This
post is part of a series of Blogs where I work on my home-ruleset, 'The
Sanic Hack.' You may or may not gain better comprehension from reading
the other posts in this series.
This post directly follows after both Kludgebuckets and
Costumes. You may wish to skim those first to understand where my head
was at when writing the initial bluesky thread that then became this post. I love regurgitating my old skeets into blog posts. it is my favorite activity
Howdy, Farmhands!
A major draw of the media I intend to emulate with the Sanic Hack is their fantastical world design. Mario has his Mushroom Kingdom, Klonoa his Phantomile, and Sonic his various Zones on Planet Mobius. Earth. "Sonic's World." They've retconned a lot about Sonic's setting in the past, don't think about it too much. Unlike video games though, Tabletop Roleplaying is not necessarily a visual medium. This leaves a lot of the heavy lifting to the DM to properly describe with words, and as much as this project has been "Gadda Complicates An Odd-like", I do still want there to be simple solutions to the problems I'm inventing. How do I make the act of preparing a wacky video-game level setting for players to imagine their blorbos running around in easy for the DM? How do I keep them from feeling rote, without needing to write a full on Gazette for hyper-specific examples? OSR is no stranger to Gonzo settings, but there's a difference in mouthfeel between, say, The Dark of Hot Springs Island and Donkey Kong Country's Jungle Japes.
I'm FAIRLY certain Jungle Hijinks doesn't have any sex slaves in it. I could be wrong; they never clarify the relationship with Rambi the Rhino.
The first draft of this idea is something I'm calling "Themes." In theory, during prep, a DM would draw 2 and combine them into the core premise of the location. "Rainy" and "Jungle" would have overlap but still be distinct from "Rainy" and "Woodlands", for example. Each component Theme would then include a list of resources, lootables, and key items for the DM to populate the bespoke location with. This template would, theoretically, be just enough for the DM to run that location quickly and inspire on the fly npcs and adventure sites without the Theme prescribing those parts of play. Preferably, these would each fit on a single page, allowing for one's personal collection of available themes to be added to or removed from to match the table's needs. A table with an arachnophobe would remove the "Webs" Theme, for example, and play could continue with no hiccups.
For each location theme, you'll need the following:
3 Costumes: +1, +2, and +3
Accessories for the +3 Costume to be craftable, plus 3 unrelated.
At least 1 of each category of weapon: Light, Heavy, Ranged, etc.
Core Kludgebucket Parts: Between 1 to 3 should do.
Auxillary Kludgebucket Parts: I would prepare at least 3, though these can be bs'd in the moment if needed.
My running tally puts this at 16 items per theme at the low end. This seems like a lot, but keep in mind Themes will be reused and no one location should contain every possible option for the theme. A Jungle/Carnival Island might only have 1 Costume from the Carnival List, and the Core Parts from the Jungle List. Part of the DM prep involves determining what from each theme your location will pull from their lists and what will be saved for later. There's no harm in deciding that an item you hadn't planned on including was there all along, should your players take an interest in seeking them out. Alternatively, if players spot a doo-dad that was there for flavor and want to take it with them, DMs can just quickly slot it into one of the item types.
Let's make an example-
buzz buzz the posts must flow
Theme: Beehive
Weapons
Light Wp
Bee Stingers
(1d4, Dual)
rMed Wp
Bear Claw Gloves
(1d6)
Heavy Wp
Giant Honey Wand
(1d10)
Light Range
Pollen Arrows
(1d6, blast) Creates a Pollen cloud on impact, works as smokescreen
Heavy Range
Beezooka
(1d8, blast) Fires a cloud of Bees, 3 Charges, must be placed near an active hive overnight to repopulate
Accessories
Honey Pot Lid
(+1 AMR)
Striped Dungarees
(+1 AMR)
Buzzy Bee Slippers
(+1 AMR)
Suspender Bee Wings
(+1 AMR)
Antenna Headband
(+1 AMR)
Costumes
Honey Bear Suit
(1 Armor)
(A Fuzzy Ear Headband and a Red Pullover)
Apiarists Suit
(2 Armor)
(Beekeeper Helmet, Gloves, and a Thick Coat)
Hive Knight
(3 Armor) (Craftable)
Giant Honey Wand Honey Pot Lid Striped Dungarees
Core Kludgebucket Parts
Bee Nest (0 Star)
(-3 STR)
Box Hive (1 Star)
(+1 STR, -2 SPD)
Propulsion Parts
Large Bee Wing (0 Star)
(req manual flapping)
Random Guff
Honeycomb Hex
(It's very sticky)
Pollen Pod
(Hope you're not allergic)
Empty Honeypot
(Careful, it's ceramic)
Saxophone
(Do ya like Jazz?)
