Attributes as Saving Throws

In 2009, I posted an article in Fudgerylog—reposted here in 2014—advocating the "Separation Between Attributes and Skills" that is the standard procedure for Fudge. I continue to hold this opinion, but I thought it might be made more palatable to skeptics if attributes were described in a different way as saving throws (inspired by Steffan O'Sullivan's explanation for one of the three things he uses attributes for in his "Recent Thoughts on Fudge"). Attributes represent your ability to avoid, resist, survive, and withstand anything deleterious. They are your resistance rolls, survival rolls, morale rolls, health rolls, and saving throws. They are your last defense when skills cannot save you, for they are not skills themselves, but characteristics inherent to you. Your skills describe your competence; your attributes describe your essence.

They can save you.

Perhaps they can save us all.

Seriously, though, I think it helps the mind adjust to the Fudge concept of attributes by thinking of them as holistic saving throws instead of the soil in which skill trees are grown.

Fudge Is Not Rocket Surgery

Honestly, I do not understand why some people find Fudge action resolution rules so difficult to comprehend and/or accept. It's the essence of simplicity. You have a trait ranked from Terrible to Superb. You have a difficulty ranked from Terrible to Superb. You roll your Fudge dice. The result of the roll increases your trait level, decreases your trait level, or leaves it unmodified. If the trait level after the roll then equals or exceeds the difficulty level, you succeed. If not, you fail. You don't need to worry about arbitrary numerical values. You just need to apply the dice result to your trait level and see if it meets or beats the difficulty. Why does this confuse people?

In Search of Fudge RPG

I just read in a "StackExchange" (whatever that is) someone's answer to a question about alternatives to Fudge dice (c. 2010), and my name was mentioned: "There is more than one Fudge die roller on the internet. Gordon A. Cooper's roller is simple and easy to use." My old Javascript dice roller on Fudgery.net (R.I.P.) was linked in the comment. Ah, the days when a few people could find my Fudge essays and Javascript random generators in search engines... Any search of "Fudge RPG" or "FudgeRPG" now yields little more than endless links to FudgeRPG.com or Reddit. The independent blog articles and resources have largely disappeared from results, and Creative Reckoning is nowhere to be found unless the search terms are quite specific. I know some of this is symptomatic of the eclipse of Fudge by other games, but the continuing sabotage of search engines by their owners is compounding the situation. I shan't belabor the point, but the only way to reverse this trend might have to come from the grassroots level and a different approach. I hope a Fudge community still exists to find it.

Let the Dice Fall Where They May

[The following article is a predecessor to "It Matters Who Rolls."]

Dice in any game contribute suspense. Your strategy may appear flawless, but dice represent the fickle finger of Fate that tends to poke you in the eye just when victory is in sight. On the other hand, it can also point the way to safety just when you think all hope is lost. In a role-playing game, dice are the element of chance that is the great equalizer between the GM and the players. For the GM, dice are both a limitation and a liberation. The GM already bears the burden of describing a world and all the inhabitants the players encounter. When the dice are rolled, however, there is no such burden except to describe the results. Here is where the GM gets to participate like a player, where events in the world the GM created can be influenced by an external neutral force. For those GMs who rarely get the opportunity to be players, this is where they, too, can watch events unfold from a non-omniscient point of view.

In order for this dynamic to work, it is necessary for the dice to be rolled in the open. That is to say, the dice ought to be rolled in full view of the players and the GM. Certain kinds of rolls would still be made secretly by the GM, such as a percentage chance of a certain event or encounter happening or when a player character attempts a skill for which success is not readily discernible (e.g. searching for a secret door or detecting a trap), but rolls that represent a contest between characters or a character and the environment should be visible to all participants in the situation.

