Paper Tigers

The scenes below occur in Part 3 of the Senex Campaign.

As I have the time to examine certain moments that occur in my online games, because the game is in text, I'm able to see things in retrospect that I would probably miss in the moment.  I might get a sense for it intuitively, but definitively enough to deconstruct those moments?  Probably not.

Below is just such a moment.  The characters are in a dark forest, at night, and they can't see anything.  Foolishly, they have not brought a light source, and have only just discovered they have no way to light a fire.  Then, I explained this:

DM: All three of you get a sudden sensation that something has approached you; it is nearby, perhaps ten or twenty feet away, and breathing regularly. But a quick scan around reveals nothing.

Josef: I drop my pack off my shoulder, and take my mace in hand, while looking around more carefully. I look specifically in the direction from which we came.

Delfig: I’m going to retreat quietly – as noiselessly as possible – away from the now-arming Josef and the noise, shaking my head.

Dark forests are scary.  Without a light, you look into the forest and see even less than what's shown, because the above contains an unnatural light source ... but I chose this picture because at night, you do get a little ambient light from the sky.  Not much.

When Josef (a cleric) senses a threat, he arms himself.  And when Delfig (a bard) becomes aware of the same threat, he gets himself away from Josef and shakes his head.  Why?

Were you and I to be in this situation, we might be overwhelmed; but remember, player characters are at least partially combat trained.  They have weapon proficiencies, so they have been trained in the use of weapons.  If you or I had a gun in this situation, or a club, or any dangerous tool, we would certainly raise it to defend ourselves.  We would not shake our heads at others doing so ~ we'd think, "Damn, that's a good idea," and we'd follow it.  The only reason we would not have protected ourselves automatically would be that we were too damn scared to move.  As well, we would NOT move away from our friends!  Our friends are our best chance of survival.  But Delfig gets away from Josef immediately.  So what's happening here?

Delfig feels safe.  He has judged the situation, he knows that he is talking to a DM, and that the DM isn't just going to kill him randomly, so there's no need to defend himself.  Josef, he thinks, is way over-reacting here ... and if whatever's out there has intelligence, they're going to take offense at Josef and Delfig doesn't want to seem aggressive; seeming aggressive, thinks Delfig, is only going to draw aggression.  So long as he keeps his hands empty, he thinks, he's fine.

Here is the actual difference between "roll-players" and "role-players."  Josef assumes he's in danger.  It's a forest, at night, in 17th century Germany, full of wolves, brigands, D&D monsters and who knows what else.  Most of these things don't care if the prey is acting aggressively or not; quite a lot of these things are damn malevolent and prepared to kill whether or not they're offended.  They don't care if you've drawn your weapon.  They only care that you're made of meat.

Delfig, however, knows there is only one thing in this forest: the Dungeon Master.

Role-playing as it has been taught in the present-gaming culture is a disease, where the structure of the story-driven campaign makes the role-player an essential element that embues the character with plot armor.  As the link says, "the rules of the world seem to bend around him.  The very fact that he's the main character protects him from death, serious wounds and generally all lasting harm," until the principles of the plot are managed and resolved.  Once this becomes known to the player ~ once the player feels certain of it ~ the player will see every apparent threat that presents itself as an integral part of the events that are to follow, no matter how they might appear.

Not the hand signal of someone about to die.

For example, if you buy a ticket for the scariest roller coaster ever, you know perfectly well that when they lock you in the seat, you are perfectly safe.  You're not going to die.  You might have your serotonin and cortisone levels boosted way higher than is normal, but unless you are already suffering from some highly irregular condition, you're going to come out unharmed at the other end.  Knowing this, you're somewhat freaked as you climb to the drop, but you're not really scared.

On the other hand, if I restrain you into a coaster that's blatantly still in construction, which you can see with your own eyes is not finished, as you climb helplessly to the drop, you really are going to be goddamn fucking scared ... pretty much out of your mind, obviously not in a good way.  Because you know you're going to die.  Actually, what you're going to be screaming all the way to the top will be, "This is a joke!  Tell me this is a joke!  Stop fucking with me man! Oh shit, please tell me this is a joke!"

A hope you'll hang onto right up until the time that the rails disappear from under the car and you realize you're in free flight.  At that point, for a second or less, you'll realize that even if this was supposed to be a joke, something has gone terribly wrong.

The question with role-playing is this: do you want your fictional character to get on the sort of roller coaster that will definitely let you out at the bottom, or are you interested in trying the option that might be a joke, or it might not?  Because that, dear friends, is the difference between "role-playing," where you're assured that every scene is meant to be there, and "roll-playing," where the dice can hit the table and yes, you're dead.  Seriously dead.