Actually, now that I'm looking at all this, it DOES feel a smidge overkill, especially as I'm meant to mix and match this with a second, equally long list. The hope, though, is that once these Themed lists are done, they will pay for themselves as quick and easy reference sheets for multiple sessions of play.
This draft obviously is
focusing on lootable items, but the vision for this includes descriptors
of flora, fauna, and weather for these themes. I think that's probably
best saved for the post on the second pass, as I've whacked at this post
long enough.
Additional Thoughts:
I'm playing with the idea of Costumes innately containing a weapon as one of their component parts. This slightly alters the math, making a comparable setup for +3 AMR with a lower level Costume + Weapon 1 card more? I don't know if this would be that noticable to a player. I'm also considering codifying a rule where a player can only have 1 Costume in their inventory at a time? Changing your costume entirely on the fly feels easily abusable, and I KNOW we're not supposed to design while assuming the worst of our audience, but it's still a concern. The only real balance I can think of is in the possibilty that if you have to drop the Costume for whatever reason, it's component parts go with it. insert gif of mario 3 losing a suit power-up here
Perhaps changing costumes in the middle of an adventure would require a Bulky "Costume Closet" item that can hold multiple Costumes and a turn to "Quick Change" into a different one. Then I'm not really removing the ability to do so, just locking it behind a little extra effort on the player's part to seek out the means to do so. How Delightfully Devilish, Seymour.
You can read this post and find links to my other works over on my static site! Likewise, you can gain access to blogposts early by pledging $1 or more over on patreon! Free will is great, isn't it?
Howdy, Farmhands!
My blog is very young. While I've been posting various ttrpg design hot takes for years, it wasn't until mid 2024 that I started to produce long-form essays and found that I really enjoyed the experience. Trying to get your entire thought out in a limited format is a good exercise, but some posts just need the extra word count to properly convey their merit. The unfortunate side effect of this switch being that I can no longer assume my audience has passively absorbed my opinions over years of Poasting, and thus a lot of terms I consider fundamental to my understanding of games are new and inscrutable to my readers.
Basically, my discord server politely but firmly asked me to pause and explain what the fuck I'm talking about, please.
So here we are, with the start of a series I'm calling ' Gadda's Blog Crash Course.' While these posts exist to educate my handful of weirdos, they aren't meant to be the definitive word on anything. This is TTRPGS As Explained By Gadda, and I have my own biases and incorrect assumptions as does anyone. I strongly urge anyone with different experiences than I to comment or blog their own additions or rejections of my posts, if only to deepen the pool my readers draw from.
Today's topic seems simple on the surface, but is actually quite deep.
"What is the OSR?"
To put it VERY simply, skipping decades of nuance to get to the core of things- "OSR" or "Old School Revival" is a genre of game that focuses on the trends and experiences people remember from the original years of Dungeons and Dragons. The term began in the year 2000, as a reactionary movement in response to the release of Dungeons and Dragons 3rd Edition. The play-style generally focuses on purposefully risking your character's well being for the chance of acquiring goods that will increase their chances of survival during future risks, with a game master remaining as neutral and impartial as possible, neither helping nor hindering the player in their quest to overcome those risks and acquire those goods.
Nothing I say after this point will be nearly as simple.
As time has gone on, and both Dungeons and Dragons as a game and the very online spaces people use to discuss it and it's history have gone through drastic changes, the target and purpose of "The OSR" as a community has changed, splintered, and become incredibly muddled. This is because different people like different things, you see. And also because people dislike people who like different things than themselves. Thus, the term "OSR" has evolved in separate corners of the internet to refer to multiple movements, overlapping play-styles, and as shorthand for an out-group of DnD role-players who aren't currently interested in the ongoing thing WOTC is printing.
To be completely fair to anyone who's confused about any of this- you're not wrong, it is fucking confusing! It's confusing to be IN the in-group that gets this sort of thing, and Homestuck levels of unbearable to parse for anyone outside it! Because there is no actual authority of what is or is not part of the movement, anyone can argue that they've involved, even if their actual circle is leagues removed from whatever older folks believe to be core to their hobby. This leads to some of the absolute worst offenders of online shitheads retreating to "OSR" as some sort of safe zone where they can regurgitate their unacceptable beliefs about sex, gender, and race unchallenged, having been driving away from the current generation of Dungeons and Dragons by a younger, more open minded audience. For many, "OSR" is a dog whistle; whatever takes on it's name is going to be gross and regressive, and is only attended by Bad People.
I will take this moment to assure the reader that this is not my personal experience, and the vast majority of OSR players I engage with are Trans Commie Furries and the straight folks they've befriended along the way. I do want to stress that this hobby has a bright spot.
