In Soviet Russia, Nintendo Wii U!

First of all, apologies for the bad pun and meme reference.  Now then, on with the show.

The Wii U has been out for just a couple weeks now, and I must admit that I'm thoroughly enjoying it.  Nintendo Land is a strong entry to get the console rolling out the gate, much like Wii Sports did for the Wii.  We have several small games to show off different aspects of what the system is capable of, and it really feels like Nintendo is telling developers, "Please, find inspiration here.  Examine these basic mechanics and use them as building blocks."  Only time will tell if the games will build on these ideas, or doom the console to casual party games mimicking Nintendo's offering to inspiration once again.  Hopefully, Assassin's Creed, Arkham City Armored Edition, and Mass Effect 3 will lead the third party, AAA charge against shovelware.

New Super Mario Bros U is not such a shinng jewel.  Much like every game of the New Super Mario Bros series, we've lost evrrything that can be remotely considered a challenge.  Instead, soulless levels pan out in a meandering fashion.  We can see the elements of older games, but they lack the context and cohesion of their ancestry.  This hodgepodge of Mario delivers a cardboard cutout of what 2D platformers used to be.  It feels completely unispired, lacking, and pointless.  There's no reason to try, so there's no reason to care while playing.  All in all, it makes me want to go back to the older Mario games, specifically Super Mario Bros 3.

Nintendo's social networking is actually interesting and less intrusive than I had feared.  Players are largely creative and proud, and many times I find myself chuckling at another player's comment or drawing.  I've seen very little offensive content, and it seems Nintendo is quick to catch what may not be appropriate for all ages.  Overall, it just kind of makes you happy to see someone proclaiming victory over a tough challenge or that they're enjoying a game.

ZombiU is an intersting mix of awesome and awful - don't get me wrong, it's a phenominal experience so far and a work of art that the horror genre has been deprived of lately.  However, tread catefully, for it's not the zombies you should fear, but the bugs that can force you to restart the game.  In my case, I died at the same moment that I entered a door tied to an objective, which caused that objective to be impossible to complete.  Bugs aside, it's beautifully dark and lonely, and it feels like a proper survival-horror game.  Resources are scarce, and panicking assuredly leads to your demise.

Thus far, I'm quite pleased with the Wii U and excited for the possibilities the system offers.  Asynchronous local multiplayer is thoroughly intriguing, and many of the minor details hidden in the Wii U are surprisingly pleasing.  I'm hopeful of a bright future for the console, but as we all know, only time will tell what sort of offerings third party developers will put forth.  That, and that alone, will truly determine the Wii U's worth.

DnD 3.5e House Rule: The Luck Ability

Throughout the last several years, I've often called for a Luck roll at the table - for those instances where no ability or skill really comes into play, and it's really just up to fate as to what happens.  For example, when the party is exploring the sewers under the Dwarven district of a major city, and one character decides to look up a rubbish chute.  What happens?  Make a Luck roll!

At the time, a Luck roll was just a toss of the d20.  Read the result, and the DM will decide what (if anything) happens.  In the case above, it just so happened that our hero rolled a natural twenty.  As he looked up, a Dwarf from above tossed his garbage, including a set of magical goggles that he had chalked up as a failed experiment; they just so happened to grant dark vision to their wearer.

Since then, I've expanded the Luck roll to include a Luck ability rolled upon character creation.  Using the standard ability rolling rules, this allows a seventh ability roll and a clear throwaway stat.  In short, Luck allows for stronger characters.  How does this affect the rules about rolling again?  I just disclude this seventh roll from those calculations - it is meant, purely, as an auxiliary roll.  What if you're using the elite array or point-buy systems?  For the elite array, add an extra 10.  As for point-buy, give each player an extra two points (such that Luck could be raised from 8 to 10).  Characters who choose to keep their Luck scores low will be slightly more powerful, but by a nearly negligible difference.

LUCK (LCK)
Luck measures a character's favor with the fate.  This ability represents just how often events just so happen to turn out positively for a character.  While Luck is not specifically needed by any character class, a character's Luck may come into question at any point in time.  Therefore, Luck may be important for any character.  Only important characters have a Luck score;  a creature with no Luck score is considered to have a Luck score of 10 (with a +0 modifier).

You only apply your character's Luck modifier to Luck checks.

See you next week.

Returning Home

Justin stared at the night sky, the glittering stars bringing a smile to his lips despite the winter cold. He had walked a good many paces away from the fires of the camp. It was quiet away from the groups of people, the small war-band making its way eastward. They had lost at Siannodel, suffering great losses to surprise attack by General Nikoli's army.

The bard sighed heavily. That wasn't why he was out here. He had come out here to get away from the battles had and the battles to come. He was here to find peace amongst all the war.

Footsteps of someone approaching pulled him further from that peace he sought. With another sigh, he turned to look at his follower.

Celeste's blond hair shone in the moonlight fantastically, matched by the entirety of her slender and pale beauty. The mage came to stand next to the bard before speaking.

"I had meant to ask what reason could bring you so far from camp, but now that I am here, I understand completely." She smiled slightly, letting the gentle chilled breeze flow through her hair. "'Tis peaceful."

"Peace has become much of a luxury of late." While Justin did enjoy the company, she had interrupted his peace.

"I know quite well of what you speak, bard. Dare you forget I once called Bal Azar my home?" Ah yes, Bal Azar, where it had all begun. Actually, it had begun hundreds of years ago, but this chapter in the story of the world began there. The peaceful city's fall had been what triggered the wars.

"A bard never forgets the details," he said, forcing a smile. "Now what brings you all the way out here?" Funny that her smile should fade as if he had stolen his from her.

"I begin to wonder if we shall not succeed in our mission. I begin to think we may fail." Her expression was the same she'd worn when she saw the carnage that had fallen upon Bal Azar. As it had been then, it was hard for Justin to keep smiling. She needed it though.

"I assure you, we cannot fail. The Guardians will be stopped, and I will travel the world telling of the parts we all have played in keeping the world safe." His words did little to change her mood. She knew that his smile was lacking the sincerity it had at the fall of Bal Azar. He truly believed every word then. Now, even he was not too sure.

"Positivity aside, I believe everything will turn out alright. There is much gone wrong, but much is still right." He again looked to the stars above, letting their image put his heart at ease. "We will make it. The snows can only slow so much, and winter has yet to reach its worst. We can reach our goal before the final battle." Celeste let her gaze rise away from the bard toward the stars.

"How can you know the battle shall not begin without our presence?"

"I know a few friends," he began, his usual grin returning to his face. This smile was sincere. "Fate guides more roads than we give her credit for. I know the heroes will return to Liathdale."

The End of Time

The cosmic winds mustered every bit of their remaining strength, blowing a final weak breeze through the universe. The Great Dragon, the one remaining light in the infinite blackness of space and time, felt the brush against its cheek, smiling one last time. All the worlds, the countless stars and suns, the moons, all of space and time were faded away except what little the dragon could keep alive around him. His friend, the Phoenix had long since turned to ash, never rising again. Now the cosmos had breathed its last.

He sought the words to whisper a final goodbye for all things that had faded, but found none. Language itself had died, yet the Great Dragon never realized. It had been so long since he'd last spoken. His breath came short now as he gripped the scythe of the reaper, who had faded away as well. This old rusted thing, the gnarled and rotted wood gripping to a blade that hadn't shone in ages and ages, would reap the dragon by his own hand.

The Great Dragon found no more breath would come to him. He was choking now, infinite sadness clogging his throat. He gripped the scythe tighter as his own light faded. It was the end, as had been told, but this wasn't how he had wanted it to be. He still wanted to say goodbye.

