Writing Every Day 02: Dread Wrong

I recently had the chance to play the Dread RPG. I was allowed to step out of the GM's shoes for a night and enjoy the other side of the table as a player. Our GM ran us through one of the prepared scenarios in the rulebook, and everyone had a good time. And I did it all wrong.

That's not to say that I failed to fulfill my obligations as a player (a subject that I might return to at another time), but in the playing of Dread the way it should be played. For those unfamiliar with the game, allow me to provide a bit of context: Dread is a horror RPG that tries to instill a sense of, well, dread in the players.

Fear and tension are hard things to preserve at the table. After all, most groups are composed of friends who know each other well, people who enjoy cracking wise with one another. It's hard to maintain horror when there are snacks and adult beverages at the table. Dread manages to keep players on edge thanks to its innovative resolution mechanic: Jenga.

When a player attempts an action that has a dramatic consequence for failure, that player pulls one or more pieces from the Jenga set. If the set falls, that player's character is dead. A player can opt to fail a pull, thus failing the attempted action.

So, how did I play Dread wrong? Part-way through the game, after my character had achieved the critical task he was best suited for, I intentionally knocked over the tower. On my pull I felt how precarious the setup was and figured I'd jump on the proverbial grenade so the other players could work forward from a better position.

Dread has a mechanic to ensure that surviving players don't begin back at square one with a sturdy tower of blocks, which is great. But by choosing to knock over the tower, I feel like I went against the spirit of the game. To maintain the building horror, uncertainty and loss of control are important factors.

Many of my favorite horror stories depend on the characters not being in control. It is this lack of control and uncertainty about their fate that drives the audience's anticipation. Not knowing if or when a character will bite the big one is a part of the fun. For contrast, my wife had to pull the turn after my self-sacrifice. She approached the fresh Jenga tower with an aura of confidence, and was stunned for a moment when the whole array crashed down.

I robbed myself of that moment of panic. That adrenaline shock of realizing that I didn't want to die, but it didn't matter. I was dead. Seeing how she responded to the startling loss of her character made me realize how wrong I'd approached the game. I tried to think about it tactically, trying to figure out how to provide the group with the greatest mechanical advantage. In doing so, I betrayed the spirit of the genre.

What do you think? Am I right, or crazy? Let me know in comments.
Check back tomorrow, when I'll be ranting about visual texture in RPGs. It will make sense, I hope.

If you haven't checked out Dread, I highly suggest giving it a try. You can find the HERE, or read more about it HERE.