The Seraph Omega Rangers: Session 1

 

"RISE"

So Today

I was... informed... that I was going to run a Power Rangers RPG campaign. I warned my young players that I was gonna run Power Rangers the way I wanted to, and they’d have to deal with it. They agreed. They’d already made characters: a Jackson, green ranger with a lance, and Janet, a pink ranger with a bow.

No, I did not smile at their names. They wouldn't have gotten it. But don't think I didn't chuckle.

I have had the core rulebook sitting around for a few years and they just picked it up and presented me with completed character 24 hours later. Turns out, sometimes you just have people who are ready to go.

Why Did I Warn Them?

To me, the best Power Rangers episodes were always about desperation. My blood was always pumping for that show when the stakes were so absurd that the Rangers' powers made the odds better... to just being outmatched. Green With Evil and the Psycho Rangers are fantastic examples of what I'm talking about: the Ranger powers do not actually bridge the gap, but merely make it possible for the Rangers to win by their wits and courage.

So, to hilariously overstate: Power Rangers it the kid's equivalent of Conan or Solomon Kane: eldritch horrors, kickass action, and gumption, in a bubblegum sci-fantasy wrapper.

So What Happened?

It actually went really well! I had to do a quick crashcourse, but once I'd done that, I was feeling pretty confident I could avoid borking the game.

The Crash Course

I sat down and listened to Milestone Play's excellent crash course. I didn't have the time to go through the whole thing, but I skipped around his well put-together video, and learned very quickly that I needed to have the combat and rules marked. I explained to my players that I was going to run straight out of the book, and that it would take me a minute to sometimes figure out what the rules wanted me to do. The Power Rangers RPG actually has a ton of depth to it, and I didn't want to sacrifice that depth for "fun" and "speed". I explained to my young players that rules are meant to be followed, if possible, and that taking the time to learn them was worth the effort. So we were going to ruin a tutorial session of sorts, just with foot soldiers. 

The Black/Phoneout

So we had Jackson and Janet at a park with some other people, just hanging out. They weren't Power Rangers, but just highschool students were older souls. 

Suddenly all phones lost their networks, and the streetlights, which had just turned on in the gathering twilight, went out. Janet made a stupidly high Technology roll, and Jackson made an even higher Science roll. From these rolls, I gave them the following information.

1. All cell phones, regardless of carrier, were out. This meant a pretty big infrastructural outage. The fact that everyone was experiencing it meant that everyone for about a hundred square miles was isolated from the greater world.
2. The power going out at the same meant that yet another big piece of infrastructure was down.
3. An EMP blast would have been big and ugly and extremely noticeable. Nothing big and ugly and extremely noticeable happened.

Jackson and Janet realized that either a bunch of somethings went wrong at once, by accident, or there was something purposeful going on. They stood there a moment, filled with dread, as they watched everyone else in the park just figure out that multiple carriers were down.

And then there was a horrible grinding sound

Like a bunch of concrete being dug up... all around them. And these vulture-like... things.. dug came up. Made of the red soil all around them. They immediately threw themselves at the nearest humans, and began to eat them... and flesh and hair began to sprout from the monsters' bodies... forming wings. Everyone else ran, screaming.

But not Jackson and Janet. When they asked me what should be done, I simply asked: "Do you want to die well, or do you want to die poorly?" After a second, they realized what I was saying: there were too many monsters, they were too powerful, and they were too fast. It was either go down screaming or go down fighting. Pick one.

They ran straight at the things. 

There was a nearby pond, and they each threw an earthen monster into it. The monsters struggled, getting weighed down by the water. Jackson and Janet ran at another two monsters, and knocked them off the people they were savaging. Others started helping. Jackson found a metal bat nearby and literally pulverized one of the monsters in a few quick blows.

And then two of the monsters jumped on him, and one got a big bite out of him, almost killing him instantly. Once again, the players asked me what should be done, and I asked the same question: "Do you want to die well? Or do you want to die badly?" They nodded. "Let's die well."

Janet charged one of the monsters on Jackson and tackled it to the ground.  The other people tried drag the remaining monster on Jackson off, but couldn't. So Jackson choked up on the bat, and pushed the monster over, and pulverized its head through close hits with the bat.

