It’s time for another Ask Angry Mailbag. That’s where I answer a bunch of reader-submitted questions. Are you a reader who wants to submit a question for answery? Send it to ask.angry@angry.games. Just remember to get to the point, to leave out the extraneous crap, and to tell me explicitly what to call you.

Ian asks…

Which rolls do you — as a GM — make concealed? Which do you make in the open where the players can see the result? And which do you let the players make for their characters?

It’s nice to start with someone who can follow basic instructions. Thanks, Ian, for meeting my absolute minimum standards for reading comprehension and direction following. Isn’t it wonderful to live in a world in which not being a moron is praiseworthy?

The funny thing is, I was still going to blast you, Ian, because I was absolutely positive I’d answered this question. And not in some archived post from five years ago, either. I was sure I’d discussed this a few months ago in The Tao of the Dice. But on rereading, I apparently didn’t spell it out. Or even mention it. So that’s two points for you, Ian.

That said, it’s not like I didn’t tell you absolutely everything you need to know to answer this question yourself. Then again, you specifically asked how I handle things rather than how I think you should handle them. So you’ve got yourself a trifecta.

First, everyone rolls in the open at my table unless there’s a specific reason not to. Second, whoever takes the action makes the roll. So, when a player’s character acts, the player rolls the dice that everyone can see. And when a non-player character acts, I roll the dice in full view. Obviously, that’s not counting systems wherein the rules say the players roll all the dice. When I’m running one of those systems, I throw the fucking rulebook in the trash and play something that isn’t shit instead.

But that’s actions. When it comes to non-actions — rolls to see if a character recognizes or recalls something or spots something or catches a lie — I roll the dice myself. And, for expediency, I roll them quickly and quietly behind the screen. See, rolls like that are informational. They tell me how to narrate or tell me what to reveal. When the players enter a room, I roll Knowledge-type checks and Perception-type checks to find out what the characters notice and what they know and use that to Set the Scene.

The same’s true, by the way, for shit like random encounter checks, weather checks, and other sorts of world-management checks. Basically, if I’m asking the dice what to reveal and no one declared an action, I handle it behind the scenes. Otherwise, whoever acts rolls the check openly. Unless it’s a saving throw, of course. The victim gets to roll the saving throw because that’s what the dumbass rules say and if I stopped running games with stupid mechanics, I’d have nothing to run.

But those are just my general rules. My standard practices. I’m a Game Master and that means I can — and frequently — override my rules for the sake of a well-paced and well-run game. It’s down to my intuition and good judgment to tell me when to roll a player’s check behind the screen. I don’t have any firm rules; I know how to run a good game and I just do what makes the game good.

Generally, though, there are three reasons why I’ll make a player’s check behind the screen.

First, because die rolls represent a break in the game’s flow, I make quick-and-quiet-behind-the-screen rolls whenever letting the players touch the dice would wreck the pace. I roll almost all social action checks quietly behind the screen for that reason. Especially because players take too damned long to roll dice, add modifiers, and announce results.

That’s another reason, by the way, that I roll Informational Checks behind the screen. I don’t need to slam on the brakes every time I Set a Scene to ask the players to roll their Knowledge- and Perception-type checks.

Second, if the action’s outcome isn’t something I’d immediately reveal, I keep the roll behind the screen. When you’re sneaking or hiding, for example, you don’t know you’ve failed until someone raises an alarm or shoots at you. And some systems have a lot of delayed outcome reveals. In some systems, when you repair or craft an item, it might seem like the item’s fine until you use it. Then it fails. I keep that shit to myself.

Third, if the number on the die — or the fact of the roll — might yield information I don’t think the characters should have, I keep it to myself behind the screen. If your character searches a room and turns up nothing, all they know is they found nothing. They don’t know whether there’s a trap so cunningly hidden they didn’t find it or whether there’s just nothing to find. If you — the player — can see the 18 or the two on the d20, you can guess whether you missed something or not. And that’ll affect your next move.

So that’s basically how I decide who rolls what and what rolls I hide. Mostly. Because, again, it’s down to a judgment call. And sometimes I roll shit behind the screen or call for an open roll just because it’s easier and I can’t be assed to care.

