The Three-Act Structure The Classical Greek philosopher Aristotle suggested that the most effective stories are ones adopting a chain of cause-and-effect actions that build on one another until reaching a climax and conclusion. Storytellers can use the three-act structure to divide a story into three sections, each anchored to one or more challenges the players’ characters must address.
Each act consists of one or more scenes. Act one introduces the tension, the second act presents the rise in tension, and the third act accounts for the climax and denouement, usually with a fall in tension. (If you recall the game loop from the beginning of this chapter, you probably intuited that you can also use the third act to establish or set the stage for the chronicle’s next three-act arc.)
A rough balance for the acts is when the first act makes up 25 percent of the story. About 50 percent of the story occurs in the second act, and the final 25 percent concludes that particular story in the final act.
Remember, too, that a chronicle consists of multiple stories, so you’ll probably be engaging this loop numerous times for something longer than a single story. Also, a chronicle doesn’t need to end when the challenge is con fronted and the goal is either attained or failed. Storytelling games are an iterative process, so instead of the final act neatly wrapping everything up, concluding one story provides the opportunity to seed the next three-act story in the earlier story’s final scenes.
Opportunities for Action Every scene should offer an opportunity for the players’ characters to interact with the environment and Storyteller characters, and to affect the outcome of the scene. Some amount of important stuff happens in each scene (otherwise why is the scene happening?) and can serve as a transition from one act to another. Understanding how the three acts and opportunities for action work with one another will help you keep the story moving forward.
“Important stuff” can take the form of building player expectations or exemplifying the setting. Not every scene needs to have significant stakes. It’s possible that a scene’s importance is in helping the pack form an attachment to a specific character or showing them what they’ll lose if an antagonist is allowed to realize their agenda. Opportunities for action represent the possibility of change. Although all scenes change from beginning to end, opportunities for action can yield significant changes with major ramifications. A plot-point scene could include a major victory or loss, a revelation, a discovery, the emergence of a new antagonist, or the tragic death of a character (either player character or Storyteller character). Often, these types of scenes serve as catalysts for character development.
Really tight stories may involve only plot points and use no other scenes. Sprawling chronicles involve many different types of scenes and use the plot points only as key moments of transition.
Planning Opportunities for Action It’s impossible to anticipate all the ways the players might react to the situations you present. Avoid trying to build an ironclad “plot”; everyone will find it more rewarding if you, as Storyteller, remain flexible and instead mark key turning points in your story to help you envision how things can unfold.
Your opportunity planning doesn’t need to be detailed — a few bullet-point-style notes about the scene and key Storyteller characters often prove sufficient. Recognizing the most significant turning points indicates what work you may need to do to prepare for an upcoming scene. If a turning point requires the involvement of a major antagonist, you know to work on familiarizing yourself with their capacities and systems so that you don’t need to do it in the middle of a session.
The following structure can be used as a template for planning your chronicle. You should feel free to modify it to suit the needs of your troupe, of course. Note that in this model, act one, unlike the other acts, has two turning points; one at the beginning (the inciting incident) and one at the end (the transition).
Act One (the beginning, the introduction of tension):
• Turning point one: The inciting incident (an overall call to action), investigation (who, what, when, where, and why)
• Turning point two: The transition to act two
Act Two (the middle, the rise in tension):
• Turning point three: Increasing action, confrontation; the transition to act three
Act Three (the end, the climax and fall of tension):
• Turning point four: The climax and denouement, signposting the next story
Gaia’s Demise: The Garou’s Inciting Incident At the core of many of
Werewolf’s conflicts is the imbalance of the Triat and its effect on the mother-spirit Gaia. Gaia’s time of dying serves as a universal inciting incident on a global and a historic scale, encouraging every Garou character to
act now. There’s always something for the characters to do in
Werewolf; there’s always a need to fight back.
A Silent Strider may seek to regain a lost artifact in a desperate effort to hold on to one last piece of their fallen lover’s legacy, while a Hart Warden may have learned of the presence of a defiled Black Spiral Dancer caern and convinces her pack to take it back. A Bone Gnawer might venture into the Umbra to look for something… anything… that he discovers there to try to stanch Gaia’s bleeding. All three are different approaches to the same contextualizing incident of Gaia’s death and the threat the degrading state of the world still represents.
Fighting the Wyrm or another Triatic “bad actor” and its proxies may not be the smartest or most effective thing for the Garou to do, but it’s rarely the worst thing they can do. Help the players understand that there is always something to do as a Garou. If anything, there may be
too many antagonists to confront, so roll up your sleeves and commence.
