This is RPG-ology #102: Objectives, for May 2026.
Our thanks to Regis Pannier and the team at the Places to Go, People to Be French edition for locating a copy of this and a number of other lost Game Ideas Unlimited articles. This was originally Game Ideas Unlimited: Objectives, and is reposted here with minor editing [bracketed].
It appears that the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine missed twenty-six consecutive Game Ideas Unlimited articles, which results in several articles being cited in this and subsequent entries that no longer exist.
Not so long ago this series presented some thoughts on Partnership. There the discussion was about the different meanings of the concept of working together. But when I said that our disagreement about what it meant to work together was only part of the reason my wife and I had trouble doing so, that inherently implied that there was at least one other part to that reason. That part of the reason has brought this article: we have trouble working together because we don’t always agree on the same objectives.
It is often the case in life that I will think the most important thing for us to be doing is this, and she thinks it’s that. The conflict between my emphasis on this and hers on that can lead to some pretty serious fights when it is expressed; but most of the time it is not expressed–it is assumed. If I think that this is obviously the most important thing, and she is convinced that that is, we probably aren’t going to talk about whether this or that is the thing to do, because it won’t occur to either of us that the other disagrees. Let us suppose that there’s a hundred dollars. I might think it obvious that we should use this money to fix the brakes on the car before they wear out. She might think it just as obvious that the most important problem at the moment is to buy clothes that fit the child who has grown two inches since school started and so is wearing high water pants to school, much to his (not to mention her) embarrassment. But since I’ve been talking about getting those brakes fixed for a couple of months, it doesn’t occur to me to say now that that’s what needs to be done; and since she can see that the boy’s pants are a bit too short she doesn’t imagine that it has escaped my notice (which, as we learned a few weeks back in Attention, can be very selective). Thus we are both acting as if we knew the other had the same priorities at this moment, and are going to crash into each other soon enough when one of us starts trying to spend the money the other has earmarked for something which is either more or less important, depending on whose view you take.
There is another layer of complication to this when that which one of us perceives as the most important thing to do has the additional element of being perceived as the most important thing for the other person to do. It often happens that I find myself in Dutch for failing to do something which she thought was the most important thing, the thing that I would obviously recognize as the most important thing, the thing that any reasonable and sane person would do; and it never once occurred to me to do that.
The Founding Fathers of America lived in an age in which Reason was often spelled with a capital R, because it had in some sense become deified, exalted above any sense of the divine. The notion of legislative government was based on a belief that for everything there was one rational solution, that there was one rational way to run a town, a country, a world, and that if reasonable men got together and discussed it eventually they would all come to agree as Reason informed them of the One True Course. Perhaps we have advanced; perhaps we are not so naïve. However, it is worth asking why there is not one answer that all legislators will recognize as the One True Course for the country, the solution to all our problems. The answer is that each has his own values, his own objectives. To steer the ship of state on that One True Course, you have to agree on the destination, and on the necessary ports of call along the way. We don’t agree on where to take the country, so it’s easy to see why we don’t agree on how to get there. It is a clear case of the impact of different goals, contrary objectives, on cooperative action. To work together, you have to agree on what you hope to accomplish.
Consideration of the goals each character has in your game world can be an effective step toward achieving good stories and motivated play. For player characters, it is clearly best for the players to be involved in determining what the character seeks to achieve, become, or acquire, both in life overall and in the short term of the current adventure. Yet the referee can by becoming involved in such decisions steer play in important directions.
Common goals can be a source of party cohesion. If the player characters are all working toward the same objective, it usually makes sense for them to work together. Whether this is as overarching as the ultimate defeat of evil in the world or as passing as the rescue of the princess from the dragon, the fact that the characters are trying to bring about the same outcome gives them incentive to cooperate, to pool their talents in a joint effort.
On the other hand, common goals may be a source of rivalry or discord. If two fighters each want to be the best in the land, at some point they are going to have to prove themselves against each other. If the rescue of the princess is motivated by a hope that she will marry the rescuer, and more than one of those involved has that hope, there will be conflict between the potential suitors. If the sought magical artifact can only be wielded by one user, finding it may be merely the beginning of the struggle.
What is more interesting is the use of diverse goals within the party framework. If your party is held together because everyone needs to go to the same dangerous place for different and possibly conflicting reasons, the closer they are to the reward the less they will agree as to how to proceed. This leads to particularly interesting storylines, as player characters either fight amongst themselves for dominance, or (more hopefully) find compromises that will enable them as nearly as possible to fulfill the hopes of each. On a broader scale, such disparity of goals can lead to promises that each will help the other, that is, the thief promises to go with the fighter to save the princess if the fighter agrees after that to assist the thief in recovering the heirloom stolen from his family.
In all this, it is important to remember the non-player characters as well, particularly those who are most important to the party. It is not uncommon for referees to have non-player party members–a valuable tool that provides a connection inside the party through which information can pass both directions. Yet such characters often degenerate into functionaries who go with the others and do as they are told, without any real personality beyond a few characterizations (voice, attitude). If these, too, are given goals, reasons why they are doing what they do beyond “well, this is what I went to school for”, they become more real within the game world. Villains, too, have their goals. Even the local innkeeper has his own hopes and dreams; an adventure could be built around a grateful character trying to help a helpful peasant have what he always wanted, but only if the peasant has such a desire and the character can discover it.
The idea that character goals are an essential ingredient in story creation is being discovered by many of the newer games. Ron Edwards’ Sorcerer is in part built on whether the character is willing to pay the price for what he desires. Legends of Alyria, the game Seth Ben-Ezra introduced through his Gaming Outpost Dreaming Out Loud column (due out this year, according to the latest rumors), focuses much on who characters are and what they want. These approaches create tensions between characters, and lead to the creation of compelling stories. Better stories can be told in all games by paying attention to these aspects of the characters, and particularly in understanding when and how they mesh, and when and how they conflict.
Divided goals don’t necessarily mean divided parties; unified goals don’t always mean unity. Consideration of the goals of the characters is a valuable approach to building the relationships between them.
[Next week, something different.]
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