Category: Gaming


Games to Teach the Youth

For most of my life I have been unhappy with the education that has been offered to me. Few countries know how to deal with gifted or troubled students, and only a few teachers are able to act properly when they find one. The bane of the genius and the idiot is to never be understood, they say. Well, I did a little thinking, some more talking, and finally decided to do some writing on the topic as well. Why do we often find education inadequate, and why are students growing increasingly uninterested in the classroom activities?

A simple answer would be something like “They are not interesting.” Well, let’s stick with this and try to figure out how to make learning more interesting. After all you can be the greatest teacher the world has ever known and will ever know, but if your students are not interested in the stuff you are talking about, almost all of your talent is wasted. We can look at neurobiology, or at religion, or at psychology, or at philosophy, and we would probably find some pretty good answers. However, I would like to offer you a drastically different approach to the problem – let’s look at games.

Games, unlike dry learning, are by definition interesting. Some of you may remember my blog from a while back – Gaming Can Make a Better World. If you haven’t seen it, I would recommend reading it and watching the video, it has some points relative to what I am going to talk about here. If you don’t want to – that’s fine, I am not going to base this blog on the other one.

So let’s get to the core of the problem. Studying is rarely interesting. Gaming usually is. So if we could combine the two – somehow – we have a potential recipe for success. Maybe if we looked deeply into what makes games interesting and look at what makes schools boring… then we might be on the tracks of a revolutionary redesign of the educational system as we understand it, and have understood it for hundreds of years. And just for the purposes of this blog, I am going to take World of Warcraft as an example of a game, and the American high school education as an example of schooling system.

Achievements & Failures

In yet another blog I talked about what attracts me to WoW. I won’t ask you to read it if you haven’t, but my point there was that one of the most addicting elements of WoW and all the other MMORPGs is that fact that they are virtually endless. There is always something that’s just beyond reach. In a way, you can sense a feeling of continuity – you’ve spent weeks trying to slay Heroic Professor Putricide, Blood-queen Lana’thel, and Sindragosa. It was hard. It was time consuming. But now all three lay dead at your feet, you feel a surge of exhilaration from the colossal achievement you’ve accomplished… yet the Lich King is still within an arm’s reach. What do you do? You don’t stop raiding for a month basking in the glory of the fact that you’ve destroyed those very hard fights. No, tired you get up on your feet and run to the Lich King, because you know he offers a new challenge to you and your fellows. You will likely fail time and again before climbing this mountain. But what do you do when failures knocks your door down? You try again. And again. And again! And then you succeed. And there is another goal to aim for, and you know that after you conquer it, there will be another one. Yet you don’t give up, because you know the game will never end – you keep moving towards this mysterious final challenge.

So what did we learn? Games offer infinite number of attempts to succeed. Games always offer you one more “level” – and that level feels like the next piece of a giant puzzle. Games don’t punish you for failures, yet they stimulate you positively towards success. “Congratulations, you won! Here’s a prize.” or “Aww, you failed. It’s alright, I’ll just hold on to the prize until you win :)” – that’s the basic philosophy of all successful games I know of.

School, you will notice, is quite the contrary. Usually you have only one shot to do a test, exam, quiz, or homework assignment correctly. Wouldn’t you say that the goal of our schools it to teach students that they should either do something correctly on the first try, or suffer the consequences? It certainly looks like that to me. In addition to this, whenever you were being lectured, how often has your professor or teacher prompted for interactivity in the classroom? You might come from a school better than mine, but in my own experiences I have very rarely caught myself thinking “Hmm, we didn’t really discuss this particular case in this lesson. I wonder if the next one will be about it.” or “Oh, this makes sense! I should have known that, this is clearly how the world works!” Instead I have often wondered why we are learning this particular thing, since I would normally be unable to put it in any context. Only rarely would a following lesson feel like an extension and clarification of a previous one.

