotlines designed for individual players and how individual players can a.s.sume a degree of authorship over these plotlines. Mary could have explained to us about her imprisonment and could have revealed to the party who Soren was. Instead, she remained quiet, maintaining her own control over her characteras story rather than offering if up for group consumption. Although the example of Maureenas individual story is quite p.r.o.nounced, it was not uncommon for Scott to give different clues to different party members, giving them the choice of which parts of the story to share with others and, thus, which storylines to follow as a group, individually, or not at all.

Defining the Authora"Reader Relationship.

As I have shown from these multiple examples from the Sorpraedor campaign, the DM does not maintain one simple relationship with the text of the TRPG but must actively engage in role shifting as he or she prepares for and runs a gaming session. The same is true for the player. The DM and players are readers when it comes to rule books and modules. In fact, they may consume these texts in a rather traditional manner by reading them thoroughly and may memorize a good deal of information from them. However, the reader dynamic is turned on its head once the DM incorporates these texts within actual gameplay. When confronted with a group of players, the DM is expected to know the rules but is also expected to modify them as needed to fit the needs of the group and the story. When Mark challenged Scott on the amount of treasure available in the Sorpraedor world, he seemed satisfied with the response he received. Mark did not seem to mind Scottas lack of adherence to the rule books as long as there was a reason for adapting them within the individual game rather than simply ignoring or being ignorant of the rules.

Mackay (2001) notes that the game system aestablishes the setting, tone, and direction of each narrativea yet the DM steers that narrative (p. 47). The particular narratives that come out of using a module or campaign setting may be unantic.i.p.ated by the writer of that text. Yet, these materials are designed to be taken in different directions and to be used as tools, so the DM ultimately performs the function that is expected by the game designer, who creates the rule books and modules not as stories themselves but as manuals to guide the DM and players in creating a story. It is only when we try to compare this relationship to more traditional texts, such as novels or even television shows, that the authora"reader dynamic truly seems disrupted.

Both game designers and DMs can function as primary authors. Monte Cook explains the odd relationship between being a game designer and being a gamemaster or DM: The biggest difference between a game designer and a gamemaster is that the gamemaster knows the players, knows the way their characters are and can react to those kind of things. Itas kind of weird writing an adventure for publication. Itas like youare creating a story, but you donat know who the characters are [M. Cook, personal communication, June 30, 2009].

Using the tool set of modules and rule books, the DM creates something newa"authors a new world with new stories and characters, and in doing so they must respond to the needs of their specific players. The players could then be seen as the readers. Mackay (2001) says that this is the most common relationship between the DM and players, but that shifting between frames can cause a break between reader and author (p. 134). In terms of my model from chapter 5, we can see that the DM may surrender authorial control when a shift occurs from narrative speech to narrative planning speech where he will let the players interact with each other to determine a course of action. However, when we shift back to the narrative frame, the DM is again in control. As Mackay (2001) notes, the players may control actions, but the DM controls the results of those actions (p. 94). Fine (1983) also explains that the DM can re-roll dice or otherwise alter events, thus preserving the notion of him as author over the text created in the gaming session (p. 113). The players have agency, even tertiary authorship, but the DM maintains primary or secondary authorship in these cases. The players, as readers, break the standard authora"reader relationship by taking the narrative in a direction not antic.i.p.ated by the DM. Yet, like the game designers, an experienced DM is one that thinks on his or her feet and is not surprised by players going somewhere or doing something unexpected. Once again we find that rather than rebellious readers taking a text somewhere it was not intended to go, the players fulfill what is their expected role within the genre of the TRPG.

A better a.n.a.logy for the DMa"player relationship might be that of a director and actors. A director may come prepared with a script, but the actor may add some dialog of his or her own or portray the character in an unexpected way. Another way to see this relationship would be to see the groupa"both players and DMsa"as collaborative authors with the DM having editorial control over the final text. All authors contribute to the text, but the editor decides the final shape of that text. Yet, none of these metaphors are a perfect fit for the DMa"player dynamic. While directors and actors and editors and writers work together for a coherent text, DMs and players may hide things from each other. Often the information is all threaded through the DM, but sometimes players may keep certain facts about their characters private. Mary could have envisioned her own tortured past for Maureen and let this affect her actions in the game but not have told anyone, even the DM, the details of this past. In fact, this is probably more true of an RPGA game where a player shifts among DMs but keeps the same character. The player does not have time to fully explain the backstory or to work as collaboratively with multiple DMs as Mary did with Scott. Such an example, however, might be seen as too far removed from the gaming session to actually be included as a part of the text. A more common scenario is one in which the DM knows each piece of the story but players do not share bits of information with each other, or the DM withholds information from the entire group. Doing this can increase the suspense of the game and can lead to a richer story.