A single tear formed at the edge of his old gray eyes. It was the end of all things, space and time and gods and dragons. Nothing would be left after this. The Great Dragon closed his eyes one last time, his light gone. The scythe found its way into his soul, both fading simultaneously, save the tear.

All was gone. Infinite nothing surrounded the tear, but with the reaper's blade gone, the tear would exist for an eternity alone, exiled to the nothingness remaining in existence's wake. The tear found itself wishing to cry, but could such a thing be done.

It tried.

Light and stars burst forth from the tear as it began to bring light to the darkness that permeated all. It shone with a light brighter than any had ever existed, for nothing had before the tear. More tear-stars flew into the darkness.

In a mighty explosion, a rain of sorrow, nothingness became existence once again. The tear, which could not remember where it had come from, found itself surrounded by lights and stars and friends to be had. Happiness and hope found their way to the tear, which now shone brighter than any of its children. It spun and swirled and danced, shedding its sorrow and form.

Soon, a new Great Dragon was now fluttering about the cosmos, lights and stars dancing with it. Some stars darkened, becoming planets and worlds, wishing to bear life.

Time and space had been reborn. Of dark ashes sprouted a new Phoenix, burning just as brightly as the Great Dragon. One roared and the other chirped, flying together to spread their light and warmth. Their joy would have been unending, but the sorrow shed from the tear had found a form of its own.

The great lights stopped their flight at the foot of Death. A new scythe reflected their radiance. They knew now that one day, all would end. Eternities would pass until then, but one final moment would come. The Great Dragon would be the last, for it was the first.

"I would say goodbye to all," the Great Dragon swore. "Only after that will I go."

Fall of Winter

The last warm wind of the southern sea passed over the capitol of the Sapphire Kingdom, flowing north over the castle.  Through the windows it could hear the cries of the ladies in waiting, the sighs of the noble lords.  What it couldn't hear was the chamberlain's quiet contemplations of that night's events.  The queen had died a peaceful death after a long and fruitful life, but she had no heir to pass the crown to.  Without someone to wear the crown, the council would convene, mourn, discuss, then bicker over who should be the new ruler.  That bickering would assure dark times ahead.

The last warm wind of the southern sea passed on, following the messengers bearing these dark tidings.  Together, they rode north, but one by one the messengers took different roads until only two remained.  When the road could no longer went north, the two split.  One would ride to Celdine, the other to Bal Azar and beyond.

The last warm wind of the southern sea followed the road to Bal Azar, flowing toward its resting place in the cold northwest.  It kept this lone messenger warm, for his was the greatest of tasks.  He would ride to Bal Azar,where he would board a ship destined for Arenloch, the farthest reach of the Sapphire Kingdom.

The last warm wind of the southern sea filled the sails of the messenger's ship, hoping to make the journey swift and safe.  The dark waters were known for the many dangers deep below.  Given the urgency of their mission, the crew made a straight course for Arenloch rather than follow the coast.  That would be their folly.

The last warm wind of the southern sea grew cold as it pushed the ship north.  The dark waters watched and waited until the dark of night as the ship pressed onward.  It was on a cold and windy night that the waters swallowed the ship, the crew, and the messenger all in one, but the written declaration of the queen's death floated on.

The last warm wind of the southern sea grew weak, but it blew on the message, trying ever so desperately to deliver what the messenger could not.  Onward it floated on the dark lake's surface, the parchment soaking in the water.  The inks faded as the days passed, yet still the message survived.  It would not arrive in Arenloch, however.  The cruel waters watched and waited until only a day remained in the journey.  Finally, the message was swallowed itself.

The last warm wind of the southern sea continued its own journey alone.  Arenloch came and went below; its people enjoyed the last ounce of warmth within the breeze.  Beyond the city, within the forests north of Arenloch, a man fought a losing battle for his life.  The man fought with all his strength against the Herald - a giant cursed with immortality - who had come to recover his enchanted  axe.

The last warm wind of the southern sea died alongside the man.  They would be buried under the coming snows of winter.

The first frigid wind of the northern mountains flew southward, bringing with it that snow.

Starlight

As his vision returned, nearly as blurred as his consciousness, he knew he was in bad shape. Blood soaked his leggings, just above the knee. Seeing this only returned the searing sensation of pain, causing his mind to suddenly waken as he grimaced harshly, inhaling harshly between clenched teeth.

"Finally awakened?" The voice was taunting, superior. He knew it belonged to his captor. He felt her soft hands grace his bare shoulder, gliding like the hand of a lover. That lasted only a moment, then she tightened her grip, digging her nails into his skin and rending just enough flesh to add to his pain.

Astrid Amascient, the Elven priestess of a darker deity, sauntered out away from her prey. She had him exactly where she wanted him, and they both knew it. Tharivol Ilphustacia hung his head in defeat, silently praying to Hinathra, the Elf Mother.

Astrid's grin faded as she recognized the defeat upon his face. It was much too soon for this. She meant to have fun.

"Oh how the mighty has fallen," she spoke plainly, but still her words dripped with melodrama. "Come now, paladin, you've not given up already have you?" He said nothing, just hung his head, giving himself his last rites. She rushed him then, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his eyes to meet hers.

"I did not keep you alive just to watch you die, Tharivol. You've been a thorn in my side for much too long for that." She slapped him then, bringing with her strike the cut of her ring. Blood flowed from his cheek to his mouth as his vision once again recovered. Still he did nothing.

She growled and drew her arm back for another vicious slap. He winced, preparing for the blow, but she softened then, that cruel grin of hers returning.

"You do still have some fight left in you, don't you?" She sat on his lap then, wrapping her arms around his neck. As battle hardened a cleric as she was, her skin showed none of that. Everything about her was soft and inviting, a devious deception of the dark heart in her chest. "We'll have some fun yet, won't we Tharivol?" Her puppy dog eyes were almost comical to him.

She pressed closer to him then, her chest-plate stabbing into him. She had removed his armor after rendering him unconscious, leaving him vulnerable and disarmed. She had only used enough magic to keep him from dying. She wanted to drag out his torture as long as possible. He tried not to bite his lip as her armor stabbed into him.

She let out a laugh then. She was enjoying this immensely. She had woken his will to fight her satisfaction.

"There we go." She lifted off of him, smiling madly. She crossed the torchlit dungeon of hers, reaching for her cutlass, the favored weapon of her deity. She drew it from the scabbard, hardly able to contain her excitement for the plot forming in her mind.

She reached then for Tharivol's weapon, a morning star. She tossed it in his direction, letting it bounce along the stone floor and roll to a stop ten feet away behind the paladin. She approached him again, clutching her blade in her left hand.

"I've got a lovely idea, my dear misguided fool." She circled him, again gliding her hands over his bare chest. He followed her with his eyes, which once again shone with courage and determination. Behind her, to his left, he caught a glimpse of his armor lying on a table.

"We're going to play a little game." She leaned over him from behind him, drawing her blade across where her fingers had been on his chest. "I'm going to give you one more chance. Just one. If you can kill me, then the stars have surely aligned in your favor." He heard her withdraw the dagger from the back of her belt. "Are you ready?"

She blew a kiss at him from his left while tightening her muscles, pulling back with both arms simultaneously. With her right, she cut the ropes that bound his hands, while her left brought her cutlass hilt clamoring against Tharivol's face. The force of the blow knocked him from the chair to the floor, where his injured knee hit hard. He let out a cry of pain and Astrid laughed maniacally.

"What's the matter paladin, Hinathra can't protect her poor little baby?" He tried to gather his wits as she circled and taunted him. The pain from his knee was bringing tears to his eyes, ruining his vision. Just as his head cleared enough to be aware of his opponent's position, she charged him, kicking him across the face.

