Non-narrative Characters

Over the past few years, narrative board games have been getting better and better. With representatives like Forgotten Waters, Sleeping Gods, and Destinies, more attention has been paid to the quality of character arcs (or simply interesting character descriptions) in games. The problem with stopping the discussion at narrative games is that most board games cannot rely on narrative tools to help shape characters (and certainly narrative games also use non-narrative tools as well). So, how do we show characterization in non-narrative games?

First, we need to recognize that a game character only exists for the duration of the game. Every instantiation of that character outside of gameplay is merely additional lore that can either support and flesh out a character or contradict what is revealed during gameplay (which is a bad thing). The game is the window through which we experience the character's world. What we know about the game is what we know about the character. It also follows that the characters we create for a world should feel like they are a part of that world. 

As I have written several times before, character goals (what a character desires most) should align with their win condition. Characters may have secondary goals, values, or desires, but characters must be driven by their win conditions to be believable. They should have a purpose in life that closely ties to the 'why' of gameplay. In other words, both the player and the character should be invested in the outcome of the game. 

A character's powers/unique mechanics denote their values. You only get better at building things by spending a lot of time building things (take it from me, a theatrical carpenter), therefore a character who is better than average at building must value their role in society as a builder. (Most likely, that is. Unless you indicate otherwise, your audience will generally assume a character performs an action because they choose to. Board games are, after all, largely about choices.) Since all we know about a character is what they do in a game, we assume what they do must be important to them or to the society they live in. How someone solves a problem says a lot about their worldview, which is why character mechanics are so foundational to a character's values. 

Rules systems beyond individual powers indicate cultural norms. If a thematic rule is not rationalized by physics we can assume the rule exists because of the culture within the game world. Scoring that doesn't allow a player to win by more than two points might indicate a culture steeped in notions of honor and fair play. A scoring system that only allows a player to win if they are ahead by more than two points might indicate a culture that places emphasis on merit and achievement. A theme will always feel pasted on if the core system does not largely resemble the world it represents. My game, Deadly Dowagers, uses rules restrictions to represent the restrictive nature of Victorian society, especially for women. 

Characters exist within the cultural norms of the rules and respond to them. Characters might be trying to be the best within their cultural system, or they might fight against it. Factions are the result of conflicting cultural norms. Factions are more believable if their values and beliefs are in conflict with another faction. Values and beliefs, of course, are expressed by their unique faction mechanics. Root displays this concept beautifully. You don't need to read the lore for Root to understand the values and friction of the factions, all of that is present in the mechanics. The Eyrie places value on tradition which is expressed through a programming mechanic. (Programming, like tradition, is slow to change in the face of new information.) Their isolation to one spot on the board shows how their previous power has waned and contracted. Their history and values shine through during set up and rules explanation, only to be reinforced by gameplay. Root also displays a shining example of faction friction with the Cats and the Alliance. You only need to glance from the sawmills to the faction named the Woodland Alliance to see the conflict brewing. The facts that the sawmills are being built by cats and that the Alliance are small prey creatures only underscores the conflict. So we end up with a faction that prizes industry above the homes and lives of others, a faction bound by tradition, a faction inherently weaker that must rely on coalition building, and a character who works outside of the rule of law, much the same way he operates outside the lines on the map. Any lore only exists to explicitly state and underscore what is shown in gameplay. 

So, what is the purpose of lore, other than clearly stating what the mechanics may only have implied? Any lore that isn't directly related to the action of the game exists to establish the atmosphere of the world. Setting the tone thematically adds texture to your world but also allows you to prime your players for a certain experience. A jokey tone implies a different gameplay experience than a chilling tone. So, You've Been Eaten has some of the best intro fluff I've come across in that it establishes the world of the game that exists during gameplay, sets the tone of a light, not-so-serious game, and is funny in its own right. Fluff that doesn't underscore the events of the game or set the mood will instead distract from and muddy the gameplay experience. Which isn't to say you can't make jokes, but they need to be jokes that make sense in the universe of the game. 

Creating rich characters in board games will never look the same as it does in novels or movies. That doesn't mean, however, that we shouldn't be creating compelling characters in our games. But the primary way we do that is by world-building through our mechanics, not apart from them. The game is the world. The actions are the character. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.