They both got up, to see the other people were fighting back. They weren't cowering in fear anymore! They had an example of resistance, and were following! Of the original seven, four were dead.

Grind. Grind. Grind.

And now they were back up to a dozen. Jackson and Janet looked at me, overwhelmed. This wasn't going to work! How could they win without powers? They'd literally built a tank/sniper duo, and I'd said they couldn't use their powers, because they didn't even have them yet! What on earth could be done but die?

I asked the question, one more time: "Do you want to die well? Or poorly?" They both took a second, and looked at each other. Both of these players have extremely strong affective imaginations. They were there. They could hear the screams of panic, they both had flinched when Jackson had gotten bit. They didn't get mad at me for saying "No powers, yet." They were just trying to understand what the fuck they should be doing.

"Let's die well. We're going down swinging," they both said.

"What if I told you that that question about dying well or poorly was a question your characters heard, in their heads?" I asked. Everytime I had asked the question, I had no clarified whether or not it was in-game or out of game. This one little clarification turned on the lightbulb. Suddenly they understood they were being tested.

"Now, shout 'RISE'," commanded the voice. Neither knew the other heard it.

But they did. And they shouted.

Suddenly they were in full Ranger form. Six fiery wings (Yes I know the stupid AI put on four). Jackson's bat had transformed into a lance. Janet held a bow. Fire radiated from them, and halos of fire floated above their heads. The park, which was getting dark, was suddenly illuminated by the green and pink flames.

And the dozen monsters were running, in surprise. So were the people! They thought something worse had showed up!

Jackson and Janet went and looked into the pond. They saw their new fiery forms staring at them. And then suddenly they were normal. The dark was closing in. So they went back to their houses... to find nobody had power. Or cell phones. Still.

And there were things circling in the sky. Things with wings.

The Fall of the King of Sota: Chapter One

 

So we got a limitation on these session reports: the players are still in real-time, plotting against each other, so I'm going to have be general. I will record my findings as non-spoilery as I can, even at the cost of "trust me bro". Someone wants further records, I can climb through my Discord DMs.

Ransu 21-27

So this was the first week where people started sending me orders. This was amazing to watch. More than half the players had moments where they went "Wait I can really do this?" and I simply said "Yes, and here's how long it takes for you to do so". There were multiple light bulb moments where players went "Oh wait I really do have total autonomy here". 

It was a very strange moment. I have prided myself on player choice for years. Years. You can go through all the campaigns I have posted on this blog. They're all more or less "self-directed" campaigns with players. But... just handing them 1:1 time and making PVP inherently freed the players, and they've been having a blast.

So what did they do? So far? Well, we got Laurentius trying to cause an overthrow of the Church of Elpida with his own "proper" version, and all the aristocrats he's pissing off there. Of the ten people involved, he's dragged about half of them into his decision to publicly decry the Church and the nobility as robbers.

And then we got about the other half of the group, who decided that Cleft Mountain (which is definitely haunted) is the place to go to! Whether it be Montsers who want a lair, or Heroes who want to go climbing for lost lore in the middle of a total meltdown... yeah. They just decided to do a dungeon delve. Time to pull out Appendix A, or Veins of the Earth!

And I Shouldn't Have Been Surprised By This

It is a known fact that killing people must be systemically enforced in the military. If there aren't officers right behind you, telling you to kill the enemy, right now, we know for a fact that people are highly unlikely to do it. We've recreated battles. We know that people kill a lot less than we think, because in those recreations that amount of deaths that happen are way higher than the actual death records we have. People talk a big game, but when it comes down to it... even with training, we don't want to enter into conflict and kill.

And yet conflict drives games. It is what makes them fun: conflict without the horrifying consequences of real life. This is literally why game rules exist, I am starting to suspect.  Because, once the players were put in a situation where the rules pushed them into conflict, and the Weaver assured them it was okay to do so... people started going off the rails, especially the Monster players.

Chapter One

And Then Chapter One happened. And holy shit. Everything that was built up, on that Discord server, suddenly exploded.

Laurentius just went apeshit... and was rewarded for it.

