GMing in the Theatre of the Mind

The Carnival of Lights moved down the main street of Abylona, wending its way from the Shambles all the way down to the Catedral Enfant. A sea of torches like stars flowing downstream accompanied the jesters and jugglers and fools. In amongst them with concentrated faces were the Illusionists who, in time with the music and to much cheering from the crowd, raised wand and stave and grimoire and forth from them sprang etched figures of dancing light.

Dogs and cats and men, knights and princesses in tall towers and beasts most fanciful. Those who had ranged further on their tall schooners called out at the sight of baleful red Tigron from the jungles, of Naga and monsters even they could not name, that danced wickedly before more noble lights cut them down to much applause and raised voice.

A smile crept across the face of the Smoke Mage, sat high on the basilica of the Catedral Enfant. He set down his eye glass on the cloth spread beside him and brought the lantern close. With a swift move he grasped the bound leather book and quill from where they stood at rest and, eyes glittering, made record of the scene.

When I run games I run them in the Theatre of the Mind. Well, actually I run them in my Dining Room, which sounds far less impressive. The Theatre of the Mind is a rather fancy way of saying imagination, in which we paint a picture with words and try to transport our players into dank dungeons, or through market towns over which hangs the scent of rain and freshly baked bread, or through the cold of the Coldember Pass, with it’s driving wind and hail.

Theatre of the Mind turns games from tactical battles of squares and movement into stories told around a table, or over a video chat or even post by post on a forum. Like any other tool it is not for everyone, or even the right one for every situation, but it’s one I’d encourage every GM to try at least once.

If nothing else the theatre of the mind is good for honing the art of description, informed by a good diet of literature and media. Reading teaches us how to use words to evoke sensation, and how to think about and describe more than just what we see. Theatre teaches us how to compose scenes and cinema teaches us how to cut them at the right moment to, to create a tempo that speeds combat and slows for description. Finally play itself teaches us how to make room for the players in this, to give them space to take the camera and make the scene their own.

Bringing all of this together is quite the challenge and one nobody would claim to be perfect at, however after some trial and error I’ve come up with a few tips that can help you navigate the Theatre of the Mind to stop your players from getting lost and to help you make your descriptions memorable and punchy.*

Where Am I?

There is a spark out of nothingness, a sharp clack that chases itself around the darkness. Another and again. Then the dawn in miniature, illuminating the scrap of rope and timber it clings to. The amber light wavers and there is a sharp intake of breath then a muttered curse. You watch as the light rises into the air and describes the face of your companion, her features half falling away into shadow.

“Well that was exciting.” She says sarcastically. “Now where are we?”

The easiest and fairest criticism of the Theatre of the Mind as a form of play is the ease with which we can become lost in as we try to keep track of 4-6 characters and as many NPCs and monsters. This is a lot of brain work and as anyone who knows me well will confirm brain work is not something I excel at, doubly so once monsters start taking damage.

There are a couple of tricks that make this more manageable.

The first is to use reference points, that is points of interest that can commonly be referred to, and are striking enough that players (and you) will remember them. In a courtyard there may be a statue, for example, that faces north, stone sword held in it’s grip. Using this reference point we can give the position of the characters relative to the statue, or at least defined by their proximity to it.

We can also express their relative position using their own perspective, as usually people cannot tell if they’re facing north or west at a glance. However what they will be able to tell is if the statue is pointing left (if they look at it from the west) or right (if they look at it from the east) which helps communicate position without relying on immersion breaking descriptions.

Similarly to this point when designing spaces might I advise making them asymmetrical, in terms of trappings if not in terms of actual shape. One of the easiest ways for players to get lost in your description is to put them in a grand hall that has two blank walls and two walls festooned with the same banner. If the characters only pass down the hall one way, or have a clear progression in mind this might not prove a problem.

However if they have to fight, and if the fight becomes a swirling melee where they need to change position, they can lose track of where they came from, where they’re going and the relative positions of all their opponents. This is something you can, of course, fix on the fly, but asking the question breaks the flow of play, and as you will see this is something I try to avoid, especially in combat.

Boots on the Ground

You dash across the chamber, one wall stacked high with shelves, the other with windows that look out over the steadily falling snow. There are voices out in the hallway and before you is the mantle, scuff marks on the wall, the fire in the hearth giving off no heat.

Part of this flow, as I have already mentioned, is maintaining immersion. What I mean by this is keeping the players in the moment, holding their attention and giving them reason to be invested in the goings on of the scene. Sometimes you can’t help but break to discuss mechanics, but otherwise trying to keep them on the shoulder of their characters can prove very rewarding.

Key to this I’ve found is being able to put yourself in the character’s shoes, describing things from their perspective. This feels like an obvious thing to say but when describing a room it’s very easy to tell the player what everyone can see rather than just what they can. Perhaps a ghoul is hiding around a bookcase and the ranger can see it but the paladin can’t, even if the Paladin has been listening to the Ranger’s information, when you describe them try to avoid giving them any information they couldn’t glean themselves.

The second component is to control the amount of information that you give characters.

As a little exercise consider how much information you take in just as you’re walking around. What do you see as it passes? People? Signs? Architecture? What stands out to you as you make your way around? Characters can be considered, unless specifically deficient in the area, to be more attentive than the people who play them, and are guided by the GM.

