Narrative, Not Math

(or, Words, Not Numbers)

Narrative, Not Math

Your magic sword makes you hit more often, and probably for greater damage. Your special ability with climbing makes you more likely to succeed at a difficult climb. This is true in most games and, in those games, it’s expressed with some kind of mathematical mechanic, like a bonus to a die roll. And that’s great. It probably is satisfying to the player and speaks to the narrative need of being “better” at things you are more likely to succeed at. Most roleplaying games are grounded in math, because most often die rolls ultimately determine success or failure, and dice give us numbers. In some fashion, determining success or failure is what the game’s mechanics are for.

But here’s the problem—it can be sort of dull.

That is to say, is the difference between Aragorn and a typical Gondor soldier really just that Aragorn has higher bonuses? Maybe—but what if it’s not?

What if a game’s mechanics gave a player more (and more interesting) options than just +1s (or more applications of Advantage, or further reductions in the difficulty, or extra dice to roll, etc.)? Perhaps a character who is good in combat (like Aragorn) can wield a torch as well as any weapon in combat? Or use their skill with a blade to more easily or accurately size up a sword-wielding foe? Slice through one foe and into another? Disarm a foe?

Yes, many games grant characters the ability to do these things. I’m not proposing something terribly new here. The point is, though, that these benefits are a way to make a character better without just using math and, at least in some cases, these narrative “bonuses” make both the character a

nd the action in the game more interesting.

But designers fall into the trap of simply handing out mathematical bonuses all the time, and they have done so since the dawn of the hobby. (This can lead to rules clutter.) This is not just because bonuses are easy, but because they’re universally applicable to any skill or task. Good archer? +1 with a bow. Good with locks? +1 to lockpicking. Good at flying a starship? +1 to piloting. +1 is a +1 is a +1. It has the advantage of conveying instant meaning. It’s the game’s way of saying in the briefest way, “you’re good at this thing.”

Sometimes, however, a designer might want to consider giving players a narrative way to show they are good at a thing. The archer can loose arrows from horseback. The lockpicking character can pick a lock much faster than normal. The starship pilot can coax speed beyond the ship’s limits using a clever maneuver. The problem is that such advantages are bespoke. A designer needs to create different advantages for different types of actions.

Narrative “bonuses” add color or flavor and generally don’t affect gameplay at the table, though they can slow down the game. Adding a number to your die roll is quick, but sometimes reassessing narrative options in a particular situation is not. However, in terms of making the game more interesting, the narrative approach worth it. If a fire wizard’s special ability isn’t simply +1 with fire spells, but the ability to make all of their spell effects seem fiery, the only thing that might slow down play at the table is giving the player the chance to describe how they use a fiery charm spell, or create flaming wings when they cast a spell that lets them fly. And that’s just interesting and fun.

In a game where treasure or gear can add bonuses, narrative effects are perhaps even more welcome. Want another +1 sword, or a sword that lets your character leap high into the air like a wuxia hero? Want a computer interface that adds +1 to hacking attempts, or one that disguises your online identity so you always appear to be the observer’s own mother?

The same is true for narrative penalties—they make the game more interesting and fun, and may be even more important to game design than narrative advantages. Arguably, just making a character less likely to succeed makes the game less interesting. It draws out what should probably be a brief and exciting encounter. Two hampered warriors lumbering about and swinging swords fruitlessly at each other gets to be a slog. Instead of using math to make success less likely, we use narrative penalties to change the parameters of the situation.

If you use narrative penalties, and you’re a fantasy fighter operating in a confined space, your attacks don’t suffer a -1 penalty, you instead have to choose a small weapon, like a dagger. If you’re firing your blaster at a foe that’s right next to an ally, you don’t suffer a -1 penalty, but there’s a chance you’ll hit your friend, so you have to decide if the risk is worth it. If you’re trying to disarm a trap in near darkness, you don’t suffer a -1 penalty, but your attempt will take three times longer than normal. Forcing characters to use different tactics, weapons, or styles can make the encounter or scene unique and more interesting.

From a design perspective, making narrative bonuses and penalties a part of a game is more work. It makes things more cumbersome and fiddly, and it slows down play.

And I think it’s a great thing to do.