It is not hard to imagine a movement based on returning to a previous state of a game already rife with colonial and racial subtext (or hell, just Text) to be a haven for regressive politics and hateful ideology. The original DnD is notorious for pushing disgusting stereotypes, and the earliest years of The OSR was primarily about continuing to support that existing game. HOWEVER, I would be a massive dick if I pretended the worst of the worst was the entirety of the hobby during those original years. While is it historical record that many of the game's authors were shitty people with shitty opinions that bled into their work, DnD was a hobby filled with all kinds of people from every walk of life. Many were just as critical of the game's output at the time it was new as there are now that it's flaws have been well documented, discussed, and ultimately ignored by it's publisher. There are a number of individuals interested in an old school style of play who experienced a very different kind of Dungeons and Dragons than is usually spoken about online.
"So... again, What is the OSR???"
OSR is a form of role-playing not dissimilar to it's evolutionary predecessor, Dungeons and Dragons, where you go on medieval fantasy adventures with a Game Master and 1 or more Players. However, it focuses on high risk scenarios and a neutral authority who describes the situations characters are placed in and details the results of said character's choices without favoring or purposefully hindering the player. Different tables and groups and corners of the internet will argue for more specific descriptions, and will continue to argue and debate and add and remove points until the end of time.
"...Okay then, What is the OSR to YOU???"
A number of individuals have attempted to write encompassing descriptions of the hobby, most of which are still pointed to for newcomers to get a quick overview of what to expect. As the hobby and it's corner evolve, new descriptions and summaries are needed. The list of positive attributes I associate with OSR games is very close to Ben Milton's 2019 attempt to coin a separate name from the baggage of "OSR", though it wasn't able to replace the term in common usage:
Adventure Game: The term “Adventure” does a lot of heavy lifting for a single word, and covers the vast majority of what I enjoy.
It implies authentic peril and the possibility of loss.
It implies strangeness, travel, the unexpected, and the confusing.
It implies variety and an episodic structure, a picaresque rather than a novel.
It implies cleverness, ingenuity, and cunning rather than a bloody slog.
It implies characters like Conan, Luke Skywalker, Elric, Hellboy or Fafrd.
It’s short, simple, and isn’t obscure.
Episodic-high-stakes-open-ended-lateral-problem-solving-fantasy-game
might be more accurate, but good luck with that catching on.
It evokes (in my head) a game that’s simple, unpretentious, and focused on fun at the table.
However, the post that I repeatedly link to, is W.F. Smith's Posters, Posers, and POSR(s), which includes the argument that the current batch of OSR games in line with the online diy-dnd blogging scene largely is it's own beast, with a lineage connecting to the original OSR but without a direct through-line. It's also a significantly better historical guide through the OSR than the one I've made above, if only because he's very good at linking to other people who have posted further reading.
This "blogosphere" of people posting and debating and creating answers to problems for others to maybe make use of is the backbone of the OSR as I experience it. There is no need to adhere to a specific vision of a lost playstyle, nor the necessity of keeping your math compatible with a game written by shitty people with shitty ideas. There are carried on elements of those products, for sure, but only after they have been inspected, dissected, and deemed worthy of carrying on. And just as the very term "OSR" itself evolved in different pockets of the internet, so too have different camps around specific mechanics and vibes formed as different people judge these smaller elements of a larger experience and find them worth keeping or something to discard.
This, then, is the "OSR" that I enjoy- not a dogged defiance of time, digging it's heels in to remain in a space that was outdated before the 90's finished rolling through; but a culture of investigation, discussion, and recycling of the historical record of play by people who like pretending to be elves. There have been games that come out of this culture that affirm the principles of those original works, joss them entirely, or even invent new frameworks to emulate the vibes.
I just wish we could all agree on a different name for SEO purposes.
Celebrations are an oft forgotten part of worldbuilding. Adventures derived from loss or fear are just easier to write, I think. It's simpler to motivate your players to go save the Blacksmith's daughter from Goblins, as opposed to setting them in front of a County Fair and telling them to go have fun. But, again, Celebrations are a big part of the world! How and why people party says a lot about the culture they live in, and giving players the chance to participate in those festivities does a ton for their immersion.
To that end, I've compiled this d20 list of reasons to get funky with it and party on. No more obvious references to real world religious events or hastily mustached christmas analogues, barely hiding their origin. Roll on the table; that's why they're celebrating. Fluff as needed. Save a glass of punch for me.
Until Next Time,
Farmer Gadda
Reasons to Throw a Hoedown
1
Harvest Season's Arrived! It's time to yoink shit out of the ground.
2
Barn Raising!