The difference IS a matter of taste.  But it is also the difference between people who consider themselves "thrill-seekers" because they ride roller coasters, and those who consider themselves "thrill-seekers" because they climb mountains with their fingertips.

God's roller coaster

Now me, I have to say neither.  But if I'm going to simulate the cortisone rush that either of these things will offer, I'm positive that I'm seeking the latter option.  I'm not interested in players who hear breathing in the bushes, in the dark, in a late medieval forest, and decide it's time to get ready for some diplomacy ~ "For heaven's sake, Josef!  Mind your manners ... we don't want to offend anybody!"

Coming back to the campaign, it happened that the player behind Josef quit immediately after this scene.  The reason given was a lack of time ... but the Josef player had been participating erratically up to this moment.  In any case, Delfig the role-player was left on his own (the other player, Kazimir, was unavailable for ten days), and so I decided to take advantage of Delfig's lack of concern, in the manner that best served the campaign.

For it happens that in the situation, Delfig was somewhat right; the entities breathing among the trees were not there to kill the party, they were there to talk.  They had been following the party for some time and the darkness was a good cover for them.  They would not have been offended at anyone drawing their weapons, however; they would have expected it, which was the reason for them remaining hidden.

I could just as easily decided that it was a good time for a night encounter with a wolf or some other creature ~ in which case Delfig would have lost precious time not pulling his weapon, which could have cost him his life.  I want to stress, therefore, that he wasn't being a "good player."  He was merely lucky that the events happened to be non-threatening.

Well, not overtly threatening.  The creatures in the wood were anything but Delfig's friends; but if you're evil, and you want something complicated from a bard, with the bard's help, you pretend to be friendly ... and if the bard already thinks that he has plot armor, well, that makes it very, very easy to seem friendly.

In the scene, one doppelganger and three skulks (nearly invisible humanoids, described in the original Deities & Demigods), are helping a few of their friends execute important members of Dachau town's ruling class, in order to put themselves in power.  This is a fairly standard science fiction plot; I think I first encountered it with 1976's Futureworld, the largely forgotten sequel to Westworld.  These creatures are constantly on the lookout for dupes ... fall guys, people to blame shit on, because if you're murdering people in alleys, its good to have a few well-meaning idiots bumbling around and drawing attention.  As well, these guys (Triskoon, Karl Ludd, Josef Mizer) are also interested in opening a gate to another plane of existence, to rain chaos on the town so they can move in.  The gate requires the blood of a bard, willingly given (stolen flat out from the Goblet of Fire), and here's Delfig, all ready to be a trusting bard.

Now, I did pull a dirty trick as a DM at this point.  Because Josef quit the game, and because I had already decided that the skulks (remember, nearly invisible) were already following the party, it made sense to just suppose that Josef had been a doppelganger from the beginning ~ as if I had said to the player, pretend to be normal and not a doppelganger, because I don't want the players to know.  Now, some might say I stepped over the line; but really, what is the difference?  I see it as verisimilitude.  Having a doppelganger as an original member of the party is perfect.  Before the campaign started, I described the players as a group of slackers who had hung out at a tavern for months ... why shouldn't a doppelganger hang out at the same tavern, get to know these guys, then accompany them as they get started adventuring?

I admit, I didn't think of the doppelganger plot at all until one of the players, Tiberius, got himself arrested, so that I needed a way out for him. Afterwards, the doppelganger idea continued to take shape in my mind as the campaign progressed.

If you remember this post, Hook, Tale and Sting, you should know already that Delfig is on the hook. He and the party earlier convinced themselves that the local merchants are evil and murderers (they're just ordinary greedy people of the 17th century) and that something ought to be done about them.  So he was ready to take the bait.  All he needed was to hear a tale.

I began with mocking him.  The creatures speak to him from out of the dark, after some build up (see the campaign rewrite for complete context):

DM: There will come the chortle of laughter from several voices around you – they are uncomfortably close, though you cannot see anything. One speaks, from somewhere in front of you.

1st Voice (npc): “Herr Kôlhupfer, you have nothing to fear from us.”

2nd Voice (npc): “We might have killed you at the farm.”

3rd Voice (npc): “It’s good that you let the Jew alone.”

Delfig: I gulp and slowly lower my arms into a non-threatening position. “I am … ahh … glad that I have pleased you enough that I’m not going to die for my mistakes. Who are you? Might I be allowed to gain shelter from the cold so that we can talk?”

