Basically, the player who “owns” a character is the one plays that character—they select the character’s actions, they chose what skills they advance, and they have at least a large degree of control over the character’s ultimate fate. In the Mecha Monogatari RPG, the rule is that, given that death is final, the player who owns the character gets to chose whether or not any given dire situation causes the character to die.

The reason for this is because I feel that major character death should not occur as the outcome of some random rolls—it should be a major story element. Certainly, a character may be seriously injured due to battle or “accidents”, and this may result in them spending a considerable length of time convalescing, or with injury-related penalties until they have had a chance to heal. But the question becomes “Why would a player willingly let their character die?”

The permanence of death is one of the themes I am trying to work into the rules; the idea that the living must press on despite great loss is another.  The world of the Mecha Monogatari is often a grim one, but all is not dark.  I am also trying to work in the themes of teamwork and the interdependence of friends…the concept of nakama also plays into this.

So what I’m currently thinking is including some sort of framework for a player and the game master to work together to arrange for the player’s character to have a heroic (or at the very least dramatic and story-advancing) death, with the end result being that the character’s surviving friends/nakama gain a permanent bonus of some form—maybe a special ability, or a conditional bonus, or the like.  The “explanation” for this (if one is really even needed) is that the memory of the fallen continues to inspire those who knew them long after their death.

Like Kamina said, “Real men don’t die even when they’re killed.”

Now, the question becomes, how to codify this?  What limits need to be placed on this technique’s use?  What should be the necessary preconditions for such a sacrifice to occur?  How many “sacrifice” abilities can a character possess?

Also, the player whose character died—how should that player be rewarded?  Should the “reward” merely be intangible, in the form of the appreciation of the other players who benefit from the sacrifice?  Maybe the player could start their new character with a similar ability, above and beyond what a new character would normally start with?

Lots of questions, this brings up.  Fortunately, I have a lot of time to think about stuff like this these days…

In a small clearing, all but hidden between the colossal spruce and birches of the Endless Forests of Kalevala, a score of the most powerful of the Forests’ denizens had gathered at the behest of the dominion’s ruler, Mielikki the Blue-Cloaked.  Worshiped by countless mortals, Mielikki was goddess of the forest and the hunt, always attended by two celestial bears who zealously guarded her.

“It has been confirmed by the rune-dice: Quetzalcoatl seeks to unbind himself using a mortal as his vessel,” Mielikki declared to the assembled group, gesturing to the multifaceted wooden dice scattered across an elk skin before her.

“This is not possible,” Leszi said.  A satyr, he casually smoked a pipe of fragrant herbs.  “Quetzalcoatl may be a primordial, but he’s just not that powerful.”

“The rune-dice do not lie,” Caeladrel, patron spirit of the elven peoples, countered.  “This is a warning we should heed—if we do nothing, Quetzalcoatl will no doubt continue his campaign of destruction.”

“Bah,” Leszi said, rolling his eyes as he waved the thought away.

“Do not underestimate the power of mortals, Leszi,” Arethusa cautioned.  A nymph, she had only been able to leave her river through magicks provided by Mielikki’s angelic servants.  “Or of the primordials.”

“Our Lady imprisoned him once before,” Torghn, paragon of the minotaurs proudly declared.  “If the wardings fail, she can imprison him again.”

Leszi nodded.  “Indeed.  We need not break the Armistace over this prophecy.  If Queztalcoatl escapes, then we can act.”

“We cannot sit back and wait until catastrophe occurs!” Caeladrel said.  “We should act now—enter the Elemental Chaos, and reinforce the bindings that hold Quetzalcoatl in check.”

“If our Lady were to do that, it would restart the War,” Leszi said.  “And remember we don’t have the consensus of the other deities to act.  If war broke out, many of them would side against us, too.  There’s too much risk.”

“There must be a way to prevent Quetzalcoatl from escaping,” Arethusa said.  “Is there any clue as to the mortal Quetzalcoatl is trying to use as a vessel?”

