Hungry ghosts and dream-eaters

Tetsubo was originally intended to be the “fantasy medieval Japan” supplement for Warhammer, but there were personnel changes at Games Workshop after Jamie Thomson and I were asked to write it. On the week we were due to deliver the manuscript, contacts in the GW offices advised us it would probably no longer fit their publishing plans. And so it turned out. We recovered the rights, and over the years talked about doing it with other publishers, but most of them wanted more of a 1960s Japanese cinema vibe than a Muromachi/Edo style setting.

In lockdown I took advantage of the sudden surfeit of spare time to start converting Tetsubo to Paul Mason’s Outlaws RPG system. I’ll get back to it in the next pandemic, if we haven’t had a nuclear war first. (My backers on Patreon have access to the work-in-progress version of the rulebook.) In the meantime, here are a couple of yokai from the book translated into Dragon Warriors rules – or should that be “Tatsu Bushi”? If you want the original Warhammer stats, they're here.

Baku

The baku is a powerful quadruped. It is called the Eater of Dreams, and people in rural areas sometimes make offerings so that it will devour their nightmares for them. Nonetheless the baku is not a kami but a physical creature, albeit one with myriad wondrous powers. Its ability is not restricted to consuming evil dreams. It can devour any dream, and characters whose dreams are taken frequently can become irritable or enervated.

If a baku takes up residence in an area it may come close to human habitations by night in order to feed. At all times it exudes a narcotic sorcery – characters who are unaware of its approach must resist with a Psychic Talent roll of difficulty factor 16 or else fall into a deep slumber; the roll is made using d20+2 if the character was already recumbent and ready for sleep.

Characters visited regularly over several nights suffer temporary penalties of −1 from PERCEPTION, Psychic Talent and Reflexes for as long as the baku's visits continue. If the visitations persist for more than a week, characters also start to lose 1 experience point per night. (This only applies to experience built up since the last level break; if it goes on long enough the character will not drop a rank, just lose all their unconverted experience.) If the visitations go on uninterrupted for a month, the victim develops insanity (randomly rolled). If the baku is slain or prevented from reaching its victims, depleted characteristics recover with just a few good nights' sleep but lost experience is gone and must be earned all over again. If an insane victim sees the baku’s dead body, he or she loses their insanity.

Baku are semi-intelligent and have been known to speak in guttural, half-coherent tones. It may be that they do not understand what they say but only regurgitate garbled phrases from the dreams they have eaten. Sometimes baku can be controlled by magic, so players could encounter one as the steed or servant of a powerful wizard.

Physique: The body of a baku resembles a tiger as large as a bull. Its fur is slick black and patterned with green circles like staring eyes. Its head has a long snout like that of a tapir or elephant, usually crested with long slender horns. It has a mane, but its domed forehead is bald (or even, in some accounts, fleshless). This is the appearance of a male baku. Females have a completely different physiognomy, but there are no reliable accounts from which any description could be attempted here.

Behaviour: Baku fear daylight and will always return to their lair before sunrise – usually a burrow or cave, sometimes a deserted temple in thick woodland. Although powerful they are not used to encountering opponents who fight back; any time a baku takes a wound it must make a morale roll or flee; deduct the rank of all opponents it is facing from 25, and the baku must roll the result or less on d20 to stand its ground. Sometimes baku will flee without waiting to be wounded, as they are intelligent enough to recognise there is nothing to be gained in fighting against the odds.

Special rules: A baku given an hour to feast on the dreams of a sleeping spellcaster will cause him or her to suffer the loss of d3 Magic Points the following day. Mystics suffer a penalty of 1 to Psychic Fatigue Checks.

When a baku strikes someone in combat it steals some of the strength of his dream-self. This has no perceptible effect on most people, but against a spellcaster it causes the loss of d6 Magic Points; mystics must roll a Psychic Fatigue Check with the damage they took substituting for spell level. Also, anyone injured must make an Intelligence roll (difficulty factor 14) or fall into a deep sleep until the baku leaves the vicinity.

If the baku is able to feast on dreams it fights with an ATTACK bonus of +3. If thwarted, its ATTACK is as listed.

In retreat, this creature can move ‘like the wind’ according to the description given by Kotei in his Bakemonojin. When the baku is fleeing from combat it moves at three times normal speed.

ATTACK 21                                    2 x Claws (d8,4) or 1 x Bite (d10,5)
DEFENCE 10                                 Armour Factor: 4
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 18             Movement: 14m (42m when fleeing)
EVASION: 8                                   STEALTH: 28
                                                        PERCEPTION: 20 (darksight)
Health Points: 2d6+24
Rank Equivalent: 10th

Abilities & Traits:

• Aura of Slumber: Anyone within 10m of a baku who has not already perceived it must make a Psychic Talent check (difficulty factor 16) or fall into a deep sleep lasting 1d6 x 10 minutes unless the sleeper is physically shaken awake.
• Dream Eater: Anyone injured by the baku’s attack must make an Intelligence roll (difficulty factor 14) to avoid falling asleep as above. If a spellcaster, they lose d6 Magic Points; mystics roll Psychic Fatigue.
• Nightmare Parasite: If a baku visits a person repeatedly, the affected individual experiences a penalty of −1 to PERCEPTION, Psychic Talent and Reflexes for as long as the visits continue. If visited for more than a week, they also lose 1 unbanked experience point per night.
• Wary Hunter: Baku are cautious and will retreat if seriously injured. If a baku takes a wound, it must roll [25 minus combined rank of opponents] or less on d20 or flee.
• Windborne Escape: A baku that flees from combat increases its movement to three times normal, vanishing into the night with uncanny speed.

Gaki

Gaki (‘hungry ghosts’) are tormented spirits cursed with an insatiable hunger due to their past sins, resulting in negative karma that means they cannot be reborn. They manifest in different forms depending on their cravings. Someone who stole from the bodies of the dead, for example, might become a corpse-eating gaki.

Bukyo teaches that appetite and desire are the cause of suffering, a doctrine vividly illustrated by the existence of hungry ghosts. For this reason it is sometimes possible for a Bukyo priest to placate a gaki by offering to perform the Segaki rite. This gives the ghost a chance to escape its suffering and be reborn as some lowly creature such as an insect. However, it is difficult for even a devout priest to reason with a gaki in this way because all gaki are effectively insane in human terms.

Physique: Like all ghosts, gaki are not restricted to one form. Sometimes they appear as roiling clouds of black smoke on which their human form is superimposed. This is thought to be a glimpse into Gakido, or the Hell of the Hungry Dead. Sometimes they are reported as having furry limbs or insectoid features, but this may be a subjective impression resulting from the observer's fear of the gaki. More usually, just as a gaki is about to attack, it will take a guise based on its craving. So a ketsu-gaki will manifest a face of wet blood, a chokenju-gaki might wear features molded of clay, and so on.

