The Creation of Narrative in Tabletop Role-Playing Games.

Jennifer Grouling Cover.

Preface and Acknowledgments.

It was the fall of 2003, and my first semester of graduate school. I signed up for a course called aDiscourse a.n.a.lysis,a thinking it had something to do with Foucault. As it turned out, it was really a methods course in linguistics, and when my professora"David Hermana"told us we needed to tape record a conversation, I had the perfect idea: I would record part of a session from my Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) group. I signed up to present to the cla.s.s under the unit called anarrative a.n.a.lysis,a thinking my recording would be a perfect fit. I quickly came up against the traditional linguistic definitions of narrativea"that it was a story, told about an event in the past by a narrator to a narratee. aMaybe itas not a narrative,a David Herman said in reference to my D&D transcript. But as I sat there week after week engrossed in the story of Whisper and her companions in the world of Sorpraedor, I knew that at least part of what kept me interested was the story I was experiencing. And thus, I continued to attempt to reconcile my personal experience with the narrative theory that drew my academic attention.

My course project turned into other course projects, including a seminar paper for Carolyn Milleras rhetorical criticism cla.s.s where I first tested out some of my ideas on the rhetoric exigence behind the tabletop role-playing game. These course projects turned into a thesis, under the direction of David Herman, David Rieder, and Mike Carter. I can not thank my committee enough for their input in this process. It was one the most rewarding writing experiences, and when David Herman suggested that my thesis had the potential for a book, I was floored. After my defense, I went out and bought some shiny new dice for my D&D game.

At times, I wished that, like my sorceress Whisper, I could have summoned some magic energies, perhaps a polymorph spell, to magically transform the thesis into a book length project. Of course, I found it wasnat that simple. However, with the help of many people, I was able to complete what really is a transformation. I added ma.s.sive amounts of research to this book project, I completely rewrote nearly everything, and I even changed some of my ideas.

I would first and foremost like to thank my research partic.i.p.ants. From those anonymous gamers who completed a survey to my long-time gaming companions, this book is about you and in many ways by you. Even if your names do not appear here, your words and your stories do. I hope I have represented you well.

Then there were those who accompanied me on my writing journey. Like in D&D, some companions were with me all the way, while others came and went. My officemate Dan Lawson was rather like an oracle, who I consulted multiple times over the course of the book in times of need. We talked about ideas, and he directed me to several key sources.

Patrick Johnson was the equivalent of the fellow adventurer met in a tavern in the D&D world, who says, awhat is your quest?a And when you tell him, responds, aCool. Can I come along?a I met Pat in line for lunch at the Writing Program Administrators (WPA) conference in July 2009 as I was finishing this book, and our conversation quickly turned to my research and D&D. Pat kindly volunteered to provide additional feedback on one of my revised chapters.

There were others who helped me out along the way, from Professor Brian Epstein, who fielded my questions about possible-worlds theory to my many professors at Virginia Tech who were flexible with my Ph.D. work while I was writing and who answered any number of questions on publishing and book writing. There are my parents, who raised me to be an academic and a writer, and my husband who is the backbone of this book. Scott not only got me interested in D&D, but also pushed me to continue my academic work on the topic. He has held my hand when I was frustrated, and celebrated with me when I was excited, and is the main reason this book exists. Without the support of these people, I could not have completed this project.

Finally, there are those who would be considered members of my adventuring party, had this book been a D&D campaign. Dean Browell and Tim Lockridge are two of the smartest, most talented people I know, and I was extremely fortunate to have their feedback through the entire course of writing this book. Dean, who wrote a dissertation on World of Warcraft, served as my aMMORPG police,a helping me see beyond D&D to where my book might interact with videogame research. Tim is everything one could ask for in a readera"he is the type of guy that finds the loose thread in your writing, pulls on it just hard enough that everything starts to fall apart, and then hands you what you need to sew it back up again. This book is inordinately better because of his feedback.

However, all of these efforts would be in vain if it werenat for youa" my reader. Whether you are a gamer, a researcher, or just a curious onlooker, I invite you to take an active role as you read this book. I have tried here to write a book that will be useful in multiple disciplines, and it is my hope that it will help spur discussion about tabletop role-playing in multiple forums. Whatever your position in relation to this text, I hope that I have shown here that your voice counts. I have been told multiple times by multiple people that Iam not supposed to write a book yet, that as a graduate student I adonat have a book in me.a As the physical artifact in your hand provesa"I did. Likewise, I believe that you, my reader, has something to say, and I, for one, would like to hear it.

Introduction: Defining the Tabletop Role-Playing Game.

You approach the Blaze Arrow outpost. The bastion that guards the frontier of the city of Gateway is silent except for the distant cry of gathering carrion birds. You notice that the ground around the outpost has been scarred by the hobnailed feet of dozens of invaders. The three-story tower is surrounded by a now broken gate. The smell of burning orcish flesh, the smell of death, profanes the air. As you enter the gate, you find the remains of a ballista that once defended the outpost. Another rests farther in, still fully loaded, its human operator dead beside it. All in all, twelve human bodies lie around, evidence of the attack that took place only hours ago. It appears the victors have suffered losses as well, but their dead have undergone the cremation rituals known to exist in orcish societies. There are also orc bodies piled up and smoldering. Yet the process seems to have been done quickly and was perhaps not completed. Some remains of orcish clothing and some shields have been left behind. They are marked with the symbol of a b.l.o.o.d.y hand, which you recognize as the sign of the Blood Fist tribe of orcs.

What do you do?

The pa.s.sage above is very similar to one that was told on a Sunday afternoon around a kitchen table during a session of the Sorpraedor Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) role-playing campaign. Yet, it fails to represent the complexity of tabletop role-playing games (TRPGs). No one pa.s.sage can represent the complexity of player interaction, textual manipulation, or cultural significance of the TRPG. For those of you who are familiar with the game, this pa.s.sage might bring up memories of your own gaming session. For those who are less familiar with gaming, you may be wondering how this story is different from any other story told in any other medium. Whatever your relationship to the game, this book is intended offer a scholarly look at TRPGs that highlights both their complex narrative and social structure.