His world churned. He was weakened, broken, and beaten. He lay there, crumpled on the floor between the chair he'd been tied to and the table his armor lay on. The taste of blood filled his mouth as the swirling room began to slow, settling his focus on the morning star that seemed a mile away. He tried to push off the ground, just to get anywhere.

She came again then, another swift kick, this time aimed for his stomach. The room darkened as his mind fled again toward unconsciousness. His breath hardly came at all. She was taunting him again, but his ears rang too loudly to understand. He tried to move from the crumpled ball he'd become, but his mind was no longer a part of his body. It was outside, screaming at his body to move, to go for the morning star, to just fight back, to do anything.

Finally a message got through from mind to body, and he once again tried to rise from the floor. He couldn't tell where he was anymore. The room was spinning too fast for him to judge anything. The ringing cleared from his ears, allowing him to hear the end of Astrid's taunt.

"...so much for the power of your light."

Something happened then. Tharivol closed his eyes. The were of no use to him anyway. Darkness enveloped him, offering sleep again to his mind. The offer seemed so sweet, so unavoidable, but it wasn't an option. He let go, giving his mind the chance to run free of all the pain, all the spinning.

It bounded through the darkness, running as a free stallion. It ran. It ran and ran and ran through the never ending blackness that had come to greet him. It leaped then, soaring into the nothingness all around, leaving behind his body. It flew higher, skyward bound. A single star shone in all the darkness the sky held.

One star, shining dimly at first, then growing brighter. It outshone all stars there had ever been, then shone brighter than the moon, then became a sun. Still brighter it became, filling all darkness with light. At the center of this star was some object, so his mind approached closer. He could now see it was no object, but a creature. Closer still he could tell it was humanoid. As his mind came around to the front of this person, he realized it was himself. With that realization, his eyes flew open.

Astrid stood there, lording over him with her cruel grin. He no longer felt the pain of her previous blows. His mind was now clear and fully connected with his body. That grin faded from his enemy.

She tried again to kick his stomach, but he rolled away, toward the table with his armor. He scrambled to his feet then, reaching for the nearest plate of mithril. She struck forward with her deadly blade then, slicing toward the paladin.

He deflected the blow with his breastplate, raising it as a shield. He spun with the blow, reaching out with his improvised weapon. The force of the breastplate knocked the priestess backward, stealing her balance as she tumbled away. He charged at her, bashing her again with the armor plate, knocking her completely off her feet. As she hit the floor, her eyes widened in fear and pain.

A tear flowed down her cheek as she realized he'd won. His morning star had broken her fall and her spine, puncturing some internal organ. Her vision began to fade and the taste of blood invaded her mouth. He now stood over her, calm and victorious. She could almost swear she saw a star where his heart was, burning brightly as darkness filled the room.

Tharivol could not bear to watch her die. He knew that she too had an inner light, much like he had found inside himself. A star which could guide her from the darkness she had clung to so tightly. He called upon Hinathra to grant him the power to heal this lost soul.

The light gathered around his hands as he lay them on his enemy. What little life she had left was not to be spent awake, but his magic would give her one more chance. Her breathing slowed and came more easily as the light left from his hands, gathering around her wound. Still she slept, but she would live to wake again.

He gathered his gear and lifted his enemy over his shoulder.

"We're going to play a little game, Astrid. We're going to give you just one more chance. Just one more chance to find your inner star."

The Demon Maker

The shadows stretched long in the workshop room. Clean and cluttered, the wooden floor creaked as the maker shifted in his aged chair. The finish, once the deep color of mahogany, had long worn off from extended use, leaving only the faded oak to match the desk upon which he leaned. Covered in various precision tools, each with their own place, the desk, with its numerous drawers containing bits and pieces, offered a place for the maker to work. A lone lamp lit this workspace.

With great care, the maker lifted a thin paintbrush in one wrinkled hand while gripping a small figure in his other. His fingers moved slowly, carefully, methodically. The quiet scrape of paint on pewter was the only sound other than his breathing, as slow and careful as his fingers. Dark red blended with the black base coat of the figures wings, giving a subtle highlight to the tips of the bat-like protrusions. A pass by the claws hinted that this beast had just killed.

He sighed heavily as he set the figure down. It was finished.

He cleaned his brush and placed it back in its very specific resting place. He rubbed his tired eyes, pulling off his eye glasses and letting them hang from the cord around his neck. Clapping and rubbing his hands together, he was ready. He reached for the small cord hanging from his lamp, turning it off with a sound click.

The room was now dark, with only a small amount of moonlight reaching in through the high window above his desk. He sat perfectly straight, his hands on his knees, his breath still slow, careful, and methodical. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, bathing his workshop in the dark blue of the night.

It was then that it came. At first, a shadow crawled in through the window, two glowing red eyes darting from side to side, settling first on the maker, then the figure. The scraping of its claws filled the small room as it came down the wall, reaching outward toward the desk. With carefulness that seemed impossible for such a beast, it plucked the painted figure away.

His breath had been held since the shadow appeared. His eyes had remained locked on the figure through this dark ritual. Over and over again he had seen what was to happen, but he had to watch. Not because he wanted to, but because he was afraid not too.

The beast again looked from the figure to the maker. Its burning eyes peered into his, boring into his soul. Its eyes could drive a man mad, destroy him, or worse. For the maker, its eyes were, as impossible as it could be, thankful.

It then turned to the figuring, scowling and calling forth a hideous incantation. The sound could only be described as obsidian and fire. Its eyes glowed with an unholy darkness, tendrils of which slowly swirled outward, reaching for the figure. As they touched, they burst forth, latching on and encompassing their prey. Darkness exploded from the figure.

His eyes never closed. The maker had watched, horrified of the ritual's final step, but more afraid not to look on. As the ritual closed, the figure took to life, growing in the darkness to seven feet of nightmarish hell.

It let out an awful growl, freezing the maker's blood. Its eyes, a blue like that of the coldest ice in the farthest reaches of the north, turned to its creator. A flicker of recognition glimmered in those eyes, as all the previous hell-things had done. With that, this new shadow in the night escaped out the window, followed by the original.

This older one turned back, as it had done when it first came to life. Its eyes burned threateningly upon its creator. This one had been born from no dark ritual performed in front of the maker, but something more insidious. It had come to life on its own.

As the beast flew into the night, and the blue light of the moon returned to the workshop, the maker clicked on his small lamp. He returned his glasses to his face and opened the first of many drawers. He pulled a suitable torso from the collection and placed it on the desk.

He would make more.

He had to make more.

Only then could light shine in contrast to the dark.

Important Things (Abridged)

This last week, I was invited to give a talk at DigiPen to their summer workshop students.  Because I was out of town for half the week, I'm just going to leave a link to my slides from the talk.  Enjoy!

(Note:  Not sure why this didn't post properly on time...)

Retro Retrospective: Super Battleship

A long time ago in a suburb far, far away, I was a young boy playing a SNES game based on a board game.  That game recently received the Hollywood treatment, thus slaughtering and gutting the IP, ripping out its heart and replacing it with...

Of course, in order to squeeze every penny out of consumers, a video game was released alongside the movie.  All this attention to Battleship got me all nostalgic of my days as a young lad, enjoying the legitimately good games based on existing IP.  To cure my nostalgia, I tracked down a copy of Super Battleship.

Now of course, this game features the board game as a play mode, but that's secondary gameplay.  What could possibly be better than electronic Battleship (not be confused with the version of the board game featuring sound effects and flashing lights, of course)?  How about a full campaign of turn-based naval strategy?