Mother Elise tried to keep the peace... and accidentally burned Lady Marie.

Lady Marie walked in with the best of intentions, and bungled things so hilariously badly that it was practically the highlight of the session... until Laurentinus set an old woman on fire to prove a point.

 

The previous issues with 1:1 time I was having went right out the window, as soon as PVP was baked into Crescendo's system. This is absolutely addictive. I want more. I need more.

I DON'T WANT TO QUIT.

Story Might Be Bigger than Scripts, Bacon

The Dude Knows His Stuff... That's Part of the Problem

I have a pet peeve: when experts forget that their expertise comes at a cost. Bacon is, in comparison to me, clearly the expert in his domain. I’ve written some solid TV scripts. He has actually launched projects — a meaningful gap in experience. That said, I’m not disputing the internal logic of his argument. His conclusions follow reasonably from his assumptions. It’s those assumptions I want to challenge. Bacon gives an excellent breakdown of how story functions under singular authorial vision — the kind required by most novels, films, and many scripted games. That part is strong. The problems arise elsewhere.

What Is a Roleplaying Game?

The medium of TTRPGs

This needs to be established, apparently, because right here is where we'll find the error. TTRPGs have a vital difference from all other games, and if it is not addressed here, the rest of my article will make no sense. I am going to use the words Participants to refer to everyone at the table, GM to refer to Game Master (GM), and Player to refer to players.

I am aware, deeply, that non-GM'd games exist. I'm not using that paradigm at the moment, and I am very aware of the limitation. The point may be better to make without a GM, but I don't have enough experience to comment terribly well. I am also aware that I am generalizing. If you try saying "Yeah but this game", you will not be addressing my general point.

The General Flow of an RPG

A fictional setting and a game is agreed upon by the Participants.

The GM decides upon a situation to present the Players.

The Players decide how to respond to the situation, and inform the GM of their decisions.

The Participants, to varying degrees, decide what happens, using the setting and the game to generate prompts they interpret.

This creates a new situation, which the Players must address.

Yeah But (Generative Procedures)-

I know, I know, I really over-generalized. I'm trying to capture a very wide swath of design (although it's not nearly as wide as you think). The biggest thing left out of this is the use of procedures to generate prompts.

And this is where the video actually falls apart, right off the bat, right in the definitions.  The above flow is exhausting to maintain for most Participants... so we generate prompts using game mechanics. Like, for instance, OSR random tables, or PBTA moves, or even spending a currency (like in Amber) or class features. These are meant to provide fuel for the imaginations of the Participants. More to the point, these prompts are part of the base DNA of an RPG. You are playing with these prompts, because they are toys.

These prompts are then interpreted into a fictional event. Even if you're using something sub-par like a previously existing adventure to tell you what will happen next, you still need to interpret those events into what's going on at the table's conversation.

The essential action of a roleplaying game is the interpretation of mechanically generated prompts into a previously existing fictional situation.

And that creates a story.

Story Does Not Require Singular Authorial Intent

The oldest and most culturally potent stories we have — folk tales, myths, The Iliad, and The Odyssey — were profoundly collaborative. As Jonathan Shay showed in Achilles in Vietnam, the Iliad served as communal therapy for the trauma of war. These works were not drafted whole-cloth by a solitary genius; they emerged from a living tradition, shaped by many hands and voices over time, then later refined. Most pre-modern storytelling existed on a continuum — performed, adapted, edited by audiences and subsequent tellers. Explicit collaboration is the historical norm. Novels and movies, by contrast, are historically atypical: powerful, technologically enabled concentrations of vision, but not the default against which everything else should be judged.

TTRPGs are not a strange offshoot. They are a gamified, accelerated evolution of that ancient collaborative tradition. Procedural generation is innovative, but it is still building on the norm rather than inventing something alien to it.

On Video Games and False Comparisons

Comparisons between video games and TTRPGs often miss the mark. Video games — even procedurally rich ones like Minecraft, Breath of the Wild, or Dark Souls — are still authored experiences with bounded possibility spaces. They can borrow TTRPG-inspired techniques, but they remain fundamentally different in intent and openness. A medieval labyrinth and a spell are both magical in their own way, yet one is designed and the other is emergent.