3
There's a Wedding! Some Folks got Hitched, and more importantly, there's an open bar.
4
The Creek Done Rose. Various plans and promises are put on hold until the matter is resolved.
5
A Child has been born! It's their first, and everyone's smoking cigars, as is custom.
6
Tonight's a Blue Moon. Those only come once in a... in a.... huh.
7
The Rain's come! Time to wheel out your parched friends and family for some Moisture.
8
Planting Season's Arrived! It's time to jam shit in the ground.
9
The Boys are Back in Town!
10
The Rain finally stopped. Fish out your loved ones and wait for things to dry out.
11
It's someone's birthday! They survived another year!
12
The Cows came home. I didn't know Cows could do that...
13
Goose laid a Golden Egg. I didn't know Geese could do that...
14
A Child has been born! It's their first... in the double digits. The drinks are strong
15
Timmy was finally rescued from that well. We gotta get Lassie one of those button pads or something.
16
The Ornery Town Bitch finally Croaked (And Good Riddance)
17
The Horses Demand it.
18
Someone bought some Magic Beans!
19
The Chickens have hatched. Quick, somebody count them! Why didn't we do this when they were stationary???
This post is part of a series of Blogs where I work on my home-ruleset, 'The Sanic Hack.' You may or may not gain better comprehension from reading the other posts in this series.
Worn Gear in Into the Odd/Cairnis pretty straightforward. There are 3 main kinds of armor, all bulky, with increasing levels of protection and a higher pricepoint. There is then the option to include Shields, Helmets, and/or Gambeson to go under the actual armor, each adding "+1" in whatever configuration you choose. Armor as a Stat caps out at 3, so you can't fill your inventory with Helmets and become invincible. For a game of medieval fantasy, this is the bare minimum you need, really. But, I'm writing a game of Blorbos going on Adventures; and a big element of going and seeing a new place involves shopping while you're there. How do I give the player the sensation of customizing their look with Worn items while still maintaining the inventory management element of the chassis I'm using? Also, I really don't want to write out a super long list of every Shoe style available to Hedgehog.
Let's start with the replacement for Cairn armor (not Armor, keep up) with "Costumes" A Costume is assumed to be a full set of clothes, but its pieces cannot be separated mechanically. These will come in 3 tiers of Price and Armor; similar to the Brigadine, Chainmail, and Plate tiers found in Cairn. +1 and +2 Costumes should be purchaseable, with the +2 Costume being harder to find. Then, we'll call items that add additional points of armor an "Accessory." These can be any individual piece of clothing, but only 1 piece of a larger outfit. Here you'd have your Shoes, your Scarves, your Hats, and your Bracelets. If a party of technicolor furries were to go to the Jungle Island and shop, they'd find suitably Tropical looking doodads to buy. Shark-tooth necklaces, masks carved from stone, maybe an umbrella made from Gorilla hide. These are all "Accessories", though, and are mechanically identical : +1 Armor.
In a game based on Into the Odd/Cairn, the real reason to pass up 1 mechanically identical item over another comes down to the game's approach on problem solving- the Gorilla Hide umbrella might make walking through a trap involving a spray of liquid NOT risky, for example. In order to reach your MAX Armor, 3, with only Accessories, however, you'd need to use three whole inventory slots on your person for them. That's a large chunk of your base 10 slots, so what are you to do?
My solution is to make every "Costume" of the highest tier, +3 AMR, craftable. In this theoretical, designing said "Costume" and at least 1 "Accessory" for each component of the design would be part of writing an Adventure. Collecting and combining the 3 Accessories compresses them into a single bulky card. Mechanically, once you have one Outfit with Armor 3, you don't need to look for any more. But with every major location having a new Outfit to find, and thematic Accessories to customize your character with, there's a lot of motivation to go out and explore, if only to dress up your blorbo. For DMs, this means they can either brainstorm ideas while doing prep for the adventure or BS a description in the moment. If it's an Accessory, it's +1. If it's an Costume, it's 1 to 3 with it's price being 20, or 40 of the game's currency.
How does this Math? To get +3 with the cheapest purchase, you'd need to spend 4 slots, 2 for the +1 Costume and 2 +1 Accessories, each their own slot. Bumping up the price (though you'll need to actively search for it), you can only use 3 slots for the +2 Costume and 1 +1 Accessory. Successfully finding and them combining the three specific +1 Accessories compresses them down into a single +3 Costume, making it a worthwhile endeavor even if it takes a while.
At least that's how it works in my head. Some of you are probably reading this and shaking your heads slowly. Lucky for me this isn't your blog and I can post whatever I want. Surely, I will never need to make a future post detailing how this went horribly horribly wrong!
