March » 2011 » DarrellHardy.com

Know Your Game Fiddler

When I first saw Magic: the Gathering at the game store, I thought it was silly, desperate, and pre-failed for your convenience.

“So it’s a card game. But you don’t get all the cards? And you have to buy packs of cards, hoping to get the ones you want, to make your own deck to play with?”

I couldn’t imagine gamers who would jump through so many hoops before they could even play the game.

Six month later, I knew better. Some folks like that sort of thing.

The Pre-Game Game

Trading card games, with their emphasis on deck-building, tapped into something that miniatures gamers had known for years: It can be fun to fiddle with your play set before the game begins.

Whether it’s choosing what cards to put in your deck or picking which troops to put in your army, this “solo game” can keep you pleasantly occupied for hours. It takes creativity and strategy. You’re solving problems and puzzles and discovering new ways to use your playing pieces. (“This unit gets a bonus when attacking with a Flaming Lemur, but I don’t have any Lemurs, only Tofu Monkeys. But if I add a wizard, it can transform Monkeys to Lemurs — and then set them on fire with its Lava Fondle spell.”)

If you like that sort of thing.

For every gamer who loves to sit with his collection spread before him, painstakingly handpicking each piece like a TV chef choosing produce at the farmers’ market, there’s another gamer who just doesn’t care.

Let’s call him Carl.

“I want to play,” says Carl. “Deck-building is boring busywork. Army-building is a painful exercise in sourcebooks and spreadsheets. I don’t want to do those things. I just want to play the game.”

Carl’s not wrong. He’s just the wrong audience.

It’s your audience. Know it.

Think twice about adding these pre-game “fiddling” bits to your game design. Then think a third time, with your audience firmly in mind.

“It’s a trading card game!” I may snort defensively. “Of course it’s got deck-building!”

Of course. But if the trading card game has an audience of 7 year-olds, let’s make that deck-building as easy as possible. Or if the audience is a harried 43 year-old mother of two (Farmville TCG anyone? Add loot cards, we all get rich!), deck-building could be purely optional.

On the other hand, if you’re making a hardcore game aimed straight for the geek demographic… You could inject a liquid ton of strategy by adding some fiddly elements. Maybe you build your own tech tree before the board game begins? Craft your own talent tree in an MMO? Build a “deck” of units for that RTS? My inner fiddler is drooling at all the possibilities.

Insert Fiddle Pun Here

This all might seem like a no-brainer, but it’s something that needs to be considered with each game design. Even if it’s just a quick, “We aiming for minis players? Okay, then, normal point-based army-building rules!”

If you don’t ask the question, you can never be surprised by the answer.

The Pregnant World of Rango

Saturday morning, my wife and I rounded up the young’uns and drove the herd over to the theater to see Rango, the new CG animated film that Nickelodeon’s been flogging between episodes of Spongebob and iCarly for the past six weeks. Perhaps you you’ve heard of it? Directed by Gore (Pirates of the Caribbean) Verbinski? Starring Johnny (oh, most everything) Depp? No? Then follow the link above; I’ll not be doing a synopsis here.

It was, as the critics have said, a good movie: great story, great characters, great action, funny bits to spare, and with just enough Deep Thoughts to give it a vaguely mythic quality.

In fact, as we left the theater, part of me was just a little bit sad to leave the world of cowboys and talking animals behind. I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about Rango and his friends. Yes, the story had a satisfying conclusion, but there were still questions unanswered:

What did happen to that girl’s father? Or those brothers reportedly killed off-screen?
What are the villain’s cronies going to do now? For that matter, what’s the deal with the slithery heavy?
(Yes, I’m being vague, trying to avoid spoilers. You’re welcome.)
What of the villain’s project? How did that get started in secret? What happens to it now?

These questions, this sense of intrigue, the pop-culture craving to more fully immerse myself in this world — these are all indications that Rango is situated to be a great transmedia property.

Trans-what Now?