And the big one in my eyes – failures in school. Failures are severely punished, and chance for redemption is very rarely given. As I mentioned above, shouldn’t the goal of our education be to learn whatever we are supposed to learn? And if that is the case, why does it feel like there is a little “but you have only one chance” attached to the end of this mission statement? Let me introduce you to the concept of positive/negative reinforcement and punishment, all four of which are generally psychological concepts: the “positive/negative” part refers to adding or subtracting something to or from an individual’s environment respectively; “reinforcement/punishment” refers to the goal of encouraging or discouraging specific behavior. Or in other words:

  • Positive Reinforcement – adding something good to an individual’s environment (positive) to encourage a specific behavior (reinforcement). For example, increasing a student’s grade when they do an extra assignment they were not asked to do.
  • Negative Reinforcement – removing something bad from an individual’s environment (negative) to encourage a specific behavior (reinforcement). For example, lifting the requirement to turn homework in on time for a week when a student does an extra assignment they were not asked to do.
  • Positive Punishment – adding something bad to an individual’s environment (positive) to discourage a specific behavior (punishment). For example, giving a student’s extra homework when they don’t do their original homework.
  • Negative Punishment – removing something good from an individual’s environment (negative) to discourage a specific behavior (punishment). For example, removing a student’s privilege to retake a quiz when they sleep in class.

Now that I am done with the psychology lessons, let’s see what this means. Student works hard to complete a homework on time (behavior we’d like to promote!), turns it in, but receives a bad grade (adding something bad to the student’s environment). So we are adding something bad to the environment in order to… encourage  behavior? You, dear readers, are correct – this is not on the list. It’s not going to work, because only a few people will think “Oh, I didn’t work hard enough, here, let me work even harder and hope for a better grade!” Most students will react with something along the lines of “I worked so hard on this assignment, I showed up to class, I turned it in on time, and I get a stinking C for it?! Why study if I am going to be getting low grades anyway?” I exaggerate a little here, but only a little. The seed of the idea is there. Think about an alternative situation – one where students were given a second, and third, and fourth chance. Think of a situation where the thing that was valued was the actual acquisition of knowledge, not its perfect display under stress, while being giving only one chance to do so.

Geography and the World

Let’s start with the gaming aspect of this again. I have often joked that I know Azeroth’s geography much better than I know our own Earth’s. The sad part to this is that it’s true. You argue that Azeroth is much smaller than the Earth, but trust me, I know so little of our planet’s geography, that it would barely cover a land as big as the Barrens. Granted, I am not a geography person, and it has never attracted me, but you would think that after taking classes about it for 3 years, I would know more than the 7 continents and a handful of countries. But let’s look at Azeroth now. Wetlands you say? Sure, south of Arathi Highlands, north of Loch Modan. Lots of marshes, populated by gnolls and moss beasts for the most part. Dwarves, Dark Iron Dwarves, Humans, and Dragonmaw Orcs represent the majority of the “high” races in this zone. Grim Batol, a major historical site lies to the east; Menethil Harbor, named after the Menethil line of human kings, lies to the west, where it serves as one of the major ports for the Alliance. Stonetalon Mountains? Between Ashenvale, the Barrens, and Desolace. Contested area where orcs and night elves fight for control, all the while goblins destroy the forests. Long story short – I know Azeroth better than I should.

Surely, there must be something to take from all this. I have long thought why I know a virtual world so well, and the best answer I came up with is the following – I can travel in it. Freely. I can walk through the Barrens’ savanna, look at the landscape, stop and enjoy the view, then continue walking south. There I can see the remarkable Thousand Needles, bordering with the Shimmering Flats, and the scorching deserts of Tanaris and Silithus nearby. I can see the entire world with my own eyes, I can denote its most interesting features, I can explore at my own pace, I can interact with the world. Let me make this more visible – I can interact with the world. Azeroth does not exist just in my textbook, nor does it take me thousands of dollars to explore it. It’s right here.

Geography teachers and software designers out there, read this carefully. What made my exploration of Azeroth an activity I longed and wished for was not its dynamics. No, it was the fact that I could go and see the world myself.  Think back to the days when you were still in school – or back to your geography classes, if you are still in there. Now, imagine you were given – either freely or for some ridiculously low sum – a very specific piece of software, a little similar to Google Earth. It would allow you to go anywhere around the planet. It would, in fact, allow you to travel deep beneath and high above the surface. It would give you all kinds of information about the location you are in right now, but it wouldn’t  be in form of long and excruciating lessons in a book. It would be more like little snippets. Or even better – you would be able to meet with people from all those areas, and they would have stories to tell you. Legends as well. You would always be able to inquire about a greater level of detail, and those people would gladly provide them to you. And you know what? Not only would they talk to you, but they would have accents, just to give the entire experience a more realistic feeling. Whatever team designs this might even decide to incorporate culture and history! Just imagine…

History and Character Association

My problem with history has been closely tied to the one I have with geography – all of it seems so dry. Dates, places, years, numbers, names, families, treaties, and whatnot. I could tell you more about the War of the Ancients than I could about the Hundred-Year War. I could talk about the Second War more than I could about the World War II. So we are back at the place we started at – history is detached from our immediate life, just like geography is. Or all the other subjects – but I will talk about that later on.

