Everything you wanted to know about story games in 17k words, 8 actual plays, and one history video

…If you’ve heard them called social matrix games from this blog and other places, that’s fine too.

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Basically, I’m over bifurcating my brain to make posts for two separate audiences: the OSR/NSR/adventure game types (here) and the storygame/theater kid/writers/storyteller types (on substack). I’m both of those camps, and that “split” is something I’ve done TO MYSELF.

So the quick announcement is that I’ve collapsed the substack from Story Games Sojourn to just Dreaming Dragonslayer, changing the URL and names to do so. Apologies for links that are now dead as a result. The podcast name also changed to just Dreaming Dragonslayer. And now on Discord I’m “Sam // Dreaming Dragonslayer”. Now this blog, the substack, the itch page, the podcast, my socials all fall under the same banner.

Because New Year’s can also be about consolidating efforts and simplifying your life, not just adding more rules/procedures for you to follow.

As one last hurrah, I wanted to add everything I created over during the Story Games Sojourn stint from August to December 2025 in one place (consolidation, remember?). Something that can be referenced time and again to see what the heck was going on with story games and my head.

Over on the substack, going forward, I’ll be “remastering” the best posts from this blog for a time while crossposting the new stuff from here. Lots to come!

Enjoy! And Happy New Year’s!

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Play GREAT stories with loved ones (even if it’s your first time and you’re ~nervous~)

Could it be any harder to write a good story?

Staring at a blank page or screen thinking: “where do I even start?”

But only a few days ago you and your friends were pitching stories while on the couch, thinking of ways to tell a story better than Marvel or a sketch funnier than SNL.

You could do it: make great stories for you and your friends.

You could sit down around a table or online and tell a story in the same time that it takes to watch an episode or a movie together.

And it’s a BLAST.

The key is story games.

Story games are so simple that people can come to the table with no expectations about how they work, play through a scenario, and leave having made a story with their friends.

You can do this at a big gaming table, or in voice call online, or over the phone, or around the campfire. Really anywhere.

Here are the entire rules in seven lines (not seven pages):

• First, start with a scenario.
• Then say what happens next.
• There is no turn order.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
• The host may veto anytime.
• End when the scenario resolves.

Now let’s break it down:

First, start with a scenario.

You’ll begin with a short description of the situation: the people involved, where it takes place and what’s driving the drama. This is the springboard for everything that follows: the setting, the tone, the stakes. This is what the host of the game comes to the table with. Maybe they have a list of options for everyone to choose from.

Here are some examples!

“A wild cowboy gang stirs up trouble by burning down a saloon… right as a lone gunslinger comes to town.”

“The Moonbase reactor is failing and rival crews argue over the last escape shuttle.”

“The wedding of the century is tomorrow… if the cursed bride survives the night.”

“A reality show where young hotties vote each other off a tropical island is in its eighth and final season.”

“The kingdom is in UPROAR when twin princes make their claims to the throne.”

The scenario usually also includes a list of characters involved and places the action may center around. Again, the host will provide this.

Then, say what happens next.

You don’t ask a referee or Game Master for permission, you simply say what happens. You might narrate a character’s actions, describe events in the world, or introduce a new problem. You can say what a character is thinking or what they wish to happen. You could say something that only God could know about the situation if it was really happening. You can cast a prediction of future events, or spin an evocative yarn, or spit a line of dialogue.

WHAT HAPPENS?!

There is no turn order.

Speak up when you have something to add to the happenings. Conversation and collaboration drive the game forward (not initiative trackers). Person A could say something, then person B might ask a question of person C, who might not have an answer. Person D could join partway through after a brief recap of events and then person B might leave to take a nap.

Play continues as long as players are present, anyone can add to what happens next.

Build on each other’s ideas!

Exclamation mandatory! Add details, escalate events, tie in what others have said. Think “yes, and…” or “yes, but…” rather than an unqualified “no.” Remember: It’s a team endeavor, like building a sandcastle, putting on a play, or going on a hike.

If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.

Not every statement is a sure thing. If an outcome is in doubt, you roll to see what happens. If players have a different idea of what should happen next, roll dice and the higher wins. It doesn’t have to be dice: maybe the players arm wrestle or draw from a deck of playing cards. Maybe they throw a paper ball and whoever throws a die closer wins, Bocci-ball style. The rules are vague here because it’s up to the table and what’s available.

If you’re sitting around the campfire, my preference is rock-paper-scissors. It’s straightforward and easy to grok.

The host may veto anytime.

This is a safeguard to keep things moving, coherent, and in-scope. A veto isn’t a punishment; it’s the guardrail against trolling and domineering play. It’s (hopefully and very likely) a rarity.

End when the scenario resolves.

You’ll know when the story reaches its conclusion. Wrap it up and celebrate whatever weird, wonderful story you just made together. The act of collaborative storytelling is a personal melding stew of wonders. Exhilaration!

It’s a wonderful day to create! Let’s talk more about making great stories!

Final Tips for Players:

• BE BOLD!
• Follow the threads others lay down. It makes them feel heard and included.
• Point the spotlight on others and help their ideas shine.
• Treat disagreements as twists, not as bad problems.
• Story games work because of YOU: you are the engine.

Oh wait, you’re still ~nervous~?

Final FINAL Tip:

• Use that nervous/excited energy in your storytelling. Do it anyways.

Okay last one, I promise:

• You’ll do great! 😊

HOSTING A GOOD GOOD STORY GAME (THAT EVEN IMPRESSES YOURSELF)

If you’re reading this, you’re the most likely to introduce story games to your circles. In story games, this means you’re the host.

Remember, to play a story game is simply to tell a story as a group. But it needs a little setup to get started, and then a little push down the hill to build momentum. And that’s you; you’re the Force.

As the host, your job isn’t to control the story: it’s to keep it moving. Think of yourself as a conductor of an orchestra, not the sole author of a book.

You’re no master of the game; you’re the host and facilitator.

You just help deliver the story-baby.

“just”. HA.

Sometimes it’ll feel a lot more chaotic and frantic.

But it’s VERY rewarding.

Before the game, prepare a scenario

with a clear starting situation and some tension to resolve. Keep it short. A few sentences can do plenty. Something like:

• “A wild cowboy gang stirs up trouble by burning down a saloon… right as a lone gunslinger comes to town.”
• “The Moonbase reactor is failing and rival crews argue over the last escape shuttle.”
• “The wedding of the century is tomorrow… if the cursed bride survives the night.”
• “A reality show where young hotties vote each other off a tropical island is in its eighth and final season.”
• “The kingdom is in uproar when twin princes make their claims to the throne. And their barbarian sister and her army are coming over the horizon…”

Then list the relevant places, characters, and factions.

Sometimes these are obvious (ie directly from the scenario pitch), sometimes you have to explore the margins of the premise for possibly relevant proper nouns. You may have five, two, or twelve characters listed to start, that’s okay. More can be added during play, others die on or exit the stage, some are simply forgotten.

Characters might start with a name and some punchy traits and goals. No need to write paragraphs about each person (although you could).

Following up on the cowboy example, you might have something like:

• Characters:
  • Nameless Gunslinger (stoic man of action, calm sense of justice)
  • Clint Turner (gang leader, grimy plotter, gold-hungry)
  • Russell Turner (second in command, BAD temper, hated by animals)
  • Jane Crowe (bounty hunter with something to prove, anxious)
  • Burt (bartender and world-class drinker, trusts outsiders)
  • Tom Miller (miner looking for lost Spanish gold, desperate)
• Places:
  • Whiskey Bar
  • Boothill Cemetery
  • Silverton Chapel
  • Buford & Sons Barber
  • Pony Express Post Office

Lastly, have a dice mechanic ready

for if there’s uncertainty. If it’s your first time pick between one of these three:

• Each person rolls two six-sided dice (2d6). Whoever rolls the highest wins. (Great for around the table)
• Play rock-paper-scissors to determine a winner. (Perfect for around the campfire)
• Draw from a deck of playing cards. Highest card wins. (Easy for in the car)

To start the story game,

present the scenario in your own words. Maybe even give it a dramatic read in your best James Earl Jones or Meryl Streep. Make sure everyone knows the starting point. They may ask a question or two, but as long as they have a basic understanding of the premise, you’re golden.

Invite the table with the question “What happens next?” Be comfortable with the silence that follows.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

This is called “wait time” in the educational spheres. Yes, it has been known to make people clench.

If no one goes, look at the bravest person at the table and say “what happens next?”

They might not have a firm answer. You gotta coax it out of them.

Pretty soon another player will chime in. Then you might say what happens next too.

Now you’re cooking.

Listen actively and build on what players say. Ask questions if something is unclear.

If someone says something happens that goes against the game (ruining the tone, trolling, or otherwise disrupting things), you are given the power as host to veto what was said. Apply vetoes sparingly and before dice are rolled. This is to maintain coherence and fairness. No spitting in the punchbowl.

You set the creative frame. If players drift too silly or too grim for the group’s tastes, gently nudge them back (which, to be clear, doesn’t require an explicit veto of their actions). That’s what a good host does: sets expectations and keeps the experience in line with those expectations.

If players say things that contradict each other, it’s an opportunity to “roll dice” but you can also try having them as complications. Instead of saying “that can’t happen,” ask “could both be true or some mixture of the two?” If it’s not possible or not interesting enough, roll dice to see which idea wins out.

Call for rolls when things are uncertain or when consequences will make the game more interesting: “I think it’s likely that action will go poorly.” “I think it’s unlikely that they’ll be convinced of that. Let’s roll for it.”

Encourage quieter players to chime in. Playing host means inviting others in on the revelry.

Ending the Game:

When the scenario’s wraps-up, stop. You’ll feel that core tension release, those unanswered questions resolve, and then it’s game over.

Resist the temptation to keep going.

Games that finish are often the most satisfying.

Smile at everyone. Say “and that’s the end.”

Thank everyone for playing and then have a drink.

🙂

Tip:

You don’t need to be neutral. You can root for drama, interesting consequences, and sudden reversals. The goal isn’t a balance between character power, screen time, or even player input: it’s a great unfolding of a shared story. Play to see what happens and don’t be afraid to take a side.