For my money, the cheek here is astounding.  Meeting three, perhaps more strangers in the night, Delfig is instantly ready to believe that they mean no harm and that it's a good time to ask for favors.  There's a player who has played with soft-hearted DMs, for sure.  Thing is ... if I put myself in the mindset of a con-artist (and is there a more perfect con-artist monster in the Monster Manual than a doppelganger?), telling me what you want only gives me power.  Unless Delfig is also trying to mess with me (and he wasn't, though I've certainly messed with DMs this way as a player), he's in a lot of trouble.  As can be seen, however, he's ready to take these fellows at face value.

1st Voice: “No, we will not give you shelter. We do not rest with humans. But we will ask a question: will you continue in the employ of those snakes who seek to swallow the people of Dachau? Or will you accept our coin?”

Delfig: Who are these snakes? The merchants? And who are you?

3rd Voice: “He’s not that bright, is he?”

2nd Voice: “He thinks we mean actual snakes.”

4th Voice (npc): “And he didn’t answer the question.”

Here's a tip.  When you want to deceive your players, have the NPCs insult them.  You'll get a range of responses to these insults, for sure, but how the players respond will tell you much about what the players are thinking, and what they think you're thinking.

Look at the above, assuming we take it literally.  Right off, the 1st voice says something racist against humans; and with the very next sentence, insults the human masters of Dachau.  Then Delfig buys into it, completely unfazed by the personal, racist insult.  Whereupon he is insulted further.

We can see from Delfig's response that he's concerned he wouldn't survive a fight, so he doesn't want to start one.  He's like a kid surrounded by four bullies; when they insult the kid, the kid tries to get on the bullies side ~ and that's what Delfig's base agenda is.  Don't make this into a conflict, seek a conversation on their level, find how as much intel as possible.

He can't see them.  He doesn't know who or what they are.  He doesn't know he'd lose a fight with the four of them; he just knows he isn't going to try.  They could be two feet tall kobald children, with 1 hit point each, hiding in the dark, but he has built them up in his head and he isn't going to test his assumption.  That's why his answer is so obsequious.

Delfig: “I beg your pardons. I will answer. No, I do not wish to be a party to the merchants who would squeeze everyone dry of their wealth and then look for more. It’s the merchants who caused much of the bloodshed of recent past wars, and I have no small love for being played as a fool in a merchant’s game. I wanted to talk to Herr Meyer and find out what we’d gotten ourselves into. I count myself fortunate that Herr Meyer didn’t kill me.

“I didn’t mean actual snakes – but as I am talking to the wind and darkness, who sound as if they are opposed to the merchant, I wonder what powers the merchants may also have. As for whether I’ll accept your coin, while I am in need, I am also wary of things I cannot see, that speaks to me from the dark and asks if I will get involved in something that may leave me in the same condition as the innkeeper, with a rope around my dead neck. Before I accept any coin, I would like to know more.”

Most DMs will rate the success of role-playing upon the believability of the character's persona, the character's contribution to the overall story and the general feel of immersion the player is expected to demonstrate.  My feeling is that these are standards for an acting performance in a play or presentation, and have nothing to do with playing a game!  "Role-playing" ought to be measured by the player's ability to handle and manage the situation, overcoming the obstacles presented and providing themselves with the greatest possible number of opportunities and advantages.

On that scale, Delfig fails dismally.  He's apologizes.  He gives the enemy more information than he gets, and the information he gives is accurate, while he never considers that he's being lied to. He tells these strangers his intentions; he reveals that he's chickenhearted about disobeying the law.  In short, from the point of view of a doppelganger and his cronies, Delfig is a bitch.  Delfig is a coward.  Make him feel like a friend, and he'll eat right out of your hand.

So, the doppelganger steps out of the darkness as Josef.  Then he transforms into another acquaintance, a servant named Ells.  Then into a third person, a stranger.  He does it right in front of Delfig, as "proof" that he's being transparent with everything he says.  He's effectively saying, "See, I've revealed what I am and I've said I'm not here to harm you, trust me."  This the tale that I, the DM, want Delfig to believe.

And Delfig does.  Note his response from the campaign:  "Okay, that's just damn cool."

This is partly because, in his head, it IS the Dungeon Master selling this idea, and the Dungeon Master won't hurt him, because he has plot armor.  Right?  Yeah.  Except Delfig doesn't understand that as the DM, I'm expected to play lying, cheating, criminal, usurping, human-hating deceptive shape-changing doppelgangers accurately.  Of course, I never say this is a doppelganger.  That would be tipping my hand.  Most genre-savvy players know doppelgangers are evil (look it up, not just in the books but in German literature ~ and this campaign is in Germany).  So I don't want to name the beast, I want Delfig to make his own conclusions.

