What if Your Players Don’t Want To?There’s this great line in the fourth book of James S. A. Corey’s amazing Expanse series of books.

“Once is never; twice is always.”

The Expanse is full of great lines like that. Lines that cut to the heart of how people think and act. For real. Not how the authors wish they’d think and act. Not how the authors believe people should think and act. Not how the authors — or anyone — pretend people think and act to avoid feeling back about how they really think and act.

I swear this s$&%’s relevant. And it ain’t life advice.

“Once is never; twice is always.” That s$&% perfectly encapsulates how I decide what to write next. And how I write it. See, you can’t be a brilliant content creator with a penchant for spouting invective-laden harsh truths to an obstinately opinionated online community without getting some feedback. And holy crap, do I get my share of feedback. And how I feel about that feedback basically goes like this:

If one person says something, no one’s really saying it.

And if two people say something, then everyone’s saying it. I’m inundated. People just won’t shut up about it.

And don’t you pretend you’re any different. The difference between “why hasn’t anyone noticed my new hat” and “why won’t people stop asking me why I look so glum today” is one person. If one person notices something, no one noticed it. If two people ask you something, everyone just keeps asking you about it.

Welcome to the human race…

… But What if My Players Don’t Want to Engage?

Since starting this Town Mode thing — a project whose scope, complexity, vision, and mission statement have grown out of all control since I started and I’m probably going to have to explain that s$&% at some point — since starting this Town Mode thing, there’s certain comments and questions I’ve been literally inundated with. There are certain things people just won’t shut up about. Today, I’m writing about one of them. And if you can read the big, boldfaced header five lines up, you already know what it is. Because it’s right f$&%ing there.

So, this Town Mode thing has ballooned from “I should come up with a good way to build and run Town sessions in RPGs” to “how can I take all the bookkeeping crap that happens between adventures and make it part of the game?” That means I’m telling GMs to take the s$&% players used to do at home — like leveling up and buying supplies — and move it all to the game table. And to make players jump through a bunch of hoops to do it all.

Whereas leveling up was a matter of changing a few numbers on your character sheet between sessions, I’m saying it should involve finding facilities in the game world, spending currency, and investing game days of study and practice.

In other words, I’ve gated every little bit of bookkeeping behind roleplaying scenes. Want to buy supplies? Talk to the shopkeeper. In the game. Want to gain a level? Make small talk with a professor of barbarism down at the local barber’s college first.

Now, that ain’t actually true. I never said that. But that’s something I’ll cover in Part II. Because this is a two-parter. But don’t worry; it’s two parts in one. I ain’t coming back to this s$&% next week.

Anyway…

Town Mode. Do the bookkeeping at the table. As part of the game. So that you — the GM — can pack a bunch of campaign-improving benefits with the bookkeeping. This means you’ve got to force your players to do a bunch of in-character roleplaying to maintain their character sheet.

But what if your players don’t want to engage with the world just to level up or buy a shiny new masterwork long sword?

That’s what I’ve been inundated with. That’s what people won’t shut up about. This week.

And that’s what I’m going to answer. Three times in two parts. Right now.

Part I: Two Snarky Answers for the Price of One

Let’s say you plan to adopt my little Town Mode scheme. Assuming I ever actually finish it. Which I will. But scope creep and vision evolution, so cut me a break.

Anyway…

Let’s say you plan to adopt my little Town Mode scheme. But there’s a problem. Your players just don’t want to do all that between-adventure, in-Town roleplaying crap just to craft items and gain levels and so on. Or maybe there isn’t a problem. Maybe you’re just assuming there will be. Maybe because you’ve had trouble getting your players to bite on that kind of gameplay before.

So, what do you do? What do you do if your players don’t want to engage with Town Mode?

Taking your question at face value — which I shouldn’t, but I’ll get to that — taking your question at face value, I’ve got two different answers for you. Answers that work for almost any question that starts with “what if my players don’t want to…” Doesn’t matter how you end it. Could be about Town Mode or social interaction or encumbrance or tracking hit points between sessions. Doesn’t matter.

So, what if your players don’t want to…

Don’t Make Them

If your players don’t want to deal with a mechanic or system or whatever, just cut that s$&% out. You know you can do that, right? You’re the GM. You can change the game however you want. Do whatever you want. Drop encumbrance. Ignore initiative. Reject that internet a$&hole’s overly complicated idea about bogging down long-running campaigns with sessions about d$&%ing around in town.

Seriously.

Why is this even a question? The idea that you — the GM — can override any decision the game system’s creators made is pretty central to the whole tabletop roleplaying game thing. It’s how RPGs work. You’re expected to make judgment calls. To change rules, ignore rules, and invent new rules. Otherwise, you couldn’t possibly handle the infinity of stupid choices that spew forth from every player’s noise-hole.