As everyone turned to her, Mielikki scooped up the rune-dice, and then rolled them again.  Scrutinizing the result, she shook her head.  “The one sails the skies of the Material World, seeking their fortune far from home…”  Mielikki shook her head.  “There are easily thousands of such mortals…”

“But in the Material World, only a few kingdoms field airships,” Caeladrel said.  “And most stay fairly close to home.”

“Journeys far from home often take much preparation,” Arethusa said.  “We could send agents to every major port to seek information about such journeys.”

“And then what?” Leszi asked.  “If you found this mortal, what then?  Kill him?  He might not even be party to this scheme of Quetzalcoatl’s—you would be murdering an innocent man.  And even if he was one of Quetzalcoatl’s lackeys, acting directly against a mortal like this is yet another violation of the Armistace.”

“We will not violate the Armistace,” Mielikki said.  “Still, knowing more will help us find the best course to follow in this.  Send the agents, and advise my temples to also listen for rumors that might fit.  Quetzalcoatl will not escape his bounds—not while I have say in the matter.  Go.”

With that one word, the assembly began to disperse, save for one who recognized Mielikki’s subtle gesture which meant Stay.  Israphel, Mielikki’s angel of supremacy, remained as all of the other denizens of the Kalevala left.  “You wish to live as a mortal, do you not?”

“I wish to serve my Lady,” Israphel said.

“You have served me since the Beginning of All,” Mielikki said.  “And I know you wish to experience the mortal life.  I have one last assignment for you, if you would take it.”

“I will,” Israphel said, “and I ask no compensation.  I exist to serve.”

Mielikki smiled.  “You can drop the formality.”

Israphel relaxed, but only fractionally.  “Maybe a brief respite from my duties would be in order…”

“Of course,” Mielikki said.  “If we find specific information on this mortal, I would like you to see to it that a planar rift puts an end to his journey.  He will be journeying far from home, so catch him out in the wild places, far from civilization.  It would be best if no harm came to him, just inconvenience—the only reason we act at all is to prevent whatever scheme Quetzalcoatl has in mind.  Hopefully, just putting this mortal out of Quetzalcoatl’s reach will suffice.”

“The other gods will be angered at your breach of the Armistace,” Israphel warned.

“It’s a minor breach, and it’s not like the primordials haven’t done far worse in the aeons since the War.  Besides, if the other gods find out about this, I intend to disavow knowledge of your mission, and punish you by sending you to the Material World to exist as a mortal, for a mortal’s lifespan,” Mielikki said.  “If they don’t find out, I’ll reward you…by sending you to the Material World to exist as a mortal, for a mortal’s lifespan.”

“I do not deserve such kindness,” Israphel said.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Mielikki said.  “Prepare yourself.”

Israphel left the clearing, leaving Mielikki alone save for her guardian bears.  The decision to act against the mortal weighed heavily in her mind, but she saw no other course.  Doing nothing was not an option; certainly, compared to the threat of Quetzalcoatl’s rampage of destruction that would surely follow were he to be released from his prison, the fate of one mortal seemed light in the scales.  Taking the mortal into her confidence was also not a viable option: mortals were far too unpredictable, and far too often, unpredictable in the worst possible way.  It was best to merely shunt this mortal away to some obscure plane of existence where they would be far from the reach of any primordial, where they could live out the rest of their brief existence more-or-less harmlessly.  Mielikki told herself she need not worry: Israphel was well-disciplined.  He would not make a mistake that would cause undue harm to the mortal.

Still, Mielikki’s thoughts were consumed by this matter for quite some time.

First, I had originally decided to use bell curve rolls (roll four six-sided dice, add them together, counting 6′s as zero), but this was flat-out too slow and too clunky.  I love the idea of the bell curve rolls, which makes the skill modifier more important than the dice roll (as it clusters the dice rolls around the mean, rather than spreading them out across the whole range of possibility), but it just didn’t work.  Unless I can think of a better solution, I will likely go back to just using a d20 roll instead (statistically flat, but nice, nieat and simple).

