The Tao of D&D

JB in Washington State writes,I think trying to tie Edwards and his theories to the factionalism (I prefer the term "Balkanization") of D&D is a false trail. The Forge folks (i.e. those who read Edward's essays, participated in the forum discussions, bought into the theories, etc.) are a very small niche of the overall RPG hobby and have had only minor impact. Those that continue to exist (rather than drifting into other interests...as I did) still design, create, and play their own games in parallel to the larger "D&D hobby" with little care for how D&D performs or fractures.

Frankly, I think Edwards and GNS theory has had little to do with the ongoing development of D&D. "Little" might not be a strong enough way of putting it...I really mean "next to nothing" or "almost zero." Instead, D&D's development since 2000 has all been about "chasing the money."

4th edition appears mostly obviously inspired by the MMORPG ('Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game') World of Warcraft. First published in 2004, it was immediately and immensely popular, winning a ton of gaming awards and becoming the best selling PC game of both 2005 and 2006. By January 2008 it had more than 10 million subscribers...levels it would maintain up through 2015.

I have been told that there was always a plan to do a new edition of D&D after 3rd edition...that because the bulk of RPG sales comes from the sale of "core books" it is necessary to come out with a new 'core' that customer/fans must purchase every 6-8 years. If this is accurate, then the company always intended to release a new edition circa 2007/8. And when they went looking for inspiration for their new edition, they took a good long look at the game play of the largest, most popular "D&D adjacent" video game on the market.

I have played WoW. The similarities between 4E and WoW are quite apparent, even in terminology used by WoW's online fan communities. It might be interesting to try connecting Slavicsek, Heinsoo, Wyatt, and Mearls to the computer gaming community, and Blizzard Entertainment in particular, but I'm sure they were (at least) exposed to its game play by the time they sat down at the drawing board for their own design.

Money-wise, 3rd edition D&D had a MASSIVE effect on the overall RPG hobby. Because of its "Open Gaming License" and in conjunction with its massive popularity (this due to several factors, best discussed elsewhere), many RPG companies converted their systems wholesale to the D20 brand in order to make their games compatible with D&D...and thus ACCESSIBLE to the huge influx of players ("customers") now indoctrinated to 3rd edition D&D. New publishing companies were formed with the sole purpose of creating product for 3E. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to ride D&D's coattails and partake in the massive gravy train.

Then 4th edition pulled the rug out...even rewriting the OGL.

However, the 3E OGL was explicitly perpetual. And Paizo created Pathfinder (a 3E clone using the OGL) which not only allowed people to continue playing their more familiar flavor of D&D, but also threw a life ring to the numerous small companies that went under due to the 4E conversion. Unfortunately, for many of those companies, it was too late.

But for WorC, Paizo's impact was HUGE. For the first time IN ITS HISTORY, it lost so much market share that D&D was outsold and outperformed by a different RPG (Pathfinder). Even in the 90s (when games like Vampire and Rifts were riding high and 2E was at low ebb) this had never happened. And so WotC pivoted, following the money. They junked 4E and went straight to the public, begging for its customers to take them back. "What do we have to do to win your love and loyalty?"

Enter 5E, the Great Compromise.

Everything since then has been reactions to the market, trying to leverage opportunities (like the surprising popularity of Critical Role, etc.), in order to build brand, maintain 'core demographics' (as they see their core), and rake in dollars. Everything.

Old style D&D is for old people. Old people are not the future of the hobby. Old people die. Hasbro/WotC are a business. They need living, breathing customers. Younger customers. Dumber customers. Customers who don't ask too many questions, and who are more interested in the flash and glitz and veneer of fun than in the deeper, long term impact of play. Customers interested in D&D as a "lifestyle brand" (more revenue streams!) not as a game.

Did you know: Ron Edwards is playing/running a D&D campaign these days? Not just D&D, but 1st edition AD&D? He has a new blog where he writes about it. It's pretty amusing. He's doing all the tinkering stuff with the game that we all do (well, that *I* did...back through the first 10+ years of my blogging about B/X). But he's getting there...getting closer to that epiphany moment when he'll stop worrying about the system and just start paying attention to the game. It's just a matter of time.

Answer: Dismissing the Forge and Ron Edwards' GNS Theory as a "niche" overlooks the significant discussions it sparked regarding game design and player preferences. The Forge played a pivotal role in articulating and categorizing the diverse play styles and expectations of RPG players. Although the influence of GNS Theory might not have been direct or explicitly acknowledged by mainstream designers, its conceptual framework undeniably permeated the broader discourse on game design, which includes the designers of D&D.

I'll accept that 4th edition was heavily inspired by MMORPGs, specifically World of Warcraft. But that doesn't negate the influence of broader theoretical discussions, such as those originating from GNS Theory, on how games could be structured to cater to different types of players. The similarities between 4th edition and MMORPGs underscore a particular approach to game design, focusing on structured combat and tactical gameplay, which aligns with the gamist aspect of GNS Theory. Thus, even if indirectly, the principles discussed in the Forge might have informed some of the design decisions, consciously or unconsciously.

Regarding the financial motivations behind the new editions, yes, of course, the RPG industry wants to make money. It's in the business of entertainment, and obviously the requent releases of new editions to boost sales through new core books plainly serves that end. However, these decisions do not exist in a vacuum and are influenced by ongoing conversations in the gaming community about what players want from their games. The decisions made by the company were and are influenced by market demands, player feedback and broader trends within the gaming community. As such, they're shaped by the ongoing conversations and evolving preferences of the player base.

When the company designs a new edition, it does so with a keen awareness of the prevailing sentiments within the gaming community. Player feedback, collected through various channels such as forums, surveys, playtests and social media, plays a crucial role in shaping the direction of game development. This reflects a wide range of preferences and criticisms, providing invaluable insights into what players enjoy and what they find frustrating. The company must navigate these diverse opinions to create a product that appeals to as many players as possible while maintaining the core identity of the game. And let's not forget that the influence of industry trends cannot be understated. As the popularity of MMORPGs like World of Warcraft surged, WotC likely observed the elements that made these games successful and sought to incorporate similar features into 4th edition. The structured combat mechanics and tactical gameplay, reminiscent of MMORPGs, were intended to attract players who enjoyed these aspects. However, this approach also highlights how game design decisions are influenced by broader trends and the desire to tap into emerging markets.

Those theoretical frameworks and discussions, AT THAT TIME, included a front-and-centre discussion of GNS Theory. It might not have been explicitly cited by the 4th edition designers, but the ongoing discourse about different player archetypes and their preferences probably informed the design process, and GIVEN THE EVIDENCE OF WHAT CAME FORWARD, I'd argue that it DID influence that process. Understanding the distinctions between gamists, narrativists and simulationists would have been part of what helped designers anticipate the needs and desires of various player groups. This theoretical understanding, whether directly acknowledged or not, influenced the choices made in game design to create a more engaging and satisfying experience for a broad audience.