Honestly, I’ve been hearing “what if my players don’t want to…” for years. I know my funny Long, Rambling Introduction suggests that whenever I say I hear something a lot, I mean “I got two e-mails,” but I’m being serious now. Every time I suggest GMs actually dole out XP or make their players track encumbrance or whatever, someone says, “but what if my players don’t want to?”

Then don’t. Just f$&%ing don’t. If your players don’t want to do something, don’t make them do it. How the hell have you managed to run even a single, complete TTRPG session without knowing that’s an option?

It’s your game. Run it whatever wrong way you want to. Do whatever it takes to make your players happy.

Or maybe don’t. Because there’s another way to answer that question.

So, what if your players don’t want to…

Tough S$&%!

That first answer probably caught you by surprise. But it is a valid answer. That’s how RPGs work. That’s how all games work. I can’t force you to run D&D by any specific rules any more than I can force you to play Monopoly the right way. I can’t stop you from adding combat rules to chess or stop you from adding a bunch of bulls$&% cheaty mods to Skyrim or make you stop at six swings at minigolf. It’s your game. Your toy. Do whatever you want with it. That’s how it be.

But…

We GMs ask “what if my players don’t want to…” a lot when it comes to RPGs, but we seldom ask the same question when we’re playing Monopoly or minigolf or any other game. With most games, we treat the rules as kind of sacred. Or at least, as worthy of respect. Sure, we tweak rules from time to time. Add little house rules or extra fun ways to play. Money under Free Parking, beer frames in bowling, whatever. But those tiny tweaks are way different from the sort of s$&% TTRPG GMs are willing to f$&% with. TTRPG players are more likely than board gamers to say s$&% like, “oh, you use encumbrance rules? We usually don’t. Can’t we ignore them?”

Now, that does make perfect sense. RPG game masters are expected to override or supplement the system design. Every GM’s a game designer by proxy. Tweaking the design as the game’s being played to keep the game open-ended and freeform is the job. But with game design power comes game design responsibility.

Games are complicated and game design is alchemy. It’s part art, part science, and part hoodoo magic. Good game designers are rare. Most GMs — statistically speaking — are mediocre designers at best. Especially when they’re just starting out. Hell, 50% of GMs are below-average game designers. Because that’s how averages work.

That said, I think you’re a good game designer. I actually f$&%ing respect you. And I’ll bet you didn’t expect me to say that. But if I didn’t think you were a good game designer — or at least, that you had potential — I wouldn’t waste my life explaining design-level s$&% to you. I’d write a bunch of rules and say, “don’t break these rules because you’re a dumba$& non-designer and you’ll f$&% up my brilliant design if you do.”

By assuming you’re a — potentially — good game designer, I’m also burdening you with a bunch of responsibility. Because good game designers have to make design choices for the good of the game, not for the fun of the players. Also, good game designers understand how it’s possible for something that isn’t fun for the players to be good for the game.

Every game’s got a rule or system or bit of gameplay that’s just a pain in the a$&. Every one of you can think of a mechanic from a game you love that you wish just wasn’t there. But it’s probably there for a reason. Even if that reason ain’t obvious or apparent. There’s a reason why God of War III had f$&%ing block pushing puzzles and why most people didn’t finish Doom (2016) even though they loved playing it.

Even if you don’t buy the idea that that pain-in-the-a$&% mechanic marring a game you love exists for a reason — usually to do with irrational human psychology — the fact that you love the game proves the PITA mechanic doesn’t ruin the game.

Game designers aren’t perfect. I’m not saying they are. And bad mechanics do find their way into good games for stupid reasons. But it’s hard to tell because game experiences are subjective and emergent and holistic. There’s no way to really see the impact a single mechanic or system’s having on the whole experience. The best you can do is rip out the mechanic and see if the experience gets worse.

Of course, if you do that, you’re likely to end up with a broken experience. Because, statistically, you’re more likely to be a worse designer than whoever made the game. Unless Jeremy Crawford’s name is on the cover.

That ain’t an insult. Even I’m nervous about ripping s$&% out of professionally designed games because I’m a self-taught amateur and most game designers actually do know what they’re doing. Crawford aside.

What’s my point, though? Simply this: ripping a mechanic out because your players say they don’t like it is a dumba$& thing to do. “My players don’t like it,” is never, ever a good reason, by itself, to butcher a system. Games are complicated. Players are dumb. Gameplay experiences are subjective and holistic and emergent. And fun is a fleeting, momentary state. What really determines how people feel about a game is the long-term play experience.

