The Centre

Or, how I accidentally make it sound like Rise of the Guardians was good, actually.

In 2012, Rise of the Guardians made a mediocre impact on cinema, enormous impact on Tumblr, and something cut through to me specifically.¹ In a scene early on between North (Santa Claus) and Jack (Frost), North explains that his centre, a core aspect of himself that he "puts into the world" is "eyes that have always seen the wonder in everything". This is what makes the characters, in the context of the film, Guardians: a centre, to offer to the world and strenuously foster.

In 2024, we're about twelve minutes into a game of Heart, after the player of the Deep Apiarist has described her character as someone who leaves honey in the footprints they leave behind, and one of the other players - N., who is playing a gnoll Junk Mage, with a nose for scraps of magic and hiding in holes in the ground - gruffs up her voice, and speaks immediately in character.

Are you going to be using all of that? Do you mind if I, excuse me while I - lumbers over, scoops honey into a jar - I'll have some of that.

She does not describe her character, she does not introduce the character in the third person, she instantly dives into a line that gives us exactly the idea of who this large cowardly beast of a man is going to be for the next two sessions. N. has found the centre, and offered it up to the table.

In 2025, N. was also in a game of Fomoria, playing an anthropomorphic deer person with a bow. The very first thing they did was describe a small detail of adding charms to their character's antlers - specifically, small weaving tablets. While doing so, they talked about "the weavings of fate bringing us together" and that "a thread had been broken" as people disappeared from the characters' shared home. N. took the scenario set-up and a premade character, and made it their own with a single detail. At the same time, they opened the door for others to follow, sprinkling the extra flavour on top. N. looked at the description of the character, and found its core, bringing it front and - aptly for my metaphor - centre.

I regularly find myself coming back to the same trick (both before and after those games with N.): the first thing that accompanies the introduction of one of my characters is a quote, a quip, a line, a sentence, a mannerism, a vocal tic.² Most often a quote. Something to anchor my character upon, and find their voice. Their centre.

Once you have that centre, you start building on it; you take the opening bit, as a touchstone and foundation, and use it to find who your character is.³ But even more importantly: by putting that centre into the world, you're giving permission to everyone else at the table to fully sink into their character, because you broke the ice and did the silly voice. In the words of N.:

I found that it's a consistent way to play, it helps break the awkward ice of "we are people in meatspace here to play a game of make believe". Yes it is silly but it's only silly until we commit.

I started writing this as I was inspired by some of the responses to the Prismatic Wasteland blogwagon about "How to be a Good Player". I got so angry at how good some of that advice is, that I felt compelled to find something extra to add.

So this is my advice: Commit. Be the clown.⁴ Be the first person to do the funny voice, so that everyone knows it's okay to be silly because we're playing pretend, and that is innately, inherently silly. Find the centre, put it out in the world. Even if, for the next few hours, the world is three to four people around a table with you.

Thanks to Hat! for editing and feedback, especially for forcing me to restructure the entire flow of the piece (with good reason!). And thanks to N. for all the games played together and the words I shamelessly borrowed for most of this post.

Featured image by Jorge Campos on Unsplash