Finally, Murray (1998) offers one last metaphor for the role of the DMa"that of a bard. She explains that if we reconceptualize authorship in terms of a bard, we can athink of it not as the inscribing of a fixed written text but as the invention and arrangement of the expressive patters that const.i.tute a multiform storya (Murray, 1998, p. 194). A bard, by Murrayas (1998) description, chooses bits and pieces of stories to create his or her own (p. 188). A bard also responds to a live audience, noting which direction of the story they are interested in hearing. In fact, one can imagine that a bard might even allow members of the audience to take over parts of the story and tell them, although not in the same way we see in the TRPG. The metaphor of the bard also seems fitting, and somewhat ironic, because it is one of the character cla.s.ses available in D&D.

Whatever metaphor we chose to represent the relationship between the DM and players, we clearly see that the TRPG does not follow the traditional notion of the author and reader. We also see that DM and player roles change depending on the type of game and game setting. A home campaign is not the same as an RPGA campaign, yet in both we see an interaction with texts that is productive. While it is difficult to define who is the author and who is the reader, we can see that acts of authorship continually occur in relation to the TRPG. When a game designer sits down to write a module, he or she does so as an author. When the DM creates his or her own world, he or she does so as an author. In Hammeras (2007) terms, these are both acts of primary authorship. However, when a player creates a character complete with a full narrative backstory, he or she also does so as a primary author. When the DM takes that character backstory and uses it in their campaign setting, they become secondary authors, just as when they take settings from published works by game designers. Likewise, both DMs and players work together as tertiary authors to bring the world they have created as primary or secondary authors to life. According to Aa.r.s.eth (1997), athe reader is (and has always been) a necessary part of the text, but one that we now realize can (or must) perform more than one functiona (p. 74). While it is often argued that digital texts are reason for a revolution in readera"authora"text dynamics, the TRPG offers a clear example of how this dynamic is not new, although it may be more prevalent in a digital world. The TRPG as a text is collaborative; it is multi-vocal, but it is not just the text that must take on multiple voices. The playersa"including the DMa"must simultaneously play the role of the reader as well as the primary, secondary and tertiary author.

8.

The Culture of TRPG Fans.

Throughout this book, I have looked at the ways that tabletop role-playing games (TRPGs) foster narratives. In chapter 5, I divided the actual gaming session into three spheres that access different worlds and are governed by different logic. Of these spheres, the final sphere was the social sphere, and it is the one that I turn to in this penultimate chapter. As we have seen, social interaction is often the least important to developing the story and has the least degree of narrativity. It is, nevertheless, a key reason why players engage in TRPGs. It also contributes to the sense of agency they receive from their partic.i.p.ation. However, my model only looked at the social sphere within individual gaming sessions, not at the larger social sphere of the gaming community. Fans of TRPGs form their own niche group in society and often meet at gaming stores or larger gaming conventions. The significant of the TRPG is not only textual: it is social and cultural.

Gaming culture has recently become a part of the scholarly discussion of fan culture, or fandom. Although fans engage in a variety of activities, which may include role-playing, the genre that has garnished the most attention is fan fiction, where fans write their own stories based on TV shows or other artifacts of popular culture. In order to explain what attracts people to gaming as a particular subculture, I compare gaming to the subculture of television fandom, as presented by Henry Jenkins in his book (1992) Textual Poachers. Aa.r.s.eth (1997) mentions Henry Jenkinsas work on fandom as another example of textual transformation (p. 164), and the type of productive interactivity that is seen in TRPGs is very similar to the activities Jenkins discusses. It was in fan communities (specifically fantasy and science fiction fans) that Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) first became popular, and it has retained its popularity in these communities (Mackay, 2001, p. 16). In fact, Crawford and Rutter (2007) suggest that gaming in general should be considered as a part of studying fandom (p. 271). Can TRPG players be considered just another group within the larger fandom subculture or does it represent its own culture?