One problem this alleviates is distrust by the players. If a player can see the GM's roll, he or she knows that the GM is not fudging rolls for the players' benefit or detriment. Although some GMs are suspected of fudging rolls in favor of their NPCs or monsters, I suspect many more are actually guilty of fudging rolls in favor of the players because they do not wish to be too harsh. I suspect this because I was one of those GMs in my early days in the hobby. Mollycoddling players does them no good in the long run. You may think you are helping them, but in actuality you deprive them of the true taste of victory when they succeed if you withhold the bitterness of defeat when they fail. You are also obstructing their growth as gamers.

Any given dice-rolling tradition is probably as old as any other. Some GMs roll in the open; some roll in secret; some let the players roll, but never tell them the target number; some even roll for the players, too. Different groups have different needs. My needs, both as a GM and a player, require that I get to roll dice and let them fall where they may.

[Originally posted in Fudgery.net/fudgerylog on 27 December 2011.]

Reviewing Reviews

There is a debate amongst some in the hobby—if not the industry—whether a review of a role-playing game is legitimate if the reviewer did not first play or run the game. The crux of the problem is this: Is it the game or the product that is being reviewed? Take chess for instance. One could review the rules of the game and the experience it produces as an activity, or one could review the physical components of the game such as the board and the pieces. Most role-playing game reviewers rely heavily on the latter because there is the added complexity that no two groups of gamers play exactly the same way. When they do address the rules (as opposed to the details of a rule book such as font, binding, type of paper, or quality/quantity of illustrations), they typically concentrate on how they think they will help or hinder the gameplay. Without experiencing the effect of the rules firsthand, they can only theorize whether a given rule is good or even necessary. And this will vary from gaming group to gaming group. One group might respond favorably to a game in which each player controls multiple characters whereas another might find it a nuissance. One group might consider an initiative rule to be novel and entertaining whereas another group might find it too time-consuming. All reviews are subjective. It is in their nature. I would merely suggest that reviewers draw a distinct line between a review of a role-playing game as a product versus a review of the same as an experience, because both are valid. Sometimes a rule looks better on paper than in practice, and sometimes the rules as written work better than you could have imagined. Too often I have made assumptions about a rule only to be proven mistaken at the game table. The proof is in the actual play. You can a) review the game itself, b) review just the physical product, or c) review the product and speculate about how it might work at the table. Just be clear about your approach.

[This article has been cross-posted here in Applied Phantasticality.]

Fudge Thought of the Day 2023-07-06

The recent Great Controversy of our hobby regarding the antics of Hasbro/Wizards of the Coast and the Open Game License has led many game publishers to reconsider their reliance on the OGL and explore other options including the Open RPG Creative License (awkwardly dubbed "ORC"), Creative Commons licenses, and licenses unique to their companies. Fudge, of course, shifted from the Fudge Legal Notice to the OGL years ago, and now we await a decision as to its future from its official publisher, Grey Ghost Press.

I have been distrustful of the OGL from the beginning. I have never felt comfortable granting power over my work to a company that had nothing to do with the game system for which I create content, and I have certainly never condoned giving any company the illusion of ownership of information (such as game mechanics) that cannot be copyrighted.

My preference—for Fudge and any role-playing game for which I desire to create content—is for either a Creative Commons license or a license created by the individual publisher (such as the free compatibility license for Awfully Cheerful Engine!). This would remove much of the concern I sometimes have about sharing material and give me more incentive to write it. Most creators are undercompensated for their efforts. Let's do something to help, rather than hinder, their ability to contribute to the hobby and the community.

Advice and Perspective

I don't think the hobby is served well by those who presume to dictate a "correct" way of running or playing a role-playing game. It is different at every table, it has always been that way, and it shall always be that way. You can try to convert others to your way of thinking, but gamers will do what gamers do—their own thing. If you have what you believe is good advice for those who might enjoy your style of gaming, go ahead and share it, but keep in mind there is no One True Way. Recognize that every table is different and every person at that table is an individual. Respect our differences, and remember that some gamers have needs with regard to accessibility.

If you have a voice in the hobby, use it to help others to participate. Fight for inclusion, not exclusion. Be aware of your responsibility to other hobbyists and those who wish to join.

[This article is cross-posted here in Applied Phantasticality.]

