Stanislavski’s Magic If and Other Spells

Bringing circumstance to the table

Time and Death, Thomas Rowlandson. From Old Book Illustrations.

I’m in a D&D campaign right now whose lightheartedness I absolutely adore. The players are fun and have great senses of humor. It’s definitely more of an RP-heavy campaign, and much of our role play is had in banter, jokes, and general tomfoolery. Even the NPCs with us at least put up with our joking around, if they don’t outright encourage it, with the exception of one: Sarith Kzekarit. Any and all attempts to amuse, tease, or otherwise get a rise out of Sarith have been met with a grunt, a scowl, and a very irate, “You’re wasting my time.”

But Captain Buzzkill is the only character being played realistically.

The context you’re missing here is what actors call circumstance. The circumstances surrounding a character are all the things going on. Who are they? Where and when are they? What do they want (hey there objective!), and what has already happened?

Why is Sarith Kzekarit so grumpy? Because he’s fully aware of the circumstances surrounding the party.

The adventure we’re playing is Out of the Abyss, a campaign that starts off as the party is captured by drow soldiers and dragged into the Underdark. The first thing the group must do is break out of their jail cell, and once they do it’s a race to get back upstairs, with the priestess and her army in hot pursuit.

So, circumstance: we’re lost and afraid in an unfamiliar place, we haven’t seen the sun in two months, everyone we meet wants to kill us or take advantage of our inexperience, and we’re one misstep away from being sacrificed to the Queen of Spiders.

When I put it that way, I don’t feel like joking around much either.

Now, I’m not saying that all players dumped into the Underdark have to be aloof killjoys. Far from it. But staying aware of circumstance can do a lot of things for your game: it informs your decisions as a character, it can help you stay engaged in the game, and it demonstrates your appreciation for all the hard work your GM is doing to build that world.

There are plenty of methods actors and acting teachers have derived for identifying and recording the circumstances of a particular character. They read almost like checklists: information you need to know about a character before you start playing them. A popular method, and one I will explore in a later post, is the 6 Steps from Uta Hagen’s A Challenge for the Actor.

But for now, I’ll give you the checklist I’ve been using for tabletop sessions, gleaned from my experiences on the stage and at the table. It should be noted that this isn’t necessarily a character building exercise, although it can be used that way. These are the aspects of my character and my environment that I revisit and update before a session, after a session, and during the session. Put simply: I take a lot of notes.

Some tables rely on one person to take notes. Other tables just write down the things they find interesting and hope the GM will help them remember the details later. Some games, like Ryuutama actually call for a designated note taker. I believe everyone involved in the game should be taking notes, at the very minimum so they can retain the information they think is most important to them.

I have written notes for all my campaigns. What kind of notes they are largely depends on my character. My frenetic wizard Thavma, pictured here, writes down every bit of information she hears, inserting her own tiny quips as she goes. My self-centered rogue Bratwurzt writes down only what they think is important — good or bad — and disregards objectivity altogether.

Because my note-taking is an extension of my character work, focusing more on circumstances instead of plot or mechanics, I only ever volunteer to be the “table note taker” if my character is already meticulous enough to do the job of their own accord. My Abyss party trusts Thavma’s chaotic jumble of fact and opinion. Above ground in a separate campaign, Bratwurzt’s allies know better than to put stock in the misinformed chicken scratch of the displaced drow.

So, for your consideration, a list of circumstances I write down, reread, rework, and revel in as the sessions go by:

(There may be some mild spoilers in the quoted bits for Out of the Abyss.)

Broad Stroke: Who am I?

I call this a broad stroke because the very core of who your character is shouldn’t change from session to session. You’ve probably done a lot of work writing your backstory already, and you don’t need to remember every single detail from session to session. But you should remind yourself of the basics.

My name is Thavma. I am an infernal tiefling with pink skin and ram horns. I value my own survival, the pursuit of knowledge, and the trust of my friends. I am just barely an adult at 21 years old. My knowledge comes from books, not experiences, and I am eager to prove that I can be of use. For the first time in my life, I am among people who do not know more than me, and I am eager to establish myself as the smartest member of the group.

What am I carrying?

Maybe this is just me, but unless I’m using something in every session I forget that I have it. Loot and trinkets usually get recorded in a separate spot from equipment. On a standard 5e character sheet, it’s on the back where I can’t see it.

I won’t remember that I have something until the session is over or the moment for using it has passed.

But from a character point of view, carrying certain things might affect your behavior. Do you skulk around town, concealing your jewels because they were stolen from the house of someone wealthy? Does wielding your axe, which came with a rich history of the heroes who last carried it, make your chest swell with pride?

I am carrying the spellbook of a powerful wizard whose identity is unclear. I rely on it for self-defense and feel responsible for protecting it from falling into the wrong hands. I’ll only take it out when I actually need it. I have a stack of historical and anthropological texts which I would rather be reading instead of dealing with whatever is around me.

What has happened in the last day? The last month? The last year?

Past experiences determine who you are and what you’ll do next. Someone who has grown up in the oppression of drow society would be less inclined to trust other drow than the people who haven’t. It’s why our soilsport Sarith refuses to speak with merchants in town, but Thavma will.

In the last session, all of our plans for escaping the city were ruined. Tensions grow higher as we must wait one more day for our last chance at escaping Grackelstugh to materialize.

Demon lords are resurfacing in the Underdark. I know they exist because I’ve read about them. I know they’re dangerous because last month I watched one rip an entire Kuo-toa civilization to shreds.

Only a year ago I was an involuntary shut-in, relegated to tending a library I did not own for people I did not like. I escaped that place only to find myself recaptured by drow days later. I will not end up in chains a third time.