This fallback motivation can be empowering, especially when the pack needs to satisfy its Rage with a burst of cathartic violence. If nothing else, Gaia’s lament can serve as a least-common-denominator inciting incident. It may not be the most intricate inciting incident, but it is always there for you to use, and establishing that context early helps give a grounding for more complex story arcs as the chronicle develops.
Act One: The Beginning Act one is all about breaking the status quo and learning (often under duress…) about the coming challenges. A first act typically starts with one or more scenes that establish the parameters of the story and preview the challenges the characters will face in act two. Early in act one, the Storyteller should present the first plot point, the inciting incident.
Act one’s inciting incident should present some kind of point of no return, thus prompting the players’ characters to take action. It should challenge the characters’ routine, if they have one, or threaten what amounts to their “normal world,” insofar as anything about being a werewolf is normal. The scene is usually the first significant event in the story, and like literature, the best establishing events at this stage are quite dramatic.
Although the players should always feel the tension of the horror genre, their characters probably don’t risk mortal danger in act one, unless they actively involve themselves in it. This time is more often one of discovery, of learning that trouble is afoot, whether they’re going to go after it or it comes seeking them. The people and spirits around them are not actively seeking to hurt them (though they might not be friendly). This time encompasses escalating action and tension, such that the characters have a sense of control. Note that this shouldn’t mean the characters don’t feel at risk or even threatened, simply more as a guideline for structuring your escalating tension — it’s practically antithetical to a werewolf to ever truly feel “safe.”
Act one should conclude with the players eager to get on to act two.
Some examples for what might happen in act one:
• Someone important to one or more of the players’ characters — a Touchstone, a contact, a family member, a lover — has had an accident or falls ill, and signs point to a local business entity with a sinister reputation
• One or more of the characters discover hostile werewolves scouting the pack’s caern, and may engage in violence with them
• The Garou notice something horribly amiss in the Umbra, or a tormented spirit comes to them seeking aid
Set the Stakes Information flows during act one, and the characters should have some sense of what may happen if they succeed or fail in dealing with the problem at hand. Establishing the stakes creates tension by underscoring the consequences and rewards, which then encourage the players to take action against the challenge. Think of stakes as the phrase following the “then” in an “if/then” statement.
Take the statement “If the characters don’t investigate the unseasonable locust swarm, then the community is going to have a bad harvest.” In this case, the stakes involve risk to their community. In the statement, “If the characters don’t stop the Black Spiral Dancer pack, then their pack will lose its caern,” the stakes involve access to the pack’s “home base” and place of spiritual importance.
Establish the Setting The story’s setting should also be established in this act. Many chronicles take place in a pack’s home territory, potentially within proximity of a caern they acquire or a certain area they feel is theirs or otherwise protect. This assumption is intentional:
• It ties the players’ characters to a specific place, where they can establish roots and build relationships
• It eases the burden on the Storyteller, who doesn’t have to have an encyclopedic knowledge of world geography on hand, and can use recurring or symbolic locations to reinforce chronicle themes and tenets
However, feel free to set a story on the road or in some place other than the pack’s home territory, especially if you want to disrupt the pack’s comfort, force them to learn new geography, or meet new people. If most of the action is going to take place in London, for example, act one is the time to establish that fact or, at least, make the players aware that travel’s going to be involved, if the characters don’t already live in or near London.
Suggest or Reveal the Antagonist If your story will introduce a primary antagonist in act two or three, act one should seed a few key facts about who they are, what they want, and what tools they have at their disposal. (Chapter 9 has some general, suggested goals for antagonists, but an individual is likely to have individual goals, as well, ones that a wise pack will attempt to discern as early as possible — the better to foil them.)
Werewolf doesn’t generally feature moustache-twirling Hollywood villains — even the most depraved of individual agendas take shape for a reason. Also, passive or environmental challenges (see “The Antagonist Axes” on p. 211) can establish dire stakes on their own and can require considerable planning and effort to positively resolve.
The Second (Transitional) Turning Point Act one has two turning points, with the second one transitioning into act two. The second turning point need not be as dramatic as the inciting incident, but it should serve as the event that makes it clear the status quo is well and truly gone.
