RPG Errata: Sellswords, and Bargaining
Sellswords, by Pagentry Games, is, quote: a tabletop roleplaying game about the sorrows of war and those who sow them. It’s medieval in its trappings, though magic and monsters are not in the expected setting. Instead, the world is plagued with war, banditry, and politics. It’s a world filled with the worst excesses of power-hungry warlords draped in religious finery and exotic furs.
The PCs play as mercenaries, masters of brutality and flexible morality, who will do anything and serve anyone for the right price. Perhaps they will do horrific things for the right reasons, or be righteous for the wrong reasons, but only one thing is true: they serve only themselves, their coin, and Lady Fortune.
Sellswords is a diceless game, and rather than concoct an elaborate method of juggling points to pay for results, like Noblis or the Four Points System, Sellswords has a far more elegant system for deciding what happens: GM fiat.
That’s right, the PCs explain what they do, and the GM, under the name Lady Fortune, describes what happens. Whenever a PC tries to do something Lady Fortune thinks is interesting, they give them a fortune: Strength, Temperance, Justice, or Death. What these fortunes amount to are a simple “Yes and”, “Yes but”, “No but”, and “No and” result. If a sellsword tries to sneak into a castle, a Temperance fortune might see them hidden but with the guards alerted. A Justice fortune could mean the PC is stuck outside, but finds the secret exit through which a noble might escape. It’s all narrative.
Along with this, each fortune has a coin “cost.” If Lady Fortune gives you Justice, she must also give you a coin. Two coins for Death, and she must take a coin for Strength. PCs start without any coin, so they must fail before succeeding.
Why the coins? Because you can bid for better fortune. Once Lady Fortune has given you a bargain, you can Haggle. Haggling involves both the PC and Lady Fortune secretly bidding a number of their coins. Whoever bids the most pushes the bargain up or down on the ladder of outcomes. The other party gets all the coins.
It’s a fascinating mechanic: on the one hand, it’s still strictly deterministic, but on the other it’s every bit a gamble. Positive outcomes are bid and risked for, in an ebb and flow of coins. The story is tugged back and forth as the players decide where and when to gamble their coins. There are a limited number of coins — four per player — so there is a natural tide of successes and failures, all centered around who decides how good or bad things get for the PCs.
The one other option a PC has is Folding; making Lady Fortune’s bargain a worse one to get more coins. Perhaps you don’t want to spend a coin for a Strength fortune, so you take a Temperance instead, or even Justice if you want a coin.
It’s a fairly simple system, elegant in its depth and simplicity: but I’d like to discuss how the model represented by bargains, coins, and folding in Sellswords is, in fact, in every RPG.
Imagine your character wants to climb a wall. The GM thinks for a moment and says: “Okay, roll versus 15.”
“15?” You say. “That’s really difficult for a stone wall, isn’t it? Most stone walls should be more like a 10, at worst. Is it just that tall?”
“No,” the GM waves their hand noncommittally. “This wall is really wet from the rain, there’s slippery lichen, erosion has smoothed it out a bit…”
“Okay, okay,” you admit that all makes sense…but… “I want to look for a spot that’s easier to climb. Like 5 points easier.”
The GM, being a clever and engaging sort, thinks for a moment and says “Sure, you can do that. That’ll take an extra turn, though, and that angry mob is getting closer…”
In non-deterministic games, the difficulty of an action dictates the probability of success. Difficulty is usually decided by GM Fiat, based on the situation.
Since given circumstances affect situations, it stands to reason that player-actions can adjust said circumstances. A good GM will be willing and able to bargain, raising or lowering difficulties based on character choices. It could be as simple as spending time to look for the best place to climb, or it could be “you can pick the lock in half the time, but your lockpick will break as a result.” It could be “You can push more magic into the spell, but it’ll cost you some hit-points.” Perhaps “you can convince the King to lend you some guardsfolk, but then he’ll expect an extra 10,000 gold on top of his share of the profits,” or “he’ll punish you if any of them die,” or even “you’ll be a representative of the King, and the rebellion might start targeting you if they think you’re causing too much trouble…”
When I wrote previously about narrative conflict, I suggested that allowing players to offer their own sacrifices was a way of improving narrative- and player-agency in the game. When talking about Economies, I described how much of tactical and strategic RPG game mechanics is related to choosing when to sacrifice what, and how much. If most of the art of RPGs is about this give-and-take, the concept of Haggling is baked in.
Now, the player’s interaction with the game-space isn’t just suggesting actions and rolling dice; it’s a discussion about how balance advancing the story and maintaining effectiveness. It’s a question of how much the player or character is willing to give up to overcome the next obstacle. It encourages the game to become a conversation, rather than a lecture.
Old-timers and adherents of the old-school Rule Zero will say “this is a travesty! The GM is arbiter of the world and master of the game, natch. You can argue all you want, but the GM chooses how difficult a task is, and that is that.”
Okay, but there’s a lot of arbitrary judgment in picking difficulty levels. Why can’t players offer up sacrifices and assets to make difficult tasks easier? “I really need to get over this wall so I don’t get eaten by zombies…I’ll go so fast that my money-pouch tears open and I lose all my money.”
But what if the GM doesn’t want you to get over the wall? What if, for reasons of narrative, balance, or preparedness, the GM wants the wall to be difficult to climb, so the players decide to look for the gate, or stand and fight?
Then why roll at all? Some people bristle at the idea that “Failure is Boring.” I think that’s because most people think it translates into “Uncertainty is Boring.” What Failure is Boring really means is that when a group of players spend time and energy on a plan, to have the GM roll a die and say “Nope, try again” is poor game design.
This is where “Fail Forward” comes from. As a statement of purpose, it merely says that whenever PCs fail at a task, they should never find themselves back on their heels. Failures should propel action just as much as successes, and PCs should never have to make the same roll twice. Failure when climbing a wall should mean you get spotted by the guards, not that you fall on your butt and have to try again. Failure to pick a lock should mean alarms go off, not that the thief has to try again. Failure in deciphering a magic scroll should mean that the party’s only option is to travel to the dark marshes to meet with the Mad Magi who knows the language, not that the scholar needs to try again tomorrow.
If the GM is using difficulty to shape player behavior, why give them the small chance of a problematic success draped in more likely boring failure? If there is a situation where Haggling the roll isn’t suitable, then it’s likely the roll itself isn’t necessary.
Cost is important in any game. When discussing economies, assets, Interesting Choices, and cost-benefit analyses, cost is…well, it’s half the analysis. Haggling is allowing the Devil’s Bargain mechanic from Blades in the Dark to be player-guided. Lots of games urge GMs to offer bargains like this — “I’ll make it easier, but it’ll cost you…” — and as we’ve explored earlier, there is a lot of mileage one can get out of allowing the rest of the table take part in otherwise GM-exclusive duties.
At any rate, I think it’s worth an inclusion. Next time you’re sitting at the table, give it a try and see how it plays.