But TTRPGs Have Design Intent!

Of course they do. Like spells or procedures, RPG rules and settings plant seeds with intent. A love potion might make someone fall in love — but with whom, and to what end? Joy or misery? The designer/GM sets the frame and possibility space; the table discovers what actually grows. The intent is story — not in the narrow scriptwriter sense, but in the broader human sense of shared meaning-making.

I agree that many storygames have deep flaws in execution. Still, a design that consciously pursues theme and emergence is doing something more aligned with storytelling’s deeper roots than pure blank-slate improvisation.

Ultimately,

Bacon isn’t wrong about how "traditionally authored" stories work. He is simply mistaking a historically recent, technologically enabled specialization for the universal essence of storytelling. The novel and the film are powerful because they concentrate vision. TTRPGs are powerful because they distribute it. Both have their place. Both can produce something transcendent. The tragedy is when fans of one feel the need to diminish the other to validate their preference. 

Story doesn’t belong to the solitary genius in front of a keyboard any more than it belongs exclusively to the table of friends rolling dice. It has always been, and will always be, something humans do together — sometimes with one person holding the torch steady, sometimes passing it hand to hand in the dark… or rolling dice to see who carries it next.

The real question isn’t “Which medium does story better?” It’s “What kind of story are we trying to tell, and which tools best serve it?” Everything else is just territorial noise.

Bacon understands a torch. I just wish he’d remember how many hands — and how much chance — have carried the flame before him.

The Fall of the King of Sota: Prologue 2

The Fall of the King of Sota: Prologue 1

Atop the Flowering Garbage Heap

 

Welcome back! Today, we talk about the total exhaustion of finding out there's yet more trauma to recover from.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is when the mind encounters something it can't make sense of, and it squirrels away a part itself that can't make sense of it, for protection. This part, this sub-personality, is then kept going through an unconscious but purposeful and constant expenditure of mental energy. This locked away sub-personality (now hitherto "Sub") is not a separate personality, although the Main and Sub's knowledge of each other is generally hazy.

Complex Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) is when the mind encounters multiple somethings that it can't make sense of. The line between Subs and completely different personalities begins to blur, because the mental energy to keep the breaks up is much greater. Most of the time, the Subs take turns “helping” the surface personality, and sometimes take over. It is a wretched life.

Personality Disorder (PD) is when the mind encounters something so awful that it makes a completely different personality, only about that one thing, and then forgets about it. The two personalities then attempt to live independently of each other. It goes as well as expected.

The line between C-PTSD and PD is a lot hazier than you would think. At what point is keeping the Subs in tension harder than just allowing them to drift?

I am pretty squarely in that gray area. I have a laundry list of awful things that go as long as my arm. Literally. The individual counts are so high that it's actually disgusting. And I keep finding large parts of me that are so thoroughly buried that it's a marvel I find anything at all.

But there's sometimes I look at myself, and realize the wreckage.

Miles and miles of what was once a real, working, actual personality.

Not the fundamentally broken and held together by duct-tape... thing... that I run around in like it's a stolen car. It is hard, in those moments, to not fall into despair. You just... you see the damage. Years of mistreatment, codified and ratified and stratified into a mockery of stability.

The words "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me," stick in my throat.

There is nothing here, in this wreckage, that I would attribute to a good and kind and loving God. It's just... what's left. Chaotic rubble. There's nothing that I could imagine the Son of God recognizing as his own. "Mercy"? That word makes the ash in the air sweet. And don't even get me started on asking for anyone to have mercy on me.

For those of you who say God's mercy is boundless.. He will only take mercy on what you let Him. And I can't. I just can't. It's far beyond my abilities as a person. This broken misshapen husk of a personality is a mockery of God's goodness. I want it to burn. And yet, that is despair, the realization that I have judged what God has not.

But what am I supposed to do, in the midst of this? I have a conscience, do I not? Did not God make me to labor in the vineyard? And is this not a ruined vineyard? Aren't we supposed to clear away the chaff for the fire?

And trust me, I am that chaff. Do not doubt it.