FINAL TIP:

Need a scenario to start RIGHT NOW? Well, here’s a pitch: zombies break into your living room. What happens next?!

If you need a print out with more layout and art, I hear you. Here’s the game, totally free of charge. I just want you to try it out and get started!:

ZOMBIES RIGHT NOW – ON ITCH.IO

5 reasons story games > traditional TTRPGS

As we’ve said:

• First start with a scenario.
• Then say what happens next.
• There is no turn order.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
• The host may veto anytime.
• End when the scenario resolves.

The above is a story game. It’s the most accessible game to tell a story.

Read more of Story Games Sojourn!

You have a situation in a location that affects some characters. The game is playing to find out what happens and how that scenario is resolved.

How is this different than traditional RPGs? And not just different, but BETTER?

Let’s look at some common RPG problems and see what we can find.

1) Rule Comprehension

The rulebooks of RPGs are called rulebooks for a reason. These things are 300+ pages with tons of dogma, history, statistics, and indexes. And they cost a ton just to sit on your shelf (no shame, I’ve purchased games that have been unplayed for a decade).

With the amount of money you spent on it, you want the thing to run itself for you (like a CRPG). Or come with a short video tutorial. Or have someone help you get started. But no. You do the heavy lifting, the reading, the understanding, the spreadsheets. And the game doesn’t even thank you for it, it just expects it.

The rules of story games are SIMPLE. Those 35 words at the top are something young children understand. And play!

By being a game of words instead of a game of numbers, a person’s understanding is hardly ever limited by maths. Instead the heft of the game moves to the world of play: All world, story, and personal knowledge can be applicable in play.

Within a clear framework, the rules allow for infinite application. And I mean infinite.

It would be ironic to spend more time explaining what makes these games simple, so let’s move on.

2) GM Prep

One person in the group carries a load greater than everyone else when RPGs are involved. Let’s be real: it’s you reading this article.

The referee is the organizer, cheerleader, rules-master, monster-guy, dungeon-cartographer and so much else. In modern RPGs, the GM buys the rules and the screen and the minis and the dice. In old school games, the GM also wades through hundreds of (admittedly great) adventures to prep. They get it all ready just for players to come in and smash everything to pieces. Repeatedly.

In story games, all you need is to sit down with a group of cool people with a scenario in-hand. The rules are easy to explain (and even re-explain!) and the scenarios are simple enough to get everyone on the same page: “The Sheriff of Nottingham has captured Maid Marian!” “There’s been a murder at ye olde inn, Mr. Holmes!” “ZOMBIES, RIGHT NOW, IN OUR HOUSE!”

Everything else, all the bits and bobs that add to game like maps and handouts, are optional. Do you want to make a map of Sherwood forest? Want to write out the last letter the murdered man wrote? Maybe you’re into making a detailed inventory of all the good zombie apocalypse gear in your house? If you want it, go for it. Name tags are cool, pawns are fun, spark tables can just be neat to have at the table. These games start with very little and can easily be added to, even in the spur of the moment during play!

The prep is largely an opt-in process of story games instead of a requirement.

When it comes to prepping scenarios for the story games podcast or for a family trip, the whole process takes me as low as fifteen minutes. Anything after is “do I feel like it or not?”

The low barrier to prep and play is something I see as a huge advantage and differentiator: imagine a game jam full of bite-sized story games, any one of which you could print off, skim, and play with anyone.

Easy, breezy, lemons over-easy.

3) GM Burnout

Paired with the above, RPGs often ask GMs to drive the game. You start the scene, you ask “what do you do?”, you try to drink water, you answer and ask follow-up questions, you draw a map while players roll initiative, you subtract hit points, you spend spell slots, you forgot to drink water… and on it goes. Modern RPGs are a HEAVY lift. They expect a lot and you have to be ON to make them work.

And as much as I love OSR and FKR games, those take a lot of energy from the GM to transmit and re-transmit the genre, flavor, and trappings of the world over and over. These games take a lot of material to fuel their engines, usually at the expense of the GM’s time and effort and mental bandwidth.

Story games, in contrast, leverage the shared understanding of the world to its maximum. These scenarios are often near-universal, pulling from popular fiction, genre homages, and historical events. Story games understand that the scenarios are negotiated between players. These games happen in everyone’s head, not just the referee’s.

As an example, when I ran a zombie story game, the question came up about how these zombies “worked.” The table came to an agreement that they should function like the zombies in The Walking Dead. Now, had I seen that show? Did I know all the ins and outs? Nope, didn’t need to. It was explained on the fly. And if I needed clarification, I just asked. Even as the host, I didn’t have all the answers. I could rely on the other players to sustain the world on their shoulders as well.

I wasn’t spending all my energy insisting on my view of the universe: the players instead came to agreements. And that is a much easier load to bear.

The story game form also doesn’t need your constant attention… or even your PRESENCE??

One of the first times I ran a story game was online with some buddies of mine, all experienced role-players. When we were about an hour and a half in, I got pulled away to an emergency in real life. I told the players what was happening and they were onboard to keep playing. They kept the game alive in their imagination, playing the scenario until it was resolved. Then I asked the next day how it all went down and they relayed the thrilling conclusion.

Could such a thing happen if the GM walked away from a TTRPG? By no means. The game just stalls, waiting for the inputs coming from the GM aka the entire rest of the world.

And if you have to keep going all the time to oxygenate the game, that’s a recipe for burnout.

4) Scheduling

To steal from Justin Alexander: Imagine I want to get you to join this cool activities club of mine. “What it’s like and what does it take?” you ask. “Well,” says I. “It’s fun! It takes four hours per session and we prefer to have sessions every week. Otherwise the returns are diminishing. You have that in your schedule, of course. You’ve been jumping at the chance to sacrifice a bunch hours for something new, right?”

That’s almost always the ask of modern RPGs and old-school games of new players: four hour blocks, as often as you can, until the end of time. Or else you lose momentum, forget what happened, and never get anywhere.

Contrast that with story games: get in, get out.

Sit down with your fellow players, then walk away with a complete story for the same amount of time as watching a movie.

(And if you can’t schedule a slot for a movie, then you really can’t go out with friends or go to a party or sporting event and have bigger problems. Pretty straightforward that.)

And the story game ends when the scenario is resolved. All of the games I play in finish in the same session and are all the more satisfying for it. You don’t walk away with a gnawing sense that you left something incomplete. A punchy, short story is the result of play, not an obligation to return to and feed like a feral animal.

So yes, a shorter time commitment makes it easy to fit into busy lives, but it also makes it so easy to introduce to new players. Take it from someone who has played this with youngsters and oldsters alike: these games are FAST to pick up. And hobbies like this one need new lifeblood and this is the way to do it: make the investment comparable to other things they already DO. “Instead of Catan tonight, what about we play in the universe of Scooby-Doo?” or “How about we skip the Marvel movie and actual PLAY as the Avengers?” or “Let’s tell another Batman story on the drive to grandma’s house, shall we?”

In modern life, we can’t really expect everyone (especially newbies) to be available as often as we’d like to game. So what’s wrong with accepting the limits of busy schedules and instead using smaller blocks of time?

Especially if it’s the difference between actually gaming and only dreaming about gaming?

Nothing wrong with that.

5) Creating a Cohesive Story

Soapbox time (as if this whole post hasn’t been already): Many RPGs expect the host/referee/GM to be some sort of superstar movie director, coming up with deep characters, interesting dialogue, and smooth pacing.

The GM has to be ready with a script to deliver, but also be ready to adapt to the chaos of player decisions. It’s an impossible ask of the GM: tie everything together but without the power of a director or author (“CUT! No, you’re supposed to reason with the bad guy, not chop his head off. This whole scene will pay off in act five!”).

It’s unreasonable to put anyone to that standard of high-polish (aka the Matt Mercer effect). But modern RPGs do it all the time.

The expectations on the GM to deliver are high, but so too are guardrails on the players.

How many RPGs players agree on their course of action as a group? Yeah right. One player wants to kill the princess, the other wants to pledge allegiance. What happens? One player has to give in or else complete chaos. 99% of RPGs can crumble under this kind of conflict in player interests. Disagreeing over what to do happens all the time and RPG aren’t equipped to handle it.

(This is why RPGs often tack on rules of a “session 0” to get ahead of these issues and set expectations. But that’s no guarantee to solving disagreements.)

In fact, RPGs usually opt for enforcing natural and unnatural consequences, the leading reason why every RPG group has suffered an “everyone goes to jail” scene (usually naturally) and a learning of the lesson “don’t split the party” via sudden monsters (usually unnaturally). Neither of these situations or outcomes make things more interesting. They usually lead to a dead-halt and a “do you regret that now?”

Despite disagreements being a common situation, RPGs just ignore what to do here. If player A wants to go The Grotto and player B opts for The Mountain, the only options as GM are to somehow force them together or plead “pls guys, can’t we just do one location at a time?” (Again, the burden goes back on the GM for everyone’s fun). You have to agree.

How do story games handle this?

For direct disagreements (“kill the princess” vs “save the princess), it’s easy: “If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.” If you can’t agree on where the story goes, whoever rolls higher wins. You have an objective way to settle it and move on.

What about indirect disagreements (“go to the Grotto” vs “go to the Mountain”)? Do as a majority of stories do: split the screen-time between the two. SO MANY stories have an “A Plot” and “B Plot” if not more and it’s common to switch back and forth. Sometimes the answer to “what happens next?” is, “we cut back to the Grotto and see a VERY GRIM situation for our hero… and then….” And so play proceeds.

If there’s a BIG disagreement, like someone has the “clever idea” to introduce something way out of left field into the story game, the host has the power to veto. Not to patch the story or come up with some explanation as to why that doesn’t make sense. Nope. Just a “no.”

It’s not relying on the GM is fix everything as director or to hand-hold players into making smart decisions so they don’t end up in jail or monster food. Just tell the story and say what happens next.

One final point on using RPGs to tell stories and it’s we can all relate to: the finish.

There’s no pre-defined ending to an RPG. The assumption, according to the rules, is often what people call a “forever game”. Uh huh.

Because as we all know, TV shows and other long-form media with no determinable finish line keep everyone satisfied… This is why even sports have seasons and not just strings of games that go on forever. This is why franchises spin off, spin out, and are eventually spat out.