Perhaps gaming is a part of fandom as a whole. Certainly, we see gaming tracks at fan conventions along side science fiction and fantasy TV film stars. But we must keep in mind that a variety of fans exist. To call fandom one coherent community is misleading. In this chapter, I begin by looking at gamers as members of partic.i.p.atory culture and by comparing the way they interact with texts to the way that fan fiction writers interact with texts. I explore what it means to partic.i.p.ate in fandom culture, and gaming culture. Ultimately, I show that this partic.i.p.ation is varied, and outline a typology of different types of fans and gamers.

Subcultures, Fan Cultures, and Consumer Culture.

In his article aHow aDungeonsa changed the world,a Bebergal (2004) explains that those who play TRPGs feel marginalized by society, thus pushing them to form their own subsociety. Fine (1983) sets up his Shared Fantasy book as a study of the subculture of the TRPG. According to Fine (1983), a subculture must be distinct from other groups in society, must have common activities, and share cultural elements (p. 25). In addition, a subculture must have a network of communication for its members and both the members and those outside the subculture must recognize it as a separate group (Fine, 1983, p. 26).

Fine (1983) applies these criteria to tabletop gamers, and despite some changes, they still seem applicable. He estimates in 1979 that the TRPG base was 500,000 people, enough for its own subculture (p. 27). Wizards of the Coast estimates that as of 2006, four million people in the United States play D&D each month, with the worldwide numbers being even higher (www.wizards.com). This number also does not include gamers that play other TRPGs besides D&D. It seems, then, that there are still plenty of people to make up a subculture and, in fact, the hobby is more mainstream than at the time of Fineas study. Fine (1983) went on to note that playing the game is, itself, the activity shared by members of this culture. He also shows that common references and terms indicate that D&D players share cultural elements (p. 29). I would argue that this shared cultural reference has gone beyond terms to include lore surrounding adventures such as The Temple of Elemental Evil (Temple). Even if they have not played the game themselves, adventures such as this one form a common cultural background for players. In terms of communication, Fine (1983) mentions magazines and conventions as two of the main methods open for gamers to communicate with one another (pp. 32a"33). These are still important aspects of communication between gamers, but the Internet has expanded these to include message boards, blogs, and other online forums. The two main magazines about D&D, Dungeon and Dragon, are now only available online. Finally, in keeping with Fineas (1983) claim that members of a subculture distinguish themselves as such, I have already shown that both players of TRPGs and members of the larger gaming community distinguish the TRPG as separate from other types of gaming. All of these factors seem to indicate that Fine was correct in calling tabletop gamers a subculture; however, is this subculture the same as fandom and fan fiction subculture?

Both fan fiction writers and gamers use different toolsa"fan fiction and gaming sessionsa"but both respond to the dominant mainstream culture and react against the view of texts as objects of consumption. Jenkins (1992) and Mackay (2001) both refer to Roland Barthesa (1975) idea that re-reading is anot consumption but playa (p. 16). In the case of television fans this re-reading often takes place quite literally as fans continually re-watch episodes of their favorite series. Some fans then use incidents and characters in the series to write their own stories, called fan fiction. Gamers may return to the same game time and time again, but re-playing a TRPG adventure would be so different from session to session that I am hesitant to call this re-playing at all.

Instead of considering it re-reading or re-playing, Mackay (2001) proposes a Barthean-type process in which role-players created a new reality aderived from patterns established in the artifacts of popular culturea (p. 81). Like fans, gamers take bits and pieces of popular culture, such as the fantasy worlds of J.R.R. Tolkien, and re-appropriate them to create their own narratives. As we saw in the previous chapter, in the Sorpraedor campaign, the character Cuthalion was based on Tolkeinas aThe Silmarillion,a but still took on his own life in the Sorpraedor world. In addition, the new role-playing games that have come about in the last thirty years often use a pop culture setting and are often based on popular television series or movies such as Star Trek and Star Wars.

