What Kind of Drunk Are You?

Back in the late 14^th or early 15^th century, poet, nobleman, and (one assumes) at least occasional drinker Oswald von Wolkenstein prepared a list of twelve types of drunk, as related by Medievalists.net. Rather conveniently for us roleplayers, the number of types of drunk he identifies map onto the number of faces on the best polyhedral die¹. So without further ado… here’s a nice table.

1d12	Type of Drunk
1	Wise: You believe that the vast knowledge and experience of your years should be shared with everyone who can listen, whether or not they wish to listen.
2	Rich: Your finances are inexhaustible; the Emperor himself could not wish to be so wealthy. If your coin purse happens to be empty, it is a mere trifle which will be rectified come morning.
3	Hungry: No horse was ever so hungry: you ravenously consume anything which is plausibly edible, whether it be cooked or raw, fresh or rotten.
4	Sorrowful: All your past sins – real and imagined – burden your heart; you weep and cry over your misdeeds, and seek to do whatever is necessary to make amends to those you have wronged.
5	Unchaste: The hooded stranger in the dark corner? Totally your type. They were definitely giving you a look. Buy them a drink. Just remember to fade to black if when they take you to their room.
6	All Talk: You’re definitely going to open that tavern. And go on pilgrimage to the Holy City. And slay the Dragon of the Dry Wastes. After all, talk is cheap. And it’s not like anyone will remember tomorrow… will they?
7	Fighty: That so-and-so who spilt a drink over you? Outside. Now. Get your friends to hold your coat.
8	Happy: You have everything you could ever want, and more to spare. If others have greater need, why not gift it to them? Your magic sword? The services of your trusted hirelings? The deeds to your stronghold? Why of course, friend, may it bring you joy!
9	Indiscreet: Nobody has secrets any more. Everything you know, everything you see, everything you hear, you share it openly with everyone within earshot.
10	Wakeful: You fight against sleep: you will not rest until forced to do so, either by your own body or by the actions of another.
11	Singing: Totally uninhibited, without regard to the time, the neighbours, or your own ability. Volume is mandatory. Familiarity with the tune or the lyrics is not.
12	Vomiting: You know how the innkeeper told you there was a charge for special cleaning of bedding? People like you are the reason that charge exists.

Roll when you need to decide what kind of drunk your character is. At character generation if you want to be predictable. Or any time it comes up if you like chaos.

Even if drunkenness is not something you wish to gameplay, there are similarities between that state and any other in which a character might not be at their best. Hungry. Fatigued. Stressed. Dragged down a goblin-infested hole in the ground by some guy with a pointed hat and a treasure map².

Do Better

Honestly, RPG blogosphere. If there were a Bloggie for 'worst blog', I'd be a contender.

I'm not trying to beat myself up here; it's just a reflection of fact that I've barely written anything, my site doesn't even have a blogroll, and my web design would have been awful in 2008. Which is, incidentally, the year the internet was at its best.

But, like everyone else with a blog, I couldn't help but look myself up at graph.elmc.at. Imagine my surprise to discover I'm ranked 157 out of 514 on interconnectedness. Which is not the totality of what constitutes a good blog. But apparently nearly 70% of RPG bloggers are even less connected than me.

Low bar, folks.

If you're reading this and not blogging anything, write something. You might like it. If you're reading this and you are blogging something, link to other people. Even if it's just to say 'hey, look at this dingbat who thinks he can tell me what to do'. That's how conversations get started.

And that's what made the internet so good in 2008. People had conversations about the stuff they liked on blogs and forums.¹

Anyway. What have I been up to?

Why adventure? Ask the CIA!

Adventuring is a poor career choice. It's invariably dirty, almost always difficult, and usually dangerous. To be honest, being left to die alone in some cold, dark hole in the ground is one of the better outcomes for an adventurer.

Yet there is a seemingly endless stream of novices keen to endure the challenges. Why? Well, it's quite simple. Intelligence agencies have known it for years: MICE.