Behaviour: Gaki find it hard to resist any opportunity to assuage their hunger. To do so the gaki must roll 5 or 6 on d6. If the roll fails, the gaki must feed even if this means putting itself in danger.

Usually the gaki’s locus of haunting will be a graveyard, temple or mansion, and they will not move beyond that, but in some cases it can be a much more extensive area. One notorious gaki that was eventually enlightened by the priest Dogen had been condemned to haunt the entire length of the Shokowado highway, more than two hundred miles from end to end.

Special rules: Gaki cannot be harmed by nonmagical weapons. They can only manifest with any force at night, or occasionally during the daytime if there is a fog, blizzard or thunderstorm.

People surviving an encounter with a gaki commonly develop a phobia – often, strangely, a fear of insects. Any character who succumbs to a gaki’s fright attack acquires a phobia – 50% of entomophobia, 20% arachnophobia, otherwise roll randomly.

Other powers vary according to the type of gaki encountered. The list here is only a framework on which the referee should feel free to build. Many gaki have magical powers as a residue of merit from much earlier incarnations, and no two are entirely alike.

Chokenju-Gaki

The spirits of men who despoiled shrines for the sake of gain, or who took treasure from ancient tombs. They are cursed with a ravenous hunger for grave-clay, funereal offerings and the charred remnants of funeral pyres. A chokenju-gaki will usually be restricted to a graveyard and will not bother anyone who does not intrude on its feasting.

This variety of gaki is prone to taking normal human form by day. Often they will wear the guise of a solitary priest or hermit living in a cottage in the graveyard. They are typically less obsessive and more reasonable during the day, and they may even ask for help if confronted by one who has guessed the truth about them.

At night the chokenju-gaki may take a monstrous form of earth, cerements and mouldered bones, instilling dread in any living creature who sees it. Roll 4d6 for fright attack, and a victim who succumbs will flee in terror or fight at −2 from ATTACK if cornered.

If engaged in combat, the gaki slashes with jagged talons which carry a variant of the Wasting Disease (see The Elven Crystals). Anyone who takes damage must roll Strength or less on d20 to resist the disease, then if they fail roll again each day to recover. Each day of illness causes −1 to both Strength and Health Points. If the character loses a total of half their Strength or more during the whole course of the disease, then even after recovering their appearance will be permanently affected, making their flesh grey and pitted: the character suffers −2 Looks.

ATTACK 20                                Talons (d8,5) and disease
DEFENCE 16                              Armour Factor: d3
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 15         Movement: 10m (15m)
EVASION: 4                                  STEALTH: 10
                                                        PERCEPTION: 10 (darksight)
Health Points: 3d6+10
Rank Equivalent: 8th

Doku-Gaki

The ghosts of poisoners, doomed to thirst for poison themselves. Anyone who is carrying or brewing any form of poison risks attracting a doku-gaki's attention. The creature is likely to begin its attack by approaching the character while he or she is asleep, usually in the form of a vapour with weak (2d6) toxic or deliriant effect.

Taking a more cohesive form if combat becomes inevitable, it strikes with envenomed claws. Each time it hits and inflicts damage, make a roll for poison of normal strength. The first failed roll results in the victim becoming drowsy (−1 from all rolls), the second in partial paralysis (like a Weaken spell), and the third in death. If rescued in time, the victim will recover from the venom after a day’s rest.

ATTACK 18                                Claws (d8,4) and poison
DEFENCE 12                              Armour Factor: 3
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 15         Movement: 12m (20m)
EVASION: 5                                  STEALTH: 20
                                                        PERCEPTION: 14 (panoptical)
Health Points: 2d6+12
Rank Equivalent: 7th

Jikininki

A ghoulish creature, usually the ghost of someone who robbed or defiled the dead. Anyone confronting a jikininki unexpectedly is subject to a d20 fright attack that can result in them becoming awestruck – unable to move, speak or attack, though they can still defend themselves. The character can attempt to snap out of it by rolling Intelligence or less on d20 each round, and once they do so there is no need to check again in that encounter.

Jikininki do not kill to eat. They usually crave the flesh of someone who has died from other means, and will only fight if kept from reaching the corpse. A person eaten by a jikininki can never be restored to life.

In areas where a jikininki is known to haunt, some families have acquired the habit of murdering wayfarers whenever someone in their household dies. This ensures that the jikininki's hunger will be assuaged by eating the wayfarer instead of the family member on the first night, allowing the householders time to arrange a cremation the next day. Of course, people who do this kind of thing are only ensuring that they will return as gaki in their next life.

Encounter with a jikininki

All then left the house except the priest, who went to the room where the dead body was lying. The usual offerings had been set before the corpse and a small Buddhist lamp—tomyo—was burning. The priest recited the service and performed the funeral ceremonies, after which he entered into meditation. So meditating he remained through several silent hours, and there was no sound in the deserted village. But when the hush of the night was at its deepest there noiselessly entered a shape, vague and vast, and in the same moment the priest found himself without power to move or speak. He saw that shape lift the corpse, as with hands, and devour it more quickly than a cat devours a rat, beginning at the head and eating everything, the hair and the bones and even the shroud. And the monstrous thing, having thus consumed the body, turned to the offerings, and ate them also. Then it went away, as mysteriously as it had come.

– Koizumi Yakumo, Kwaidan

ATTACK 19                                   Claws (d8+1,6)
DEFENCE 13                                  Armour Factor: 4
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 16             Movement: 12m (25m)
EVASION: 4                                      STEALTH: 18
                                                            PERCEPTION: 15 (darksight)
Health Points: 2d10+9
Rank Equivalent: 8th

Ketsu-Gaki

A Yamatese vampire, this is the ghost of a murderer or an excessively cruel and violent person. The presence of a ketsu-gaki induces dread in living creatures: d20 fright attack to induce −2 ATTACK, −1 damage for the duration of the battle. In combat, the ketsu-gaki can either strike normally or else grapple. It will usually do this only when fighting a solitary opponent. A character who is grappled must make an immediate d20 roll trying to score equal to or under the average of their Strength and Reflexes score; if this fails they are paralysed and unable to act for 2d6 rounds. The gaki will make use of this time to drink the paralysed character's blood, extruding a proboscis or long needle-like teeth with which to do this. Each round it spends drinking will drain the victim of 1 ealth Point. When HP reach zero, the victim is discarded and must roll Strength or less on d20 or die at once. If the roll succeeds, the victim is incapacitated and may suffer from recurrent bleeding; assuming they survive, they recover as from normal injury but only get back half their rank in HP each day.