In a way, TRPGs based on popular media are gamersa way of interacting with these worlds, understanding them, and appropriating them as their own. Both gamers and fan fiction writers reject the sort of aesthetic distance that comes from simply reading or listening to a story (that is, from consumption) and instead seek their own narrative control over the text. Jenkins (1992) explains that for many fans, rejection of aesthetic distance is a rejection of authority. Instead of simply accepting the texts as they are presented, fans feel they have the right to offer their own interpretations. They aenter the realm of fiction as if it were a tangible place they can inhabit and explorea (Jenkins, 1992, p. 18). TRPGs offer popular fiction worlds, with the full possibility of exploring and inhabiting them during the gaming session but, furthermore, they offer players the ability to completely transform and control these worlds.

Mackay (2001) states that role-players arenat consumers because the TRPG is a process-performance. He explains that athe role-playing game exhibits a narrative, but this narrative does not exist until the actual performancea (Mackay, 2001, p. 50). Although players buy products, such as the rule books, the outcome of their games (the narrative that is created through gameplay) rarely becomes a consumer product. Similarly, while fans may invest in buying paraphernalia a.s.sociated with their fandom, the texts they create through fan fiction remain unpublished and are freely exchanged among members of the group. Although they are consumers in the sense that they buy products, fans and TRPG gamers do not consume these products. Rather, they use them to actively produce texts of their own.

A key difference between fan fiction writers and TRPG players, however, is the nature of the texts they create. Fan fiction writers use the original text, such as the Star Trek television series, to produce a new texta"their work of fan fiction. On the website www.fanfiction.net, one can find gamers writing D&D fan fiction that is based on their own gaming sessions, much like my writeup in the appendix. As we saw in chapter 7, the lines blur between fan fiction and fiction that is simply influenced by another text within pop culture. I would not consider Markas use of Tolkien to ultimately be fan fiction (though his initial story might be) because he continued to develop the character in a world that was not the world of Tolkien. Likewise, some D&D fan fiction writers base their work on their own campaigns and characters. Awww.fanfic.net user, Mute Bard, explains, aI am in the process of turning game sessions into Prose narrative. D&D is perfect for telling a story, as even the author doesnat know what is going to happen until it actually doesa (www.fanfiction.net). Although this story still takes place in the setting created by the Dungeon Master (DM), this type of writing seems distinctive from fan fiction in general because the writer of the fiction is in direct contact with the DM and shapes the story and characters through game play, rather than beginning from a more static text. Whether or not D&D players choose to later write a fictional story based on their gaming encounters, they still contribute to the creation of stories during the gaming session.

However, some of the stories on www.fanfic.net are based on D&D novels and characters created by other authors rather than actual campaigns. For example, a user named Tizai explains, aI had decided to base my next few stories on the Eye of the Beholder trilogy for a couple of reasons: I thought that the stories must be told and I have found only one other story (based on Eye of the Beholder 2)a (www.fanfiction.net). This type of fan fiction works from a preexisting text and, thus, these writers seem to fit more clearly under the label of fan fiction. In addition, it is important to recognize the difference between published D&D novels and fan fiction. Jenkins (1992) explains that fans expect something different from the published texts and often complain if they find them too afannish.a While R.A. Salvatoreas D&D novels add to a more complete textual universe, they are different than fan fiction in part because of the way they enter the economic system. Rather than being freely available and exchanged fan to fan, these books are sold by the gaming company for gamers to read and consume. As we have seen, these books are also not based directly on an already existing text; even if they make use of D&D rules, those rules do not already contain a narrative.

Furthermore, TRPGs as a genre are highly influenced by popular culture, and there are game settings and rule systems based entirely on television series. However, there is a difference between an actual role-playing game that has been based on a TV universe and fans simply acting out roles from a TV show. Both are examples of role-play, but the second case is not actually a TRPG. In the case of an informal role-playing group based on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Hammer (2007) explains that series creator Joss Whedon is the primary author and the fans are secondary authors (p. 72). However, her example is from fans partic.i.p.ating in role-playing not a role-playing game. In an actual TRPG based on a television series, there is the author of the series but also the author of the game rules based on the series. In such games, it is rare that the players run the exact characters from the television series in a TRPG. TRPGs differ from fan fiction where the writer may add additional characters but usually centers the story around characters from the original work. Instead, gamers create their own characters within the universe. Fan fiction writers may focus more on minor characters from the show that they feel have more of a story to tell or on repressed or forgotten stories that they feel are subtexts in the show. However, a fan fiction writeras relationship to the text is different than that of TRPG players, even when the game is based in a TV universe.