So as a DM, I pick my words carefully; Delfig is playing his character as a coward (or he is a coward as a player, it really makes no difference from my point of view or that of the doppelganger):

Josef/Ells/Other: “And now I approach you to ask you to do some small part in breaking the Merchant’s Guild in Dachau.”

Delfig: I look in astonishment as the darkness shapes into Josef, then Ells, then to the stranger in turn. “I’m sorry, Josef … or by whatever name you have for yourself. I meant no disrespect with my answers. I did not know.

“I have felt uneasy about the goings on in Dachau since I learned of the innkeeper and his wife. I did not go with my friends in service to Mizer to fulfill his wishes. I have no particular loyalty to the Merchants Guild. I live for my art.” I break off, gulp nervously, and continue. “What would you have me, a single person, do against the Guild?”

A "small part."  Small.  These words mean so much.  The Fatherland has selected you to pour this container of powder into this small hole.  It's not much.  It's just a small thing.  No big deal.

I don't point this out to show that Delfig is joyfully participating on the side of evil, but rather that evil couches its phrases into specific frames that make it possible for perfectly good people to innocently blunder into the most stupid of actions.  I didn't know that switch would cut off all the power the neighborhood and cause several helpless people do die as their AC units stopped working, I was just following orders.  I didn't know that 16-year-old girl would kill herself, I was just forwarding a tweet.  I don't know why all these black people are rioting.  I've never done anything to them.

What does Delfig emphasize as he offers to help?  That he is just one person.  That he's insignificant.  That no one should expect very much from him.  Especially considering he takes work without considering the wishes of his boss or that he has no loyalty to the town leaders.  He's innocent.  He lives for his art.

As a DM, we do best when we HEAR what the player emphasizes ... if the player is talking to someone who is good and earnestly wants what's best for the players, we can point out the flaws in the player's statements and encourage them to be steadfast, braver, more dutiful, more honorable, more of a mensch ... and when we play an NPC is who a complete rotter, we can take advantage when the player is none of those things.

Josef/Ells/Other: “You may call me Triskoon … when we are not in the company of others. In company, call me ‘Hans.’ And what I want is for you to take a journey. Not to any place in particular, except that it should be away from Dachau. If you will give me but a sample of your blood – and a single personal item – your disappearance from the town will make an excellent frame.”

This is something that Delfig can do right now, safely, and Wow!  Do we want to emphasize the safe part of this action.  What's more, once he does it, he's being asked to run away.  Seriously.  I'm asking a player who is acting like a coward to do something in the dark and then to run away after doing it.

To which Delfig seeks to get something for himself:

Delfig: I shiver in the chilling air and rub my arms. ”Forgive me, Triskoon, but the air begins to affect me poorly. I was seeking shelter in these buildings, in order to make it through the night. Could I please have some shelter before we talk further?”

Triskoon [with pity]: “Come with me.”

And, with pity and plenty of security, Triskoon takes him to a shed that he knows to be empty, which isn't his, and let's Delfig rest there and get warm.  Then he asks,

Triskoon: “If you climb down into the hay, you may pass the night more comfortably. What say you to our bargain?”

Delfig: I thank him gratefully as I rub my arms and legs to get warm. Then I look at him curiously. “A drop of blood and a personal item. You say those will serve as an excellent frame. How will my blood, my essence, and an item of mine, give you a ‘frame’ - the murders of the horses seem to have already gotten attention enough. A drop of my blood won’t be so unusual.”

Reading this, as an outsider, you ought to be a little ... disturbed by this.  Speaking for myself, I never imagined it would be this easy.  I was sure he would hem and haw; I hoped he would key on the word "frame."  This, too, is an old trick.  In the midst of a description, you use one word that isn't immediately clear (though you think you know what it means, you feel compelled to ask).  The mind will focus on that word, because it is uncertain ... and as it draws your attention, you forget the rest of what it said.  Right now, the reader will remember that I used to word "frame" near then end of the paragraph.  Without scrolling up, how much can you remember about the rest of what Triskoon said, immediately in relation to that word?