How many “see you next week”s go unfulfilled as games slowly suffocate and die?

Too many.

Infinite play means infinite opportunities for play to become tiring, abandoned, or worst of all, boring.

Instead, play a game with RULES for finishing the game: “End when the scenario resolves” as the rules say. “Robin Hood has saved Maid Marian!” “Good show, Mr. Holmes, putting that villain behind bars.” “Whew, we’re finally safe from the zombies.”

Story games recognize that a satisfying game has a beginning, middle, and end. The beginning is defined with the problem statement from the scenario. The middle is defined by the majority of play. The end is defined by a resolution and a “the end”.

The scenario pitch promises the players, “once this is over, the game is as well.”

It starts with the end in mind and is genuinely curious about how the story will get there.

What happens in that time between start and the finish is negotiated between players under the guidance of the rules. The mechanics say how to clearly handle disagreements within the confines of the game. It expects that players will disagree and to roll dice when it happens.

And story games do the one thing our modern media can’t seem to do: Stop. Land the plane. Fin.

Conclusion

And with that, it feels appropriate to end.

Story games: the most accessible games to tell stories.

Low rules comprehension required.

Low-to-no prep needed.

Easy to facilitate.

Schedule-friendly.

Co-operative storytelling with rules for the beginning, middle, and end.

It does this for large groups, small groups, few characters, many characters, young players, old players.

Fantasy, horror, mystery, sci-fi, slice of life, and beyond. You can play in the car, around the campfire, at your living room table.

So where should you start? You can start with this zombie game I made.

Need an example of play? Listen to this podcast my buddy and I put together, telling stories in the worlds of Scooby-Doo, Phineas and Ferb, and Samurai Jack.

Make your own story game? As a starting point, think of the last escape room you went to, non-fiction book you read, or movie you watched. Write down a problem in that setting, genre, or tone. Write down six or more characters, some are allies, some are in opposition. Write down with six locations. Done. Add materials like a map, character portraits, or handouts, as you like.

Do let me know how it goes, I enjoy our visits.

We don’t need another conflict to get the game going

It says something about our culture that we NEED problems to ignite our fiction… but what that means I refuse to elaborate.

When people hear “story game,” they often assume it means something like Dungeons & Dragons: adventurers fighting monsters, world-ending problems that need solving, conflicts to be resolved. And fair enough, both of these forms have their roots in wargaming (I’ll explain the history of the modern story game someday soon)

But this little ruleset that I keep blabbing about flips the need for conflict on its head:

• First start with a scenario.
• Then say what happens next.
• There is no turn order.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
• The host may veto anytime.
• End when the scenario resolves.

Notice that word in the first and last phrases? Scenario. Not “problem.” Not “conflict.” These games thrive on situations. They don’t have to be fights or crises (though they can).

Scenario vs. Problem

A problem demands fixing: the dungeon has a dragon, Samurai Jack has to get back to the past, Mystery Inc must find the monster’s identity, Batman must put Joker away behind bars.

A scenario, though, is simply a situation worth exploring. It might carry tension, or humor, or mystery, but it doesn’t have to revolve around winners and losers.

Think of Hayao Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro.

The story begins with a simple scenario: two sisters move into a new house in the Japan countryside with their father. From there, the story…. simply unfolds: they meet soot sprites, discover a massive forest spirit, wait at a bus stop in the rain. These are moments without tension that demands you find out what happens next.

There’s no monster or drama between the siblings or a disappointed father or a famine or anything like that.

In fact, the closest thing to a “problem” in Totoro comes near the very end when the younger sister Mei runs away to see their sick mother who the girls are led to believe has taken a turn for the worse. Mei is in no deadly danger. The situation feels more like a misunderstanding that needs resolution. And the joy of the movie is in how the scenario unfolds, not in how anyone wins.

It’s a cozy scenario.

For more readings on story games and cozy scenarios…

Totoro as a story game might look like…

• First start with a scenario.
  “Two kids and their father move to the Japanese countryside while their mom is in the hospital.” That’s enough to start.
• Then say what happens next.
  Someone might say, “They find strange little dust creatures in their house.” Another player builds on that: “One of the creatures scurries under the floorboards.” And so on.
• There is no turn order.
  No waiting for your “initiative count.” If you’ve got an idea, toss it in.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
  One person mentions a huge furry spirit in the woods, and suddenly everyone’s adding details about its grin, its roars, its fondness for naps. The table collaborates.
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
  You might roll to see how well the plants grow or how delicious a meal is. You might roll on a table to see what appears on a rainy night (“A big cat? What if the cat is so large that’s actually a bus!” And it has glowing headlight EYES?”)
• The host may veto anytime.
  The host might step in if someone suggests Totoro is secretly a villain or something. Point is to keep the tone consistent.
• End when the scenario resolves.
  In Totoro’s case, the story ends when Mei is found safe, and everyone can breathe again. The scenario began with a family moving to the countryside, and it closes with that family reunited..

Were *I* running a game of Totoro

I would show up with the same scenario premise and list out two things: locations and moments. All of ‘em quaint and cozy.

Locations:

• A house in need of repair
• A dusty attic
• A fallow garden
• A mysterious forest
• A bus stop

Moments:

• It’s raining
• Nap time
• Getting hungry…
• You need a bath
• Mail’s here!
• A bad dream
• Grocery run
• Plant some seeds

And then without a ton of expositing or preamble, I would just put the lists on the table in front of other players, say the scenario premise, and then ask “what happens next?”

Players could pick from the list or come up with their own location or moment and go from there.

What this means

is that these are things story games are primed to explore: moments.

The moment may be the Battle of Pelennor Fields or taking down Thanos or saving your friends from Darth Vader. Big dramatic moments with big dramatic question marks and exclamation points. “WILL OUR HEROES BE ABLE TO…?!!”

But it could also be Frog and Toad flying a kite. Or a superhero family doing their spring cleaning. Or a group of knights exploring a wilderness formed in six-mile hexes (yes, I just implied hexcrawls don’t need to start with conflict).

Point is, not everything needs to be solved from the get-go.

Not every hill needs to be conquered or died on.

Some things just happen.

And then the next thing happens.

And so on.

Scenario-first play matters

because using “scenario” instead of “problem” opens up a wider range of experience. You can tell stories about mysteries, friendships, slice-of-life moments, or simple misunderstandings. The rules don’t demand a battle or a winner, just a shared situation worth exploring together.

So next time you gather for a story game, open your mind to greater possibilities than “defeating the monster” and think too about wandering into a forest or waiting for the mail or cooking a meal for a loved one. You know, life things.

A problem may emerge (or more than one, c’est la vie), but it doesn’t have to start there.

Start with a scenario, build together, and end when it feels right.

Because sometimes, good stories don’t need a problem at all.

Manifest an original story in the same amount of time as watching a movie (bring a friend and popcorn)

Alright, here we go. Get out your pom-poms and say it with me!

• First start with a scenario.
• Then say what happens next.
• There is no turn order.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
• The host may veto anytime.
• End when the scenario resolves.

The above is the story game. It’s the most accessible game to create a story.

Seven lines? That’s it?!

Yup, and you can play any story with it.

That’s not a sales pitch. It can’t be a sale pitch because I just told you the ENTIRE thing for FREE. Terrible salesmanship!

Again, not a sales pitch. It actually does any story. And not at all like your generic, “universal” system. (FATE and GURPS, I’m looking at you.)

I mean it, any story.

Sound like your standard RPG?

Let’s walk through the text line-by-line and dissect to discern, digest to design. By the end here, you’ll see a new perspective on why the rules are the way they are.

I hope it leads to a further love of purposeful design and you making your own scenarios to play with loved ones.

Let’s begin.

“First start with a scenario.”

A story is made of situations and reversals, conflicts and resolutions; it is both tension and release. You can start with the tension. Introducing a problem is story dynamite because it often manages to relate time, space, people, and relationships all in one go. Other times you may just want a situation in which there are no immediate obstacles or challenges. Cozy stories often go this direction.

The term “scenario” covers both problems and situations, and that’s why it’s used here.

So what does this look like to start with a scenario? Let’s take a look at these famous lines:

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire. During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire’s ultimate weapon, the DEATH STAR, an armored space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet. Pursued by the Empire’s sinister agents, Princess Leia races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy….”

STAR WARS (1977)

In these sentences, we have major elements of the setting (the time period, where it takes place), some key players (Rebels, Empire, Leia, her people), and the crisis (get secrets plans away from Empire and free the galaxy). It’s quite a dense start, but it tells us so much. Does this read more like a preamble than a problem statement? Sure, but it’s dramatic. That “dot dot dot” is a BIG question mark for anyone participating. What’s gonna happen?!

Starting with a scenario is THE differentiator for story games from RPGs.

In roleplaying games, you start with a role, a point of view, and then the trouble finds you or you find the trouble. Story games instead start with a scenario and utilize the framework of the rules for resolving it.

Story games have a clear and defined purpose and focus and give tools for addressing it (“say what happens next!”). Contrast with traditional roleplaying games, you find purpose (hopefully) after bouncing around from thing to thing. And the tools for finding purpose are intrinsic at best (enjoyment, camaraderie, play) and extrinsic at worst (XP, levels, numbers).

In RPGs, players play characters and the GM plays the world. In story games, everyone plays the scenario.

Being scenario-driven delivers a focused experience. The focus of play is clear; what’s left unclear is everything after: What happens next? How is progress made? Who gets involved? What do they do? Where do they go? How do problems get resolved?

One scenario, many possibilities, many more endings.

This is the starting point of the great unfolding of things.

This merits a ton more discussion on what makes a good scenario, how to present obstacles, characters, locations, and such. But for now: scenarios are the source, the beginning.

“Then say what happens next.”

This is the foundation of play in a story game. And it’s mind boggling. We have ideas of what could happen next, but they don’t become real until we speak them. Or in solo games, journal them. Or in text games, write them.

It’s all in your head until you force it out.

And this is nothing new to the side of RPGs we’re familiar with: “the game is a conversation.” The game inhabits the time and space we spend and fill to play it. This is a recognition of it’s presentness.

