This is a review of the text of Burning Wheel, not of the game in play. I have only read the text (twice), not played the game.
The Gold Edition of Luke Crane’s Burning Wheel is no quick read. My copy is nearly 600 pages long, and there is not much filler in the text. Thankfully, it is a well-written text, with a conversational tone that values clear meaning over cleverness. It is also a well-organized text that presents the concepts of the game in a logical and helpful order, each thing building on the thing before it, and very few occasions of pointing to things not yet discussed. On top of all that, the organization makes it easy to go back and find the topics and the specific rule you might look for again. It’s laid out as a teaching text more than a reference text, but it suffices as the latter thanks to that organization. The indexes at the back seem thorough, and the layout makes it easy to follow the relationship between the paragraph you’re reading and the rest of the material in the chapter. It’s a thoughtfully constructed text.
The game itself walks a fine line between simple and crunchy. It’s successful in this walk, I think, mostly because it is set up in layers, so you can always fall back on the simple elements at any time you don’t feel like dealing with the crunch. This design is obviously purposeful, as the book presents the information in those very layers. (Of course, Crane uses the imagery of a wheel rather than anything with layers.) At the center is the hub, and here we have the basic mechanic at the center of play. When an outcome is in doubt, the player rolls a pool of D6’s against an obstacle determined either by the GM or by an opposed roll. Each 4, 5, or 6 on a dice signify a success. If the number of successes is larger than the obstacle number or the opponent’s roll, the action is successful. Advantages add dice to the roller’s pool, and disadvantages add to the obstacle rating. The character’s stats tells you how many dice are in your pool, so if you have nothing more than a character sheet, an active imagination, and a number of dice, you can play the game. All the crunch really comes from fine tuning when and how you get advantage dice and what affects the obstacle number. Each subsystem is about the myriad factors and details that need to be weighed in a given particular circumstance.
Beyond the hub are the spokes of the system. In Burning Wheel, the spokes are all about advancement and improvement of characters through play. Improvement is a constant feature in play, since every time you roll the dice, you are adding to your character’s experience which can potentially result in an increase to that skill or stat, which in turn results in a larger pool of dice to use those skills and stats. The crunch at this point comes in all the ways the game needs to measure when a roll adds to your improvement and when it doesn’t. At heart, the game wants to model a gritty reality in which people learn by doing, through both their successes and their failures. They need to do a thing a lot, and they need to do it at varying levels of difficulty to truly improve, so you need so many routine experiences, so many difficult experiences, and so many challenging experiences. Some skills, stats, and abilities improve whether you succeed or fail, and some only benefit from your doing it right.
But improving by doing is only half the game. What makes you want to do anything at all? That’s where the second half of the improvement system comes in. The game calls it “artha,” and players gain artha for their characters when they play their characters with purpose and vision. Artha is divided into three kinds. The most common kind is “fate,” and a player gets fate points when they play their character according to that character’s beliefs, instincts, and traits. Fate points can be spent to make a good roll better. The uncommon kind of artha is “persona,” and a player gets persona points when a character drives the story forward in small but significant ways by playing their character according to the character’s beliefs, instincts, and traits. Persona points can be spent to add dice to a roll. The rarest of the artha are “deeds,” and a player gets deed points when their character pushes the story forward by accomplishing something larger than their own personal goals, changing the world significantly by their decisions and pursuits. Deed points can be spent to greatly increase the dice for a roll or to reroll a pool of dice entirely. Finally, if you spend enough artha points on a single skill, stat, or ability, you can eventually make your character more heroic by making a 3 on the D6 a success as well.
This multi-faceted advancement system gives players a chance to advance at every stage of play. In the short term, you have each individual test to contribute to the improvement of a single skill, stat, or ability. Over the course of a session, you are striving to get a few fate points and a persona point. Over the course of a number of sessions, you aim for a deed point. And over the course of dozens of sessions, possibly years of playing, you can raise your character to truly heroic and god-like stature. Moreover, the system rewards the most basic acts of play as well as rewarding portrayal of character (for its own sake) and advancement of the story through that portrayal.
