For the most part, I love telling people about my job as an
indie game developer. It usually garners a lot of attention, and people seem
genuinely curious about the details of my job. I also enjoy describing Alkanaur, and I’m (slowly) getting
better at “pitching” the game to non-gamers. However, one thing is always tricky
when people want more details about how I personally contribute to the project.
From anecdotal experience, many people think any game development team is a
bunch of programmers. Perhaps an artist or two. I make sure people know that on
any small indie dev team everyone wears a lot of hats. I help with the art
of Alkanaur, and I help with the
programming. But my number one job is game design. Which begs the question:
what is a game designer anyway?
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Image found through GIPHY |
To me, game design comes down to two things: questions for consumers and answers for development.
I’ll try to
tackle each of those topics in depth through a pair of back-to-back blog posts.
So if you endure today's post, check back tomorrow for part two!
A good game asks its players compelling questions. I don’t mean Professor Oak asking you for your name at
the beginning of Pokémon Blue
(although I could certainly write a separate Design Deep Dive about that). By
questions I mean choices offered to the player. Returning to our example, in Pokémon Blue the player makes an
important and iconic choice early in the game—choosing from one of three
starting pokémon with distinct strengths and weaknesses. (In case you’re
wondering, I’m a bulbasaur guy through and through). Sid Meier, one of the more
well-known designers in the video game industry, famously stated that “games
are a series of interesting decisions.” That quote caused quite a stir in game
development circles, perhaps because it can come across as overly reductive.
But I think it’s a useful train of thought because it always brings the
designer’s focus back to the consumer.
I end up doing a lot of user interface and user experience
work in Alkanaur (again: our tiny
team wears a lot of hats). To me it’s crystal clear that our game’s menus
and controls should feel intuitive and comfortable for the user. But with games
it seems easy to lose track of the player as you decide how the game works.
Forgetting the player often leads to bad design decisions, and consequently a
bad game. What are some examples of games that fail to ask the players compelling
questions? Let’s eviscerate two games I developed before I could shave (let
alone grow a beard as magnificent as this one).
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Image found on my iPhone because it's a selfie. |
First up is The Lost
Reindeer. I think I was probably seven or eight when I made this one. It’s
a classic-style board game played with dice and a homemade game board. Players
take turns rolling dice and moving that many squares on a path (clumsily) drawn
on the game board. Every once in a while a space will tell you to move forward
or back based on some type of Christmas-related event. If the average person
was tasked with quickly designing a game, they might come up with some
variation on this theme. Similar games like Candyland
or Chutes and Ladders have existed
for decades, so this game tends to stick in the collective consciousness of
Americans.
But what interesting decisions are offered to players in The Lost Reindeer? Are there any at all?
The only real questions available are “should I participate in this game?” and
“should I try and cheat?” Any one over the age of eight will quickly grow bored
of such a game, because it does not challenge him or her tactically,
strategically, or creatively. So why do games like Candyland or Chutes and
Ladders endure? While neither game offers Sid Meier’s “series of
interesting decisions,” they do offer a limited sense of progression and a
simple example of cause and effect. When young children tested out Alkanaur at a convention, they enjoyed
the demo because they could move a character and watch the AI-controlled
enemies chase them. I think the love for Candyland
(beyond its theme and visuals) comes from a similar place. You draw cards and
watch your game piece “move” through the world.
My next fully-developed game fares slightly better when it
comes to asking the player compelling questions. I made Beastmaker for a middle school shop class, and no matter how long I
end up designing games I’ll always brag about getting an A on
that project. My evaluation sheet showed 100% and a short comment from my
somewhat gruff teacher: “I don’t know what the hell this is, but you obviously
worked hard on it.” I co-created the collectible card game Beastmaker with a friend. It was based off of one of those short teasers
at the end of a book for a series we never read. (I did some research for this
article, and it looks like the series is called The Seventh Tower by Garth Nix, who also authored the fantastic Sabriel.) Thematically, the game is
about combining several fantastical beasts into one powerful, conglomerate beast
and then challenging another player’s chimeric beast with your own.
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A glimpse of my hand-drawn Beastmaker cards (bonus appearance from the better game Star Wars Epic Duels) |
The game is for two players and consists of two phases.
First you draw cards and place beasts into various slots each turn. At the end
of the first phase you tally up your final beast’s stats based on the cards in
those slots. Then you alternate taking swings at one another with your beasts
in the second phase. At first glance, the game does provide the player with
some fun choices. During the first seven turns, the player decides where to
allocate his or her beast cards. And in the second phase, the players choose
from different “special attack” cards or rolling a pair of dice to perform a
normal attack. However, as I covered in a previous blog post, generally the
game offers only an illusion of choice.
Most cards were only good in one or maybe two slots, so
really the player only needed to plop down a card in a slot that made sense. If
no good beast/slot combinations were available then you just sighed and put the
card down in a sub-optimal spot. And in the second phase, you didn’t have many
choices either, since you usually played a special attack if you had it, and if
not you just rolled the dice for a normal attack. Interestingly, some (not all)
of Beastmaker’s issues could be fixed if the game were expanded. Card games
that require deckbuilding “frontload” some of those compelling questions before
gameplay even starts, because players need to choose which cards make it into
their deck. As it stands, Beastmaker is a bit of fun to experience once, but
lacks any sort of strategic depth. It fails to ask the player any good
questions on repeated play-throughs.
So now that we covered some bad examples, what are some good
questions to ask? Some video games ask the players interesting strategic
questions, like Hearthstone or League of Legends. How do different
combinations of cards or champions synergize with one another? How does my
knowledge about the meta game—how other players play the game—affect my
choices? Based off the current information I have, how should I plan out my
future moves?
Other videogames ask tactical “in-the-moment” questions.
Turn-based games like Alkanaur or The Banner Saga give players time to
make the perfect tactical choice, while real-time games in popular series like
Zelda, Dark Souls, or Halo force players to make several quick choices in
succession, challenging their reflexes and mental library of game knowledge.
Should I attack now or retreat? What is this specific enemy’s weakness? How can
I maximize my current character’s strengths? Where should I explore next?
Finally, a growing number of video games ask players
questions about themselves. Narrative-focused games such as The Walking Dead or
Life is Strange challenge players to create their own guided stories, and those
decisions often challenge a player’s personal value system. Which of these two
arguing characters should I support? And why do I support them—is it for a
desired outcome or because of my personal beliefs? How would I respond to a
traumatic event such as this?
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Some questions are more profound than others (Image found on Nerdist) |
Of course, many of the best games—video or otherwise—blend many
different types of questions into the gameplay. That’s certainly something we’re
trying to accomplish in Alkanaur. In the next
Design Deep Dive, I’ll discuss how game designers not only need to ask players
compelling questions through their design decisions, but also answer an endless stream of development
issues, big or small.