See, again, Doom (2016): a game that everyone agreed was full of fun but which most people couldn’t even spend the 12 hours needed to finish.

Remember when I explained all the benefits to long-term campaign play that Town Mode could provide? I did that hoping you’d balance all those benefits against the fact that Town Mode moves a lot of the standard RPG character bookkeeping to the game table and forces the players to jump through extra hoops to do s$&% that used to be automatic.

So, what if the players don’t want to engage with Town Mode? Well, they’ll piss and moan and grumble at first. And then they’ll get used to it. And for their trouble, they’ll have a more satisfying, long-term campaign experience. Even if they never know why.

Part II: Actually, There Are Stupid Questions

Let’s rewind…

Town Mode. Do the bookkeeping at the table. As part of the game. So that you — the GM — can pack a bunch of campaign-improving benefits with the bookkeeping. This means you’ve got to force your players to do a bunch of in-character roleplaying to maintain their character sheet.

But what if your players don’t want to engage with the world just to level up or buy a shiny new masterwork long sword?

Turns out, that question’s stupid. It’s based on stupid, wrong assumptions.

Let’s talk about engagement. And interaction. And roleplaying. And playing in-character. Most roleplaying gamers think those terms are all synonyms. That they mean the same thing. So, when I said:

Properly implemented, Town Mode encourages your players to engage with the world between adventures.

What everyone heard was:

Make your players play in-character conversations to accomplish every tiny little adventure prep chore.

Is that what you heard? Be honest. Did you think I was suggesting entire sessions of mundane, in-character chatter punctuated by moments of math and paperwork? If so, I totally understand why you’re worried your players won’t go for that s$&%.

The fact is that, for every player you can’t get to drop their obnoxious in-character persona for five minutes, there are three players who ain’t comfortable putting on an accent and playacting every scene. And I’m a smart guy. I know that. I wouldn’t design a subsystem that forces three out of every four players to do something that makes them positively uncomfortable. Because that ain’t the same as designing something that isn’t fun. There’s a difference between “tracking encumbrance is a pain in the a$&” and “everyone’s waiting for me to talk; how the hell do I even do this?”

Really, there are two issues here. The first is that gamers are too f$&%ing clumsy with their terminology. I mean, we’ve got actual, professional game designers who use the word roleplaying when they mean “playing out in-game conversations,” so we’re pretty much screwed. And the second issue is that GMs are dumb and Critical Role has made them dumber.

But first issue first…

Choose Your Words with Care

Now, I can’t control the words gamers use. But if I did, let me tell you how I’d settle this s$&%. At least in terms of interaction, engagement, and roleplaying.

Interaction — in this context — is the simplest play dynamic that exists in roleplaying games. Because it literally just means play dynamic. It means the players are playing the game. They’re choosing actions, the game’s responding, and they’re reacting. Simple, right? And, consequently, the term interaction — in this context — is so broad as to be useless.

I only mention to so I can juxtapose engagement.

When I say engagement — in this context — there’s almost always an implied with the world as a world trailing behind it. Because the difference between interaction and engagement is all in how the players think about the game. And how they feel about it.

Say a player’s character enters a room. There’s a monster inside. The monster’s hostile. So the player decides to attack it. Some dice are rolled, some damage is dealt, and there’s a race to 0 hit points.

That’s interaction. The player’s dealing with the game’s systems. A hostile mobile shares the player avatar’s location. The player uses game actions to destroy the hostile mobile.

Now say a player’s character enters a room and there’s a goblin inside. The goblin seems hostile. But the player knows a thing or two about goblins and guesses the goblin’s hostile chest-thumping and saber-rattling is a bluff. Goblins are cowardly and weak. Forced to fight, the goblin might deal some damage before it dies. So the player decides it’s quicker and safer to leave it an escape route and give it a chance to flee.

That’s engagement. The player dealing with the goblin as a living thing with motivations and fears and behavior patterns. The player guessing what’s in the goblin’s head and using those guesses to choose their response.

This ain’t to say that RPG combats don’t count as engagement. They can and do. It’s all in how the players see the game. It’s entirely possible for a player to engage with a goblin as a living, breathing thing by stabbing it to death with attack rolls. That’s why smart GMs run combats in such a way as to make it impossible for the players to forget they’re living beings fighting other living beings.

Roleplaying is just internal engagement. It just means the players are thinking of their characters as living beings with motivations and emotions and s$&%. Not just as mechanical avatars in a game they’re trying to win. And it’s entirely possible to roleplay while you’re still just making attack rolls and skill checks and trying to win the adventure.

I’m just using this combat s$&% as a handy example.

Also, note that it’s engagement and roleplaying that lead to the players giving a f%&$ about what they’re doing and what’s happening. Emotionally.

