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FKR – Non-Exhaustive Analysis

EDIT: This post now serves as a Megapost collecting all my posts on FKR in a link tree for simple reference, updated as new articles are written:

Introduction

FKR (Free Kriegsspiel Revival/Renaissance, unless I’m not up to par with current nomenclature) has featured here a couple times. FKR is still having a moment, I’m somewhat associated with it, and I thought having an extra post people can point towards to newbies as an explanation would be at least an interesting contribution to do over half an hour. However, my interest is also doing an analysis of FKR as a concept, which problematic of play it’s meant to address, if any, and how it gets tangled up in perception with different objects like freeform.

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The Regular Girl, The Lonely Girl

A lost girl type and some duet rules.

The girl lost her compass when it skipped from the pocket, right as she jumped out of the freight train. None of the other girls respects her. They begrudgingly take her on missions. The slasher girls are glad someone lower on the pecking rank flew into the nest with a broken wing. She’s fully normal, funny normal, not a hint of the uncanny. They give her a rusty switchblade and a jacket just a bit torn at the sides. Her bicycle is shit if they don’t make her sit in the car’s bed seat where you can feel each meter of the road. She can’t relate to where she came from but she isn’t wanted even here. The other girls look at her journal but she keeps writing it regardless.

A Regular Girl must have Fair Stealth and Average Charisma minimum. She can start with three special items instead of two, as the gang goaded her into shoplifting it to prove herself. She can’t use weaponry beyond level two. Double her received XP at the end of each mission.  She has a bonus for reaction rolls with anyone that isn’t a lost girl (even a Lady of Sorrow will not hate her on sight). Her assistance to other girls during a roll does not count for the +2 limit.

Instead of a supernatural stress gauge, she has a resource stress gauge of two. The other girls can use her money, she isn’t allowed to buy anything for herself. She would feel terrible doing so. If she suffers a mutation of some sort, she gains a regular supernatural stress gauge as well.

In a duet, the solitary player controls a single lost girl.

Instead of the original rules for setting up the gang’s contacts, assume the gang in a duet will have 2 contacts + half the PC’s Charisma (rounded down, no minimum), independent of the other girls’ Charisma. All other gang members are as the PC’s own contacts, and therefore can get obsessed with her. Contacts outside the gang can get obsessed with any girl as usual.

Humans Are weird

The Weird is a category of Western epistemology. For something to be Weird, it must be intruder, it must refuse the easy categories of its eye, and for that it must be a threat. The monstrous is the extension of it.

The Weird in TTRPGs, therefore, is something that is outside the human. The Weird is uneasily contrasted with the Gonzo, and positioned as something that can only be achieved from a point of view that’s rooted, usually, in the mundane, or what was passed into mundaneity by the standardization of fantasy, the so-called Vanilla. It therefore can only exist through an act of reduction, by which the Weird and monstrous acts as excess beyond the lines. This is perfectly fine.

Time and again I see people discussing whether monsters, spells and such should be standardized, or if they should be Weird, with the idea that the Weird is more sophisticated in some manner. The implicit position that I sometimes feel is that, by standardizing monsters, spells and the supernatural, by “reducing” them, they are leaving their rightful place of excess towards a place of normalization. A place that, it seems to me, is destined for humans under this paradigm.

So using human antagonists, human contexts and etc. beyond serving the role of offering players an intelligible way into the game (we are all humans), serves the double function of keeping the non-human Weird. This implies, at least to me, the idea that humans themselves are not weird enough.

Here I use “weird”, lowercase. Humans are very weird. Have you talked to one? Have you seen our works? Have you listened to yourself late at night? Humans are very weird, incapable of holding to their own categories, surprising and mad and rational and passionate. I don’t think we often appreciate enough how weird humans are. Certainly we are doing a disservice to human antagonists and human contexts when we privilege them with the goal of keeping the Weird as excess, therefore in practice privileging the Weird as the cherry.

One of the fun things about reading human history is to see as a small piece of information upheaves all categories you were employing until then, and the manner that instead of seeing contradiction synthesize into a new ordained system you just see larger contradictions enveloping each other. A lot of weirdness upon weirdness.

Besides thinking about how to use humans in order to keep what’s non-human Weird, we can think about how to use humans in order to keep everything lowercase weird, because human weirdness is charming, surprising and passionate. “Why would I use an orc when I can use a human?” is a multifaceted question that can imply both “why would I use something Weird for the role of a mere human” and “why would I use Weird when I can use weird?” I think both Weird and weird have their place in the same campaign, and the low-key weird of humanity is very comfortable. Don’t use humans to keep monsters special, use humans because people are bizarre.

Instead of thinking of a monster that was once a human and turned into a giant bird, we can think about a community of humans who learned to fly by dressing in robes made of peacock feathers, and it’s their weird humanity that allow them flight instead of becoming part of the Weird.