If you are unfamiliar with TRPGs, you may first be wondering what exactly happens in a gaming session. As the book progresses, we will see that the answer is more complex than it first appears; however, I offer a brief introduction here. As suggested by the name, TRPGs are played faceto-face (around a table, most likely), and involve players aacting outa a role. This acting is not always literal. Players do not arrive in costume or speak exclusively in-charactera"something that differentiates TRPGs from live-action role-playing games (LARPs). Instead, players develop characters based on certain rules and are responsible for deciding what those characters do over the course of the game. The DM, or dungeon mastera" now called the gamemaster (GM) in some TRPGsa"develops a setting where the game takes place, a basic storyline, and any characters not being represented by the players of the game. The DM presents the players with situations, such as the one above, and asks the players, aWhat do you do?a at which point the players offer up actions for their characters. Many of these situations, referred to as encounters, involve fighting a monster or an evil villain. Most TRPGs also involve rolling dice to see whether certain actions succeed, and some involve positioning miniature figures on a battle map. Games may be played over the course of years, where a group continually meets to extend the same story with the same characters time after time, or they can be played over a few hours (usually at least four) as a one time endeavor. There is no awinninga in a TRPG, although characters do gain experience points for completing certain challenges, and in an ongoing game, these experience points allow the player to continue building his or her character. However, these challenges are met as a group, not as individuals.

TRPGs were introduced in 1974, and by the year 2000 they comprised a two billion-dollar industry (Dancey 2000). In addition, they have influenced countless other enterprises from other games to novels and movies. Despite their widely recognized influence, there is limited scholarship specifically on TRPGs. Gary Fineas ethnographic study Shared Fantasy (1983) lays a useful foundation for studying the TRPG and gaming culture, but is now outdated. In the past 27 years, there have been changes to both the D&D game itself as well as the community of gamers. Daniel Mackay builds on Fineas study in his 2001 book, The Fantasy Role-Playing Game, and shifts to view the TRPG as performance art. Mackayas study is useful in terms of looking at the TRPG as an aesthetic text and as a process-performance but does not include a specific discussion of the TRPG as a genre or relate it to other games. More recent work has continued to place the TRPG alongside other fantasy games in terms of cultural significance. Gaming as Culture: Essays on Reality, Ident.i.ty and Experience in Fantasy Games (Williams et al., 2006) features several essays that focus on aspects of the TRPG from gender and ident.i.ty issues1 to specific linguistic a.n.a.lysis.2 These texts can be said to be foundational; however, with games studies (not to be confused with game theory) emerging as its own discipline, more work clearly needs to be done on such a fundamental game as D&D. Some have called this new discipline ludology, but have limited it to the study of videogames rather than all games; not only has scholarship left TRPGs in the dust, but so have those seeking to define the boundaries of games studies as a discipline. Furthermore, the study of TRPGs serves an important role in the context of other scholarship as these games are highly complex, both in terms of narrative structure and their social interaction. Fineas book focuses on sociology, and Mackayas on performance studies. I engage with narrative, linguistic, cultural, and writing studies in this book, although, as a scholar I primarily identify with the disciplines of rhetoric and composition. The breadth of scholarly attention to the TRPG makes this project both exciting and challenging. In this book, I seek to explore multiple frameworks for the study of the TRPG rather than limit it to the purview of any one discipline. Thus, a central concern of this text is developing a way of talking about the TRPG that transcends disciplinary lines by seeing where disciplinary frameworks are useful, and where they are not.

In particular, I am concerned with the concept of genre and medium in relation to TRPGs and other games. Because so much scholarly attention has been given to videogames, I look at the differences between TRPGs and other games. Do theories about computer role-playing apply to the TRPG or should these texts be studied separately? How do we define genres for texts that function on multiple levels? What counts as a narrative when stories operate in different media? What might draw a person to a certain genre or medium over another? While my own study must be limited in scope, I suggest a possible framework for future study of TRPGs, and possibly other games, as rhetoric. Rhetorical study has so far not figured prominently in game studies; however, I believe it offers a way to meld semiotic and social issues currently being discussed in the field and thus opens the boundaries of this work in a meaningful way.

Situating the TRPG.

In order to further understand the differences and connections between TRPGs and other games and also other types of texts, it is important to look in greater depth at the origins of the TRPG. It all started with the release of Dungeons and Dragons in 1974. The idea for D&D began when Dave Arneson, a fan of the Lord of the Rings fantasy novels, introduced Tolkien-like fantasy elements into his war games and shifted the focus from controlling entire armies to controlling a single character (Mackay, 2001, p. 15). Mackayas account of D&Das origins clearly aligns the text with two different traditions: a gaming tradition and a literary tradition. In terms of antecedent genres to the TRPG, then, we have both war-gaming and fantasy novels.

If we look at the gaming tradition, it is clear that D&D emerged from war games, which involve enacting battles between armies, usually with a large battle map and many miniature figures. According to Mackay (2001), the first war game evolved from War Chess in 1811. Herr von Reiswitz created a war-strategy game called Kriegspiel with the purpose of educating Prussian military officers. In this game, miniature battlefields showed the terrain and counters represented troops; dice rolls added a degree of random chance in determining the way in which the battle progressed (Mackay, 2001, p. 13). War games moved from military use into the popular sphere in the latea"Victorian era, when H.G. Wells created a popular game called Little Wars. Little Wars replaced counters with miniature figures to represent soldiers (Mackay, 2001, p. 13). War games are still popular today, particularly Games Workshopas Warhammer series.3 D&D did not replace war games any more than computer games have replaced TRPGs, yet we can see that the optional use of battle map, miniatures, and dice reflect the war gaming side of TRPGsa history.

In addition to being fascinated with medieval war gaming, co-creator of D&D Dave Arneson was fascinated by the fantasy worlds created in J.R.R. Tolkienas Lord of the Rings trilogy (Mackay, 2001, p. 15). Although its creators later denied the direct influence of Tolkienas work, the D&D world consists of character cla.s.ses similar to those found in Tolkien such as a fighter, a wizard, and a rogue. The character races include humans, elves, and halflings (which were originally called hobbits but had to be changed to avoid copyright infringement). By incorporating the fantasy of Tolkien into these gaming worlds, Arneson also made significant changes in the relationship between gaming and literature. TRPGs became, in many ways, a response to literature and a way of interacting in literary worlds. The characters that resulted from Arnesonas initial attempt at roleplaying were endowed with magical weapons and spell-casting abilities, and their enemies evolved into amythical creatures such as dragonsa much like the characters found in fantasy novels (Mackay, 2001, p. 15). Thus, players were given a way to interact with fantasy worlds by playing their own heroes in those worlds. Soon after incorporating these elements of fantasy into his war gaming, Arneson teamed up with fellow war-gamer and fantasy buff Gary Gygax. In 1974 they published the first copy of the Dungeons and Dragons rule book (Mackay, 2001, p. 15).

