We’ve already talked about how dynamic of a role the GM is for a game. Now it’s time to look at the other side of the table: the players. Players tend to be easier to find than GMs, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a significant role in play experience. Without good people in these roles, there’s no game.

 

This is especially true when it comes to inventive character design. Many players build in depth backstories for their characters, with detailed accounts of their various trials and conflicts, friends and rivals, etc. Others may not do so detailed a backstory, but have a specific goal or mindset that is separate from (though often still compatible with) the main “goal” of a campaign. I once ran a Don’t Rest Your Head game (find it here, I highly recommend it) where one of the characters was an insomniac due to an uncomfortable bed. They helped their friends in the world of nightmares because they were a decent person, but were always on the lookout for a replacement mattress that would truly supply the rest that they so desperately needed. There wasn’t any information, but it was enough to start building up a solid character.

Anything along these lines can be a great inspiration to a GM having trouble coming up with personal touches for a campaign. And even pre-written campaigns benefit from this character depth. Flat characters result in cookie cutter games, because there’s

point where a boring character restricts a GMs ability to add anything interesting to interact with. Providing your own pieces of world building like that is an incredible clay for the GM to mold and use, and such details have often shaped entire campaign arcs. Each player is making the world of a game richer with their creations. While a GM frequently can only add details to a few of their many creations, the player has the ability to fully flesh out one individual. They embrace the world and with their depth, give it life.

Of course, this isn’t always seen as a positive thing. Players are essentially all actors in an improv show for an audience of each other, and nobody likes it when one person steals all the limelight. There is an equilibrium, where building an in depth character can cross from being a way to richen a game, to being a weight on the game, boring the players and frustrating the GM. The easy example is the “fallen heir,” where a player plays an exiled/orphaned/lost hair to some great throne or other position of power. Played well, this can flesh out an entire kingdom, and give a character a driving reason to adventure and better themselves. It becomes a problem when that player expects the entire campaign to revolve around them regaining their kingdom, or when they expect the other players to act as servants to that character. Of course there are exceptions to every rule, but a player must be able to read the field and tactfully decide when their character motivation is a fun part of play for the rest of the group, and when it isn’t. This is one of those “skills learned in-game” that also has some great real world benefits. The world would probably be a nicer place if everybody was more capable of reading the reactions of a room, and knowing when to keep talking and when to give somebody else a chance to speak.

It is also noteworthy that only players can be accused of stealing the spotlight (except in very extreme cases). The GM frequently talks more than any other player, and is involved in most of the players interactions, but is very rarely told that they are being an attention hog. Their roles are inherently different. The GM is invisible in some ways during play, like the word “said” in a piece of fiction. The only time the GM would be accused of this is in the case of an overpowered “GMpc,” a character that the GM controls that adventures with the players, but it much more skilled than them. This is considered stepping to far into the role of the player, and frequently GMs are critiqued if their characters take on too large of a role.

Players also have to think differently than a GM. GMs build traps, puzzles, and worlds for the players to inhabit, but usually this is done in advance. They may have to improvise things if they didn’t plan very well that week, but in general the GM has at least a slight running background knowledge of everything that is happening in the game world that the players inhabit. They build structures in advance and react to player actions. The players have no opportunity to plan in or explore the world before they are thrust into it. There’s no way to tell if killing the vampires will result in the town loving or hating you until you actually do it.

Players improvise in different ways, problem solving in a world where there actions are not limited by mechanics. Often game mechanics serve to distance players from lateral thinking (lateral thinking being traditional “outside the box” style problem solving). An easy example is this Professor Layton puzzle. It requires lateral thinking, but in a way that makes the puzzle solver feel cheated. A player has a base set of expectations set up by the game they are playing, and their brain won’t consider options outside of this. In many games, attacking enemies are highlighted with red or have health bars pop up. It’s understood that when that happens, the only option is to fight; the game literally will not allow for another course of action at that point. So when a game (video games are especially susceptible to this) seems to change rules and then blame the player for not being “creative enough,” it’s not a positive experience for the player.