The second issue is that even though there are no classes in the Mecha Monogatari RPG, the Dungeons & Dragons Fourth Edition concept of roles is still there, albeit in a less defined manner.  For example, I had created four playtest characters (Seki, Tsuchiya, Ohashi, and Hatsutori), and given them mostly unique abilities that I hoped both made them interesting to play and fit their characters. Rather than leaving them vague, I need to better define these roles and their place in the Mecha Monogatari RPG.

Everybody seemed to be mainly a striker, but Seki and Ohashi were moreso than the others.  Seki also had a significant leader aspect, while Ohashi had some controller abilities.  Tsuchiya was more leader than anything.  Hatsutori was a cross between a controller and a defender, and really, he is at the root of this second issue.  Lacking a solid role, Hatsutori seemed rather ineffectual in combat…but then again, that is his character.  Still, I think that having the roles defined, so that when abilities are picked for a character, they can better fit the character’s role and/or theme (which need not be fixed, and can certainly be blended, or even conditional based on the situation).

Not all was bad, though.  The system worked: D&D 4E‘s powers-based system translates pretty well into a mecha-based setting (no surprises there).  MapTools certainly was a necessity—the system depends on position and movement, and when your map is almost 200×200 squares (and that is nowhere near as big as I intend to use eventually), using a physical battlemat is not an option.  The map was simple, but it worked.

Now the next step is building on what I learned in that playtest to tweak the system further, and continue work on my master document for the game system.  Eventually, I’m hoping the master document will be a full-service pdf, with instructions for anybody to put together a game, replete with rulesets, flavor text, prebuilt sample characters—everything save for art, because I can’t draw, and while stealing game system ideas is all right with me, stealing other people’s art for something like this seems, well, lame.

Time travel.  It’s a staple of science fiction, and can be done rather well (The Girl Who Leapt Through Time) or really…not so well (examples of this aren’t worth mentioning, so I won’t).  Since it has been established that one of the characters in Haruhi is a time-traveler (Mikuru) and another considered such acts trivial (Yuki), it was only a matter of…uh…it was inevitable that the long-suffering Kyon would be sent back three years to help the cute junior-high version of Haruhi commit one of the misdemeanors Taniguchi, Kunikida, and Kyon had mentioned back in the very first episode.

Only one thing was missing in this first episode: Tsuruya.  Then again, she’s really just a secondary character, so it would have been surprising to see her.  From what I hear, in later story arcs, she plays a much larger role…

More and more, I’m of the opinion that the individual who really controls the universe and can destroy and re-create it subconsciously is not Haruhi, but Kyon.  This hypothesis isn’t original to me, but it makes sense, especially when events in the later light novels are taken into account.  Haruhi didn’t just choose Kyon, Kyon wanted Haruhi to exist—and through a convoluted sequence of events, caused her to exist—so she could choose him.

“Hey kid, you think you’re some kind of samurai?”

Clad in a white gi shirt and dark blue hakama pants, a bamboo shinai practice sword in hand, fourteen-year-old Hoshino Tomokazu practiced his kendo techniques in the park not far from the junior high he attended. He liked practicing in the park because it was peaceful here…well, at least most of the time.

He looked up to see a trio of boys from the high school which was also not far from the park. By their slovenly attire, flamboyant multicolored hairstyles, and loud, belligerent demeanors, Hoshino figured they were delinquents. So much for a quiet afternoon of practice.

“Yeah, samurai, what happened to your topknot?” one of the delinquents said, ambling up to Hoshino’s side to rub the short silver stubble of hair on his head. An orphan, Hoshino had been raised in a Buddhist temple, and he had only recently started to grow out his hair.

Hoshino brushed the delinquent’s hand aside. “Hey, what are you trying to start something?” the delinquent said, tensing up.

