Monday, November 28, 2005
Game Moments #1
It was almost not even a decision. The situation was familiar, and the response was almost automatic. A colony ship was approaching a choice planet close to the homeworld, but an alien race came in and occupied it first. Squatter's Rights - there would be no occupation of the planet by human forces without open warfare. The loss of a rich world so early in the game would be crippling - the human race would be boxed in, unable to expand much further if I conceded the planet. The game was almost over before it had begun.
The game in question is the original Master of Orion, which was released in the early 90's for DOS. It was referred to as "Civilization in Space," though I found it consumed slightly more nights than the Sid Meier classic. I was hooked for weeks.
When it comes to strategy games - even RTS games - I tend to focus on butter more than guns. I push to maximize expansion and economy, often leaving myself vulnerable to early attacks or "rushes." But if I can hold out the first little bit, my economy will usually be solid enough that I can pull off a pretty good counter-attack. But I get ferocious about preserving my opening expansion. Many times before this opening situation played itself out, resulting in the first war of the game. I'd win, then engage the next race, slowly conquering my way to victory.
This time, my finger hovered over the button to launch my attack, I decided to back down. My lone scoutship pulled away, allowing the Bulrathi to colonize the planet. Playing the humans, I was boxed in one corner of the map by the Bulrathi and the Alkari. I focused my research efforts on terraforming the few worlds I controlled, and on weapon improvements for the inevitable wars with my two neighboring races. Soon, I found my terraforming efforts bearing fruit - in spite of my limited geography, I had the second most populous race in the galaxy.
The Bulrathi and the Alkari came to blows with each other. I found myself in the enviable position of being on friendly terms with both races. I ran arms technology to both races, trading technology from one race to then trade with the other. As a result, my popularity soared with both races (apparently they didn't question why their opposing number acquired technologies that had just been traded to me), and I maintained a balance of power between each race so that neither could obtain a technological edge over the other.
Eventually, the galaxy was pretty fully populated, and elections began for Emperor of the Galaxy. The Klackons were using my usual strategy of conquest - they'd wiped out one race, and had brought the Mrrshans (a race of cat-people) down to only two worlds. The Alkari voted for me. The Bulrathi sat on the fence, enjoying good relations with me and with the Klackons. Many other races abstained from the vote - enough at least that the Klackons were not declared the new emperor. The Mrrshans, whom I had never met, gave me their vote, which was worth next to nothing. They were simply willing to vote for anyone running against their hated enemy.
The Klackons grew angry with the Mrrshans again (maybe because of their votes?) and attacked once more. They took over the Mrrshan's only sattelite world, leaving them with nothing but their homeworld. Meanwhile, I tried to contact some of the other races to try to bribe them with new technology, but most remained outside of my travelling distance.
Another vote was called. Again it ended in a tie. I started researching the late-game terraforming technologies, to grow my population to the point where I had a greater vote. It was slow going. The other populations were growing almost as quickly. I finally managed to convince the Bulrathi to swing their vote over to me, but it still didn't make any difference during the next vote. Nor the one after that.
Each time, the pathetic Mrrshans - beyond my range to even contact - gave me their one vote. A token gesture I appreciated, but it didn't get me anywhere.
Finally, the Klackons had enough. They finished off the entire race in one genocidal strike. The galaxy banded together in a universal reprimand of the Klackon's actions. Which would have amounted to nothing if it had NOT been a year before the elections.
With the taint of genocide still on them, the Klackons lost key supporters, and several of the fence-sitters decided to swing their vote to me for the next election. I won by a landslide, and saw the "peaceful" victory sequence for the first time. I realized that my only warship I possessed at that point was my underpowered starting scout-ship from the beginning of the game that I had ALMOST used to attack the Bulrathi. I'd won on sheer diplomacy alone.
The game immediately catapulted at that moment from being a "good game," to one of the classics in my mind. The option for a completely different path to victory gave it a much deeper dimension than most strategy games. The diplomatic model - with characters that actually seemed to possess some semblance of memory and consistency - was ahead of the extremely schizophrenic Civilization I (or II, as I recall).
I'll always have fond memories of that one day when I opted for diplomacy rather than force.
Of course, the very next game - started only hours after I was elected emperor - one of the races dared tried to colonize a planet in the early game that I had my eye on.
I brought in my hastily constructed warships and wiped them out of the galaxy.
Labels: Game Moments, retro
- posted by The Rampant Coyote @ 2:24 PM (Permalink)
Comments:
Links to this post:
<< Home
...which brings me to something I've been thinking about, lately: is a narrative present in any game that allows you to make sufficiently complex choices?