It hits me just how fucked I really am.

What is there to do but sit and curse the day I was born? To beg God to strike my birthday from the calendar? To ask the sun to hide her face from that day, so that even if humanity isn't stupid enough to remove it from the calendar, they don't have to witness the sheer absurdity of my birth?

What else is there to do but sit? And ask God why He even bothered?

So, I look down. I don't ask for mercy. I can't bear to. It's too much.

And then I see it.

A hyacinth.

And I curse Wolfe, loudly, because I can never forget this line from Book of the Short Sun. It's burned into me, like a brand. I have literally had dreams of Wolfe burning it into me, and I flinch thinking about it. But friends are kind torturers. And Wolfe may be the best friend I never met.

"Though trodden beneath the shepherd's heel, the wild hyacinth blooms on the ground." 

And it's coming out from between the garbage piles. Unasked for, unlooked for, unwanted, trodden, cursed by me... but growing all the same. With absolutely no regard for my pride.

I look up. I see an entire field of hyacinths. They're popping up between the cracks, but they're there. Mercy is coming, whether I want it or not. I feel, once again, Wolfe's chuckle from the dream I had, years ago: "You're a coward". I can't help but agree with him.

But the hyacinths are there.

So, weary, I get back up. I sway with the wind a moment.

And start clearing away the wreckage.

For the hyacinths.

Wherever you are, Wolfe, fuck yourself. I'm tired. How dare you find me worth saving. 

Fine. I'll see you at the Gate. 

Properly.

Asshole.

A wind not of my making blows. The hyacinths dance. I stop and stare. My heart does something against its will. I stare, for a long time, at the colors moving through the wreckage. But they can't move quite perfectly. Some of them don't move. Not yet.

Someone really needs to move the wreckage. Maybe that someone is me. We'll see. I get to work.

So I was going to end it there, Defender. I was pretty happy with that post. 

And then a friend of mine sent me a book!

Very nice of him! Thank you!

As I was reading it, I found the following passage:

“Your heart is full of fertile seeds, waiting to sprout. Just as a lotus flower springs from the mire to bloom splen-didly, the interaction of the cosmic breath causes the flower of the spirit to bloom and bear fruit in this world.”

It is here that I leave you. If I do not see you next week, I do not blame you. It is no easy road.

The Real Problem of Storygaming

 

So I've been on Twitter for awhile now.

No, come back, trust me, this is going somewhere.

I got involved in the RPG space on Twitter immediately. It's been a lot of fun, and I've actually learned a lot about design. A lot of people, it turns out, are grappling with the same issues I've been seeing. I don't agree with them 100% of the time, but it actually feels like something closer to a conversation than what I would have had before Twitter. Now, by and large, the folks on Twitter are right-wingers who like oldschool gaming. I am a storygamer with some rather deep-seated feelings of resentment against storygaming, so I engaged in some conversations and boy did some stuff get cleared up.

I define storygaming as:

Playing a game that makes a story. As in, by playing the game, a coherent narrative emerges, which the players can derive actual aesthetic enjoyment from as its own object, both in real-time and post-game.

Storygaming can be a roleplaying game (as in, there's people who are strictly playing a limited role), or in a more meta way (which I'm going to define as a storytelling-game). This is similar to how you can have a wargame proper, or a wargame that is a roleplaying game as well (see ODnD).

Storygaming solves a problem that old-schoolers don't want to acknowledge: NOT ALL OF US WANT TO PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS, SORRY NOT SORRY.

The problem isn't that storygaming exists. That's like blaming wargaming for roleplaying games's problems. Which is absolutely absurd. The problem is far more fundamental.

The central problem of most storygames is that it assumes that simply telling a story is extremely comfortable for adults, who are the majority audience for games. Without an infrastructure to attach to, what should be a very intuitive experience gets awkward, forcing one person to step up and help guide everyone through a process they don't even really know how to do anymore.

Yes, to the storygamers who are currently protesting, I am talking about the average person.

"bUt StoRyTElLinG iS NaTUraL"

Yes, it is, but not in the context of a collaborative game. Most people tell stories to others, and don't consciously collaborate. Most games give events that people craft a narrative with afterwards. Storygaming itself promises a story that you can make, and recognize, in process. 