“I think you’re the one who is trying to pick a fight,” Hoshino said calmly.

“So what if I am?” the delinquent said.

“Yeah, what you think you’re going to do about it?” the second delinquent said, pushing Hoshino roughly. “Your play sword doesn’t scare me.”

However, Hoshino did not budge from his position. “I think I will convince you that starting a fight with me is ill-advised.”

“What do you mean by that?” the third delinquent demanded.

“Yeah, you need to learn some respect,” the first delinquent said, reaching into his back pocket. He drew out a switchblade. “Because I got me a real—“

The delinquent could not finish his sentence, not after Hoshino brought the pommel of his shinai straight up under his chin in the blink of an eye, with enough force that the delinquent would feel the fracture in his jaw for months afterwards. The bamboo sword spun, a blur, and the switchblade, its blade still retracted, was knocked out of his hand, landing meters away in the grass.

As the first delinquent staggered back, clutching his jaw, the other two just stared at Hoshino in shock for a moment before they lunged forward. Hoshino sidestepped, lashing out with the shinai as he moved, hitting the closest in the side of the head with an echoing crack, collapsing him to the ground.

The third closed in from the side, blocking another of Hoshino’s blows with his forearms, but this left him open for a low kick to the shin that dropped him to his knees; it was followed by a tremendous strike with the shinai to the back of his shoulders that dropped him to the ground.

*Click*

Hoshino turned on the first delinquent, who had reclaimed his switchblade and now brandished it, still nursing his jaw with one hand.

His voice still impossibly calm, Hoshino identified himself. “I am Warrant Officer Hoshino Tomokazu, 119th Titan Battalion, C Company. I have faced enemies far more dangerous than you could ever hope to be many times, and each time, I have triumphed. I strongly recommend you think twice before assaulting me further.”

The delinquent withered under the tranquil fury of Hoshino’s gaze. After a moment’s indecision, he ran.

“And you?” Hoshino said, turning to the other two, but they, too, had lost their will to persist. Their flight was slowed only by the appearance of another young man in the park, this one wearing a Ground Self Defense Force uniform and a distinctive gray beret.

Lieutenant Watanabe just smiled at the scene he had just witnessed. He had found who he was looking for.

Lieutenant Watanabe Hiro of the 7th Titan Battalion searched the halls of the Toyama Defense Station. A milquetoast young man of sixteen, he had only been given his commission as an officer nine days before, and felt ill at ease with his new title and responsibilities. He, too, was a titan pilot, and had deployed to the Toyama prefecture with the rest of his unit to reinforce the routed Kamiichi unit, but by the time the 7th arrived, the battle was long since over.

That had been four days ago. The rest of the 7th had returned to Tokyo yesterday, after the state funeral for the titan pilots who had died during the defense of Kamiichi. While still attached to the 7th Battalion, Watanabe had been given permission to assemble a special squad of titan pilots who could rapidly deploy to critical battles. He had spent months writing the proposal up, and had been shocked when it had not only been approved, but he had been promoted in order to make the proposal a reality.

He had tried speaking to one of the surviving pilots from the 72nd Battalion, Warrant Officer Takagi Miharu, yesterday at the state funeral. Takagi’s service and combat performance records were exemplary, by all accounts her tactical instincts were second to none, and she was even being recommended for the Order of the Rising Sun for her heroics in the Kamiichi battle. She was a perfect choice. Unfortunately, when he had tried to explain his proposal…

“Hottoite-kure-yo!” Takagi had growled. The phrase meant “Leave me alone!”, but the way she phrased it was extraordinarily profane.

Watanabe feared that Takagi would punch him if he tried talking to her again, but despite that, he sought her out. Meek and timid as he was, he was a titan pilot, and titan pilots did not allow fear to dominate them.

Or at least that is what they tried to tell themselves.

