The Bookshelf
  • If on a winter's night a traveler
    If on a winter's night a traveler
    by Italo Calvino
  • The Lies of Locke Lamora
    The Lies of Locke Lamora
    by Scott Lynch
Links
Behave
What Dumb Thing Am I Thinking Right Now?

The Bookshelf
  • The Art of Game Design: A book of lenses
    The Art of Game Design: A book of lenses
    by Jesse Schell
  • If on a winter's night a traveler
    If on a winter's night a traveler
    by Italo Calvino
  • Boneshaker (Sci Fi Essential Books)
    Boneshaker (Sci Fi Essential Books)
    by Cherie Priest

Entries in design as directive (4)

Tuesday
26Jan2010

Shotgun Blog: Five Things

You don't pray to a saint, you pray with a saint. You're asking the saint to pray for you. Praying to a saint would make that saint an icon, which isn't what saints are. Saints, having led particularly holy lives, are especially effective in their prayers and have certain specialties, which is why you choose a specific one of them to ask their aid and attention.

A tiny werewolf, which dwelled duplicitously inside the hide of a possum.I saw a dead possum in the road on the way to work. Something about the way its shapeless carcass lay in the road suggested that something else was previously inside it, and had shed its possum costume and gone about its buisness. A very small lycanthrope, perhaps.

Sid Meier said that a good game is a series of interesting choices. When you make certain choices in most games, however, you preclude yourself from making other choices. Is part of a good game, then, deciding which choices you don't want to make, and using that information to inform the choices you do make, in a sort of prognosticative play? And is it possible to play by not playing, say, by choosing to "avoid all games of chance" or "stay out of the Molasses Swamp" by never entering Candyland?

My tepid romance with Dragon Age: Origins seems to be at its end. My interest fell off rapidly when I entered the Brown Kingdom of the Dwarves, whose undermountain kingdom (eight buildings you can enter) had ground to a halt, and only I could save it. Oh, how would these sixty dwarves, none of whom seem to have jobs, survive without my timely diplomacy? To tell the truth, I don't care.

I would love to read A Dance with Dragons.

Wednesday
02Dec2009

Aion In Retrospect

Joshua Loomis put up a post recently about his mostly positive experience with Aion, which is an enjoyable read, especially on the level of the player relationships that form. My experiences weren't the same as his, so as a critical thinking exercise, I considered what I liked and disliked about the month I spent playing it.

Likes

I liked the look of Aion, and the pastels-and-neons palette was refreshing.

  • The art direction was a refreshing break from Grimdark Grayscale and His Kingdom of Brown. While the anime designs of the characters didn't do anything for me, I like that everything attempted to be vibrant instead of muddy and "realistic."
  • Kind of fun combat feedback. Satisfying sounds on whacking things, with occasional "extra hits" that did only one or two points of additional damage, but were exciting and empowering to hear. THREE HITS! Yeah! P-P-POW!
  • I liked building the combos in combat. Weirdly, this left me cold in Age of Conan, but worked for me here. I'm not sure why.
  • Loved the music. Loved the architecture of the city (but see below).
  • Taken in sum, the world is actually pretty small, but they do a good job of making it feel large.
  • Good use of cutscenes and engine movies to introduce world lore.
  • My wife played this a liked it. She's never played an MMO before. I don't think she liked it enough to actually buy a copy or pay a monthly subscription, but she whiled away some time on it. She especially liked character creation, and while doing that, she didn't use the advanced tools but rather cycled through the pre-sets until she found one she mostly liked. She did use the basic customization tools, though.

Dislikes

  • This feels like a place I'd want to explore -- especially in a skyship -- but the general experience followed the rails too much for true exploration.For me, the game immediately failed the "Why would I play this instead of WoW?" test. Its gameplay is wholly derivative of WoW clone, with nothing significant to distinguish it from its predecessor. I suspect Aion will start to lose subscriptions pretty significantly after the time included with the box expires and level off around 200,000 players in the western market.
  • The advancement mechanic is tied to the dated, tiresome, quest-grind and mob-killing model. Killing and looting doesn't really offer much I haven't seen before, so again, if that's the primary avenue of gameplay, why wouldn't I stick with WoW, where I can potentially play with 10 million other people?
  • They didn't have all of their promised features implemented. In particular, they were supposed to have a community-building help system in which the players who offered good feedback and got good peer reviews earned points that they could use to buy unique in-game items and improvements. This wasn't present at launch.
  • Being able to change your avatar after character creation didn't actually work, but they left the interface in there.
  • Massively Multiplayer Solo Game. I felt neither guided toward multiplayer content, nor especially enthusiastic about sharing the existing content with anyone else. Everything felt safe and contained, so even when I was conducting my illicit activity with the banished Asmodean -- the chrysalis point at which the Asmodeans earn their wings -- I didn't have a thrill of commerce with a subversive element. Everyone in the world is turned into a daeva by the same guy stuck in the crystal. This cast into sharp relief that none of the PVE content I ever completed in the game was ever going to have an effect on the world, and that everything would reset or respawn so the next solo player ambling by could have it, too.
  • Asmodeans have neck-back-mullets. Not sexy.

