This interesting question is one that was asked as a thoughtful comment following my article on “high-brow” tabletop roleplaying games like Bluebeard’s Bride and Dog Eat Dog. The commenter asked, plausibly, “Why on earth do you even need mechanical support for themes like colonialism? Can’t the players just roleplay it?” The query strikes at the heart of the question of what it is about TTRPGs that makes them so wonderful as a medium for story and group experience. Raw roleplaying is definitely powerful, but the mechanics underneath are something more than simple procedural fiat. They are the hidden architecture that is shaping the emotional life of the game.
This article is my attempt at answering that insightful question and describing why mechanics aren’t numbers, obstacles, or simulator toys. They are, in fact, the skeleton upon which the feel, the vibe, the emotional connection of playing hangs. Mechanics do deeply influence things, typically affecting us most powerfully when we’re least aware of it consciously. And if this sounds eerily familiar, well we are not strangers to debating the importance of rules (I ; II ; III – or lack thereof if you ask Horia, I guess he just likes Chaos).
Essentially, the truth is that rules quietly but powerfully influence player behavior. They set the boundaries of the possible in the world of the game, indicating what can be tried, which will be difficult, and what the game necessarily prizes. Consider it again, Dog Eat Dog. Could you produce its themes of colonialism out of sheer improvised roleplaying? In theory, yes. But the game’s exact mechanical loop – where one player is the colonial “Occupation,” possessing power that forces the “Natives” into constant, sometimes difficult choices to conform or suffer punishment – is central. Without that relentless sequence of small concessions demanded by the rules, the experiential, affective reality of colonialism – the insidious stripping away of cultural identity, the suffocating weight of accommodation, the ambient violence that pervades everyday encounters – wouldn’t hit with the same gut-level, inescapable force. You could definitely narrate a story of colonialism without these particular rules, but it would probably be missing that creeping, systemic disempowerment that Dog Eat Dog makes players experience.
This speaks to a key principle: the mechanics can impart a particular emotional reaction and thematic depth that unstructured, raw storytelling can’t necessarily provide on a regular basis. It’s like the cinematography in film; the angle of the camera, the lighting and edit affect your emotional response before any dialogue is spoken. Similarly, the mechanics of a TTRPG impose an underlying structure, a framework that necessarily calls forth certain emotions, highlights certain themes, and calls into existence inherent tensions unique to that game’s design. The way in which dice are rolled, resources are spent, or consequences are determined all contribute to the overall tone and player experience.
Naturally, the degree to which mechanical influence is desired will differ widely. Not all players, or even all groups, crave the same level of rules interaction.
Different games, themes, and styles of play function best with different levels of “crunch” – the jargon for how much complexity, depth, and sheer quantity of mechanics a game possesses. Having a sense of where you stand on this can actually greatly enhance your enjoyment. How much crunch do you really need for the experience you’re seeking? Here’s a general guide to guide through that:
Low Crunch (minimal Rules)
You might like them if: You prioritize freeform storytelling, improvisation, and character interaction above all else. You want rules that get out of the way quickly, favoring narrative flow over procedural steps. Fast, loose, and emotionally driven sessions appeal more than tactical puzzles or detailed simulation. You’re comfortable with narrative ambiguity and letting the group’s interpretation guide outcomes.
Examples:
- Honey Heist (Famously features just two stats: BEAR and CRIMINAL.)
- Fiasco (Scene creation relies almost entirely on collaborative, freeform improvisation based on initial setup.)
- Wanderhome (A pastoral, often GM-less game focusing on gentle exploration with very light, prompt-based mechanics.)
- FATE (Flexible aspects and fate points guide narrative control without overwhelming with rules.)
Best for: Emotional storytelling, quick one-shot adventures, groups with strong existing trust and improvisational chemistry, or those wanting the rules to be nearly invisible.
Medium Crunch (Balanced, as all things should be)
You might like it if: You appreciate a defined game structure and flow but still crave significant flexibility for roleplaying and creative problem-solving. You want mechanics that actively reinforce the game’s genre or themes without becoming overly complex or slowing down play significantly. Systems where the rules are designed to generate interesting story prompts and consequences are appealing.
Examples:
- Blades in the Dark (Its Position and Effect system creates inherent tension and risk assessment without complex calculations.)
- Masks: A New Generation (Character archetypes (“Playbooks”) have mechanics that directly encourage specific teenage superhero emotional arcs and interpersonal drama.)
- Trophy Dark (Utilizes simple dice pools but incorporates mechanics explicitly designed to escalate horror, desperation, and tragic outcomes.)
Best for: Groups seeking a strong thematic focus supported by meaningful rules, providing enough structure to guide play without causing analysis paralysis or overshadowing roleplaying.
High Crunch (Complex rules, might require a Phd)
You might like it if: You derive satisfaction from mastering intricate systems, making detailed mechanical choices, and seeing clear, predictable consequences from those choices. You enjoy the challenge of “solving” encounters or problems through clever application of rules and character abilities. Strategic planning, tactical combat, and detailed simulation are core parts of the fun for you.
Examples:
- Dungeons & Dragons 4e (Especially at mid-to-high levels, the interplay of spells, feats, class features, and monster abilities creates significant tactical depth.)
- Pathfinder 2e (Known for its highly tactical combat, intricate character customization options, and detailed action economy.)
- GURPS (A generic, universal system allowing simulation of almost anything… provided you’re willing to engage deeply with its extensive, modular rules.)
Best for: Players who relish tactical challenges, character optimization (“building”), detailed world interaction simulations, and campaigns where mechanical mastery is a key element of play.
Lastly, the mechanics we operate are something more than procedural tools; they are machinery for the creation of mood, pressure, and possibility. They are intrinsically emotional. The mechanics in Dog Eat Dog are the story of accumulating debt and losing agency. In Blades in the Dark, the Stress mechanic makes the desperation of a criminal endeavor concrete. In Honey Heist, the sheer, absurdist elegance of the BEAR/CRIMINAL binary is the combustible for the humor.
So, when we select a tabletop RPG, we’re not just picking a setting (fantasy, sci-fi, horror) or a genre; we’re selecting a particular emotional template for the game. We’re selecting the emotional tone the rules will assist in creating. While I enthusiastically recommend trying a broad range of systems – each has its own take and experience – convincing a group familiar with a known game like D&D to play something dramatically different isn’t always easy.
One of the possible bridges, one way to bring in the excellence of another design, is to take great care to “steal” or borrow effective mechanics from another game and adapt them into your current campaign (Example A). Borrowing a relationship mechanic from a given game, a stress system from another, or a flashback method can be a gateway, introducing players subtly to different ways of engaging with the story and each other. It’s a path to more open play, richer stories, and more emotional depth at the table.
Because in the end, the rules we play by don’t just regulate behavior; they richly define the worlds we imagine together and, most of all, the feelings and memories we carry away from them long after the dice are stored.
«Previous
Next»
