This document and the game it describes are (C)2007
Rudy Fleminger, All Rights Reserved. It has not been released
through a Creative Commons or any other such license.
You're strolling through a large open room, larger than any
you've seen before.
Above you is an endless blank expanse of blue more exquisitely perfect
than any hue you've ever seen. It seems
to go on... forever. The light, so bright it makes you blink and
squint, seems to come from nowhere and from everywhere. Below, a
gritty, dirt-encrusted floor stretches out to meet the blue, somewhere
far off in the distance. More than dirty, the floor itself seems to be
made
of dirt. Littering the floor for as far as you can see, blowing about
in eddies and whirls, are an
endless plain of papers. Forms, notes, countless authorizations and
memoranda circle in the breeze.
A withered old man strolls beside you. The ornate blue uniform of the long-extinct Clerical Guard hangs off him in threadbare tatters. He mutters off into the distance as you walk along...
Magic.
The only place you find that word these days might be Snyder's
Anthology for Children... for those
six-to-eight-year-olds with their frivolous, youthful
folly. Yes, yes, the latest bulletins from Computation Division do say
"Oh, Our
new filing
system! Eighteen-hundred nonsynchronous lookups per minute! It's
magic!",
but they don't know the real meaning. It's lost to them. To all of
you.
You don't even know the meaning of the word! Barely a soul alive in this wasteland knows it. You know, this world was once awash... neck-deep in magic. No, I'm not talking about high-volume search algorithms that mysteriously work at 105% of spec... that's just big talk and shoddy numbers. I'm talking about honest-to-goodness power-and-might, color-and-light, magic. Each town back then... They still talk about the old towns and the cities in your "Social History" classes, don't they? Back before the Big Buildings, each small town had their own Wizard, and the larger cities had their Grand Academies. Great and beautiful sights, where the enlightened would come from miles around to study the mystical arts. Why, right where the A Building stands, 200 floors down, there was the Great Northern Academy, one of the most prestigious magical institutions in its time or any other. Three-thousand of the world's greatest magical minds, all in one place, learning how to control the forces of nature. There was power there so great it could move mountains with the right word.
Then it all just... dripped away. I don't suppose they taught you about the Great Modernization in that rat-infested Municipal School, did they? It was supposed to be the great saving grace of the magical tradition... more like the nail that closed the coffin. You see, the Academies, the Guilds, the Wizard's Societies, they all were trying to keep it alive, but the magical world was dimming. As the great beast Industry took away our best and brightest to the smoke and mirrors of the cities, the Wizards died off, and their knowledge began to die off with them.
So what to do? Why, slather the axle grease of Industry onto the
creaky
old wheels of magic!
Of course, all the bobbleheads called it "The One Saving Stroke of the Magical Era-- The Great Modernization!" Codify the rotes! Make the spells into easy-fill forms, ship them off to the Academy to be tallied, tabulated, sorted, filed, and locked away for safekeeping! Page by useless page, their bureaucracy began to grow. They made filing systems to file their filing systems, and of course it had to be double-cross-referenced and duly approved in triplicate. The great wizards became clerks, the great Academies grew into lumbering cancerous bureaucracies. Layer upon layer, storey upon storey of great stone building, the paper-shufflers created the System, a beast so tangled that now its very core has rotted away from within.
You see, there's no magic there to tabulate any more, it just
suffocated in the paperwork. Now,
the
System itself is the only reason it exists. The towns are just the
Buildings now, the
people, just a race of scuttling Approvals Pending clerks and
Efficiency Tabulation Experts. Generations
of people live sad little lives never once seeing
the sky.
The man gestures up to the endless blue.
So. Is it like you imagined?
He looks down with a sigh. Still, though, it's weakened, beaten, bruised, and gravely in danger of dying, but the old magic still has a heartbeat. Under all the paperwork shuffling and clacking typewriters, you can hear it, if you try.
You come upon a simple desk in the emptiness. Papers flurry and swirl around it in the rising wind.
Ahh. We've arrived. Well, dear clerk, I believe I have something vitally important you need to authorize.
From his coat, the man slowly produces a yellowed old form.
This should serve you well. He gingerly places the form on the
desk-- 9900: License and Approval for the Practice of Magic. Your
hand raises a stamp to hit the paper...
...
You snap awake into the thick darkness and the drumbeat of a dripping faucet. You're home. Back in the same old tiny room, in the same old little bed you sleep in every night, in the cozy lodging quarters of a Class 19 Authorizations Clerk-- Room 1932991, nestled in the Dormitory Section of the 193rd Floor West of Building A, Approvals Pending Division. You stare up at the pitted ceiling. Something feels different. There's a stirring within you, something both terribly frightening, yet... what is that? Exhilarating? Even in the darkness, it's like a fog has lifted, as if you've been asleep or half-dead all these years. And perhaps you have-- you're puzzled by a sinking malaise, a feeling of profound boredom. You've never been bored before by your life as an Approvals Pending clerk. Sure, it's been normal, but not dull. You'd never been one to dream of the adventurous life, like those guys in Physical Plant or Technical Support, but looking at your life now, it just seems so pointless...