To bring this into context, I am actually going to refer to something other than games for just a brief moment – books. If you are a reader, you probably know that one of the most interesting elements in a book is the character building. We follow their journeys through space and time, we see with their eyes, we feel with their hearts. In a way we become their friends. I have found a similar phenomenon in good games. One only needs to look at our forums from a few months ago to see that I am correct. We had burning hate against Garrosh and Varian (hey, fictional characters, yes?); we had strong warm love for them too; we had people attack and defend Sylvanas with passion. I am sure you have some WoW characters you like, some you dislike, some you love, and maybe some you hate. Or admire. Or despise. Or loathe. In this Blizzard has succeeded, I think – it has created fictional characters strong and believable enough to make people across the globe feel for them.

So why can’t history books do that? There are few historical figures we might have emotional attachment to, but they are very few. Hitler. King Leonidas? A couple of my own nation’s heroes of the past. My list is already almost depleted. By now you should have no doubts that I can give you the names and stories of over 20 key figures in Azeroth’s history. The reason I am able to do that and still be an Earth historical failure is similar to the one that causes my inability to engage in geographical studies – it’s out there, in the books, not in here, in my mind. To me, it was a memorable moment when I help Thrall and Sylvanas retake Undercity. It felt good, I was important! Definitely didn’t feel as excited when I was reading about France reclaiming its provinces lost to England 200 years ago. If only somebody could figure out a way to make history more personal… oh, wait. I had an idea like that a little up. Remember that piece of software I asked you to think of? Well, what if we added a modification to it? Let’s say you can now travel not only through space, but time as well. You can go back thousand of years. There (or then?) you can charge side by side with Roman Legionnaires, Persian Immortals, Alexander’s Companion Cavalry, Belisarius’ Cataphracts, Aztecs’ Jaguar-warriors, Hannibal’s Carthaginians, and all the other famous military units. You could sit down and have a tea with queen Elizabeth, discuss grain costs with Caesar, debate philosophy with Aristotle, joke around with Lincoln, or bask in the glory of Attila himself. You could be a pharaoh commanding his thousands of slaves to build him a pyramid; you could be a lord living in a castle of stone, where servants would stay up day and night, ready to satisfy your smallest whim; you could be be… anyone. Anywhere. Anytime. You could live history, you could help make history!

Integrated Learning

I spoke of the general philosophy of our education system, and how I think it could be improved upon – using gaming practices. I talked about two of the less “science-y” subjects, and how learning and teaching in them could be improved upon… yep, with gaming techniques. Unfortunately I am in no position to offer advice about how to teach math and science better -  I have always been a quick learner there, and a teachers’ inability to teach has never irritated me as much. However I do have a few thoughts about how to improve the learning experience in general – it’s a method I have heard to be called integrated learning (or teaching).

The core principle of this integration is that classes in school almost always feel separated from one another. There is no apparent connection. You go to math, then you go to art, then you go physics, then biology, then psychology, then maybe some language, and you are done for the day. The point here is that if I asked you to applied whatever you learned in math to the next art lecture, you would look at me like I told you to make this bear ride a tiger to the local farmers’ market, or buy me some Saronite Bars so I can smelt them into Pygmy Oil. Even if you are in a sound school, chances are that your teachers won’t try to relate one class to another, so at the end of the semester, or year, or four years, you would leave school with a few bags full of knowledge, but have no idea what to do with it. Maybe you are a smart cookie and have already learned that out of the 8 classes you are taking, only 2 will help you with your career of choice. Awesome, you get your good grades in all the classes (so you look on resumes), but you only really know those 2 classes you found helpful. Maybe you even find the job you were looking for. But consider this for a moment: did the other 6 classes really only waste your time?

I am majoring in computer science, and am considering double-majoring it with applied mathematics. Pretty narrow field, isn’t it? Finish college, go write code, be happy. Not so. I am paying extra attention to my humanities and social science classes, because they teach me a lot about how people act. You can see how this will help me not only with finding a job, but also with maintaining it and growing in it. I am paying attention to my physics, chemistry, and biology classes, because there are a lot of applications for computers in those fields. If I was looking for a programmer to write software for my, say hospital, I would take somebody who knew not only how to code, but who knew his way around the various aspects of biology, so he could code optimally.