Acknowledging both the antecedent game genre (war games) and the antecedent literary genre (fantasy) is important to showing the dual nature of the TRPG. As I will argue later, TRPGs are difficult to categorize because they are both games and narratives, thus breaking down a binary that both narrative theorists and ludologists often cling to. Perhaps one of the most significant advances that D&D made possible was a reimagining of the ways that stories and games interact. While D&D was the first of its kind, similar games (often also based on fantasy or science fiction literature) emerged as TRPGs. Among these are Vampire the Masquerade, based on the vampire mythos; Call of Cthulhu, based on H.P. Lovecraft; Babylon5 and Star Trek TRPGs, based on the sci-fi television series; and Champions, based on comic book characters.

Defining the TRPG isnat easy, but letas start by looking more specifically at the rather uncontroversial notion that the TRPG is a type of game. What does it mean to cla.s.sify something as a game? Ludwig Wittgenstein (1958) asks, What is common to them all?a"Donat say: aThere must be something in common, or they would not be called gamesaa"but look and see whether there is anything common to all.a"For if you look at them you will not see something that is common to all, but similarities, relationships, and a whole series of them at that [p. 31].

These similarities, which Wittgenstein goes on to describe as afamily resemblancesa (p. 32), offer a good starting point for defining the TRPG. Often when studying games, or the even a narrower category such as role-playing games, it is difficult to find one thread that connects them all. While looking for connections is admirable and necessary, in terms of genre studies the lack of differentiation made by scholars is sometimes troubling.

A good example of this may be found in some of the early work on computer games. In his book Cybertext (1997), Espen Aa.r.s.eth comments that many MUDs (Multi User Dungeons) facilitate aDungeons and Dragons style gaminga (p. 146). Yet, he never explains what athe Dungeons and Dragons stylea is, and gamers are quick to recognize that even within a single game it is difficult to pinpoint one particular style. In addition, Aa.r.s.eth calls D&D a aboard gamea (p. 98). Some board games may have a similar structure to TRPGs, but they have more static game mechanics and always include a physical component such as a board and figures.4 The use of a battle map and miniature figures might be seen as a connection to board games; however, these are not mandatory features of TRPGs as they are for board games. Thus, D&D cannot be considered a board game. In fact, the use of a battle map and figures is actually more in line with war games than board games, a distinction that is important when looking back to the history of TRPGs. Scholars, in general, have been guilty of evoking gaming terms without acknowledging the history of individual games or the differences between them.

Although games have a lot of differences, we can continue to look for the resemblances that Wittgenstein calls for. One might say that one such resemblance is an element of chance; another that all games follow a set of rules. Indeed, an element of chance is often added to role-playing through the use of dice rolls. However, like miniature figures, dice are also optional in the TRPG. The Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) showed that 76 percent of gamers used some sort of detailed chart, though not necessarily a battle map; only 56 percent used miniatures; and 33 percent of TRPGs were dice-less. Furthermore, as many as 80 percent of those surveyed said their gaming group followed house rules (Dancey 2000). Simply trying to link together all TRPGs, let alone all games, is problematic. Gamers who play in their home rather than at official tournaments may alter rules and often gamers continue to play with older versions of the rules even when new rule books are released. These variations make it difficult to establish the relationship between TRPGs and more traditional, tightly rule-bound, games.5 How, then, do we define the TRPG? If we canat link it closely with other games, what is it that makes one TRPG resemble another?

Mackay (2001) defines the tabletop role-playing game as an episodic and partic.i.p.atory story-creation system that includes a set of quantified rules that a.s.sist a group of players and a gamemaster in determining how their fictional charactersa spontaneous interactions are resolved [pp. 4a"5].

This definition further defines the TRPG within the broader category of RPGs. For example, most CRPGs do not include the gamemaster, which is key to Mackayas definition.6 Although they can be played in a single session, TRPGs are often played by a group of partic.i.p.ants who meet on a regular basis. In this case, TRPGs are episodic because each session can be seen as an episode in a story that continues to develop. Even when a game consists of a single session, there are often multiple tasks, or episodes, that lead up to the climax of the story. In this story, each player partic.i.p.ates by controlling the character that he or she has created. The gamemaster (GM) also partic.i.p.ates in the creation of the story by setting up the storyworld and the situations that these characters encounter, as well as controlling any non-player characters (NPCs). Rule books such as The Playeras Handbook and The Dungeon Masteras Guide (for D&D) provide rules that a.s.sist partic.i.p.ants in creating and controlling their storyworld. These books create the system that is used to structure the game.

Naturally, this explanation is somewhat oversimplified. The dungeon master (DM) or gamemaster,7 for example, might not create the storyworld but might use a pre-prepared module or setting published by Wizards of the Coast or another gaming company. Likewise, an adventure module might even come with pre-made characters rather than having players generate them. However, a gamemaster still partic.i.p.ates by adapting that setting to the players and situations presented in that gaming session, and the players still partic.i.p.ate by controlling the actions of their characters. As previously mentioned, home rules may be inst.i.tuted in a particular game; however, rules continue to exist and guide players and DMs. In subsequent chapters, I will explore some of the differences in authorship and partic.i.p.ation among different types of TRPG sessions; however, I maintain that Mackayas definition is broad enough to encompa.s.s these variations.

Looking at this definition of the TRPG enables us to situate it in relation to other texts. TRPGs are episodic, but so are television shows and many computer games. They are partic.i.p.atory, but again, so are computer games. Pretty much every game, whether computerized or not, can be considered a system that uses rules, although those rules may vary from game to game or even player to player. Characters are present in nearly every kind of narrative. From this definition alone, we can see that TRPGs overlap with several different categories, including both narrative and game. However, it is the interaction between the players and the gamemaster that sets this form apart.