Further Thoughts -
The original bsky thread that led to this post was written off the back of "Kludgebuckets", which supposed a grid based system for building and maintaining vehicles, and the next post in this series will wrap that chunk of thought up in a neat little bow. This feels a bit off; like I'm only making this post to prime you for the next... But, no, that's exactly what I'm doing. Hopefully this wasn't a complete waste of your time, and the next post in this series comes out soon. (I begin to don the hot dog costume and prepare to find whoever did this)
Until Next Time,
Farmer Gadda
This post and others like it are made possible by members of my Patreon,
where you can see Game WIPs and Previews of future blogposts a week early!
Thank you in particular to Tanuki543 for your continued support!
There comes a time in every blog's life when it must attempt one of the many traditional blog topics that have been done to utter death. You know the ones. "Fixing the Thief", for example, is practically a rite of passage into Blog-Adult-Hood. "Overloading Encounter Die", that's a good one. Eventually, we all find ourselves passionately describing our preferred method of "Running a Hexcrawl." Today I find myself prompted to partake of one of these well-trod discussions, in the form of listing my personal Appendix N.
"Appendix N: Inspirational and Educational Reading" is a section of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons DM's Guide, featuring a list of fictional works that inspired Gary Gygax in his production of the game. The original list included such titles as Robert E. Howard's "Conan the Barbarian" novels, Jack Vance's "The Dying Earth", and various works of H.P. Lovecraft's "Cthulu" mythos. For decades, nerds intrigued by Gary Gygax's imagination and the drive could use this list of Authors and titles to begin their own journey down the same path that produced the staggeringly creative Dungeons and Dragons game. Don't get me wrong, a number of titles on said list are good works of fiction, but the hero worship of Gygax himself has lead to the Appendix N becoming something of a holy text in some circles. A structured reading list of books you can absorb to follow in Gary's own footsteps! Wow!
(I pause to make a jerking hand motion I shan't describe further)
When it comes to modern TTRPG, the term "Appendix N" is simply shorthand for "List of Other Things that Inspired Me and Might Inspire You". My favorite such list is found in Claymore's Adventure Module, "The Martial Cult of Blood Knight Gaius", and includes a book, a movie, AND a specific music track from an album! We are not limited to only referencing to the written word, but media as a whole! Revolutionary. Today, as part of Traverse Fantasy's Blog Bandwagon, I have prepared for you a non-exhaustive list of my own inspirations, so that one day, when I make it big, you too can follow in my grand footsteps and learn how the Master grew to become the creative visionary you adore.
(more jerking hand motions)
Sonic Adventure (Sega Dreamcast, 1998/1999)
I've been asked to expand upon what Sonic Games are the best for ttrpg inspiration before, and its pretty much just this one. Like don't get me wrong, I firmly believe we can and should take inspiration and lessons from all media we consume for our elfgames, but as a text to study explicitly for the purpose of acquiring useful skills? Yeah, this one.
Sonic Adventure is, even in it's most stable and visually pleasing (read: modded) form, a game that feels cobbled together. Sonic Team didn't fully understand how to make a Sonic the Hedgehog game in 3D, and this title also had to double as a showcase for the then brand new Dreamcast console's features. It's a game that tries to take the best elements of the previous 2D Platforming Sonic Quadrology and make it work with an added axis. You've probably heard the Internet's opinion of how it panned out.
I find my opinion on the thing waxes and wanes whether I'm experiencing it as a player or as a designer. I can clearly see the -intent- in a number of choices made by Sonic Team, while still disliking the end experience of those decisions. Let me give you an example.
In Sonic CD's first act, Palmtree Panic, there are a number of ramps that switch the player's perspective of Sonic from the side to top-down. He rushes straight up what appears to be a flat wall before being jettisoned off the top. Neat. Playing this set-piece feels cool because you go flying and then have to control where you land, deciding whether or not to aim for the tallest point or to try and travel as far as you can while you have airtime. But something fans have noticed, if not when the game released, then certainly as the internet allowed for the sharing of neat video game trivia, is that halfway up said ramp, the game's 2D Sky box flips upside down. The ramp isn't a ramp. It's an approximation of a 3D Loop in a 2D game. Once you notice it, you can't un-notice it, and the experience is completely re-contextualized! This visual is very simple to put into Sonic CD, because there is a very specific sequence of events that would ever make it visible to the player- they would 1. Have to choose to enter one of the ramps, and 2. Travel up that ramp high enough for the predetermined "flip" in the level's skybox graphic to appear. All the devs had to do was make sure any of the flipped part of the skybox doesn't show up anywhere else in the level proper.