Finally Watanabe learned where Takagi was from one of the base personnel, and he rushed to a storage room in the back of one of the titan hangars which, Watanabe was told, had been the hangout of Takagi’s Squad Three.

He hesitated at the door, and resolved to stay at least five paces from Takagi at all times, lest she decided that violence was an appropriate answer. After mustering up his courage, he knocked.

Takagi answered the door. “You again,” she said.

Watanabe noticed her cheeks were still wet with tears. “Yes. I’m Lieutenant Watanabe from the 7th—“

“I heard you yesterday,” Takagi said, not moving from the doorway. “You want me to join your new outfit. Fine. I want a hat like yours.”

Watanabe was confused. “What?”

“Your hat,” Takagi repeated. “I’ll join your unit. Not much reason for me to stay here anymore. Just give me a day or two to send my team’s stuff back home, and get me one of those hats, and I’ll transfer in.”

Finally, it clicked in Watanabe’s mind. “Oh, my beret?” he asked. Instead of the traditional officer’s cap, he wore a non-regulation gray beret. “You want one of these?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Takagi said.

His mind still boggling at the ease with which his recruitment of Takagi had transpired, Watanabe laughed nervously. “Sure, I’ll get you one of these. It’s not anything fancy—I got it from a mail-order catalogue. Would you like some help—”

“No,” Takagi said sternly, then her expression softened a little. “I…need to do this myself. Just give my CO the paperwork, he’ll rubber-stamp it.”

Watanabe nodded. He understood how Takagi felt. He had lost friends in this war, too.

Part of the style of the write-up is a series of short stories that will appear at the beginning and end of each chapter, bookending the description of the game mechanics and helping to set the mood of the game world.  The short stories will focus around a legendary group of titan pilots from the “past” generation (as compared to the generation of Seki & Company): the Shichinin no Nezumikishi, or in English the “Seven Gray Knights.”

As yet another flurry blanketed the Toyama prefecture in snow, four humanoid war machines, each one near twenty meters tall and weighing sixty metric tons of cold gray steel and composite apiece, charged towards the town of Kamiichi. Known as titans, these machines were the centerpiece of the Japanese Self-Defense Force’s campaign to protect Japan from the Eschatos, biomechanical monstrosities that for the last fifty years had descended from their orbital cities and decimated half the world.

Each titan was piloted by a youth, one of the rare few who could synchronize their minds with the operating system of the titan. It was a Saturday, and an hour ago, the four had been spending the day much as any other teenager might: Gin had been working on his homework, Miharu had been trying to teach the perpetually clumsy Reiji how to dance, and Ami had been sleeping the day away.

When the alert sirens had gone off, they did not seek shelter in the underground bunkers like a civilian might. They were each a member of the Japanese Ground Self-Defense Force, and so they had rushed to the Toyama Defense Station and suited up for battle. They were Squad Three of the 72nd Titan Battalion, A Company.

Lieutenant Okuyama Gin led the charge. At seventeen years of age, he was the oldest of the four; he had been a titan pilot for three years. Serious and possessing self-discipline beyond his years, he often found himself butting heads with his more carefree teammates, but he knew he could trust them with his life.

Warrant Officer Takagi Miharu followed, carefully listening to the battle reports coming in over the comm system even as she ran. She was fifteen, and was already well-known for her quick intelligence and tactical instincts. Miharu always gave Gin a hard time, except in combat. She was every bit as serious as him then.

While known for being uncoordinated, fifteen-year-old Warrant Officer Shinoda Reiji was utterly fearless in battle. He always seemed to be first to run to his teammates’ assistance, somehow weaving through a hail of enemy attacks as he rushed to their aid.

Warrant Officer Yoshimura Ami had only completed titan pilot training three months ago; her fourteenth birthday was coming up next month. This would be her first engagement with the Eschatos. Jittery and nervous, Ami prayed only that she not let her teammates down.