Game designer Andrew Rilstone also sees the interaction between player and DM, and the goal of that interaction, as the defining characteristics of the TRPG. In his 1994 introductory essay for the Inter*action magazine, aRole-Playing Games: An Overview,a Rilstone defines the TRPG as aa formalized verbal interaction between a referee and a player or players, with the intention of producing a narrative.a The DM, which Rilstone calls the referee, sets up the story and the world that the game will focus on. Often times this setting is as basic as a dungeon populated with monsters, but it can be as complex as a complete world. The DM presents a situation, such as the one presented in the epigraph, and asks the players awhat do you do?a The players, who create and manage characters in the world, respond with aI do [such and such].a For Rilstone, this form of interaction and its goal of producing a narrative is what sets TRPGs apart as a distinct form. Even still, this definition seems rather tentative as the interaction between a DM and a player may vary considerably depending on the individual group and game, just as the interaction between a teacher and student may vary greatly depending on the cla.s.sroom.

To what degree is definition and cla.s.sification a necessary prerequisite to studying games and to what extent must our definitions and cla.s.sifications come from our studies? Although I have cited previous definitions of TRPGs that I believe to be valid, I donat believe that they alone explain the complexities of TRPGs. Therefore, one aim of this book is to further define and categorize the TRPG. In addition, I believe the struggle to define a text such as this may pose questions for methods of defining and categorizing other texts as well, particularly other games. Thus, I also aim to address larger issues surrounding the nature of texts and the way we define them, particularly in terms of narrative, genre, and rhetorical studies.

Research Samples.

Many previous studies on gaming are ethnographic in nature. Although traditionally ethnography has involved a researcher looking at an unfamiliar culture, it seems to be more common in the field of game studies that researchers a.n.a.lyze cultures that they are already a part of. Mackay (2001) a.n.a.lyzes his own role-playing group as do many of the authors in the Gaming as Culture (2006) essay compilation. There are several reasons for this trend. In many cases, a great deal of ainsidera knowledge is needed not only to play these games but also to a.n.a.lyze them. Therefore, it is advantageous to have a researcher who is familiar with both the rules and norms of game play and the gaming subculture. In addition, while a computer game can easily be purchased and played alone or with others online, TRPGs often involve groups that develop over time and are by invitation only.8 Thus, researchers who have experience with a gaming community are in a better position to conduct studies than those who are not. In keeping with previous research I, too, base my study on examples from my own gaming experience.

However, as with ethnography in general, one experience may prove idiosyncratic and not generalizable, and thus not particularly useful for answering definitional questions. Therefore, I draw on multiple gaming experiences, both mine and others, as well as textual a.n.a.lysis for this book. As a result, I am more familiar with some of my research partic.i.p.ants than others. The home game of Sorpraedor, which I draw on heavily in this book, consisted of friends and my spouse, who was the DM in charge of the game. Although it would be nave to call such methods completely objective, I believe the advantage gained by this insider knowledge outweighs any bias that may be present in this study. In contrast, I had never met any of the gamers I worked with at the D&D Experience tournament, Worldwide D&D Game Day, and NC State Game Day, and these multiple experiences add balance to the current study. While each of these experiences is unique, I seek to present a comparison that will be more applicable to future studies than a single case study would be.

A common way to play TRPGs is to organize a gaming group, a number of people who meet on a regular basis to advance the same TRPG adventure. Such adventures are referred to as campaigns, and the characters, known as player characters, form a party. My first research sample comes from the Sorpraedor campaign, which began in the spring of 2002 and continued until 2006. The world of Sorpraedor was created by DM Scott Cover and has involved various players, though a stable group of five played twice a month from January 2003 through September 2004. In September 2004, one player moved away and in February 2005 two other players left the game. While new players replaced them, with new characters, the overall story arc remained continuous for the entire four years. In addition to some variation in players, when a character in the story dies, the corresponding player often continues playing with a new character. This has happened several times in the Sorpraedor world. In fact only one character, Whisper (my character), remained stable in the game world from its creation in 2002 to the end of the campaign in 2006.

While I draw on my experiences throughout the Sorpraedor campaign, I offer several specific samples as representative of our game play. The first of these is the narrative of Blaze Arrow that spanned several gaming sessions from the end of January to the end of February 2003. The appendix includes the full written story of this episode as I composed it after the gaming sessions. This narrative was originally written to report events in the Sorpraedor world for a player who had not been able to attend a gaming session, and was written before I began this research project. As such, I leave it in the original form as a research sample from the Sorpraedor campaign. For the second sample, I recorded and a.n.a.lyzed several hours from a session in October 2003, and snippets of this transcript serve as data in chapter 5. Even before I began officially gathering data as a researcher I was the group note-taker and had compiled detailed notes from most of our gaming sessions, which were useful to me as both a gamer and a researcher. In addition to these notes, I draw on notes that Scott took as the DM and email conversations saved between Scott and other players. Finally, I include interviews with several members of the gaming group to ask specific questions about their experiences.

Throughout my a.n.a.lysis I refer to both characters and players in the game, depending on whether the situation involved the character or the player. Note that other than myself and Scott (the DM) the names of my fellow players are pseudonyms. Because of my familiarity with these players and characters from years of campaigning, I often refer to them by name and thus offer an introduction to them here. When I refer to both player and character at the same time, I include the player name followed by the character name. The characters in the campaign at the time of the sample were as follows: a Whisper (played by myself): a 17-year-old human sorceress whose mother is a dragon. Her magical powers are innate, and as she grows older she develops more magical powers and more dragon-like features and abilities.

a Maureen (played by Mary): a human thief who led a hard life, but is always open for more adventures.

a David (played by Alex): a halfling ranger; a creature of the woods who believes strongly in his principles.

a Cuthalion (played by Mark): an elven ranger; who is extremely talented with a bow and arrow.

a Fletch (played by Nick): a human fighter; the strong silent type.

a Gareth (played by Mary): a bard with an intelligent viola who replaced Maureen as Maryas character.

The sample adventure in which the party encountered the orcs at Blaze Arrow was one of the first for this group of party members, whereas the transcripts from the adventure at the Foppish Wererat come later in the campaign. Often the entrance or exit of characters can be seen as beginnings or endings to narratives within the overarching narrative of the campaign. David, Cuthalion, and Fletch were all new characters at the time of the Blaze Arrow adventure, and Maureen had only been adventuring with Whisper for a few weeks. By the time of the Foppish Wererat adventure, the players had been together for approximately 9 months, and Maryas character of Maureen had met a tragic end and been replaced with Gareth, who is featured prominently in this second story. I also a.n.a.lyze other shorter narratives from the Sorpraedor game, including the story of the confrontation between Whisper and David, and individual stories about Maureen.