Further, the commercial realities of the RPG industry meant they were forced to justify the release they were making, not just to the customer but to the shareholders also, as they had to attract purchases while retaining enough familiarity to keep long-time players invested. This balancing act was and is informed by continuous engagement with the community, as well as an understanding of market dynamics and player demographics. The success of Pathfinder, for example, catered to players' preferences after the release of 4e in a way that prompted the WotC to adjust its approach with 5th edition.

The impact of Pathfinder and the competition it posed to D&D is part of this mess ... the endless significance of understanding and catering to diverse player needs, something GNS Theory aims to categorise and address. The "Great Compromise" was what 5th edition marketed itself to be, but in reality it stumbled and fell on its face.

5th edition's design heavily prioritised narrative flexibility and character-driven storytelling, appealing primarily to narrativists. While it included elements aimed at gamists and simulationists, such as streamlined combat mechanics and an emphasis on the game's lore, these features feel secondary and insufficient. The core mechanics were simplified to lower the barrier to entry for new players, making the game more accessible but also less intricate in terms of strategic depth and mechanical complexity. This simplification has alienated many gamists who valued the tactical and strategic elements of previous editions, particularly 3rd edition and its variant, Pathfinder.

Additionally, the modular approach, touted as a key feature to cater to different play styles, is more of a theoretical framework than a practical solution. While the idea wants to allow Dungeon Masters to tailor the game to their group's preferences, in practice, the core rules remained heavily slanted towards a narrative focus. The optional modules lack depth and the support needed to fully satisfy simulationist and gamist players, leading to dissatisfaction among those groups.

Moreover, the company's strategic decision to market 5th edition as a lifestyle brand aimed at younger, newer players further entrenched this focus. The emphasis on inclusivity and accessibility was undoubtedly beneficial in expanding the player base but often came at the cost of depth and complexity that long-time players valued. This strategic pivot was driven by a desire to capture a broader market and ensure the game's commercial viability, reflecting a prioritisation of narrative-driven experiences over mechanically intensive gameplay.

The marketing and community engagement strategies also played a role in this PERCEIVED compromise. The open playtesting and feedback process, while inclusive, highlighted the deep-seated divisions within the player base. The company's attempt to reconcile these differences through a unified system was ambitious but ultimately fell short, as it was impossible to fully satisfy all factions without compromising the core experience for others. Which was my original argument.

Your children are not "old," JB. The children of other people who support my Patreon are also not "old." My daughter and her friends are not old either. Yes, we die. SO DO COMPANIES. Hasbro's utter failure to consistly obtain "living, breathing customers" killed TOYS 'R' US. I'm watching a landscape of brick and mortar companies collapse all over. The point is irrelevant to what GNS wrought in the RPG community, which I'm not ready to dismiss.

The fact that Ron Edwards is playing 1st edition AD&D and his evolving perspective on game design is an interesting anecdote but does not diminish the impact of his earlier work. Theoretical contributions have a life of their own, influencing discussions and developments long after their inception, even as their originators continue to evolve in their thinking.

It's a misconception to suggest that older, more experienced individuals are not the future of role-playing games (RPGs) or other industries. This notion overlooks several critical factors that highlight the continued relevance and influence of us old farts.

First, we bring a wealth of experience and historical knowledge to the RPG community. We've witnessed the evolution of game design, mechanics and player preferences over decades. This allows us to appreciate and advocate for the depth and complexity that newer editions might lack. Our understanding of what has worked in the past and what hasn't can provide valuable insights for future game development. Every time I write a post, I influence the thoughts and beliefs of plenty of young people, who want me to keep writing. I'm guiding them, preserving my ideas and encouraging them to make more of their own, in a climate where they can't get that sort of encouragement from a corporate clone.

Not me personally, but old players typically have money to purchase high-quality game materials, support crowdfunding projects and attend conventions ... like you. You don't think you influence people when you play a game that wins you a cup? You think young people can fly off to Europe every couple of years, long enough to go to a game convention? You underestimate the privilege that your being older, attached to a surrounding culture of likewise older and more wealthy people, provides for the world in the long run. Politicians may get money from young people, but they get a lot MORE from old people.

Additionally, we are frequently involved in the creative and professional aspects of the RPG industry. Many game designers, writers, and artists who have shaped the field over the years continue to contribute their talents. There is a trend of life-long learning that encourages us, more than young people who express doubt about their abilities all the time, to keep exploring new interests and deepening our existing passions well into later life.

You, perhaps, have decided that the next forty years of your life are going to be spent watching plants grow in pots, but I'm not. I'm a long way from done, and I haven't yet had my best idea. So you go ahead and count yourself old. You go ahead and get ready to die. Not me. I'm too busy to die right now.

_____

Feel free to address material on the authentic wiki, my books or any subject related to dungeons & dragons.  I encourage you to initiate subject material of your own, and to address your comment to others writing in this space. 

Here's an uncomfortable subject.

As dungeon masters, we can use mind games to manipulate and control players, as a means of presenting the game so as to achieve certain narrative or stylistic goals. We can use mixed signals, passive-aggressive behaviour, emotional manipulation, and even "gaslighting" to create the dynamic, engaging experience we're going for. Thus we're able to confuse, intimidate, or undermine the players' confidence and sense of reality, making it easier to dominate or influence their actions.

Skipping over, for the moment, whether we should do this, let's take a moment and run down what these mind games are. Mixed signals can keep players guessing and unsure about the true nature of the challenges they face, enhancing the sense of mystery and unpredictability in the game. For example, we can appear helpful and friendly, or we can appear hesitant to answer certain questions, suggesting that these are bad strategies or ideas on the players' part, causing them to be uncertain about what they're asking for, or what actions they're taking.

We might be passive aggressive by suggesting disappointment at the players deciding upon a certain action, or failing to be sufficiently brave or creative in their strategies. We might say, "Oh, you're taking that route? Well, it's probably the safer option, even if it means missing out on potential rewards." This pressures players to reconsider their choices, without outright forbidding their actions.

We can craft scenarios to tun at the players' heartstrings or evoke rash actions, as forms of emotional manipulation. For example, the DM might introduce a young, innocent character in need of help, only to later reveal that aiding this character inadvertently caused harm to others. This can be effectively used to jerk the players around in all sorts of ways, while heightening the emotional stakes of a game ... while simultaneously causing players to feel guilty or perhaps incompetent as players.

Gaslighting is all about distorting the players' perceptions of events, to sow doubt and confusion. We can present a key to the players, setting everything up so that the key seems very important; and then, inevitably, have it be the case that the key never mattered at all. We can invent faint, eerie voices, which never lead to the discovery of anything, and are just meaningless, extraneous details we threw in for no good reason. We can cover a door with symbols, causing players to drastically overthink the importance of these symbols, assuming they wouldn't be here if they weren't important ... and then have the symbols mean exactly nothing beyond decoration.