Ahead of them, in Kamiichi, the Eschatos had already begun their attack. Kamiichi’s defenders had been overwhelmed, and had been forced to regroup and wait for reinforcements to come from nearby regions. There were reports of large numbers of Eschatos, including at least one elite enemy unit, the one known as the White Demon of Khabarovsk, a unique Eschatos controlled by a living pilot of impressive skill, who had destroyed many JGSDF titans, and killed at least a dozen pilots. Even worse, the White Demon was known for attacking the civilian shelters.

Despite the dangers, the four of them pressed forward. This is what they had trained to do. This is what no one else could do. If they failed, Kamiichi would be no more; possibly tens of thousands of civilians would die, and there was no way the four young soldiers of Squad Three would let that happen. Not while they had any say in the matter.

If it were not for the electronic senses that their titans provided them, the four youths would have been blinded by the incessant snowfall. It would continue to snow well into the night; by the time that evening when the last snowflake of the day fell to the earth, the Eschatos will have retreated, Kamiichi would be safe once again, its citizens slowly returning to their normal day-to-day routines, and only one of Squad Three would be left alive.

The Bell Curve Roll (BCR): To make a BCR, roll four six-sided dice, and add them together, counting sixes as zero. This results in a random number between 0 and 20 (the average roll is exactly 10).

Task Resolution: To determine whether a character succeeds or fails at a given non-mundane task, make a BCR, add any modifiers (which represent the character’s skill at that task) and compare the result that to a target difficulty number set by the GM (which represents how difficult the task is). If the result is greater than or equal to the target difficulty number, then the character succeeded; otherwise, they failed.

Minimalist Character Design: All characters, unless otherwise specified, are assumed to have a +0 modifier to all checks and a 10 in all stats (representing average ability).

No Levels, No Experience Points: Characters begin with the abilities their concept require. For example, a character who studied kendō would be at least proficient with a shinai; one who had won kendō tournaments would have bonuses to attack rolls and defense and access to more elaborate techniques (and perhaps other abilities). Further they gain new abilities and improve existing ones by roleplaying actions that could reasonably be expected to cause that effect—the kendō practitioner trains for two hours every day to improve his skill, for example.

Escalating Requirements for Improvement: The more skill a person has in a field, the more difficult it is to improve it further. One could learn to play chess in a day; have a firm grasp of the rules in a week; be the best among their small group of peers in a month; win local championships in a year; become a grandmaster in a decade.

Broadly Defined Weapon Groups With Considerable Overlap: Weapons are grouped together according to how they are used, but there is considerable overlap between the groups. For example, a character who studies kendō typically uses a shinai, but they could use most if not all of their skill and techniques when wielding a bokken, or a live katana, a Chinese jian, a European-style arming sword, or even a straight stick. Basically, the GM should allow a player to use their abilities in as wide a variety as possible without straining credulity too much. One cannot use their skill in kendō to pass their mathematics test.

Skill in Techniques: A formalized “technique” in the Mecha Monogatari is not a single technique, but a class of similar techniques with identical mechanical usage and effect. A character can learn and have use of any number of techniques, limited only by the practical opportunities for usage.

More Powerful Techniques cost TP: Each character has a number of TP (technique points) per encounter they can spend to utilize more powerful techniques. Most techniques should cost 0 TP; the more powerful ones between 1 and 5 TP.

Second Wind Restores TP: Using the second wind ability will restore a small number of technique points (one-fourth of the maximum).

Technology Notes: The Mecha Monogatari takes place in the near future (2016), but with a significantly altered timeline. Still, most civilian technology is still available, such as inexpensive personal computers, cellphones (but not satellite phones), and portable media players. There is no World Wide Web—the world has been too fractured by the Eschatos for that—but in Japan, for example, there is a national network that serves the same purpose on a smaller scale (it has sharply limited access to other networks).

