One of my biggest pet peeves with debates about roleplaying games is what I feel is a misconception of this genre of play. The notion that combat is the point of the game because of the number of rules devoted to the subject overlooks why, in a game, combat receives the lion’s share of space in the rulebooks: probability mechanics and a reduction of arguments by the impartiality of those random factors. Combat is pure chaos. The dice rolls and all of the mitigating factors that weight in on whether damage is inflicted or not is why there are so many pages devoted to the subject.
To understand combat and its role in the game requires a bit of a retread on material already covered: roleplaying games sprang from wargames. It’s important to keep this in mind as many of the complexities behind adjustments to hit or miss were imported into RPGs. The changes went beyond weather, lighting, and terrain however. As the genre matured, more rules were added to give a mechanical weight for maneuvers players described that were intended to sway the outcome in their favor. All of these additions were mathematical reflections of storytelling for one of the most chaotic parts of roleplaying games. The additions also limit the potency of such actions.
Outside of combat, there are few rules that help guide the storytelling process. A key reason for this is the logical and straightforward way in which stories work. Rolls are only needed when a conflict or uncertainty occurs. Eventually, whenever tension requires resolution. And that is all combat is: a series of resolutions to tension. The doubt of the outcome and its resultant excitement drive combat scenes to a conclusion.
When you consider the rules of the system, it makes sense to focus on why combat gets most of the space in a game’s rulebook. This is not to say that other aspects of the game are less important. Rather, this focus on combat reveals how changed of a situation it is. It’s the inherent weakness in human emotions and competition that, even for the purpose of telling an engaging story, prevent us from separating the excitement of winning from that of a thoroughly engrossing story. Hidden behind this is the survival instinct to survive an experience where two opponents trade blows.
The trading of punches is all combat is at its base level. Nobody wants to do that for long if they have other options available and one’s life is at stake. This led to the armor and arms race. If I was engaged in single-man combat, rest assured I would wear whatever minimizes my opponent’s attack and use the most powerful weapon I could get my hands on. I suspect many people would do the same. This also explains why gamers go to such great lengths to describe their character’s attacks and any subsequent bonuses they can squeeze out of them. In the most simplistic system, the only modifiers are those found in wargames and adjustments based on levels.
Spells, weapons, terrain, combat prowess, armor, and physical discrepancies between opponents are all forms of basic components common to game systems. The only things they govern are the most blatant questions one is likely to encounter in combat. Is this sword portent enough to overcome that piece of armor? Will this spell negate that terrain’s effects? Beyond this, the rules for combat are case-by-case adjustments often rooted in nuance and special cases or exceptions resultant from rules confusion, contradiction, or conflation that imbalance or halt game play. Those qualities are for advanced, or tactical, play where a greater emphasis is placed on what techniques and their counters are available in the rules. These questions do not make the game any easier or harder; rather, they inform players how interpretive the math is. In a basic system, one describes whatever is desired, but it is purely for theatrics. The bonuses remain unaffected without gamemaster fiat.
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