Tabletop game puzzles don’t have this sort of inherent mechanics-based mental blocking. A player may be confined by their character’s abilities (their barbarian with a low Int score isn’t going to be able to read the spellbook), but they are allowed to try whatever they want, and the game mechanics don’t set up any mental blocks. The players always have the option to stop a fight and leave, or try to talk, etc. This allows for a much greater ability to learn lateral thinking patterns than is allowed by most video games (Note: I’m not saying tabletop games are inherently better, because both mediums have their strengths. Just that in this circumstance there’s more freedom of action). For more details on what I mean by games inherently controlling player actions, see the Stanley Parable “game”, which does a great deconstruction of original action and choice in video games.

Games in general are active mediums, much more so than the average book or movie (nothing I shout at the screen will make the ending change). Tabletop games specifically place an especially important role on the player. A video game needs interaction, but in the end, it is providing an experience for the player to absorb. The player consumes the game, and the game has no goal but to entertain the player. In a tabletop rpg, the players are of course playing for their own enjoyment, but also for the enjoyment of the other players. They are simultaneously producers and consumers of the game and each others’ labor. One unruly player can sour a game for some, while a team of on their game players can make memories that last decades.

Players have their own unique roles in a tabletop rpg that puts them in touch with their story like few other mediums can. They create living, breathing people, and interact with others with those people. A good group of players can make up for a lackluster GM, and one player taking over can ruin a game for everybody else. They are the lifeblood of a game session, and it’s important to think of how their abilities to influence the game differ from others involved in the process.

What are some character arcs you’ve been proud to witness? Do you ever notice times when the GM and the players work together on a part of the adventure to make it more interesting as a whole? Or how about some nightmare stories of players that just couldn’t fit properly in the game, why do you think that happens?

Any tabletop roleplaying game has two main roles: that of the player, and that of the Game Master. Different game systems have different names for this person, like Storyteller or Dungeon Master, even simply being called a referee (originating from wargaming roots). Game Master (GM for short) tends to be the most system-neutral and common title, so I’ll be sticking with that, though later in this article I want to talk about how the GM’s name affects expectations in play.

So what does a GM do? If a trpg is a movie where the players are the actors, then the GM takes on every other role. They pick the setting, the lighting, the background music, and play the roles of the extras and side characters in the movie. They write and direct, and usually are the people to determine when the screening is going to be. What I’m saying is GMs do a huge amount of work, and also have a huge amount of control over what is going to actually happen in their games.

This is a huge amount of work for one person to take on. And like any leadership position, people have different reasons for taking it on. For some it’s just the only way a game will happen. None of their friends wanted to run a game, so they did. For others it’s a creative adventure, being able to write an engrossing fantasy novel and see, in real time, how people react to it. Others like being able to share a bonding experience between people, and knowing that they were responsible for it happening. There are even those just interested in the sheer numbers of it, building and fiddling with mechanics and watching people pick them apart. For some it’s a mix of all of these, but in general it’s agreed that the best GM’s are interested in the social, creative, and mechanical aspects of running a game.

A GM is also a sort of feudal lord. They have final say over most rulings, traditionally. They decide who is allowed to play in the game, they decide what game to play, what atmosphere it has, and they technically can control what the characters can and cannot do, or what kinds of characters the players can be. Because the game doesn’t exist without the GM, they have complete control.

However, if a GM abuses this power, there is always potential for an uprising. Because, while a game definitely won’t exist without a GM, it also can’t exist without players, though players are in more abundant supply. Therefore the GM has to strike a balance, running the sort of game they want to run, while equally being subservient to the player needs. In conversations with GMs, one specifically was very invested in the idea of the GM as being there for the support of the players. He loves running games to create cool moments for the players, to make them feel better about themselves. There are plenty of stories of the opposite, GMs that relish smashing players to bits, or using the players to act out the GM’s fantasies. While some players may like lethal challenges, or a more railroaded adventure, this is hardly a universal trait.

