by David

In the post-session Delve Detox for Episode 36 of our Halls of Arden Vul campaign (watch it here!), Ted spoke about how particularly young players often don’t have the wherewithal “to look in the poop” – a reference to our group’s cleverness in searching giant lizard droppings for potential treasure.

We can certainly all relate to Ted’s comparison of unseasoned vs. dyed-in-the-wool player knowledge, but I’m going to attempt to dive a little deeper.

I am parroting better thinkers than myself, but I would posit that the primary goal of any culture of play has to be de-professionalizing the hobby, because it is precisely that: a hobby.

Hobbies are about learning via experiment; they are malleable, not dogmatic. Malleability requires trust and permission. Permission, however, doesn't equate to “zero consequences”, because learning requires the pursuit (rather than the prevention) of failure.

In my opinion, traps are a trope in TTRPG theory discussion, because (as Mike mentioned in the Delve Detox) in the modern era of roleplaying games spearheaded by Dungeons & Dragons 5e, it is common for a novice player’s first experience to be negation. Yes, "gotcha" moments are less common (traps are functionally nonexistent in 5e), but that's a Band-aid applied to a broader issue: that of some tabletop cultures prefiguring desire by saddling novices with dogma long before they touch a table.

Without first divesting games of social hierarchies, I think it's a bit disingenuous for designers to claim their games are more accessible. Often, there is expressed intent to prevent deviation in order to "protect the game's integrity".

Heck, most games fail at this during character generation!

For players, the unintended result is a defensive mindset of "I'm not smart enough" or "I didnt research enough", therefore "I’ll embarrass myself".  This defensiveness is antithetical to the hobby, and yields paralysis and quiet disengagement. I empathize with this mindset, because those dogmas stem from self-consciousness around play as a valid adult need. This usually means people subvert their own fulfillment.

Children, however, are likely to approach play endeavors with a boundless curiosity. The notion of an “imagination ceiling” stems from adults like us projecting our learned limits upon them.  In my experience as a Game Master, children or novices without prior experience to TTRPGs have generally been my most creative players. 

Permissive gamemastering is about engaging in good faith. This can be achieved by encouraging players to articulate their wants, exhibiting sincere curiosity in their whys and hows, and exploring that dialogue to its logical end.

When our referee Jon says "If you tell me you're looking deeper, I'll give you more," this is an example of permissive gamemastering. It is not player or GM skill; rather, it is a social contract stating "I'll mirror your curiosity with my own. Together we'll uncover a conclusion."  Even if the result is death, it will feel satisfying because it is achieved via validation, rather than “gotchas” and negation. This is what I mean when I speak of trust among all participants in the game.

Traps are an excellent microcosm for exploring this topic, because deep down, the pleasure derived from traps is not intrinsic to the object.  A boulder or trash compactor contains no value in isolation; it is imbued with value by Indiana or Luke wriggling their way out. It follows, therefore, that more transparency about a trap does not reduce the drama of said outcome. In my opinion, players who are encouraged to view death as merely one of many fulfilling outcomes will begin to seek it out along with all others because the endorphin rush springs from the process, not the product.

As participants in a roleplaying game, we learn invalidation as a default response because it’s easy. That trains players to consider themselves incapable of creativity, avoiding extemporaneous discussion of any kind because they are told deviation is personal failure. It only makes sense that dogma or rules are then used as a shield against vulnerability, and all of a sudden, this social practice has become intrinsically antisocial. It is not just bad for creative play, it engenders callousness which often goes unrecognized.

Wouldn’t it be cool to shed all that?