Ketsu-gaki can sometimes appear during the day wearing the appearance they bore in their previous incarnation. While in this manifestation they are able to control their hunger and are effectively just ghosts passing for living people.

ATTACK 22                                 Claws (d10,4) or grapple
DEFENCE 12                              Armour Factor: 3
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 16         Movement: 12m (25m)
EVASION: 4                                  STEALTH: 13
                                                        PERCEPTION: 13 (darksight)
Health Points: 3d6+10
Rank Equivalent: 9th

Kwa-Gaki

Arsonists, particularly those who have set fire to Bukyo temples, are reincarnated as kwa-gaki, or ‘fire-eating ghosts’. All forms of heat and light are consumed by this goblin, including spells such as Dragonbreath and Dazzle as well as the light of lanterns and candles. Such attacks are neutralized within a range of fifteen metres of the kwa-gaki and light sources automatically dim in the same region, with bright firelight guttering to the level of a candle and ordinarily dim illumination dropping to pitch darkness.

The creature’s touch draws heat from the target's body, causing the loss of an additional 1d3 damage from any successful attack.

A kwa-gaki which comes across a sleeping character may try to possess him or her in order to steal bodily warmth over a long period. This process takes 2d6 minutes, but works automatically if the gaki is not interrupted during this time. The character will begin to develop a chill as the gaki first feeds on their body warmth, interspersed with periods of burning fever when the gaki is satiated. This causes the character to be temporarily at −2 to all rolls most of the time, and totally incapacitated while the fever is on them. Normal medical treatment is ineffective, and the character must guess that they have become host to a gaki and seek the aid of a Bukyo priest. If and when the gaki is exorcized, the victim recovers almost immediately.

ATTACK 12+d10                            Claws (d8,4) but will usually attempt possession
DEFENCE 12                                  Armour Factor: 2
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 16             Movement: 10m (20m)
EVASION: 4                                      STEALTH: 22
                                                            PERCEPTION: 14 (darksight)
Health Points: 5d6
Rank Equivalent: 7th

Yokushiki-Gaki

Demonic spirits of carnality, corresponding to the incubi and succubi of Occidental myth. These beings were driven by overwhelming lust when alive, or else acquired bad karma through unnatural sexual practices. By night yokushiki-gaki are able to appear as preternaturally attractive individuals, but this is only an illusion and if encountered at all by day it is in the form of one made hideous by age and depravity.

In its night-time form the yokushiki-gaki can seduce characters of either sex. If the intended victim chooses to resist (they might not even try) roll 4d6 for the force of the attraction, subtract the victim’s rank, and the gaki must roll that or less of d20 to seduce them. If a yokushiku-gaki succeeds in coupling with a character, it drains them of their vitality, and they will awaken the next morning with their Health Points permanently reduced by 1.

A yokushiki-gaki will usually retreat if threatened with combat, though if interrupted in the throes of lovemaking (perhaps by the comrades of its victim, belatedly coming to her assistance) it will lash out violently. If its claws inflict damage on a character it will infect him or her with a disease (roll Strength or less on 3d6 to resist) that causes no HP loss but applies a −5 penalty to Looks for the 1-6 months that the disease lasts. At the same time the gaki will discard its comely appearance, the repugnant sight of its true face instilling dread (2d6 fright check; those succumbing are unable to act for 1-6 rounds) in everyone present. If someone who has had sex with a yokushiki-gaki sees its real face, he or she immediately acquires a form of insanity (randomly rolled).

ATTACK 18                                    Claws (d8,4)
DEFENCE 12                                  Armour Factor: 2
MAGICAL DEFENCE: 18             Movement: 15m (25m)
EVASION: 4                                      STEALTH: 18
                                                            PERCEPTION: 13 (panoptical)
Health Points: 2d6+8
Rank Equivalent: 7th

Adventure seeds

The gaki make for fascinating antagonists because they aren't simply monsters to defeat; they have tragic backstories and represent moral lessons about greed, lust, and violence. This provides referees with opportunities to create encounters with ethical dimensions beyond simple combat.

1. The Hungry Road: A notorious ketsu-gaki haunts a stretch of highway. Fearful locals have developed the terrible practice of sacrificing travellers whenever a villager dies, to distract the gaki from feasting on the remains of their loved ones.
2. The Beautiful Stranger: A yokushiki-gaki has taken up residence in an abandoned house. Several young people from a nearby village have fallen mysteriously ill after reporting encounters with a beautiful stranger.
3. A Pious Caretaker: A chokenju-gaki haunts an ancient temple, appearing as an elderly keeper by day, in which form it is unaware of its true nature, but transforming into a monstrous guardian by night to ward off looters and defilers.

If you decide to use any of these hungry ghosts in your campaign, they could lead to interesting scenarios where players might need to:

• Investigate the gaki's origin to properly exorcise it
• Navigate difficult moral choices when encountering villages with disturbing practices
• Help a gaki that appears human by day but struggles with its nature
• Perform the Segaki ritual to give a repentant spirit a chance at rebirth

Alternate versions of Heart of Ice

This post isn't really an April Fool, but it tickled me. Somebody told me they'd asked ChatGPT what The Warlock of Firetop Mountain might have been like if Oliver Johnson and I had written it. I could tell it that for starters the book wouldn't have sold a tenth as many copies, but it concentrated instead on the stylistic aspects:

"If The Warlock of Firetop Mountain had been written by Dave Morris and Oliver Johnson, it would likely have taken on a more complex, story-driven, and atmospheric quality, with a richer interplay between narrative and character choice. The book would be darker, more sophisticated, and immersive, with a layered story and morally complex characters that invite readers to question the nature of heroism, villainy, and fate. It would keep readers enthralled not just with the challenge of surviving the mountain but with the depth of the world and characters they encounter."

First thought: spare my blushes. But maybe ChatGPT always finds the upside in any comparison? I tried asking it what Heart of Ice would have been like if written by the éminences grises of UK gamebooks. Its reply:

If Heart of Ice had been written by Ian Livingstone and Steve Jackson, it would likely have had a distinctly different tone, structure, and gameplay focus. Here’s how:

1. Emphasis on Combat and Skill Tests

Livingstone and Jackson’s style, particularly in the Fighting Fantasy series, leans heavily on combat encounters and skill tests. Instead of the intricate social interactions and strategic planning that Heart of Ice focuses on, there would likely be more dice-based combat and stat checks woven throughout. Encounters with mutants or dangerous factions might involve straightforward fights rather than diplomatic or strategic solutions.

