February » 2011 » DarrellHardy.com

Friday Comes in Like a Lamb – With a Sword

Yes, it’s Friday! When we were young, we celebrated this day as one of drunken excess and building up a reservoir of glee that will, come Saturday morning, turn into a slowly draining lake of burning shame. But we’re older now, slower, and our revels are likewise more genteel. We have families now. Jobs that don’t pay exclusively in beer or cash under the table. Maybe even retirement plans beyond a suicide pact at age 65. But we still like to have our weekend-starting fun: the bingo parlor, some TV… a new installment of Amber and Stone. I can’t promise the pulp fantasy will be more fun than playing bingo, but odds are good it’s better than whatever’s on TV.

As is tradition here in the Hardy Tales corner of the Darrellverse, I’m linking to a new piece of free short fiction from the web: Monster from Dead End Fiction. Check it out!

Atomic Game Theory

I found myself inspired by Sean Preston’s recent post on his Reality Blurs blog. In it, he pondered the viability and appeal of a small, focused tabletop RPG that incorporates both the rules and the adventure. For example, a product that’s “You’re undercover cops investigating a circus full of evil clowns” rather than a “police procedural RPG.” Such a game would allow the designer to zoom in on one type of game and gameplay, without be bogged down with a whole world’s worth of baggage.

His ponderings got me thinking about how the narrow approach could be applied to all games, not just tabletop RPGs. How many games have sacrificed their purity on the altar of feature creep, only to stagger beneath the weight of all that needless bloat? How many good games could have been great if only they had focused?

Find the Focus

“You raise an interesting point, Darrell,” you might be saying, looking over your spectacles at me, a glass of sherry in your well-manicured hand. “But I say, how does one find the focus and, as you say, avoid the bloat?”

The first step, I say while putting another log in the drawing room fireplace, is identifying what your game is about.

And then think smaller.

For example, Magic: the Gathering is about wizards summoning creatures and casting spells, trying to destroy each other. But if we focus — think smaller — we see that it’s about players attacking each other with cards.

And then think smaller yet.

Magic is about attacking with cards, yes, but I’d argue it’s mostly about attacking with creatures.

And when you can’t think any smaller, then you have found the heart of your game, its core game loop, or what Tadhg Kelly calls the “essential atom of gameplay.”

Identify the Atom

I like the “atom” metaphor. After all, an atom is the smallest piece of an element you can have and still have that that element. Anything more, and you’ve got a molecule. Anything less, and you’ve got a radioactive crater where your game used to be. (Don’t split the atom, kids! It’s bad for your eyes!)

To put a finer point on it, the atom of a game is:

the smallest unit of play,
the one thing the player will do over and over again, and
without it, there is no game – or it’s a different game. (this is important)

In Magic, this is attacking your opponent with creatures. In a shooter video game, it’s shooting. In a tabletop RPG… well, that depends on the game a wee bit, but since most of them revolve around combat, I’d say the atom of gameplay is the player attacking an enemy.

I’d like to take a moment to address the third bullet point. Games can be complex beasts, with multiple systems woven together like the internal organs of a yak. Looking at this pile of yak guts, you might wonder how you can identify one element as the core game loop. That’s why I added the last point — without this element, your game does not exist.

Going back to my much-abused example of Magic, there’s far more to the game than simply attacking with creatures. There are other card types, the mana system that lets you play cards, and many other nuances that pile up into vast web of yak viscera. But if you remove “attacking players with creatures,” do you still have a game? More to the point, do you still have the same game? I guess you could play a version of Magic with nothing but lands and sorceries, but it would be a fundamentally different game than Richard Garfield’s cash cow.

Polish the Atom

The point of identifying the atom of your game is make it as much fun as possible. After all, this is the thing that players will be doing dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of time per play session. If it’s not fun to do, the game is in trouble.

This is where playtesting comes in.

Because you’ve identified the atom, you have something specific and isolated on which you can quickly iterate. Forget about the mana system. Ignore the world-level meta-game. Cleanse from your mind the side quest with the shark-punching mini-game.

If you allow yourself to get distracted by all the other elements, you’ll find yourself up to your elbows in yak guts, unable to move.

Focus on the fun.

Polish that atom until it shines. Once you’ve got that, then you can worry about the rest of the game.

Then you can think about molecules.

Extra Credit Amber

Good morning, class. Your assigned reading for today is the latest installment of Amber and Stone, a pulp fantasy classic feature both swords and sorcery. In this segment, you’ll find our protagonists back at school and — yes? Chuck? You should have thought of that before class. Can’t you hold it? Fine. Here’s a pass. But be back in five minutes, or I’m sending The Retriever after you.

Evil Games?

Famed game designer Jonathan Blow, the brains behind Braid and the upcoming The Witness, raised a few eyebrows this week when he vehemently decried social games as “evil.”