But I haven’t told you anything new. I told you that everything you learn is important, and kind of gave a few examples. Let’s talk about how we can take the education offered to the youths today and turn it into something useful not only for them, but for our society, nation, and world as well. Integration is what I spoke of in the beginning of this section. My good friend Google says the following:

“integration: the act or process of making whole or entire”

Make something whole. Take some chunks of stuff and make them something whole. What chunks, what whole? Chunks of knowledge, I say. Teach students how to combine them, teach them how to see the interactions between them, teach them how to apply principles from one discipline to another. Use your knowledge about geometry to do better art. Use your knowledge of psychology to explain why history happened the way it did. Use your knowledge of physics to explain internal bodily processes. It is all a single unit, and it should be thought as such – it is all knowledge. A little bit like a game. Or a character. My paladin has talents, but they are meaningless without spells. He has an experience bar, but it gathers rust without quests and NPCs. He has gear, but it helps me not at all if I keep running RFC with my Emblems epics. Singular relatively simple elements coming together to form Voltron something vast and complex. Reminds me of cells, tissues, organs, systems, organism…

“Divide and conquer.” Words said by a pretty successful man – you know his name. Kind of implies that dividing something whole to smaller pieces weakens it. I wonder if that man would have been able to accomplish all the things he did if the divided parts had come back together…

Gladiator image courtesy to adonihs.

The Benefit of the Doubt

I don't know how to feel about her hat...

Just recently, the update to Blazblue: Calamity Trigger was released (that’s Blazblue: Continuum Shift, or BBCS), the newest fighting game by Aksys Games. I’m a big fan, and I have a lot of reactions to it, and the nature of fighting games in general, but first, I want to tell you about something that happened to me while playing it.

There exists a story mode in BBCS. I know what your reaction to this is: stories in Japanese fighting games range from potentially interesting but irredeemably confusing at best to incredibly asinine at worst. BBCS deserves strong credit for being at the top of that list, but it’s similar to how I feel about someone praising a sandbox game for it’s engaging and in depth story. Awesome that you nailed it for that genre, but in the absolute sense, you’re still in 10th percentile. Any enthusiasm I might have about the story in BBCS is mitigated by the fact that I know that 90% of my questions won’t be answered, and that they’re probably just being confusing for its own sake. I haven’t quite completed the story mode, so I suppose I should reserve judgment, but…

And yet, as I was playing it, something incredibly interesting happened to me. I was attempting to finish the story mode the other night (I wasn’t successful. Just too much content. Gave up around 4 AM =/), and a particular event that I witnessed, for some reason, touched me so deeply that I almost began to cry. I had been rather wholeheartedly immersing myself in the world of this game, in an attempt to give the story it’s fair shake, not to mention the fact that it was 3 AM and I had been playing for over four hours by that point. I had clearly set up a series of conditions by which story events could have maximal impact on me, but even I was surprised at my reaction.

Some background: I was following the story of a character named Haku-men, a legendary hero who has been more or less revived in the current time by the meddling of a third party. He has since escaped out from under the yoke of his savior, and is going around attempting to right all the wrongs originally perpetrated by his action or inaction. (Which is mostly accomplished by him hitting people with his sword) Including preventing another character, Jin Kisaragi, Haku-men’s reincarnation, (I think? See earlier comment about being confusing) from making the same mistakes he did.

Still with me? Good. While gallivanting about, Hakumen encounters a third character, Tsubaki, who is Jin’s first love. He immediately recognizes her as an analogous character from his past, and is overcome with emotion. Tsubaki, not realizing any connection, has basically just seen King Arthur walk through her front lawn, and can’t resist talking to him. They talk, and eventually Haku-men tells Tsubaki a story: a story about his childhood friend who was also his first love, whom he abandoned because of his commitment to doing his duty, sending her chasing after him, until she eventually dies in an unfortunate accident. There’s something pretty tragic about this, because the analog is crystal clear, and up until this point, he has more or less failed at preventing the mistakes of the past from being repeated.