Here's the basics of the game:
1. Turns are passed between the human player and the AI controlled enemy player, during which the active player commands their entire fleet.
2. On a ship's turn, it can move or fire a weapon (more on this later).
3.  When a ship takes damage to its systems (radar, sonar, bow guns, rudder, etc.), the player can order the crew to repair one system per turn.
4.  Each mission has an objective and a time limit.

That doesn't seem like much, but there are several features that really make this game shine.

Movement
Movement in this game is true to nautical maneuvers.  A ship that is rushing across the waters at 32 knots per hour cannot suddenly turn around or come to a stop.  Odds are it won't even be able to turn at such high speeds.  In order to turn, the ship must slow down first, though some highly maneuverable ships can make a high speed turn with a wide radius.  Turning a ship around or bringing it to a stop takes a few turns.

This movement system adds authenticity to the experience.  Its a simple mechanic that could have been easily overlooked, but its inclusion adds depth.  A player must take care to keep his or her ships from colliding due to some oversight, providing increased tension and strategy into the most basic of mechanics.  Also to be avoided are landmasses - if a ship hits land, it will be grounded there.

Firing
When the player moves in close enough to fire on an enemy, there's a percent chance that the main guns will hit.  If luck is on the player's side, the ships will engage in active combat, changing the game screen from the overhead map into a minigame based on the fired weapon.

Main Guns and Torpedoes
The player is brought to the combat screen with the selected weapon and must aim at the enemy ship carefully while being fired upon.  Successful fire may damage the enemy ship and take one of their systems offline (such as guns, ceasing their fire, or engines, stopping their movement across the screen).  Main guns fire quickly, but damage to the player's guns will cause long pauses between each shot (or shut down the guns altogether).  Torpedoes speed along the surface of the water, dealing a fair amount of damage if aimed correctly.  Unlike the main guns, the player may fire several torpedoes in quick succession, but must wait for all torpedoes to hit or miss before firing another shot or adjusting the aim.

Missiles
Missiles are long range, instant kill strikes that require a fair amount of skill to score a hit with.  Upon firing a missile, the screen changes to a chase camera following the fast-flying payload toward the enemy ship.   However, the missile veers left or right at all times, and it's up to the player to keep it on course.  There is no HUD, no targeting cursor, no direction to the target painted in 16-bit glory.  The player must estimate how straight the missile is flying, correct it, and guide it in once the spot the ship.  All in all, the only lasts a few seconds, but they are truly exhilarating ones.

Depth Charges
When the player encounters a submarine or decides to clear out a group of mines, depth charges come into play.  The depth charge screen consists of a profile view of the player's ship passing over the dangers lurking below (the speed of this ship is based on the speed of this ship's last move on the top-down map).  The player can set the desired depth to detonate the charge and launches the charge with the press of a button.  If the charge explodes within range of its target, the enemy is destroyed.

All three of these combat mingames keep the game fresh, alive, and exciting, especially due to the enemy's turn - the enemy may also engage a ship within range of its main guns, launching the player into the combat screen.  This forces the player to remain aware and alert at all times, especially during the enemy turn.  Also, each weapon has its own ammo count.  Once empty, that weapon cannot be used.

Sensors/Fog of War
During a ship's turn, only nearby ships are visible on the map.  However, the player's limited vision is aided by radar and sonar, which share a small display in the bottom right of the screen that serves as something akin to a minimap.  Distant ships are visible as green blips when the radar is active, while mines and submarines can only be seen as green blips when the sonar is active.  The player can only view one sensor at a time, but it shows blips on both the main view and this little minimap.

Early missions require little use of these sensors, but as the player progresses, these sensors become increasingly important.  One mission in particular takes place at night, cutting the player's vision almost completely, forcing the player to rely on their radar.  If the player doesn't watch the sonar, a ship may haphazardly hit an underwater mine or come under surprise attack by submarine.  Late missions take place over larger areas, requiring radar to view ships at the extent of a battle cruiser's range.

This feature really distinguishes Super Battleship due to it's ominous effects.  There is no background music during a mission, only the blips of other ships and the rhythmic pings of the sonar (when in use).  If the player is not wary of his own ships, he could fire upon himself.  That alone is enough to make the player hesitate to fire.  Only having one sensor active at a time allows submarines and mines to slip by undetected, bringing a victory tumbling down to a crushing defeat.  All in all, the sensors add tension to a genre often lacking it.

The Minor Details
There's a plethora of minor details in this game that really make it shine.  The time limit is a set number of turns to complete the mission, which prevents a player from "turtling."  The time limit, while generous in most missions, keeps the player focused on their objective.  Each turn also has its own (generous) timer that keeps the player involved.  Taking too long on a turn can cause the remainder of your fleet not to act.  The player is able to stop the timer by pausing, but can do nothing but view the current screen.

When the player gets too close to a shore battery controlled by the enemy, their ship comes under fire.  A hit deals a set amount of damage.  Destroying any building in a city is enough to capture it, turning it to a friendly harbor, offering the player the benefits of these shore batteries, as well as the ability to dock in the harbor.  When a ship is in harbor, its weapons are restocked, allowing it to get back out into the fight.

The entire concept of ship damage adds an extra layer of strategy in combat.  Does the player choose to take out the enemy guns first?  Maybe they shoot out the engines first to make the guns easier to hit?  This strategy is two-fold however:  When the player's ship is damages, what should get repaired first?  Fixing the guns allows the ship to defend itself, but without the fire control system, there's very little chance of landing a hit when going on the offensive.  What if the sonar is out in mine-infested waters?  How about the rudder?  Each repair takes a full turn (the player's ship still gets to act, but the repair orders must be made in order to fix a damaged system), and which repair is done can be the decisive moment in the mission.

Another little detail that really sells the authenticity of Super Battleship is the map.  When the player presses the button to view the world map, text appears for a few moments before transitioning to the map screen, "Communicating with satellite..."

The Bad Side
While I thoroughly enjoy Super Battleship, I must fault it for its control scheme.  It has the slight excuse that it was a very early SNES game (thus, it came before certain standards arose), the buttons seem to be almost randomly assigned.  The A Button and B Button both act as accept, moving cancel functionality to the Select Button.  The X Button toggles your sensor, the Y Button cycles through weapons, and the R Button brings up the world map.  While on the base menu for controlling a ship, pressing the Select Button switches to a secondary menu, offering the player a forfeit option, as well as the ability to view their entire fleet (a very useful menu screen, as it allows the player to issue repair commands to each ship all at once, ensuring that no ship sits idly by, remaining damaged unnecessarily).  All in all, the controls are just screwy.

In Conclusion
All together, Super Battleship is a fine little gem from the early days of the SNES.  It suffers from terrible controls, the complete lack of a tutorial (the standard of the time), and a mean difficulty right off the bat, but these flaws are easily overlooked once you get a feel for the game.  It's a solid tactical game with a solidly nautical experience.  In a word, it's authentic, so if you still have a SNES kicking around and wouldn't mind picking up a naval turn-based strategy, I'd strongly recommend grabbing a copy of Super Battleship.  It'll take a bit to crack its shell, but there's quite the prize inside.

Terrifying Brilliance in Slender

Slender is, by far, the most horrifying game I've ever played.  It's the first game since Resident Evil 2 that I've been too scared to continue playing, and it was much more efficient at doing so.  My first attempt to play ended in under a minute, chills running through my spine.  Nothing has given me chills like this to me since I was a kid watching The House on Haunted Hill.  It's an amazing and free experience - go download it if you're feeling particularly brave.

What is it?
 Slender is a first-person survival horror game in which the player is searching for eight mysterious pages from a fenced off section of woods at night.  All the while, there is a sole enemy hunting you - the Slenderman.  The Slenderman is a modern fireside ghost-story myth, a phantom in the woods born from the internet.  There's very little to know about the Slenderman, but all you need to know to play Slender, is that it is hunting you.