“Transmedia” is a hot buzzword right now, with multiple, occasionally conflicting definitions. For my purpose, I’m defining a transmedia property as one that allows connected stories to be told across multiple media platforms.

Star Wars is the classic example. You’ve got the movies, sure, but all those other books, comics, and games expand the world beyond the movies and tell hundreds of other stories — which are all related to both each other and to the setting as a whole.

On the other hand, Twilight is not a transmedia property. Neither is Harry Potter. While they’re both terrifically popular properties, with lots of licensed merchandise, none of those other products expand the world or tell more stories. The movie tells the story of the book. The Lego playset tells the story of the book (as defined by the movie). The officially-licensed tattoo your mother got across the small of her back is a painful reminder of the story of the book.

Back at the Ranch

With its interesting setting, characters, and conflict, Rango is swollen to bursting with story potential. It’s a pregnant property, its transmedia water ready to break. So let’s see how how the fine folks behind the property are exploring this (warning: pretentious term coming up) story-space.

Rango: The World - Okay, this is really cool. It’s a browser-based, kid-friendly, mini-MMORPG based on the movie. You create your own character and explore the world, doing quests and playing minigames. From the 20 minutes I’ve spent messing around in it, I’d guess there are some new stories here — and since it’s a multiplayer game, players can create their own Rango-based stories (which some transmedia folks say is a key ingredient in keeping the audience engaged).

Rango: The Videogame – Available for the three main consoles, I was ready to write this off as “tie-in merchandising” rather than an extension of the world, but the reviews I read talked about the crazy new stories in the game. Something about meteorites and aliens. There was none of that in the movie, I assure you, so I’ll have to say there’s some new story here.

And… that’s it. Yes, there is the novelization. And the children’s serial novelization, in which they cut the movie up into three different books to be read in sequence. But this isn’t new story; it’s just the movie’s story with more words and fewer pictures.

My Unsolicited Transmedia Advice

You’re dropping the ball. This money here? You’ve left it. It’s lying on the table, looking up at you with lonely, Geico eyes.

Where are the comics? The “further adventures of Rango” books? The CG web-shorts starring that adorably psychotic little girl lemur (or whatever she was)? The one-shot web-comic, available exclusively at Nick.com, taking us into the world of those hillbilly moles (updated every week, and surrounded by ads for upcoming shows and movies)?

Maybe it’s coming. Maybe the powers that be wanted to make sure the movie was a hit before announcing the various ways they’re expanding the property. Fair enough. If that’s the case, my daughters and I will be there, money in hand, ready to revisit Rango and the glorious town of Dirt.

Don’t make us wait for the sequel, folks.

The Price of Victory

Good games are designed to be played, not to be won.

Whoa! Back off there with the torches and pitchforks. Games need victory conditions, and I’d be a fool to say otherwise (a fool on the cusp of being stabbed and burned, at that). If a game isn’t winnable, it’s not a game at all; it’s just a toy.

What I’m saying is that a good game is not defined by its victory conditions, but by how you play it.

Playing to Win

Think about it: When you won those board games last week, did you say, “That was great when I earned the final victory point!” or “Awesome! The game ended and I owned seven territories!” or “Neato! Your life points are at zero!”

Probably not. The final moments of victory are generally not that interesting. It’s the strategy, tactics, and decisions leading up to those moments that are exciting, memorable, and… oh, what’s that word? Oh yeah — fun!

Would you still play to win, even if the playing wasn’t fun? Sure! I hear it all the time in trading card game circles: “I made a deck that wins a lot, but isn’t fun to play, so I only use it at tournaments.” Or take your standard MMO experience. In order to “win” (that is, level up to whatever your current target is), you have to perform repetitious, tedious tasks that might have been fun when you started playing, but around hour 200, it’s just grinding.

All this is as it should be. As players, we’re supposed to play to win. It’s our job to seek victory — even at the cost of our own fun.

The problem is, winning without fun is satisfying for a moment, but the game was boring the rest of the time. The winning was fun. The playing was not.