But he also says that it was the love of this woman, and her belief in him, that allowed him to become the hero that he is, and that if he had a chance, he would both thank this woman, and apologize to her. Tsubaki counters that he probably doesn’t need to apologize, because she chose to follow him of her own free will. She says that she must have been quite a woman, and tells Haku-men that she wishes she could be such a woman some day. He responds “To you, such a thing would be as simple as breathing.”

It’s actually a really good line, but I still can’t quite explain why I reacted so strongly. It certainly has something to do with Tsubaki here, her being my character of choice in competitive play (which represents most of my time with BBCS). I had been a little disappointed previously, since her story consisted of “She fails at everything she tries to do, has a nice heart to heart chat with the female main character, then dies an awful death.” Even though I know, canon wise, she’s nowhere near the power level of the more important characters: Ragna, Jin, Noel, Rachel, etc. (trying to rate fighting game characters in terms of canonical power level would be an interesting project, wouldn’t it?), she nevertheless has an important role to play, which I found reassuring, but I’m sure that wasn’t it by itself.

The whole experience has gotten me thinking about how and why we give stories, specifically game stories, the benefit of the doubt. I could have rushed through that text the same way I’ve rushed through a lot of the text in BBCS, but for whatever reason, likely because I wanted to see if the story makes any sense, I didn’t. For whatever reason, I decided that I was going to give this story a chance to impact me, and because of that, it did, and fairly strongly. It was, all in all, a very positive experience. Because I decided I wasn’t going to dismiss it as dumb (even though it could be very easily argued that it was), I have, in some infinitesimal way, enriched my own life.

For the life of me, I just don’t understand what the appeal of having high standards is…

The Apple fiasco of the past few weeks has been the subject of much discussion, and I have some thoughts I’d like to publish on Apple’s response (which was a fair to middling handling of the crisis, though it still doesn’t entirely make up for their abysmal handling of the issue up until that point).  But I realize that this is intended to be a gaming blog, and I may have gotten a bit off message.

So instead, I want to talk a little bit about the game(s) that have had me so excited these past few weeks: The Mass Effect series.

Warning: Some Mass Effect spoilers may follow.  I think I do a fair job of keeping them to a minimum, but if you’re strict about spoiling yourself for games like this, think twice before continuing.

There’s been enough press about the Mass Effect series already that I don’t need to tell you why it’s an awesome game.  The gameplay is solid, the story is compelling, and the world they’ve created is very intricately crafted.  BioWare is rapidly becoming one of my favorite game developers (Dragon Age was another one of my favorites), and while the first game had a few threadbare patches, the second (so far) has resolved all those issues admirably.

What I want to talk about, though, is a particular experience I had playing the game.  One of the core mechanics of the Mass Effect series is the “Paragon” vs. “Renegade” dichotomy.  Basically, as the game progresses, you are offered the opportunity to make decisions which set you up as a “Paragon”, or a hero—a noble, honorable man out to do right not just by himself, or even by his own species, but by his entire galactic community.  The alternative is the “Renegade” path—a Han Solo-esque anti-hero, who’s looking out for number one, and who wants to get in, get the job done, and get out—no matter the cost.  I think both of these paths offer compelling stories and ways of progressing through the game, but I am a natural people-pleaser, so most of my choices fell naturally in line with the “Paragon” path.

The result of this is that in the climactic finale of the first game, I made a choice that sent a huge number of human soldiers to their deaths, precisely because I viewed the lives of aliens to be of equal value to the lives of humans.  As a result, at terrible cost to the human species, the Council—a governing board which up until this point had pointedly not included a human representative—would survive.  This was a difficult choice, because the Council had not exhibited any particular faith in me or my cause, but I ultimately decided that the upheaval and civil war that would follow the attempted creation of a new, human-oriented governing body would cause more terror and bloodshed than the sacrifices we made.

Mass Effect 2 showed a darker side to my accomplishment.  Early in the game, my character goes missing and is presumed dead.  The Council—they very one I saved from destruction—takes advantage of this eventuality to discredit my concern over the true danger (which still lurks out there) as the ravings of a madman.  I have been abandoned by the Alliance Military to serve the Council, and now the Council has abandoned me as well.  No one understands the true danger facing the galaxy except for me.

And apparently a creepy, paramilitary/terrorist organization known as Cerberus, which has (through a feat of medical science) rescued me from death, and provided me with a new ship and a new crew.