The gameplay itself is simply an exploration of these dark woods.  You have a flashlight and nothing else (more on this later).  You have no direction aside from a readme file detailing controls and the task at hand:  Find the eight pages before the enemy gets you.  However, this simplicity has a great layer of depth hidden underneath.

I called this game a survival horror - that means that there are limited resources that the player must manage in order to survive.  There's an economy here with various currencies:  Flashlight battery, maximum stamina, and health.  The flashlight battery slowly drains while in use, maximum stamina is lowered by running, and health is lost when looking at the enemy.  However, it gets deeper.

The flashlight keeps the enemy at bay.  While looking at the enemy with flashlight on, the enemy stays in place.  With the flashlight off, the player is more easily captured, but looking at the enemy costs less health.  Running is the only way to get away from the enemy when he gets close, but every sprint costs stamina.  Running away too much leaves the player incapable of running.  Looking at the enemy offers you a time to get away, but it costs health.  There's a lot of balancing of resources - and they're all being balanced against your fears.

Why is it so scary?
First of all, the first-person perspective is a horrifyingly claustrophobic experience - it's like wearing blinders, killing off peripheral vision.  When the player enters a building, their sight is tremendously limited, and the enemy could be lurking around the corner.  To gather a page, the player's entire view is taken up by the page and the wall it's on.  This limited view makes the player realized just how much they don't know about their surroundings.

Also from the first-person perspective, everything that happens to the character happens to the player instead.  It sells the experience, because the player can't step back and say, "Oh, it's just happening to Murphy."  No, there's very little disconnect here - it's happening to you.  You are in the woods at night.  You can't see around the corner of this building.  You are hunted by the Slenderman.  You don't know where he is.  You are the target.

Sound is tremendously effective.  There's a lot of silence in the woods.  Most noise comes from the player's footsteps.  There's an ambient forest track playing throughout.  As the player gathers pages, throbbing ambient music layers on itself, building the horror.  Meanwhile, the Slenderman is lurking in the darkness silently.  If the player turns the corner and the Slenderman is suddenly there, a harsh piano kicks a deep note, selling the jump-scare.  With so little sound, every element has incredible strength.

The Slenderman's movement takes place out of the player's view, silently.  This leads to a lot of unknowns about where the enemy is, and people generally fear what they don't understand.  This is surprisingly effective at keeping the player from looking around.  I never turn around while playing, making wide turns to avoid the possibility of finding the Slenderman suddenly behind me.  Not knowing that he really is there is just as terrifying as if I were to turn and see him just behind me.  Not understanding his movement algorithm fully is horrifying.  Does he move slowly out of the player's view, slowly tracking the player?  Does he just teleport every now and then?  It's an unknown, and that scares people.

All in all, this is a package of horrifying unknowns built around a modern ghost-story with a very intricate survival economy.  Again, it's free to download, so go download and play it - if you can handle the void of those dark woods.

Postmortem: Summer Game Jam

During the first two weeks of July, we had ourselves a game jam at work.  It was a truly awesome experience, one that every game studio should make time for at least one week out of the year.  There was so much renewed energy, so much fresh air, and so many lessons learned in such a short time.  All in all, it was invaluable.

Our Method
The game jam event was announced without warning at our weekly meeting early on a Friday.  Basically, we were told that Windows 8 is a big deal, so our studio should check it out.  For the rest of that Friday, we were given a few setup tasks, and even fewer rules:

1. Wrap up "real" work:  Basically, to put everything on hold for a week or two, we needed to get it wrapped up nicely.  This consisted of backing up work in a safe place, getting stuff checked in, and otherwise making sure the "real" work would be there when we got back.
2. Divide into teams:  Team building was given the most rules of our game jam.  We needed two to three programmers per team, and teams could have up to six people each.  We were also encouraged to work with others we don't normally work with.  This gave us about nine different teams.
3. Install Windows 8 and tools:  This task is fallout from the core goal of our game jam:  Each team was going to make a Metro-style app for Windows 8.  That was our only development rule, so it was important to get the environment and tools ready for Monday.

Initially, we were given a single week, with the possible extension into a second week depending on the studio attitude.  As I mentioned before, we went for the full two weeks, focusing on a playable prototype (while it wasn't required to make a game, every team made one) during the first week, and the second week was all about "finishing."  At the end of the first week, we had a quick presentation of each team's progress.  The second week finished out with every game playable on our meeting floor and a bit of a party. 

In my case, we had a team of six (three programmers, two artists, one designer).  However, the first week was also the first week of July, so two of our team members were out for half the week.  We had decided to work on a simple plane game, where you build a plane and it flies differently depending on the parts used.  This core concept was the primary focus for the first week, with little to no focus on the gameplay of actually flying the plane.

With a four-person team (two programmers, one artist, one designer) during the first week, we were really able to keep communication solid, open, and smooth.  With two programmers, we were able to divide tasks up completely - I handled the plane building, while the other programmer focused on flying the plane.  Our artist kicked ass, and our designer found some critical flaws early on by mocking up the build scene in Excel.  We had a strong finish for that first week.

[Quick side note:  We decided to use HTML5 and Javascript for our game, which none of us had used before.  This decision was largely based on the opportunity to try out new things, but was aided by the example code available online.]

The second week didn't go nearly as well for us.  With a third programmer and a push to include combat, we had a fair amount of work ahead of us without a clear division of work.  I was delegated to the user interface, the flight programmer continued tweaking the flight model, and the returned programmer volunteered for getting the enemies in.  It seemed like a simple division, but it quickly turned into a tangled mess.

With each of us working on the game scene, we stepped on each others' toes a fair amount.  Our returned third programmer hadn't had a full week to approach Javascript, so his ideas for an enemy architecture were based on incorrect assumptions.  All in all, we had me trying to grab any task available, and two programmers working on overly complicated systems for such a short development time that didn't have anything to give.  Once the basics of these architectures were finally put together, it was Thursday, and the code was a convoluted, overcomplicated mess.  By Friday, our enemies were shooting, but they weren't visible.  At least the UI was good and solid.

The Good
Let me stress just how great of an experience this was.  Even though our game ended up crashing and burning in the final hours, we learned such an invaluable amount through this process.

We learned the importance of enabling designers as early as possible - our designer was far too often spinning his wheels with little to work on while waiting on code.  If we had geared ourselves toward getting him set up, he would have had content churning out consistently as we got the rest hooked up how we wanted.  In short, figure out what the designers need to give you and how they'll do so, then build functionality and architecture to use that input.  This will get programmers and designers working in parallel.  This also works with artists, by the way.

Speaking of artists, just let them play and make as much content as they want.  While you may not be able to put everything into the game, artists seem happy to just keep "arting" away as long as you do your best to show off their work in game.  This worked really well for us, especially since the artist working on the build scene sits at the desk next to mine.  Whenever he had something he was happy with, he was able to grab my attention for a moment to make sure everything would work in game.  Alternatively, when I needed him to make sure I had everything right in game, he was right there.  So there's another lesson - keep artists and programmers near each other when they're working on related tasks.

As for programmers, it's important understand scope and the goals at hand.  Focus on what the content of your game is, why you're making it, who for, and otherwise get into the mindset of the designer every once in a while.  Don't hold onto complicated gameplay systems that are not fun or understandable for the player.  Don't complicate your architecture when the lifetime of your engine is two weeks.  All in all, build the right software for the task at hand.  If that task is a game jam, forgo writing perfectly correct code for code that works and takes half the time to implement.  If the product of your game jam is to be further pursued as a full product, you'll probably need to rewrite everything anyway.  If you're building something to last, that's when you write code to last.

Overall, this game jam was a blast.  It was a breath of fresh air and the boost in the team's energy was amazing.  Jamming got everyone excited and invigorated.  You could feel the difference throughout the studio, and every team member felt vital to and ownership of their project.  That's just something that doesn't happen as much on large products.  Quite frankly, it was all about having fun.

The Bad
Part of our game jam involved installing the Windows 8 preview.  This was to check out just how well everything we use for "real" work plays in the newer environment, as well as to just jump into the operating system and get some experience with the differences.  However, that meant that if we needed to go back to Windows 7 after the game jam, we'd need it to still be there.  Unfortunately, some of us used a slightly different installer that didn't give us the option to install to a different partition, wiping out our Windows 7 and upgrading it to Windows 8.

This would not have been so bad if Windows 8 agrees with all of our tools instead of one tiny detail - our internal test network doesn't acknowledge users trying to connect to our game (the real thing does work, though).  This meant that those of us that used that specific installer needed to reinstall Windows 7 and nearly every program under the sun (that's how it feels to reinstall all the tools we use on a regular basis).  Seems safe enough, but then there was the one person who reinstalled, but then was unable to connect to the network fully, keeping a developer from getting back to his day job for an extra week while working with IT to figure out the minute yet significant detail that wasn't in order during that installation process that flagged his computer as unsafe for the network.  In case you haven't guessed it, that developer was me, and that process was just not fun.  However, it did provide ample time to write about the game jam experience...

Another issue was the Monday after jamming.  You could feel the complete and utter lack of energy as everyone got back to their day job.  We went from a bustling, excited studio to one of morbid silence in the matter of a weekend.  The feeling was palpable, yet difficult to describe.  It's kind of like the end of The Graduate when Ben and Elaine get on the bus.  They're exhilarated and laughing, but then their reality sets in during the span of moments.  Their smiles fade, they try to hold on to that excitement, but it's futile.  Their life will come to some form of normality.  That return to normality from such a different world is jarring.

In Conclusion
While the fallout from our game jam cost me a week of work and a day or two of studio-wide regulation, the experience of those two weeks was incredibly inspiring and powerful.  It was a compressed learning experience that got the studio's blood flowing.  It let us shine where we wanted to, work on what we wanted, and really feel ownership over a product - something that just doesn't seem to happen on a large project.  Every studio should make the time to game jam - it really let's everyone play at game development and discover just what they're capable of in a short time, and that's just too powerful an experience to pass up.

Zombies - The Unseen Side of the Undead in Games

Before you go running off at the thought of yet another thought about zombies, let me give you an overview of what I see in the shambling corpses.  Zombies are only scary because they were once human, someone we knew or cared about - someone we couldn't bear to kill even if we had to.  That is the deep end of zombies that no one seems to explore in games.  The closest we ever seem to have gotten to this end of the spectrum is the cop in Resident Evil 2, who aided the player early on, but turned right in front of their eyes later on.  This social aspect is the most important detail of zombies, but is all but forgotten in modern offerings.

What's Missing?
When you think of a zombie game, you likely think of Dead Rising, Plants vs. Zombies, or Left 4 Dead.  These games, while fun, are using zombies as just a generic enemy.  They're not human, so it's okay to kill them, especially because they just want to kill you.  They're brainless automatons.  That's it.  There's no connection between the zombie and their humanity.

If you think of Resident Evil, you've got a similar problem.  However, there's a bit more effort to make them seem once human - the journals found throughout the older games.  You have survivors writing about running low on ammo, locking or blocking doors, and how their friend is starting to look a little ill.  While this gives you perspective, you have no real connection to these characters.  Their time has passed, and you only have the record of their existence.  Which zombie wrote that journal?

Games like Dead Rising and Left 4 Dead really frame another key issue with zombie games.  Zombies in George Romero's movies are a backdrop for a social statement, an examination of society through a small group of survivors - the zombies are a core part of the equation.  Quite frankly, Dead Rising is a beat-em-up game with zombies, and Left 4 Dead is an action game with zombies.  They are zombie games because they include zombies, but zombies are not the core feature.  They are not actually vital to the equation.

What Can We Do?
We need to get the player to care about the other characters in the game.  This can be incredibly difficult, as most "helpful" NPCs end up doing more harm than good.  If the other characters are controlled by players, then beware the griefer or the 14-year-old-rager - problems that need to be solved regardless of genre.  NPCs need to offer some value to the player.  By providing some service (crafting ammo, gear maintenance, fortification, medical attention), the player is more inclined to care.  Writing is incredibly important - making the NPC personable with varied dialogue keeps the player from viewing them as just as service (this is something Dark Souls did to great effect by having certain characters show concern for the player, while others are cruel).  Only if the player cares about the NPCs does it matters if one is infected.

Zombies themselves should have some character.  I know it's technically difficult to have enough variation in how each zombie looks, but Left 4 Dead had a great solution.  With a only a few core zombie models, they randomized the clothing and other such features.  This method could be applied in a non-random way to create plenty of unique zombies.  We can increase a zombie's character by leaving journals, key items, or fluff items (e.g. a toy horse given to a father by his daughter) that can be found on the corpses.  Any reminder that the zombies were once human can really get into a player's head.

Really, zombies just need to be improved across the board.  We need zombies that continue to attack the player even when they've been dismembered.  As long as the head is intact, they need to keep attacking the player.  We need zombies that look like the living dead.  We need zombies that behave like zombies.  They may be unintelligent, but they're instinctual.  They react to sound and smell.  They moan and wail when they sense a meal, and others react to that noise.  We need zombies that are expertly crafted to fill their role as zombies, not some generic enemy.

Then there's the player.  We need to player to feel the desperation of a survivor.  Resources must be finite and limited.  Health is not restored instantly by using a med-kit.  Injuries are lasting.  Every bite is dangerous and horrifying.  Every encounter must ask the question, "Fight or flight?"  Basically, the gameplay elements we're accustomed too need to be removed - familiar is comforting.

Finally, the matter of infection.  The only games I know of that touched on infection were in the Resident Evil Outbreak series.  They used infection as the equivalent to a time limit by increasing the player's infection level slowly over time.  Once the player is fully infected, it's game over (in single player).  Resident Evil has infected their heroes on occasion, but always a cure is just down the road. What if the player were infected during gameplay?  What if the player turned?

There's so much that's unexplored in a topic that's become so very tired, but there's an entire genre that's practically unexplored.

Power to the Player

Some time ago, I destructed fear as a noun and discussed how each element plays to building tension in a horror game.  What I didn't touch on too much was the idea of the player's power.  Players are used to empowerment through games, particularly in RPGs.  The player begins with a low level of power, but as they gain levels and abilities, their power grows.  If they need an ego boost, they can head back down to the starting area and utterly destroy those evil rabbits and goblins that threatened them so long ago.

This occurs in most games.  The player starts off with a limited set of abilities, and, as they progress, the player gains more tricks up their sleeves.  Some games, the player has all these tricks to start with, but they must learn how and when to use them.  This skill level is dependent upon the player, but there are tutorials and specific situations to learn these abilities.  Other games have abilities that are unlocked through leveling or some other form of character progression (BIT.TRIP  RUNNER only allows an ability to be used after the point it has been introduced).

This progression empowers the player - and that make them feel good.  It feels good to learn something new, to find that upgrade that unlocks a new area, or just growing in power so they can destroy whatever used to give them trouble.  On that last point, think of that first boss you come across in a game and how much trouble it gave you.  Later on, you see that exact same enemy as a miniboss later on, or even just a regular enemy.  You can't help but love that feeling of "Oh, I remember you."