Another difference between fan fiction and gaming is that while fan fiction may remain unpublished, it is, nevertheless, consumed by other members of the fandom who read it as a complete text of its own. On the other hand, TRPG stories are often not represented in any physical form. Even when I did write up the adventure at Blaze Arrow, my write-up of the orc adventure was done with the purpose of informing Mary what she had missed in her absence from that gaming session. It is one of only several stories from our Sorpraedor campaign that has been written down, and even these were never intended for an audience beyond the Sorpraedor group. Similarly, when Monte Cook bases gaming modules on his own home campaigns, every detail of those stories is not represented in the module; rather, the module acts as a guide for creating new stories in those worlds. In part, this is because TRPG stories are rarely complete, rather, they continue from session to session. Moreover, it is impossible to replicate the complexity of the interaction that occurs in each frame of the TRPG in a written story. Mackay (2001) explains that players continue to play out of a adesire to return to the presence of emotiona that disappears when the game stops (p. 85). The desire to return to the story that can never end, that can never be consumed, keeps TRPG groups going for years. Mackay (2001) sees this ongoing process as one that asuspends the desire to consume the texts (i.e. commodities) of the spectacle of popular culturea (p. 131). The audience, if they can be characterized as such, resists consumption in favor of production. Because the world and characters of D&D are created in the minds of the players, there is no physical text to consume.

The ability to create texts that cannot be reproduced or commodified is important to gamers. Bebergal (2004) shows that in D&D imagination is key, not pre-written modules and rule books. He comments that looking around at his childas room full of toys, he wants to shout, aI created worlds with nothing more than a twenty-sided die!a There is a strong sense of power and ownership involved in creating something that can exist only in a personas imagination; something that can never be read or consumed by others. Gamer Simon Andrew states, aitas great being part of an underground world which baffles 90 percent of people you talk toa (as cited in Waters, 2004). While some gamers want to share their stories with the world in forums like www.fanfiction.net, other gamers pride themselves on creating worlds and stories that are incomprehensible to those outside their gaming group. As members of a subculture, TRPG gamers connect through their shared desire to produce texts. Because immersive qualities of TRPGs give players a sense of belonging to a storyworld and interactive qualities give players the sense of actively contributing to this world, players see their gaming as a process of production rather than consumption. By engaging in this type of creative and productive behavior, gamers create a culture of their own that rejects notions of texts as consumed objects.

Post-Subculture: A More Complicated View.

While D&D seems to fit neatly into the notion of a subculture (even a fandom), more current studies have challenged the binary between dominant consumer culture and the championed notion of non-consumer based subcultures. This critique has come both from sociology and cultural studies. The idea of post-subculture and post-subculture studies relates to the post-modernist concern with ideas being reduced to binary oppositions. Rupert Weinzierl and David Muggleton (2003) argue that athe subculture concept seems to be little more than a clich, with its implications that both asubculturea and the parent culture against which it is defined are coherent and homeogenous formations that can be clearly demarcateda (p. 7). People do seem to create categorizations for themselves and others; as I have noted, different types of gamers have been known to distinguish themselves from each other. However, a more critical look at any of these communities shows that they are far from homeogenous. For example, there are tabletop gamers who are more focused on combat and ones who are more focused on story and character. The same is true for computer gamers. Some Ma.s.sively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game (MMORPG) gamers focus on the cooperative, team-building aspects of the game while others prefer to engage in player-versus-player combat. None of these communities are h.o.m.ogeneous; which is a limitation of looking at genre from the perspective of audience. Nevertheless, I argue that h.o.m.ogeneity is not necessary for coherence. TPRG players are able to bond together because of common interests and goals while still maintain diverse approaches to the game.

Earlier studies of subcultures tended to not only see these populations as h.o.m.ogenous but to herald their rejection of mainstream capitalist culture. Stahl (2003) explains that an early view of subculture was that it atook objects from the dominant culture and transformed their everyday naturalized meaning into something spectaculara (p. 27). We can see this view present in Jenkins (1992) early work on fandom, and despite Textual Poachers place as a key text in media studies, it has been challenged on this same ground. In their edited collection on fandom, Gray, Sandvoss, and Harrington (2007) explain that early fan studies were overtly political. They asided with the tactics of fan audiences in their evasion of dominant ideologies, and set out to rigorously defend fan communities against their ridicule in the ma.s.s media and by non-fansa (p. 2). By doing so, scholars of fandom maintained the binary between fans (who were creative and rebellious) and mainstream culture (which was consumer-based and non-productive) (Gray et al., 2007, p. 3). As a result, fandom studies focused on those fans who partic.i.p.ated in activities such as fan fiction and ignored other fans, particularly those who may seem to be more in line with dominant cultural ideologies (like sports fans) (Gray et al., 2007, p. 5).

