I’ve learnt to stop writing RPG material that’s not fun to write. Grammar? Formatting? Websites? Boring as hell, and one just has to get on with it anyway. But if the writing feels like a chore then reading will too. Mostly.

World-building makes demands. If you have a hierarchical organization then it must have ranks and ways to select who gets those ranks. The books must explain this because players will ask.

I: Fodder

I huffed, looked out the window like a kid in school, then tapped out some tasks people might do in order to gain a promotion in the night guard.

Repay the debt which members of the night guard begin with.

Kill a monster, I guess.

Kill something deep in the woods, far from civilization.

Find magic plants?

Return with the head of a deserter from the night guard.

That last one made sense, but also helps explain the world. Players might think their jobs are stupid (and they are), and dislike the pointless orders and restrictions (which they should), but once they pass four cutters, riding on horseback to arrest deserters and gain a promotion, the players will understand what could happen if they stop caring.

The rest felt dull, but each rank just needed a single goal. No big deal. Just a small blemish on the books. Then the rules hit the table and the system bloomed into something new.

II: Diggers

The troupe kill monsters, but only one member sells the corpse (at least in the eyes of the law). The decision-makers of the night guard ascribe the ‘kill’ to the night guard who sold the monster’s corpse and reported the earnings, which helps keep the troop honest (no surprises) and pushes honest people into leadership roles (big surprises). RPG tables form their own leadership naturally, which means the people pushing for decisions always wants to make decisions. The surprise promotion turned the table, inverting its normal dynamics.

One player often asked to do something before doing so.

“Can I go to the tavern?”

“Can I look for traps?”

Everyone replied with the standard answer.

Then the player gained a rank by accident, and the very next session the table stopped saying ‘I don’t know, can you go to the tavern?’ and started saying ‘sure thing, boss, let’s go’. The player who once had the freedom to suggest ridiculous plans as a joke suddenly held the responsibility of keeping the troupe alive.

The table found out that they might regret gaining a promotion to the next rank. It doesn’t provide any ’level bonus’ or other meta-currency. It also carries the burden of more dangerous default missions for the entire troupe, because missions are based on the troupe’s leader. Everyone had to consider whether or not to hide their successes, for fear of promotion.

III: Hunters

Higher ranks grant some privileges (like the ability to legally enter a town), so one player decided that promotions are good, actually, and gained the initial, easier, ranks, mostly by pointing out how their actions technically fulfilled the requirements post facto. But that luck won’t hold forever, so their goal (as the troupe’s leader) shifted towards completing tasks which could gain them another promotion.

Nobody hands these tasks out during missions, so the player characters become more proactive by working out how to achieve or avoid their next promotion.

So much like the players, the game stumbled into merit through dumb luck, and I can explain how I devised and coördinated every step of the genius plan in advance, once it was all over. And just like the players, I won’t take any responsibility for managing or fostering the system, because I want to run off to write more weirdos and problems and problematic weirdos for the next session.