Particularly effective turning points focus on the psychology or beliefs of one or more characters, an internal struggle that, when resolved, moves one or more characters’ intentions toward confrontation with a key antagonist (for more on these types of struggles, see “The Characters in Crisis” on p. 206). For example, a Red Talon might find they have a common enemy with the nearby human community in the story’s main antagonist, or the pack’s Black Fury and Galestalker may have crossed paths with an overbearing Silver Fang at a moot in the past, calling into question overall Garou values. Touchstones are also excellent tools for bringing these conflicts to the fore, especially Touchstones who don’t know that a character is Garou and might not understand what makes a werewolf character feel so strongly about a given course of action.
Act Two: The Middle Act two makes the challenges real and immediate, bringing them to the fore of the conflict. A story’s middle act consists of a rising tension that leads to a crisis. Many of the story’s most actionable elements unfold. If act one is an appetizer, then act two is the main course.
Act two raises the stakes, perhaps revealing new dangers. Characters have taken earlier actions and, in act two, realize that they have exposed themselves and are vulnerable. Danger and risk emerge in a way that feels personal to the characters, such as a direct threat to something or someone they care about. Making the danger personal keeps the players invested in the plotline and shifts the stakes from abstract and conceptual into problems with immediacy.
This last step is important. In this way,
Werewolf realizes itself as a storytelling game of personal stakes and small, costly victories, rather than as an epic “save the world!” scenario that’s at odds with the horror premise. Remember that the Garou perspective and the specific animistic conflicts represented by Gaia and the Triat may or may not be true, but regardless of whether the werewolves are correct, a preponderance of people in the places affected by their actions will see only monsters and the ruin they bring — itself a perspective that may or may not be true.
Small obstacles should lead to larger challenges. Simple problems — a locked door, a hostile spirit, armed perimeter guards — represent larger challenges to be introduced later. These immediate challenges should reveal a bit about the larger challenge the pack is going to face. There are no “random encounters” in a
Werewolf story.
The locked door may be protected by a Weaver-spirit, showing the players what type of obstacles they might confront later. The annoyingly hostile Wyrm-spirit may be the thrall of a more puissant Bane that appears in act three. The presence of the armed guards can show the players that the primary antagonist is well-funded and prepared for the sort of assault the pack originally planned. Or having their urban bolt-hole threatened by neighborhood gentrifying “development” may show the Garou that they’re dealing with opposition that fights entirely differently from the werewolves’ preferred methods.
By the story’s midpoint, the players should understand the nature of the threat, already have encountered a series of lesser challenges, and be prepared themselves to confront the final threat. And more than once, the Garou way of problem-solving should have created its own set of consequences. As the body count rises and the trail of victims becomes ever more gory, and as the Garou’s Rage exacts its own price, the characters shouldn’t have an easy time of things, but some memorable, volatile situations should definitely emerge.
Some examples for what might happen in act two:
• The pack discovers a camp of aggressive soldiers or PMC mercenaries established in its territory, indicating that whoever’s funding the interlopers must be well-connected indeed
• Aggressive fomori actively seek out the characters, whether they’re at the caern near the mouth of the river or climbing up the elevator shafts of a downtown skyscraper
• The Umbra becomes actively hostile as the pack traverses it, with angry spirits harrowing them and the geography itself manifesting before them horrifying obstacles like a river of liquid silver or chasms made of their own Rage
The Umbra and Spirits Act two offers an excellent opportunity to have the Umbra feature prominently, especially for antagonists or challenges of a spiritual nature. If act one tips the characters off to something being not right, and act three brings it all home (to the physical world), act two is when shit can get weird in the Umbra.
The Umbra is also a strong setting for over-the-top combat sequences, where things too strange to be marauding through the physical world rear up to their full… size or height or whatever other Spirit Wilds strangeness characterizes them. It’s a place where werewolves don’t have to mind the Delirium and can go full-throttle kickass with fairly few repercussions for indulging their violent nature. Which isn’t to say that there are no consequences for dealing violently with a threat in the Umbra, just that the denizens of the Umbra know what the Garou are and won’t necessarily flee in panic when Rage and the crinos form appear.
Act two is perhaps the best place for significant spirit antagonists to likewise reveal themselves. If the pack is going toe-to-toe with a Nexus Crawler (good luck), it’s probably during the climax of act two. Then, in act three, they’ll learn who agitated the Nexus Crawler, and what fallout dealing with the Nexus Crawler brings.