The scenario is the story’s potential energy. Saying what happens next is its kinetic energy.

Instead of the essential RPG question “what do you do?” story games ask “what happens next?” I leverage this question all the time to invite others to speak. Then I usually do one of the following:

• Affirm (“Yeah, that makes sense.”)
• Exclaim (“That character did what?!”)
• Ask for more (“Did the prince do that to be funny or was it a mistake?”)
• Push for a slightly different outcome (“Yeah, that happens but it doesn’t attract too many bad looks from other party guests.”)
• Challenge (more on this later)
• Say what happens next (Because I want to make things happen too!)

Coming from traditional RPGs, it’s strange to say what happens next and just have it happen. It’s also liberating.

You’re writing the story with those around you. Where does the story go? Who does what? Where do they go? What happens there? Questions and questions, answers and answers.

But in RPGs you have a character and say what they do; so what’s the deal here? You might champion a character in a story game, that is, have a name and short description on a scrap of paper in front of you (“King Arthur: ruler of the land”). You might move the story in a direction that involves the character you’re championing. But it’s not a requirement. Another player might control that same character for a time. There’s a way in the rules to push back if you don’t like what they say, but we’re getting there. The point is “your character” is not “yours” like they are in an RPG. You’re not playing a role, remember.

In fact, you might play more than one character. You might play a whole ensemble. Or a country. Or a faction or two. Or the whole table might share one character. You might play a hero with one character and a villain with another. You might start with two characters, kill one off, trade the second for another player’s character, and create a new one.

Playing this loose with characters means the possibility of playing characters together that would absolutely be problematic in traditional RPGs. Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Darth Vader, and Jabba the Hutt CANNOT be in the same adventuring party. But they’re all in the same story, connected to the same scenario. You might play all of them, albeit at different points. How cool is that?! Totally different from traditional RPGs.

The story game is a frenetic evolution that progresses by answering the question “what happens next?”.

The characters and locations are in service to the scenario, the problem. If the problem is about zombies in modern-day Arizona, it doesn’t make sense that Pikachu shows up to save the day. So have characters connected to the problem and locations that suit it well. You might start play with a small list of characters and locations. That list could grow as the problem is further explored. They partake in answering “what happens next?”

But what if you don’t know something clever to say? Or dramatic? Or fun?

Just say what’s obvious to you.

It’s amazing how often a player saying what they think is logical dazzles everyone. “What? I thought that’s what everyone was thinking…” “No, but that was AWESOME!”

Everyone has something to bring to the table, even if it’s just saying the stuff that’s apparent to them. That’s what happens next.

“There is no turn order.”

There are no turns or rounds. The game is real-time.

The game moves with the conversation, absolutely synchronized.

Stop talking? Play stops.

Zing back and forth between players, each adding to the story in a furious crescendo? Play keeps that break-neck pace.

You aren’t waiting for your turn. Sure, you might take a step back and listen. You might wait for a golden opportunity to lob dramatic into the unfolding events. Heck, you might even filling up your water at the sink and wondering about how things will resolve. But this is a very active game.

You’re thinking about what could happen next. But you don’t know for certain. Stories mutate in unexpected ways at the table.

The double-meaning here is that play can occur in-sequence, out of sequence, fast-forwarded, in slow motion, completely “paused.” The players are in the driver’s seat. There is no order of play.

“Build on each other’s ideas!”

This rule is funny to me because where all the other lines are instructions to follow, this is a COMMAND. And it has an exclamation point! So listen up!

This is a game of cooperation. Working together with the goal of playing to find out and see the scenario through to its resolution. It’s cooperative in the same way that it would be if you were writing an episode of a show with a team or a performing a song with a band or making a humorous short film.

So who can add to what happens next? Anyone!

This is a command as well as an invitation. Letting others play is part of the game. You don’t need a character sheet in front you. You don’t need a copy of the rules. You needn’t have ever rolled the dice in your life. Just answer “what happens next?”

Permission granted.

This isn’t to say you don’t need context for what’s happening. Or should be flippant with your stories. It’s a reminder that everyone was once an outsider to this experience and that it takes courtesy to bring them into the fold. Think back to your own initiation: who invited you to this hobby? Extend that courtesy, pay it forward, play on.

This is the “break barriers” rule. The “yes, and…” rule.

One cool effect of this is that players may jump right in play. Or, as life happens, suddenly be pulled away to something else. The game doesn’t suddenly combust. Remember, we’re not waiting on people to take turns. Sure, their inputs will be missed, but they won’t be missing.

Anyone. Include them. Come together.

And if you’re playing solo, you’re still building on the ideas of others. You’re just likely turning to resources you collected like random tables and idea lists and fortune dice and decks. You’re collaborating with your past self and the authors of those resources. Build on those ideas!

“If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.”

When saying what happens next, you might not know how things shake out. The table might not want to make a decision. Perhaps no one wants to take the lead on stating exactly what occurs. It might be too important, or too unimportant to just decide. So let fate do it for you.

Roll dice.

Now, it’s vague, and it’s purposefully vague. This rule prescribes no set system for resolving this uncertainty. This is because everyone has their own way, their own means available to them. Maybe you only have six-sided dice at your disposal. Maybe you’re in the woods and you don’t have dice. Maybe you do rock-paper-scissors. Or maybe you want to flip a coin for the aesthetics.

Without explicit prescription, it’s up the table to decide how to resolve these uncertainties.

If in doubt about which dice to roll, just say two possible outcomes and roll a dice. Rolling odds means it’s one outcome, rolling evens means its the other.

Easy peasy.

Maybe there’s uncertainty about if a character will survive something deadly. “Captain Action jumps into the maw of the terrible beast. I think it’s only a 25% chance he makes it. Should we roll for it now or wait?”

Maybe you want to leave something up to chance. “What kind of party is this at Wayne Manor? If it’s odds, there’s assigned seating and a five course meal. If it’s evens, it’s a raucous party of Gotham’s upper class.”

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Uncertainty in the game can come from not knowing what happens next. It can also come from other players.

With everyone saying what happens next, it’s likely that there is something said that you don’t like or don’t agree with. Maybe something saids doesn’t fit what you think happens next. Maybe it’s declared that one character overcame another and you don’t think that would be the case. Maybe another player said a character does something outside what you think they would do.

This rules encourage you to challenge those statements with what YOU think would happen. “That’s not a certainty. What if X happened instead?”

My workplace uses the verb “challenge” all the time. Supervisors, employees, everyone at every level is allowed and encouraged to challenge ideas of others from the lowest rung all the way to the CEO. It’s a recognition of equality and fairness that all ideas are open to discussion and equally open to challenge. It’s not an overrule. It’s a mark of respect: “I heard what you said, and I disagree with that.”

If it’s fair game to suggest, it’s fair game to suggest something else.

You can find uncertainty in what a player says and that’s not a put-down. One player challenging is stating that what the other player said shouldn’t prevail. Maybe the challenger has a different idea of what should happen next. Maybe they just don’t want it the way the other player said. Fair enough.

How does this shake out?

Roll dice.

Perhaps both players roll a six-sided dice and the higher roller’s idea prevails. Or the two play rock-paper-scissors. Or the players try to get closest to the center on a dartboard. There’s no “hard-and-fast” prescription here, just come to an agreement.

And there are also no take-backs.

No matter how things change, the same question is asked: “what happens next”?

Play proceeds.

“The host may veto anytime.”

This rule is the first reference to a host or referee or game master. If you’re reading this post, you’re likely the host of your table. The host is the player most likely to introduce the problem or design the scenario or even have the idea to play a story game in the first place.

The host is the gardener of play. Finding fertile ground, planting seeds, and watering the saplings is very much like getting a good scenario, starting with the problem, and asking “what happens next?”

Stopping disruptive play is like pulling weeds: nobody wants to, but it’s essential to keep things growing and alive.

Say you are playing that zombie game set in modern-day Arizona and someone says “and then Pikachu swoops in on a rocket and zaps all the zombies re-dead and everyone else dead. Pika! Pika!” Say what happens next, right?

Wrong.

This rule is the last line of defense, the last resort. It’s the nuke against disruptive play and trolls. It protects the story and the table from bad actors and poorly conceived events.

Saying what happens still conforms to the tone and genre of the scenario at-hand.

Continuing with the zombie example, maybe this a grounded, bleak story, like you might expect from The Walking Dead or World War Z. Or maybe it has a more humorous take like Zombieland or Shaun of the Dead. Or maybe there actually ARE Pokemon in this and so having Pikachu there DOES make sense. But these are things outlined in the scenario and any conversation before play.

When the story becomes disrupted, this is the host’s explicit permission to step in and do something about it. If the table has no qualms about what was said, play on!

Note also that the host is only given authority by the game to VETO, not substitute their ideas for someone else’s or break ties between players. The host can’t say “no” to an idea and then force their own into play by their authority. The rules leave it as the dice’s job to resolve those uncertainties.

The host is not the all-powerful master of the game, but the first among equals.

This is the least-used rule of the game, but it brings the explicit permission to tell-off unwanted content. Essential and seldom used. Like airbags!

“Finish when the scenario resolves.”

The end. We’ve started with the end in mind. And now it’s here. How do you know it’s here?

The table comes to a consensus when the scenario is resolved. When you know, you know.

And the result? Was it a success or failure? Some mix of both? That’s not for the game to decide. That’s why it says “resolved.” It’s up to the participants to decide for themselves what the results of play mean. You might look closely at the character or characters you’ve championed: did they do alright? Did the problem resolve the way they wanted?

In a game about words instead of numbers, the outcomes can be fuzzy.

But sometimes, you just know.

“Yeah, this character died, but she died saving someone she cared about.”

“I liked this guy and he made it to the end, but he betrayed a friend along the way… he might need counseling.”

“Well, this character I was rooting for became king!.. oh and the other one got that small farm he always wanted.”

“The council is amused with the final turn of events.”

“I think the planet will recover, but will probably pass stronger laws about nuclear firepower.”

“Pikachu is happy that Ash got that gym badge and curls up content in a soft little bed.”

“I can’t believe the villain got away. Batman will have to get him another day.”