Even Dark Souls reuses this boss as a later enemy.

Even most horror games follow this trend, albeit on a lower scale.  The Resident Evil series nearly always starts you off with a pistol and limited ammo.  As the player pushes onward, they find the shotgun, but its limited ammo offers it for emergencies only.  The player gets more guns, more ammo, more herbs, and generally more firepower.  I've heard this referred to as "the security-shotgun effect."  The player has a shotgun, their tension is lowered.  They have that big gun for that big problem.

You can clearly see which guns saved for emergencies.

Using Player Power to Invoke Emotion
In the end, player power is something largely controlled by the game.  As such, we can invoke some truly awesome moments.  In Final Fantasy VI, the player begins the game in Magitek Armor, offering some rather extreme abilities.  They also notice that Terra has more abilities than the others, emphasizing that she is special.  The player is taking on small groups of enemies with hardly a bit of challenge.

Bolt Beam is a prime example of the player's power at this point.

 After fighting the first boss, the player is suddenly without that Magitek Armor.  Now, the player has very little power, they're on the run, and they're alone.  The game is completely different now.  The player feels just as weak as Terra is suddenly, so when she falls down a pit and falls unconscious below, the player doesn't feel like Terra is just some loser.  They experienced the drastic change in power - they felt what she felt.  They feel for her, they are concerned for her, and they want to find her and save her once they start playing as Locke.

Alone, outnumbered, and without Magitek Armor, the player's power is gone.

Another example of toying with power comes from Final Fantasy VII's iconic scene where Cloud stands over Aeris, sword drawn as she prays.  At this point in the game, Cloud is being controlled by another force, and the only button available to the player raises his sword higher in preparation to strike Aeris down.  There is no other way to progress.  The player has to strike - they are powerless to stop it.  They have no choice but to press X to watch Aeris die.

You have no idea how difficult it is to find a screenshot of this moment.

In the final moment, as the player admits defeat, Cloud resists, striking the floor near Aeris.  The player feels triumphant for a moment, just before one of the most iconic moments in video game history.  Sephiroth, having failed to kill Aeris using Cloud, takes matters into his own hands.

You have no idea how easy it is to find a screenshot of this moment.

The player's power is suddenly ripped from them just after they taste it once more.  In the end, there was nothing the player could do to save Aeris.  She dies in Cloud's arms, and the player is left knowing that their power, for all it is worth, is nothing when compared to the inevitability of death.

Before I move on, I should bring up an example of giving the player power, since I've only talked about taking it away.  Remember the retaking of the Undercity in World of Warcraft?  The player is given several extreme buffs by Sylvanus and Thrall, making them about 100 times more effective on the battlefield.  This gives the player an awesome feeling - they are a major part of saving one of the bastions of the Horde, fighting alongside two of their mighty leaders.

Oh captain, my captain!

However, I have a personal bone to pick with this scene.  I played a tank, so when Thrall was doing my job, I didn't feel as effective as I should have been.  When I did manage to pull aggro...  It wasn't pretty, we'll leave it at that.  All this power, and I was still just a pawn.  For most everyone else though, they were ready to take on the world.

Using Player Power for Horror Games
Player power is actually a very key piece of horror games.  If the player feels powerful, they will not feel fear.  This is why horror goes hand in hand with survival.  If the player has a limited resource of power, say ammo, then they know that every time they spend that resource, they are losing power.  This is what made the older Resident Evil games so effective - the player had a finite amount of power, and they had to make it last through the entire game.  The tension of the game was largely tied to this limitation of resources.

A rough estimation - notice Tension is inversely proportional to Ammo.

That's largely what's missing in horror games today.  There isn't the survival aspect.  Bullets are plentiful, health can be recovered on a regular basis, and the player only gains power as they stockpile resources.  This is why Hunt the Wumpus is more intense than Dead Space.   You have a single shot in the former, but the latter just hands you ammo and other resources with every monster killed.

If you can go to the store to restock, what's there to be afraid of?

So why has this changed?  Why do we suddenly have Kendo Gun Stores throughout every horror game when it clearly defeats the fear aspect?  Quite simply, it's more fun and easier to design for.  Fun is not the same as fear - it's the difference between going trick-or-treating and going to a haunted house on Halloween.  The former, you will see harmless ghouls and skeletons, but it's light-hearted.  The former will thrill and scare you, getting your blood to pump.  The adrenaline is enjoyable, but not the same as fun.

Why is it easier to design horror games without the survival aspect though?  My friend once played through Resident Evil: CODE Veronica X.  At the very end of the game, he suddenly didn't have enough ammo to defeat the final boss.  His only choices were to try bring a knife to a gun fight or just start over completely.  He determined that the only winning move was not to play.

Screw you guys, I'm going home.

When the enemies themselves provide the resources to kill enemies, you suddenly have a renewable power source, so any amount of tension caused by ammo shortages is completely obliterated.  You just spend ammo to buy more ammo.  It's like the difference between a TCG and Dominion - you have to carefully manage your deck when you play a TCG to ensure you have the resources to last through the game, but you just reshuffle when you're out of cards in Dominion.  Both are fun, but they're not quite the same type of game.

In conclusion, player power is another resource to consider when designing a game, a resource to be manipulated as necessary.  Players with little power are vulnerable emotionally, allowing greater impact if the scene matches.  The player's power level should always match the game's current emotion.  If that emotion is fear, it is appropriate to keep the player from gaining too much power.  If that emotion is dominance, the player should have power overwhelming.  Play with power to achieve the goals you set - just keep in mind what effect it has on the player.

And It's Always Stars

Our society loves to make new year's resolutions, even if though only about 22% actually succeed at the goals they set.  I've been part of the other 78% for the last.... well, forever.  For the last four or five years, I've made the same resolutions, including the ever popular goal to lose weight.  I've had varying degrees of success through January, but by February, I've usually abandoned my resolutions entirely.  However, this time I'm actually making great progress.

So what's different this time around?  There's a few undeniable factors that are helping me out:  I've graduated from DigiPen, so I have the time and energy to focus on my personal goals.  I also spent most of December mentally preparing myself to stick to these resolutions.  While these are definite advantages I have this year, I know that my true secret to success is gold stars.

No, not those gold stars.

Gold Stars as Motivation
Gold star stickers were the greatest award possible in elementary school.  If you did really well on a test, you'd get a gold star.  It's easy to forget how awesome those gold stars made you feel when you were a kid.  If you got a gold star, you were a champion.  You were unstoppable.  The gold star was a clear sign of your success, so all the world could see that you were fantastic.

Gold stars looked like this when you were a kid.

Here's the thing:  Gold stars still work.  At some point in our lifetime, people stopped giving us stickers.  We gradually just assume that stickers are just for kids, and that stickers have no place in the grown up world.  Then someone gives you a sticker out of the blue, such as your creative writing professor in college.  You feel all warm and fuzzy inside because you got a sticker - you earned that sticker.  You did it.

How adults view gold stars.

There's something undeniable about the power of gold stars - even as an adult.  For the new year, I bought myself a pack of gold star stickers and a calendar.  I put the calendar on the way right next to my whiteboard at home, and every day that I do well, I get a gold star.  Because I picked up a pack of multi-color stars as well, I do have silver stars for "almost" days - days that I just miss my target for some reasonable excuse.  I can't say whether I'd advise this method (because silver stars are still encouraging to try for the gold) or not (because awarding yourself when you haven't reached your goal feels like cheating), but the gold stars are definitely working.  In fact, it seems I'm not the only one who came up with this idea, and it's working for them as well.