In the short run, most of these can be used to deepen the players' engagement ... until such time as they feel like they're being abusively manipulated, whereupon expect an insurrection. If they feel consistently manipulated or unfairly treated, frustrated, and feel they have reason to cease trusting the DM, it shouldn't be a surprise if they refuse to further play the game. While yes, uncertainty and misinformation can enhance game play, it can also easily undermine the players' enjoyment and agency. If mixed signals become too frequent or convoluted; if passive aggressive behaviour is evidently judgmental; if emotional manipulation goes too fare in exploiting sensitive topics, or creates situations that lead to excessive guilt or distress; then a backlash is bound to occur. And gaslighting, of course, is not far from downright lying.

The goal, though it shouldn't need to be said, is to enhance the players' experience; the presentation isn't, and never should be, about what the DM wants. Take the example of the door covered with symbols. As the players drift into overthink, our better nature ought to realise that, "Oops, I've shoved them into a loop," and feel guilty enough about that to explain in short order that no, these are just decorations. On the other hand, if we sit and listen to the players suffer, enjoying their confusion and all the game time it wastes --while even enjoy the fact that it's keeping the players busy without our needing to do anything, that's a bad thing. We ought to stop engaging that impulse.

We exist to present and progress the game in such a way that it's enjoyable and engaging for the players. When we plan to use any form of manipulation or psychological tactic, it is crucial to also plan for the moment when the misinformation becomes evident. This approach requires the DM to anticipate the players' eventual realization and be prepared to address it honestly and transparently. When the truth comes out, admitting openly with a statement like, "Yes, I was playing with you," can transform potential frustration into a shared laugh, fostering a sense of camaraderie and enhancing the overall enjoyment of the game.

It's difficult to explain in clear terms just how this works. To see how it does, we must begin by admitting that IF our coming clean is going to anger the party, then we should avoid playing that mind game in the first place. It's not acceptable to think, "Well then, I just won't come clean." That's not an answer. It's evidence of why you don't deserve friends. Think of it like a "practical joke." Approach it with the same care as a well-intentioned prank. The goal is to entertain and surprise, not to upset or frustrate. Consider how the players will react when the truth comes out. Concentrate on inventing misdirections or deceptions that will, in the long run, be viewed as "clever" or "enlightening."

Consider this scene from Lord of the Rings,

At the top, as high as Gandalf could reach, was an arch of interlacing letters in an Elvish character. Below, though the threads were in places blurred or broken, the outline could still be seen: two trees, each bearing crescent moons. More clearly than all else there shone forth in the middle of the door a single star with many rays. There are the emblems of Durin! cried Gimli. And there is the Tree of the High Elves! said Legolas. And the Star of the House of Fëanor, said Gandalf. They are wrought of ithildin that mirrors only starlight and moonlight, and sleeps until it is touched by one who speaks words now long forgotten in Middle-earth. It is long since I heard them, and I thought deeply before I could recall them to my mind.

 All this is a mind game. It's intended to convey the idea that the door is very complex, and certainly not easy to enter. Of course, we all know the joke now, but the subtle manner in which Tolkein sets up the confusion about "Speak, friend, and enter," is compelled by the initial description of the door. The mind game lies in the juxtaposition of the straightforward solution against the perceived need for a more intricate one, highlighting themes of wisdom and simplicity over unnecessary complexity.

This is a simple example.  I recently indulged in the creation of a mind game in a book I'm writing; I'll provide the relevant text without context, except to say the narrator is the DM here:

Unfortunately, the girl Mnkeh, who's just five, is nowhere to be seen. I roll a six-sided die to see how long it takes to find her, doing it until I roll a '1.' I mentally tell myself that if I get a ‘1’ within four rolls, Mnkeh is safe. It takes six rolls for me to roll a ‘1.’

As the die hits the table each time, in full view—I don't play with a gaming screen—the players look on with confusion and concern. When I stop, with a ‘1’ showing, the room is silent. "Galatea hears a scream to her left," I say. Galatea launches herself in that direction, and as she reaches the top of the dry wash bank, she sees that Mnkeh is being threatened by a wolf. The little girl is trying to wedge herself into a crack along the far bank. It's not big enough for her.

"I scream, trying to get the wolf's attention," yelps Susan, who then has Galatea leap down the bank. It's ten feet, onto soft loam, and she makes her dexterity check and ends on her feet. The wolf and Mnkeh, I say, are 40 feet away.

Galatea throws her hammer, Susan snatching her d20 from the table. She misses.

I roll a twenty-sided die in full view of the party. It comes up a '17.' A clear hit. The wolf attacks Mnkeh and kills the girl."

Without a good deal of experience in the human emotions of others, along with the capacity to see the world through their eyes, I wouldn't recommend playing a whole lot of mind games. Which is, reasonably, why DM's don't. It's really easy to fuck up. On the other hand, the payoff for both player and DM can be pretty high. And for that reason I suggest, GET some experience in how others feel, or see, or think.  Experiment carefully.  This is not a tactic for amateurs.

So, where is D&D going?I stumbled across some rumours about Tencent Holdings Inc. acquiring Wizards of the Coast, something that's arises primarily from financial analyses and reports highlighting Hasbro's financial difficulties. Hasbro's significant financial losses, including layoffs and reduced revenue from its toy business, have spurred speculation that it might sell off profitable divisions like WOTC to stabilize its finances. Tencent is a publicly traded company listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange; it's also a Chinese multinational conglomerate founded in 1998, with shareholders that include investment firms and funds. It's one of the world's largest technology companies, with a market cap of 400 to 500 billion, USD. Hasbro's market cap is around 10 to 15 billion.

I went searching for a direct line GNS Theory and 4th edition.  I had little luck.

Ron Edwards introduced GNS theory in 1999, upon co-founding the Forge with Ed Healy. Healy's presence on The Forge was more behind-the-scenes compared to Ron Edwards, who was the more prominent public face of the site. Healy was instrumental in setting up the technical and organizational aspects of the website, enabling it to become a pivotal platform for independent RPG designers. While he did contribute to discussions, his role was focused on facilitating and maintaining the community infrastructure.

After The Forge, Healy went on to pursue various projects. He became well-known for his work with the gaming company, Gamerati, which focused on marketing, news and support for the gaming community. I simply wasn't able to find any information of Healy stating if GNS Theory affected his thinking or not; certainly, Gamerati didn't focus on game design. I include this note because it was missed in the previous post.

GNS Theory was officially published in 2003 by Edwards himself ... but while it inspired quite a lot of discussion online, it did not seem to influence the thinking of James Slavicsek, Rob Heinsoo, James Wyatt or Mike Mearls, the standouts among the design team who began 4th edition's development in earnest, around 2005. Reading Heinsoo's articles at Pelgrane Press, he's quite the fanboy; seeing this video, it's hard to imagine anyone putting a multi-millon dollar property into his hands ... but of course, this could all be a posture he adopts for the fan boys. Slavicsek described Heinsoo as "our mad genius" in an interview in Kobald Quarterly #5; in the same article, he describes James Wyatt as "the storyteller" and himself as "the stat junkie."