The Nudge On occasion, players are reluctant to take action that would move the story forward. Usually, this inertia isn’t the players being contrary. It’s often a desire for more information, more context for the decision at hand/claw. In such cases, and depending on a character’s outlook, goals, and ambitions, it’s worth roleplaying a few scenes to set the stakes so that the characters are encouraged to accept. Raising the stakes can mean having a Touchstone weigh in on something, having Resources suddenly frozen by well-connected rivals, or even having a spirit impart a vision or utter a cryptic statement. Sometimes it’s even worth increasing the threat and shifting the rewards cycle so the reward of dealing with the antagonist (or managing the consequences if they continue unchecked) is much larger.
Be careful — increasing the stakes too rapidly can make the antagonist appear unstoppable and lead to the characters retreating from the plot even more. Character harano is interesting;
player harano is frustrating and unsatisfying.
Expanding the Ensemble New Storyteller characters are also likely to make their initial appearance during act two. Storyteller characters exist to help contextualize or even provoke opportunities for action, thus providing the players’ characters key resources such as information, tools, or access to remote or secure locations. Remember that every character wants something, and Storyteller characters show their depth by interacting with the players. Can the pack gain something through quid pro quo? Does the Storyteller character have a goal in common with the players’ characters? Might cooperation with the Storyteller character become conflict at a later stage?
Act two is also an appropriate time to introduce new henchmen or even significant secondary antagonists (some of whom might become recurring). They, too, can offer clues to the act three threat or contextualize it. Why are these particular fomori in the characters’ way? Why does the Silver Fang ahroun the characters oppose smell like rotting meat? If this branching lava flow can threaten the migrant camp, what does it mean for the established community that lies in the path of the main stream of lava?
Act Three: The Climax (and Conclusion) Act three presents the climactic confrontation and the reduction of tension that follows. The confrontation is the story’s centerpiece, wherein the characters face a point of no return. They must either prevail or fail. Failure in this sense can mean many things: a setback (losing track of a rival), a retreat (losing the caern), a damaged ego (chagrin or being abandoned by esteemed allies), grievous wounds, or even death. During acts one and two you established the stakes, so the players should know what’s on the line during act three and have some sense of the imminent consequences.
The final confrontation is as much your payoff as it is the players’. You have probably spent some time setting up the scenarios that lead to the final confrontation. You defined your final antagonist, seeded act two with elements to foreshadow the confrontation with that antagonist, and now the players get to find out if they collected the right tools and prepared themselves accordingly to overcome whatever the antagonist throws at them.
Likewise, the players’ characters have probably gained insight and experience, as well as a better understanding of how the setting works. Some of the characters may bear mental, emotional, or physical scars as a result of encounters in the story.
The stakes are at their highest in act three, and it’s likely that some costs have been paid along the way. Maybe one of the Garou is no longer with the pack, or a beloved Touchstone has met their end. Perhaps one of the Garou is even responsible for the fate of the Touchstone or packmate, having lost control of their Rage.
Some examples for what might happen in act three:
• The pack takes the fight to the Pentex front, having learned who is funding the crooked senator’s re-election campaign
• The Garou return to the blighted waterfall in the Umbra, where the circle of malignant Banes is unfortunately at its strongest
• Having found the caern that the Cult of Fenris pack seized from the young Garou, it’s time to kick their fucking teeth so far down their throats that they shit smiles in Hell
Denouement Once the final confrontation is resolved, the story de-escalates into a denouement, where the events wind down into a new how-things-are. If the troupe is playing a single story, that’s it — it’s time to enjoy what the pack fought for and consider all that they paid for it, and what it all means for the world.
If this is one story that’s part of a greater chronicle, the denouement is an important period of transition into the next session. This time allows the characters to evaluate their victory (or loss) and figure out their way forward. New allies may bring new information to bear; old allies may become rivals, horrified by what they now know the Garou to be; resilient antagonists may have learned the place the pack considers sacred or have found a way into the pack’s caern via the Umbra. It all remains to be seen.
Whatever the case, allow some time to decompress and to enjoy whatever the outcome is. It may be bittersweet, and certain developments might not even relate to the main conflict, but surely there’s something to be taken from the journey, some tale to add to the pack’s legend.
Use these scenes to sow elements of your next session into the narrative. Perhaps the primary antagonist’s death leaves an opening for another antagonist to fill the void. Or maybe the pack returns to the caern and celebrates its victory, but a recalcitrant elder denigrates their accomplishment at a moot. Here would be the time to introduce or highlight a memento that reminds the characters of the challenge waiting for them at home.