In order to show how the Blaze Arrow story fit within the larger Sorpraedor narrative I recount it briefly here, but a full version can be found in the appendix. At the point of this adventure, Whisper and Maureen had been working to uncover a subversive agency that had infiltrated the hierarchy of the town of Gateway. They had established themselves as heroes in the town and were working closely with the townas magistrate to a.s.sist in any difficulties. When this group of players came together, the new characters were immediately a.s.sociated with Whisper and the reputation she had created for herself. This story begins after the magistrate has asked the group to go to the outpost, Blaze Arrow, that has not reported in with the main city of Gateway as scheduled. Maureen, a character who often likes to go off on her own, joins the group later in the journey, while they are camped for the night. Immediately, chaos ensues as a threat and two severed heads are thrown into the camp. A mysterious tattoo makes the party wonder if Maureen is being watched, and she is sent back to town. In reality Maureenas player, Mary, was not able to attend a gaming session. Therefore, the narrative was altered to reflect this choice.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party continues on to Blaze Arrow where they find the scene as conveyed in the epigraph of this chapter. Orcs have attacked the tower. However, the party manages to capture some of the orcs and finds out that their real target was the Skullbash, another orcish tribe. Cuthalion gives a rousing speech to the leader of the orc tribe, Grumbach, who agrees to leave the human town out of his conquest. This story ends when the party returns to Gateway and a new story picks up from there.

An overarching narrative spans across individual stories like this one, just as the world of Sorpraedor exists outside of any particular tale. The party has larger quests that continue from session to session and each smaller story adds to the larger narrative. If you read the story of Blaze Arrow carefully, you will see references to these larger quests. For example, Whisper asks the prisoner if he was sent by Thaddeus, who was a recurring villain in the campaign. In addition, individual characters have their own overarching narratives and as we will see in chapter 8; the beginning of the Blaze Arrow story takes on new meaning when we know Maureenas history. In each session some plot points in the larger story are resolved, but they are intertwined with new ones; much the way chapters of a novel consist of individual threads that make up a whole work.

Unlike the examples from the Sorpraedor campaign, my other examples are more self-contained. In addition to home campaigns such as Sorpraedor, gamers often meet up at conventions or gaming stores for one-time sessions (sometimes called one-shots). The Role-Playing Game a.s.sociation (RPGA) is a worldwide organization of players that connects those wishing to play D&D with others. Pre-made adventures are released specifically for the RPGA, and players create characters that they run in multiple RPGA adventures. However, these episodes are more isolated than the episodes in the world of Sorpraedor and may involve different characters and a different DM each session. I observed an RPGA game at D&D Experience, an annual convention for RPGA players. The characters in the game I observed were high-level indicating that players had been building these characters in multiple adventures. However, they had not played them together continually the way the party in Sorpraedor had continued together. Instead, these players came from different areas of the country to meet at D&D Experience and game together. There were many games going continually at the convention, each lasting approximately six hours. When one game concluded, gamers would take their characters and join a new adventure or switch to a new DM.

The pre-made adventure, or module, that I observed being played at D&D Experience had not been available outside of the convention and is not available to members outside the RPGA. It belonged to a larger campaign setting of the Forgotten Realms. This setting is published through rule books published by Wizards of the Coast and many gamers use it as a world for their adventures, both in home adventures and pre-made modules. However, the players indicated that the RPGA added some consistency to this world and that modules often built on each other to create a fuller world view. Thus, some players knew interesting facts about other areas of the Forgotten Realms because of previous adventuring experiences. Because of their lack of previous relationships, the characters and players in this adventure remained far more anonymous than in the Sorpraedor campaign. Often, they were referred to only by character cla.s.s or category. For example, the DM might ask what the dwarf would do next rather than naming the character, with whom he might not be familiar. Thus, I will not list character and player names for this adventure as I have for those in the ongoing Sorpraedor campaign.

While I could not partic.i.p.ate in the D&D Experience game because I was not an RPGA member, I did partic.i.p.ate in several other one-time games for comparison. At both NC State Game Day in 2004 and at Worldwide D&D Game Day in May 2009, I played a pre-generated character in a pre-made adventure. I also attempted to DM a pre-made, one-shot adventure in a home setting in order to more successfully compare the experience of playing versus running a game. These diverse experiences allow me to comment further on the commonalities and differences between playing and running D&D in an ongoing homebrew campaign and in a pre-made, one-time adventure. However, as I elaborate on further, the distinctions are not always as clear cut, particularly when ongoing campaigns incorporate pre-made adventures as well.

To go beyond my own experiences I also frequented online gaming forums and distributed an online survey, which was made available through several of these forums. The forums that I observed were not specific to D&D and thus allowed me to gain the perspective of gamers who might be more involved with a different TRPG or even a different type of roleplaying. My survey asked partic.i.p.ants to specify which types of role-playing they partic.i.p.ated in and to further identify what they saw as the differences between computer role-playing and tabletop role-playing. Interestingly, 97 percent of the respondents partic.i.p.ated in TRPGs, leading me to believe that forums designed for arole-playing gamesa were designed more for TRPG players than for other types of role-players (an a.s.sumption that was confirmed by the content of the postings in these communities). Because my focus here is on the TRPG, I did not distribute the survey to members of other communities that focused more on online or computer role-playing; however, 45 percent of my respondents also played computer role-playing games (CRPGs) and 28 percent played ma.s.sive multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPGs). Interestingly, 22 percent played RPGs online but through email or blogs. The smallest category was those who partic.i.p.ated in live-action role-play (LARP), at only 12 percent of my survey respondents.

In addition to asking about their role-playing habits, I asked partic.i.p.ants if they were familiar with the cla.s.sic D&D story The Temple of Elemental Evil, and, if so, asked them to recall the story. To these qualitative samples I add textual a.n.a.lysis of this well-known D&D adventure in chapter 3. The Temple of Elemental Evil is a name commonly recognized among gamers as a famous adventure and, in fact, only 6 percent of my respondents had never heard of it. Thus I sought out the many different versions of this adventure in different mediums to see how the text changed over its many iterations. I look at the original adventure by Gary Gygax, cocreator of D&D, as well as the videogames and novel versions of The Temple of Elemental Evil. This type of textual comparison mixed with accounts from actual gamers allows me to comment on narrative and genre across media as well as in different types of gaming interactions.

