You Don’t Stab a God

Well, you can… but you shouldn’t.

Photo by Simone Pellegrini on Unsplash

Why do so many tabletop role playing games have you work your way up to pseudo godhood? I understand the allure of near-infinite power, and I’m sure many in the history of mankind have striven for similar, but how much satisfaction lives in that particular arena? The problem with near-infinite power curves is that they are more inclined to bring you to the ceiling, than for you to reach closer to the sky.

An infinite playground

A common theme in RPGs is that players enjoy early levels over the later levels. But why? Shouldn’t we all want to be deific peers, or omnipotent world-shattering entities? The answer seems to be: Not really, but that’s where this treadmill leads, and I don’t particularly want to get off early. This leads to a common problem: ceilings close in on you, rather than the sky opening up to the cosmos (not literally).

What they thought was the limit is just one step along the way.

To combat this, I follow a simple ideology when running a campaign: identify a starting point, then set an end goal so distant that it remains effectively unreachable. Everything in between is a virtually infinite playground with possibility that is only limited by imagination. The idea that players need to cap out at impressive ordinary people or demigods robs them of opportunity and continuity for their beloved characters. (I’ll write a separate piece on how horizontal progression fuels vertical progression.)

One way we’ve bridged this gap in actual play by introducing Heralds: divine beings that exemplify the tenets of what a mortal would envision, were they to envision that god. Not the abstract concept of a god with humanoid physiology to satisfy a limited mortal brain. Like the gods themselves, Heralds are not technically immortal, at least not in the typical sense. They are way more likely to seek you out for a chat, or a tussle (likely a spanking), especially if your adventure has consequences that they, or their benefactor, find to be especially urgent.

The crux of this path is that it still gives that mythological connection, something impressive and powerful that you can feasibly encounter without derailing your world or cosmology, and most importantly, retains mystery. If you lose the mystery and the wonder, what do you have left?

An evolution of you, the storyteller

What we all gather around for is elaborate storytelling. Mechanics accentuate that storytelling, but never replace it.

I contend that nearly every single one of us is craving a good story — one that we influence, and participate in — but a story nonetheless. I don’t think “choose your own adventure” stories ever fell out of style, so much as they evolved.

TTRPGs are simply an evolution of you, the storyteller, and all your chosen co-storytellers. We crave intrigue, treachery, and heroics. Maybe not that simply, and we can swap or replace any of those descriptors, but we generally don’t want to know what happens at the end until we get there. If I know I’m on the fast-track to practical divinity, I’m already clued in on where this wild ride gets off, and we’re just filling in the details together.

Don’t rush to put a finish line on your story, or give cherished players unavoidable ends. That’s not to stay that stories can’t wrap up gracefully, and with finality, but it helps knowing that the horizon we see “over there” isn’t the one that we’ve been seeing since our journey together kicked off.

Getting back to the title of this story: You Don’t Stab a God.

That’s not because you can’t, and I’m sure games exist where it’s a perfectly reasonable course of action in their journey — but it almost necessarily terminates itself, and in doing so, stabs the mystery and wonder.

Where do you go from there? Do you become a god? Do you become God+ Ultra Maxx? Are you sure you never want to embody that character again? Do your future plans require a retcon? All valid — or perhaps, invalid — questions, depending on your setting.

The ultimate point is this: try not to rush to define the ceiling, and rather than bringing it closer and closer to the player, show them that the ceiling was never the ceiling at all. What they thought was the limit is just one step along the way.

Let your imagination work within the constraints of your cosmology, not constantly butting up against it. Your options are miles wide. Don’t simply put your players on a treadmill straight up; let them become smarter, better, eviler, cleverer, or any other -er that isn’t always just strong-er.

Passive Assassin is a small, independent tabletop gaming studio. We’re developing The Night’s Unrelent — a tactical heroic fantasy TTRPG. Join our mailing list for early access and to receive an invitation to our Discord server.

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