“So, we’re playing zombies whom the entire world hates, and our big goal is to lose all our superpowers?”
They’ve made up their mind about this new game without having ever played it, and I cringe for a moment, realizing that I’ve got about 12 seconds to make my pitch or lose the chance to sell this group on Promethean forever.
Not an easy task, considering that, on some levels, they are right.
Promethean characters exist in a world full of danger. They awaken “on the slab,” knowing little. Their presence breeds hatred in humans, wakens nightmares from their slumber and poisons the very ground beneath their feet. Prometheans are monsters, at the mercy of their Torment, faced with a goal that few will survive to attain, and have no souls.
Where vampires stalk a world of gothic horror, mages explore the Gnostic mysteries of the forgotten past and werewolves hunt the night in bloody savagery, Prometheans seem doomed to classic tragedy. Their story seems fated to end poorly before it even begins.
So, to verbalize my would-be-player’s unspoken question:
“Where’s the fun in that?”
A Classic Tragedy
Classic tragedy is more than a story that doesn’t end happily. In fact, in many Greek tragedies, the hero prevails in the end, although that victory is never without a price. What makes a classic tragedy a tragedy is a standard set of characteristics: a dramatic piece with a serious tone wherein a hero is in conflict with a higher power, be it society, nature, fate or the gods.
By this definition, Promethean is a game of classic tragedy. Our hero, regardless of his Lineage and Refinement, exists in a world with little time for jovial frivolity. He is faced with many challenges. His fate has left him with little knowledge and less experience to draw upon. Society detests him. Humans are consistently repelled by his presence, and even those of his own kind grow uncomfortable with him as he becomes more powerful. Nature has turned its back on him. The grass curls up and dies where he walks, and faithful hounds cower or snarl when he comes near. The most godlike beings he encounters, the qashmallim who appear like angels to deliver messages from on high, are as likely to give him advice that ends in his own death as to aid him. While he has a firm goal, there is no sure path to achieve it, and he is more likely to perish than to prosper. His existence is, literally, one long series of challenges. What then makes a tragedy a story worth telling, or, in this case, worth playing? Those same challenges.
The Joys of Challenge
The Promethean existence is an ongoing series of ordeals. Unlike other games in which the trials before the characters are most often antagonists to defeat, however, Promethean challenges are an integral part of the Prometheans’ journey Milestones are not the army of spirits attempting to invade a character’s territory or a search for some new magical treasure. Milestones are the treasure itself, hidden along their path, waiting for them to look in the right direction at the right time to uncover their riches. Each milestone offers the Created the opportunity to gain insight into the nature of humankind, to learn positive lessons from negative interactions and to know that each of those lessons successfully learned brings him a step closer to his goal.
Likewise, these challenges afford Promethean players the prospect of roleplaying aspects that rarely profit World of Darkness characters. Prometheans benefit demonstrably from learning, from showing increased maturity and from demonstrating humane qualities as they aspire to their Mortality. In short, Promethean players have the opportunity to play the “good guys” in a very real sense, and to see their characters grow more powerful and closer to their goal by doing so, despite the daunting odds.
Avoiding Angst
And how about those daunting odds? It’s easy to talk about overcoming challenges and looking at problems as opportunities, but practically speaking, what is stopping the game from turning into a raging angst fest? And, do we want to?
In order to address this, we should figure out exactly what it is we’re trying to avoid. Angst, by definition, is a strong but unspecific anxiety, usually pertaining to general concern about the world around us or our personal freedom. In this sense, it’s a perfectly acceptable emotion for Promethean characters to experience. Angst could be seen as admirable, even, in the sense of attempting to feel empathy for and concern about a world that, at best, turns its back on them. This kind of angst can lead the Created (and their players) to insights about the failings of humanity and spur the characters to action to attempt to correct, or at least counterbalance, the sources of their concern.