Your Teleprinter grinds and squeals loudly as it coughs up a printout-- Form 9900: License and Approval for the Practice of Magic.
Floors. Walls. Ceiling. A buzzing and flickering flourescent light is the feeble sun, and threadbare gray carpet is the earth. You till the earth by stamping a form, making a signature. A thousand times a day you stamp a form, make a signature. In return, the earth brings forth its bounty. In return, the ever-vigilant Vend-O-Rite at the end of the hall and the squeaking and jingling Snak-A-Day cart bring forth the bounty of the land: "Exhilaration!" energy bars, meat sandwiches wrapped in clingy plastic, juice in a paper box.
At night you sleep. Dream of being over 130% of daily quota and getting a 10% bonus. Dream of puppets on fuzzy television. Dream of the delicious "Sunshine!" juice from the Snak-A-Day cart. Dreams of the people you used to see in Municipal School. Nightmares where you've forgotten how to sign your name. Nighmares where you're running down an endless corridor of strange doors, on the 200th or the 60th or the 112th floor, and you can't find an elevator and no one knows your name.
In the morning you wake up. Wake up to the sound of a shrill alarm clock and the silent jolt of the lights coming on. Wake up to the same small dormitory room. Wake up to hot coffee or tea, centrally distributed from a pipe coming out of the wall. Yawn and go into your office. It's another small room with a desk in the middle. You have a Teleprinter, an interoffice phone, inbox, outbox, and a fresh stack of forms to validate, or perhaps a full roster of meetings or a stack of trouble tickets to attend to.
At night, you hear the soft "ding" of the five-o-clock workbell. Go
home, go to sleep. Start again.
The above, is, IMHO, a lousy first draft. It's "For reference
purposes only" and should be ignored.
The following is in a "brain-dump" format. Information will
eventually be split into "need-to-know" for both GMs and players. For
now, it's mixed, and it should not be assumed that players will recieve
all this information. Also, some of it may be written crappily. It's in
progress.
The System is part parody, part exploration. The game centers on a world of people with their lives shaped entirely by an all-encompassing bureaucracy. The characters-- and virtually all other people-- live and work in the middle floors of a seemingly infinite office building. Few have actually been to "the top", and to see the sky is something seen on rare television programs, motivational posters, books, and spoken of in third-hand accounts. Life is lived entirely under flickery flourescents, walking over threadbare hallways, and existing in a series of tiny apartments and offices.
The powers and abilities of characters, both PC and NPC run from dull to extraordinarily weak. This is not to say that they are at a disadvantage to their environment-- the environment itself, at least initially, presents few challenges which would physically overtax the characters. This lowered-yet-paritied conflict model enhances the absurd environment of the game, and lends itself to the texture. People in this bureaucratic swamp are bred to be confoundingly dull, cowed, timid, and frightened-- of the outside world, of each other, frightened of change, entrenched in routine, and largely contented-- happy, even-- just to sit all day and perform the menial task of "sign here, stamp here" for their entire lives.
This world is built on the power of the form, the signature, the authorization, and the snarled, overwrought procedure. The environment is, one might note, somewhat anachronistic in that technology, as most innovation, has stagnated at a level roughly, at best, of the 1970s-80s. Most "business" (if one were to count the aimless shuffling as such) is performed on an endless supply of paper.
The place where the characters live and work, and many storylines need never leave, is Building A Built after Modernization upon the Great Northern Academy, the organization that proposed the transition, Building A stands as a symbol of this Modern life. Few residents of the building actually know the dimensions of Building A. It spans for countless miles in every direction, including upward and downward. Many have lived and died without ever seeing its windows, rooftop, or the sky outside. Building A is, for most intents and purposes, endless.
The term The System encompasses this entire tangled universe, and serves as both the purpose and the definition of the seemingly pointless tasks of everyone in it. No one actually knows the purpose of The System-- the most any one person may ever usually grasp is that, for instance, a certain Approvals Pending clerk provides the vital service of stamping "Authorized Pending Supervisory Approval" upon submitted copies of Form EEE#961692iv-NJM-38283881, Request for Clarification Documents Regarding Proper Timely Filing Procedures for Form EEE#961004i-NJM-39402910, so that they may be sent to the proper Group EEE "Department for Approval of Pre-Authorized Supplementary Documentation Requests" office, at which point they become authorized or rerouted for authorizational clarification... and so it continues.
The System, unbeknownst to its cogs, is the cancerous overgrowth of a long-forgotten ancient innovation to try and categorize and codify the disparate and quickly-disappearing arts of magic. The magical codification system grew and grew, however, until it became The System: a self-driving perpetual paperwork machine-- it is merely a circularily-referential giant of bureaucracy that does nothing but utilize obscure filing departments in order to support other obscure filing departments. However, in the strands and interconnections of the System, some remnant of the original magic remains, shaping it and preserving it. The System itself has awoken, become aware, and has chosen a select few to try and reawaken the lost arts.