Adjectives Are the Key

I still think the best way to promote my favorite form of Fudge—subjective Fudge—is to concentrate on creating interesting adventures and writing up characters, creatures, places, and things using the traditional trait ladder. In a Fudge adventure, that's all you need, and it instantly renders it system neutral for use with any other role-playing game. Don't worry about which injury system is in effect or how much damage a particular weapon causes. That's a decision for the group playing it. Just rate capabilities and levels of difficulty using those familiar adjectives that everyone understands. That way anyone can use it for any flavor of Fudge or any other role-playing game.

The Goldilocks of Stat Blocks

Character stat blocks can either instill or kill inspiration. If it's too short, there's too little to work with; if it's too long, one's eyes glaze over and the information is just as useless as if it weren't there. If it's just right, the player can embody the role without constantly referring to the character sheet and the GM can probably derive hooks without much effort.

Getting it just right is the difficulty. I don't wish to publicly mock the winners of the Most Tedious Character Creation Rules or the Most Boring Stat Blocks by name because I know even they have their devoted fans, some of whom are probably friends of mine, but I will say that some games get it right and some can be altered so that they, too, can get it right.

This is just an idle thought, but maybe all a character stat block needs is whatever is most pertinent to what the character will be doing in an adventure. Depending on what an adventure entails in a given role-playing game, the player ought to list only those things a character might reasonably be expected to do as well as anything else necessary to convincingly portray the character.

Some game designers, aware of this conundrum, limit the range of skills a character may have to just those that are relevant to a typical adventure. Zorro: The Roleplaying Game is an excellent example of a game perfectly pruned to the essentials. Few games are as well focused.

Another approach is to allow a player to assign some skills to a character at creation, but to reserve the option to assign others later. This way, the player and the GM have an idea of the character's capabilities from the beginning, but their knowledge of the character expands through play. I believe this idea was introduced in Fudge.

Either way, the key to the user-friendly and non-sleep-inducing character stat block is to avoid listing every conceivable skill a character might have. First, it's impossible. Can you list every single skill you have ever acquired? Of course not. And why should you list those skills that a majority of people in your society have anyways? Where does it end? Without digressing further, let me just say that the solution is to keep it short. List a few broad skills that you know your character will be using or is noted for, and reserve some points to purchase other skills later as needed. After all, when you are reading the stats of a PC or NPC, do you really need to know they are somewhat good at trivia games or driving or birdwatching?

As always, keep it simple, and fill in the gaps with imagination.

[This article was previously posted here in Applied Phantasticality on 13 October 2021.]

Picturing a More Approachable Rule Book

Fudge is excellent for experienced GMs teaching novice players, but many players encounter a rule book before gaming with an expert, so an important question to consider is this: What is the best way to present the rules to a beginner? And by "beginner" I mean someone new to Fudge or even role-playing itself (because Fudge can be something of a mystery even to experienced gamers). Fudge in a Nutshell is a good place to start, but I'm looking for something a little more organic, something that takes the reader on a (brief) journey. The ideal primer for the new Fudge player, or even a GM, might be a comic book, or perhaps a comic zine. It would have the flow of a good comic, emphasize the main points, illustrate useful examples, and demonstrate the dynamism of the game in a visually memorable way. And it would be succinct.

Another game has done this and quite well, albeit for a single genre: Supercrew (see RPG Geek entry). Something along similar lines might be useful in making Fudge more approachable, which I think should be of interest to anyone who loves the game.

Revivify Your Role-Playing Games with Fudge

If, like me, you have a library of role-playing games that you know you will never play because they are in some way unplayable, but which you are keeping because they have value as reference material or they have a few interesting rules you might want to use in another game or the nostalgia is just too strong to let you part with them, then try this: Just throw out the ordinary rules (but keep the one or two interesting innovations), throw out the stat blocks, convert only what you need to Fudge terms (don't worry about the science of it—this is a game, so "ballpark" it, i.e. fudge it), and play the damned game with Fudge rules. If you ever have a question about which option to use, choose the subjective method by default. You can always complicate it later if that's your bliss. If the game has any redeeming value at all, dust it off and run it with Fudge and make it justify the space it occupies on your bookcase. Games are meant to played and Fudge is honestly the best hope some games have of ever fulfilling their purpose. Just fudge it already.