Though the game says “finish, you might take a moment to do an outro with the other players. How does the resolution affect the world and characters? What changed? Maybe that will tell us a little bit about how we changed as a part of the experience…

Take the opportunity to reflect.

As an aside, I’m a fan of “Stars and Wishes” micro-exercise: Each person highlights one moment they enjoyed (“Star”) and one thing they would want to see happen or change (“Wish”). Roundtable discussion, gives each person a chance to speak on the game that took place.

Then break and grab a snack together 🙂

To close this out,

I will say that the rules of story games are not my favorite part. Despite my rambling on them. In fact, I’m generally weary of people saying that a system is their favorite part of a game. That’s like loving a car for it’s engine, not it’s function or aesthetics: totally valid, but also very pretentious (and straight-up weird, sorry mechanic friends).

It is NOT the rules that excite me: it’s the scenarios. Here is my buddy and I with published actual play examples of scenarios in

• Scooby-Doo
• Phineas and Ferb
• Samurai Jack
• Batman
• and more on the way!

These story games took me so little time to set up and write, time that I would’ve had to spend tinkering with rules and stat-ing NPCs and drawing up tactical maps. Those are fun things to do, but when I want to tell a story and play to find out what happens, I want to GET TO IT!

It’s me telling the rules to get outta my way, I wanna play!

And it’s not just the scenarios that excite me to play, it’s the people I’m playing with. Scenarios have different audiences from younger cousins to first-time gamers to hardcore players to siblings to film buffs friends. And they’ll even take the SAME scenarios in COMPLETELY different directions (ask me how I know).

Story games break down the barriers to play: young and old, new and experienced players all have a great footing in this space.

Breaking down barriers to play means you can focus your design on people and the play experience instead of systems. “What movies do my young cousins like, compared to my college buddies?”

The obstacles in rules-cruft and adventure-design are MUCH fewer for story games than your traditional RPGs. And that increases the potential for people to give it a go. After all, it’s the stories that stick, not the procedures.

What about you? Thinking about giving it a go? Thinking about friends and family just outside the comfort of a game of 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons? Thinking about people who might just want to start with a goofy game about zombies on their street? Or a who-dunnit mystery? Or a Crusoe island adventure?

The rules are easy. You’ve read waaaaay more then you need to get started. The scenarios are out there (here’s the zombie one I keep talking about, it’s free), but you can easily make your own:

start with a scenario, list some characters with conflicting points of view, list some locations that could come up

Grab some players. Tell them about it.

Say what happens next. 🙂

The great IRONY of a $9.53 million roleplaying game

A reminder that expensive games can’t deliver on everything…

This is one that got Reddit all upset at me…

I have a great love for the show Avatar The Last Airbender. As do many people.

Get this: it’s number SEVEN on the list of top shows of ALL TIME on IMDb. That’s the decision of the ongoing world wide web popularity contest. And Avatar, a kids show from 2005 on Nickelodeon, made the top 10.

Thanks for reading Story Games Sojourn! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

People go ga-ga for this one.

So much so that when Magpie Games launched a Kickstarter in 2021 for an official Avatar roleplaying game, it was MASSIVE. Record-breaking massive. Top Kickstarters EVER massive.

Over EIGHTY THOUSAND PEOPLE opened their wallets and spent over NINE MILLION DOLLARS to get their hands on these books.

I was one of those people. I spent the $75 plus shipping. I got two books, five note-booklets, dice, cards, a cloth map, a dice bag, and a White Lotus tile. Grinning ear-to-ear when it arrived.

Glorious.

Then I read the game.

My review in one word?

S’good!

Absolutely, it’s a game that “does Avatar”. The world is there, the character and moves work, the layout and design are superb.

It’s a very Avatar roleplaying game.

Undeniably professional, official stuff.

However,

something very much did NOT pass the sniff test.

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To back up, there are a LOT of RPGs with direct reference to movies, TV shows, and books: Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, Conan, Ghostbusters, Aliens, Terminator, Blade Runner, James Bond, Dune, Doctor Who, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly, Star Trek, Marvel Super Heroes, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Hellboy, Wheel of Time, Call of Cthulhu, Dishonored, the list goes on.

For these games, there’s an obvious test to see if they hold to their source material: could the events of the source material happen IN them?

• Could you BE Conan and do Conan-things in the Conan game?
• Could you roleplay Luke Skywalker for an afternoon in the Star Wars RPG?
• Could you experience H.P. Lovecraft’s stories using Call of Cthulhu?

Not that you’d want to replicate those stories beat for beat, but its a litmus for these games as adaptations:

Could the story of the source material happen in its officially licensed game?

For Avatar, the answer is no.

A heartbreaking no.

Yes, that’s the biggest irony of the 9.53 MILLON DOLLAR GAME: the story of Avatar The Last Airbender could NOT happen in Avatar Legends The Roleplaying Game.

Hypothetically, if the creators of Avatar, Michael and Bryan, had attempted to create the story of Avatar using the official Avatar RPG, they would not have been to do so.

In theory, someone would purchase the Avatar role-playing game to create stories LIKE AVATAR. If they can’t do so with the rules as written, that’s ironic and heartbreaking.

Because the closest amalgam to the story of Avatar is Avatar itself, then the Avatar RPG should be able to re-create that. Again, not that that is the aim of YOUR table, but it’s the aim of this exercise to see if Avatar the RPG can replicate Avatar the SHOW, something the official product SHOULD be able to do.

Lemme ‘splain further,

Yes, in Avatar Legends, you can do the bending. You can travel the world, hopping from village to village. You could be the Avatar.

But there’s a critical element (heh) to Avatar that you can’t have in a traditional RPG:

the B-plot.

For those who don’t know, each Avatar episode focuses 60-80% on Aang and his friends as they galavant around the map solving problems. But at some point, almost every episode shifts to the antagonist, Zuko, and his Uncle Iroh as they simultaneously pursue the Avatar. It’s a critical piece to the story as the A and B plots weave in and out and build that compelling narrative.

Traditional tabletop game structures can’t accommodate two plots between opposing forces simultaneously.

Traditional tabletop RPGs contain the assumptions that players’ characters share goals and (most of the time) share a location.

Look again at the list of licensed games above. In most of them the player characters are in the same location, though split-ups do happen temporarily. In ALL of them, the player characters share a common aim.

But the Avatar story doesn’t play by those rules. Major plots are explicitly seen and explained through the eyes of antagonists.

And make no mistake, these are CRITICAL parts of the story of Avatar.

What would Avatar be without…

The Zuko versus Commander Zhao fight?

Uncle Iroh’s humor?

Zuko and Iroh’s Earth Kingdom fugitives arc?

The Beach Episode?

The ENTIRE “Zuko Alone” episode?

Without the ability to change the narrative focus from Aang and company (the “player characters”) to other characters, we ALSO wouldn’t have these entire episodes:

Appa’s Lost Days – an episode in which the group mount Appa takes center stage and tells a heart-wrenching vignette about animal abuse.

The Tales of Ba Sing Se – a well-loved filler episode that jumps between six different perspectives and sings a gut-wrenching song about the loss experienced in war. Even Momo gets the spotlight!

The Avatar and the Fire Lord – an episode focusing on the origins of the Hundred-Years War and the relationship between Avatar Roku and Fire Lord Sozin as told to Aang and Zuko from their combined perspectives.

Without all these great moments and episodes, Avatar The Last Airbender would not be in the top 10 shows of all time. GUARANTEED.

Follow me here:

the ability to shift narrative focus from subject to subject is something traditional role-playing games are NOT built to do.

There are three big reasons for this:

Reason #1

Each player only controls ONE character (and sometimes minor characters connected to them.) If the Avatar Legends was being using to play out the Avatar show, we assume that there is one GM and three players playing Aang, Katara, and Sokka. Aang’s player likely controls Momo and we’ll say the GM controls Appa. What about Zuko and Iroh then?

Reason #2

The game only rewards characters for playing THEIR characters well. In Avatar Legends, players each answer three questions about their character and mark growth/experience points for each “yes”. But again, only for their character. The actions of others, such as antagonists, does not affect their rewards. Thus, players have extrinsic rewards only for caring about their immediate circle of buddies.

Reason #3

The Game Master (GM) controls the WORLD. In Avatar Legends, the GM is expected to run all of the non-player characters, anyone outside the player character group and their goals. From the text of the RPG: “[The GM is] the one that needs to track what the antagonists are plotting, what decisions the PCs made last session, and how the rest of the world reacts to the companions and their heroic exploits” (p. 223). Again, this framing excludes antagonists from the players’ control and field of vision. They’re behind the fog of war.

But these posts are NOT behind the fog of war! Subscribe to read new posts when they arrive!

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Now let’s look at some possible ways to shoe-horn Avatar the show into Avatar the roleplaying game. We’ll also say why those won’t work:

Solution #1

The players switch their characters between protagonists and antagonists as directed by the GM. For one, this won’t work because the number of characters doesn’t match (from three down to two). Two, putting players in charge of their own enemies leads to insider info, also known as metagaming. The players know what their enemies know. That means they can’t play either character hygienically. Three, there would be no incentives for players to play both characters optimally. Each player will favor one or the other, either implicitly or it will become obvious which is more preferred over time. This is also not hygienic play. Four, what happens when they get in a fight? Then you’re no longer playing either character but playing referee. It’s as lame as arm-wrestling yourself.

Solution #2

There are actually TWO groups of players: three players for the protagonists (Aang, Katara, Sokka) and two players for the antagonists (Zuko, Iroh). They play on separate nights. This way, every character is covered and each group has incentives to act together. This won’t work either. The only person who gets to experience the whole story is the GM. Only one person becomes the audience. Now that might make a good Reddit post: telling the story about how these two plots commingle with one another, but that’s outside the rules of the game. Fusing two separate games to create a whole would be like having Aang and Zuko’s stories as two separate TV shows. You’d have to experience them both to piece it together. Disjointed and undignified.

Solution #3

The GM runs the antagonists completely. The GM reads out what Zuko and Iroh are up to during the session. Or they might send it out as a “meanwhile” between sessions. This could work, but again the GM is getting the full story as it unfolds. Only they get to see the drama of Zuko and Iroh on their adventures. It’s depriving the table of the discovery. And also takes place outside the structures of the game itself. Sterile and selfish even(?).