So yeah, humans are weird. Maybe we can make our bestiaries more about weird humans, but just humans.

Death to Complex Tools (+Arden Vul Session 4 Report)

I will start with my notes, because I have a small point to make even if you aren’t interested in the session: I hate big tools.

I have never used a VTT for online gaming, and hope I never will. I have seen people using them, and it made me decide to never use them. I think that if you are playing online your tools should not be more of a hassle than what you would use in person. Whenever I see someone looking at a VTT, more power to them, but if I can make them use some shared sheet app like Google Sheets and a whiteboard like tl;draw, I will.

The time one spends setting up a VTT seems to me time that could be used for literally any other activity that would greatly improve a game. Exercising and sleeping for better physical energy during the game, cooking a nice meal to yourself, reading a novel or non-fiction for ideas, prepping more notes about the scenario, refining downtime resolutions, anything. The hobby is cheap, so I am cheap about it.

Today in Arden Vul, we shifted to Mipui, which seemed like a more advanced deal better to carefully map such a complex dungeon. We, 1/3 into the session, decided that returning to our whiteboard was better than dealing with the rendering and complications of such a delicate tool. The simpler tool gave us no issue. I also offered to organize the character sheets in Google Sheets for another campaign that’s starting; I’m not nearly as brilliant as Havoc is in setting up aesthetically pleasing Google Sheets in a way that matches the automatization instead of getting in odds with it, but anything feels better than to deal with any VTT or service created directly for TTRPGs.

Nothing done in the computer should be more complex than the paper we would use around a table. I’ve seen people do incredible things with VTTs, but to me that’s more on their own merit for getting creative energy out of doing it than speaking of the tool’s utility. I respect them, I do not respect the services.

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In Favour of Repetition

It bears repeating.

It bears repeating.

It bears repeating.

There is only one true sort of dungeon: a vampire/witch castle. All others are pretenders. A hexcrawl should have just endless vampire/witch castles.

Saint Tenebrae is not a place for usual dungeoncrawling campaigns. It’s perfectly doable, and crawling through places to recover assets or to pull heists is in fact a part of the expected game. But the appeal of modern settings in a dungeon crawl context is the sheer variety of places taking advantage of the fact players will recognize them. How to square that in terms of repetition?

Dungeons are traditionally abandoned places. Dungeons in Saint Tenebrae are places for the abandoned. Distorted motels, old orphanages, cursed hospitals, sewers. Even wizard’s cabinets of curiosities, Lady of Sorrow’s palaces, and gang turfs are collections of derelict. Wildly different in layout, but the same feeling of the forgotten and left behind. When you lie down on a hotel, do you think about who spent their last night in the same bed as you? Do you forget that you get a room in a hospital after someone has died?

There’s another sort of dungeon, one presumes. It hangs in the sky and smiles at you. It’s perfectly possible to visit the crooked moon. Give it a shot.

Two sorts of dungeon. The graves of lives lost in stasis and the dream palace on the sky. It repeats everywhere in a city of the wasted.

If Saint Tenebrae had been imagined as a place of dungeons above all, there would be just hotels. The ultimate symbol of transitional modernity.

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Stanley Hotel, Room 217

Botanical Wargames

War games are practiced by every society in every fantasy world. War games compose society itself. It is remarkably costly to enact war, even if it costlier still to keep one’s sword in its scabbard. To make war one needs territory that can be agreed on, expedient bodies to be spent, and a gentleman’s agreement about which casualties of those that know nothing of violence are acceptable.

It is not different in Saint Tenebrae. The girl gangs play their own war games, which seems natural. One’s zone, in the confusion of the city, seems like an owned battlefield, all bodies are glad to fall in line, and their blood thirst is such that casualties would never be considered. Yet it isn’t always practical to play war games in the street, to see at which point play spills into reality. A gang can jump on another, but it would be better if it was the last time, and not rehearsal. Not only that, such games could bring undo attention from whoever is the secret master of a zone or borough, and accidentally spill like toxic oil into another’s territory.

If all you are looking for is a quick spar, punch your sister.

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Our Ladies of Sorrow

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Magic is a time abyss. It stretches so wide that the passage of clocks cannot reach the whole of its tapestry: there’s more darkness in the night sky than the remnants of stars which have already went past their hour.

Yet humans can only understand magic through its ages, because magic is nothing if not observed. Magic is the endless theater stage that resembles the horizon after day has set into polluted nothingness, in need of rehearsal from actors who can only vaguely understand the text. So magic fluctuates, following the tempo of the great dramas of the time, a vizier on the ears of kings and wise men.

There were ages before the age of Paramodernity, when Saint Tenebrae rises. One of those ages was the time of sorrow.

It was a time of maidens and vampires.

Continue reading “Our Ladies of Sorrow”
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