The world and creature design was interesting and felt exhilarating, but ultimately became repetitive.

  • The voice effects for invoking magic powers ("Ja-ha-fray! Cabrero!") didn't feel like an otherworldly language, and eventually, they just grated.
  • You can fly! Well, not here. Not here, either. Nope, not there. Here! Well, for a little while at least. Oops, you fell and died.
  • Okay, so for creatures who can fly, don't you think they'd have built their cities where they'd be able to fly? And have flying be a part of their architecture? Nope. The core cities of the daevas were built for two-dimensional navigation.
  • I felt punished for exploration. This is a deal-breaker for me. There were certain places I could glide, but once I got there, there was no way to get back. This was especially punishing if I flew into the water, because some water I could walk in, and other water was immediately damaging to me. Some regions were also mountainous, and once I flew or glided into those regions, I was trapped there.
  • The experience point death penalty felt retrograde and clumsy. There's no immediate or "right" solution to the death-penalty issue that's playstyle-agnostic, so I accept this as a design decision consciously made, it's just one that I didn't like.
  • Random success/ failure on gathering and crafting had no significance. Let me do it or don't. Watching a channeling bar while the game rolls invisible dice is no substitute for gameplay, and having the results affected by that invisible die roll I couldn't affect at all completely takes the player out of the endeavor.
  • I have some kind of cube… but I never see it visually represented as a cube, so why is it a cube? Oh, it's a backpack. Why didn't you just say "backpack?" And why can only the cat-things make my cube hold more stuff? What the hell is going on here?
  • Not enough content existed to give the player a broad base of activities. When you're level X, you go to the one area where you do stuff geared to level X. If you don't have much interest in that content, you have no option. Everything else is under you or above your capability.
  • The marketing was disingenuous. You can be whatever you want! So long as what you want is one of four classes. And those four classes are classes that exist in every other game. I felt lied to by the marketing, which isn't a surprise, but what's wrong with marketing actually talking about what the game is about? One day, somebody's going to sell and sustain a billion copies of a game by playing straight with their customers.
  • Character progression was unsteady. At some levels, I got a bunch of new powers, while at others, I got nothing, which made those levels feel extra-tedious.
  • As well, once I earned new powers, I had to buy them from a vendor as items and then double-click them to learn them. I guess this exists so I can sell recipes I find as dropped loot, but it felt like an extraneous layer of interface that offered nothing but frustration. I have Jump-Kick of the Space Devil… no, wait, I haven't clicked on it in my cubic backpack yet. Okay, now I have it.
Tuesday
10Nov2009

The Inalienable Right to be Cool

Ultimately, there's no need to have a player rolling dice for something that's not an essential part of the game. You use dice to create a moment of tension, when the outcome of something is in question. When the outcome is mandatory or inconsequential, though, resorting to that die roll adds nothing. At best, it's a minor thrill to tinker with the game piece. At worst, it's a frustrating punishment levied by fate.

Instead of using dice to govern skill use, I've been working with the idea of characters possessing, effectively, rights to effect the use of certain skills. Here's how it works.

Being in the band is a right, not a privilege, using this system.If a character puts a point into a skill, that's his way of telling me, "I would like to do something in the game that involves this skill." That's cool -- that's communication between player and gamemaster by using the system as feedback. After all, if a player didn't want to use the skill, he wouldn't have put his points in it.

Thereafter, I make a point of using that character's skill in a situation in-game. A character who took a point of, say, sailing -- he gets to navigate a craft through a dangerous channel, right a listing ship, or launch a rowboat before the galleon sinks. A character with the Drive skill might outmaneuver a pursuer, overtake a fleeing adversary, or thread the needle as a garage door threatens to lock him out of the warehouse. The Computer-savvy character intercepts a damning digital communication or finds the rival's location using a property search database.

The skills don't even have to be literal uses. The sailor character, for example, might recognize a curious knot used to bind a captive and know how to undo it or learn thereby that one of the captors is a fellow seafarer. The driver might perceive the smell of burnt clutch and realize the adversary has escaped. The computer guy knows that the hardware the rival is using to protect his hideout is susceptible to an electrical surge.

The benefit is that the character has the opportunity to feel cool and have a unique interaction with the story. It's just a detail, something that doesn't redirect the flow of the story as the vampire suddenly decides to, um, "hack into the police database" or "create a biotoxin" or "make my own dragonsbreath rounds." The other players don't have to sit idly by as he spins up a tangential minigame. The story doesn't lose its direction and the action progresses without undue lingering over details and set dressing.