In Sonic Adventure's first level, Emerald Coast, there is a section with a wall run leading into a tunnel carved into the stone of the islet you're racing across. If Sonic makes it to said tunnel with enough speed to also successfully make the wall run, he'll do three loops up and around the tunnel walls before blasting out the other end and jettisoning off into the air. Neat. Unfortunately, playing this set-piece doesn't feel nearly as cool as it should for a couple of reasons. The initial Wall run section is fine; it requires the player to maintain their speed and angle in order to not slip off it and be forced to use the ground route across the islet, but the moment Sonic gets close enough to the tunnel, all control is taken away from the player. A speed booster immediately brings him to top speed, and controller inputs are disabled for the duration of the Tunnel. I can understand why this was the choice made; Sonic Team wanted cool set-pieces like they'd included in the previous games- but in this fully modeled and 3 Dimensional space, there's only one way to guarantee the player experiences them when the designers wanted them to appear in the level. They were still mostly rewards for player choice, but the trade off was taking player agency away while Sonic does the stuff players wanted to see Sonic doing, which soured the experience.
This push and pull of wanting large, intriguing set pieces and spectacles while respecting player freedom is an important lesson for any TTRPG. You've probably heard of terms like "railroading" before, where players are forced down a set path regardless of their choices. Many a DM has fallen in love with the idea of a story that happens Just So and tried their darndest to ensure it happens, player agency be damned. Sonic Adventure is a series of really cool ideas cobbled together with guardrails to make sure you don't miss them- and that's as much a strength as it is a flaw. But it IS a strength! The cool shit in Sonic Adventure is, without fail, objectively cool! Figuring out how to include them without yanking the controller from the player's hands is a worthwhile aim, in both video and elf games.
Digimon Adventure (Toei Animation, 1999)
I may not post about it as much as Sonic, but I'm a BIG Digimon fan. The American dub was the first anime I really got into; though I had to catch up with re-runs of the first 3 seasons in between the then airing fourth. It wouldn't be until I was in high school that I finally gained access to the original Japanese run of Digimon Adventure and it's sequel, Digimon Adventure 02 and enjoyed the series as a whole in one go. It's a fun Isekai slash Shounen slash Monster Collector slash Coming of Age story if you're into any of those things.
Something you may notice from the image I've chosen above is how many characters are shoved into the frame. Hikari, the kid in yellow next to the cat, shows up 3 quarters of the way through as sort of a Green Ranger situation, but the rest of the cast is present from episode one. Considering the average run time of a single episode is 23 or so minutes, and a good chunk of that runtime is for stock footage transformation sequences, you'd assume that none of these kids get any good screen time. And you'd be wrong! Digimon Adventure is a masterclass at sharing the spotlight among it's ensemble cast, with every character getting development in and out of their focused arcs. Despite it's Saturday morning, monster of the week format, Digimon Adventure makes sure that every character in the cast changes and is changed by their relationships to each other.
Spotlight sharing is a stumbling block for many in TTRPGs. Unlike the 52 episode + 2 movie order that Digimon Adventure got to spread it over, we have no good way of knowing how long we have with the characters at the table. Making sure everyone feels like they got their time to shine is a challenge. But framing it as a challenge to win is a mistake, I think. If the spotlight is treated as a finite resource to battle over, the players will naturally start acting as such. For my money, prompting my players to become the trigger for another player's big moment has worked wonders. Instead of a single spotlight that only one character can stand in, these moments become stories in which one character directly supported and led the other to a dramatic and impactful development. How the supporting characters do this then becomes buildup to their own moments, in which the characters they've impacted will surely do the same.
I make it sound like an easy one size fits all solution, but this is as much a learned skill as anything. It requires all players feel empowered to be the supporter when it's not their focus, as well as take the space they need when it is their time to shine. Prompting can only go so far, as inevitably some characters will simply be louder than others- Digimon Adventure even stumbled with this in it's later third when it focused more heavily on two of the now 8 person cast for the purposes of selling toys. But when I find myself struggling with this, I still cast my thoughts back to Digimon Adventure.
Sandland (Akira Toriyama, 2000)
Akira Toriyama needs no introduction, nor am I the first to write about how his worlds and characters are inspiring for ttrpgs specifically. I could very well put his combined works as the entirety of this Appendix and the lot of you would surely nod sagely and move on with your lives. I purposefully only picked one of his manga for this list, however, and I knew my choice had to be that of SandLand.