Aidan asks…

The Invisibility spell in various systems states that an Invisible character becomes visible again if they make an attack. This is obviously for game balance purposes, but it leads to pretty arbitrary lists of actions that do or do not make an invisible character become visible again, without a clear in-world explanation for why this happens. Do you have any thoughts on in-world reasons why certain actions should make Invisibility end? Does this mean the list of actions that cause Invisibility to end in the Angryverse is different from standard D&D rules?

Do you realize, Aidan, that half your sentences and 60% of your words are given over to totally unnecessary opinion and analysis? When I say, “Be brief and cut to the point,” I’m not always talking about the word count. Questions like this leave me wishing I had to power to punch people until every minute of my life they’ve wasted pops out like a coin out of a goomba.

A Super Mario goomba, obviously, not an ethnic slur goomba.

Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you weren’t making exactly the point I made in the article that prompted you to send this in. “Yes,” my brain screams, “I know! I made that point! That was my point! Why are you repeating my words back to me? And why did you remove all the funny? My words were funny! I’m a hoot!”

Anyway…

Gosh, you’re right, Aidan. It’s almost as if there’s no logic to it at all. It’s like the WotC designers don’t care to explain how magic works in the world. And that absolutely does mean poor hapless Game Masters like you must either resign yourself to the fact that shit works how it does, that it makes no sense, and that all you can do is memorize the dumbass arbitrary list of conditions or else you have to invent your own logic and then get slammed by your players because “that’s not how the rules say things work!”

You think you’ve got it bad, Aidan? Well, if I explain my logic, I’ve also got to deal with every dumbass gamer on the internet screaming that I’m doing it wrong or digging for plot holes with inane hypotheticals.

Honestly, Aidan, you’re really pissing me off.

But, fine, I’ll give you an answer.

As I said back in that article you’re plagiarizing, I’m a big fan of the bubble approach to illusions. Physical interactions disrupt them. Too much of that and the bubble pops. The invisibility spell can handle small objects passing in and out. If you can pick it up and carry it on your person, it disrupts the bubble, but it doesn’t pop it. Press the illusion against anything bigger than that and the illusion breaks.

In the Angryverse, that means opening doors, pulling levers, climbing trees, and bumping into allies who can’t see you will end your invisibility spell. I know I’m gonna catch a lot of crap for saying that, but I don’t care. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Ice asks…

What’s the deal with bards?

The deal with bards is that bards suck. Screw bards.

Jolla asks…

Lately, I’ve looked into games that do not have set skills. Instead, they give bonuses to rolls based on the character’s background or profession (13th Age, Shadow of the Demon Lord, Barbarians of Lemuria. What’s your take on this? It might be an elegant solution to avoid situations with players shouting, “I roll Insight…”

I’m gonna get myself in trouble after that speech to Aidan about brevity because this question’s totally fine. I know lots of people won’t see the distinction but… well… lots of people bought orange shag carpeting in the ’60s. What can you do?

In theory, I like the Backgrounds as Skills approach of replacing very specific, very narrow skills with professions and backgrounds. And it does certainly minimize the sort of Press X to Use Skill approach to gameplay I decry.

In practice, the Background as Skills approach replaces the problem with something I frankly hate more. And that’s negotiating with players about when their backgrounds apply.

When it first came out, I ran 13th Age pretty often at conventions and game stores as well as at home. Likewise, when Shadow of the Demon Lord landed, I ran it for a bit to try it out. And I kept running into this situation wherein players would argue that their Background-as-Skill should totally apply to this or that situation.

Now, I’m not complaining that the players were using insane troll logic to squeeze every last bonus from me — it was mostly pretty reasonable stuff — but it still led to a lot of wasted time talking about rules and resolutions instead of about the in-world action. And I hate that shit. Talking about the rules — and negotiating over how to apply them — is a huge speedbump. It stops the action dead and forces everyone to engage with character sheets and numbers and stats.

And really, that’s my problem with Push-Button Play. When a player says, “I Insight the shopkeeper; is he lying,” they’re not engaging with the world as a world. They’re not seeing the game’s characters as people. And that puts them at an emotional distance. They’re not invested; they’re rolling dice and invoking rules to beat obstacles. Negotiating with players about whether their Background applies is the same problem in a different skin.

And really, it ain’t the players that are the problem. In the end, players want to succeed. That’s normal. It’s human. And I prefer that to the dumbasses that wreck the game for everyone because they think failures make more interesting stories or because they just want everyone paying attention to them. Give me a player who wants to win any day. Problems arise when you design a game people can win by disengaging. Or tip the odds in their favor, anyway.

