Dev Take Tuesday - NBA Officiating

No, this won’t be a rant about my team—the Utah Jazz—playing James Harden and the Rockets. I’ll exercise some control here. But I want to explore one particular call that happened when the Jazz closed out their first round opponents, the Thunder. Star player Paul George, not having a particularly good game up until that point, leaned into Jazz defender Rudy Gobert as he took the final shot of the game, trying to force a foul call. Had he not leaned into the defender, there would not have been any contact. In the past few years, the NBA cracked down on these attempts to draw fouls, and according to official review the no-call in the Jazz/Thunder game was correct. Yet it still caused quite a bit of a stir among basketball fans and, of course, Thunder fans especially. Why? Consistency.

Image from NBA.com

Even though the call was correct according to the rules of the game, that call isn’t made correctly every game. So even when confronted with the information that the officials were right, fans and players still felt cheated because they recalled the times when the rule in question wasn’t upheld. Other calls, such as charging, have rules so opaque to the majority of fans that the referees are bound to seem inconsistent no matter what they do. If the fans or players can’t see the nuances of a rule, then even correct usage of the rule will appear erratic.

Game design is about making rules for players, and I feel that the ire caused by NBA officiating shows how important clarity is for game design. Obviously, inconsistent rules in your game will always be frustrating and should thus be avoided. But what game designers really have to look out for are any rules that are technically constant in their design, but appear fickle to the player. For example, as much as I love Civ 6, I’m still occasionally frustrated when a unit appears to be in range to attack, but can’t. There’s almost certainly a reason why the unit cannot attack, but I don’t understand it, leading to momentary exasperation. This is why clarity is one of our design pillars at Rob the Sky Games: we don’t want to frustrate the players that breathe life into our games.

Dev Take Tuesday - Moving

It’s been a while since my last post, and that’s because my wife and I just settled into our new apartment. I head into every move thinking that my past experience has prepared me—this will finally be the move where everything goes right! Needless to say, every time I think that, I’m wrong.  Whether it’s uncooperative weather or not enough boxes or racing the clock for cleaning checks, I’m starting to doubt there’s such thing as the “perfect move.”

So. Much. Cardboard.

Even though Alkanaur is my first game, I’ve found myself falling into similar traps throughout its design. It’s easy to fall into a trap where you imagine that all your past design work (for your current game or previous projects) has prepared you—this will finally be the time that your designs go completely right! But the truth is that iteration and feedback-based improvements will always be necessary. If you want to be a player-focused development team like we do, you’ll always be making adjustments and figuring out what players prefer.

Alkanaur still moves steadily along, and we’ve received some solid feedback on our pre-alpha demo. Our next step is a longer, public-facing demo that should provide a full “slice-of-the-pie” for people to understand what our game is about. In addition to the battle system in our current pre-alpha, the new demo will include a taste of our character customization and narrative systems. Even though I know every new step we will take will require iteration and adjustments, I also know that—just like our recent move—we’ll eventually get there.

Dev Take Tuesday - Taking Time to Talk Timers

Today I’m going to level some criticism at a game I absolutely adore: Mansions of Madness. This hybrid board game and digital app lets you play as investigators in a horrific Lovecraftian story. The use of a digital app allows for randomization in every scenario you play and automates some of the vexing “bookkeeping” required in a complex board game. I love the spooky ambiance created by the game, and the combat and investigation mechanics are relatively simple but fun. It’s a game where the investigators often lose to the monsters, but we still have a blast while losing—a wonderful quality in any type of game.

However, in a few of our losses I’ve felt a bit cheated, and that’s the direct result of a decision to use a hidden timer as a failure state. In the case of Mansions of Madness, which is a turn-based game, the timer is a certain number of rounds instead of a countdown clock or hourglass. Timers can be quite useful in game design. They generate tension. They maintain momentum and prevent stagnant gameplay. But I think the timer in Mansions of Madness works against the game for two reasons: the information is largely hidden from the player, and the timer counteracts the game’s core.

When playing our last scenario of Mansions of Madness, “The Cult of Sentinel Hill,” we did get occasional vague reminders that time was limited. But there was no indication of how much time we actually had, just a hazy idea that the world would probably most likely end soon if we didn’t hustle. Whenever a designer considers hiding information from players, I think they should have a good reason why that information should remain hidden. It’s certainly possible that whoever decided on a timer hid it because they felt like a countdown of remaining turns would break immersion in the game’s world: that leads me to my next point.

