A couple of years ago, as my first "public" discussion of weasel gaming, I was invited to talk about weasel gaming with a number of people on the GEnie ® bulletin board. Given that my focus for this column was to be board games, naturally it struck me as significant that these gamers came to the discussion assuming that I would be writing about weasel role–players. Even months later, after several columns were in print — each about board games — attendees of the Weasel Games seminar at GEN CON ® game fair steered the conversation to the subject of weasels in role–playing. Now, I've never really been one for caving into peer pressure, but neither do I greatly admire the carp for swimming up rapids to spawn. For the next few months then, at least, let me discuss weasel play in RPGs.

Natural Selection in Action

When faced with a frustratingly troublesome individual — such as a condescending waiter, or a motorist with a Napoleon complex — my last boss used to say, "Most problems in Nature are self–correcting." That thought has consoled me through a considerable number of trying events over the years, from run–ins with mind–numbingly literal bureaucrats, to conversations with the occasional swell–headed "pro" who seemed to view fans as a lower form of life suited only for giving him worship. It has gotten me through some tense role–playing sessions with some real weasels, as well, I have to admit.

Most of us have played a role–playing adventure or two with an individual who just didn't seem to get the point that this is a group activity. You know the type: a person who apparently believes that everyone else is there for his or her personal enjoyment. And that enjoyment typically consists of causing the most havoc possible, making life a nightmare for the other players in general, and the game master in particular.

Hoisted on His Own Petard

I recall, for example, an otherwise wonderful friend who decided — secretly, of course — that his character in our Space: 1889 campaign would be an anarchist. On our first flight in an ether flyer, the character carried a bomb aboard, hidden in a roast chicken among our provisions, and left it to explode near the ship's tail.

There we were, in hot pursuit of an enemy of the British Empire, when suddenly the tail of the ship disappeared in a thunderous blast of shrapnel and smoke, and we went plummeting to the ground. The only thing that made this otherwise frustratingly unexpected event satisfying was that all of us survived the crash, except for the anarchist.

During the course of the adventure, the rest of us had all been puzzled at his frenzied behavior. It began with his sudden attempt to get into the ship's cabin — thwarted by my character, a reformed criminal turned personal servant, who wouldn't let anyone in there with the pilot, his master. A bit later, when we crippled the "villain's ship" (which turned out to be a decoy), and grappled it, the anarchist "bravely" led the charge onto its deck — only to discover that it was burning too badly to remain in the air, and we would have to cut it loose. There followed a desperate attempt on his part to clamber back up one of the grappling ropes (he was no great shakes as a climber), cut short when he began laughing maniacally and just let go of the rope, plunging to his death. The bomb exploded bare seconds later, beside the doorway where his grappling line had been moored.

In retrospect, we realized that the character's actions had all been designed to get him away from his own bomb. That each attempt was thwarted had a satisfying sense of irony, casting his performance as a comedy of errors. But it was still a self–absorbed manner of playing, and we didn't invite that player to continue with the campaign.

Some Never Learn

An old issue of the Different Worlds magazine had a one–panel cartoon in which a GM tells a group of players something to the effect of, "You've been crawling across the desert for days now. Your food is gone. Your water is gone. You've long since abandoned your armor and weapons. Suddenly, a score of lizard men in mail leap up from under the sand and level pikes at you, shouting 'Surrender or Die!' What do you do?" And one of the players cries, "I kick sand in their faces!" while the others gape at him in stunned disbelief.

I knew such a fellow. Near the beginning of one campaign, while we all still had fledgling characters, his PC spit on the boot of a mounted captain leading a dozen mounted guards, all because the captain was curt in asking us what we were doing on the King's road. After the guards horse–whipped the PC into unconsciousness, the rest of our characters all apologized to the captain profusely -- hoping not to be damned by association -- and promised to teach their friend some manners.

But as the campaign went on, he continued to offend nearly every NPC we met, and antagonized the rest of us as well. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, one of us challenged him to a duel and — despite all mathematical probability — was killed. Two more PCs quickly followed suit, in both challenge and death, with the unruly player gloating at his luck. Disgusted, the GM had the character banished to the wastelands and ended the campaign, never to run another. Of course, the rest of us made a point of not inviting the player to any of our later campaigns.

What Were They Thinking?

The worst case of this sort of weaseling I've ever hear of involves a group of players who, when the D&D ® game first came out, would roll up new characters, adventure through a dungeon, return to the surface, then fight to the death over who got to take all the treasure. The next week, all those whose characters had died would roll up new ones to go along with the "experienced" PC, battle through a dungeon, return to the surface, and again fight to the death for all the treasure — making sure to gang up on last week's survivor first, to do away with his experience advantage. The end result was that the group adventured week after week, with no one ever getting beyond second level of experience.

Wow. What fun.

Obviously, these are all examples of how not to weasel in RPGs. But I believe there are ways to weasel that can actually enhance role–playing sessions. That's the topic for the next few months' columns.

We're pleased to anounce that Mr. Weasel himself will be assisting Traveller's rebirth! For more information, check out
Industry News: The Re-Birth of Traveller!

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