The Simple Trait Ladder

In a previous article ("I Am Not A Number! I Am a Free-Form Adjective!"), I made the statement, "I think the key to better Fudge is to divorce the trait ladder from numerical values." I have more thoughts on the matter.

Have you ever noticed that most online Fudge dice rollers generate a trait level and a numerical result simultaneously? It will read something like, "Good (+1)" or "−2 (Poor)." Any Fudge gamer ought to know that Fudge dice generate a number that modifies an existing trait level. If your skill is Great and you roll 4dF getting −2, then the result of your action is Fair. Fudge dice don't generate the trait level—they tell you whether the quality of an action is normal, better than normal, or worse than normal. In order for these online rollers to be considered accurate, you can either use them only for situational rolls and actions involving Fair traits, or you can ignore the trait level and use only the numerical result.

Is it nitpicking? Perhaps. The issue is that it leads to confusion. The more complicated versions of combat in Fudge are rife with calculations that remove us from the immediacy of the role-playing experience. Add Scale to the equation and you have even more of a number-juggling morass. But the answer is right in the rule book (3.21 Reading the Dice):

At the top of the character sheet, there should be a simple chart of the attribute levels, such as:

Superb
Great
Good
Fair
Mediocre
Poor
Terrible

To determine the result of an action, simply put your finger on your trait level, then move it up (for plus results) or down (for minus results).

There are no numbers here, just adjectives arranged in a hierarchy. It is quintessentially elegant game design. My mantra in game design is "Keep it simple," and my defense of Fudge at its simplest (and a trait ladder unburdened by numbers) is described at greater length in "Simplicity Equals Power".

I am just here to remind the Fudge community that simplicity is the game's greatest asset. If we want more people to play Fudge, we need to play to its strengths.

Looking for Clues

An investigative role-playing game requires commitment from both the players and the GM to be a success. It is reasonable to expect more from a player than "I use my Spot Hidden skill" or even "I search the room." Players have skills just as their characters do, and role-playing is a far richer experience when they use those skills. Investigation should be described by the player in sufficient detail that anyone can imagine what the character is doing and the GM can ascertain whether any clues, if extant, would be discovered. It is also reasonable to expect more from a GM than "Roll your Spot Hidden skill." If a player has done what is necessary to be reasonably assured that a clue, if extant, would be discovered, then no roll should be required. If the clue is there and the effort is made to find it, it should be considered found. It's shocking in its simplicity.

The designers of Trail of Cthulhu may consider the rules they crafted a solution to the alleged problem inherent in Call of Cthulhu, i.e. "one bad die roll can derail an adventure," but that rests on the presumption that the existence of an investigative skill roll requires making an investigative skill roll. I would argue that these rolls, like other detection rolls in other role-playing games (q.v.), serve mainly as a second chance to make a discovery when a player mistakenly neglects to properly investigate an area through which he or she passes. As long as the GM and the players are doing their share of the role-playing and providing the necessary descriptions, then nothing can derail an adventure except the actions of the player characters.

As for the "solution" proposed in Trail of Cthulhu, I think never having to roll an investigative skill is just as misguided as always having to roll an investigative skill. In cases where player skill comes into play, such as describing how one searches a room, results should depend on neither dice rolls nor automatic success, but on the logical consequences of the actions described. If the player, having described the extent of the search, fails to describe an action that would lead to the discovery of a particular clue, but the character possesses a skill that would have a bearing on the search (such as Spot Hidden or another skill that applies), then the GM may make the roll secretly. If the pertinent skill is high enough or the clue obvious enough, then the GM may rule that the clue is found without making a skill roll. It all depends on the circumstances. Recognizing which rules to use, alter, or ignore in a given situation is really the basis of GMing itself.