One reason to use odd words, or slang, is that it confuses the meaning for an outsider.  This puts the outsider in the position of having to ask, which enables YOU to control the conversation.  This is what Triskoon does.  He explains that the blood will be used to "frame" Johann Mizer, by making people think that Mizer killed Delfig.  See, we have the blood to prove it.  Delfig then responds,

Delfig: My eyes widen. “That is an audacious plan and would indeed be a serious accusation against the merchant, especially with the involvement of a cleric. You have some powerful friends. I must admit reluctance at having that much blood taken from me. I have little wish to find myself sickened from an imbalance of my humours. How will you keep Herr Mizer or his companions from simply carting me off to the jail or worse?”

DM: Triskoon will change shape again … and Herr Mizer takes your wineskin from you and has a pull.

Triskoon: “Why would Mizer need to be involved at all?”

This astounds Delfig (who has, once again, expressed his cowardice), though at no time does Delfig wonder why Triskoon doesn't just choose to look like Delfig and have someone who is disguised as Johann Mizer kill him.  Even if we assume Triskoon is the only shapechanger, it wouldn't be hard to dress someone in Mizer's clothes, add a little makeup and then be sure that a dozen people or so hear the fake Delfig call the fake Mizer by his name.  That seems an easier plan, and doesn't require Delfig at all ... which ought to be a clue that this isn't Triskoon's plan, that the whole thing is bunk and that what he really wants is a vial of Delfig's blood.  Which he has to get willingly.

Ah well, Delfig asks about money, they haggle, the money is promised and the exchange is made for Delfig's blood, which he takes from his own arm.  Mission accomplished.  And the fallout from that decision would drive a lot of the campaign afterwards, eventually causing Delfig to believe that his character needed to suicide in order to make amends.  No, I'm not kidding.

Conclusion

Suppose, for argument's sake, Delfig had refused to listen to any of this.  Suppose he had drawn his weapon with Josef, and then Josef had quit the campaign ... as a DM, what would I have done?

First, because it might have initiated a fight, I would have suspended the campaign those 10 days so that Kazimir would have been able to run, and Delfig wouldn't have been alone.  I only created the parley and let it go on despite Kazimir's absence because Delfig made it so clear he was no at all interested in fighting.

But suppose that after a few statements, after the insults, Delfig had changed his mind and had decided to offer a fight to the voices he couldn't see?  What if there had never been a Kazimir?  What would I have done then?

To my mind, any creature that lives by virtue of hiding or pretending to be someone else is, itself, a coward.  The skulks, likewise, depended on not being seen.  These were not bold, brave creatures who appeared and threatened Delfig; they were cowards who insulted him from the darkness.

If he had taken a bold stance, at any point in the conversation, they would have simply melted away.  After all, the doppelganger could simply become someone else; could think of a different way to get the blood of out Delfig; or gone after another bard. There was nothing to be gained by participating in a direct fight.  That would not have served the doppelganger's requirements at all.

Delfig's mistake was in thinking that I, as the DM, was telling him the story he needed to follow, just as thousands of DMs think it is their role to do, and tens of thousands of players willingly concede.  We make an endless series of adventures where the DM and the players participate in this silly charade, where there's no real conflict because the players trust the DM and the DM does not betray that trust.  As though the purpose of this game is to ensure that everything remain open and on the table.

It is interesting that the "stories" that get told in D&D have none of the uncertainties that exist in real stories.  Just as it is funny that players are not expected to demonstrate their moral courage, their insight, or their ability to survive, being asked to do little more than act as paper tigers who are allowed to roar only because they know they will not be torn to pieces.

Hook, Tale and Sting

I'd like to start by referencing events that I wrote about earlier, associated with the post, Who is Responsible.  One of the players foolishly attempted to cast an unknown spell inside a Merchant's Guild, which ended in his being taken off to prison.  Things looked certainly dire; the scene can be read on the first resource post from the Senex Campaign.

While the scene did not play out well for the player, as a DM I had no intention of executing the player for a simple mistake, which was reasonably a matter of not clearly understanding the rules.  Unless a player is deliberately obtuse, I consider it my responsibility to rebuild the situation into one that the player can rise out of ... and so I contrived a court scene that would end with the player character, Tiberius, receiving his freedom.

My perspective is that player foolishness is usually an opportunity for further events, which can set up a twist ... or, to see it another way, a sting.

In many ways, Dungeon Mastering is a confidence game.  The way in which con artists used to describe the process of fleecing their mark gives us the terms we still use in storytelling and in role-playing games.  The con's mark is given a "hook;" the hook is followed with a "tale" that baits the hook, encouraging the mark to want something so badly that they're willing to expose themselves. When the con artist takes advantage of that exposure, it is called the "sting."