This puts my “Paragon” character in an awkward position. In any other situation, he would turn away Cerberus’ help in a second.  He hates what they stand for and wants to push himself as far away from their goals as possible…except that they’re the only organization in the galaxy that believes in his mission, and has the clout to do anything about it.  My new squad offers a similar conundrum.  The most affable among them are Cerberus operatives sent to spy on me, and the least affable are a genetically engineered super-soldier and a paranoid sociopath.  Even my old comrades have changed—they’re more ruthless, less concerned with the welfare of the people around them—and slowly but surely, my character is starting to become harder, darker, and more grim.

Here’s where it gets interesting.  The game does not force me into this situation.  Players who choose the “Renegade” path have the option of approaching this new team as a refreshing change from the restrictive, bureaucratic influence of the Council and the Alliance Military.  It was my choice to feel alone and disenfranchised from my new teammates, and there were no cinematic sequences or plot points that relied on it.  So when I run into an old military buddy—an old crewmate who I had painted up in my head as a close friend of my character, even though there was no actual requirement in the first game that this should be so—he called me out.  He was angry with me, shouting that I had betrayed everything they stood for, and as I stood there talking with him, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe he was right.

After this I got very depressed.  I began to realize that my (character’s) mission was costing me my (character’s) identity.  And that maybe I would succeed—in fact, I would have to succeed—but I began to understand that when I came out on the other side of this experience, I would not be the same person.  This saddened me.  I liked the “me” I had created, and I didn’t want to see it go.  I missed the feeling that I was working together with a team of people who respected me, and who I respected.  I missed the days when good and evil were clear choices.

Then, two things happened.

Firstly, I went on a quest that came as part of a DLC pack, where the Alliance asked me to visit the crash site of my original ship.  I wandered the wreckage, looking back on all the memories of those days, wallowing in my depression.  I collected the dog tags of all my fallen friends, to make sure they got the honors they deserved.  And I found a journal, written by my former first officer, talking about the effect that my shining example had had on him—and how when he finally did die in battle, he died proudly knowing he was giving his life for the good of his team, just like I would have done.  When the camera gave me a brief cinematic glimpse of my former first officer’s face, frozen eternally in a salute, I nearly cried at how far I had fallen.

Then, I went on a side quest with one of my teammates—a grizzled mercenary captain named Zaeed Massani (who, by the way, is played by Robin Sachs in what may be my favorite piece of video game voice acting of all time).  My brother, who is further along in the game than I, has already informed me that the only way to earn Zaeed’s loyalty in this mission is to be a truly awful person.  The quest did not disappoint—our stated goal was to liberate a fuel refinery from occupation by a mercenary army, but it quickly becomes clear that Zaeed has a personal vendetta against the merc captain—when he sets the refinery on fire in the hopes of smoking out his rival.  I am furious with him, and I order him to abandon his personal quest to bring down the merc captain and come with me to help evacuate the survivors from the refinery.  I know that by doing so, I am losing Zaeed’s loyalty permanently, and that has real in-game consequences—I’ll never be able to unlock his final, most powerful ability.  But also, I can feel my character making a stand—digging in his heels, refusing to become the uncaring, unfeeling mercenary that Cerberus seems to want him to be.  I don’t care if I have to give up Zaeed’s loyalty—or even a powerful in-game reward—I won’t do it at the cost of my soul.

At the end of the quest, the merc captain escapes.  Zaeed is raging furiously at the captain’s ship as it flies away, firing his rifle uselessly into the air.  And in the final conversation, where Zaeed is furious at me for allowing his bounty to escape, I realize something my brother didn’t know.  I have been following the “Paragon” path more closely than he, and as a result I have access to a dialogue option he didn’t have access to.  I tell Zaeed that it doesn’t matter to me what he did before—he’s now part of my team.  And being on a team means trusting one another—no matter what.  He glares at me, but finally relents—acknowledging that maybe, just maybe…my way is better.

I walk out of that mission with his loyalty earned, his final power unlocked, and my faith in my character’s own morality restored.  I walk out thinking, maybe it’s impossible to finish this mission without giving up everything that’s worth fighting for—but I’m damn well going to try.

This is emergent storytelling. Some of the aspects of that story are contained within the game’s writing itself, but a lot of it had to come from me.  The existential crisis was my own.  My depression and disenfranchisement were my own.  And as a result, my character went through a trial by fire and found a new resolve—a trial, and a resolve, that had never been written into the game’s script.

So what’s the best example of emergent storytelling you’ve ever encountered?  Has a game ever told you a story that it’s creators never imagined?