2. Simplified Storyline and Character Interactions

Heart of Ice is known for its branching paths, character-driven plot, and complex narrative. If Livingstone and Jackson had written it, the story might be more linear and driven by clear objectives rather than complex interpersonal choices. NPCs would be more likely to serve as allies or adversaries without much emotional depth, focusing on the immediate stakes rather than broader story themes.

3. Collectible Inventory and Traps

Livingstone and Jackson often include item collection as a key part of their gameplay, with a particular focus on specific items needed to progress through the story or defeat major challenges. If they had written Heart of Ice, players would probably need to collect certain artifacts to reach critical locations like the chamber of the Heart, and there might be more hidden traps and hazards along the way, requiring particular items or choices to avoid disaster.

4. Greater Focus on Luck-Based Outcomes

Jackson and Livingstone's works often incorporate luck as a major mechanic, where random rolls can dramatically impact outcomes. Instead of just weighing the risks and rewards in Heart of Ice, players might face outcomes that hinge on a luck stat or a random roll, affecting their survival or success.

5. Increased Use of Instant Failures and Dead-Ends

Heart of Ice has a reputation for being fair in its approach to player agency and choices, allowing for a range of ways to succeed. In contrast, Livingstone and Jackson might introduce sudden death options more often, which could increase the difficulty and frustration. This could potentially make Heart of Ice a more challenging but also more punishing journey.

6. A Clear-Cut "Big Bad"

While Heart of Ice presents a nuanced story where antagonism isn’t always black-and-white, a version by Livingstone and Jackson might feature a single, clearly defined “villain” character. This villain would be more traditional, with the player's final objective involving a climactic showdown or battle, in line with the classic fantasy narratives they’re known for.

So, the gamebook might end up as a harsher, combat-heavy adventure with a strong, linear quest through a dangerous landscape rather than the layered and atmospheric narrative exploration Dave Morris crafted.

I haven't read enough Fighting Fantasy books to know how accurate that is, but it sounds pretty impressive. I couldn't resist asking it about other gamebook authors' possible take on the book:

“A Joe Dever version of Heart of Ice would likely be an immersive, heroic journey with a noble character, structured progression, and clear moral and strategic choices—capturing both the danger and the higher purpose of the quest in a more heroic fantasy style. He’d likely weave in a sense of duty, encouraging players to act for a greater good rather than personal gain.”

“In Jonathan Green’s hands, Heart of Ice would become a grimdark, horror-fantasy adventure, filled with visceral details, deadly encounters, and moral ambiguity. Green favours action-packed scenes and deadly encounters, so his version of Heart of Ice would feature frequent, high-stakes battles and physical challenges. It might involve collecting key items to reach the Heart or unlock special advantages. He’d likely add a layer of treasure-hunting, where players need to acquire specific artifacts or resources scattered throughout the wasteland to succeed. He loves a grand finale, so his version would likely end with an epic, high-stakes confrontation at the Heart.”

“Martin Noutch’s version would be a complex, playful, and layered adventure, balancing whimsy with emotional gravity. It would be a unique experience, inviting readers to engage with the story on multiple levels, both as an adventure and as a philosophical exploration of resilience, identity, and purpose in a world gone cold. He might include interactive features like tracking character traits, shifting perspectives, or even a system for moral ‘weight’ that changes based on choices. Noutch would probably play with the medium, encouraging readers to see the book as more than a story—perhaps introducing puzzles or mechanics that reflect the icy world’s desolation and the player’s perseverance.”

“If Paul Mason & Steve Williams had taken on Heart of Ice, the gamebook would be a surreal, philosophical journey, focused on introspection, symbolic encounters, and moral ambiguity. Rather than a straightforward adventure, it would feel like a dream-like, psychological exploration, where the destination matters far less than the journey itself. Their works often explore identity and transformation, so players might undergo changes based on their choices, affecting their skills, personality, or even memories. The players might evolve, not just in ability but in character, with each decision subtly reshaping the protagonist’s sense of self and purpose. The character’s motivations for seeking the Heart might also shift over time, depending on the journey's transformative impact. Instead of a straightforward victory or defeat, the journey might conclude with an open-ended, introspective finale, leaving players to interpret what they’ve achieved or lost. The Heart could be something far more abstract—maybe a philosophical revelation or an understanding about the nature of humanity and survival. The ending might reflect the choices made throughout, leaving players with questions rather than answers.”

“Jamie Thomson & Mark Smith are known for their sometimes irreverent style. Heart of Ice under their pen would probably include more dark humour and satirical elements, especially in character dialogue and descriptions of the setting. It might lean into the grim aspects of the post-apocalyptic world with a slightly tongue-in-cheek twist, letting players confront both the desolation and absurdity of humanity’s downfall.”

There are many other talented gamebook writers, of course, but let's keep this under two thousand words if we can. Also, many of the above examples make some kind of sense as Jamie, Mark, Oliver and Paul were all players in the Tekumel campaign that inspired Heart of Ice.

Finally, as a tonic against mortal hubris, I asked ChatGPT how it would improve on my original book:

To enhance Heart of Ice by Dave Morris, we could build on its strengths—the compelling world-building, intense survival themes, and open-ended structure—while adding new dimensions to enrich the experience. Here are some ideas:

1. Enhance World Interactivity and Dynamic Environment

Expanding the world’s responsiveness to player choices would amplify the sense of a living, evolving environment. For example, the harsh ice-covered world could react to the player’s presence in ways that change terrain, reveal hidden paths, or shift alliances among factions. This could make survival not only about enduring the environment but also influencing and adapting it.

2. Expand Character Development and Relationships

Adding a system where the protagonist's choices influence traits or relationships could deepen player immersion. Perhaps the player could develop unique bonds with NPCs, leading to varied endings or special advantages based on trust, alliances, or rivalries. This would make each choice carry more emotional weight, emphasizing both the loneliness and connection found in such an isolated world.

3. More Nuanced Morality and Consequences

The original story features morally ambiguous choices, but expanding these even further could add complexity to the player's journey. Introducing choices with delayed consequences that unfold in unexpected ways would heighten the stakes and allow the player to see the broader impact of their actions—either in aiding certain factions, using resources, or making ethical compromises.

4. Introduce Mysteries with Long-Term Payoffs

Building in hidden mysteries that only reveal themselves through multiple playthroughs could enrich the lore and encourage exploration. For example, obscure clues found throughout the icy wasteland might hint at ancient technologies, or the true nature of the Heart of Volent might only become clear through carefully pieced-together discoveries. Each run could reveal new layers of history or insight.