The Eschatos: Most Eschatos are unmanned and follow very simple AI routines, and are rarely a match one-on-one with a JGSDF Titan Corps pilot, i.e. they are minions. Unfortunately, they never fight one-on-one. Ten-on-one is far more common; even pilots of legendary skill can be defeated by sheer numbers. Occasionally some AI-controlled Eschatos will prove to be a challenge; sometimes, the Eschatos will have a living pilot; sometimes, the Eschatos will have an unliving pilot…

Magic: Supernatural ability—magic—exists in the world of the Mecha Monogatari, but it is subtle, stubbornly refusing to be recognizable by the methods of science. While the advanced technology of the Eschatos is sometimes indistinguishable from magic, there is a technological rationale behind it.

Pilot Training: Not all who are discovered to be synchronous end up as titan pilots. Candidates are cycled through basic titan pilot training up to three times; only eighty to ninety percent go on to be admitted to one of the four Academies. Those who wash out typically end up being labeled as “losers” for the rest of their lives…and they are the lucky ones.

Teamwork: Individual skill is good, but being able to work together with a team is considered to be a more important talent.

Roles: Any one character can serve as multiple roles, depending on their abilities and the situation at hand; there are no designated “defenders”, “strikers”, “controllers”, or “leaders”. Most titan pilot techniques will be “defender” or “striker” techniques. Air strikes can be called in, which should act as “controller” techniques. Some titan pilots have abilities that improve the abilities of their allies—“leader” techniques—and many of these pilots find their way into the higher ranks.

No Ability Scores: There are no ability scores, merely generalized abilities that function much the same. In other game systems, the modifiers and scores that characters actually use are secondary, calculated from other modifiers and scores. This will largely remove the need for having two sets of stats—one to calculate the second, the second actually for use.

The Main Defenses: Melee defense is a character’s ability to avoid getting hit by melee attacks (punches, sword swings, old women’s handbags). Ranged defense is a character’s ability to avoid getting hit by ranged attacks (arrows, gunshots, thrown rocks, snowballs). Area defense is a character’s ability to avoid attacks that target an area, rather than an individual target (grenades, volleys of covering fire); a successful area defense always forces movement of some kind, usually away from the center or source of the attack, but sometimes by merely falling prone. Will defense is a character’s ability to avoid being affected by psychological effects (such as fear, mind-controlling effects). Various secondary abilities may modify the defenses in specific circumstances (such as during a pushing or “bull rush” attack, the defender may gain a bonus to their melee defense from being unusually strong).

Personal Combat and Mecha Combat are the Same: The only differences are the scale, and the fact that if a mecha is destroyed, there is a chance the pilot may survive (if the pilot is destroyed, the mecha ceases to function).

A Character Who Can Do Everything Is Boring: Even the greatest of legends (for example, the Seven Gray Knights) had their weaknesses, fields where they possessed no talent, no defense; they became legends by overcoming their weaknesses, not by not having them. A character who is not affected by anything around them (by, for example, having multilayered persistent defenses, effectively making him invincible in combat for unlimited amounts of time) is not suitable for use as a player character. Munchkinism has no place here.

Only Roll the Dice if the Outcome is Uncertain: If the outcome of a battle is certain (ten JGSDF titans versus a single, ordinary unmanned Eschatos), do not bother playing it out round-by-round.

The Mecha Monogatari is a cooperative storytelling game with randomized task resolution, set in a world where mecha are commonplace, and alien invaders of unknown power and purpose threaten the world.

The Mecha Monogatari: Second Edition shamelessly borrows game mechanics and rules from other RPG systems. However, keeping clunky, unmanageable rules—or even well-functioning rules—simply because they are familiar is folly. Rules do not need to be familiar (even the most unfamiliar rule will become familiar with use); they need to make sense and be playable. Potentially, one such example is the initiative system used in the d20 variants; it is a fairly clear rule, it works, it gives results. However, the initiative order usually devolves into patterns that can be generated by much simpler systems.

WHO GOES FIRST?