A GM has power in the real world as well as the fictional world of the game, and those two zones have to interact. In the real world, it is usually the GM who plans when the games are, and invites players to the game. Other players may invite new people, but it’s a breach of etiquette to do so without at least giving the GM a heads up. The GM usually has final say over where the game is played as well. Players frequently give the GM status even outside of the game needs; a tie between pizza topping votes is usually decided by the GM. These may seem like irrelevant points of power, but they are points of power nonetheless.

So the GM has a unique role within the game. All of the players do roughly the same job, acting as individual characters within the game. But the GM, as the saying goes “wears many hats.” And there’s rarely a questioning of why some of those hats are even there. The GM in charge of when the game is going to happen, and in charge of sending out messages to players if plans need changing. Usually they are the ones expected to be able to lend out books or PDFs of the game to new players. Theoretically all they should be responsible for is the actual showing up and running of a game, but they also get the burden of these additional duties. Some of these responsibilities makes sense. A GM should know all of the rules of the game, and in order to do so usually has a copy of the game’s rulebook. Other players may have their own copies, but the GM is the only one that definitely needs one, so they are usually the one to go to to borrow a book. Scheduling is partially due to the fact that the GM is the one necessary member of the group, so their schedule must be considered first, but many groups only play with the full group in attendance (or no more than one absence). The GM is just already stationed in a position of power, so they are expected to just take command of everything.

It does increase the capabilities needed in a GM, which results in some positive skills learned. They not only have to run a game, they have to act as a small-group manager, getting schedules and carpools set up for often up to seven other people. This is increasingly important in a job market that values self-sufficiency and leadership abilities.

So based on the above, it sounds like the GM is considered the “most important” member. And that has a grain of truth. With no GM there is no game, but a game can run with one of the players missing. But I don’t believe that’s entirely it.

A player is placing their virtual life in the hand of the GM. A good GM treats this trust with respect, and in the fuzzy barrier between character and player, the GM gains a sort of unquestioned respect. A player in a trpg doesn’t question why there is a castle in the mountains, that’s the GM’s duty to worry about. If they say something is there, it’s there. There’s no questioning that in game reality, because the GM is the only ultimate definer of what is inherently a negotiated reality. So players have a mentality of the GM as final game arbiter, and especially in more lengthy or in depth roleplay, that sense of authority sticks.

The GM in turn gets a huge amount of leadership experience. It turns out that the amount of control a GM is given over such an infinite landscape, along with having to organize and coordinate a team, is great training for leadership opportunities outside of games. A GM has to be able to read the group, to tell when they’re getting bored and when to pick up the pace, just like any presenter in any office building (though the GM does have the advantage of wizards and dragons). They need to have the work ethic and passion to build up a lot of notes and prepare for games. This involves keeping track of individual character player stats, detailed plot points, etc. There’s also the difficulty of arranging schedules, rides, and food for a group of 3-8 other people who all have life and jobs and other relationships. They get experienced with holding authority positions in a space where the players are inherently dependent on them.

Now, there are some games that don’t need a GM. However many of these are testing the boundaries of what a tabletop rpg is or entails, what delineates it from a board game. A GM is something that I believe is not entirely essential, but ranks pretty high up there to an inherent part of a trpg, along with dice and character records.

Before I finish here, I want to talk about how even between systems, a different expectation is given the GM, framed by the rules they use. Traditional Dungeons and Dragons calls for a Dungeon Master. This is partially strong branding, but also defines what was expected of the game. There’s a reason D&D helped birth the trope of the “Dungeon Crawler” (for those who don’t know as well, a dungeon crawler is typically a low-story game where a group of adventurers fights there way through a series of rooms in an enclosed space. Typically this would be the dungeon under a castle, hence the name.) The DM is somebody who is a rules arbiter, and also a fiendish dungeon developer. Those expectations are given just through their label, and DM is still a term used commonly to this day, especially in games where this sort of enclosed, hack and slash environment is encouraged.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, White Wolf’s World of Darkness game line has Storytellers. Their label doesn’t denote mechanical mastery. A Dungeon Master is king of their domain. A Storyteller is as well, but the feeling comes across more softly, more open for collaboration, and, obviously, more story/roleplay focused (some might argue that “Storyteller” is a kinda pretentious title to give somebody running a game, but each to their own.) Again, the title alone is setting up a series of expectations for a game before the game has even been played. Flip through some of the books you have, what sort of titles does the referee get? What do they say about the game?