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Now this seems all doom and gloom. Believe me, I get it. It’s my favorite show I’m talking about here and it seems impossible to give a proper game adaptation that does it justice…

My own personal flavor irony is not lost on me either. Listen, you’re reading a guy who has attempted to create an Avatar roleplaying game not ONCE, but TWICE. So yes, I’ve given it a shot too. Those games also fell prey to the same shortcoming I attribute to Avatar Legends.

But I’m not just assigning blame today, no siree. Becausee

There’s a solution.

Because what if, dear reader, there was a way? A game that COULD produce the story of Avatar The Last Airbender? A game that would allow you to, as a table, tell the stories of both the protagonists and antagonists? A game that wasn’t set on rewarding you for “playing right”? A game that dispersed the powers of the GM and gave narrative control to its players and audience?

And what if that same system could also produce the stories of all of those other licensed roleplaying games we listed earlier?

Would you believe it if the rules were only 35 WORDS LONG?

Are you hearing me?

Because that game would be

the story game

If you’ve been reading these articles, you may be tired of hearin’ it, but I’m not tired of sayin’ it. Here’s how to play:

• First start with a scenario.
• Then say what happens next.
• There is no turn order.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
• The host may veto anytime.
• End when the scenario resolves.

The big thing here is that players DON’T play a single character, everyone plays the scenario. Together. Each person at the table has the power to say what happens next, no permission needed. And all characters are on the table, not just the “main” ones. So you can check in with the bad guys. You can have that solo episode that focuses on a flying, fluffy cow. You don’t need at least one character on-screen per player. You can obtain a whole new BREADTH of experience that a traditional roleplaying game doesn’t allow for by championing all characters of the story.

The story game completely sidesteps external rewards by not including them. There are no XP or FATE points or bennies here. Characters can get stronger and more developed during play, but that resides in the unfolding of the fiction. The only rewards are continued play, satiated curiosity, and the satisfaction of resolution. There is no “optimal play” here. There is only makes for a good story and playing to find out. The system doesn’t push FOR certain behaviors. It only against disruptive behaviors in the form of the host’s veto. The focus is on the whole of the scenario, not a individual character or group.

And lastly, the table controls the story, not the GM. The weight of the world doesn’t fall on one person’s shoulders, but the interest and energy of the group.

• “We don’t know much about our main antagonist Zuko. Could we have a scenario where we focus on him? Like, how did he get that scar?”
• “So Appa’s been gone, could we do a scenario about his journey since he was captured?”
• “We don’t know much about Avatar Roku, Fire Lord Sozin, or how this whole war started. Let’s do a scenario centered on that!”

The table drives the direction of the scenarios. Every player is a part of the process.

And don’t for a second sell your table short. Each player has surprises for every other player there. It only takes a good scenario and a friendly table to draw it out!

So what would Avatar look like in play? Here are some scenarios from these episodes:

• Aang, Sokka, and Katara visit the Southern Air Temple for the first time in 100 years while Zuko and Iroh are held up in their search for the Avatar by Commander Zhao.
• As Zuko tries to survive in exile without his uncle, he remembers how his father became Firelord and what happened to his mother.
• Katara, Toph, Iroh, Sokka, Aang, Zuko and Momo spend some downtime in Ba Sing Se.

You could take these starting points and then, as the rules say, say what happens next. You play the scenario. As an exercise, you could even play out a scenario from the show and arrive at a similar or completely different resolution from the show. It’s possible!

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So there you have it:

the solution to this big, expensive irony of the Avatar Legends The Roleplaying Game: Take a sojourn with story games.

Getting people to play a story game is easy, actually

To get people to play you’ve gotta tell them three MAJOR items:

Concept

Content

Commitment

That’s really it.

Here are my answers to some basic preliminary questions so you get a sense of where I’m coming from:

Concept

“What’s a story game? How is it different from D&D?”

A story game is a game where we tell a story together. In D&D, you carry the role of player or Game Master and the players play their player characters while the GM runs the rest of the world. Here in a story game, we’re playing out a scenario to see what happens.

“Do I still play a character or just narrate?

We play all the characters: protagonists, antagonists, and everyone in-between. Instead of being a specific character, you can shift around just like a movie. What’s important is not who you are but what happens next, which could be a character taking an action or multiple characters doing something or many other possibilities!

“How do we decide what happens next?”

Once we read out the scenario, you just say what happens. We all decide and build on each other’s ideas. Now you and I might have different ideas, in which case we roll dice to resolve the uncertainty. I like rolling two six-sided dice and the higher roller wins. Or if run into an uncertain situation and we want to leave what happens next up to chance, we can roll dice then too. Something like “let’s roll two six-sided dice: if it’s odds, option A happens. If it’s evens, option B.”

“Is there a GM or a referee?”

Not in this game, but there is a host. If any idea jumps too far out of genre or tone, something outlandish, the host can veto it. But it’s only a veto; the host can’t use this power to force their own ideas on the game.

The host is also usually the one to introduce the scenario.

But the snacks and drinks are EVERYONE’S responsibility. Wink, wink.

“So what’s the point of the game? How do we win?”

The point of the game is playing to find out what happens. We just start with a scenario with no idea of how exactly this thing is going to shake out, something like “Scooby-Doo and his friends are spooked when the Mystery Machine comes to life and begins driving around by itself.”

We win when we tell a good story and have fun doing it. The play’s the thing, after all!

“How do the rules work if it’s mostly talking?”

We lean on what’s going on “in the world” or “on-screen”. Instead of having a rulebook tell us how gravity and romance and zombies “work” we can use our own intuition or discuss it with each other. We agree on the laws of the world as we go instead of referring to a set of pre-written rules.

“Do I need to learn all the rules before playing?”

Not at all! The rules are so short I could write them on a napkin. I can tell you everything you need to know before we start and then if you have questions, just ask during play.

“How do we know when the story is over?”

When the scenario is resolved, we stop. It’s usually pretty easy to tell, one of those “you know it when you see it” type deals. After that, we could narrate what happens now that the scenario is over, kind of like an outro. And then we grab more snacks and get our refills.

Content

“So what’s the scenario?”

This is the most subjective part: knowing who you’re talking to and what you’re both interested in. Because it’s your family and friends that you want to play with, only you can have the perfect answer here.

I know you’ve been watching The Walking Dead, so I was thinking a zombie scenario. But I also know you’re a Marvel nut, so I have two Spider-man scenarios we could choose from. And it’s a stretch, but because it’s around Halloween I have a Scooby-Doo scenario in the back pocket. We can decide when we get to the table.

The answers to the next questions are all derived from knowing the scenario:

“Which characters in this scenario?”

“What locations do we visit?”

“What’s the tone of the game? Is it serious, funny, weird, sad?”

This is where you, the person reading this are uniquely equipped in time and space to know what excites your loved ones. What stories do you know and share together? What worlds feel full of possibility and not exhaustion? What characters and moments make your eyes glow with wonder?

That’s what you talk about here. This is the real pitch more than anything else about what a story game is or how it works: this is the juicy center of this delicious pastime.

And only you can speak to it.

You know your loved ones better than I ever will, so tell ‘em what they like to hear! Tell ‘em where they want to go, who they want to see, and what possibilities get them rearin’ to go! 🙂

Commitment

“How long will it take?”

About the same amount of time it takes to play a board game or watch a movie. It’s only one session and ends when we resolve the scenario.

“What do I have to bring?”

Just yourself! I think I’ll bring some blank paper and pencils and maybe some dice, but I already have a few scenarios we can choose from to get us started!

“Do I have to act in-character or anything weird like that?”

Only if you want! A lot of times I narrate in third-person, like “Batman tells Alfred he’s going out for the night to catch some criminals.” No need for a voice or professional acting skills!

And you don’t have to be flowery in how you talk or amazing at improvising conversation: it’s way lower stakes than that. Just say what happens next.

“What if I don’t know what to say? I don’t think of myself as a very creative person…”

Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to contribute all the time or be “super creative”! Sometimes there will be a lull in the conversation, but just focus on what happens next and what’s obvious to you. What you think of as clearly about to happen can completely surprise everyone at the table!

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Fin

Concept, content, commitment. You might vary up the order of these, leading with the exciting content or reassuring them with commitment first. You know the people you want to play with better than I do, but just keep these three things in mind and you’re well on your way!

Just have the rules ready for reference at the table and get a scenario or two ready and you’re golden!

Get those people to the table! 🙂

Play a story game with glee, try it out: ANTHOLOGY

Alright. The term “story game”.

People use it as a pejorative. They say it with disgust. “YoU kNoW yOu’Re JuSt MaKiNg It Up RiGhT” they taunt, not seeing their hypocrisy and probably haven’t GM’d a whole lot.

They see story games as something “casuals” do.

And, in a sense, they’re right.

Casuals are how we GET people into this hobby. You start as a newbie.

One of my favorite things about story games is how it’s allowed me to share gaming with people who aren’t into fighting dragons with swords. Or don’t want to understand how spell slots work. Or refuse to stare at a spreadsheet to generate a character even before they’ve started their first game!

The accessibility of story games is a major selling point for me: anyone can do this and tell a story with loved ones!

But what if

you want more than a “casual” experience? What if you’ve played more than a scenario or two and want more… substance? Something that stays longer?

Maybe you’re favorite part of a role-playing game is where the world comes ALIVE with choices. When it moves beyond “which path do we take in this dungeon” and more towards “which of our seven contacts, each with intricate relationships of their own, can we get help from to solve a very niche problem?”

Y’know, the stuff that happens around session eight or nine in a traditional RPG?

What if you want to build a large, dynamic cast of characters instead being stuck following a handful of “quirky” OCs stuffed with extra narcissism?

What if you want that Tolkien world-building that D&D promised and then relegated to you scribbling lore-fan-fiction in your notebook instead of using it at the table?

This post is for you.

The Anthology Story Game

is an idea that emerged purely from thinking about what kinds of stories traditional role-playing games can’t tell.