There are multiple ways to handle initiative. The basic way is to have every actor in an engagement (enemy and ally alike) make an initiative roll for themselves, and the one with the highest result goes first, then the next highest, and so on. This is very organic, and allows those who maximize their potential for going first to gain the most benefit from that, but it involves a large amount of rolls and bookkeeping, especially on the part of the GM.

To simplify this process, the GM would make one roll for each group of enemy, rather than one roll per individual enemy, or one roll for all the enemies as one, and then utilize each individual enemy in a fairly arbitrary progression. This confers a tactical advantage to the enemy, as they can coordinate their attacks better; the players likewise would avail themselves of delaying turns so that they all act together, at which point initiative would cease to track which character’s turn it was, but rather whose side’s turn it was.

Wouldn’t it be simpler to just have one initiative roll for each side in an engagement? Whose roll should it be? If a group of four JGSDF Titan pilots have bonuses to initiative of +7, +3, +1, and +0, what number would modify the roll? The fasted to act (+7)? The slowest (+0), as everyone was waiting for them? The average (7+3+1+0=11, divided by 4 is 2.75, rounded down to 2, so it would be +2)? Whoever was the leader (if the quickest one was the leader, the slower ones would effectively get a boost; if the slowest was the leader, the faster ones would be held back)?

Does there even really need to be an “initiative” modifier? Initiative is only an advantage in the first round.

An alternate idea is simply have whichever side that initiated the encounter to have initiative, with no rolls, and then the members of that side could act in any order as they saw fit. Instead of being decided by a roll, initiative would be narrative-based. This would greatly streamline the process, but take some of the randomness out of it.

I didn’t like this rule at first, but upon considering it more, it makes better sense to me. Consider: in a battle of the JGSDF Titans versus the Eschatos, the JGSDF Titans will typically have to wait until the Eschatos make the first move. In such a situation—which will be more the norm than exception in the Mecha Monogatari—initiative is irrelevant. Whoever initiates the encounter (the Eschatos) will get to act first, even if the JGSDF Titans rolled ten times the Eschatos’ initiative roll.

An encounter would begin at the moment it was possible for one side to directly affect the other, typically the moment when one side could launch an attack at the other. Pre-battle positioning, advancing to get within range of one’s weapons—these things do not directly affect the opposing side. They would be purely narrative.

Initiative works in Dungeons & Dragons, but it quickly devolves into the patterns of simpler systems. Why not simply skip the complexity? One could argue “if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it” but the goal of building the Mecha Monogatari is not to fix what seems to be broke, but to include by design mechanics that best handle the situations most likely to occur in the game.

But it’s rather addictive.  Earlier, I managed to “retire” my first character, and begun a second.  What did I gain?  Nothing.  It’s a time-waster, but it is amusing, in its own way.

While somewhat amusing, the Tiny Adventures isn’t what I was expecting or wanting out of Wizards of the Coast. The Character Builder is worth the subscription to Dungeons & Dragons Insider by itself, but where is that character visualizer they were showing demos of last year?  Where is the virtual game table? Probably, they encountered some nontrivial problems on the programming side of things; whatever the case may be, these unfinished projects seem to on a back burner, and instead, they make this Facebook app.  Most annoying.  I more or less ignored Facebook before this—I’ve never found a need for social networking sites like this—and now I more or less ignore all of Facebook except the Tiny Adventures.

A time-waster it might be, but it certainly gets me thinking about the possibilities available in a proper game of D&D…like my as-of-yet unfinished “Dungeons Rove the Lands” mini-campaign, which is probably going to end up requiring drawing a very elaborate map, probably using MapTools, and custom-building at least a dozen different epic-level monster types.  Quite a lot of work…heh, one of the things I loved about the Fourth Edition of D&D was the fact that it is easier to custom-build monsters (just give them what they need: no less, no more), but even still, I sit down to whip something together, and I find a lot of things distracting me…

Like my Tiny Adventurer.