SandLand is a fairly short manga, only filling a single tankobon volume and originally running in Shonen Jump for all of 4 months back in 2000. The story it tells starts out as a generic road trip adventure, but quickly reveals the guilt of it's deutoragonist at having participated in the crimes of the fascist human government that rent the world asunder in it's greed to control the greatest resource available- water. It's mere 14 chapters speed-runs the shounen adventure format, revealing hidden villains as quickly as previous ones are dispatched, blasting through the development of it's characters and their relation to each other, and wraps everything up with a nice little bow at the end. It also only exists because Toriyama wrote a short story about a Man and a Tank, and everything sorta sprawled from there.
There's two lessons that I think can be extracted here, the first and most visibly obvious is the art of Getting To The Good Stuff. Sandland wasn't written to become another long running series, and while it gives plenty of time to goofs and gaffs, endearing the reader to it's characters, it also noticeably cuts fat to streamline the rest of the process. This story comes at the tail end of Toriyama's mangaka career, after he's gotten all the experience of, let me just check my notes, WRITING DRAGON BALL to understand what makes an adventure story work. Some twists, especially some later reveals feel like they come out of left field, but both I and Toriyama it seems would like to ask: Who Cares? The Son of Satan himself is having a punch out with a giant evil bug man. The secret Government Conspiracy has a second, Secreter Government Conspiracy underneath it. The Tanks look cool and shoot each other a lot. Explain it however you want because that's just cool.
The second and less obvious pull has to be the political overtones of the work. This is a world where war has ravaged almost everything, where resources are hoarded by the elite, who protect their interests with violence. It's an exaggerated allegory that, frankly, is understandable by almost everyone below a certain tax bracket. I groked it pretty quick the first time I read Sandland, and while this may just be a facet of my incredibly sheltered childhood growing up, it was the first time I'd read a story so blatantly place capitalism and the systems of oppression that affected the people around me as the unquestionable villains of the story. That the response the story posits is acceptable to such villainy is 'Blow them up with tanks and your inner demon power what makes you fight good' probably had a larger effect on my psyche than I'd like to admit in writing. I'm not saying Capitalism has to be the big bad of every adventure; we have Brennan Lee Mulligan for that, but I am saying that tapping into the very real problems we face in the real world is the quickest way to get people invested in your fictional worlds. Giving your fantasy a contextual tie to relatable struggles will do half the work of selling that fantasy for you.
Sandland has an RPG and CGI Animated Movie now, neither of which I have taken the time to enjoy- both expand the original world and story slightly to better fit the needs of the two mediums, and I want to sit with my memory of the original being my only experience with the book for just a little bit longer. But I'm told they're good, and keep the spirit of Toriyama's work well, what with it beginning production before his death and, presumably, featuring some level of his participation. I whole-heartedly recommend it to anyone who's even passively enjoyed his work.
Super Sentai Series (Toei, 1975-Present)
I actually have an unfinished first draft of a post about this one specifically. Lets see if I can condense it into something more useful here so I can put off finishing the full post for a bit longer.
There two things I pull from Super Sentai when I run elf-games, and no, it's not summoning giant robots or doing over the top karate yells when I describe someone punching someone else (though, those are two very cool things that I should be doing more when I run). Super Sentai, which you'll probably recognize more from it's sister show, Power Rangers, is a live action super hero television series for young children in Japan. It features a team of 5 or so heroes in similar costumes that fight monsters (read: people in rubber suits) and features a lot of pyrotechnics and practical effects in order to keep costs down. It's goofy at it's best, and watching it as an adult is the most fun when you can point out exactly where the wires are. By the very nature of it's medium, it tries to do a lot of fantastical stuff with as real their effects budget will allow, which leads to some very interesting artistic decisions.
In Samurai Sentai Shinkenger (2009), there is a ritual that takes place every single episode. The Heroes' entrance is supported by their cadre of faceless servants, who set up banners and flags around them, revealing the team to the Monster to the sound of drums and flutes. A few words are exchanged between the opposing sides and then... The Henshin.
Symbols drawn in the air, wrapping around their bodies, their Helmets forming around them before all five snap attention to the viewer while the music swells. The Camera faces the Red Ranger head on as he introduces himself. It changes angle for every ranger after him, slightly altering the experience for what is a repetitious action as all 5 get their shot. Finally, as a whole, they pose and declare their shared goal, to go forth (and presumably stab a guy a lot). This ritual happens every episode for 52 real world weeks, give or take a movie or special crossover, and you'd think it would get boring really quickly. Super Sentai has been around long enough to know better. Just like how the original ritual shifts ever so slightly for each successive ranger in posing, phrasing, and camera angle, individual episodes purposefully play around with the make up and context of said ritual. Is it an episode where 1 character is otherwise disposed? The ritual has to continue without them, changing the pacing noticeably. One character is having a focus episode? Either they head the ritual, or the others skip it entirely so said focus character has the entire sequence to themselves. If the episode is heavy on dialogue and doesn't have the run time for the full sequence, the rangers will perform the very first steps of the ritual, cut to commercial, then return having completed it off-screen.