Like I talked about before: you can’t do Avatar with it’s protagonist/antagonist storytelling

And solo protagonists, like Samurai Jack, can’t be done in trad RPGs except in “lone wolf” situations, but we did it in a story game:

But what about large-sprawling-cast-dramas like Game of Thrones? Can you do Game of Thrones with D&D 5e?

Only with a table of VERY bored players, waiting around for their “chapter” to emerge.

See, each scene and chapter in that monumentally ex-popular bookseries/show had a different focal character; you see everything from their perspective. Each character sheds new light on the world:

Jon Snow highlights the Wall and the incoming threats of the dead army. Daenerys showcases foreign cultures and mounting ambitions. Tyrion gives us the political intrigue of King’s Landing and all of the backstabbing within.

Or what about The Lord of the Rings?

If you were running it in a traditional RPG, you wouldn’t be able to hand the multiple plot-threads between Frodo and Sam, Aragorn and Company, and Merry and Pippin/Gandalf. Especially where these threads deviate from each other to different locations.

Imagine it at the table: the GM talks to Frodo and Sam about Shelob’s Lair with Frodo unconscious, then moves over to talk about the Battle of Pelennor Fields with the rest of the gang and moves through different elements of the fight. What do the other players do? Sit there lookin’ pretty.

Jumping around like this, handing all these situations, is something much larger than a traditional RPG can handle.

It is also bigger than a single scenario or session of a story game can handle.

So how would you handle it?

Just as would you to eat an elephant: one piece at a time.

Multi-scenario setups

are the driving force of an anthology story game. The premise is simple:

Once a scenario resolves, the table can posit the next scenario.

Does it take place in the same part of the world? Or with different characters? Or much later after the last scenario?

Up to y’all.

Personally, I’d love to have a running list of scenarios that each contain the pitch, the characters, and locations involved. Have those written on index cards or someplace visible, almost like a menu of quests for everyone to choose from. Each night you pick one and see where it goes. Maybe you get to more than one in as single sitting, who knows!

Jumping back to the LOTR example, an epic like that might have one over-arching scenario: “The One Ring has been found and must be destroyed or Sauron will rule all of Middle-Earth.” But then the individual scenario play sessions might read like: “Frodo and his friends need to escape the Shire and get to Bree” or “The Council of Elrond comes together at Rivendell to discuss the fate of the Ring” or “Gandalf and Pippin arrive at Minas Tirith and things look worse than they thought.”

The over-arching scenario of LOTR gives shape to the direction of the world, but it doesn’t have to determine its speed. This could take three sessions or thirty or more!

Another example of how this might work: one scenario might set up an initial protagonist and how they handle a small, local problem. The next might be from the perspective of a villain and the obstacles they seek to overcome. The next scenario might deviate further, highlight a bigger, badder villain but in a more toned-down situation that is resolved in a few scenes. The next scenario could cut back to the protagonist, but years later, having acquired more experience. Perhaps they’ll take on our first villain? Or ask them to set aside their differences and take on that bigger, badder villain? Play to find out!

The game expands and blossoms FAST. Because now we’re playing the WORLD and not just a single scenario. There’re shared times or places or characters tying this world together and producing that cohesion and complexity that makes it feel ALIVE.

And the table works together to produce this magic.

If you’re familiar with Ars Magica, you know I’m going next…

Troupe Play

is just like that collaborative storytelling structure that gets everyone involved and thinking about the world from more than one point of view.

In Ars Magica, each player comes with a main wizard character, a companion, and “grogs”, which are minor characters. Just from the start you’re working with a varied palette of power and interests.

The stories you tell start with picking spotlight characters and moving from there. Everyone is a part of the “writer’s room”.

It breaks players out of the “beautiful and unique snowflake” mentality when they regularly play a minor role in someone else’s story. You aren’t the center of the universe as a brooding loner type, you’re connected to other souls of the world.

And it get’s Game Masters out of the “I have to manage every NPC in the world and make them interesting” trap. Now, it’s on everyone: if a character isn’t that interesting to you, what are you going to do about it?

This creates that interconnected saga that gives such weight and impact to these deep epics.

Which leads me to that flagship epic of Cartoon Network that kept them afloat:

Adventure Time

claims to be about Jake the dog and Finn the human, according to the melodic intro, but the scope exceeds those two characters MANY times over.

Y’see, Adventure Time moves around a lot as the writers of the show dictate through their interest.

One episode might be a classic Fann and Joke adventure and then the next focuses on a side character, like Princess Bubblegum or BMO or the Ice King or someone extremely minor. And sure, Funn and Junk might be in the background or say something at the beginning before promptly excusing themselves, but they’re not the player characters in play all the time.

And this is how we explore the world of Ooo, through individuals and character groupings.

A science-y character might reveal more about the laws of magic in this world or their complicated relationship with their next-door neighbor. A king of ice might show us what a frozen kingdom is like… or their tragic backstory through a long lost VHS tape. The scenario could be that of the gods above arguing about the fate of a continent or what they want to cater for a birthday bash celebration.

And thus the world builds layers through the points of view the table takes out for a spin:

The world becomes more epic the more we establish and work through legendary demigods and earth-shattering scenarios. The world becomes grittier when we champion the warriors and monsters in mortal combat and great battles. The world becomes cozier when we focus on small folk in their little corners of the world handling tiny, everyday problems.

And we do this by having a stable of characters for everyone to choose from instead of creating your own “personal avatar” player character that only you can play and inhabit.

Fin

with a confession: I haven’t done this yet. I’ve played dozens of story games now, but haven’t strung them together except by occurring within the same world (as in, doing two unconnected scenarios of Scooby-Doo). Truly a fascinating experiment.

But I think this is where story games go from a casual, hobby endeavor to something VERY involved. Something STEEPED in world-building, flavor, and story potential. Something that GROWS and CASCADES and SPINS-OUT into whole ‘verses of possibility.

This is a future of open table gaming, something I’ve been very passionate about in tabletop adventure games: a shared narrative experience that doesn’t rely on the presence of one player or one character or even one GM to glue things together. An experience that could be a one-off for a newbie/casual player or a whole obsession “BIG THING” for someone else.

Just a world made of a list of nouns and a running list of scenarios to play.

Play to find out!

playing to be SURPRISED (ft. solo story gaming)

We play story games because we want to play out a scenario and be surprised by the results (playing to find out!). It’s part exploration, part curiosity, part simulation, part experimentation, and part… something else.

Story games give us a way to watch something unfold that we helped create but can’t fully predict.

SURPRISE is that “something else”. It’s what hits us on the head and runs away, leaving us reeling and dealing with the fallout.

I’ve said it many times: playing a story game is one of my favorite activities to share with the people I love. Everything I just listed (discovery, twists, emergent play) becomes even better when shared around a table.

But what if you wanted to play out a scenario solo? What if circumstance or simple desire put you in the mood to explore a world, push characters into danger, and see what unfolds? What changes?

More importantly: how do you keep the all-important element of surprise when you’re both the player and the “GM”?

Put foolishly: how do you play peek-a-boo with yourself?

Let’s break it down.

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Surprise requires expectations.

In a multiplayer story game, your expectations are constantly being challenged, bent, or overturned by the other people at the table. You say what happens next, you make your claim, and then your friends expand it, tweak it, redirect it, or reject it entirely (perhaps asking you to roll dice). That dynamic tension generates surprise. It lets a story swerve into the unexpected without feeling random by bouncing back and forth between multiple rational/irrational human brains.

In solo play, you don’t have other people to push back. So where does surprise come from?

Your own expectations.

More specifically: your expectations about what happens next in the story.

A baseline expectation usually comes from:

• The scenario you’re playing
• The genre you’re in
• The fictional logic you’ve already established

If you’re playing a classic fantasy dungeon crawl and Captain America bursts through the floor, that’s not just surprising… that’s just absurd. Good surprises live within the world’s likely and unlikely boundaries as established by you.

On the flip side, if your classic fantasy dungeon crawl plays out EXACTLY like you would expect, that’s just boring. Good surprises take opportunities to intervene and grab you by the ankles. Y’know: to trip you up.

When something likely doesn’t happen, you’re surprised.

When something unlikely does happen, you’re surprised.

This is why, for all my love of coin-tosses, I don’t do 50/50 dice rolls in solo gaming. Having an even hand on two outcomes means you cannot, by definition, be surprised: both routes were equally likely, making you somewhat apathetic to what happens next.

But when you say, “I don’t think Dr. G in going to make it out of this alley full of zombies…” and then the dice defy that statement, your eyebrows raise.

And that’s the physiological response we’re looking for in solo experience: raised eyebrows and a thoughtful “hmm, now that’s interesting…”

See?

The trick in solo play is to make your expectations explicit and then give chance the ability to intervene. You know, zagging when you thought it would zig, or confirm something you thought was doubtful, or tell you that play you thought was likely goes awry.

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Alright, now the actual rules, you gaming ANIMAL.

The seven pointed star of the story games becomes a mere five:

• First, start with a scenario.
• Then say what happens next and roll to see if that’s true.
• If there’s uncertainty, roll dice.
• End when the scenario resolves.

Aside, here’s the cutting-room floor by nature of being the only player:

• There is no turn order.
• Build on each other’s ideas!
• The host may veto anytime.

The solo oracle (soloracle)

is what you consult each time you say what happens next.

Here’s the procedure:

1. Say what you think happens next.
This is you stating your expectations.

2. Roll 2d6. If at least one die shows a 4+, your statement becomes true.
You’ve just confirmed what you thought was likely.

3. If no die shows 4+, it doesn’t happen.
You must revise your statement, say what happens instead, and roll again until the fiction produces a true result.

Occasionally: If you state something you think is unlikely, both dice must show 4+ for it to be true.
This is the equivalent of aiming your story toward a long shot. When the roll hits, the surprise is delicious.

This simple oracle imitates what other players do naturally: it challenges your assumptions, nudges against overly confident predictions, and interrupts you with unexpected outcomes.

It also creates a rhythm of:

• Declare expectation → Test it → Discover what’s really true.

That’s the pulse of a good solo game.

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Why this works

is that when you say “what happens next,” you are stating what you believe is most likely given the situation. In multiplayer games, other players push back on those statements. In solo games, the oracle provides that friction.