The point is when I say this Town Mode s$&% is about making the players engage, I’m not saying I want them to force them to converse with every trainer and shopkeeper. I’m saying I want them to think of the world as a world. And to make choices and take actions based on their understanding of the world as a world.

That’s the s$&% that makes a roleplaying game a roleplaying game. A roleplaying game’s one in which the players think of their characters as people in a world that’s a world. And act accordingly.

Of course, one way to pull that s$&% off is to make the players — and their characters — talk to the world’s inhabitants. While Town Mode ain’t about forcing the players to act out conversations to accomplish anything, it does benefit from conversational moments.

Playing Versus Playacting

Hopefully, that clears up the terminology issue. Now for the second issue: that GMs are dumb and watch too many live streams. First, understand I’m being hyperbolic. The dumbness I’m talking about here isn’t new. It’s always been an issue. And I ain’t blaming Mike Mercer and his crew. Not really.

The question of how to handle in-game, inter-character conversation has always been a thorny one. There are some GMs who think that, when you’re at the game table, whatever comes out of your mouth is precisely what comes out of your character’s mouth. And players should play accordingly.

In other words, some GMs think that if you speak, your character’s speaking. And your character says the words you’re saying. So if you want your character to talk to an NPC — or even another PC — you’ve got to say what you want your character to say.

And frankly, I don’t disagree. That’s pretty close to my personal gaming philosophy. I don’t enforce it — not strictly — but I do think it’s the best approach to in-game conversation and I try to make it happen as much as possible. But this article ain’t about my terrible, personal opinions. So keep your comments to yourself. If you want, I’ll give that s$&% its own article. How to do it right without being a tyrant.

The speak as your character approach to in-world conversations wasn’t the majority opinion when I was an Angry little kiddo. But it seems to be now. And that’s probably because so many online games show that style of play. And it’s a pretty damned entertaining style of play.

But there are other ways to handle in-world conversations. At their core, RPGs are games about making choices, taking action, and dealing with the results. When you speak as your character, you’re just declaring an action. You’re saying, “my character says, ‘not on my life, lizard lips!’” And while that’s fun as hell to hear at the table, it’s no different from you saying, “my character refuses the dragon’s demands with an insult.”

To a GM, those two statements are functionally identical. They’re equally valid and they’d both be adjudicated in precisely the same fashion. And that’s how it should be even though the first statement is categorically better for the game and everyone at the table.

The point is, it’s not necessary to speak as your character to have an in-world conversation. Hell, it’s not even necessary to have a point-by-point back-and-forth. You — the GM — can summarize entire conversations in a couple of lines of narration.

You report back to your patron, leaving out the part about his fruit trees and the wayward fireball spell. Let me just roll a quick, secret Bluff check. Okay. Your patron is pleased. Gratefully, he gives you the hundred gold coins he promised and he also throws in an extra twenty-five gold for your promptness. He doesn’t catch your omission. With your business concluded, he dismisses you but invites you to call on him again when you get back to town. He might have other jobs for you.

Simple as that. Hell, a good GM might even interject a few in-character lines to make it feel like an actual conversation, even though it’s still just a bunch of narration.

… he gives the hundred gold coins he promised. Then, he adds, “You handled this well. And quickly. I don’t mind admitting I was skeptical of you and your companions. I took you as ruffians. I half-expected you to burn down half my orchard by accident.” He laughs. “Take an extra twenty-five gold for your trouble.” With your business concluded…

See what I mean? The point is, there’s a giant-a$& issue about handling in-game conversation that’s definitely muddying the waters around this whole “what if my players don’t want to engage” question.

So What if My Players Don’t Want to Engage with Town Mode?

There’s three different answers to the same question. If your players don’t want to engage with Town Mode — or you just assume they won’t — either don’t use Town Mode or do use Town Mode or check your assumptions because it’s a stupid thing to ask. Pick whatever answer you like best.

But which answer is correct? The correct answer is this: as long as you’re not confusing engagement for in-character playacting — and you know how to handle in-character conversation already — the most responsible, good-game-designer thing to do is to make your players suck it up. Accept there’s going to be some pissing and moaning. Hold your ground. Don’t entertain any arguments. Just say Town Mode’s the rule of the game and call your players’ bluffs if they threaten to walk.

Look, if your players said, “we don’t like tracking hit points and we never die anyway, so can’t we just ignore them,” you’d laugh your a$& off. And then, when you realized they were serious, you’d say, “hell no! What’s wrong with you? How is that even a thought that crossed your head?” And you’d move on.

Why is Town Mode any different? Or encumbrance? Or experience points? Or any other thing your players don’t like that you’ve already removed from your game?

You’re the GM. Be the GM.