If, on the other hand, a character possesses a specialized skill that the player does not have, then it is acceptable to assume that under ordinary circumstances the skill will be automatically successful, or that under extraordinary circumstances a skill roll will be required. In neither case will a detailed description of the action on the part of the player be necessary. In other words, one needn't be a doctor in real life to play one on T.V. (or in a role-playing game).

Character skills should extend the capabilities of the player, not limit them. Similarly, skill rolls should be made to extend the plot, not kill it. Even if a crucial roll results in failure, it should merely delay or misdirect the investigators [Edit: or allow them to succeed, but at a great cost]; it should not prevent them from reaching their ultimate goal. Only their ability as players should have a bearing on that.

[Originally posted in Fudgery.net/fudgerylog on 1 March 2012.]

Detect Player Skill

The debate of player skill versus character skill, which extends to the dichotomy of class-based role-playing games versus skill-based role-playing games, is one that has its origin in a single game that encompassed both views: Dungeons & Dragons. Even within the covers of a single book, the original Advanced D&D Players Handbook, we find advice advocating player skill ("Observation and clever deduction, as well as proper caution, should negate a significant portion of traps.") alongside the suggestion that having "a dwarf for trap detection" goes "a long way toward reducing the hazard." Clearly, if player skill were sufficient, the inherent abilities of dwarves to "Detect traps involving pits, falling blocks and other stonework" would be irrelevant, and the same is true for the thief's function of "Finding/Removing Traps." Another example would be the rules for detecting secret doors. Is one supposed to describe the act of searching for a secret door, or is one supposed to roll 1d6 and abide by the result?

This apparent contradiction has led some gamers to assume that the existence of character skills that echo player skills means that a roll of the dice (or expenditure of a meta-game resource) should resolve all situations that arise, and that disallowing them or minimizing them somehow "punishes" less-skilled players. (This is an argument that I believe is popular amongst players of "story games.")

Outside the philosophical considerations of role-playing versus story-gaming, some gamers are simply content to roll-play rather than role-play out of sheer laziness or lack of interest. The "Spot Hidden" skill of Basic Role-Playing infamy is often subject to this mishandling. When the GM's question, "What do you do?" is answered with, "Roll my Spot Hidden skill," the game loses an entire dimension. (There is a flip side to the abuse of this skill, which I will discuss in another article.)

I consider it far more enjoyable to prevail by using my own abilities as a player than by using the arbitrary abilities of my character. Both as a GM and as a player, I derive much more pleasure from providing or listening to descriptions of a character's actions than from endless calls for dice rolls. That being said, I enjoy skill-based role-playing games like Fudge just as much, if not more, than class-based role-playing games. How, you may reasonably wonder, can that be?

Since a role-playing game is, above all else, a game (albeit an unconventional one), I think it is important to reward those who demonstrate actual skill at playing it. Ingenuity, preparedness, coolness under fire, and the ability to think quickly are all qualities that ought to translate into success for the player demonstrating them. The player's description of the character's actions ought to be the primary consideration of what transpires in the game. Detection rolls, as I see it, represent a second chance that the character, who may be an expert at such things, confers to the player. If, for example, the player fails to mention that his thief examines or prods (with a 10' pole, of course) the mosaic on the floor in front of him, the GM may secretly make the character's Find Traps roll. If successful, the GM mentions that the thief notices something suspicious about the mosaic in a trappy sort of way (if it's a trap) or says nothing (if it isn't). If unsuccessful, the GM says nothing regardless of whether it's a trap and waits to see of the thief walks across it. If the player had mentioned taking measures to inspect the mosaic cautiously, then no roll would have been necessary and the GM would have confirmed or refuted the player's suspicions. This basic idea can easily be applied to other situations: secret doors, hidden items, clues, etc. Effort and caution yield results; pertinent character skills yield a second chance.

This is not to say that a player's problem-solving skills are the only important aspects of role-playing. Tactical combat skills and actual role-playing skills (i.e. portraying one's character faithfully) are all sides of the triangle that represent good playing to me.