Gray, Sandvoss, and Harrington (2007) explain that a second wave of fandom scholars has been more careful about falling into binary thinking and has sought to explicate fandomas role within the dominant, capitalist system. The work of Matt Hills (2002) falls in this category. Hills (2002) explains the paradox of studying fandom; that within it exists aboth anticommercial ideologies and commodity-completist practicesa (p. 28). Fans may follow a philosophy that resists consumerism, and many may engage with texts in a more productive manner but they nevertheless buy products. Many fans are collectors of specialized merchandise, and these fans may or may not be the same fans who also work to creatively produce texts of their own. In fact, Hills (2002) recognizes that some of those within the dominant power structures, particularly some TV producers, have come to recognize the value of fans and appealing to them (p. 36).

A part of this shift is also the shift of post-modernism: as we become an increasingly specialized society, the specialized niche audience of fans becomes increasingly important. A producer no longer has to appeal to every family watching prime time TV, but can focus on an audience that tunes in to a specialty cable channel to see a particular type of show. In addition, producers who are particularly popular with fans (such as Joss Whedon) have made moves to directly appeal to them. During the writeras strike of 2008, Whedon released aDr. Horribleas Sing-Along Bloga online to fans, free of charge. While it later was released as a DVD as well as a soundtrack and other products, the initial video was shown without financial gain. In addition, fans were asked to partic.i.p.ate by sending in their own themed videos, some of which were then released as special features on the DVD.

This sort of shift to appeal to fans and involve them more directly in the development of more mainstream texts has been a focus of what Gray, Sandvoss, and Harrington (2007) call third wave fandom scholarship. This wave involves a broadening of perspective to include aa wide range of different audiences reflecting fandomas growing cultural currencya (p. 8). While Jenkinsas (1992) study may already seem somewhat dated in light of these new views on fandom, some of the ideas expressed in Textual Poachers and throughout Jenkins work are not necessarily incompatible with this more post-modern view of fandom. In particular, I would argue that it is not fandom that has changed as much as it is mainstream culture. The way that fans interact with texts has become more acceptable, and even mainstream. This sort of response to texts is not new. Fandom did not originate with the Internet, or even with television. Pearson (2007), for example, studies fans of Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare, and Bach. Yet, Internet technologies have furthered fandom in a way that was previously unfathomable. Although it is problematic to a.s.sume coherence among audience groups, it seems safe to say that with the Internet and social networking, dominant culture has shifted to interact more directly with texts. It is not only fans who now Twitter or update Facebook status messages while watching a favorite TV show, or even something as mainstream as the presidential debates or the Super Bowl. More often these practices also relate directly back to the mainstream. Shows, particularly news shows and reality TV shows, may ask audiences to go online and vote on issues while they are watching. While not practiced by every viewer or every demographic within the audience, engaging with texts in a more active manner is becoming more mainstream. Fan culture may, to an extent, still exist as a subculture yet more and more, mainstream culture is becoming partic.i.p.atory.

The Rise of Gaming in Popular Culture.

As we remember from chapter 2, D&D served as an antecedent genre for many computer games. However, as computer games have become more and more common, the perception of gamers has moved from that of a subculture to mainstream culture. This shift has been well doc.u.mented by scholars. Dovey and Kennedy (2006) explain in their book Game Cultures that ain the past a taste for fantasy literature, comics, Dungeons and Dragons role-play and technological gadgets all marked the subject as outside dominant arespectablea taste culturesa (p. 76). They found that these particular interests were common among early computer game designers and that as they made gaming into big business, the view of the game designer shifted to be in the center of dominant culture rather than on the sidelines (Dovey and Kennedy, 2006, p. 76). There is no doubt that computer gaming has transformed the way that gaming is perceived in popular culture. It now permeates our lives, from simple games like Bookworm on a cell phone, to exercising on the Wii Fit, to fully immersive MMORPGs like World of Warcraft. However, just because gaming has become mainstream does not mean that all modes and genres of games are equally accepted. Although certain h.o.m.ogenous groups may a.s.sert power, mainstream culture is no more h.o.m.ogenous than a subculture.