For example, you're a mark; and you want to be very, very rich.  Being rich, however, is something hard to accomplish, so you're always looking for an easier way. This is what makes you a mark: your willingness to look for shortcuts.

The hook is the demonstrate that a short cut exists.  And the tale is the way that its revealed that you, if you're smart enough, and willing enough to break a few rules, can take advantage of this short cut.  And when you do try to take advantage ... I sting you.

That's what the Nigerian Prince is all about.  It's what most phishing scams are built around.  It's the tale behind Amway and most pyramid schemes.  "Do this, it's really easy, just get your friends to join, and once they get their friends to join, and so on, you'll be rich!  And in the meantime buy these products wholesale so you can make money off them, too!"

People believe because they want to believe.  Because they are desperate to believe.  Because the idea of not believing they can be rich fills them with angst and sorrow.

Role-players are excellent marks, because they have deliberately put their blinders on for the sake of enjoying the fantasy and taking risks that they wouldn't ordinarily take as real people.  They don't need much of a hook or a tale ... and though they are often doubtful, now and then they can be sweetly and beautifully stung ~ though personally, I like to do it in a manner that enables a continuing, satisfying and steadily profitable experience for the players.  This post is to explain how.

Of course, it's always possible to find some hook that can be baited for the player, but if we take a situation like Tiberius getting himself arrested, that's not necessary.  The player is already good and hooked, because the player is at the NPC's mercy.

I invented Johann Mizer carefully, on certain tried-and-true principles.  First, he had to be an important enough merchant that his word would be recognized by the Judge of the Court and be good enough to exonerate Tiberius:

Johann Mizer [known at this time only as a 'Gentleman']: “Your honor. I was present at the dinner in the Merchant’s Hall when this man’s honor was astoundingly and insultingly impugned by the action of the Hall’s concierge. The very idea that this man could stand in a public place and prepare to throw a spell in such a manner is utterly ridiculous and fully fantastical. This man is a well-known figure in the business world in Graz, in Syria, and is in the employ of the Baron von Furstenfeld, an upstanding gentleman and one of the Electoral College of the Empire, your honor. His faithfulness to the crown, to the well-being of his fellow man and to God is indisputable. I demand that compensation be made for this unforgivable attack!”

First and foremost, all of this is a lie.  The player behind Tiberius knows it is, but who facing a prison term would say so?  Obviously, if Tiberius did say so, as DM I would throw him in prison and ask him to roll a new character (for being deliberately stupid).  Secondly, the lie is ornate, excessive and full of names and details that I can advantage because my world is based on the Real Earth.  This is south Bavaria in the 17th century; Graz is an important trading city, there is an Electoral College in the Holy Roman Empire and Furstenfeld was a legitimate name of nobility.

Moreover, the details here took advantage of a background I gave to the character before the game started.  I did not create the background with this purpose; I didn't know the player was going to get thrown in jail so quickly.  But once I did know, I searched the background to find what I could exploit.  So that is Key: use the player's background, if there is one, to create a hook.
For Mizer's lie is a second hook, in that it leaves the player to wonder, "Why is this stranger lying for me?"

Connecting Tiberius to Mizer, as someone Tiberius knew once upon a time, helps create the hook we're going to tell.  The tale is this: Mizer always liked Tiberius, Mizer is rich, Mizer has power, Mizer has Tiberius' best interests at heart ~ and concordantly, the party's best interests also.  The virtue of the tale is that it helps convince the player, "1) If Mizer likes me, he'll help me. 2) If he's rich, he can help me with money.  3) If he's powerful, he can connect me with other people who can help me. 4) And he'll do all this because he likes me."

To make this work, we've got to be subtle and not heavy handed.  Mizer will help, but not now, because he's busy, he has to go talk to really important people.  Meet him tomorrow at a reputable place so we can talk about stuff.

Mizer's lack of availability sells point (3), as does the fact that the judge believed Mizer.  The importance of the people Mizer meets helps sell point (2). A public place suggests he has nothing to hide and helps sell point (1).  And 1 + 2 + 3 helps sell point (4).  We can do all of that with so little.