In more common usage, however, angst is quite different and much less desirable. As a pejorative term, angst has taken on the meaning of gloomy whining about the situation around oneself without taking any actions to fix or change it. As such, angst is the luxury of those who have the freedome to sit around and mope about their fates. Angst is not the territory of slaves who struggle daily with their enforced servitude, oppressed patriots striving for freedom or shipwrecked travelers struggling against a hostile environment. They have neither the time nor the energy to devote to this type of angst as they struggle for freedom, safety and survival.
And neither should a Promethean.
While a Promethean’s situation is worthy of inspiring angst, this same situation keeps him from angst by demanding that he deal with challenges. It is nigh on impossible to slip into a brooding pity party while struggling forward to meet a challenge. Only impossible, rather than improbable, situations should give characters the leisure to lie about and bemoan their fates. Ideally, as long as there is a route forward, despite the odds, the characters should be driven onward. Therefore the key to preventing Promethean from transitioning from an epic tragedy to something far more petulant is presenting the challenges in a way that provides opportunities, rather than dead ends, as the characters work their way towards their ultimate goal.
The Big Win
As a classic tragedy, Promethean also offers its characters and players a unique opportunity. Other characters in the World of Darkness begin play with their fate set before them and can only aspire to follow it, or rebel against it, as they may. A werewolf comes into play a werewolf and will end play the same way. Ditto for a vampire or a mage; embrace their nature or rebel against it, they are what they are and no actions they take will change that. The best they can hope for is to not slide further away from their ideal, to avoid slipping further into the darkness. In many ways, these characters are fighting a losing battle and struggling toward something that they can rarely attain and never retain for long.
In contrast, Promethean players are given the chance to “win” in a way that no other World of Darkness character affords them. Their characters’ ultimate goal — to attain their Mortality — is not a theoretical pipe dream. Mortality is an attainable aspiration. Each challenge they face, each milestone they complete, makes them not only more powerful as Prometheans but also brings them one step closer to attaining their end goal: humanity. While the odds may be against them, and the challenges they face may seem daunting, they have the one thing that has kept every classic tragedy hero striving forward in the face of similar adversity — hope.
Telling Tales
My players are waiting. I think for a moment, and then make my pitch:
“Picture this. You awake to the scent of roses, surrounded by candles. You sit up and find yourself in a shadowy building with a gorgeous woman staring back at you. She looks at you with an intense adoration, and as she moves forward, you realize she’s not just beautiful. She’s inhuman. Her skin is like wax, almost translucent, and her eyes shine like glass beads. She reaches for you, calling you by a name that you don’t recognize. Her voice sends chills down your spine. As you try to back away, her expression changes from rapture to rage at your rejection. You stand, naked, and look around for an escape route. Your eyes meet with those of a clean-cut man. He’s no more familiar to you than she is. His eyes are dark, like hers, but his skin is swarthy where hers is pale. His features are chiseled, with a strong brow and high cheekbones. You call out to him, hoping for aid, but as his mouth moves in twin with yours, you realize that the handsome stranger is your own reflection.”
Their expressions have changed. They’re not yet hooked, but they’re listening. I turn to the nearest. “You don’t know your name, you don’t know your face. There’s a woman here who looks like something out of a wax museum. What do you do?”
He looks confused, but beside him, his girlfriend pipes up. “I get the hell out of there.”
“No, wait! I want to see who she is. Maybe she can help us.”
As the players start to squabble over their best course of action, I realize that one of the biggest challenges to the story has just been overcome. The players have been given their first set of challenges, their first opportunities for action, and despite their misgivings, they’re going forward. Rather than spending time debating whether a classic tragedy setting could be anything but angst-filled, by taking action and facing the challenges before them, they’ve already begun to prove that it can. And, as they continue to face, and overcome, challenges, that same forward action will spur their characters forward, gaining insights and moving them closer to their ultimate goal.
(This essay was written by Jess Hartley, on pages 109-111 of Strange Alchemies, the second of four supplements for Promethean: The Created. Copyright - White Wolf Games, printed here with permission.)