Designing for Play

As game designers, it’s our job to ensure that the player’s journey to victory is fun.

There may be many paths to victory, but ideally, they should all have interesting choices and engaging game play — i.e., be fun. If there is but one path, we should cobble it with smooth, rounded bits of fun spackled in place with fun cement. Then pave the whole thing over with fun asphalt, just to make sure.

“What does it matter?” you may ask. “If the player wants to sacrifice his own fun on the altar of victory, what’s it to us? Why should we care?”

Good question. And like most good questions, it can be answered in the form of a bulleted list:

Winning is boring. By the time you make the final move, blast the final alien, or click the final cow needed for victory, the suspense is gone. The game’s already over. Yes, there’s a momentary thrill of victory, but it’s momentary. Now what? If the game itself isn’t fun, you’re probably not going to say, “Let’s play again!” You spend too much time having not-fun to get that little fun payoff at the end. Which leads us to…
Losing should be fun. In a competitive game, there can be many players, but only one winner. Even in an MMO, only a very small portion of the players are “winning” at any given moment. What about the other 95% of the players? Are they having fun? Or just putting in time until they can win? The highest praise I can give a game is, “I’m losing and still having fun.” If the path towards victory isn’t fun, and only the victory itself is, then only the winner gets to have the fun. Which leads to the final point…
Stories come from playing, not winning. Player stories, as I’ve mentioned before, are powerful tools for spreading the word about your game. You want to encourage those stories through fun game play. If achieving victory is boring, the stories are boring, and no one will share them.

Hollow Victories Lose Players

If you give a player the choice between interesting game play and an easy win, he’ll generally choose the easy win. He will choose victory over fun.

But after a while, he won’t come back.

People play games to have fun. If a certain game only lets them have fun when they win, it’s not a very efficient way to have fun. Why invest 20 minutes, an hour, or three days on a game if all the fun is in the last moments of victory?

There are more efficient fun-delivery systems out there. They’re called better games. And as designers, it’s our job to make them.

Changes is Good…Right?

As you can see, I updated the ol’ website over the weekend. It’s always been a bit orange, but now I’m full vested in the Very Orange look, which is big in certain French circles this year. Does it work? I’m not sure. It’s a bit more muted than the Classic 1970s Furniture theme, closer to My First Dreamsicle, but still… that’s a lot of orange.

Oh, and the font’s bigger, which I like. And the tags are working, complete with the lovely tag cloud on the right. And I like the list of recent posts. It helps add context. And I finally got the search bar on the top hooked up.

But do you like it? Does it burn your eyes like bleach? Does it give you a warm feeling to gaze upon its orange beauty, like unto holding a kitten on your lap? Comments are working now. Go ahead and let me know.

Please Stand By – Again

Hmmm, there’s a new version of WordPress out, I thought. And my comments don’t seem to be working. I should upgrade, see what’s new, and see if that fixes the comments issue.

Moron.

The comments got fixed (Yes, you can now add comments! And yes, I’m now filtering more spam than a Hormel assembly line worker!), but the new version broke tags. And widgets. And some other behind-the-scenes machinery I don’t technically need, but have come to rely on since I’ve forgotten my high-level HTML.

So it’s once more into the breach, my friends! If I’m not back online come Monday, send help. Send down a sandwich – I’m probably trapped at the bottom of a data mine with nothing but geek sweat and Mars bars to eat and drink.

Designing with a Twist

Innovation in game design is good. Too much innovation, however, can leave your audience scratching its collective head, shrugging its collective shoulders, and wandering away to find something less confusing to do.

Climbing the Learning Curve

I love me some innovative games. Show me something I’ve never seen before, and I’m a happy gamer. The problem is, you show me something I’ve never seen before, and I might not know what it is. We’ll be here all day with you trying to describe it.

“So it’s a shooter?”

Sort of, but there’s lot of resource management too. Lots of harvesting.