The Hero RTS and the Power of Choice

"I think the formula is, 'RTS + RPG = Super-awesome.'"

So I’m pretty sure the way it all worked out was like this: Waaaaaaaay back before July 2002 (A dark time, before the release of World of Warcraft, Warhammer: Age of Reckoning, Lord of the Rings Online, or indeed any good MMORPG other than Everquest), a Blizzard Entertainment development team sat down to brainstorm ideas for their next installment in the Warcraft series (then known for being a respected RTS series, and not the setting for an online game with an addictiveness level somewhere between heroin and power) over coffee and donuts. ”Hey, I have an idea!” said one of the devs. “Let’s include powerful Hero units in each army to add flavor and cater to different styles of play. These units will gain experience and level up, just like in an RPG, but the abilities they gain will impact how the army functions and generally make them badass.” The over-caffeinated dev-team quickly agreed to this conceptual gem and though the implementation would take many months, hundreds of thousands of processor-hours and a forest’s worth of paper converted into yellow sticky notes, the game that would eventually be released to much fanfare was arguably one of the finest and most novel executions of the C&C style RTS ever made, largely due to Hero feature. Not only did the presence of heroes provide a single avatar onto which players could (and invariably did) project, but the ability to skew an army toward a chosen play style was a welcome one, and almost unheard of in the RTS world prior.

Fast forward to sometime before mid April 2009, a development team at Gas Powered Games—after perhaps one too many playthroughs a Warcraft III multiplayer mod called “Defense of the Ancients“—struck on a peculiar notion: What if there was a game much like Warcraft III where the player controlled just his Hero, rather than the entire army? What then if the player and his hero were set loose in a map with other players and their heroes where computer controlled foot soldiers of varying strengths clashed in a roughly equal contest of arms, leaving the ultimate course of the battle to the ingenuity, acumen and strength of the players and their avatars?

Perhaps you think, as initially I did, that this sounds like an absolutely terrible idea. Playing a gimped-RTS (or a gimped-RPG, depending on how you look at it) does not on the surface sound like something you’d really want to spend a lot of time on. I mean, the basic premise here is “Here is an RTS with almost none of the functionality”, or alternately “Here is an RPG with all of the leveling up, none of the story and an extremely confined world”. Essentially, it sounds like half a game—which is not only something I don’t really want to play, but also something I can’t imagine anyone wanting to play.

To their credit, however, the folks at GPG ran with it and in April 2009 released Demigod. This was followed soon after by Heroes of Newerth and League of Legends, games based on an identical premise (and indeed on identical inspiration). Thus was born the Hero RTS (or if you like, Action RPG)—a unique style of game that is easy to learn, hard to master and ridiculously fun. The amount of fun to be had from these games was so out of proportion to what I would have expected that it got me to wondering why. And I think it came down to this: player choice, and the impact it has on the game.

Anyone who’s been a gamer in the last twenty years or so is probably aware of the general trend toward giving the player greater freedom of action in game, and can probably make some reasonable guesses as to why: it’s fun. Rather, it’s fun if it’s done right. Any game carries with it limitations inherent to the structure, be it chess, Dungeons and Dragons or World of Warcraft. People accept that. What people are increasingly unwilling to accept are games in which a player is offered choices that have no impact on the game, a sin that video games (particularly RPG’s of various stripes) are frequently guilty of. That’s bad game design, and more to the point, it’s not fun.

Now I will pause here to admit that freedom of choice combined with those choices having meaningful consequences is just technologically hard, even within the confines of a game. After all, someone has to code for all of those choices (and let’s face it, even in very structured games, like chess, the sheer number of options available to the player can get very large very quickly), and their outcomes as well as the affect those outcomes have on future choices ad infinitum. All of this takes up time and development budget as well as media storage space and memory to execute on the machine that will end up actually running the game. And that’s not even mentioning that players can make choices that can break the game. For example if you choose in a game to give your players freedom of movement around the game world, then in order to make that freedom seem meaningful you’re going to have to code some variety in the ways the player can experience the game’s story—because if you don’t, then the player will feel even more railroaded on a set path for having a choice that doesn’t mean anything than he would if he didn’t have freedom of movement to begin with.