Having thought about the question, my gut feeling was to dismiss it. But after considering a few games, I wasn't so sure. The above MOO session is a good example. A friend of mine often recounted his experiences in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. His reasons for doing things were always 2 or 3 layers deep ("Do X to fool the police so that they cause a traffic jam, holding up Y while you escape with Z."), and usually made a good story.
Multiplayer games often lend themselves to narrative retellings: "We were down 4 points on Broadside, and were pretty much sunk. But then came The Plan. Five guys in heavy armor bombarded the holy hell out of the enemy base to Shock and Awe. Meanwhile, I flew over, crashed a shuttle into their star player, and entered their base, topside. After the collision, I didn't have any health left. I had to sneeeak past the indoor turrets while the mortars were raining down outside. Man, I was just waiting for someone to come up and check on the generators. But nobody did. I grabbed the flag, flew back to our base with a pixel of health left, and captured. We won the game with 12 seconds left. They were Very Angry." Even Chess is a game of intrigue and misdirection, where the elements are already personified. (Granted, while it pains both me and the King when we sacrifice the Queen, it's for different reasons.)
My most memorable gaming experiences seem to be of those that allowed me to have both emotional and gameplay-related reasons for doing things: "I couldn't stand Denise anymore. I wined and dined her, and she yelled at me; I took her riding, and she complained about the scenery; she actually chewed me out about how I didn't Know How To Treat A Woman, because I took the scenic route back home; I hated her more than the MS Office paperclip. So I plugged her. Yeah, I ended up with 3 stars, and the police took me down, but it was worth it. I never had to listen to her again."
(GTA feels more like cartoon violence when playing, but the narrative sounds pretty nasty.)
A corrolary to all this is the question of whether game designers can only present Really Very Complex systems to us in terms that we, as humans, can relate to. Would a game such as The Sims even be playable if everything was made completely abstract, or would it be no fun? If we could play it, would we ascribe emotions to the individual pieces?
I got to thinking about narrative while writing up the prototype design for our latest game:
"...while reading through the local newsfeeds on the ship's computer, he catches a small article discussing the possibility that humans once lived on the fourth world orbiting the Epsilon Eridani star system. As he's nearby, he decides to check it out in hopes of finding ancient relics he can sell, or even use for himself, possible dangers to his own health be damned!"
I'm thinking that creating a narrative on this end of production -- and keeping true to it -- is one way to ensure(!) that the game is complex enough for the player to form a narrative on the other end (i.e., after s/he's played it).
Does that all seem reasonable, or am I spouting a bunch of hoo-haw at 3am, as usual? :)
Having thought about the question, my gut feeling was to dismiss it. But after considering a few games, I wasn't so sure. The above MOO session is a good example. A friend of mine often recounted his experiences in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. His reasons for doing things were always 2 or 3 layers deep ("Do X to fool the police so that they cause a traffic jam, holding up Y while you escape with Z."), and usually made a good story.
Multiplayer games often lend themselves to narrative retellings: "We were down 4 points on Broadside, and were pretty much sunk. But then came The Plan. Five guys in heavy armor bombarded the holy hell out of the enemy base to Shock and Awe. Meanwhile, I flew over, crashed a shuttle into their star player, and entered their base, topside. After the collision, I didn't have any health left. I had to sneeeak past the indoor turrets while the mortars were raining down outside. Man, I was just waiting for someone to come up and check on the generators. But nobody did. I grabbed the flag, flew back to our base with a pixel of health left, and captured. We won the game with 12 seconds left. They were Very Angry." Even Chess is a game of intrigue and misdirection, where the elements are already personified. (Granted, while it pains both me and the King when we sacrifice the Queen, it's for different reasons.)
My most memorable gaming experiences seem to be of those that allowed me to have both emotional and gameplay-related reasons for doing things: "I couldn't stand Denise anymore. I wined and dined her, and she yelled at me; I took her riding, and she complained about the scenery; she actually chewed me out about how I didn't Know How To Treat A Woman, because I took the scenic route back home; I hated her more than the MS Office paperclip. So I plugged her. Yeah, I ended up with 3 stars, and the police took me down, but it was worth it. I never had to listen to her again."
(GTA feels more like cartoon violence when playing, but the narrative sounds pretty nasty.)
A corrolary to all this is the question of whether game designers can only present Really Very Complex systems to us in terms that we, as humans, can relate to. Would a game such as The Sims even be playable if everything was made completely abstract, or would it be no fun? If we could play it, would we ascribe emotions to the individual pieces?