And since we were talking about all of a GM’s hats earlier, do you think being a GM has any non-gaming applicability? How could this sort of experience be applied to other spaces? Could it be?

And when I say rough, I mean rough. There are a huge number of company and acquisition dramas in the relatively short history of the tabletop rpg, but it’s something that I can’t go too in depth on, for brevity’s sake. If you think this little bit of background is cool, I definitely suggest checking out the Evil Hat “Designers and Dragons” history series, as well as “Playing at the World” by Jon Peterson. One could argue that tabletop games go back as far as anybody’s been playing chess, but that’s another, much more theoretical argument that we don’t need to get into right now. The first commercial tabletop roleplaying game is accredited to TSR’s Dungeons and Dragons, and that’s going to be our grounding point.

In the 50s, we had wargames taking hold (and I should note, this was a small niche community, almost entirely built of white men who could afford to play). These were played on tabletop, but used miniatures to represent armies, and were solely played to simulate actual armies and battles. Some people started wanting to get a more personal interaction with their armies, which resulted in games where players would take control of individual units like spies or guards, and play through small scenarios. At the same time, some people wanted to break out of the traditional wargaming tropes, they wanted to try fantasy scenarios. These sorts of ideas built up and coalesced into Dave Arneson and Gary Gygax’s Dungeons and Dragons fantasy roleplaying game. This niche of a niche had trouble finding a foothold at first, but soon vastly outgrew its expectations.

Over several years it inspired many other games, all centered around having individual adventurers playing through a story in an ahistorical setting. Most of the settings were richly developed fantasy or science fiction worlds, though there was also some interest in other worlds like spies, superheroes, or horror. It was a completely new field, and there were a lot of people excited to plow it.
Then, in the 80s, a huge moral panic sprang up around these games, though most of it was specifically directed at D&D. Nowadays, if a kid strikes out in violence, the media blames it on his Xbox. Back then, it would be blamed on D&D. Many religious groups were worried that it was actually teaching children magic, or that it would cause them to be unable to distinguish the difference between fantasy and reality (not helped by Tom Hank’s portrayal of an out of touch gamer in Mazes and Monsters). This and several other factors caused a massive deflation in the tabletop rpg market by the late 80s.

Since then, tabletop rpgs have come back in a big way. With the dawn of online publishing, it became much easier for smaller, independent companies to produce for their audience. So what does that all have to do with sociology? Well, I always think it’s good to make sure everybody has the same base knowledge of something, since that makes it easier to talk about. But it also has the benefit of giving some background to some of the statistics I’m about to throw your way, and some of the seeds for the conversation’s we’ll be having later. Demographics are important to talking about social structures within a subculture, and data is a good way to learn about demographics.

In 2013 this study got released. Its a collection of sales data from almost 300 companies, and it looks like things are going well in the industry. There’s huge amounts of growth and stability in that data, as well as some interesting developments in game designers’ plans. The online market continues to be one perfectly suited for tabletop games, allowing a niche product to reach the largest quantity of people. Kickstarter has become the new go to launching platform for all but the most big name companies. This has worked incredibly well in some cases, though some older companies have had trouble adapting to the new resource.

Information on gamers themselves is a little harder to come about. Most of the more professionally collected data is old, and anything else has unreliably small sample sizes. There’s a collection of some of this here, and while it’s always best to take this data with a grain of salt, it does evidence something a lot of people are thinking; that gaming is a man’s world. Now, in video games that isn’t as strongly the case any more. Women are overtaking some of video gaming’s male demographic pie, we have much more recent data on that. And while hopefully similar things are happening in tabletop games, I wouldn’t be surprised if the recent change isn’t near so drastic. Tabletop communities can easily become insular (that’s another topic for another day) in a way videogames, given their easier point of access, don’t.

So there’s some history and some numbers to get you started, but there’s plenty more places to look! If you have any interesting historical tidbits, feel free to share them in the comments below.