5. Expand Mechanics for Resource Management and Survival

Given the harsh, resource-scarce setting, adding more nuanced survival mechanics could make the journey more immersive. Players might have to carefully ration food, water, and warmth or deal with shifting weather conditions, making travel more strategic and emphasizing the environmental dangers of this world.

6. Player-Driven Goals Beyond the City of Du-En

Expanding the story’s focus beyond reaching the Heart itself would add depth, especially if there are varied side quests or goals tied to the protagonist’s backstory. For instance, players might choose to pursue knowledge about the world’s origins, help rebuild a faction’s community, or take on a personal mission with high stakes. These could offer alternative endings based on different player-defined motivations.

7. Deeper NPC Lore and Factional Storylines

The factions and characters in Heart of Ice are intriguing, but expanding on them could add richness. Each faction could have its own lore, unique goals, and internal conflicts that unfold through interactions. Aligning with different groups might lead to varied story paths, and the protagonist could gain insights into the world’s history, politics, and culture.

8. Philosophical or Reflective Elements Linked to the Protagonist’s Journey

Introducing elements that invite the protagonist to reflect on their motivations could add a layer of introspection. Perhaps they occasionally encounter sites of historical significance that reveal more about the decline of civilization, prompting players to consider their role in this world’s legacy. These scenes could add depth and give a more philosophical tone to the player’s mission.

9. Expanded Narrative Endings with Layered Themes

Adding more varied, layered endings based on how the player has changed or impacted the world would reward exploration and role-playing. Endings could reflect the protagonist’s growth, alliances, and decisions, offering insights into what their journey ultimately means in the grander context of the icy wasteland.

With these improvements, Heart of Ice could evolve into a multi-dimensional experience that emphasizes survival, moral complexity, and a sense of both personal and environmental impact—deepening the world and the player’s journey through it.

Good points, but I'm not sure if I could have packed all that into 454 sections -- or 455 if you're going by the revised Kindle version. Thirty years ago even delivering a gamebook as long as Heart of Ice (which is about 70,000 words) was tricky to sell to a book publisher. If I were doing it today I'd love to go up to 120,000 words (like Can You Brexit?) or even 220,000 words (as in Workshop of the Gods) which would allow me to indulge all the backstories of the other characters and to put more detail into settings which in the 1993 edition I could only describe with broad strokes. With Russ Nicholson I planned a 2000AD-style comic story (called "Don't You Just Hate It When That Happens", if you really want to know) expanding on Chaim Golgoth's history with Harek Asfar, which was touched on in the book in just a few lines:

We'd have liked to do a comic for each of the main characters but abandoned the idea because there was nowhere in the UK to publish them. And maybe it's just as well. Economy in writing can be an asset even when it's forced on you by the publisher. Maybe Heart of Ice if twice as long, or bulked out with standalone comics, would just feel self-indulgent.

I do occasionally get an urge to return to Heart of Ice's roots and write the roleplaying mini-campaign. I'd probably use GURPS 4e for that, which might put a lot of people off but it's really the best fit. I certainly wouldn't make it any less bleak. Modern readers sometimes grumble about that, but imagine Brazil or Excalibur or Sunset Boulevard, say, with a happy ending. Ugh.

What I'd really like, given a ring of three wishes or a lottery win, would be to adapt it into a CRPG or a TV show. And if I ever should get to do that, I'm planning to enlist ChatGPT (or maybe Claude, or Perplexity, or DeepSeek, or all four) as a writing partner.

Blood Sword to Dragon Warriors - part 5

The Walls of Spyte is the last installment in Oliver Whawell's series of rules conversions from Blood Sword to Dragon Warriors rules. The stat blocks are available in PDF form here.

I had a lot less to do with the writing of the fifth book than the rest of the series. Oliver Johnson was supposed to write it, but ran out of time. Luckily Jamie Thomson was on hand to step in, but necessarily it was a rush job so he didn't have time to read the earlier Blood Sword books. I came in right at the end to tie up the last 40 sections or so.

Patreon backers can see how I'd have liked the series finale to pan out. Tambù's Blood Sword 5e campaign and rulebook drew on those notes, and I have a feeling so will Prime Games' forthcoming CRPG.

Various player-characters guest starred in the Blood Sword books, in a manner of speaking. This time it was the turn of Zaraqeb (Zara in the book) and Karunaz, who were played in my and Steve Foster's Empire of the Petal Throne campaign by Gail Baker and Paul Mason. The original PCs weren't a lot like their gamebook incarnations, incidentally. The real Zaraqeb wasn't a sorceress and wasn't that nasty; the real Karunaz was neither posh nor noble, though he was a much more interesting kind of hero because of that.

WEIRD is too normal

Paul Mason, who has lived in Japan for the past 30 years, has long maintained that Westerners don't know how to play "real" Tsolyani. An example he gives is that we might think of ourselves as Kolyemu of the Black Stone Clan, but it would be more accurate to say that the Tsolyani view would be, "I am the Black Stone Clan's Kolyemu."

I was reminded of that by this review of Joseph Heinrich's book The Weirdest People in the World:

"Standing apart from the community, primed to break wholes into parts and classify them, Westerners are more analytical. People from kinship-intensive cultures, by comparison, tend to think more holistically. They focus on relationships rather than categories."

Players in games go on and on about their character's traits and foibles in a way that somebody from a non-Western non-industrial culture probably never would. It's a habit that has only got worse as an obsession with story tropes and character arcs has taken hold in roleplaying. It's a very 21st century mannerism to tell people that you're on the spectrum (if it's a spectrum then who isn't?) or to narcissistically expatiate on your life goals and attitudes.

I'm using Tekumel as an example, but this applies to all RPG culture gaming. There's a lot of it about, I'm glad to say. Some friends of mine are currently playing as Gwich'in tribespeople in 19th century Yukon. I make periodic stabs at publishing my and Jamie's Tetsubo game set in the Sengoku period. And I don't need to tell you that the medieval Europe on which Legend is modelled is a very foreign country to us today. These are all good examples of culture gaming, but it only pays off if the players are willing to make an imaginative leap outside their modern mindset into the perspective of an entirely different time and place.

The trouble is, modern Westerners are not at all interested in diversity. Oh, you think diversity is being championed these days? Not a bit of it; it's just lip service. Look at a Marvel movie or pretty much any fantasy TV show. Sure, there'll be folk of all hues and accents. But all those characters are really Westerners at heart, with modern Western attitudes and the same glib Waititian sense of humour. If diversity was what we actually cared about then we'd be watching movies from other lands and cultures and times. We'd stop the empty virtue-signalling and really get out of our comfort zone. 