My aim with multiple samples and methods is to allow for a more complete overview of TRPGs and the way that they compare with other texts. However, no a.n.a.lysis can be complete. This study focuses primarily on D&D. Looking at other RPGs such as the White Wolf series may illuminate additional difference between games. Nevertheless, as the origin of the TRPG, a focus on D&D is foundational to our understanding of the genre.

Methods of a.n.a.lysis and Overview.

Just as multiple research samples are important to gain a broader view of TRPGs and how they are played, I believe that multiple methods of a.n.a.lysis are useful for looking at this complex subject. As I have mentioned, no one discipline has claimed the TRPG as an object of study and even many of those who research games wish to limit that study to videogames. Thus, part of my aim in producing this book is to test which methods of a.n.a.lysis prove useful when studying the TRPG.

I begin historically by looking at the rise of interactive narrative in the 1970s. I use comparative a.n.a.lysis to show the similarities and differences among these early models for interactive storytelling. Chapter 1 compares the gamebook, text-based adventure game, and TRPG. In chapter 2, I employ genre theory to discuss the way that the TRPG functions as an antecedent genre to computer games that have followed from this initial push for interactive storytelling. I take my definition of genre from rhetorical studies (Miller, 1984; Swales, 1990; Russell, 1997) and argue that in order for a text to represent a new genre, it must serve a new rhetorical purpose. This chapter gives an overview of the rhetorical approach to the RPG genre and explains the exigency of narrative agency that is present in the TRPG. I argue here for a distinction between TRPGs and CRPGs on the basis of rhetorical need rather than formal structure.

In chapter 3, rather than looking at the influence of D&D as a whole on other genres, I turn to one specific D&D adventurea"The Temple of Elemental Evil and follow this story through its multiple versions. I use textual a.n.a.lysis as well as survey data to look at how this adventure started as a D&D module and became a videogame and novel. I hereby engage not only with the definition of a genre, but with the definition of a medium, as well as the interaction between these two terms.

After establishing the importance of studying the TRPG as a different kind of text from other games, I turn more closely to developing a model for studying it. I turn here to narrative theory. In particular, I look at narratology as employed by linguists and media scholars. Chapter 4 engages with the debate between narratologists and ludologists over whether or not games should be studied within the framework of narratives or whether their unique form necessitates new methods of a.n.a.lysis. Because this debate has largely focused on videogames, I here suggest a return to questions of narrative with the TRPG in mind. I continue to a.n.a.lyze the ways in which D&D players and characters develop and draw on larger storyworlds and what this means for viewing TRPGs through either the narratology or ludology lens.

In chapter 5, I shift to linguistic a.n.a.lysis, including both narratology and possible-world theory as a framework. Using Ryanas (1991) possible-world terminology and Jenny Cook-Gumperzas (1992) study of childrenas make-believe games, I present a model that explains the levels of communication involved in the RPG in terms of their degrees of narrativity. This model is important for showing the complexity of the TRPG and breaking down the binaries between narrative and non-narrative so often drawn upon by ludologists and narratologists alike.

In chapter 6, I discuss the ways in which the TRPG is an immersive text and the importance of this immersion in creating a narrative experience that fulfils a rhetorical purpose for gamers. I use specific examples from the Sorpraedor campaign to explain the multiple ways that immersion functions in the TRPG genre.

The final section of this book shifts even farther from the structure of the TRPG to look at the social and cultural influence of D&D, and the way that players interact with multiple texts. Chapter 7 provides a detailed a.n.a.lysis of the way gamers interact with other texts, drawing specifically from examples in the Sorpraedor campaign. Using both textual a.n.a.lysis and interviews, I look at the way the players and the DM engage with texts outside of the gaming session and with each other, and how that interaction might const.i.tute degrees of authorship.

In chapter 8, I move to look at TRPGs within the larger cultural frame. I outline theories from sociology, cultural studies, and media studies that look at fan cultures. I draw heavily on Henry Jenkinsas (1992) study of fandom in Textual Poachers to describe the relationship between gamers and texts. I outline here several different characteristics of fans that are relevant to gamers. These characteristics show the varied rather than static relationship that gamers have with texts and thus challenge the notion that even within one genre or medium all audience members respond the same way.

Finally, I conclude the book with my own theory and definition of the TRPG. This definition calls into question not only traditional definitions of game and narrative, but also notions of authorship and audience. Chapter 9 explores the implications of this definition for the study of the TRPG under multiple frameworks including narrative studies, game studies, genre and media studies, and rhetoric and composition. It poses questions for future research in these areas in light of the current study.

Together, the chapters of this book work to challenge the way scholars typically study games by combining views from multiple disciplines. In particular, I reject the notion that videogames are the only games worthy of study and that the TRPG represents a former and inferior genre. Rather, I will argue that the TRPG and its complexities allow us to critique perceptions of narrative and authorship in ways that computer games are only beginning to allow.

1.

Early Models of Interactive Narrative.

You are Omina, stepchild of the great Wizard Alcazar, and your efforts to rescue your stepfather and free your land from the icy spell of Warzen, the Winter Wizard, have led you straight into danger. Pursued by vicious, man-eating quagbeasts, you have taken refuge atop a snowy dune beside a clear pond. One of the huge-headed beasts is so close you can feel its foul breath hot on your skin! You must do something immediately [Lowery, 1983, p. 1].

At first glance, the pa.s.sage above may not seem very different from the pa.s.sage that opened the introduction to this book. Both address the audience in second person, and both lead to the point where that audience must take action. However, there are also some key differencesa"the former pa.s.sage addresses a larger audience and you is multiple and undefined; the latter addresses one reader, and that readeras role is defined as the character of Omina. These two stories come from different, but related genresa"tabletop role-playing and gamebooks. Both genres emerged around the same time in the 1970s, a key time in the development of interactive fiction. The drive to create interactive fiction began well before the Internet or videogames became mainstream. In their historical accounts of the development of interactive fiction, both Jay David Bolter (1991) and Damien Katz (2004) look as far back as the 1941 text aGarden of Forking Pathsa by Jorge Luis Borges. As early as this, we see a frustration with the limits of print media. Bolter (1991) explains, aFor Borges literature is exhausted because it is committed to a conclusive ending, to a single storyline and denouementa (p. 139). To be renewed, literature must embrace possibilities rather than shut them off (Bolter, 1991, p. 139). For some, this possibility of renewal existed in digital and electronic writing, which appeared to offer a flexibility that written prose did not. However, the rise of interactive fiction is not limited to the development of any one media.

