Repertoire is a game about a wandering troupe of actors in a world ravaged by the Final War. Travelling between small enclaves of survivors, they carry entertainment, nostalgia, culture and hope. But any group of actors has their internal politics, and this one is no different. What keeps them together is the tyrannical rule of their producer, and if they want to achieve their own hopes, or revive their own nostalgia, they will have to steel themselves to challenge him.

So in a few decades or so, there's a horrible war. Not with nukes or anything, but maybe what happened was worse. What exactly that was we leave up to the imagination of any particular group, but it was awful and devastating, but didn't absolutely wreck the environment the way that a thermonuclear war would have. Picture vast, amoral political and commercial entities duking it out with strange chemical and biological weapons. Mutant animals organized in phalanxes set upon screaming innocent civilian cities. That kind of thing.

The war was a like a hell on Earth. Soldiers have it best, because at least they're a part of it. Of course they take the most casualties, and they see the most of the horror. So maybe it balances out. Suffering and terror is widespread and inescapable.

But the war has been over for years now. Maybe the vast entities got bored, or distracted, or all killed off. Who can say? Global communication is a thing of the past, along with heavy industry. But in little pockets, groups of people survive, each made a little strange by the things they lived through, and by the necessary isolationism of their little, obsessive groups. Picture librarians holing up in a library for a half dozen years.

As time goes by, and things settle down, a small group of the dramatically inclined band together to wander the countryside, risking everything for the theatre.

The object of Repertoire is to stand up to the Producer and wring your desire out of him. Whether you're able to do this will depend on the Steel in your spine, which you'll build up over the course of play. But you only have eight hours of play time to accomplish this.

Steel is the collection of events and conflicts you build up over the course of play. To build up Steel, events need to relate to your character's Desire, their background, or to the Producer, to the productions, or the discomfit of the other Actors.

The course of play will detail the travels of the troupe between enclaves, performing plays from their repertoire.

You'll need at least four players for Repertoire, and eight is probably pushing too many. Six is a comfortable upper limit.

You'll also need a pack of index cards, a bunch of little tokens (pennies, glass beads, poker chips, whatever) and a bunch of those weird dice role-players use, specifically d4s, d6s, d8s, d10s and d12s. You can probably skimp on d4s and d12s, but get a whole bunch of the other kinds.

Make sure that the index cards are in a neat stack where everyone can reach them, and the dice and tokens are in bowls.

One player will take the role of the Producer. His responsibilities in the game, as well as his goals, are very different from everyone else. And pretty different from traditional GM roles, so pay attention later on when we talk about the Producer. The Producer should take 2d4, 2d6, 2d8, 2d10 and 2d12. These are his starting Rancor, which we'll discuss later on.

The other players will each take the role of an Actor in the Troupe (sometimes called the Company.) You'll get to make up your Actor character during play, so don't worry too much about who they are yet. It can't hurt to have a sketchy notion about the larger-than-life, over-the-top, prima donna, scenery devouring... well, you get the idea.

The Producer should start the clock right now. An entire game of Repertoire lasts no more than eight hours. Anyone who has not accomplished their Desire by the end of eight hours of play will probably never get up the stuff to do so. The Producer should note the time, or start an eight hour timer, or however he's most comfortable tracking time.

It's worth mentioning that the eight hours doesn't have to be all at once, but rather it's a total of elapsed time playing the game. Everyone can take a break for lunch, or five minutes to calm down from a really intense scene, or even a two week break between sessions, and none of that counts against the eight hours.

Everyone takes an index card. On it, they should write their own name, and then the name of the Actor they want to play. Finally they should write their Desire.

This should be some personal or professional ambition, for which the greatest obstacle is the will of the Producer. Examples include leaving the Company, having your play (or just your favorite play) added to the repertoire, being recast in some or all of the plays, visiting a particular enclave that isn't on the normal route, or even becoming the Producer yourself. Be creative with you Desire, since it's pretty central to your Actor's character.

The player who took the Producer's role does much the same for him, except the Producer only really needs a name. He doesn't have a thwarted desire; at least not one that the producer stands in the way of. The Producer's player might want to think about why the Producer is so difficult to approach. Is he blustery, shouting, and coarse? Truly obnoxiously whiny? Maybe he's just really disgustingly sexual. Whatever. Don't get too married to the idea though, since you might come up with a better one later.

Once you've finished your Actor card, slide it gently away from you, but still close enough so that it's still identifiably yours.

When everyone is done with their Actor card, you're ready to begin play.

Play proceeds pretty quickly. Any Actor player can start a scene, which is essentially some kind of event of significance in the stories of the Actors. Any Actor can get involved with the scene, and the Actors involved play it out to its conclusion. The Producer might fill in other characters in the scene, like querulous enclave dwellers, sultry (or innocent) love interests, or horribly disfigured mutants, either by taking on those roles himself, or by inviting Actors not in the scene to play them.

What makes a scene significant is that it touches on how the Actor relates to the company. For the purposes of the game, we consider three kinds of event: the trials that an Actor suffers for the good of the company, the triumphs that an Actor wins on the behalf of the company, and rivalries the Actors have with each other within the company.