“Oh, like an RTS?”

Kinda, yeah. But you only have one squad, instead of a whole army. And they harvest illegal thoughts from the minds of the population.

“So it’s like — what?”

Yeah. They harvest thoughts. And fear. Because they’re actually ghosts.

And suddenly I feel like one of those folks whose experience with boardgames begins with Monopoly and ends with Trivial Pursuit, faced with Arkham Horror. I know what games are, but this? This is too far outside my expectations. I have no frame of reference. I don’t get it.

Oh, I’ll learn to get it. Because I’m into games and learning new ones. (According to Tadhg Kelly’s definitions, I’m a total Magical for games, though a total Muggle when it comes to football, cars, and wine.) But what about a more casual player (i.e., 95% of the game-buying audience)?

He’s walking away slowly while the closing theme to The Incredible Hulk plays in the background.

And Now the Food Metaphor

Am I saying to avoid innovation? Of course not. Just… be careful with it.

Games are like food. You’ve got your sandwiches, your cake, your burritos — you know, food. When I hand you two slices of ham, with cheese and a touch of mayo, between two slides of bread, you know what it is: a sandwich.

If I add a jar of jalapenos, blend the thing into a smoothie, and offer it to you in glass, you won’t believe me when I tell you it’s a sandwich.

But if I add one or two jalapenos, placed in such a way that their flavor accentuates, but does not overpower the ham and cheese, it’s still definitely a sandwich — but a sandwich with a twist.

How about a PB&J sandwich with a banana? Or cake with peanut butter for frosting? Or a burrito with mozzarella cheese and Italian sausage?

No one will be confused by these things. They’re all foods we know — with a twist. Not everyone will like them (the jalapeno ham sandwich sounds kind of nasty), but many more people will at least try them.

It’s the same way with innovation. You’re better off adding a tasty twist to existing gameplay than creating a whole new gameplay experience that may confuse, rather than delight your audience.

Tuning the Twist

The main benefit of this “but with a twist” philosophy is that it allows the game to both innovate (in one area) and sell a decent number of copies.

But there’s a second benefit. By focusing on a single innovative element, you can polish that element to a high sheen.

Yes, it’s a ham sandwich with jalapenos. But since we already know how to make a ham sandwich, we can focus on those jalapenos. How spicy do we want them? How sweet? How many are we adding? Are they sliced, ground, dried, or mixed into the mayo?

Or it’s a first-person action game with parkour-style running and jumping. How far can the player jump? How does she land? How does she know what she can jump onto?

Or it’s a trading card game that uses abstract symbols, rather than numbers, to resolve conflicts. How many different symbols are there? Where do they come from? How else are they used?

If every element in the game is a brand new innovation, you won’t have time (unless you’re Blizzard or unemployed) to polish everything – which increases the odds of creating a ham-and-jalapeno smoothie, which nobody wants.

Accessible – with a Twist

In the end, it’s about accessibility. Innovation is good, but too much of it can make a game inaccessible. It doesn’t matter how brilliant or fun you game is if no one is playing it.

At that point, it’s time to leave the kitchen, and cue the sad walking-away music.

A Little Pre-Spring Cleaning

Yeah, it’s a little dusty in here. A little smoky too. I blame the chainsaw: that thing burns oil when it runs hot, and it always runs hot when I’m using it to cut up caribou.

Stupid caribou.

Really, I should have known better. Shouldn’t have let ‘em in here in the first place. You invite one, and you get the whole herd. They get to drinking, and the next thing you know, it’s all caribou-singing and caribou-dancing (horrible line dances that sear the eyes and wreck the carpet), and if you ask them nicely to please keep it down (the cops have already been here twice tonight, and if they show up again they’re taking me with them when they leave) well, then you get the Caribou Stare.

Cold. Threatening. Full of antlers.

It’s true what they say: Never get between a caribou and his whiskey.