When I summarize it all like that, I see it is an elegant and tightly designed system. But it is easy in reading the text to lose the forest for all the trees. The designer’s desire to capture the gritty reality of life in the middle ages means that there is a lot of crunch added to these basic elements, and a lot of things to track and monitor. You can of course ignore that crunch, but the basic system is not so glorious that it warrants usage without the crunch. I suspect that everyone who plays Burning Wheel does so fully embracing the crunch created by that drive for realism.
In reading the text, I bounced back and forth between admiring it and being exasperated by its details. It’s hard to imagine players being able to build up steam during play because every roll needs to be accompanied by checking charts to decide how many dice you roll, what the obstacle for the roll is, what the difficulty rating is to mark the advancement track, all while you try to hit your traits and aim for your beliefs. There is necessarily a lot of time spent at the table discussing things that aren’t the fiction of the story. For a lot of people that does nothing to diminish the fun; in fact for some people that is a crucial part of the fun. But for me . . . meh; it’s not what I come to the roleplaying table to do. When I look at each individual rule in the gamebook—what skill is tested, how it is opposed, how the obstacle is determined, where additional dice come from, how it interacts with other game elements—I am impressed by the thoughtfulness, the attention to detail, the consistency, and the coherent design. It’s just that none of it makes we want to play the game.
One of the problems with “realism” in RPG rules is that they can come at the cost of enjoyment. Take the wound and recovery rules of Burning Wheel. I love that combat is deadly and that wounds have dramatic impact on a character’s ability to function. But I love it in the abstract. When I look at it in play, it looks like it would clog up play in weird ways. Your character suffered a traumatic wound, so now he has to rest 3 months. Very realistic, but very much a pace-killer to the game. The game gives you all kinds of ways for other characters to fill in that time, such as practicing a skill, but that’s hardly what we came to the table to do. And if you fail your roll to heal up, woe unto you. The text advises you save artha for your healing rolls. Artha gives you the opportunity to have your character do something amazing, and the wise thing to do is save your heroic moments to recover? Ugh. Similarly, if your character is at death’s door, you need a spare persona point to make them live. If you don’t have one, ugh, again. For some players, that realism might be exciting; they might want to play the minutiae of recovering from a wound. I can see those players being excited by the rules of this game.
All that said, I actually want to get the companion book, the Codex, and read those portions of the game, because in the end, this main book is a kind of player’s manual. The book is all rules and finer points; it doesn’t begin to touch on what it’s like to run the game. There are a scant 5 pages dedicated to “Playing the Game” at the end of the book (not even 1% of the total text). To truly understand the game, I feel like I need to see what the other book says about running an adventure or scenario (the game doesn’t seem to put forth clear language in this text about what to call it). I love that the game makes character creation vital to the details of any given scenario, that the scenario concept shapes who the characters will be and that character creation in return shapes what’s important in the scenario—that is awesome. This is not a game designed for dungeon crawls, although it can certainly allow for that. The rules naturally help the players create something epic both in length and scope to watch the characters change and struggle and become something greater than they are. The longer you play the game, the more it rewards you—or at least that’s how it looks from here.
I would also be interested to see what earlier versions of the game look like. This Gold edition is the revised edition, and seems to have been shaped by Crane’s encounters with Ron Edward and his Sorcerer, Vincent Baker and his Dogs in the Vineyard, Jared Sorensen and his InSpectres, and Paul Czege and his My Life with Master. I can see those influences in the design, and it makes me wonder what elements were already there before those experiences and which are drawn directly from them.
One thing I would like to see changed in the text that wouldn’t affect the game itself is the unwavering dedication to the masculine pronouns. It seems like a small thing, but everything in the book is masculine. All the pronouns, all the sample player names. There are a few womenfolk in the examples, but that’s the extent of it. The text says this is a mere convenience, but everything about the experience says it is designed with men in mind.