Specifically, he says the games are “exploiting” their players. These games are “trying to take the maximum amount while trying to give the minimum amount” (emphasis added).

Well. Isn’t that the basic nature of any sort of capitalistic endeavor? You want to get back more than you put in; that’s called making a profit, and it’s very popular amongst people who like to both eat and pay their mortgages.

But I don’t think he’s opposed to these basic principles. (He’s not giving Braid away for free, for example.) Rather, I think he’s talking about the the attitude of the games and — more importantly — their designers.

Evil attitude: What can get I get from the players? Then, how much to do I have to give them in order to get it?
Good attitude: What can I give to the players? Then, how much do I have to charge in order to give it to them and still come out ahead?

Motivation is what determines the “morality” of a game. If you make a game to fill your players with joy, fun, and illumination — oh, and to get rich if you can — I think Mr. Blow would stick your game in the “good” bin. But if the profit motive comes first — and it shows in the gameplay — then your masterpiece will end up on “evil” pile.

The key phrase here is, “it shows in the gameplay.”

We cannot tell a game designer’s motivation except by his product.

Hey, designer. What’s your game saying about your motivations?

As a closing side note, I wonder how Mr. Blow feels about traditional coin-op video games? If FarmVille is evil, then Space Invaders must be the devil.

New Pulp! Now with 60% more sorcery!

I know, I know! I promised you swords and sorcery in Amber and Stone, but you’re asking, “Where’s the sorcery, Darrell? Where’s the sorcery?”
Fine. You want sorcery? It’s right here, in this week’s installment. There’s so much pulp sorcery, it makes Harry Potter look like Conan. (Okay, maybe not, but I find the image of HP with a loincloth and a giant sword amusing.)

Design and Declarations

Daniel Clark blogged recently on Lostgarden about a proposed “Declaration of Game Designer Independence.”

Go read it. It’s short. And the rest of this post won’t make much sense unless you do.

You’re back? Good. Have a cookie.

Overall, I think the Declaration is a good thing, and following it will lead to better games. I’m a bit dubious about the “…of Independence” part (independent from what? the employers who keep my family fed and pay for my insurance? No thanks.) but I think a certain amount of defensive hyperbole is to be expected from a group of video game designers who’ve seen their work mangled, ignored, rejected, and robbed of all meaning over the past 20 years.

There are eight items in the Declaration.

Three of them are a bold call to action, a demand to raise your game through (3) dedication to mastering design, (4) learning the languages of our related disciplines, and (5) proclaiming your vision for the game to keep it on track. Reading these points makes me want to stand up straight, jut my chin, and swear allegiance to the Grand Nation of Game Designers while the music swells dramatically in the background.

Four of the items are beyond the control of most salaried game designers. Yes, it’s great to believe that (1) game design is the core of every game, and (2) designers are games’ prime movers… but if you’ve been handed a mandate to create a clone of the latest “VilleVille” clicker game for Facebook by next Friday, making certain to include each of the 200 features dictated by the marketing executives… It might be time to put what you believe on the shelf and just get to work. Likewise, you might want to try (6) some new markets or (7) crazy innovative new mechanics, but if it’s not in the budget for this fiscal quarter… Learn to live with disappointment.

Which brings us to the last point of the Declaration, which I’ll quote right here:

(8) We have a choice: Create with our own voices or sell our talents into servitude.

I’d like to think there’s a third choice: Create with our own voices while selling our talents into servitude. Maybe the original vision came from the CEO’s clueless nephew, but once it’s ours, we can still drive it (hopefully away from the cliffs of failure). Maybe we can’t convince management to move into this week’s hot new game space — but we can keep pointing out opportunities for future growth. And maybe there aren’t enough resources for true experimentation, but that shouldn’t keep us from trying to make our own processes efficient enough that we have room to stumble towards breakthroughs.

Even if we aren’t in a position to declare all the declarations, we can still embrace them, and use them to focus our own efforts in the areas we do control.

Familial Descent

On Wednesday, it was cold. Oh, not Minnesota-in-January cold, but cold enough that the schools were closed, lest children freeze solid at the bus stop, shatter, and file lawsuits. As fate would have it, I was off work that day too, so broke out Descent for the first time in over a year to continue my daughters’ geek game indoctrination.

The girls were all over the little figures. Loved them. Immediately chose their favorites. I used this time of distraction to build out the dungeon and re-read how you play this game anyway. My beautiful gamer wife joined us, and we were off.

For the sake of time (and since the youngest isn’t quite 6 and therefore isn’t up to reading the fine print on cards), I decided to simplify things. If you’re looking to play the game with your kids, I’d recommend these tweaks:

No starting skill cards – Too much reading and game text to remember right away.
No “Ready” order – Yes, it removes a huge chunk of tactics from the game, but it makes the heroes’ turns go much faster. Once the players get the basics, you can easily add it in later.
No Overlord cads other than spawn cards – This might have been making it too easy, but we didn’t play long enough to find out for sure.