The best moments in Mansions of Madness come while you uncover the game map and investigate the clues scattered around the map. Here, the game shines as you are drawn into its atmosphere. Clever writing and clean game mechanics involving skill checks and dice rolls make you really feel like a team of investigators with different areas of expertise. Every great game will help players chase a certain feeling, and—to me, at least—Mansions of Madness is about discovery and intrigue. A timer inherently combats discovery, the core of the game. I’d like to figure out what the violet light in that rowboat is and why that massive tree is covered in hostile whippoorwills, but to beat the game we need to move past them (or move past some of them, actually, since an unknown amount of clues and evidence are needed for victory).  

Shamelessly showing off one of the monsters I've painted.

I understand that the timer helps limit the time investment in an already lengthy game and also provides a mechanical tie-in for the inevitable dread of Lovecraft’s horrific, cataclysmic monsters. But I feel a more fitting and less frustrating mechanic would be an exponentially growing amount of monsters. Sure, in the end your team might get surrounded and overwhelmed, but that gives the players more agency and closure than an unexpected text box saying your time ran out.

Dev Take Tuesday - Black Panther and Clarity

I finally got the chance to see Black Panther on the big screen this past week—what an unforgettable experience! I loved the cast, characters, themes, music, and war-rhinos. If I hadn’t already touched on villains in a previous Dev Take, I’d probably discuss Black Panther’s charismatic antagonist, Erik Killmonger (played by Michael B. Jordan). But there was another aspect of the film that stuck out to me as a game developer: the use of color for clarity.

Visually, the stand-out feature of Black Panther is the vast and vibrant array of colors on the screen. While other films I love, such as Zhang Yimou’s Hero, utilize bold monochromatic tones to convey mood, Black Panther uses many colors simply for the sheer joy of seeing a veritable rainbow on screen. Importantly, however, careful use of color keeps the audience clear on what’s happening. The distinct color schemes of Wakanda’s tribes help the audience sort through the politics at play throughout the story, and in the film’s climactic action sequence the crimson armor of the Dora Milaje contrasts perfectly with the enemy’s blue uniforms.

Gif found here on Gizmodo

From a game development standpoint, complexity often competes with clarity as you try to design games that will challenge your players. Every little step you take in development to add clarity is essential. You can greatly ease the burden on your players by using different colors in character design and assigning distinct color schemes for your game narrative’s various factions. For example, in our game Alkanaur the nine cities will all utilize fairly disparate colors and metals in their architecture and dress. Not only will those little steps make our game easier to follow, but the resulting rainbow on screen will (hopefully) visually impress our players as well.

Dev Take Tuesday - Deep Breaths in Subnautica

Subnautica, the ocean-themed survival/exploration game from developer Unknown Worlds, captures a mood better than any other game I’ve played. That mood is a vibrant mix of awe, tension, and fear—probably the same emotions I’d be feeling if I actually did crash-land in a dangerous but beautiful ocean on an alien planet. After playing several hours, I realized that I would immediately and invariably take a deep breath of relief whenever I returned to safety in my lifepod or underwater bases. I honestly can’t think of higher praise for a game about surviving a perilous underwater world.

Official screenshot from the game's Steam page.

So how does Subnautica manage to create such a powerful and pervasive mood? Obviously, audio and visual elements both play a key role. But I think it comes down to two important design decisions: embracing the setting and balancing risk with relief.

Subnautica fully embraces its setting. Because the game takes place almost entirely underwater, you feel constantly exposed. Danger can come at you from any direction, and tunnel vision could quickly get you killed. The shallows feel safe not only because less dangerous fish spawn there, but because you have ground beneath you and open air above you, limiting the field of threats and orientating your character. In sharp contrast, some of the most harrowing moments in Subnautica come as you explore caves or wreckage and lose your sense of direction. Oftentimes the path back to air isn’t all that complex, but even memorizing a few turns gets complicated when you can move freely in three dimensions. The “floor” of the wrecked spaceship might be at a 45-degree angle above your head when you enter, and that gets disorienting, especially when under stress.