The importance of the ritual is in it's emotional shorthand. When it can be performed uninterrupted or abridged, its a declaration of the heroes' confidence. When it's rushed or done during a battle, it feels tense and like the outcome is uncertain. When the lead is given to someone who normally stands to the side, it's a triumphant success that signals that character's growth. Seeing how the ritual shifts and changes episode to episode is fantastic storytelling without needing to say a thing. After 5 episodes it becomes familiar. After 10 episodes, it's been lampshaded or jossed enough that it can be comedic or tragic as needed by the plot. Adding members, removing members, changing the graphics so that it's Christmas themed; the sky is the limit.
In Shinkenger, there is a part of the story where the Red ranger is replaced, as the true heir of the family he believed himself to be the head of reclaims her birthright and pushes him to the side. The remaining members, as Samurai bound to the family, struggle with the reality that their beloved leader is no longer in charge, and they have a duty to humanity to fight alongside this complete stranger. They follow her into battle and, as always, with full aplomb, perform the ritual. Everything is accurate, the posing, the phrases, the banners and flags. But the music is played in a minor key. They've skipped sections of the music. They've played a character's personal theme instead of the music. But once and ONLY once do they play the song in an off-key. The impact of this tiny change says so much about the cast and their difficulty adjusting to this new reality, and when the team fails to defeat the villain of the weak due to their struggles working as a team under this new leader, the failure feels more powerful for it. The audience could tell this wasn't going to go well, even if everyone performed the steps of the dance perfectly.
In elfgames, we have a lot of rituals that we expect and enjoy. Rolling for initiative. A Wizard casting Fireball. The all important roar of joy when someone rolls a natural 20. These are different from Rules, I must stress, though there is significant overlap. The key is to never Break a Rule but to Bend a Ritual. An interaction your player expected to go one way very clearly goes another. A description of a spell you've said multiple times before is worded just off-key enough to be noticed. A cool character moment shorthands the longer motions you normally let fully play out. Stuff like that. It needs to be used sparingly lest it lose it's impact, but when it hits... oooh, it's delicious.
There is a second thing but now that I've written this, I imagine I'll need to save it for the full blogpost I never finished lol.
Garfield (Jim Davis, 1977-Present)
Garfield wasn't made to be funny. Jim Davis, over his decades as a cartoonist, has never shied away from admitting that the formation of the Lasagna cat was an attempt to create a marketable figure, not a comedic masterpiece. There are a handful of repetitive tropes that have become staples of the character; Jon is dumb, Mondays suck, and Garfield is fat, but in that repetition comes something I find interesting. Garfield's continued success posits that the premise doesn't have to be novel, nor the punchline very good, if the audience supplies their own joke. The magic, and the devil, are in the details.
Take this strip, printed August 23 2005. Three panels, one word bubble, only 4 pieces of bespoke art as there's plenty of copy-paste editing happening here. Garfield walks in to Odie in a Situation of which there is no context. He looks up beyond the frame towards something the audience cannot see. He leaves the situation, commenting dryly, that whatever the Situation is, it has to do with the Ceiling Fan. This is not a joke. It has the scaffolding of a joke. There is a joke implied that is much funnier than what actually happens in the script, but we don't get it. The joke is left to the reader to imagine and in doing so, creates a funnier situation than Jim or his staff could ever invent. "Odie gets his ears stuck in a ceiling fan" is a Looney Tunes sight gag that wouldn't elicit a single chuckle out of a newspaper strip reader. "Garfield casually ignores whatever Looney Tunes sight gag Odie has found himself in," though? That's funny. "Garfield doesn't even bother to clue the audience in on what the sight gag is, dropping the barest of context before removing himself from the shenanigan entirely?" That's INSPIRED.
There is an old piece of advice for tabletop games that I've never seen codified into a specific quote, but still find it useful. It goes something like "When the players ask if one plot point is connected to another plot point made sessions ago, you nod and smile and let them think you a genius, even if you never even considered the connection between those points." Putting things out of sight makes the players consider what might be over there. Mentioning concepts or scenarios outside the range of the player's reach makes the world feel more alive. Leaving space for implication and imagination fill doesn't just give
you a chance to rest and enjoy the game, it also leads to a better joke
than you ever could have written on your own.
But wait, there's more!
There are honestly a ton of other titles I could include in a fully exhaustive list- Dragon Ball, One Piece, Homestuck. A lifetime's worth of art has slowly built me up into the author and designer I am today. Maybe someday, I'll do a follow up to this post where I separate the disparate media types into their own expanded lists... But that's a post for another day.
