Like I mentioned in the last post, I’m not keen on backstory
as a differentiator of characters.
In the new school of 32-bit gameplay, players as
storytelling vectors can find themselves sinking a hefty investment prior to
the beginning of play through elaborately backstoried characters, complete with
whole-cloth manifest destiny, leading themselves to logically entrench against
the idea of said character losing face, power, life or limb; essentially
immunizing themselves against the lose conditions so dear to sustain the game’s
tension at the table, undermining its outright viability as a game from
the ground floor.
So, let us not do that.
Character generation is important as part of setting the
tone for the whole game that follows. I’ve already voiced the opinion that
players should, to a degree, be surprised by what character they’re getting to
play. The olden days, you very much played the character your rolls gave you,
complete with minimum attribute totals for unlocking certain classes. Not to
advocate such extremes, there ought to be a middle ground between wish-fulfillment
and what you actually get.
I’m going to use a dry husk of a word here, one that’s been
devalued harder than the zimbabwean dollar by the internet culture: awesome.
You should never start out awesome. Awesomeness is an aspiration, what you set
out to become. New school gaming cut out the middleman and traded the
destination for the journey, granting nothing but the ashen flavour of that
which was not fought for and therefore has no value. This follows as corollary
of respecting the level structure that’s been in place since the game’s
inception: you’re allowed no exercises in futurology, your character starts out
as barely-exceptional at best and is only as good as his present
resourcefulness will allow, with no guarantee of ever getting better should the
player’s input and fortunes not be up to snuff.
Once the player is forced to come to grips with what fate
has given him, rather than his meticulously chosen and already accomplished
ideation, he will feel challenged. This feeling of challenge will form the
bonds of a relationship that will have the player exhibit greater creativity in
order to have his character jump hurdles, even if (or, rather, especially if)
the character’s somehow impaired.
Thus this brings us back to character backstory.
Backstory reads to me as a shorthand for telling and not
showing, i.e. the sworn mortal enemy of organic character development.
The principle that I wish to stress is that you can’t hope
for characters to be created fully formed (or for players to care about
characters with a tailor-made prior history). It must all come about through
shared experiences during the running.
I do have known some players who esteemed their imaginary
figments to a fierce extent, no matter how derivative their origin and design,
others who never seemed to connect to their avatar, lending it as much
substance as a videogame representation. I’m not concerned with either of these
oddities.
What concerns a durable campaign are players who etch
characters without paying service to the two important drivers of character
behaviour: endless ambition and an unreasonable gregariousness, the two things
that ensure cohesion within a group, no matter how outlandish, dangerous and
at-cross-purposes their set bearings happen to be.
|
For all of the rest, backstory is just a venue for
frontloading verbose answers to questions that haven’t been asked and to
constrict organic character development as well as providing an entry barrier
to new players and new characters alike – for once this or that character dies,
it is of course expected that his replacement should have a proper backstory
too, isn’t that right?
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário