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    If on a winter's night a traveler
    by Italo Calvino
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    The Lies of Locke Lamora
    by Scott Lynch
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  • The Art of Game Design: A book of lenses
    The Art of Game Design: A book of lenses
    by Jesse Schell
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Entries in plot (2)

Thursday
28Jan2010

Presenting Information: Making Informed Choices

Fallout forced players to decide on skills or allocate points without seeing how those choices would affect how the game played.Over New Year's, I was playing a tabletop game with Will and Ned when Will said that he would estimate that the primary emotional response a player has when playing a computer RPG is regret. It sounds absurd, that an entire entertainment genre and medium are made up of predominantly negative experiences, but there's something to it.
In a computer RPG, it's inherent that once a player makes a choice, that choice walls off certain content. If you kill the prince, for example, you don't see the "didn't kill the prince" content. Unless the game is completely open-ended, it's impossible to tell a convincing story. Unless the game restricts certain content after certain player decisions, it's impossible to tell a plausible story.

Well, perhaps not impossible, but certainly tremendously difficult to the point of no one yet having done it. The greater point, however, is that something's being set aside that, as a player, I can't experience, and that's the origin of the regret. In many cases, replayability solves part of this, as you can always revisit that excluded content by coming back and making the choices that open it up to you, but, one, do you want to go back through and undertake the whole story again, including the vast amount that will be repeated content and, two, how do you know which choice to make that opens the previously obstructed content to you?

Being able to respec a character who already exists is a functional way of ameliorating regret at prior choices made without adequate information. World of Warcraft charges the player for the feature, while tabletop D&D 4e allows respecs as part of standard advancement.I think this is a problem. In particular, I think this is a problem when the story is elevated to a state of precedence over the game. That might sound weird coming from a guy who spent 15 years working on "storytelling games," but the distinction is in the medium. In a tabletop game, the gamemaster, as a participant in the game process, creates the relevant content on demand. It might not be available instantly, but in most cases, the gamemaster won't waste time designing the cult's lair beneath the wealthy socialite's estate if the group decides they want to hunt werewolves along the interstate headed out of the city. In some cases, the gamemaster will have that designed beforehand, but there's always an opportunity to reroute the story should the players choose, which isn't an option in a computer game with linear plot and progression.

For myself, even the process of character creation is often a source of regret. At the beginning of a game, when I'm asked to make a character, I'm making decisions the impact of which I can't possibly know. I haven't played the game, so I don't know if I'll enjoy the play of the fighter-type more or if a spy results in more interesting play. In some cases, entire swaths of content become unavailable immediately, as with the starting areas in World of Warcraft (which I can at least travel to as a character of a different race, but, as a noob might not have the knowledge that I can travel to those other areas).

Hence, the regret. I've been forced to make a choice, but I haven't been given the proper information to make it. Does something else exist as an option? What if that would have been a better choice for me?

It's odd to think that when a game ships, it does so with the developer's knowledge that a given player is never going to see a significant portion of it. It's a bit like buying a full tackle box but only needing a few bobs and lures -- why make the rest of the box's contents and bother putting them in the box? Granted, someone, somewhere is going to see the content that someone else doesn't, but there's something undeniably odd about releasing a product that the developer knows won't be used completely. As a player, I know those other lures and bobs are in the tackle box, and I want to use them, but by the construction of the tackle box, I just can't.

In most cases, I can research my options, such as by finding a FAQ or walkthrough or by asking a community of players. That's outside the game, though. That's not playing the game, that's an additional amount of preparation I have to do before actually playing the game. While certain hardcores might enjoy that bit of pre-game, that's not what your average player is going to enjoy.

The Fable series does a good job of teaching the player controls and world lore before her choices become a critical part of the game's flow.The challenge, then, and the way to manage this critical information is to design the game and the story so that the preparation occurs within the game environment and before the character makes a significant choice that affects what content the player participates in and what is held away from him. This may break immersion, but that's okay -- the very necessity of the information is because the player will be playing the game. It's not going to suddenly wreck an epic if a mouseover box tells the player his range increment will double, because he's already put the DVD in the drive and is manipulating the controller.

(As I write this, I've learned from @criticalhits that WotC plans to offer a solo D&D game that "helps generate [the] character while playing." That's a great idea, and an excellent example of introducing the player to game concepts with a progressive information flow. Fill in the blanks as to what you want to do and how you want to play as you're playing, as opposed to learning world lore and control schemes in a vast block beforehand.)

Monday
11Jan2010

Presenting Information: Surprise the Character

I heard Tina Brown on the radio the other day and she said something about the practice of writing that is tremendously applicable to the pacing of games and presenting information therein. She said, and I'm paraphrasing from memory here, that diaries are mysteries to their writers.

Brilliant! Too often, the characters in a game seem to inherit the knowledge that they're in a game. They behave as if they know they have infinite lives, or are only a save away from a potentially doomed (or willfully stupid) decision.

I don't want to ruin the surprise for you, but soylent green is people. There, I said it.Turning that on its ear is an immersive way of hooking the player. Now, obviously, I'm not saying that you should kill your players' characters. But giving them a swerve -- showing them that though players have the luxury of being the most important character around whom the story is told, it's not all going to be a picnic -- makes players jaded by story immunity and standard protagonist badassery sit up and pay attention. Presenting the story in a manner that shows the characters don't know what's in store for them makes them a bit vulnerable, and that vulnerability makes them interesting. Surprising your character can translate directly into surprising your player, and surprise builds investment.

The death of Aeris in Final Fantasy VII is a high point of this technique. Granted, developers can't rely on this technique too frequently or it'll lose all of its impact or fall into the "screw you, player" category of bad design. That said, the killing of a playable character subverted all the previous wisdom regarding what makes for a character. Until it happened, you didn't know it could, and that's powerful. It was something the characters in the game didn't see happening, and transcended that, becoming something even the player couldn't anticipate.

Compare that with the way the Fire Emblem games deal with PC deaths: No buildup; if you die in combat, that's it, you're dead. The Fire Emblem series' strength is in its tactical gameplay, so it's not like it's shortchanging itself, but the fact that the series doesn't intend to tell a blockbuster story is what puts the emphasis on the tactics.

File under: Someone approved this.Execution is a matter of style, too. The swerve as a dramatic device can be done poorly, in which case the swerve is a dick move, or it can be done compellingly, in which case its arrival is a surprise, and a dramatically rewarding one. Compare the swerve in Halo 2 ("A psychic plant that nobody ever heard of before arranged this whole thing, and Master Chief and the Apostate Bug are puppets dancing on his strings"... uh, what?) and the truth about Flemeth in Dragon Age (spoiler preserved). The former just came out of nowhere as a bit of nonsense. The latter is sinister, and exhibits the price of power in that virtual world.

Now, realistically, you have to swerve your audience so that they're actually surprised for your surprises to be, well, surprises. If your swerve is "He's your father!" or "He's your brother!" your surprise probably needs a little more work. But even a few old standards ("She's not dead after all!") can still pack a punch when deployed in the appropriate moment or with enough panache.

Remember, too, that you want your swerve to pop. It needs to be exciting. Most importantly, it can't disempower the player. Informing the player that he's been manipulated all along is perilous, for example, because it means that the player's actions haven't been his own. Vampire thrives on this device, but that's because it gives players an opportunity to turn that manipulation back on its perpetrator -- and for vampires, revenge is a dish best served cold, so part of the setting is the opportunity to brood on that manipulation and really work up a vengeful head of steam. You're doing well if your players' response to your swerve is, "Holy shit. Oh, yeah? Well now I'm going to...."