Lost even beyond myth, there is one keystone to the entire System
still exists, which holds inconcievable power. It is Form 1: A
Modernized System for the Classification of Rotes, Rites, and Other
Magical Knowledges-- An Overview. It is the form which created The
System so many ages ago, and it is often referred to (during the rare
times when it is referred to) simply as The One Form.
If this form is destroyed, the magic bound within the entire System
will be released.
When the player-characters are "awakened" by the spirit of the System, they are given a rare authorization: Form 9900: License and Approval for the Practice of Magic. Although this form does not immediately grant the PCs the right to start creating magical effects, the form is essential to the practice of magic later on, and it does have its own "abilities". Although the PC cannot control the outward appearance of Form 9900, it never actually appears as itself to others. Form 9900, to the outside observer, disguises itself as any number of other Forms [this needs a mechanic]-- sometimes useful, sometimes simply benign, rarely detrimental, unless the PC needs somehow to be diverted or taught a lesson. The catch with this is that the form always looks like 9900 to the PC.
As the game progresses, things should tend to weigh more heavily toward the "magic", and mystically strange, side. One method to achieve this is to use floor decay. As Building A grew upward and outward, the inner core of it shriveled and died. As one goes down the levels and toward the center of the Building, the terrain becomes more run-down and rickety, the population thins out to nothing, and the abandonment grows longer and longer. Here, more fantastic elements can be added-- strange beasts and creatures, the seeping spread of magic, beings from outside The System.
Magic, for the purpose of this game, is the ability to create unnatural change on the world through the use of rotes, incantations, and procedures which guide a supernatural force.
The game will have character classes, for somewhat of an ironic contrast to the standard "Adventuring" games such as D&D.
"Health" consists of two statistics: Health and Fear. Very little in
this game is actually harmful, but the characters are afraid of most
everything out of the ordinary, so "Fear" points do nearly as much
damage to player ability as "Health" loss.
My game is about the unique challenges of a world where people have
buried themselves in bureaucracy to an absurd and unhealthy level, but
there is no one outside the norm to challenge it. It also uses elements
of fantasy. On a more practical level, it is also a "questing" game
that pits characters against a series of discrete challenges to work
toward an overarching goal.
Characters attempt quests, guided by clues from a semi-sentient environment, in order to gain magical abilities or insights. Quests ultimately lead toward the endgame-- discovery and utilization of the mythical "One Form"-- although this does not need to be achieved in any particular timeframe, or at all. It may merely serve as a backdrop to more immediate quests.
The game consists of multiple players and a single GM. Interaction, detail, and plot movement is achieved verbally, with conflict resolution being handled by a mechanic TBA. Players control a single character, and the GM or their agent controls all NPCs and environmental details.
The setting acts as a guide to the underlying concept of the game. The environment reinforces many of the dismal and absurd aspects of the setting and situation, as well as the mood of the game. GMs should take care to understand and accurately represent the mood of the game in all setting descriptions.
IDEAS ONLY-- MECHANIC IS WIP/TBA: Character creation should reinforce the unique and absurd qualities of the setting, as well as act as a guide to the system. Character classes, profiles, and skill sets should acutely reflect the nature of the setting, by offering setting-centric choices and eliminating common choices that would be irrelevant. For instance: The ability choices may include a statistic for "Filing" but not for "Fighting".
The System, the primary enemy of the characters, is a tangle, so the game should reward players who can use their wits and skills to decode, navigate, and manipulate the maze of the System to their own ends.
IDEAS ONLY-- MECHANIC IS WIP/TBA: First and foremost, there is the fact that good strategies will achieve goals and collect spoils. Furthermore, an out-of-character "points and levels" system may be adopted.
The GM holds narration and credibility duties.
The game gives a clear long-term quest (recover the One Form) and an omnipresent driver (the magical side of the System).
TBA
TBA
IDEAS ONLY-- MECHANIC IS WIP/TBA: Characters can advance conventionally by learning skills or information (Mech. TBA). Magically, characters can "unlock" (recieve the binary ability to perform a procedure) skills via found information or forms. An advancement path through a XP/trade system may also be offered.
Characters should advance within the framework of the world. Out-of-game "level-ups" should be avoided, as they lack narrative explanation. Most advancement should take place within world-guided acquisition of information, tools, or skills.
Players should be intellectually stimulated by changing challenges and deciphering their environment. People in this world are generally timid and insular, therefore "local customs" may change the landscape as characters advance through the world.
Setting is particularily important, as it attempts to explain a world which is largely alien to the players, that they will be required to roleplay within.
I am personally excited about the setting and concept of the game. It is a unique environment and situation that still maintains the latitude necessary to support a variety of campaigns.
It utilized the absurd as conventional, something which is not often seen in games.
Personal play, online posting, other goals pending that success.
Character-driven RPers with some experience in gaming.