It creates moments like:

• The goblins scatter and run. This fight is over.
  → Soloracle says no.
  → Actually, one of them charges with reckless fury.→ Soloaracle says yes.→ What happens next?
• The bridge looks dangerous, but it probably holds.
  → Soloracle says no.
  → Halfway across, the whole thing gives way?→ Soloracle says yes.→ Crap.
• The treasure chamber is guarded by that band of goblins from earlier.
  → Soloracle says no.
  → The treasure chamber is trapped?→ Soloracle says no.→ Is there ANY danger here?→ Soloracle says no.→ Okay, so free loot! That’s a lucky break and you know it

That’s the core of surprise: a believable world behaving in unexpected ways.

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Continuing the example

of classic fantasy dungeon crawl: imagine you’re on Level 1 of a dungeon. You open a door and expect:

• Likely: vermin, traps, abandoned rooms
• Unlikely: a powerful ogre
• Impossible: Captain America

When the soloracle contradicts you:

• If a likely thing doesn’t happen: you’re surprised.
• If an unlikely thing does happen: you’re surprised.
• And the impossible thing can’t happen because you didn’t state it. You didn’t throw logic out the door upon entry.

This is why having expectations is essential. Solo RPGs aren’t about randomly generating chaos.

If you enter with zero expectations (“anything could happen at any time”), then nothing can surprise you. Versus surprises happening relative to what you thought would occur.

What does this have in common with Whose Line Is It Anyway?

You did NOT just ask me that. Yeah, I know you actually didn’t…

“New Choice” (sometimes called “Change”) is a game where improv actors play out a scene, saying and doing what happens next. When the host calls out “New Choice” the actor must immediately replace whatever line or action they just did with a new one, often several times in a row, until the host is satisfied. Sometimes the host does nothing and lets a few lines or actions play out uninterrupted. They don’t have to intervene, it’s just entertaining when they do.

In solo story games, the dice are hosts of “New Choice”.

When you say what happens and the soloracle tells you no, that’s just the game telling you “new choice.” You gotta keep digging. Try something new!

Now, if you want more instances of random intervention and more “New Choice” moments, just change the probabilities. As written above, there’s a 25% chance that the dice push back on what you say, but you could change it so that everything you say is considered “unlikely” with only a 25% of being true. Now you have to test your quick-thinking chops and get to be surprised when the dice are finally “satisfied” with your second, third, or even fourth answer.

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Putting It All Together

When you play solo:

1. Define the scenario.
2. Make your expectations explicit (state what you think is about to happen.)
3. Use the soloracle to confirm or deny your expectations.
4. Revise until a result becomes true.
5. Let the story unfold; one expectation-test-reveal cycle at a time.
6. Finish when the scenario resolves.

This creates the same emotional experience as playing with others: a sense of discovery, a rhythm of tension, and genuine moments of…

SURPRISE!

story game for my darling sister and high-energy nephew…

…for we have all misbehaved and fallen short, in need of a story or two to work out that extra fidgeting

Them’s the rules, laddie:

Mom or Dad will lay out the LEGOs and say where the story starts.

Everyone takes turns adding to the story. Listen and don’t talk over one another no matter how excited or angry you get.

Work together to tell a good story with some mix of fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, and miracles.

Pick up a LEGO guy and says what happens next. Move the LEGOs around as you talk.

Make lots of noises like people talking, animals sounds, machine noises, and cool sound effects.

After adding to the story let someone else have a turn.

Any one can add to or even change the story. If someone doesn’t like a change they may ask to roll the die and if it’s odds, the change doesn’t happen. If it’s evens, it does.

If the story could go two ways and you’re not sure which will happen (or don’t want to choose) say the two ways out loud and roll the die. If it’s odds, it’s the first way. If it’s evens, the second.

Don’t get cross if a LEGO guy gets hurt or something bad happens. Say what happens next!

Mom and Dad can say no to any addition if it’s too silly or crazy. Mom and Dad can also change the rules to make them better.

The game ends when Mom or Dad say so or when it’s time to eat. 🙂

Some story starters (h/t to The Big List of RPG Plots by S. John Ross)

Any Old Port in a Storm

A fierce thunderstorm drives some travelers into a tiny rickety house where strange shadows move on their own, and whispering voices drift out from behind a closed door. What’s that noise??!

Better Late Than Never

Sneaky thieves have already galloped away with the prince’s older sister, leaving muddy tracks that twist into dark woods where the trees lean a little too close. There’re rumors of gryphons in there…

Blackmail

A masked bandit knows an embarrassing secret about the librarian. Please, please, PLEASE don’t let him tell anybody about… that thing.

Breaking and Entering

Deep inside a tall and sleepy castle, glowing globe sit guarded by living thorns and doors that slam shut all by themselves. The jolly skeletons also want something in return.

Capture the Flag

A golden goose squawks from the top of a tall stone keep, guarded by a extra fat ogre whose read too much poetry. He’s a bit nuts. Mmm, nuts.

Clearing the Hex

The Hexwood grows strange, with crooked trees and eyes that shine from inside hollow trunks. A cackling witch isn’t being nice to intruders… Unless they’re especially handsome. The mayor wants us to get that witch outta there.

Delver’s ~Delight~

Underground ruins stretch into the dark, filled with crumbled statues, shifting floors, and soft footsteps that echo. Man, we’re really lost down here, aren’t we? This one guy told me there’s a sandman, giant crabs, and star-anglerfish down here.

Don’t Eat the Purple Ones!

A ruined, overgrown city buzzes with odd worms, bubbling ponds, and colorful fruits that shiver when touched. There are rumors of an elf trapped in ice in the city’s center.

Elementary, My Dear Watson

A plate of warm, melty cookies has vanished, leaving behind only scattered crumbs, smudged footprints, and a locked room with its window wide open. Was it the butler? Or the granny? Or the baby sister? Or the babysitter?

Escort Service

A nervous, chatty monk needs help to reach a faraway port, but the roads ahead wind past cliff edges, echoing caves, and places where travelers feel they’re being watched by living trees.

Good Housekeeping

A whole manor house has been left to the heroes, but the roof creaks, the kitchen cupboards bang on their own, and the villagers keep dropping off problems at the front gate. The fireplace also has a hangry fire spirit who used to like living here…

Help Is On the Way

Far across a rocky valley, smoke rises from a zoo where bells ring wildly and animals run loose through the streets. That’s what happens when the hobbit who runs the place misplaces his smoking pipe!

Hidden Base

A hidden tent-camp lies at the bottom of a hollow hill that’s filled with lanterns, maps, hurried voices, and crates stacked high with stolen food. Armored pig guys are EVERYWHERE. But they haven’t seen us yet…

How Much for Just the Dingus?

In a noisy marketplace, everyone claims to own the same rare treasure, and each stall is crowded with rivals pointing fingers and arguing loudly. How are we supposed to get all the ingredients to bake a cake with all this NOISE?!

I Beg Your Pardon?

A family suddenly leaps out and attack, shouting something we don’t understand. They think we stole their treasure chest they buried?

Long or Short Fork When Dining on Elf?

A grand feast in the faraway land of elves is full of puzzling rules: guests bow in strange ways, servers ring bells at odd moments, and no one explains why the forks are different sizes. And what an odd wedding venue…

Look, Don’t Touch

A ghostly antelope wanders through a meadow, but flinches at every sound. The old stories say it can turn you into stone. But it can also grant wishes if you ask nicely.

Manhunt

Someone has gone missing in the deep woods where the paths split without warning, and scraps of clothing hang from thorny branches. Are we sure Old Man Gus did just WANDER away?

Missing Memories

Wake up in an unfamiliar room with strange marks on the floor, half-burned papers on a table, and no memory of how we got here. Is this even our room at the inn?

Most Peculiar, Momma

The town clock spins the wrong way as people crowd the streets pointing at the sky. What’s a flying boat doing up there?

No One Has Soiled the Bridge

The old stone bridge stretches over a foggy chasm. A HUGE vulture sits there. He says he just wants to play a game, but he’s got a look in his eye…

Not in Kansas

An evil sorcerer teleports our LEGO guys to a land with giant flowers, swirling stars in the sky, and creatures that peek out from behind enormous mushrooms. How’re we gonna get back home???

Ounces of Prevention

Boxes of strange perfumes arrive in the city, late-night meetings echo behind locked doors, and odd lights flicker from a warehouse window. A not-so-secret pamphlet posted on the alley wall reads “meting 2 sumon a big big dragon happenn tonite.”

Pandora’s Box

A cracked jar lies open on the ground, and from it drift strange shapes: tiny winged pixies, floating will-o’-the-wisps, and footprints that appear without bodies. Alright, who broke it?

Quest for the Sparkly Hoozits

A really grouchy wizard doesn’t want to break the curse that turned a frog into a princess. Nobody ever helps HIM for a change…

Recent Ruins

A village was burned to rubble. A giant salamander dreams on the ashes, sleep-farting.

Running the Gauntlet

A long road winds through a dangerous valley where falling stones, windswept ledges, and howls wolves make every step uncertain. A boy named Tristan thinks he can race the fastest character to the other side. He might cheat a bit.

Safari

A dire giraffe with shimmering fur roams a wild plain, leaving deep tracks, broken branches, and strange roaring sounds behind it.

Score One for the Home Team

A huge tournament draws crowds from every direction, with jousters lining up, challengers boasting loudly, and big cheers sounding across the field. The winner gets a magic lamp!!

Stalag 23

WE”RE LOCKED IN A JAIL. THESE LIZARD GUYS ARE MEANIES..

Take Us to Memphis and Don’t Slow Down

A busy ship is suddenly taken over by shouting PIRATES while the captain steers through fast-moving waters full of jagged rocks. Ole Redbeard is BACK, BABY!!

Troublemakers

Someone keeps upsetting the town: knocking over carts, scaring animals, and leaving taunting messages wherever they go. Can you help figure this one out?

Uncharted Waters

The heroes set sail toward unknown lands, seeking the floating island in the sky! It’s said to have the best food world IN THE WORLD

Story Game Sojourn Actual Plays

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AN ORAL HISTORY OF STORY GAMES

Hey, if you made it this far: I think you’re neat. 🙂

Let me know if there’s something about this you’d like to read more about.