Remember that role-playing is like improvisational acting plus strategy. Playing a doctor doesn't mean a player must know how to diagnose or treat a patient in the real world. Playing a knight doesn't mean a player must know how to ride a horse. Playing a thief doesn't mean a player must know how to successfully pick someone's pocket. It does mean that a player should know when to render medical assistance to someone, which enemy to charge first, and whether it would be a good idea to pick this particular merchant's pockets in this particular time and place. Your character has skills in a game world. You, as a player, have skills in the real world to make decisions for your character in the game world. When your skills guide your character's skills toward success (however that may be defined for that character), then you are playing the game well.

[Originally posted in Fudgery.net/fudgerylog on 28 February 2012.]

I Am Not a Number! I Am a Free-Form Adjective!

I think the key to better Fudge is to divorce the trait ladder from numerical values.* Think in terms of the adjectives and what they mean to your character and the adventure. If you were to consider it from the character's point of view, would you really assess your attempt at a task to be +1 or −2 or any other number? If Fudge is intended to be a game that maximizes role-playing and minimizes out-of-character terminology, why should it be cluttered with the distraction of unnecessary numbers?

Personally, if I have a choice to have or not have a headache, I prefer to choose the latter. Fudge without numbers equals pain-free role-playing for me.

* By "better," I mean more intuitive, freer flowing. Your interpretation may differ.

A Faulty Nomenclature Is No Gift

I am not the first to complain about the terms "gift" and "fault" as they are used in Fudge. How can virtues such as Honesty or Code of Honor be faults? They are limitations of a sort, to be sure. One could even call them disadvantages, which is certainly more accurate and descriptive, but they are in no way faults. If anything, they are strengths. I am aware that "advantage" and "disadvantage" were avoided because of their use in GURPS, but those terms are not trademarked, and let's face it, they are self-explanatory, which is really the ultimate test of rules clarity, especially for a game like Fudge. So, in my own games, I'll be trading "gift" and "fault" for "advantage" and "disadvantage" because I will take any measure necessary to reduce confusion and get to the role-playing as quickly as possible.

In Memory of Fan Sites

One of the things I really miss about the 1990s and the early 2000s was the proliferation of dedicated RPG fan sites. Before the blogs, gaming hobbyists built their own sites through which they could share their house rules, settings, and variants, and they often reached their audience with the help of Web rings whereby sites could link with other sites of the same interest. Fudge was one of those games that benefited from the creativity and prolificacy of its fan-maintained sites, and my own Fudgery.net was my modest contribution (unfortunately close to the end of the Golden Age of RPG fan sites).

Fan sites were surpassed by Web logs, and link pages were rapidly made obsolete by broken links, just as Web logs were, in time, eclipsed by Google+. Now that Google+ has been relegated to the dustbin of bittersweet nostalgia, blogs are making a comeback. I recently started a fifth gaming blog (as if trying to post regularly to four of them were not difficult enough), and although I enjoy the medium (even as I acknowledge that I am really just whispering into the hurricane), I still find myself yearning for those oases of the Internet where hobbyists shared their lore, their expertise, and their passion with likeminded explorers. Most of those well-loved sites are gone, like the fanzines of yore, but they are not forgotten. Rest in peace, Fudge fan sites in particular. You were Superb.

The Role of Fudge

If Fudge had been introduced to the world in only its rules-light, subjective form, I think it would have had greater long-term popularity. I think it would have lived up to its prophecy of becoming the universal translator of role-playing games, and it would have preserved and promoted a freeform style that has become increasingly rare. There is a growing void in the hobby that neither D&D nor story games are filling. Risus and a few other games still have their lanterns lit against the darkness, but Fudge ought to be a brighter flame than it is now. The recent publication of The Princess Bride Roleplaying Game is a step in the right direction, but can it overcome the rules-heaviness that still weighs down Fudge and many of the discussions that surround it? I hope it can. Meanwhile, I'd like to see more of us take advantage of the ability of Fudge to facilitate role-playing unseen, rather than focusing on the rules themselves. The rules are the means, not the end, and in the case of Fudge, they are meant to be as unobtrusive as possible. Please, just fudge it.