You automatically succeed at doing this. It's part of what makes you who you are.It's also a great method by which a gamemaster can inject vital clues into mysteries and intrigues. In all but purely abstract combat games, specialized information needs to flow to the players, and it's tremendously empowering to have it flow to my character in a way that I've described as being his interest or forte.

Also notably, the player effectively has the right to use the skill. He doesn't rely on dice to tell him whether or not he exhibits the characteristic he paid to have. It's a non-system system, a way to grant benefit to a player without having to rely on the whim of mechanics or externalities to convey it.

It needs to be used in moderation, of course. Too many of these little defining characteristics become overwhelming, intrude on niche protection, and again steal the spotlight.

This doesn't fit perfectly into every system as written. It takes a little tweaking to use in the World of Darkness, as a few combat skills and abilities that make Disciplines function are part of the core and the "automatic" skills can't be evenly extracted. Still, these "guaranteed" skills can instead become Merits or even specialties. D&D as well relies on margin of success for some skills to define effects for abilities that call upon them (like feinting and jumping). With a bit of tinkering, though, this player-empowering system can fit into almost any tabletop ruleset.

Friday
06Nov2009

Realism Stinks, or What It's All About

I hate when games are realistic.

Rather, I don't enjoy games that make an attempt at simulating realism in place of the experience the game actually wants to provide. The question for a game isn't whether or not it adequately presents a feeling of realism. The question is whether an element of a game believably represents the type of gameplay the designer wants to impart.

"Is this what the game's about?" in short. It doesn't have to be the crux of the game, but the element has to serve the play.

If the game includes chupacabras in the bestiary, that means the designer wants you to fight a chupacabra when you play.For example, I have always been frustrated by the inclusion of the Computer skill in the various World of Darkness games. The fact that the rules support a specific sort of challenge involving the use of computers, in my opinion, sends the wrong message. That message is, "This is a setting in which people who use computers are a significant facet of the setting." All of the sudden you open the floodgates of things like vampire hackers, cyber-werewolves, and the sorts of loosely computerized tangents that occasionally rear their heads on things like CSI. Never mind all of the trappings of  gothic literary fiction and the turgid emotional landscape of eternal living death -- it's time for a shadowrun.

 (You know what else used to crack me up? Dodge as a skill. Especially when interpreting the skill through the rules for skill improvement. You could spend experience points on Dodge... which meant that you were actively practicing getting out of the way of some stuff. Is there a special place you go to hang out and dodge? A gun range, maybe?)

Anyway, back to the point. I'm not saying that there's no place for computers in a Vampire story. I'm saying that vampires doing things with computers doesn't need to happen so frequently or with such a broad range of outcomes that it needs rules to allow vampires to interact with computers. Maybe a story suggests that there's a computer with critical information on it. If the Storyteller needs the players to have that information, they get it. No dice rolling. No dice pools or modifiers or rolling and putting Willpower into it -- if the players need the information and one of them thinks to say, "I look it up on the computer," then, okay, they get the clue off the computer.

Too often, designers overlook this, especially in skill-based systems , or in modern games that, as a result of the design, assume that if it can be done in the modern world, rules need to exist so that players can do it via the system. In many cases, it's just not discriminating design. It's kitchen-sink design, and it ends up making extra work and diluting the experience of play. At best, the system is going to lie, created but unused, in some forgotten drawer of the game. At worst, it's going to derail play of the optimal game experience with minutiae or a tangent that undermines the game's true goal.

The second-edition Vampire Players Guide had tanks, lasers, and military aircraft. The developer wanted your vampires to have fights with tanks and helicopters.When you build a system into a game, that means you as the designer want the system to be used. If you want your vampires hacking away at their computers, you make a Computers system for vampire hacking. It's like Chekhov's gun: If you write a play and put a gun in it, you're stating implicitly (and eventually explicitly) that the gun is going to see use. If you don't want something to happen in a game, don't build it in there.

The other side of this principle is true as well. If a system exists, it exists because that's what the designers want you to do. Aion has skill-based crafting that results in occasional failure of the crafting character to produce the item. Logically, then, the designers of Aion want you to fail sometimes, and thus want you to lose items (thereby sending you back into the world to seek more items). EVE Online wants you to lose a ship every now and then, and eventually wants you in open conflict with other players, especially via corporate or alliance warfare. Age of Conan and Lord of the Rings Online want you to spend a lot of time playing their preconstructed content, and though you can do it with other players, they don't want to mandate that you have to or even encourage you to do so. It's easier to solo than it is to play through content as a group, so that's what they want most of their players to do.

Bear that in mind when you create house rules or write your own games. If it's not part of the game, don't include it. Make it "realistic" only if verisimilitude is key to the play of the game.