The story in the past that I gave was that once, Tiberius' master sold Mizer a blind horse; Tiberius was present as a stable boy.  Of course he wouldn't have dared, as a boy, speak up; and the player accepts that immediately, when Mizer says,

Johann: “You sold me a blind horse! Well, the Baron did. I think that’s the last time I did anything very foolish. Have you had a decent meal? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

The words are chosen very carefully!  He brings up the horse; he exonerates Tiberius in it, and Tiberius naturally assumes this was because Tiberius was just a stable boy.  And Mizer seems very content about it, blaming himself.  What a good guy this Mizer is!  And generous, too ... the generosity following immediately after the concept of blame/self-blame.  Look at Tiberius' response:

Tiberius: I laugh uneasily at Johann’s small joke. “My jailors treated me remarkably well. Food, water, a place to think. All well and good, considering.” Tiberius informs Johann of his accommodations at The Pig. “If I might ask, what brings you to Dachau? Besides helping an old acquaintance out of an unfortunate scrape?”

Hook taken.  Tiberius reveals his abode without hesitation.  Ask yourself as a person: how quick are you to tell near strangers where you live?  Tiberius the player trusts Mizer already.  As a DM, it is my role to figure out a way to transform that trust into a good game experience.

Johann does not tell Tiberius where he lives; he gives his point of contact as the Market Hall, also called the Merchant's Hall.  And when the party does see Mizer the next morning, he's rushed and puts off their meeting to the beer garden.  This helps sell further that Mizer is too important to be interrupted, which the party buys hook, line and sinker (also a con artist's phrase - the "line" is another name for the tale and the "sinker" is another name for the sting).

Johann and I, the DM, are playing the same game.  I've fashioned Johann as a con artist to play off the vulnerability of Tiberius' arrest.  But the con I'm playing here as DM is not to take the player's money; it is not even to put the players into trouble.  Let's ask ourselves: what does Johann Mizer know about the players?

Well, he's heard what happened at the Market Hall with Tiberius, so he knows Tiberius is a spellcaster.  He talks to the guards and they tell him how the spellcaster came in with another man, who tried to ask about hiring mercenaries: Josef.  Mizer asks around and figures out that people have seen them both in the company of a very extroverted bard, who stays at The Pig ... and learns about the other two, Kazimir and Anshelm, through that connection.  He learns this group don't have jobs, they've been able to pay their way up until now, they don't seem to respect authority very much and they are constantly asking people about some sort of adventure they'd like to be on.  It's pretty much exhausting how often this group harasses others on that point.

This is how I want to think as a DM.  NOT about what I know about the party, but what an NPC knows ... from the way the party acts.  Parties tend to think they move through a world like ghosts; that no one is watching them on an everyday basis.  But that's not how it would be, right?  Player characters, with their armor, their cavalier attitude, their tendency to wander about without giving a care about things like responsibility, working, being concerned about others and so on, must leave a pretty large footprint as they wander around.  It's a good thing to remember.

So Johann thinks, "I'll give them an adventure."  And does.  But when he meets the party at the beer garden, he is careful not to say so directly:

DM: Mizer is there; he happily greets each one of you; introductions are made, and Mizer pleasantly insists that he buy the first round. The day did not begin too well for him; but an arrangement has been made and a silversmith is to be ousted from his rented property a few miles out of town, so that it will be put under Mizer’s ownership.

Anshelm: “This silversmith ... what’d he do?” I inquire after a moment, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

Johann: “Oh nothing, I suppose. But it’s not his land, is it? I might have a look at his books, see if he’s worth having as a tenant ... but I’m thinking I’d like to turn the land over to cattle. There might be some trouble, depending on what sort of man he turns out to be - but I’ll send a group of hooligans if I must.”

Johann is generous again, he's apparently forthcoming as he talks about his "troubles" ... and he starts the ball rolling by inserting two words into his story: the word "silver" and the word "arrangement."

See?  Everything is absolutely legal, though the players wouldn't recognize legal if the face-planted into it (they don't care anyway, they only care that an illegality doesn't pursue them).  The key word is silver ... which, though not a single player makes a comment on the word for the rest of the adventure, I know as a DM that it hasn't been forgotten.

Anshelm takes the bait with his question ... and then shows himself to me that he's eager by telling me he's not eager.  A real Johann would identify the exact same message by the mere fact of Anshelm's question, picked out of everything else Johann says, accompanied by body language and the like.

In How to Run, I talked about how a magician guesses your card by holding the cards shown to you in a specific way that makes you pick the card the magician wants.  We think we're using our brains, that we're exercising our freedom of action ~ but the magician knows better.  The magician knows we're being manipulated.

Here is a real example of my doing that.  I want the player to ask the question that lets Johann answer with more information; the RIGHT information.  "Oh, I have this problem, I'm sure some bully boys can solve it."