Does it matter? Well, you can roleplay any way you like. Do whatever you enjoy, sure. But I would say that roleplaying is rewarding when it takes us on an imaginative leap outside ourselves, and that counts double when it allows us to slip outside our cultural preconceptions. Then it isn't just fun but it expands the mind and lets us appreciate how richly varied the human race can be.

Don't call them rappas

There’s new news about Tetsubo coming soon. That’s the Japanese-styled RPG that began as a Warhammer supplement and then began turning into a much more authentic game of its own during lockdown. I have been adapting it to work with Paul Mason’s Outlaws RPG. Also, he has lived in Japan for over thirty years so is ideally qualified to advise me on both the rules and the culture.

I began by asking Paul about kusa, a group of medieval Japanese saboteurs-cum-mischief-makers that I read about in a martial arts magazine. The kusa were a sort of precursor to ninja, but I also wanted Tetsubo to dispense with the notion of ninja as feudal-era special ops that was popularized after World War 2. And the best way to go back to the roots of the profession (if indeed it has any that we can isolate from all the modern myths) would be to ditch the name “ninja” in favour of something more historically accurate.

Paul responded: Wikipedia has kusa as another term for ninja, but unfortunately no context behind it, whether it's period-based or regional. My source for terms was the Iga-ryu Ninja Museum. It lists shinobi, ukami, kanja/rappa, onmitsu and ninja as the terms used by period (the last is listed for Taisho: ie the 20th century). Regional terms include some of those period based terms as well as suppa, ukami, dakko, kikimonoyaku, and kurohabaki. Interesting that it includes none of the Wiki ones apart from rappa and shinobi.

So in Tetsubo, kusa became the apprentice level of the kanja (not ninja) profession. I then asked Paul about how to represent defilement.

Paul: The term you need is kegare (穢). It would translate as impurity or uncleanness. When you go to a shrine and wash your hands at the little shack for that purpose, it's a ritual washing to rid you of kegare. This obsession with cleanliness (see also Japanese bath houses, and taking off your shoes when you enter a house) is somewhat relevant in the present pandemic. I've even heard it given as a reason why the Japanese never had an industrial revolution -- better hygiene meant longer lifespan than Brits meant there were not enough surplus agricultural workers, a necessity for industry.

Dave: Funnily enough, I’d previously thought of using kegare for bad joss [a rules concept in Outlaws] and immediately rejected it for the fairly daft reason that Tetsubo already has defilement defined as occurring in specific circumstances (proximity to a dead body, fluffing etiquette when addressing a kami, etc).

Paul: That's exactly what bad joss is supposed to deal with!

Dave: The mental process here is interesting because it illustrates why it’s taking me longer to edit Tetsubo now than it probably took to write it in the first place. I’ll think of a way to implement something (kuji-no-in, say) using Outlaws rules. But then I see there are a couple of other ways to do it, and whichever I choose has knock-on effects, so I enter a mental holding pattern where no decision is taken as I move on to another part of the rules. All of which is pretty stupid given that the people who want Tetsubo will mostly be Warhammer players and the people who want Outlaws really want Outlaws, not Tetsubo – so I’m agonizing over choices that might only matter to the handful of people who buy the book and play it as written.

Paul: I can't help thinking that trying to imagine the kind of people who want to play the game is a bad move. Surely you can only say to yourself: what is this game to me? And design it accordingly. In the case of Tetsubo, the answer is clearly: "not Kwaidan". So just go ahead and do interesting things that wouldn't work in Kwaidan.

Kwaidan was/is to be a roleplaying game set in Heian Japan, considerably more culturally authentic and closer to my heart than Tetsubo, which everybody seems to associate with Kurosawa's early "noodle Easterns".  

Dave: At least I’ve managed to break that holding pattern regarding kegare. You are of course quite right – that’s exactly what I needed to substitute for bad joss. And instead of getting hung up on how to square the abstract acquisition of kegare when acquiring motivation with specific in-game circumstances that cause or remove defilement, all I need to do is put numbers to the latter. +5 kegare for touching a dead body, -[degree of success] for a purification CEREMONY roll, etc.

I’m still undecided about how to handle magic. In a perfect world I wouldn’t bother having it as a separate discipline and simply have it bleed into everything else – but that’s Kwaidan, not Tetsubo. I was listening to the Appendix N Book Club podcast in which somebody said we’d had forty-five years of role-playing, and still nobody has figured out a way to make magic magical.

Paul: That's wrong. Plenty of people have figured out how to make magic magical. It's just that however you do it, once you write down rules someone will find a way to suck the magic out of it. My philosophy is that role-playing magic rules are there for people who don't want magic to be magical. For the rest of us, if you are going to allow players to use magic, it's all about trust.

Dave: I really like the Outlaws magic system and it does feel that sorcerers in Outlaws are very different from the usual RPG artilleryman types. But Outlaws magic has a very strong Chinese flavour (not that I know what a Japanese flavour of magic ought to be like) and it’s a mark of its strength that it doesn’t easily lend itself to conversion to a different setting. You could use the core Outlaws abilities system for anything from Tekumel to Ancient Greece – and Arabian Nights and Camelot, as we’ve said before – because people still have to haggle, fight, sneak, impress, treat wounds, sing, make works of art, etc. But the obstacle to any generic system is magic. That’s where GURPS falters: what would “generic magic” even look like?

Paul: Yet another reason why I don't believe in GURPS. But ironically, if you're doing a Japanese magic system, the closest you're going to find is in a Chinese one. Throw away all that stuff about “shugenja” from Bushido. The image of a sorcerer in Japan is the onmyoshi. And the onmyoshi is a hell of lot closer to an Outlaws sorcerer than he is to a sorcerer in any other game. 

Dave: Given that any magic rules must fit the setting, do I retain the leadenly dull spells inherited from Warhammer, rejigged to give them Outlaws stats? That feels like a lazy option, and when I went through a list of the Tetsubo spells crossing off all the boring ones I was left with barely a dozen – and thus glaring gaps in what sorcerers could do. Pretty much the only thing I like from the original Tetsubo rules is that ninja (now kanja) were a type of sorcerer, but then when I read their spells, hobbled as they are by inheriting the magic system of Warhammer, that concept soon dissolves into the mucky residue medieval alchemists were left with in their vain attempts to turn lead into gold. 

What I should do is spend a couple of weeks with Joly’s Legend in Japanese Art really soaking up the depiction of sorcerers in myth, then rebuild from there. It would be enjoyable, too, but at that point I’d really have to wonder why I was investing that effort into Tetsubo when it’d be better spent on Kwaidan. Just this morning I was flipping through the book and M. Joly chastised me with the information that shugendo is not “wizardry”, but a syncretic mystical sect -- in the real-world sense of mystical, that is. And Royall Tyler’s book Japanese Tales mentions that one folkloric power of wizards is “causing the penis to disappear” – again, that’s more one for Kwaidan, I think.