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Money might be obvious, but it probably isn't actually the best motivation, and for one simple reason. It's not that you can't become fabulously wealthy, or establish yourself as some petty king out beyond the frontier. That's entirely possible, and there are plenty of stories of those who have done exactly that. But fundamentally, you have to live in order to enjoy your wealth. And when your life expectancy is measured in weeks, not months or years, that starts to look unlikely.

That's not to say nobody is motivated by money. But it's likely to be an initial motivation, rather than an ongoing one: any self-respecting adventurer will emerge from their first expedition with enough silver¹ to live quite comfortably for a while. If that first hit doesn't do it, then either something other than money is in play, or the adventurer in question has spending habits which make pawnbrokers and loan sharks rub their hands in glee.

Which, of course, is precisely the assumption of much sword-and-sorcery fiction.

Ideology creates an adventurer who is both to be feared and respected. They have nothing to prove. They owe no debts. They will meet death with a grin on their face and a blade in their hand, knowing that every foe they take with them is a good deed done.

Any character motivated by ideology will, by necessity, have a strong belief system. This might be one based on religion, and therefore one might expect explicitly religious character archetypes (Clerics, Paladins, often Druids, and others) to fall into this category. But they, too, might have other motivations. And non-religious ideology might also exist. The warrior-aristocrat with absolute conviction that goblins must be exterminated. The peasant who is certain that somewhere in the wilderness is unspoilt land where they can live free from oppression. Any of these could be quite reasonable.

Coercion is a classic, but (like money) might be time-limited. Here we find 'your loved one has been captured by the Evil Baron von Dragonstein', or 'you will die if you do not retrieve the Chalice of Eternal Life from the Well of Despair'. Such a motivation is inarguable; this adventurer will do what they must to achieve their goal. But it's also a self-limiting motivation. There's only so many times you can pull off the 'your princess is in another castle!' manoeuvre.

Oddly enough, this is somewhat better suited to a superhero game, or epic fantasy. Those genres allow for world-ending threats which compel characters to action. Frodo agrees to take the One Ring to Mordor because it is needed to save the world - not for wealth, his beliefs, or his . And while that meant he only had one adventure, it was quite a long one.

Ego is probably the most common. This may be a would-be adventurer trying to prove that they are smarter, stronger, or tougher than other. It may be someone seeking to 'get even' for a perceived slight dealt to them It may simply be someone seeking excitement not present in their day-to-day life. We all know people who indulge in dangerous hobbies for one of these reasons - and there's seemingly no shortage of people willing to undertake cave diving or climbing the eight-thousanders.

This is a motivation which, like Ideology, is endless. And it may even be self-reinforcing, if the adventurer seeks to get the same 'high' which they got from a previous excursion, they're likely to repeat the attempt time and again.

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What does this all mean at the table? Well, for one thing I think it means that XP-for-treasure isn't actually a very good system. It incentivises getting treasure out of dungeons, but in most cases that isn't what adventurers want. For the money-seeking adventurer, it probably does make sense. But how does a game designer create a system that links character progression to their ideology or to indulging their ego?

The coerced character, incidentally, probably doesn't want progression for their story. Whether it's Mario or Bryan Mills², the story is about using the character's existing abilities to achieve a goal. 

More usefully, though: for referees, know what motivates the characters in your game, and engage with it. The character who wants to find that rich farmland? Plant rumours so they have a reason to keep exploring. The character seeking relief from a curse? Let them feel that they're making progress towards it - or feel the effects if they're not. The character who wants to prove themselves? Challenge them.

Yes, this feels like it should be obvious. But it isn't always.

And for players: know what motivates your character. When 2d6 goblins come around the corridor, what's your desired outcome? If your character believes the only good goblin is a dead one, they'll react differently to one who's only interested in getting the contents of their treasury into your treasury - or to one who really just wants to know if they've heard the good news about our lord and saviour.

Just don't get into the 'it's what my character would do' shenanigans. Your character isn't an idiot. Even if they are, you aren't. Find a way to align their goals with things your gaming group enjoys.

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¹: Yes, I'm a silver-standard kind of guy.

²: Mario Bros had eight levels. Taken only had three. Otherwise? Basically the same story