Johann knows he's talking to bully boys.  The players also know they're bully boys ... but they think, somehow, that because Johann is a stranger, he doesn't already know this.  They assume that I, as DM, know it ... but surely, I'm playing Johann here, so I'm not acting on that information.

It is a weird sort of double-bluff, and to play it well takes practice and an awareness that this is what you're doing.  You're giving the NPC the information they're entitled to have; you're reasoning with yourself how the NPC knows it (in a way that you know you could explain the legitimacy of it if you had to) and you're giving the TALE to the players so they'll walk into the sting:

Delfig [to Johann]: “Why would there be trouble?” I ask rather innocently.

Johann [choosing to answer Anshelm]: “Oh, these country bumpkins, they think they have rights because they pay their money. They never understand that these shacks and flimsy waterwheels they slap together hardly substitute as privileges of land.”

Anshelm: I lean forward. “Yes, the folk ‘round these parts seem the petulant type. Have you had trouble before?”

See?  They haven't got the job yet and already I'm explaining how easy it will be.  It's a total lie. When the players get to the Meyer's homestead at the end of this tale, it is far from a "shack" and a "flimsy wheel."  It is a monument to hard work and maintenance.  But the players don't pick up on this even when they're there.  In fact, until they actually find that Herr Meyer is prepared to fight them, they suppose he's absolutely a country bumpkin, just as Johann says.  So the tale was set deep in their heads; wasn't even that hard.

So the players try to sell themselves to Johann, and he asks if they've tried their hand at collections; and the players make the connection and accept the job, and there we are: the players are off on an adventure to throw someone they don't know out of their house: for 25 g.p. up front and 100 g.p. when they do the job.  Big whup.  But the party is sure, like all parties are, that this is just the beginning of their association with Johann Mizer.

Very well.  Onto the sting.

They're taken out to the Meyer house and mill, five miles west of Dachau.  Before they see the house, or learn anything about it, they have a big conflab about what to do and how to do it, and how many weapons they'll take and armor and equipment and on and on.  I'm never clear about these scenes; me, I'd walk up to the house, explain to Meyer what I've been told, assure him if he doesn't leave that I'll be back with more people and that is a promise.

This is what I expected from the party.  This is what Johann expected.  He didn't say, "Do you want a job threatening a man and his family.  He said, "I might have a look at his books, see if he's worth having as a tenant ..." That doesn't sound very threatening.  But he also says right after, "I'll send a group of hooligans if I must."

Players will convince themselves of the most absurd agendas, even when the original suggestion is written in text.  It is worse when everything around the table is spoken.  One of the players at the Meyer Homestead suggested burning the house down.  We should ask ourselves: if Johann were to see this immaculate mill and farmhouse, would he want them burned down?

Johann wants to scare the silversmith.  That's all.  He doesn't actually own the property (though he'd like to).  He isn't known by the name "Johann Meyer" to the silversmith.  The party learns both these things ... as they realize they never were given written proof of their right to do anything at all.  In fact, the party bumbles around like a bunch of buffoons as they slowly get it into their heads that, for whatever reason, Johann is playing them for fools.

That's a sting.  And the party's reaction was priceless.  They weren't hurt at all, not really, but it certainly buried them in the situation and they certainly came out of it with their faces red.

But that was supposed to be another sting ... which, to be honest, I don't remember if I ever got to play in the campaign or not.  It's a major reason why I've decided to rewrite the campaign out; I've forgotten more about what happened than I remember.

When the players get back to Dachau, they find out very quickly, by overhearing two guards, that Johann Mizer is dead.  Which throws the party for a loop.

What they didn't realize at the time was that the party had never met Johann Mizer.  Instead, they had met a doppleganger pretending to be Johann Mizer.  And now, the guards were talking about the REAL Johann Mizer, not the fake one the party had met.  That is why Herr Meyer at the mill in the country had never heard of Mizer.  And it was why the party had been sent there. The dopplegangers knew about the farm; they knew about the vein of silver under the mill, and the hidden mine the players never discovered, and the potential for funding themselves in order to go on looking like rich merchants, while killing real merchants ... and ordering the death of innocent innkeepers.  They knew about it as something they'd learned while being dopplegangers.

But, sadly, none of that came out until much, much later.  And a large part of it never came out.  Mostly, in this case, because the party could not get its shit together; and partly because I played the hand much too large later in the mystery (though that was to try to get the party galvanized, which proved near impossible, as they continued to bumble around like buffoons), and partly because it was played online and the players lost the thread of what was happening.

It was supposed to be a really great sting; at the very least, it was a good hook and tale.