Even with these tweaks, Thing 2 got bored and restless, and started stacking dice. She requested to bail out before they’d finished the first full room. But Thing 1 was pretty well engaged — even though she’d started out questioning the very premise of the game. (“How do we know these are bad monsters? They’re just trying to live their lives here.”)

…And then the girl from down the street showed up with a handful of those shrieking horrors, the Zhu Zhu Pets, and all thoughts of boardgames disappeared.

A Tasty Pulp Break

Do you thirst for adventure? Do you hunger for danger? Do you relish the thought of flashing blades, ferocious beasts, and fearsome women with swords? Then come on down to Amber and Stone, the fantasy story guaranteed to fill you up with pulpy goodness, one week at a time. This week’s special is light narrative interlude with a hint of sweetness and a wafer-thin crust of machismo.

If you’re still hungry after the entree, might I recommend a selection from our dessert tray:

Wil Hindmarch’s Wired Tales - Yes, I mentioned it last week, but it’s worth brining up again. Each month, Wil writes and publishes short stories inspired by the previous month’s issue of WIRED magazine. The first issue is out (it’s free), and it’s a guaranteed good read, and pleasing to the eye to boot.
Jack Mangan’s Memories of an Undead Sun – The latest “chain story” hosted by Michael Stackpole features a flying saucer and more questions than answers.
Mike Oliveri’s Inazuma – Horror writer Mike Oliveri shares a killer short story in PDF or ePub.

Games, Stories, and Freedom – Part 2

Last week, I rambled on about video games and the stories they help players create. If you haven’t read that piece yet, I’d encourage you to do so, since this week’s post is a bunch of sidebars and footnotes that one. Frankly, it won’t make much sense without the context. No? You just want a bite-sized summary of that piece? Fine, here you go:

If you give a player a unique experience, it helps create a great player story.

Still confused? Go back and read the original post. We’ll wait.

The Value of Player Stories

Last week, on the subject of player stories (that is, stories told by players about the games they play), I made two points.

One was strong and definitive, a rhetorical flag thrust defiantly into the peak of Mount Gamethink, and it was this: Games that Provide Freedom and Surprise Help Create the Best Stories.

The other was a sad, limping little point, little more than a bed-wetting first grader shyly raising its hand in the back of the class: If You Want Your Game to Help Create Stories, You Should Think About These Things.

See? Sad. I’m thinking of taking that whole paragraph out back and shooting it in the head, then replacing it with a link to this post. Because it’s here that I plant another flag:

Great Player Stories Sell Games

According to the NPD Group (probably the most-cited source for video game industry statistics), video gamers rely more on world of mouth than any other source when it comes to deciding which game to buy.

That makes sense to me. Gamers love to talk about their games. And if those gamers have great game stories (because of their unique experiences), they will talk more than if they have merely good game stories — and with each telling, they influence those around them to check out the game in question.

I’ll spare you the specific game examples (I’d just be comparing Minecraft and GTA to Half-Life and Mass Effect again), but consider this: It’s easier to tell someone your story if you don’t have to worry about giving away spoilers.

Do you need great, unique player stories to sell your game? Of course not. But if it makes sense for your game, and you can fit it in… Leave room for emergent game play. It can only help sell games.

Sidebar 1: Freedom vs. Surprise

On Facebook, one of my associates commented:

[S]urprise is more of an aspect of all gaming, not just creating player experiences. If there is not at least a little surprise in what you are doing you are not likely to do it very long.
[...]
In my opinion, player stories as you defined them are formed from freedom to act alone. The surprise factor comes more from “the devs let me do that” moments more than from surprise inherent to the content. Surprise is less of a contributing factor and more of a side effect of the freedom given to players.

He’s right, to a point. If the player has enough freedom to guarantee a unique experience, then the world in which he has that freedom doesn’t need to provide the surprise.

For example, Minecraft gives you a ton of freedom, but the world… Well, once you’ve played for a while, you’ve seen most of what it has to offer. Whereas a GTA game gives you less freedom, but many more things to do in the world.

Sidebar 2: Tabletop Games

When pondering unique experiences and great game stories, I’ll admit I largely ignored tabletop games. Not because I don’t love them (you know I’ll never abandon you, my precious polyhedral dice!) but because unique experiences are virtually intrinsic to the category.

Most boardgames pit players against each other, and those that don’t (i.e., cooperative games) provide some sort of randomizer to guarantee that the players aren’t facing the same challenges game after game. Ditto for card and miniatures games.

Roleplaying games are cooperative, but provide the very pinnacle of player freedom and a (GM-moderated) surprising world. If you’re bored and restricted in a tabletop RPG, it’s not the game’s fault — find a new GM, stat!