Paul: Spell-lists are one of those soul-sucking things that I don't miss in role-playing games. I switched to C&S because I liked the way it encouraged the idea that sorcerers were almost 'above' spells. One of my players got so into the mindset that his character spent all his time enchanting materials, and he infuriated (and intimidated, as his character became quite powerful) the other players by showing little interest in their schemes, but simply trying to manipulate them to obtain the rare materials he wanted. I think unless magic has that distance, that otherness, it is simply technology: blasters in Traveller.

Dave: That’s what I thought about most of the magical battles in the Harry Potter films. The wands were just phasers. In Chinese Ghost Story or Game of Thrones, on the rare occasions when you get to see magic it does feel magical.

And as for maboroshi – I don’t even know where that came from. Presumably a class of illusionist in Warhammer, and Jamie and I reached for “phantasm” as a plausible equivalent in Japanese? (Or did it come from Lafcadio Hearn? If so hardly authentic, but Hearn I’d accept as valid in the way that Pre-Raphaelite reimaginings of Arthurian myth are valid.) Do I rebuild the class using Outlaws magic, or abandon it and move the original Tetsubo spells for maboroshi (if any are worth keeping) across to whatever I end up calling sorcerers. (My pocket dictionary suggests maho-tsukai or kijutsu-shi, but I suspect they may be thinking of a stage conjurer.)

Paul: Maboroshi means illusion, not illusionist. Annoyingly, Illusionist would be Maboroshishi, which is too silly to use. And Maboroshiya, the alternative, sounds like a shop (remember Mr Benn?). Maho-tsukai is a literal translation of “magic-user”, which was a term I hated in D&D from the very earliest days. I mean, you could use it, and the Japanese term is probably marginally better, in that it is slightly possible that someone might say it, whereas one reason I shacked up with C&S so early was that I could never imagine any story in which someone said, “He is a mighty magic-user!”

Kijutsushi sounds more interesting. The scroll you asked me to research, after all, was from a series called kijutsu no kagami, ie “the mirror of kijutsu”. Strictly speaking, it means “magic tricks”, but it might have more to it, and the scroll suggests that it does.

So this is how the sorcerous professions of Tetsubo ended up:

The generic term for the spellcasters of Yamato is mahutsukai. There are four broad classes:

• Onmyoshi specialize in astrology, divination, protection against spirits, and the study and manipulation of the five elements, with particular emphasis on geomancy and the correct directions and locations to avoid bad luck. By preference they channel magical energy from iyashirochi (ley lines or ‘dragon veins’, natural sources of ki in the landscape) or from the spirit world. 
• Genka are a more select and secretive school of mages who practice spells connected with death, illusion and destructive energy. They have a reputation for drawing magical energy from servants, acolytes or even from unwilling captives. 
• Taoist mages are mystic hermits who develop control over reality and natural forces by means of asceticism and meditation. They prefer to draw their magical force from within themselves, often while meditating under waterfalls, and store it in a focus (often a mirror or gourd) until needed. 
• Kanja are the eerie ‘wizards of the night’ whose study of magic revolves around their activities as assassins, saboteurs and spies. They power their spells with whatever source of occult energy is most conveniently to hand.

But that’s not the whole story. A sorcerer might change his or her school, acquiring spells and practices from several classes. Bukyo priests have access to magic not studied by any of the mahutsukai and that uses spiritual power. Shinto priests obtain boons from kami that serve the same function as spells. And anyone might acquire knowledge of spells from a supernatural being like a tengu or from a book, whether or not they have any formal training in magic.

In any case, ordinary people are unversed in the types of magic and use the various terms for mahutsukai classes as if they were interchangeable. In a state of ignorance, personal prejudice will often serve to supply a definition. Thus a spellcaster who has associated with the speaker's own lord may be described as an onmyoshi, one suspected of working for an enemy lord may be called a genka or kanja, and one known to have come from Huaxia or who refuses employment may be labelled a Taoist. Sorcerers themselves do little to clear up this state of confusion, as each sorcerer knows that his or her power will be greater against a foe who is not quite sure what to expect.

A divine wind

If you haven't followed the Tetsubo saga, it starts here and until recently ended here. The tishatsu version: Jamie and I wrote a Japanese-flavoured supplement for the Warhammer. That's way back in the early '90s. It was never used, the rights reverted to us, and parts of it appeared in Robert Rees's fanzine Carnel.

The rest is told in the links to those two earlier posts, and during lockdown I made a start on adapting it to fit with Paul Mason's Outlaws RPG. If not for the Vulcanverse books it would be finished and on sale by now. Oh, and Jewelspider. And some bits of paid work too. Stuff got in the way, in short, but I'm hoping to get it done sometime in 2023. So, only about thirty years late.

A couple more links. This week I'm interviewed on the Awesome Lies blog about Tetsubo's past and future. My thanks to Gideon of Awesome Lies for the opportunity, and if there are any questions he missed -- well, you know where the comments are. I also enjoyed this article on putting Warhammery concepts of Chaos into a Japanese setting (despite the author's conclusion that "Tetsubo shows that slavishly copying Japanese culture and folklore into Warhammer doesn't really make for a satisfying result") though if and when Tetsubo does get an official release it won't any longer be trying to fit into the Warhammer universe.

Jewels from mire and mud

It's odd what can convince you to read a book. I'd listened to Paul Mason explaining why I should try The Wasp Factory, and he'd made a good case, but it was only when he read the blisteringly hostile reviews in the front ("filth", "should be banned", "the literary equivalent of a video nasty") that I realized I had to grab it off him and read it right away.

Paul also introduced me to the work of James Branch Cabell, of one of whose novels (The Silver Stallion) a contemporary reviewer said this:

“The malignity and malevolence of this monstrous literary sacrilege cannot be pardoned. Its banality is no excuse for its brutality. Its stupidity is no extenuation for its blasphemy. The author has in this book committed the unpardonable sin of art,– hooliganism. He may not be capable of understanding the vision of good that raises man above the level of vermin. He may not be able to feel the mystery of faith. He may not possess the power of reverence or the grace of humility. But he ought to love fellow creatures, and to respect their ideals and their dreams. He may find it amusing to hurt and wound the lowly and the simple, but he should not trample on their highest and holiest imaginings, even if he cannot soar out of his literary mire and mud.”

That's got to whet your appetite, surely? Technically I think Cabell is still in copyright for a few more years, but most editions of his works are long out-of-print or else are modern amateur-press copies, so why not try these online works (The Silver Stallion and others on Gutenberg) and then buy the books if you find them to your taste.