The same article (I think; it's hard to tell) makes a case for the design team pretty much throwing a lot of shit at the walls, no doubt thinking they knew what they were doing, but of course we know now that 4th edition was such a disaster that the company had to abandon it in just six years (from 2008 to 2014); which is, from a company standpoint, a disaster. Such a rapid replacement of a major product, based on dissatisfaction from the fan base, reflects a serious misalignment between the product and the customer needs. The failure of 4th edition terrified the company, forcing them to go to the fans to avoid another like fuck-up ... though, as I'll argue, they were unable to do anything except replace 4th with another fuck-up. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Without direct evidence, it's probable that 4th edition's designers were merely attempting to conform with broader trends and principles in game design, rather than any sort of direct embrace with GNS theory. By the mid-2000s, a great mass of information was floating around as table top gaming evolved.

Nonetheless, however the team got them, there are a few coincidences that are worth noting. 4th edition places a strong emphasis on creating balanced and tactical combat mechanics. This was added to ensure that players enjoying "strategic challenges" and competitive play (gamists) would yet find the game rewarding. The introduction of a standardised set of powers and abilities for all the classes was a move towards that.

And although it was criticised for being too mechanically focused, 4th edition does include tools and guidelines that support storytelling. DMs are given frameworks and advice for crafting engaging narratives (it's very, very clumsy advice, but the push is clearly there), officially promoting the argument for many players that the game ought to be about storytelling and character development (narrativists). And, 4th paid a fair bit of lip service towards the ideal of creating a cohesive and immersive game world, providing settings and materials that helped maintain the game's internal logic. "Points of Light" established a world where small pockets of civilization existed amidst vast, dangerous wilderness. ''Core World" provided a shared world-building framework that DMs could use as a foundation for their campaigns, including details on geography, cosmology, history, and cultures. 4th edition provided detailed descriptions of monster backgrounds, the logic of how magic worked and how different planes interacted with the material world. All this was catered to that specific player who wanted an immersive experience (simulationists).

Whether they meant to or not, the designers ended up with a shotgun approach to game design, addressing a wide array of player needs and preferences. By struggling to appeal to everyone, and in doing so, it heightened the divisiveness between different player factions.

The result was a mess, due to its overemphasis on combat mechanics, which made the game feel more like a tactical exercise than a role-playing experience. This focus alienated players who preferred the narrative and immersive aspects of earlier editions. The significant changes to core mechanics and the introduction of video game-like powers led to a loss of the traditional D&D feel, which frustrated long-time players. Additionally, the complexity and learning curve of the new rules added to the dissatisfaction, making it harder for some players to engage with the game. Despite its ambitious goals, the attempt to cater to diverse player preferences resulted in a divisive and often criticized edition.

The gamists were alienated by the attention given to narrative depth and immersive world-building; those who wanted storytelling and simulation despised the structured combat system, which in turn led to a serious push back against ANY kind of structure when these same people were requested to give their opinions on an upcoming 5th edition.

We must argue that none of this is Edwards fault. Most likely, Edards merely identified and articulated the different factions as they were forming right in front of him in the 1990s. He didn't create the divisions, he merely highlighted them, offering a positive perspective that understanding these differences could lead to better game design.

But to be clear, he wasn't all that forward thinking, either. He didn't see his categories AS divisions. He may have articulated the divisions as ideals, but he oversimplified the underlying dynamics and missed the antagonistic nature of these factions. Players did not merely wish to play the game differently, it became evident in the next ten years that they were actively opposed to how others played the game. Each would strive to reshape the game to fit their ideals, and very definitely at the expense of other play styles. This became brutally apparent with the negotiations surrounding 5th edition. The company's choice to embrace community involvement in the way it did was unprecedented. The D&D Next playtest invited players from all over the world to contribute their ideas, preferences and critiques. Thinking they could unify the disparate factions, the company instead encountered deeply entrenched groups that each had their vision of what D&D should be, with these visions generally being in direct opposition to one another. As feedback rolled in, it became clear that reconciling these diverse play styles would be fucking impossible ... at least, for the level of genius functioning at the WOTC then as now.

According to the company's rhetoric, it decided to implement a "modular approach," allowing Dungeon Masters to tailor the rules to fit their group's preferences. This meant including optional rules and guidelines that could be adopted or ignored based on the play style of each group. By doing so, they aimed to offer a core system that was broad and adaptable enough to accommodate different styles of play without forcing a one-size-fits-all solution.

In reality, the company made a pragmatic decision. It chose a core system that would appeal to the largest faction. Those not picked were sidelined and, as best as the company could without committing itself, thrown some bones to keep them quiet. The priority, as with any company, was to ensure the commercial success and broad appeal of the new edition, primarily tailored the core mechanics and gameplay elements to suit that faction of players that represented, as the company saw it, the greatest number. The company has, as such, put all its eggs in one basket, committed to a game design philosophy that prioritizes narrative flexibility, character development, and the "rule of cool." This has effectively sent a message that if some players don't like the new direction, they should find another game to play.

This has led to a kind of exodus, where mechanics-focused players seek out other RPG systems that better align with their play style, or they revert to earlier editions of D&D that better satisfy their preferences. The expectation for these players to "just go away" manifests in the lack of support and development for more mechanics-intensive content within the current edition. Consequently, the game has become less inclusive of diverse play styles, favoring a homogeneous approach that prioritizes the narrative-driven experience.

The approach has caused problems for the company. The exodus of mechanics-focused players has contributed to dissatisfaction within the community, and the company has struggled to balance the diverse needs of its player base. The dissatisfaction has led to discussions and even grumblings about the need for a new edition that might better address the varying preferences and bring back the players who felt alienated by the fifth edition's direction. This is evident in the choice of calling said new edition, "One D&D."

Last Saturday, JB wrote,

"For the most part, I've approached my entire role-playing hobby in this way...and why not, when my introduction to the hobby was the D&D game?...even with game systems that are clearly not conducive to this style of play. Or rather, I did...up until the early 2000s when I started reading RPG theory over at the Forge and recognizing how different systems facilitate different types of play."

 

Okay, so ...

There's absolutely nothing I'd like less than to write a history about how this shit with the early 2000s and GNS theory came about, since I had no conscious part of it at the time and only had to deal with the aftermath.  At no time was I asked, "Do you want the critical elements of the game you love utterly reworked and massacred by an early internet-savvy self-publishing game designer ready to take advantage of an existing ennui perpetrated by a company that didn't actually give a shit about those playing it's RPG game?"

This, however, is hardly understood, and needs a history, one that isn't written by a salivating fan-boy like Maliszewski.  As such, let me piece together the nightmare as I understand it, from what I can find.