What is interactive fiction and how does it operate? The term interactive fiction has been used to refer to a variety of texts from more standard literary works with interactive qualities, to hypertext, to adventure games, to role-playing games (RPGs). Although all fiction requires some partic.i.p.ation of readers as they form the story in their minds, interactive fiction is more actively produced or navigated by the audience. Scholars have used a variety of concepts to highlight this difference from traditional texts, including terms such as emergent stories, erG.o.dic texts, and cybertexts. Ryan (2003) defines an emergent story as one athat is produced dynamically in the interaction between the text and the readera (p. 258). Following Genette and Chatman, Aa.r.s.eth (1997) uses the term aeroG.o.dica to describe texts which require anontrivial efforta to navigate (p. 1). Ryan (2003) explains that erG.o.dic texts create a feedback loop in which the user can go back and forth experiencing the story in a different sequence (p. 206). Aa.r.s.eth goes on to favor the term cybertext as a medium that allows for texts that have both erG.o.dic and narrative elements. Cybertext is not a genre, but a abroad textual media categorya (Aa.r.s.eth, 1997, p. 5). All of these models for interactive texts are helpful in defining interactive fiction, yet the differences among them highlight the fact that there are multiple types of interactivity.

A key difference is that when Ryan (2003) talks about emergent stories, she talks about the sort of interactivity that is productive. She defines productive action as anything athat leaves a durable mark on the textual world, either by adding objects to its landscape or by writing its historya (Ryan, 2003, p. 205). Examples of productive interactivity include such texts as amus.e.m.e.nt park rides, childrenas make-believe games, interactive drama, and MUD (Multi-User Domain) (Ryan, 2003, p. 287a"331). These interactive genres blur the boundaries between authors and audiences, allowing those who partic.i.p.ate in the interaction to help add to the world of the story.

In contrast, Aa.r.s.eth (1997) shows how the user of text-based adventure games is separated from the author or narrator or creator1 through interactive negotiation with the computer interface (pp. 111a"114). Interactivity here is selective. In the model of cybertext, the event and the progression of the events is separated by the negotiation between user and interface (Aa.r.s.eth, 1997, p. 126). The reader must solve the puzzle in order to access the story. There is a correct choice that must be selected to open the right path to reach the story. In this process, Aa.r.s.eth (1997) sees that the idea of a traditional story does not hold up, and that ainstead of a narrated plot, cybertext produces a sequence of oscillating activities effectuated (but certainly not controlled) by the usera (p. 112). Unlike Ryanas (2003) model, Aa.r.s.ethas cybertext model does not allow for users to directly affect the story or storyworld, only to uncover it.

Despite the lack of research on Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) itself, scholars are quick to note that D&D has been foundational to the development of other interactive texts. In fact, Aa.r.s.eth (1997) states that athe Dungeons and Dragons genre might be regarded as an oral cybertext, the oral predecessor to computerized written adventure gamesa (p. 98). Ryan (2003) does not specifically discuss RPGs, but she does mention that aa genealogy of interactive genres leads from ... Dungeons and Dragonsa (p. 310). Both Aa.r.s.eth (1997) and Murray (1998) specifically credit D&D as the inspiration for adventure games. Murray (1998) discusses that the adventure game Zork is based on D&D (p. 77). That both Aa.r.s.eth and Murray acknowledge D&D as a foundational text to the development of adventure games points to the importance of D&D as a specific text, and tabletop role-playing games (TRPGs) as a generic text in the development of interactive fiction. However, neither of these scholars discusses D&D or TRPGs in any detail or traces their specific influence on other genres and, ultimately, the same models may not hold true. Just as D&D has roots both in literature and games (fantasy novels and wargaming), it has also been influential in both realms. In order to see the important role that D&D has played in the development of interactive fiction, we must look more closely at the structure of the narrative itself, as well as at some narrative forms that are commonly thought of as descendants to the TRPG. In this chapter I a.n.a.lyze the relationship between pick-a-path gamebooks and text-based adventure games, and the TRPG and its role in the historical rise of interactive fiction in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Pick-a-Path: Selective Interactivity of Gamebooks Very little has been written about the history of gamebooks. However, both Nick Montfort (2003) and Demian Katz (2004) credit Queneausas 1967 short story as the first in the gamebook format. Montfort describes this work as having 21 possible segments that the reader may encounter as he or she makes choices in the story (p. 71). In his unpublished piece on the history of gamebooks, Katz also gives credit to Hild.i.c.kas Lucky Les: The Adventures of a Cat of Five Tales as the first full-fledged, published gamebook. Hild.i.c.kas book was also published in 1967, yet the concept did not take off for another several years. While gamebooks technically started before TRPGs, D&D was, nevertheless, influential on their development. Katz explains that while D&D is played with a group, gamebooks allowed for solitary play, and gamebooks began to be marketed with this in mind. Buffalo Castle, released in 1976, was the first of a series of books called Tunnels and Trolls, and an obvious parallel to Dungeons and Dragons. According to Katz, the more well-known Choose Your Own Adventure series came out soon thereafter, in 1979, and lasted until 1998. Although there are accounts of gamebooks that predate D&D, it seems clear that subsequent iterations of the genre were highly influenced by the game. Furthermore, the gamebooks that followed more closely from D&D championed greater success.

In fact, Tactical Studies Rules (TSR), the gaming company that originally owned D&D, came out with a line of pick-a-path books designed to be a version of the game in novel form. This series of books is based in the same fantasy setting as D&D; however, their structure differs somewhat from the game itself. In these books, after several pages of story, the reader is asked to make a choice. For example, in the TSR, Inc. gamebook Spell of the Winter Wizard (1983), the reader is addressed in the second person and takes on the role of a wizardas child, Omina. The wizard has been kidnapped and the goal is to follow the path of the story so that it reaches the positive conclusion of the father-figure being rescued. At the end of the first section the reader is offered a choice: 1. You can try to destroy Warzen [an evil wizard] first, then save Alcazar before he freezes. Turn to page 65.