Where and when am I right now?

Characters don’t act the same way in a town they would in a dungeon. At night on the unfamiliar road, they are (hopefully) alert and cautious. At the pub in their hometown in the middle of the day, they may be unabashedly uninhibited. Setting changes your mood, your words, and your body language.

Where are you? How long have you been there? What about this place stands out to you? When the GM starts reading a description of an area, write down the adjectives. Write down anything your GM says that has to do with the five senses. What does your character see or hear? Can they taste something on the air?

Write down when your GM says “dark” or “dim,” even if you already know every dungeon on the planet is dark or dim. I’m willing to bet you don’t pay attention to that normally. When was the last time you pictured your character straining their eyes because they didn’t have darkvision?

But your character should act differently when their vision is impaired. Even if that action is to light a torch or make a fuss, that’s still different. Maybe it rattles you, not being able to see everything that’s going on.

Right now I am at the Blade Bazaar in Gracklestugh, 62 days after capture. It’s a duergar city with a heavy focus on trade. There is enough light for me to see, but I miss the sun. The Blade Bazaar itself is crowded and noisy. It is hard to focus on just one thing, which is why my group seems to get separated often. I think anyone capable of causing a distraction large enough to disrupt the Blade Bazaar is either very capable or very stupid.

Who are the people who’ve left an impression on me, and what have they done?

How do you feel about the other characters, players or otherwise? Have they said things that stuck with you? Have they given you things or done something for you? The artificer in our group gave Thavma a magic item once; in her book she is constantly asking herself to find ways to pay him back. My book is littered with quotes and moments from other characters, and what Thavma thought about them.

Jimjar — Addictive personality. Keeps trying to bet on things — great way to prove I’m always right! Calls himself the “Merchant of death.” I think it’s because he’s had more victims than customers.

Jahrukk — Smartest one here besides me. Expert in dwarvish swear words. Keeps giving me things? What can I do?

Zock — It’s been two months; how is he still so happy? His living bug collection freaks me out. Why couldn’t he make friends with a nice grell or hook horror instead?

Zuberi — Quiet. Mysterious. Will encourage Jimjar’s drinking problem. My second if anyone ever challenges me to a duel.

Sarith — Insufferable jerk! Someone needs to punch him right in his stupid smug attractive face. What?

What am I trying to accomplish? What is the party trying to accomplish?

While I grouped those two questions together, there are going to be times when those two things don’t align. At the very least there are going to be times when the how of those two things don’t align. It’s always important to write down when you have a new objective for your character, and it’s good to review those objectives before you start the session.

Even on a mechanical level, it’s super important to review your objectives! You never want to get halfway through a dungeon only to look up from the table and ask, “What are we doing here again?”

My party and I all want to leave Gracklestugh, but we disagree on how to get there. I think we should use some of our possessions as bargaining chips; other members of my party would rather die than give them over.

So what do you do with all these notes?

When you’ve got all of this stuff written down, when you’ve clearly defined your circumstances and you know where your character is coming from and where they want to go, it’s time to use it.

Actors call it the Magic If, a tool straight out of Stanislavski’s book. The actor is called on to consider what would happen if their character’s circumstances applied to them. How would they act?

“That’s impossible,” you tell me. “I’m playing a chaotic neutral bard and I’m a tone-deaf human who always follows the rules. I’d never do what my character would do.”

If you were playing yourself, it wouldn’t be much of acting or role playing a fantasy character.

When you’re using the Magic If, all of your character’s circumstances now apply to you. What if you weren’t tone deaf? You’d probably sing. What if you didn’t agree with the rules imposed on you? You’d rebel against them. What if you weren’t you, but an actual living, breathing charismatic half-elf with killer pipes? You’d make money with it.

You can take the power of Magic If further with your sense memory and your emotional memory.

Say you get into town to find it massacred. Your GM tells you that the scent of rotting flesh invades your nose. You write it down because it’s a sensory detail, but you have no idea what rotting flesh smells like. But you probably know what burning rubber smells like, or something equally as unpleasant to the nose.

If you remember the way you felt the last time you smelled something particularly disgusting, you can produce the same result in your playing it. Did it make you nauseous? Did it stop you from concentrating on anything else?

A rogue slights you out of your end of a bargain. You gave them your time, and they’re giving you none of the reward. If you’ve ever been cheated out of money before, you know how it feels. If you’ve never had that, think of the last time you were treated unjustly. Remember how that felt and use it here.

In her book Respect for Acting, Uta Hagen calls this process of drawing from your own memory substitution. Hagen describes this as finding a character within yourself. You use your past experiences to “extend reality” to fit the fiction of the character.

Using circumstances to play the Magic If and make substitutions from your own life is difficult and a little dangerous at times. You can’t get carried away by your past experiences, or you risk ruining the performance. Likewise, if you get carried away at the table it might complicate things for you and everyone around you.

But Circumstance, Substitution, and the Magic If are great additions to your toolbox. They’ll help you understand not only the words on your character sheet, but everything your character knows and loves and hates about the world around them. Even taking a moment before you get to the game to remember who you are and what you’ve come to do will go a long way.

For only several hours each week you get to kick ass in this particular way that you’ve invented for yourself. Make the most of that circumstance!

Further Reading

Uta Hagen’s 6 Steps for Building a Character — An article on Theaterific that outlines the 6 Steps. After reading this article, they’ll look a little familiar.
Substitution and the Art of Acting — A better explanation of substitution.

Please don’t tell me what happens to my beloved Abyss NPCs. I know it won’t be pretty.