Before founding "The Forge," Ron Edwards was primarily known within the role-playing game (RPG) community as an independent game designer and a vocal critic of mainstream RPG design trends.  His early conclusions about the game was that a deep engagement existed between the player and the DM ... the interpretation of which provided him with the insights and experiences that fueled his critical perspectives on game design.  These perspectives had all the verification of a religious zealot ... and had he not possessed them until the present day, or at any time before the mid-1990s, they would have died away without ever being embraced.  But like so many things with which we contend with today, Edwards' particular brand of narcissism coincided with the newness of the internet, which enabled him to spread his ideas through The Forge, which we'll get to momentarily.

Edwards' most notable work was his game "Sorcerer," which he self-published in 1996. "Sorcerer" was distinctive for its focus on personal horror and moral dilemmas, as well as its innovative mechanics that emphasized narrative and thematic depth.  The game made no splash at all within the gaming community; it was just another piece of work, like hundreds and hundreds of others.

In 1999, he founded The Forge, an independent website with its own domain.  This site featured a custom-built online discussion forum specifically designed to facilitate in-depth conversations about role-playing game design and theory. The website was not associated with any of the major social media platforms; instead, it operated as a standalone forum dedicated solely to the RPG community.  While there wasn't a complete vacuum of RPG content at the time, the online resources were somewhat limited and fragmented. The founding of the Forge in 1999 provided a more focused and structured platform.  The alternative at that time were Usenet newsgroups, mailing lists, personal websites and blogs (before those became popular) and a few other forums, notably EN World (originally known as Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D Third Edition News).

Wizards of the Coast, White Wolf and Chaosium had their own websites, which included forums, but these tended to be clumsy, with basic and sometimes clunky designs, and they generally lacked the interactive features that modern websites offer. Most were built using simple HTML and often had rudimentary layouts and navigation.  Features such as forums, chat rooms, and content management systems were in their infancy. While some sites did have forums or message boards, these were often very basic.  They suffered from slow load times, static content and an absence of community engagement, largely because they had a staff of one person who fought mostly to keep the website from crashing.  Compared to these, The Forge, with its focus on community-driven discussion and content, provided a more engaging and specialized platform for RPG enthusiasts and designers.

As The Forge had a clear mission, to explore and develop RPG theory and support independent game design, and because it encouraged conversation rather than dictating a particular belief about gaming, it became a hotbed for new ideas and theories in a community that had become sterile and dissatisfied with D&D.  Many felt that the game, particularly its second edition, had grown stale and overly complex, with a plethora of supplements and rules expansions. The core mechanics and settings were seen as limiting for players seeking fresh and innovative gameplay experiences.  There was a growing interest in RPGs that focused more on narrative and character development rather than the traditional dungeon-crawling and combat-heavy style of D&D. Players wanted games that allowed for deeper storytelling and more meaningful character arcs.  This feeling had led to the proliferation of other games, like White Wolf's "Vampire: The Masquerade," which accentuated storytelling, personal horror and complex social dynamics.

The industry itself, throughout the 1990s, was experiencing fatigue from a flood of supplements, splatbooks and expansions that often felt more like cash grabs than meaningful content additions.  This commercialism left many players and GMs feeling disillusioned with the direction of mainstream RPGs.  This encouraged independent RPGs, which of course was the reason why Edwards tried to do so himself with Sorcerer.  The backdrop of all that was happening prior to 1999 made fertile ground for anyone ready to embrace the internet, see it for the opportunities it provided, and who posssessed a reasonably believable theory that could be espoused upon a dulled, thirsting audience wandering around in a desert.

It should come through this history that I don't have a lot of respect for Edwards.  I can't fault the man himself.  Probably, given what he knew, and the absence of ready game theory books written by educated persons who were unwilling to admit that role-playing games existed, much less to take time deconstructing them, GNS theory sounded plausible.  Unfortunately, like many, many other ideas presented by humans intended to explain things, like "ether" or "phlogiston," it's just fucking wrong.  This is painfully obvious to anyone whose ever done actual research into human behaviour or philosophy, because it bears so many of the characteristics of BAD IDEAS that have occurred in those fields, but to the uninitiated, typical human willing to engage with the internet between 1999 and 2003 (when virtually everyone was either young, a computer nerd or very horny and trying to get laid), it looks completely sensible.  So does Mormonism.  The RPG community was thirty, and willing to drink anything plausible, and Edwards, unknowingly, gave them sand.  And the community drank it up.

GNS Theory, briefly, is a framework developed to categorise and understand different styles of play and design goals in role-playing games (RPGs).  "GNS" stands for Gamist, Narrativist and Simulationist, the three primary types of play styles that the theory identifies.

The Gamist approach prioritises competition, challenge and strategic play, stressing the game aspect of RPGs.  Players in this style seek to overcome obstacles, achieve goals and often compete against each other or the game system itself.  Gamist play typically involves clear rules for conflict resolution, rewards for success and a focus on tactical decision-making, embodying the idea of "winning" within the game context.  Classic dungeon-crawling adventures in Dungeons & Dragons, where players face monsters and puzzles to gain treasure and experience points, are quintessential examples of Gamist play.

The Narrativist approach, on the other hand, prioritises storytelling, thematic depth and the creation of a coherent narrative.  It emphasizes the story aspect of RPGs, where players collaborate to tell meaningful and engaging stories.  Narrativist play often involves mechanics that support storytelling, such as narrative control, character development and thematic conflicts, focusing on creating a compelling and emotionally resonant narrative.  Games like "Dogs in the Vineyard" by Vincent Baker, which center around moral dilemmas and character-driven stories, exemplify Narrativist play.

The Simulationist approach prioritises the realistic or immersive simulation of a particular setting or experience, accentuating the world aspect of RPGs.  Players in this style aim to explore and interact with a detailed and consistent fictional environment.  Simulationist play often involves complex and detailed rules that simulate the physics, politics and social dynamics of the game world, aiming to provide a believable and immersive experience. Games like "GURPS" (Generic Universal RolePlaying System) by Steve Jackson Games, which aim to offer detailed rules for simulating a wide variety of settings and scenarios, are Simulationist in nature.

The theory includes the suggestion that  these three approaches are not mutually exclusive but represent different priorities and preferences that can influence game design and play. While a single game can incorporate elements of all three styles, often one will be more prominent. The theory helps designers and players understand their preferences and make informed choices about the games they create and play.  However, one major criticism is that GNS theory fails to account for the fluid and dynamic nature of player preferences. Players often shift their focus depending on the context of the game session, the story arc or their mood, which the rigid GNS categories do not adequately capture.  Additionally, the theory does not consider the social and psychological aspects of gaming, such as group dynamics, personal player goals and the impact of the game master’s style, which can significantly influence the play experience.