Some will say that the Background Negotiating thing enhances player creativity and engagement specifically in 13th Age because that rulebook encourages players to spin off little bits of backstory to explain how their Background applies to a given situation. But that’s not engaging with the world or the situation. It’s not roleplaying. It’s just inventing a disconnected backstory excuse because you want a bonus.

In the end, I see this as a pick your posion choice. Both approaches introduce the same fundamental problem, so it’s just down to picking the one you can work around. I have an easy time telling people, “No, you can’t Deception the guard; tell me what you’re saying or doing” until they learn. And the Specific Skill approach is definitely easier for newbies to grok than rules telling them to invoke a progression and make an excuse if the Game Master challenges you.

Someone asks…

How would mechanical conditions/effects that remove player agency be best resolved? Effects such as fear, charm, and domination that force the character to act contrary to what the player might want and/or feel?

Here we have yet another who didn’t give me explicit permission to…

You know what? I don’t have the energy to do this anymore. I don’t even care to come up with some funny nickname. I’m just going to call you Ed because it’s easy to type.

Let’s talk about this Player Agency, thing, Ed. And note the capitals. Because I’m talking specifically about the game-design concept of Player Agency. The one I’ve specifically a vital, core element of tabletop roleplaying games.

The problem is lots of gamers claim lots of things impinge on Player Agency. Only they don’t.

Player Agency refers specifically to the idea that a character’s choices are made solely by that character’s player. That the character’s mind is the sole domain of the player. Thus the Game Master cannot dictate what the character thinks, feels, or chooses.

But choice — as I’ve pointed out before — is a mental act. Choice isn’t behavior. It’s not action. And that’s important. A spell like domination treats a character’s body like a puppet, but it leaves their mind intact. The character has no agency to act, but Player Agency is unaffected. The player can still decide how the character’s mind reacts to what’s happening.

Being dominated is the same as being restrained, tied up, locked in a cage, or killed. The character can’t act, but the player is still driving their character’s brain.

Fear-based effects are stranger, but they mostly lead to compulsive behavior — like flight or cowering — and can thus be easily classed as the character losing control over their body — and bowels — but not their mind. It’s not a perfect explanation, but it works. After all, people do become paralyzed with fear.

Charm-based effects — and things like love potions — are different. They necessarily affect the character’s thoughts and feelings, not just their bodily actions. They do impinge on Player Agency. The game — or the Game Master — is dictating the character’s mental state.

But now let me piss off half my readership and draw another attempt to cancel me by saying: as important as Player Agency is, it’s not all important. It should be respected, but that doesn’t mean it absolutely can’t — or shouldn’t — be infringed from time to time.

I have no qualms with throwing the occasional charm spell or love potion at my players and I expect them to handle it when I say, “Okay, you’re magically charmed. As far as you’re concerned, Bargelcut the Enchanter is your bestest friend in the world. Act accordingly.” And if a player objects to something as minor as that, I’m not sure they’re right for my game.

Honestly, this shit’s forgivable because it’s magical and because it’s temporary. Once the spell ends, the player’s free to decide how they feel about what went down. They can go back to hating Bargelcut. Hell, they probably hate them more. So the Player’s Agency was temporarily suppressed. It wasn’t removed. And that was due to magic.

That’s why, by the way, I do charm but I’d never use a Persuasion check to tell a player how their character must feel about someone or something.

And, of course, there are lines. It’s one thing for enchanters to charm folks into temporary friendship to influence their behavior and it’s entirely another to magically roofie someone’s character and force them into inappropriate situations. I don’t do inappropriate situations at my table anyway.

And if an objection did arise to a charm spell, I’d step away from the game and talk it over with the player like a mature adult. Only if we couldn’t reach an understanding or compromise would I suggest we’d both be happier playing at separate tables.

In the end, Ed, I don’t think magical effects that enchant or compel represent the unacceptable destruction of Player Agency. But some infringe a little on it, so they should be used in moderation. Whenever possible, they should be treated as behavioral compulsions and stay well clear of the character’s mind. And when they do intrude on the character’s mind, you should explain to the player what’s going on and trust them to choose how best to play it out.

In the end, it’s all just a game anyway.