Manners maketh man

“It was their pity Driss hated. They seemed not to be aware that he could destroy them at any moment he chose. Destroy them and loot the little safe in their office, where they kept all their earnings from the bed and breakfast. They were not even aware of the compassion he was showing them. They looked right past his manhood and ignored it, as if it didn't exist and he was just a child who needed a bowl of milk every day.”

In Lawrence Osborne’s novel The Forgiven, an impoverished Moroccan named Driss illegally makes his way to Spain and is given a job by Roger and Angela Bloodworth. The Bloodworths shelter Driss from the authorities but they don’t appreciate that their liberal culture is not universal. The openness and trust they show to Driss, he takes as an affront to his masculinity. Wary hospitality according to a strict code would be fine. It’s the casual assumption that he can be treated as a member of their household that he finds disrespectful.

You don’t get much culture in fantasy. Oh, occasionally somebody will say, “It’s our custom to wear only green velvet coats on holy days,” but that’s barely skin-deep, a merely satirical look at the arbitrary nature of human customs. From the inside customs don’t feel funny, they feel like a matter of life and death. A Bedouin is obliged to offer hospitality. A samurai must atone for shame with seppuku. A calling card with “somdomite” written on it can destroy a reputation.

When roleplaying is set in a world with its own social structures and mores, and players are trying to get inside that mindset rather than play 21st century characters parachuted into a superficially exotic environment, then what you are doing is culture gaming.

Here’s an example of culture gaming from a convention game run by Michael Cule. There were a bunch of players who were new to Tekumel, and they were barbarians who’d arrived fresh off the boat in Jakalla harbour. Vortumoi, a priest of Hrü’ü played by me, brought them to be interviewed by his clan uncle, Lord Vrimeshtu, who wanted to hire them for an expedition. Also present was my bodyguard, Karunaz, played by Paul Mason. We sat on cushions to discuss the expedition over a meal – a real feast of Thai snacks that Michael brought along! – and Karunaz remained standing off to one side. (He’s Livyani, so never ate with Tsolyani, and in any case it was not his position to sit with his employer.) The tricky moment arose when Lord Vrimeshtu pointed to the wine and said, "Get your Livyani to pour for us, Vortumoi." Well, Karunaz was low clan but he was nonetheless a warrior, and you don't expect a bodyguard to serve you at table like a menial. What to do? Then I had it: “Allow me, uncle,” and I got up and served the wine myself. I could do that without loss of face because I was doing my uncle’s bidding rather than doing a favour for the barbarians. Thus my honour and Karunaz's were preserved and the clan head's wishes were fulfilled.

Whether you think that kind of thing is the lifeblood of a roleplaying game or a distraction from the main business of the adventure will tell you if you’re a culture gamer or not. It’s really the old (and often slightly forced) dichotomy between character-based and plot-based fiction. I lean towards character-based myself, much preferring Anton Chekhov to Robert Harris – though my bookshelves have room for both. And you do need both. If you think of the characters as heading towards a light, which stands for the plot objective, and the medium they’re moving through is their society, it’s the turbulence in the medium that makes the journey unique. Without it you’ve just got a straight line. But if there’s no light then they go around in circles or do nothing. 

(Examples of stories that are powered by events but flavoured by social constructs: Julian Fellowes' Belgravia, Scorsese's The Age of Innocence and Francis Spufford's Golden Hill. Or any truly compelling narrative, really.)

So the plot isn’t just a MacGuffin. Still, I don’t actually remember the adventure from that session. I think it involved a ruined fortress in a swamp. Probably there were monsters to fight. The barbarians will have run about and hit things, but it’s the nail-biting nicety of that dining-room etiquette problem that has stayed with me.

So do we need rules for social interaction? Obviously there are rules – we live our real lives according to such rules, usually unspoken but very well understood. We are alert to nuances of manner in our own society, even if we couldn’t actually sit down and explain the rules of conduct to a foreigner. But do we need game mechanics - do we need that kind of rule?

I don’t think so. We use game mechanics for the “stage directions” of a game. “I climb the wall stealthily and the guards don’t hear me.” Do you? And do they? We’ve got dice for that.

But social behaviour happens in the dialogue. Players can handle it perfectly well in conversation and mechanics couldn’t cover all the permutations anyway. Often a dispute in social terms comes down to very fine distinctions, and it’s possible that neither party is wholly right or wrong. If you wanted game-mechanical rules for social interactions, in order to cover every outcome they’d need to be highly abstract. Something like this:

“I seek to impose my status on you, rolling 6.”
“I roll a 3 and resist the attempt, countering with a critical social roll.”
“Now let’s decide what our characters actually said.”

Some people like to play that way, but I prefer immersion. Fortunately all you need is a sense of what the society’s rules are in common situations and in general principle, and a willingness on the players’ part to throw themselves into that. For example, Tsolyani law treats injury or death as a civil crime which can be settled by means of shamtla (weregild). Once you know that and the form for demanding shamtla or for taking the case to a duel, you get a lot of emergent possibilities.

Then when you include the fact that in Tsolyanu insults are also regarded as an injury, your social outcomes explode into Mandelbrot-set level richness. Your players might even forget there’s a monster-stuffed ruin out in the marshlands, because the cut and thrust of society is much more real and involving. Instead of Dungeons & Dragons, you’re in the territory of Sense & Sensibility – and, speaking as a culture gamer, that makes for much more memorable games.

Here's some reading and viewing to kick off ideas about how people act within the framework of a social setting:

• Humanity: An Introduction to Cultural Anthropology by Peoples & Bailey
• Legal Systems Very Different from Ours by Friedman, Leeson & Skarbek
• Ridicule (1996) directed by Patrice Leconte
• Sense & Sensibility by Jane Austen
• Social Engineering by William H Stoddard

By the way, although Tekumel is an ideal setting for culture games, I don't want to give the impression that it can only be played that way. Professor Barker said that everyone should create their own Tekumel, and I'm sure most campaigns are very far from the "real" Tekumel. An example: in the Five Empires, belonging to a legion, especially in the heavy infantry, is a respected profession. In the most prestigious legions you'd need to be high-medium status even to sign up, and even "sergeants" (hereksa, commander of 100 legionaries) are mainly from aristocratic clans. Promotion is affected by your social class, manners, bravery and even looks as much as by your competence. That's the culture gaming version. Many Tekumel campaigns, however, treat soldiers as usually uneducated and poor, because that's what players in modern Western societies expect. Personally I can't see in that case why they wouldn't play D&D or something similar instead, but everyone should choose whichever style gives them the most fun.