That's so fucking cool.

It's also the farthest thing from "natural" in the world. It's a really  cool thing to do, but let's not pretend that collaborative storytelling outside of a liturgical or party context is natural.

How Do We Make This More Natural?

There's four ways to address this: more focused rules for narration, mechanical support, ritual, and increased objectivity, without sacrificing thematic depth.

Narration Rules

It all begins here. Narration in most storygames is hand-waved. "Just say what you want to do!" There are two people I know of who, upon hearing that for the first time, did not have a low-grade panic attack. It's not that narration as the core mechanic of your game is a bad idea, per se, but if it's literally just "Well, say whatever"... most adults I know lock up, at least at first. The sheer amount of choice available isn't freeing, it's paralyzing. Adults are so used to not having that many choices that handing them the whole freaking buffet line does more harm than good.

So you use rules to help focus them. Not railroad, and certainly not restrict. Focus.

A good example is my own RPG, Crescendo: your actions have to fit the Setting's Myth and your character's Heart, according to the Weaver (GM). There are standards, some of which you wrote yourself, which you can measure your actions against as you're playing. Everyone has agreed on the Myth, and the Weaver accepted your Heart when you wrote it. Since this is all based on commonly agreed tropes and personally chosen stuff, it's easy to know how successful the outcomes of your decisions will be... and whether you even care. Sometimes players will deliberately fail, because their Heart runs up against the Myth, and they let it be messy and find it fun, because it addresses what they expected in the first place.

Mechanical Support

This is the one that most storygames do a decent, even an excellent job, at. PBTA particularly, with its reactionary Moves, pushes the story in different ways, although it's easy for it to fall into a railroad. Burning Wheel's Beliefs and Artha cycle takes the conversation that is a storygame and elevates it into a complex and emotional story. Bleak Spirit's scene structure and prompts helps push the conversation into places that are easy to run with. Mechanics reacting to narration really is an amazing kick of dopamine!

Ritual

Storygames are okay at this one, by and large, but this is where certain actions are mandated, like beginning and ending session mechanics. These help get everyone into and out of trance more easily, and that cannot be underestimated. Adults have to be coaxed, wooed, into letting go and just enjoying themselves.

Increased Objectivity

This is possibly the biggest actual offender in the storygaming world.  The setting goes from being a real place that may have unexpected edges (lots of them!), to... just be fully at the behest of the players. This is honestly the most damaging thing in storygaming as a genre. If the world is to be fully shaped by player fiat, then the simulation fails one of the fundamental tests of whether it's reality or not: being told "No". This is obviously not true in all storygames, but there's plenty of them where the setting is not a real place, which can push back and tell players "No, you will have to contend with me." This is one of the things the OSR does completely right, just about all the time.

The Good News?

We don’t have to pick sides. Storygaming doesn’t need to abandon its ambitions—it just needs better scaffolding so that normal adults can actually enjoy the thing it promises. We can keep the dream of collaboratively crafting a real story at the table while giving players the structure, ritual, pushback, and mechanical teeth that make it feel exciting instead of paralyzing.
That’s exactly what I’ve been chasing with Crescendo. The Myth and Heart system gives players clear boundaries to play against (and sometimes against each other). The Weaver isn’t a dictator, but they’re also not a vending machine. The world has weight. Failure can be beautiful. And when it works, the story that emerges feels earned—not because we forced it, but because we had enough infrastructure to let it breathe.
The RPG space on Twitter (and beyond) is full of people who love this hobby for very different reasons. Some want the thrill of exploration and danger. Others want something that feels like a story worth telling afterward. Both are valid. The real failure would be pretending these desires can’t learn from each other.
So here’s my pitch: stop treating “storygame” and “OSR” as rival faiths. Start stealing the best ideas from both sides without apology. Give narration focus. Build mechanical engines that reward good play. Add ritual that helps everyone get in the zone. And for the love of all that’s holy, let the world say “no” sometimes.
The result might not be pure storygaming or pure old-school. It’ll probably be something new, a little messy, and a lot more fun.