When you're in a scene, and what going on is a trial, take a d6 from the bowl and put it in the middle of the table. If what you're hoping to achieve is a triumph, take a d8 and put it in the middle of the table. If you're setting up several trials or triumphs, pull out a die for each.

Rivalries are a little bit more complicated. If you're starting a rivalry, grab an index card and write what the rivalry is about on it. For instance, you might write "Biggest Heartthrob," "Deepest Commitment (to role, of course)", or "Most Dramatic (off-stage)." At this stage, your Actor is merely establishing himself as whatever you've noted on the card. Set a d10 on the rivalry card. This die will remain attached to the card as it is fought over and held by different Actors.

Over the course of a scene, everyone have the opportunity to establish and reference facts about people and places in the game. In fact, it's only by the virtue of these facts that you'll successfully resolve a scene.

When you try to establish a fact about something, you'll grab the card that represents the object of the new fact, and write down the fact (legibly) on the card. Then you'll do a little bit of housekeeping.

First, roll a die. The size of the die depends on what you're adding a fact to. For your Actor, roll a d12. For other Actors and Plays, roll a d10. For Enclaves roll a d8, and for the Producer, roll a d6. If you roll a number that's equal to or less than the existing facts on the card, take a token. That fact is true. If you roll over the number of facts, strike out the fact you wrote down. It isn't true. It's reverse isn't necessarily true - a similar fact might be true about that person or place, but not exactly the one you just wrote.

Regardless of your roll, make sure that there is on token on the card for each true fact. Three facts, three tokens.

If you're referring to a fact for the first time in a scene, take half the tokens on the card. If the number of tokens there is odd, round up.

About an Actor, you can make all kinds of suggestions and aspersions. Their background, their skills, the preferences, their relationships, whatever.

About Enclaves you can make statements about the place and it's surrounds, about what the people there do, and most importantly about specific residents of the place. Note well that people who live in enclaves are completely summed up by a single fact about their home. For instance, on the "Smithson Tution" enclave card, you might find "Jerome Barkley is the grim Keeper of Dillinger's Organ."

Facts about plays might include themes, special features of the story, various character names and descriptions.

The facts about the Producer should be kept on the delightful side of vague. No one knows him all that well, because in order to keep the Troupe together, he must remain apart. Things like "He was married at least once, but we don't know where his wife is now," work well.

When it's time to wind up a scene, either by bringing it to some satisfactory conclusion, or even just drawing the curtain on the tribulations and joys of an Actor's life, a player whose Actor is in the scene should take up the dice that have been collected in the course of the scene. Everyone who has tokens from the action in the scene should dedicate them either for or against the roll. Subtract tokens against from the tokens for, halve that value and roll against the total. If the roll comes in under the total, the dice become Steel for the Actors involved. If not, then the Producer chooses one to become Rancor.

If a rivalry was involved, whichever side of the rivalry chose to end the scene and roll the dice receives the rivalry card and the d10 on it. If the owner of a rivalry card decides to start a scene with the rivalry at stake, and wins the rivalry at the end of the scene, he banks an extra d10 Steel in addition to keeping the rivalry card and it's associated d10.

If there are more than one Actor in a Scene, then they pick dice in order of their contribution in terms of tokens.

Play can be suspended at the mutual agreement of the Actors, although the Producer can suggest that play be suspended. Whatever timekeeping should be paused when play is suspended; indeed, whenever a suspension is discussed, the timer should be paused until a decision is reached. Restart it when play continues.

Having discussed the raw mechanics of a scene, there's a significant rule that bears mention: the rule of character. In short, all of the gritty gutty detail of the rules can be completely managed silently. Establishing a fact? Scribble on a card. Referring to a fact? Take half it's tokens. So, the responsibility of the players is to only actually talk about what their Actors are doing or saying in the feature. Don't say "I'm referencing Atwater's uncanny ability to outdrink a fish." Instead, say "Did I ever tell you, dear lady, about how my friend Atwater here, once drank a Russian lighting engineer under the table? This was before the War, of course," point to the fact on Atwater's card, and take the tokens.

When you're just getting used to the game, you might pause for a moment with "am I doing this right?" type questions, but for the most part, you want to try to keep the focus of play away from the rules of the game.

The Producer has the sole right and responsibility to question a fact. The process of questioning a fact is an exception to the rule of character. He can question facts based either on whether they've been meaningfully included, the so called "Criteria of Validity," or on whether they're inclusion meaningfully affects the scene (the Criteria or Utility).

A questioned use of a fact can either be relented or insisted upon. If a player insists on his fact, the Producer may increase his Rancor. On the other hand, the player gets to treat the fact as if it had not been questioned.

The Producer increases his Rancor by evening out his collection of Rancor dice. If he has the same number of each size of dice, he takes a d4. If he has more d4s than d6s, he takes a d6. If he has the same number of d4s and d6s, but less of everything else, he takes a d8. In other words, he takes a die of the smallest size for which he has more of each smaller sized die.