I got to thinking about narrative while writing up the prototype design for our latest game:
"...while reading through the local newsfeeds on the ship's computer, he catches a small article discussing the possibility that humans once lived on the fourth world orbiting the Epsilon Eridani star system. As he's nearby, he decides to check it out in hopes of finding ancient relics he can sell, or even use for himself, possible dangers to his own health be damned!"
I'm thinking that creating a narrative on this end of production -- and keeping true to it -- is one way to ensure(!) that the game is complex enough for the player to form a narrative on the other end (i.e., after s/he's played it).
Does that all seem reasonable, or am I spouting a bunch of hoo-haw at 3am, as usual? :)
I hate Zergling rush!
Sorry had to say it, great post, reminds me of the early gaming years in rpgs I played. Where Diplomacy could win the day over violence, but not always. :)
Sorry had to say it, great post, reminds me of the early gaming years in rpgs I played. Where Diplomacy could win the day over violence, but not always. :)
I really do appreciate games more when they have that depth. In Civ I have almost always gone for the military victory, maximizing every single troop movement and bockading the computer players when not at war with them. Sometimes I can wipe them out before the spaceship-building end game. Then my wife plays, doesn't pay close attention to where her units are, builds things in cities that I never bother with, and achieves cultural victories in half the time. Having that depth without adding overbearing complexity is the hallmark of greatness in the gaming world because it allows you to have those highly memorable moments.
John
John
Dej, I think your comments are gonna be worth an entire blog entry. I've been pondering similar things from a different angle. Chris Crawford has really gone off on the subject of narrative in games - trying to explore the "missing link" in interactive storytelling.
The best narratives from games I've enjoyed came from the chatting about the game afterwards after playing multiplayer games at lunch. Sometimes the "debriefing" between players took longer than the game itself!
But as John mentions - having the depth without a corresponding increase in complexity is something of a Holy Grail.
The best narratives from games I've enjoyed came from the chatting about the game afterwards after playing multiplayer games at lunch. Sometimes the "debriefing" between players took longer than the game itself!
But as John mentions - having the depth without a corresponding increase in complexity is something of a Holy Grail.
I remember enjoying stories of Creatures from Black & White. It was just hilarious how they reacted sometimes. I tried to teach my Ape to throw a rock, and he would look at the rock, see the rock I threw...then toss the rock over his shoulder, run to the rock-colored horse, and throw IT instead!
It's also enjoyable to talk about the latest RTS session. Starcraft, Total Annihilation, Homeworld: Cataclysm, etc.
"So I created a few leaches, sent them really high up and over, then attached to the enemy's command ship. His ship was at low health by the time he realized the leaches were there, and by then I had warped in and fired my main guns!"
"I picked up his Commander with my ship, then self-destructed the ship, taking him out with it!"
But those are usually just small stories. Specific instances. On an epic scale, it's amazing what emotion you can pick up from what is otherwise the result of a few AI movements. Those poor Mrrshans. You could feel guilty for not doing more to save them from obliteration. You could feel anger toward the Klackons.
You might never look at either race the same again. I know I felt like I lost a personal connection to my Ape when I left B&W running for 5 hours while I was at work. I thought he would be able to take care of himself! He was such a good Ape! I came back, only to find the sky dark, his eyes red, horns on his head, the town a disaster area, and poop all over. He was taught to use the trees! B&W was never the same after that.
It's also enjoyable to talk about the latest RTS session. Starcraft, Total Annihilation, Homeworld: Cataclysm, etc.
"So I created a few leaches, sent them really high up and over, then attached to the enemy's command ship. His ship was at low health by the time he realized the leaches were there, and by then I had warped in and fired my main guns!"
"I picked up his Commander with my ship, then self-destructed the ship, taking him out with it!"
But those are usually just small stories. Specific instances. On an epic scale, it's amazing what emotion you can pick up from what is otherwise the result of a few AI movements. Those poor Mrrshans. You could feel guilty for not doing more to save them from obliteration. You could feel anger toward the Klackons.
You might never look at either race the same again. I know I felt like I lost a personal connection to my Ape when I left B&W running for 5 hours while I was at work. I thought he would be able to take care of himself! He was such a good Ape! I came back, only to find the sky dark, his eyes red, horns on his head, the town a disaster area, and poop all over. He was taught to use the trees! B&W was never the same after that.
I dunno - I felt more Machiavellian about the loss of the Mrrshan's. I thought, "Wow, they were worth more to me dead than alive."