We need look no farther than the academic literature on gaming to see that tabletop games, which are often all thought to be synonymous with D&D, continue to be labeled in more marginal terms. From Murrayas (1997) slap at a12-year olds playing D&Da to the more subtle metanarrative of progress found in scholarship on computer gaming, there is a clear move to position D&D as earlier, more primitive than computer gaming. Dovey and Kennedy (2006), for example, spend some time establishing the connection between game designers and their childhood love of D&D (possibly without intent) to establish it as a less mature game that inspires children to go on to better and more mature games. While it is very possible that many designers (and others) were exposed to D&D as teens or children and did not continue to play as adults, there are countless others who have kept the hobby even as new technology has emerged. Again, an antecedent genre is not necessarily less advanced than the genres the draw upon it.

Furthermore, there have been a great number of advances in games that are not computer-mediated, including TRPGs. For example, the d20 system for TRPGs that emerged in 2000 has changed and improved the game mechanics behind role-playing.1 The system simplifies rolling dice in TRPGs so that a 20-sided die is used for the majority of rolls. Wizards of the Coast viewed this move as a response to solidify the fading TRPG market in the early 1990s by standardizing TRPGs with, then, varying methods for play (www.wizards.com). This move also is significant for the relationship it established between Wizards of the Coast, who controls D&D, and other game design companies. While there was skepticism in the companysa choice to trademark the d20 system, Wizards of the Coast provided the System Reference Doc.u.ment (SRD), and the Open Gaming License (OGL) to aallow royalty free, nonexclusive use of the game system at the heart of Dungeons and Dragons by anyone who wishes to do so, for both commercial and noncommercial worksa (www.wizards.com) This move to standardize systems and share among gaming companies is a far cry from TSR, Inc.as notorious reputation for litigious pursuits. The earlier owners of D&D were known for pursuing even the smallest copyright infringement, especially in the later years as the company was beginning to fail.

Despite a shift in the traditional business model, D&D fans still gather in traditional consumer s.p.a.ces, such as stores. As Fine (1983) notes, it is important for fans to be able to connect with one another, and because TRPGs are played in person, there must be physical places where these connections can take place. Two main sites exist for TRPG fans to connect with others. There is the local gaming store and the gaming convention. Although these sites are ultimately designed for profit, they also function against dominant consumer trends. Local gaming stores are very rarely chain stores. While most stores exist mainly for shopping (the backbone of consumer activity) gaming stores are sites for gamers to hang out, meet each other, and play games. Some gaming stores may charge membership fees, but many allow players to game there for free. They rely on the purchase of products needed for the games, such as dice, rule books, or even snacks, but do not charge gamers simply to be there and game. In addition, gaming stores often hold tournaments and special events for players to partic.i.p.ate in for prizes. These prizes can be provided by the gaming store or from the larger gaming company. For example, Wizards of the Coast holds worldwide game days when new products are released. At these days, partic.i.p.ating gaming stores get modules specially released for the event as well as prices and other sample products.2 Conventions are another gathering place for gamers. The largest of these conventions is actually the birthplace of D&D, GenCon. GenCon was created by Gygax in 1967 and has been an annual gathering place for gamers ever since (www.gencon.com). Originally GenCon was for war gaming enthusiasts, and this is where Gygax met up with Arneson to hear about his new approach to gaming. Today, GenCon is the brand name a.s.sociated with multiple conventions that take place worldwide. However, the most well known of these is currently held each August in Indianapolis and boasts 27,000 attendees each year (www.gencon.com). Their website describes GenCon as aa consumer and trade experience dedicated to gaming culture and community.a With a four-day pa.s.s to the convention costing approximately $75, the convention gaming experience seems to be slightly more commercial than the local gaming store that may allow gamers to congregate for free. In addition to gaming, GenCon has vendors who sell gaming products, an art show, a writersa symposium, and other special events. Players do have the chance to play games and to purchase products; however, they also have opportunities that are no