In a similar way, the Producer can question the validity of trials, triumphs and attempts at rivalry.

There are four phases of play: Travel, Arrival, the Production, and Departure. Each has it's own characteristics, and there are special rules for each. Play always begins with Departure, so we'll talk about that first.

Departure phases detail the striking of the set, the saying goodbyes and leave taking, and most importantly, the collection of the Company's fee. By convention, the initial Departure is at best mediocre, and at worst awful. After all, all of the Actors are harboring their own dissatisfactions, and they're built on something. The Departure phases lasts long enough for each Actor to be in one scene. If everyone wants their own scene, fine. If everyone wants to be in one big scene, fine. In the Departure, if an Actor has been in a scene already, they must be invited into subsequent scenes.

Travel phases describe the trip between enclaves, and they last for as long as the Actors want them to last. Keep in mind that the Company is traveling by whatever means are available through difficult terrain, and may encounter any manner of thing, including the twisted victims of the war hunting for human flesh, other groups wandering between enclaves, or strange architecture. This is a good time to grab some trials dice.

Arrival phases are about getting there. The Troupe rolls up and into an enclave, meets the people there, discusses the terms of their engagement, including the play to be performed and their recompense for the performance. Upon arrival, an Enclave card should be created by the Producer with an evocative name and nothing else on it. By the end of the Arrival phase, a Play card should be created or selected. Arrival, like Departure, lasts long enough for each Actor to be in one scene.

The Performance phase is special. It is always one big scene with everyone. It occurs backstage, and ought to be played out in hushed tones to avoid allowing the audience to overhear. This is an excellent time to challenge and defend rivalries. The extra rule of the Performance phase is that any player may point to another and whisper "your cue," in which, their Actor leaves the scene temporarily to go "on stage." (You might even take your own cues: "that's my cue.") It's very classy to recite a line from the Play as you go on stage. It's even classier to try to reuse those lines in later performances of the same play.

During any phase but the Production, or between phases, an Actor may confront the producer. This confrontation is carried out in a series of rounds.

In each round, the Producer and the Actor concerned note which kind of dice they have. Then they roll their dice, the Producer rolls his Rancor dice, and the Actor rolls his Steel dice. Every die whose value is the same as a size they have is a Point. For instance, an Actor with 3d6, 4d8 and 2d10 (from two rivalry cards) would make a Point on any 6, 8 or 10 he rolled. Separate out the dice that rolled Points now.

Now play out the argument. Set aside Points as you make them in the argument. Be sure to cover exactly what you want, and why you should get it. Talk about all you've put up with, and all you've done for the troupe, and the excellence of your craft, etc.

The Producer, for his part counters your Points with his own, about how you were nothing before you met him, you'll be nothing without him, everything you have he gave you, the show must go on.

Once the points have been made, each player sets aside dice from the others pool based on the number of Points he made. 3 Points, 3 dice. The Actor chooses what Rancor to set aside, and the Producer chooses what Steel to set aside.

Repeat this process until someone runs out of dice. If both run out of dice in the same round, the Actor wins.

If the Actor wins, he gets what he wants. If he loses, his will is broken and he gives up his dream. His player may continue if he wishes, his Actor will be changed by the confrontation, though: either depressive or insufferable as a result of the outcome.

The Producer for his part will be angered that anyone would dare rise against him. Increase his Rancor four times. It pays to confront the Man first.

When eight hours elapses, any Actor who has not confronted the Producer has chickened out. He'll never get up the nerve to make his case to the Producer. In some ways, that's more of a lose than confronting the Producer and being broken; at least that way you know you didn't have it in you. If you chicken out, you just always wonder.

First of all, if in the course of play, richly developed Actors performed really interesting plays for memorable enclaves under the baleful eye of a wonderfully tyrannical Producer, then all the players win. Furthermore, they win to the degree they accomplish this, and their prize is the characters and places they drew in the course of play, and the stories that developed.

Actors win if they achieve their Desires. There's no extra margin for speed of achievement. The lose if they confront the Producer and are broken. They lose worse if time runs out before they can get around to confronting the Producer.

The Producer wins if at least one Actor wins, but his win diminishes with each additional Actor who wins, until it's reduced to a total loss if all the Actors win. Basically, if all the Actors win, you weren't pushing hard enough, so you lose. If none of the Actors win, you were pushing too hard, so you lose.

First of all, to Andy Kitkowski for wrangling the whole Game Chef thing. I trust he won't be in the first round of judging here, so this won't sound too much like tacky flattery. Game Chef has got to be a job and a half, so I raise my glass to him.

In the same vein, to the founder of the feast, Mike Holmes. He got the ball rolling, and we thank him for it.

And finally to my fellow competitors and judges. I'm looking forward to reading all the entries this year, and I hope this one amuses at least for a moment.

Finally, to Elizabeth Hand, whose novel, Winterlong, and the other books in sequel to it, were the inspiration to the sketchy setting of Repertoire. They're really an excellent read, if you like that sort of thing.