2. You can seek out the Druids, find the Crimson Flame Mushroom [a powerful magical item], and take it to Alcazar. Turn to page 21 [Lowery, 1983, p. 10].

The book offers similar choices throughout, some of which lead the reader to a happy ending, some of which do not. For example, if the reader follows the path that leads to page 188, she ends up being chased by a ghost: aYou run and scream and hope that someone will hear youa"hope that this is not ... THE ENDa (Lowery, 1983, p. 118).

Katz (2004) notes that these books came from a type of writing called atree literature.a Similarly, in her chapter t.i.tled aThe Structures of Interactive Narrativity,a Ryan (2003) maps out the tree structure to represent the form of the Choose Your Own Adventure book. This structure starts from a common point but branches out to multiple nodes. As Ryan (2003) points out, in order to avoid an unmanageable number of pathways, paths often merge (p. 249). Multiple endings are possible and the story continues to branch out until one of these endings is reached.

In order to get a better idea of the way interactivity is structured in gamebooks, I have mapped out the choices in The Spell of the Winter Wizard starting from one of the initial choices listed above. Figure 1 gives a more specific representation of the narrative structure of an example gamebook. My diagram comes very close to Ryanas (2003) generic tree diagram. However, a couple of interesting patterns come to light. As Ryan noted, certain pages are used multiple times, accessed through a variety of paths. I call these pages anodes.a When we look closely at these nodes, we find that there are, perhaps, far fewer paths than it initially seems. There are also pages that either redirect to a single page only or that ask the reader to turn back to the previous page and make another choice. This feature was not accounted for in Ryanas tree model. Thus, areala choices are even more limited. For example, at one point your character meets an alchemist who offers to help in your quest. From the pa.s.sage that begins on p. 97, it looks like the reader has three choices: 1. You ask the alchemist to make a potion for you and take it directly to Warzenas Castle. Turn to page 77.

2. You can have the alchemist make you disappear, then reappear with Cornelius in the Ice Cavern. Turn to page 35.

3. Or you can thank the alchemist for his offer but refuse his services. Turn to page 43 [Lowery, 1983, p. 101].

If the reader chooses to ask the alchemist for a potion and turns to p. 77, the next choice involves either trying that potion or leaving the alchemist. If you choose to try the potion, you turn into a c.o.c.kroach and reach the unsatisfying ending on pp. 95a"96. If you leave, you go to p. 43, the same node you would have reached had you rejected the potion in the first place. The potion, a supposed remedy, never shows up in the story again. Thus, the section of text on p. 77 proves to be a diversion from one carefully steered plot and not actually a new plot. The only real alternative to this line is p. 35, the choice to disappear and reappear in the Ice Cavern. This choice leads to the node on p. 28, which is also reached from the decision point prior to this one. As seen in figure 1, the only difference in how page 28 is reached is whether the character takes a magic potion or blows a magic whistle to reach it. Thus, a more limited number of options are really available from those that initially appear. If the story continues asuccessfullyaa"that is to a satisfactory rather than unsatisfactory endinga"the reader must progress either through page 43 or 28.

One way that the text steers the reader toward these nodes is through dead ends. These dead ends are not unsatisfactory endings but instead direct the reader to return to a previous choice. The text from p. 147 is one of several dead ends. This section concludes thusly: aYou have a split second to make another choice. Please go back to page 46 and make another choicea (p. 148). These dead ends are not common, but even a few of them will narrow the choices ultimately available to the reader. Ryanas (2003) tree diagram accounts for the branch-like structure of the Choose Your Own Adventure book, but it does not account for the types of backtracking I found in Winter Wizard. In Ryanas (2003) diagram, aonce a branch has been taken, there is no possible return to the decision pointa (p. 248). However, we see not only decisions that lead back to paths that were previous options, but also several dead ends where the reader is actually directed to turn back and choose again. In addition, it is unlikely that a reader who makes an unsatisfactory ending will put down the book and not return. If all endings were equally satisfying, then this sort of backtracking might not occur, but in actuality, only a handful of endings pa.s.s as satisfactory. Others, such as the ghost or the c.o.c.kroach, clearly indicate that the reader has taken a wrong turn from the correct storyline.

The interactivity seen in gamebooks is clearly selective rather than productive. The reader does not actually affect the world of the story in a meaningful way, but simply navigates through the text. In fact, the selection of choices gives the illusion of more interactivity than is actually present. Although there proved to be a good number of endings in Winter Wizard, only a few of these were satisfactory. In addition, the pathways to these choices were limited by steering the reader through certain nodes. This early model for interactivity within the print media proves to be less interactive than it may at first seem.

Cybertext: A Model for Adventure Games.

Text-based adventure games offer another model for interactive fiction that also emerged in the early 1970s. These games involve a computer database of commands and possible plotlines that the user attempts to access (Aa.r.s.eth, 1997, p. 100). In these text-based games the user enters textual commands and receives a response, in text, that describes the resulting action in the story. As in the Choose Your Own Adventure books, adventure game playersa decisions lead to certain predetermined outcomes but involve more activity on the part of the player to reach these outcomes. Rather than simply choosing one path or the other, the player must solve the puzzle in order to proceed.

The most often recognized first in text-based adventure games is Adventure, which was completed in 1975 (Montfort, 2003, p. 86). However, Montfort (2003) argues that SHRDLU, developed at MIT from 1968a"1970 should instead be conferred this honor (p. 83). Again, we see that this form of interactivity existed before the TRPG, yet D&D still had an influence on adventure games. David Keller (2007), still credits D&D for the origin of interactive fiction because he explains that text-based adventure games developed before D&D were very basic (p. 280). While Adventure came first and was in development at the same time as D&D, Zork, released in 1979, became far more popular (Keller, 2007, p. 280). The influence of D&D in Zork cannot be denied. In fact, a leaflet from 1978a"1979 directly says that the game was inspired by D&D (Montfort, 2003, p. 99). Zork was also named Dungeon for a while, but this caused concerns with copyright infringement and, according to Montfort (2003), also led to a change in the text of the leaflet which, after 1981, ceased to mention D&D specifically (p. 100).