As such we can often dispense with a great deal of detail and focus only on what is important. In this regard I’d avoid giving anything more than a cursory description of anything the characters can’t really interact with. They don’t need to know the design of the doors they’re running past in a corridor, or the colour of the flowers in the tree they jump to. Strip out information unless they ask for it or if it’s something you want them to focus on, like the statue that opens the secret passageway for example.

If you’re really concerned about your party burying the lede a handy trick is to order the information that you give them when you describe something. In the example above you might give a cursory explanation of the layout of the room and finish with the statue, going a little deeper on the details to subtly hint that there’s something more interesting to this particular item. The important part though is to make sure it is the last thing you mention, as such it will lead players actions and, hopefully, set them on the correct path.

I describe this technique as ‘funneling’ and it’s one to deploy carefully. Nobody likes to be railroaded, ‘funneling’ is an attempt to provide an obvious route to a sensible course of action that players can latch on to. In my experience this helps inexperienced or less confident players when they struggle with what decision to make, but ensures experienced players can still go their own way.

Imminent Threat

Immediately the bandit is upon you, blade glinting in the dark. They jab forwards but you duck his blow, dropping your shoulder into their gut. They stagger and you regain your footing, readying your blade as you see their friend circle behind you. What do you do?

Which leads us to combat.

In truth these ideas could be used for any contest, but there is something unique about the way combat threatens characters and conversely combat is one of the areas that is worst for breaking character immersion. Many a combat I’ve run has ground down to dice rolls and arithmetic rather than bold life-or-death decisions, with players drifting off at the margins and then not knowing what’s going on when their turn rolls around.

I wanted something more exciting, more heroic, something that flowed from person to person like an ensemble movie. The answer was lurking in one of the best examples of this in recent years; The Avengers.

During the final climactic battle in New York we see each Avenger in turn being attacked, fighting back, having a moment of singular heroism etc etc. Now this is something that is a little difficult to guarantee in a game that is, at least in part, based on random chance, but there is one lesson I learned along the way.

Keep your characters in motion.

Much like a montage when we join characters in an ensemble fight in an action movie they’re never just stood on their mark waiting their turn. Often they’re already fighting on some basic level, fending off enemies, ducking attacks, sidestepping lunges or clashing blades.

This creates the impression of a much bigger fight, one that jumps between the characters to catch the moments where they do something cool, which either they can describe or you can step in to help them with.

As with other situations you can get some great immersion out of funneling, describing the most immediate threats to the character and backgrounding the rest of the combat unless they choose to spend their focus somewhere else. You can guide them to deal with these threats first by describing them warding away this enemy’s blows, the idea being to make them feel under pressure, immediate threat, even when mechanically the enemy isn’t doing anything.

Just remember that when guiding them you want to make sure they still feel like they have their full range of options, never punish them for deciding to take on a threat other than the one you put in front of them.

What you’re trying to do with these methods is to create a brisk tempo, to make combat feel faster and more immediate than exploration or roleplay. To this end if you’re comfortable with your descriptions, start shortening them, using more direct, less flowery language. This is an old writer’s trick, and one that I’ve found effective at subtly getting over the immediate brutality of combat.

If there is one drawback to this method it’s that it can be very high impact on you as a GM. Combat is already often a mass of mechanics, initiative scores, ongoing effects etc etc, and it can easily become overwhelming when you start labouring yourself with finding a new way to describe somebody swinging their sword for the fourteenth time.

Just remember that if it stops being fun for you, you can drop it at any time. Don’t forget that even as a GM you are a there to have fun, and if it stops being fun then it’s time to-

Cut!

I’m genuinely surprised at the number of RPGs I’ve played that don’t seem to have this simple rule, maybe because we don’t think it should need to be said, but here we go anyway:

If it stops being fun, end the scene.

This goes for you and the players. Choose the resolution that makes the most sense and just end it. One side completes their objective, one side has to make a compromise, the bit part NPCs and monsters slink off, or escape, or are cut down by the victorious forces.

Sometimes you might decide to do this when combat starts to drag, when the players don’t have what they need to succeed, or simply when they’re tired, or stressed or just not enjoying themselves. There’s a difference between challenge to be overcome and frustration to be endured.

As a GM if you can tell the difference you can ‘edit’ down encounters, shaving off the pieces that don’t work for your party on the fly. Sometimes that’s going to mess up the difficulty; enemies fleeing when they might otherwise have fought to the death, but if it’s going to leave your players frustrated they’ll quickly become distracted and you’ll be left fighting to get them back ‘in the zone’.

The best outcome is to move on from scenes your players aren't enjoying. If this means cutting something you were looking forward to, put it back in your campaign binder and find a way to put it back in later.

That’s A Wrap

Hopefully this has given you a few ideas how you can make your in game descriptions a little more dramatic, and make the Theatre of the Mind work for you and your players. The key here is to find a balance between conveying consistent information and making the scene exciting by maintaining tempo. If you can find a balance that suits you and your group then I’m sure you’ll find a more dramatic style can be very rewarding.

I hope this article has given you a few ideas for you to try with your group, and if you have any methods or tricks that you have found work in your games please do let us know it the comments below!

Good hunting GMs!

*Disclaimer: It shouldn’t really need saying that any advice given in this article is based on my very subjective opinion of what I like to run and what conventions and narrative tricks my players are prepared to indulge. If you find something you want to use here then by all means take it. If you find yourself disagreeing with me, feel free to voice that and by all means please do tell me your own method of running games, I’d honestly love to hear them.