Another issue is the theory's limited applicability to a broader range of games. While it was developed with traditional tabletop RPGs in mind, the rise of diverse gaming formats, including live-action role-playing (LARP), digital RPGs and hybrid games, has shown that GNS theory does not comprehensively address the varied mechanics and experiences these formats offer.

Furthermore, the language and framework of GNS theory cannot be considered academic, but "pseudo-academic."  As Edwards was an amateur game designer, the terms "Gamist," "Narrativist," and "Simulationist" are not clearly defined and can be interpreted in various ways.  This imprecision leads to confusion and misapplication, as different people may have different understandings of what each term means.  Oversimplification, or reductionism, fails to capture the nuanced and overlapping aspects of actual gameplay experiences, making it less useful for practical analysis. Furthermore, much of GNS theory is based on anecdotal evidence and personal observations rather than systematic studies, which undermines its reliability and generalizability across different gaming groups and contexts. While GNS theory uses a formal and structured approach, it lacks the depth and rigor of genuine academic discourse.  This lack of interdisciplinary integration limits its explanatory power. Many professional game designers and scholars have criticized GNS theory for its simplistic approach and failure to account for the complexities of player motivations and game dynamics. These critiques highlight the theory's shortcomings and challenge its validity.

Over the years, more nuanced and flexible frameworks have emerged, such as the "Big Model" or the "Threefold Model," which offer more detailed and adaptable approaches to understanding RPG play styles. These newer models incorporate a broader range of factors, including player psychology and social interactions, providing a more holistic view of gaming experiences.

But the damage has already been done.  The negative imprint of GNS theory on the rhetoric and community think within the RPG community has been considerable. Despite its initial intention to provide a structured approach to understanding different play styles, the theory's flaws and limitations have led to several detrimental effects.  The ideas have contributed to a pervasive sense of dissatisfaction and division within the RPG community over the past two decades. Rather than unifying the community or providing a clear path forward, GNS theory has inadvertently led to a fracturing of concepts, beliefs, and ongoing arguments that have permeated the internet and RPG forums.

One significant issue is that GNS theory has exacerbated divisions within the community by creating rigid categories that encourage a "one size fits all" approach to play styles. This rigid categorization has often led to gatekeeping, where certain styles of play are deemed superior or more legitimate than others. Players and game designers who do not fit neatly into the Gamist, Narrativist, or Simulationist categories can feel marginalized or invalidated, resulting in a fragmented community where mutual respect and appreciation for diverse play styles are lacking.

The theory's imprecise terminology and lack of academic rigor have further fueled endless debates and misunderstandings. Discussions about game design and play preferences often devolve into semantic arguments about what each category truly means. This has led to a culture of pedantry and argumentation, where the focus is on defining and defending theoretical constructs rather than fostering a collaborative and inclusive environment. These debates can be alienating, driving people away from meaningful engagement and innovation in RPG design.

Moreover, the pseudo-academic nature of GNS theory has contributed to a sense of disillusionment. Many in the community initially embraced the theory as a way to bring clarity and improvement to RPG design, only to find that its simplistic and flawed framework did not hold up to scrutiny. This disillusionment has led to a broader skepticism about RPG theories in general, with some feeling that theoretical discussions are more about intellectual posturing than practical improvement.

The fracturing effect of GNS theory has also manifested in the proliferation of niche communities and subcultures within the broader RPG landscape. While diversity in gaming is generally positive, the sharp divisions and lack of common ground have led to isolated echo chambers rather than a cohesive and supportive community. This isolation can stifle cross-pollination of ideas and reduce opportunities for collaborative growth and innovation.

In essence, rather than leading the dissatisfied out of the desert, GNS theory has left a lingering impact on a culture where arguments about play styles often overshadow the joy and creativity that RPGs are meant to inspire. This persistent division underscores the need for more flexible, inclusive, and practical approaches to understanding and enhancing the role-playing game experience.

The state of RPG design over the past two decades has, in many ways, exacerbated the issues that were already problematic in the 1990s. Despite attempts at innovation, many contemporary games still reflect and even amplify the dissatisfactions that existed back then.  5th Edition, while popular, embodies many of the same issues that plagued earlier editions. The game often prioritises superficial storytelling that lacks thematic depth, relying heavily on the Dungeon Master to enforce narrative coherence. This results in a gaming experience that can feel unstructured and unsatisfying, with player whims often driving the story in directions that lack substantive engagement.  Moreover, many modern RPGs continue to stress combat and tactical elements, aspects that were criticized in the 1990s for overshadowing other forms of play. Even games that claim to focus on narrative often fall back on these familiar mechanics, leading to a lack of true innovation in how stories are told within RPGs. This reliance on old, combat-centric mechanics highlights a failure to appease those people who do not care for combat, who still insist on forcing the game away from it.

Indie games, which emerged from the Forge community, aimed to counteract these trends but often ended up creating niche experiences that did not appeal broadly. These games frequently focused on specific themes or narrative mechanics but failed to integrate a balanced approach that could satisfy a wider audience. This has left a gap between mainstream and indie games, with neither fully addressing the underlying dissatisfaction.

Additionally, the rise of corporate influence in game design has led to a proliferation of products that values marketability over genuine innovation. Games are often designed to appeal to the broadest possible audience, resulting in diluted mechanics and superficial storytelling. This commercial approach has further entrenched the issues that were present in the 1990s, making it harder for truly innovative designs to gain traction.  As a result, the promotional rhetoric from gaming companies drastically overstates the innovative aspects of their products. This creates a cycle of hype and disappointment, where games are marketed as revolutionary but fail to deliver meaningful advancements in play experience. Players are left feeling disillusioned, as the promised innovations rarely materialize in a way that addresses their core frustrations.

And the result of all this, the end lesson that cannot or will not be learned, is that the industry, the game designers, the publishers, those in power, and most of those who publish works for a buck and sit on panels discussing their nuanced inadequacy to change anything that's been going on for 30 years now, DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOU.  They don't give a fuck what kind of game you want to play, or what your needs are, or where the game is going in the future or anything having to do with your problems as a DM or what your gaming group wants.  They care about your money, about putting flashy, glitzy things in front of you that convince you to dump another pile of money in their pocket.  And so long as they can massage the language in order to make YOU think that they're going somewhere important with YOUR game, you'll keep bending over and letting them fuck your wallet for as long as you continue being part of this community.

Nobody out here is going to help you.  The internet won't, the voices won't, a general theory of gaming won't, a great community full of deep conversational analysis won't, a new module won't, a new game won't.  You're on your own.  You've always been on your own.  And pre-internet, when everyone fucking knew this, is when ALL the valuable stuff created for these games was written.

When We Were Alone.

So get the internet out of your head.  You want your game to be a good game, do it yourself.