In short, it’s no surprise to me that despite the general trend in games toward an “actions have meaningful consequences” paradigm, and despite the number of games that claim to offer freedom of action, multiple endings, etcetera, the number of choices with meaningful outcomes players can make in any given game is often quite small. And that’s why I like these Hero RTS games. Within the framework of the game, every choice the player makes has a direct impact on the way the game unfolds. Deciding what order to unlock your abilities? That drastically alters the way you play and the way others play against you, and has continuing consequences in that some of your abilities will just be stronger because you’ve put more effort into developing them. Defending a particular area of the field? I hope you’re good at what you do, because you’re going to be sorely missed elsewhere. Do you want to mow down the enemy grunts to isolate their heroes or take on their champions first to minimize the damage they’re doing to your army? And the list goes on. The impact a single player can have on the game is enormous and the impact multiple players working on concert can have is staggering. For example, I recently played a game of League of Legends where, in a 5v5 match, my team lost two players (disconnected) early on—and still won with a combination of psychological warfare, canny tactics and plain old chutzpah. At the end of the match I felt more pride and elation in that victory than I had in finishing entire other games. Why? Because I contributed directly to the outcome. It’s entirely fair to say that my team would have lost without me (and in all fairness my other two teammates can make similar claims). That is freedom of choice.

That is fun.

How Interactive Are Videogames?

Reality?  Heresy?

Natalie here (turns out “Natalie” is already taken as a wordpress username … who knew?).

Let me start this post with an acknowledgment, followed by a confession.  The acknowledgment: I am bound by secret gamer law to hate Roger Ebert and all his works.  This is, of course, because Ebert once said (and to my knowledge continues to believe) that videogames can never be art—a statement that all gamers are honor-bound to abhor on principle.  In making this statement, Roger Ebert has made himself an enemy of the gamer state, and all true gamers are bound to deride him at every opportunity.

The confession: I admire Roger Ebert enormously, both as a writer and as a thinker.  And while I disagree with him that videogames, by nature, can never be art, I do think that he raises an interesting point.

Here and here, Ebert articulates why he thinks that videogames can never be art.  I’ll extract the two most interesting passages:

Video games by their nature require player choices, which is the opposite of the strategy of serious film and literature, which requires authorial control.

My notion is that it grows better the more it improves or alters nature through an passage through what we might call the artist’s soul, or vision.

Here’s the question I think these two passages raise: Are videogames artistically interactive?

Let us assume (as we are bound to do by gamer law) that videogames are, or at least contain, art.  Is that art interactive?  Do my “player choices” contribute to or change the art in a videogame?  Assuming (as we are) that nature is “improved or altered” through the passage of the soul of the artist of a videogame, am I part of that “artist?”  Is nature passing through my soul to be improved or altered?  When I play a game, am I in any meaningful sense the “artist” of that game?

Non-Interactive ArtLet me draw from two non-videogame examples that are not artistically interactive to better illustrate what I mean.  Suppose both you and I are observing a painting that is a piece of art (say the Mona Lisa, if you need a specific example).  You and I will be having different experiences—the way I react to the painting is different from the way you react to the painting.  In other words, the identity of the consumer changes the overall artistic experience, and in that sense, we might call viewing a painting an “interactive” experience.  But when I ask whether videogames are “artistically interactive,” I am referring to something more interactive than this.

Now suppose you and I are at an old penny arcade and we come across one of those coin-operated peep show machines where we can turn a crank to animate a little flip book animation.  Let’s further suppose that the animation in this particular machine is undeniably a work of art.  In order to view the entire work, you and I must put a penny in the slot and turn the crank.  In short, we must interact with the machine.  But that is all we are interacting with—the art itself (the animation) is essentially unchanged by our interaction, although it is our interaction that allows us to reveal or uncover the art that is hiding within the depths of the storage medium.  When I ask whether videogames are “artistically interactive,” I am asking not whether our interaction is necessary to uncover, unlock, or experience the art, but whether we interact with the art itself.

My suspicion, and I welcome disagreement on this point in the comments, is that videogames are not artistically interactive.  In fact, I submit that they are nothing more than really complicated peep show machines, whose cranks have become keyboards, mouses, and gamepads, and whose art can be viewed in more combinations than simply turning the crank forwards or backwards.

In short, I submit that while we interact with the game, the art is not meaningfully subject to player choice, and that however many souls there may be through which nature passes to be improved or altered by a videogame,  the soul of the end-user gamer is not one of them.  In a follow-up post I’ll offer some thoughts on why this might be significant, but in the meantime, let me pause here, and submit my heresy to the judgment of the gamer state.

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