Always Judge a Role-Playing Game by Its Character Creation Rules

I try not to judge a book by its cover, but I can't help judging a role-playing game by its character creation rules. If I feel that character creation is boring, too long, or otherwise a chore, I question how much enjoyment I could possibly derive from the rest of the game. Character creation ought to be a joy, an adventure in itself. Here is my character! I can't wait to role-play this being! I can't wait to pursue X, Y, and Z!

I won't delve at length into the kind of character creation that reminds me more of homework than heroics (GURPS). In fact, I'll leave it at that.

There are two kinds of character creation I like in a role-playing game. One is the procedural method of developing a character chronologically, charting their lifepath (and their acquisition of abilities and perhaps material things) based on the player's decisions and a certain amount of chance. Classic Traveller and FASA's Star Trek: The Role Playing Game are two good examples. It's a sort of preliminary mini-game for linking a character's abilities and back story, and it's fun.

The other kind of character creation I like is the one that allows for the most creativity for the least amount of time. I want to imagine a character, to whatever degree of detail, with as little fuss as possible. I don't want to juggle points between multiple categories, or add characteristics and divide them to generate secondary or tertiary characteristics, or min-max in any way. Essentially, I just want to use subjective character creation rules as one might find in, say, Fudge. Par example:

An easy way to create a character in Fudge is simply to write down everything about the character that you feel is important. Any attribute or skill should be rated using one of the levels Terrible through Superb.

How easy is that? If you, as a player, have an aversion even to that level of rules knowledge, there's this:

Instead of the player writing up the character in terms of traits and levels, he can simply write out a prose description of his character. This requires the GM to translate everything into traits and appropriate levels, but that's not hard to do if the description is well written. This method actually produces some of the best characters.

Now, if you're worried about players abusing the system, there's a section on that, too, but I think most players of good will and at least moderate intelligence are able to operate within the limits set by the GM. The main challenge for the GM is deciding what those limits are.

And that may be a subject for a future article...

(Combining lifepath character creation with Fudge might be worth exploring, too...)

The Future of Fudge Is Simplicity

Fudge fulfills its purpose best when it is expressed as simply as possible. I am sure it can be played satisfactorily as a substitute for GURPS, and it serves that function admirably well for those who are not averse to massive blocks of statistics, but is that degree of detail really what Fudge does best? In my experience, greater detail almost always equals slower play, and slower play equals decreased immersion in the role and the setting, because one becomes more distracted by the rules themselves. In other words, heavy rules systems impede actual role-playing. I'm not criticizing those who prefer a more detached style of play, but it would be disingenuous to ignore the fact that Fudge was specifically intended to be a game that emphasized the role-playing aspect and sought to eliminate or minimize any game element that might intrude on the act of role-playing. The default style of play in Fudge is subjective character creation, subjective character development, and combat resolved through "story elements." In its rawest form, Fudge is the essence of simplicity and the perfect game with which to introduce new players to role-playing.

Sometimes a little structure is helpful, too, which is why certain objective game elements can be used to reinforce the game's mission of facilitating good role-playing as long as those rules are minimal. They should serve as seeds of inspiration, not as straitjackets. Broader character traits lead to more creative implementation. Generalized combat rules lead to more imaginative tactics and stunts. Minimized rules lead to maximum ingenuity.

This is why I have been increasingly striving to simplify Fudge for my own design and gaming purposes. Anything that doesn't make intuitive sense or slows down the game I minimize or discard. Anything that contributes to decision paralysis I minimize or discard. Anything that causes my vision to blur I minimize or discard. Games such as Sherpa and Ghostbusters have been very instructive in my pruning of the game. Very soon, I'll have an all-purpose "minimalist" version of Fudge that I can adapt to any genre. Then all I will need is a good title.