What is never understood about the culture we're all a part of — that disconsolation and ennui associated with the game in the 1990s, that people thought needed to be solved ... that people today still think needs to be solved ... represents the voice of those who aren't involved with the game's creation.  In short, the voice of those who don't matter.  We should not care about people who "don't like the game as it is."  They don't count.  The game wasn't made for them.  Okay.  Let them go and find another game.  We need to stop thinking that our game needs to change so it can be their game.  Fuck them.  They're not part of us.  They never have been.  Like Edwards, who did not like the game that existed, who thought it needed to be some other game, they aren't interested in what we do, or what we like.  They just want to be catered to.

And we need to stop doing that.

There is no Saturday Q&A this week. Twas a heavy time for me with regards to work responsibilities, so I hardly touched the ongoing book, I've not touched the tutorial campaign, and on the whole I've been anxious to set responsibilities aside.But, to bring us up to date on that campaign, Arliss and Bertrand have just stumbled out of the Rustling Wood, encountering a single peasant hut; I haven't updated the wiki yet, but I expect that they'll seek the good will of the farm to learn more about "Timberveil," as I'm calling this type-7 hex.  And for the record, I can well imagine how overwhelming even this simple start is for those who have never seen my blog before.

Let's talk about pricing ships, as that's the part of the Streetvendor's Guide I'm working on presently.

Oar … 3¾ g.p. per item.

Flat-bladed oaken pole used to propel and steer boats through water, with a 12 in. handle shaped for a comfortable grip. Used with the rower facing the stern. Price given is for the 12 ft. long tool used with launches and longboats.  45¾ lb.

Here we have the price of the oar and it's weight.  The initial price of the oar is the cost to have a piece of oak sawn out from the tree as a piece (which itself has a price, but let's not go back that far), which for clarity's sake I define as the wood's "crafted" price ... essentially, wood that's ready to be crafted, rather than after the fact.  "Sawnwood" is easily misunderstood, as wood is sawed for a number of other reasons which, again, we don't have to go into.

Cogboat … 167¼ g.p. per vessel.

A lighter cargo boat than the launch, developed in the 12th century, propelled by two oars with a third crewmember at the tiller. 18 ft. long with a 5 ft. beam, the boat requires a draft of just 2½ ft., very suitable for Baltic coastal regions. Provides space for 10 passengers and up to 1¾ tons of cargo. The keel cuts smoothly through the water at a speed of 2 to 3 knots, though it suffers somewhat in harsh weather. 1,350 lb.

Unlike an oar, a cogboat is made of three different materials, each of which has it's own price.  These are the same oak the oar was made of, plus ironmongery pieces (very definitely not steel, but smithed iron), and pitch.  This last is to seal and waterproof the boat, preventing water from seeping into the vessel.  Pitch has a price of 14.24 c.p./lb., which is based upon the cost of cut pine timber; search where you will on how pitch is made, it's very interesting.  Ironmongery has a price of 12.15 c.p./ounce ... meaning that it's much more expensive than wood or pitch.  Once again, the same crafted shipbuilding oak is still 15.91 c.p./lb.

I put these together in an excel table, with a lot of other similar things, that looks like this:

Bastarda … 34,612½ g.p. per vessel.

Formidable galley developed in the late 15th century, measuring 120 ft. in length with a 20 ft. beam, with a shallow draft at approximately 5½ ft. Built primarily for ramming and boarding, the galley is equipped with 60 oars, each requiring multiple rowers; this allows for a combined 200 active and relief rowers. An additional crew for navigation, combat and managing the sails rounds the ship’s full complement to 300.

An upper deck above the “ormes,” or rowing deck, provides space for combat operations, allowing for 10 to 12 catapults and other engines for ranged attacks. Two masts support sails to enhance speed when wind conditions are favourable. At the stern, six private quarters for officers each provide a small bunk, a writing desk, storage compartments and space for one person. The remaining crew sleep in three large communal areas. Cargo capacity beyond ballast, crew and equipment is 152¼ tons. Structural weight, 83 tons; difficult.

Shelby writes,

I do have a question about how the generator interacts with elements that you as the DM know to be there already. If the characters are entering a hex where I know there is a road or city, would certain results become less likely, or would we stop using the generator entirely?

Answer: Let's suppose you'd never seen a map of the place where you live, and you'd never actually been to any of the cities or places that surround you. You'd have heard of them, sure, and you'd know they were generally "out there" in a given direction, but without the map, you couldn't know exactly how far away they were.

Now suppose that you did travel, and found out from personal experience how long it took; you wouldn't be surprised to find the city, because you "knew" it was there. This can be sort of the same. The peasants can say, "oh, of course there's a village," and they can tell the party exactly how long it takes to get there ... but this isn't information that's absolutely necessary to the campaign until the players actually go, and doesn't need to be established until the players actually get there. So long as I build the random generation of village-level hexes, it shouldn't be too long. As such, the players know they'll encounter the village eventually. This is enough. We don't have to generate the map at this time for them.

 

Bob in Ohio writes,

I think I KNOW the answer but want re-assurance. Party is about to take a long (28 day?) journey along a trade road they've traversed before. They CAN revisit some of the interesting site's they "discovered" on previous trips. They can interact with residents and bandit gangs they've encountered before. But how to run it at the table to keep it interesting, not a railroad (even though it kinda IS) and playable? I'm thinking one "random" encounter per day pre-gen'd, but that can turn into a slog. And I HATE just waiving it away.  Advice?

Answer: The answer is how it is presented:

Wrong: a wagon full of people approach the party along the road and one jumps off, pulls a sword and threatens the party.

Not as wrong: a wagon full of people approach the party with the intention of giving the party a lot of exposition about the road and where they are, telling the party a long and dull story, and then try to hire or otherwise make the party feel they ought to invest themselves.

Good: a wagon full of people are seen at the side of the road, camping; they wave at the party, offering food or asking the party if they know the way to San Jose, or some such, and maybe the party asks a question, and maybe not.

Even better: The party sees one fellow trying to fix the wheel of a wagon, but as they approach, they see him try to fit the wheel on the axle three times without success; finally, on the third time, they see the fellow drop to the road, distraught, putting his face in his hands. Sympathetically, the party helps him get his wagon together and a conversation happens spontaneously.

It is this last word that's the goal. You need to give the residents or the bandits or whatever an agenda of their own, which the party observes them carrying out, so that it looks utterly spontaneous, a part of the world just doing what it does, without any sense that it's a staged event for the party's benefit. Once this is done successfully enough to convince the party that they're seeing a completely ordinary thing, not something directly intended to fuck over the party, they'll engage and find themselves enjoying it. And you'll have something better to talk about, because they NPCs will be engaged with their own lives. It's like the list I gave for the Borderland farms happenstance. It's all things that would be happening anyway, whether or not the party was there.

Lance in Louisiana answers:

Spot on advice from Alexis as always. Yet other things to consider are: the traffic on the road, you say it's a trade road, how major of a trade road is it? Those suggestions to make a random encounter once a day from the rules(whatever edition) are assuming wilderness travel, not travel through a populated area on a trade road. Again it depends on where the road is passing through, but I would assume there are many travelers on the road, probably more than one per day of travel. If you know exactly how far they will be traveling and where they will be each day it is much easier to generate those roadside encounters (random or not) ahead of time.