Gold stars in game development
When we were developing Runeshift, I decided it would be fun to buy a pack of stickers so that whenever someone completed a task there would be a little reward.  The team loved it, and it definitely helped to keep us motivated throughout the project.  It was the little reminder to have fun with the project.  It was the little reminder that we were doing good work.  It was little, but little things add up.

I'm not going to lie, I think it'd be great if my producer gave me a gold star for working late or for finishing up a big task.  A lot of my drive comes from knowing that I've done well, so it would have been great to get a gold star for coming in last week during the fire and brim-snow.  (Yes, that is a bus on fire, and no, the driver does not get a gold star.)  It would have been great to get a gold star for pulling a 14 hour day.  I think I'll talk to my producer about this tomorrow, actually...

The point is, it's good to feel appreciated as part of a team, and that's what gold stars do.  They make you feel like the work you do is worth a little bit more than just a "Thank you" or a "Good job."  It's a bit of a bonus, and it's a great reward.

Gold stars in games
Speaking of rewards, gold stars have been around in Mario games forever.  Back in Super Mario Bros., the gold star provided limited invincibility and you could destroy any enemy just by touching it.  You were unstoppable (well, except for pits).  This is the function stars served until Mario made the jump to 3D (see what I did there?).  These stars were rare, and you felt awesome whenever you got one - not just because of the effect.  You found one, and you earned it.

Before 3D, Mario made a stop in the 2.5ish dimension in Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars.  Notice that stars is in the title - however, theses stars are not gold stars.  Gold stars in this game provided an incredible power similar to their 2D brethren.  When Mario grabbed a gold star, enemies would sometimes pour into the room, and any enemy touched would be defeated instantaneously, bypassing the combat sequence yet still awarding the full experience value of the enemies.  This is about as awesome a bonus as you can give the player - especially in the package of a gold star.

Once Super Mario 64 came along, stars suddenly became the primary goal of the game.  This new role means that the player will have to work hard to achieve their gold stars - and there is a very active count of how many gold stars the player has recovered.  The player is then aware of just how well they've done, and they have the gold stars to prove it.

Of course, there's also the "gold star effect" - giving the feeling of accomplishment without actually using gold stars.  The most immediate concept that comes to mind is the Xbox 360's Achievements mechanic.  This is precisely what gold stars are great at - making you feel accomplished for doing something, even it it was something silly.  It's a nice little player reinforcement that acts just like getting a gold star for passing a math test in elementary school.  Everyone can make it through the tutorial level, and you just wouldn't feel special without getting that achievement declaring your success.

Gold stars are a favorite among elementary school teachers, but it's important to remember that the shiny little stickers never stopped making us feel good - we just stopped getting them as we grew up.  So get out there, get yourself some gold stars, and reward yourself for whatever you deem worthy - even if it's just going to the store and buying gold stars.

Fear of Failure

Last night, I was watching a documentary on public television about Bob Ross - everyone's favorite painter.  We all loved his happy little trees and their friends, the mountains, and the wonderful landscapes he'd bring us in twenty-seven minutes.  His voice was so calming, so peaceful.  He was truly an amazing person.  However, that's not what this is about.

During the documentary, someone said something that just stuck with me - it hit a core bit of my personal beliefs, partially because it's similar to the best advice I was ever given (we'll get to that later).  They said something along these lines, "Bob's greatest gift to painting was that he removed the fear of failure from the audience - it was their own world, and it could be anything they wanted it to be."

Removing the fear of failure is such an empowering thing, and this concept has taken many forms.  You may not have noticed it hiding as the prime idea behind little bits of our world.  For example, Nike has long encouraged us to "Just do it."  Just do it - let go of the fear of failure and get out there and run.  From The Last Samurai, we get the quote, "Too much mind.  No mind."  It's practically the same as Nike's slogan - do not worry or think about failure, just do it.  Even Stroke 9, famous for Little Black Backpack in yonder 90s, makes mention of this ideal in their song Poltava:

 'Cause we all fall from time to time

It's all I can do to draw the line

But don't forget

To take your chances anyway

And swim the oceans of regret

This brings me to the best advice I was ever given.  I find it entertaining that it was actually given from an artist to me about the art I had done in my first class in five years.

Don't be afraid to suck.

See, he was talking about drawing lines - I sketch my lines rather than make a single, clear line.  It makes most of my art look kind of awful.  However, this concept of letting go of the fear of failure and just drawing a line...  That's a powerful idea.

So how does this apply to games?  Since it is "just a game," this fear we have is pretty much nonexistent.  It doesn't matter if we fail, because we can just try again, right?  Well, almost.  Fear of failure in games is most assuredly something to avoid - if the player is afraid to fail, they are afraid to play.  They won't try things out of curiosity.  They won't press all the buttons to see what they do.  If they have one bullet and only one bullet, figuring out how to fire said bullet is not going to be their priority - that bullet must be important and should be saved until the very last moment possible.

Limited use items suffer from the fear of failure for many, including myself and my roommate.  We have a hard time using potions in games because we only have so many.  What if we run out and we need it later?  What if we don't get the maximum amount of health from it, and those three hit points we missed out on costs us the game later on?  This is precisely the reason why my paladin in Diablo II specialized in the Prayer aura (which didn't work by the way).

So how do we get around this?  If limited use items instead have a recharge time, it allows players nervous about wasting their resources to try it out and use it from time to time, even if we still hesitate in case we need to use that ability or item during the recharge time.  However, if the recharge time is too long (say, thirty minutes), we may still avoid using the ability/item.  That's a careful balancing act that requires much attention and playtesting.

What about when you're so close to the end of the level and you begin to fret because you've been doing so well?  If you mess up now, your great run will come crashing down and you'll have to start over from the last checkpoint.  You get jittery, anxious, and excited - you might actually make it!

This case is not so much the fear of failure as the anxiety of success.  It's an awesome feeling, especially when you do succeed.  It's an adrenaline rush, and who doesn't love that?  We get this in games like Super Mario Bro.s when we're jumping along all those tiny platforms in later levels or in Soul Calibur III when we've almost got that perfect victory.  We get it when we have that last sliver of life left and nearly have that boss defeated.

This is a good feeling.  Intensity of this level means that the player is drawn into the game, and they most certainly are not looking away.  To achieve this, we must make failure a negative thing.  If the player loses nothing upon failure, then what does it matter if they lose?  (See my post on making failure worth avoiding.)

So we've made failure something to actively avoid, so how do we instill this anxiety of success?  We can't just spring these challenges on the player - we have to give them time to rest between adrenaline rushes.  If we challenge them too much, then our challenges are the baseline - nothing special about them.  However, if we have a challenging game or we've just hit that point of difficulty in the game, what can we do?

The answer is actually very simple - collectibles.  Coins (Mario Kart 7), rings (Sonic the Hedgehog) gold (BIT.TRIP RUNNER), and souls (Dark Souls) are all temptations to the player.  Trying to grab these items placed in tricky spots not only adds difficulty, but it is an open dare to the player.  Think nya nya na-nya na, you can't get me.  Who can resist these shiny things?  How many times have you lost a life to trying to grab these pickups instead of just trying to reach your goal?

While the fear of failure is a powerful thing, overcoming it brings about a sense of invincibility.  To be fearless is empowering, but in games, we need that fear of failure to keep the player from apathy.  If they fear failure too much, they are not having fun.  However, if we can hone in on that anxiety of success, the player will almost assuredly have a blast.  In the end, it all comes down to hitting your target audience and carefully playtesting and balancing your game.  Focus on what emotion you want the player to experience, and remember that they will grow in skill to match the challenges you present - if that challenge is great, overcoming it will award that sense of invincibility, for first the player must overcome the fear of failure.

Blackout

SOPA threatens the internet as we know and love it - take action here, here, or here.