It wasn’t murder. It was poaching. Hunting out of season without a permit. But look at this website. Just look at it! No jury would convict me. No judge would sentence me. No D.A. would even issue a warrant for my arrest given the state of the site. Caribou waste everywhere. Whiskey stains. Cigar burns.

It’s a wonder my internet provider hasn’t pulled to plug on the place as a health code violation.

There’s nothing to be done for it but to roll up my sleeves, fire up the old chainsaw, and get to work. I’ll try to keep the site operational while doing this bit of necessary spring cleaning, but make no promises. I might unplug it. I might spill something on it. The list is endless, but I’ll try to be careful.

And when I’m done, the comments should be working properly.

Final Amber, Final Stone

This is it. The final installment of the pulp fantasy story Amber and Stone is here for your reading pleasure. Maybe you’d like to take a moment.

Breathe it in. Savor the flavor of the last adventure-soaked page.

Perhaps you’d like to read the previous installments again (or for the first time) to capture the full experience of reading the whole story. Before you dive once more into the unnamed world of bounty hunters and magic rocks, I’d like to say thank you for joining me on this journey. It’s been fun, and I hope we can do it again soon.

Stat Stories in RPGs

Characters in tabletop roleplaying games are often defined by their stats.

“Bob’s our tank, since he’s got the highest Stamina score” or “My wallet seems to be missing. I blame Sherry the Thief since she’s got that crazy-high Pickpocket skill. Also, her name is Sherry the Thief.”

That’s fine, but for those who want to see a little deeper characterization at the their table (like me) and don’t think “high-dexterity ranged guy with a bow” gives you much to roleplay, I propose the following for the next game you run:

At character creation, have each player look at his character’s highest stat.
Now ask each player, “How do you know?”

How do you know that your “Drive” skill is 68%?
How do you know that you get +8 on all Diplomacy rolls?
How do you know that you can ride a horse better than John Wayne’s stuntman?

In real life, you know you’re good at something because you’ve done it. You’ve done it well. And if asked (like, say, at a job interview), you can even relate a specific incident in which you’ve done it very well indeed.

That’s right. You can tell stories about your stats.

And that’s the point of this exercise: to turn numbers into stories. Those stories, in turn, help define the character, and hint at what lies ahead for that character.

Example Time!

Sherry the Thief, with her Pickpocket skill of 87%, knows she’s that good because she once stole the President’s wallet at a fundraiser ball, right under the noses of three Secret Service agents.

Wow. She’s good. And we’ve just defined her as (suicidally) brave, and able to fit in at a high-class mixer.

And then there’s Terry the Thief, who also has a Pickpocket skill of 87%. But he knows he’s that good because he once stole the pistol out of Boss Gallani’s shoulder-holster, kept it hidden on his person, then used it to bluff his way out of the gangster’s hideout.

He’s got the same stats as Sherry, but just from his “stat story” we know he’s a totally different character, more likely to wear a cheap suit in a dive bar than a tux at some fancy shindig.

Conclusion Time!

Defining characters by their stats is fine, but defining characters by the stories about their stats is even better.

Try it with the next game you run, or even the next RPG character you create. I think you’ll find that a single question can add a surprising amount depth and detail.

Turbines to Speed!

I’d been meaning to upgrade my computer for an embarrassingly long time now. Specifically, I needed a new video card. I finally found a good deal on one online, ordered it, but found that it was too big for my itt-bitty computer case.

Seriously. My computer is apparently the yapping purse-dog of PCs.

I sold off the too-big video card and vowed to do better research next time. But “better” still wasn’t good enough: the second card itself was skinny enough to pose for American Eagle, but the little bracket that slots into the back — the part with the plug in it — was still too wide.

Argh!

I would not be defeated! I tried relocating the whole PC into a bigger case, but when I realized that wasn’t going to work, I got frustrated.

I got desperate.

I got my hands on a hacksaw and a pair of pliers.

And broke that little bracket clean off.

It works. And it’s beautiful. And I didn’t even need the duct tape.