And as Alexis pointed out each individual on the road has their own story to tell independent of the PCs. From my experience the way to make a journey feel like a journey is to HAVE STUFF HAPPEN. Think of any road trips you've been on. How would it feel to be on the road for an entire month. That is an extremely long time to be traveling and lots of things will happen every day, sometimes small things, but they add up. For a journey that long it should be an adventure unto itself.

_____

Feel free to address material on the authentic wiki, my books or any subject related to dungeons & dragons.  I encourage you to initiate subject material of your own, and to address your comment to others writing in this space.

The logo above denotes a film production company of the 1940s and 50s, which was really a partnership between two filmmakers, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger.  This particular version of their logo comes from one of my Top 10 films, the Life and Death of Colonel Blimp.  It may very well be in the top 5.  Another version of the logo can be found on this wikipedia page, which also includes a manifesto of the Archers, which I only chanced to read for the first time yesterday evening.  Allow me to reproduce the manifesto, which describes Powell and Pressburger's sense of responsibility to a studio or other producers ... that is, none at all.  Quote,

"We owe allegiance to nobody except the financial interests which provide our money; and, to them, the sole responsibility of ensuring them a profit, not a loss."

"Every single foot in our films is our own responsibility and nobody else's. We refuse to be guided or coerced by any influence but our own judgement."

"When we start work on a new idea, we must be a year ahead, not only of our competitors, but also of the times. A real film, from idea to universal release, takes a year. Or more."

"No artist believes in escapism. And we secretly believe that no audience does. We have proved, at any rate, that they will pay to see the truth, for other reasons than her nakedness."

"At any time, and particularly at the present, the self-respect of all collaborators, from star to propman, is sustained, or diminished, by the theme and purpose of the film they are working on."

Let me start by saying, I agree.  That is, with respect to my own work, and how I view it.

I am beholden to no one, except those with whom I agree to be responsible towards.   If the work I do is inadequate or of high quality, I am to blame.  When I have an idea, I want to strike at it immediately.  And I believe that what I do, and what I stand for, embraces the idea that theme, or the reason for doing something, is more important than any other part of what I create.

But let's talk about escapism.

What does it mean, the "no artist believes in escapism"?  Is it true?  Does it define the word "artist"?  What is escapism, and why take the stand, among these other things, to say that as artists, Powell and Pressburger are saying that they're interested in truth, instead.

Which, of course, begs that question as well.

Last week, unable to get access to the show in any other way, I signed onto Apple's streaming service so I could watch the show, Ted Lasso.  I had seen several scenes on youtube and was impressed by the writing and the characters, and so I threw some money at the worst technology company in the known universe and watched the show, three seasons in three days.  If you've never heard of the show, I recommend this scene and this one, neither of which will meaningfully spoil the show's storyline, but will introduce most of the characters in their best light.

The show is obstensibly about an American coaching English football, but that is not what the show is about.  The show is about, as one of the clips says, "Grow up, and get over it" ... and every decent person on the series does, which separates the overall work from all the whining, whinging, never-get-over-anything that has polluted television and film these last 15 years.  There are other themes as well, that gets me back in short order to that subject.  A work is not about what the work appears to be about:

This image is not a pipe, and it is not about a pipe.  But until the viewer can grasp this structural relativity, one cannot grasp what theme is apart from moral or message, which is what grade school clumsily fails to correct in the minds of most students.

Escapism is an attempt to emotionally or mentally flee any deeper understanding of the thing we're watching, apart from its most superficial appearance.  It is the argument that this is a pipe, or the representation of one, regardless of the artist's words.  Escapism is the insistence that things be what they appear to be, lest we become mired in a discomforting moment of reflecting on why we've chosen to do something, or see something, which might place us face-to-face with some profound or troubling aspect of life.

No artist wants this.  While the observer of the painting, or the series, or the film being made, has merely to invest a few hours in it, three days say, this is not at all the artist's experience.  There is no escapism in the creation of art, which is the principle reason that most persons do not do it.  Art requires the creator to lock his or her self in a crypt with the work being made and sink into the worst, most repulsive muck imaginable, and to stay there, day after day, month after month, sometimes year after year, and simply endure the horrid, repulsive, uncomfortable truth of it — that the work is very badly done, or insurmountable, or insipid, or any number of other soul-wrenching suppositions that an artist cannot help feeling, while wallowing around trying to make the point have merit or relevance.  This is what the archers are saying: that the naked truth, apart from her lost clothes, is worth doing it for — and is, in fact, the only reason why an artist strives to make anything.

Creating art requires the artist to immerse themselves in the depths of their work, confronting its flaws, difficulties and the relentless self-doubt that accompanies the creative process. This process is not merely about producing something aesthetically pleasing but about grappling with the uncomfortable truths and raw emotions that the work embodies.

But here, we must make a clarification between an artist and a writer, a musician, a painter or any other craftsperson able to use the instruments that an artist also happens to use.  The writers of Emily in Paris manage to cough out various shitty collections of words and characters that appears, to the unfamiliar, to be works of art, though they are nothing but frames in which to place advertising, which in turn justifies the next season of this abomination of a television series.  And should those writers win some award that's paid for by a studio, they will preen themselves and call themselves artists, and those demented souls who like the show for it's escapist qualities will likewise call them artists, which muddies all of this water somewhat for the non-creator.  It's so very, very easy in this culture to confuse "art" with "programming," and to declare that there is no difference, because it's oh so easy.  And thus is my thesis likewise easily exploded, by all those who will point at Emily in Paris or the Sabrina the Teenage Witch or any other show that provides such a comfortable, lovely experience in its lovely, lovely escapist qualities.

Nonetheless, that thesis is sustained if it's understood.  The Archers do not say that artists are not interested in producing escapism, but rather, that escapism cannot be produced by an artist.  The distinction is fine, but clear.

An artist may understand or even work within the realm of popular media, but the core of their creative process is rooted in confronting and expressing deeper truths.  Escapism, in contrast, is an evasion of these truths, providing a comfortable retreat rather than a challenging engagement.

And thus, we arrive at everything that has gone wrong with dungeons and dragons.

In its early iterations, D&D required players to immerse themselves deeply in the game's world, navigating intricate plots, moral dilemmas, and richly detailed settings. The game's creators intended for it to provoke thought, challenge players, and offer a meaningful experience beyond simple entertainment.

However, as D&D evolved and sought a broader audience, there has been a shift towards more escapist content. This trend is marked by an emphasis on spectacle, straightforward quests, and simplified mechanics that prioritize immediate gratification over deep engagement. The result is a version of D&D that offers an enjoyable, but ultimately superficial, experience, catering to those seeking a quick escape rather than a profound adventure.