Back when they were still cool, Electronic Arts had an ad that read, "Can a computer game make you cry?" or something to that effect. Still a relevant question. I have heard *OF* grown men (nobody will own up to it themselves) who cried when their wingman died in Wing Commander, or when Sephiroth killed Aeris in Final Fantasy VII. So maybe it's possible.
I thought describing some of these moments - moments when a game really sucked me in, the brief moments where games became More Than a Game and became more of an experience for me, would be pretty cool. Although as I'm going through the list, one of the things that comes to mind is that the experiences I want to share are ones that are somehow unique to me - either because of the randomness of the computer or of the randomness of other human beings playing with me. I don't get quite so excited about pre-scripted events that I'm powerless to change. Usually (there are a couple of those too, and I *WAS* upset about Aeris getting killed!)
But I think that may be the root of getting the "narrative" into games - it has to be something you care about enough to have an emotional response. It doesn't have to be a big one - we're always aware that we're playing a game. But there are points where we willingly suspend our disbelief and enjoy the fantasy a bit.
Back when they were still cool, Electronic Arts had an ad that read, "Can a computer game make you cry?" or something to that effect. Still a relevant question. I have heard *OF* grown men (nobody will own up to it themselves) who cried when their wingman died in Wing Commander, or when Sephiroth killed Aeris in Final Fantasy VII. So maybe it's possible.
I thought describing some of these moments - moments when a game really sucked me in, the brief moments where games became More Than a Game and became more of an experience for me, would be pretty cool. Although as I'm going through the list, one of the things that comes to mind is that the experiences I want to share are ones that are somehow unique to me - either because of the randomness of the computer or of the randomness of other human beings playing with me. I don't get quite so excited about pre-scripted events that I'm powerless to change. Usually (there are a couple of those too, and I *WAS* upset about Aeris getting killed!)
But I think that may be the root of getting the "narrative" into games - it has to be something you care about enough to have an emotional response. It doesn't have to be a big one - we're always aware that we're playing a game. But there are points where we willingly suspend our disbelief and enjoy the fantasy a bit.
Just another thought -- there seem to be two types of narrative described in the article and the various comments: those explicitly created by the developers (Sephiroth kills Aeris) and those that arise from gameplay (Gianfranco gives his life to take out the enemy Commander).
Is it possible for a game to generate a compelling narrative/recounting based on gameplay (e.g., such that I could read about my actions in an in-game newspaper), or does that require too much insight into the "why" of actions for a simple program to handle?
Is it possible for a game to generate a compelling narrative/recounting based on gameplay (e.g., such that I could read about my actions in an in-game newspaper), or does that require too much insight into the "why" of actions for a simple program to handle?
Dejobaan: So would we call that "Scripted Narrative" versus "Emergent Narrative?"
I've played around with these ideas before. I'd really like to answer your question with a resounding "YES!" but I am not certain. It's been attempted in games before to a tiny degree, but what often happens is that the program assigns a rationale or motivation to the player's actions that doesn't resemble the player's intent. In something like a newspaper article, that could be chalked up to the usual way the press messes everything up :)
But I still think it's possible, within a limited framework. It's been done on a VERY limited scale with "faction" systems within certain RPGs (especially MMORPGs). There's still not a lot of narrative taking place there.
Right now, I think The Sims provides the best narrative of any game out there - yet 95% of it is non-textual. By abstracting out the specifics and context of the Sim's conversations and so forth, the player fills it all in with his or her own imagination. In a sense, the game INVITES the player to add his own narrative to the action. Like you mentioned earlier - if the Sims had the same gameplay but completely abstracted out, you'd lose that narrative completely. And you'd lose most of the fun of the game.
Post a Comment
I've played around with these ideas before. I'd really like to answer your question with a resounding "YES!" but I am not certain. It's been attempted in games before to a tiny degree, but what often happens is that the program assigns a rationale or motivation to the player's actions that doesn't resemble the player's intent. In something like a newspaper article, that could be chalked up to the usual way the press messes everything up :)
But I still think it's possible, within a limited framework. It's been done on a VERY limited scale with "faction" systems within certain RPGs (especially MMORPGs). There's still not a lot of narrative taking place there.
Right now, I think The Sims provides the best narrative of any game out there - yet 95% of it is non-textual. By abstracting out the specifics and context of the Sim's conversations and so forth, the player fills it all in with his or her own imagination. In a sense, the game INVITES the player to add his own narrative to the action. Like you mentioned earlier - if the Sims had the same gameplay but completely abstracted out, you'd lose that narrative completely. And you'd lose most of the fun of the game.
Links to this post:
<< Home