An interesting distinction between Subnautica and other survival games I’ve seen is the use of what I’d call “true relief.” Your starting lifepod and the underwater bases you eventually construct are (from what I’ve seen) entirely safe from the watery depths’ denizens. But the game’s other systems force you to move out of that comfort zone. Hunger and thirst will eventually force you to risk leaving the safety and oxygen of your base, and expanding your living arrangements will also require you to leave and gather resources. This creates a natural rhythm of risk and relief that perfectly captures the mood of diving into the water. At early levels, the comparison is clear. You have less than 30 seconds of oxygen in your tank, so you dive down from the surface to maybe catch a couple fish, and then you have to swim back up. Over and over. However, even when a miniature submersible and larger oxygen tank allow you to explore more freely, your longer expeditions still maintain that rhythm of leaving comfort, gathering supplies, and returning with a deep breath of relief.

Indie Illuminator - Starmancer

As an English major, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard references to Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. But I never read it. I often feel that impostor syndrome creeping in when I think about all the classics I have yet to read (and might never read). And I feel that way toward some video games too, including the somewhat bizarre but beloved management/simulation game called Dwarf Fortress. For the uninitiated, Dwarf Fortress is a game in which the player controls a bunch of dwarves in a procedurally-generated world. There are no concrete objectives and most of the game’s beauty lies in how the various mechanical systems combine and create unique, emergent gameplay. However, the game is difficult, and without mods the text-based art of the game scares a lot of modern gamers away. Including me. Which brings us to Starmancer.

An image of a starmancer (from the game's press kit)

Starmancer, inspired by Dwarf Fortress as well as other games in the genre like Rimworld, aims to provide the same emergent gameplay but with a more accessible interface. In the game, you assume the role of a starmancer, a fusion of human and machine. You control a space-faring ark of lab-grown human bodies, each imbued with a consciousness from Earth. You will need to manage colonist morale, avoid mutiny, protect your space station, and expand your influence with the other competing factions of the universe.

Starmancer provides plenty of customization (image from the game's press kit)

I’ve been following Starmancer’s development for a while now, and every little animated art update shared on Twitter makes me smile. The pixel art graphics are full of charm, and it looks like the game will include a significant amount of customization for the player, which multiplies that charm astronomically. Being able to not only build and design the structure of a space station but paint its walls and decorate its corridors?  That’s the kind of customization I like.

Overall I’m looking forward to playing Starmancer to get at least a tiny little taste of the classic Dwarf Fortress. If you feel similarly, or if you just want to find out more about the game, check out their current Kickstarter campaign! From what I understand, backers can gain access to a demo right away.

Dev Take Tuesday - Flavor in Stages

Last week I attended a lovely presentation at the University of Utah about board game design and storytelling. The two presenters, Alf Seegert and Ryan Laukat, shared insights from their experience as board game designers and concluded the presentation with a Q&A session. Both presenters offered their advice on how to build lore and storytelling into a game beyond the traditional“flavor text” some games offer.

Flavor text, for those unfamiliar with the term, refers to narrative- or theme-building snippets of text added to different components of a game. Magic: the Gathering might be the most famous example, but other games like Apples to Apples utilize the technique. Flavor text allows game designers to add a dash of seasoning to their games without needing to meddle with the game’s mechanics too much.

A bit of flavor text really spices up an otherwise bland Magic card (Image source).

But is this the most effective way to add seasoning? Professional cooks say you should add seasoning in stages instead of simply adding them at the end. Salt, for example, will benefit meat, vegetables, and starches in distinct ways if added early in the process. In some ways, flavor text is akin to just giving the salt shaker to the players—they can add it to their gameplay experience if they want, but many players simply ignore it and “eat” what’s in front of them. This isn’t always a bad thing—lock gameplay behind too much narrative and some players might just push the dish away. However, if your goal as a designer is to share a meaningful story or depict a beloved theme alongside your game mechanics, you might want to cook some of that flavor into your game from the start.

The Road to Canterbury's game board, featuring the seven deadly sins (Image source).

Alf Seegert, in his game The Road to Canterbury, showed how the mechanics and even the material components of a game can build a theme by themselves. Playing as a pardoner, everything used to play the game invokes a unique story about the commodification of sins—an effect achieved without requiring players to read non-gameplay material. As video game designers, we need to remember the power of building flavor directly into our game mechanics. One example that always sticks out to me is Bloodborne’s “rally” system. To encourage aggressive gameplay and make the player feel like the hunter they are supposed to be, players can recover recently lost health by attacking enemies. A good deal of character building comes from that mechanic alone—what type of person would act with such fearlessness and ferocity in the face of such horror?

The first-person flavor text of Empires of the Void II (Image source).

Ryan Laukat shared how he “tricked” players into reading flavor text in his game Empires of the Void II. Certain cards have first-person actions written at the top of the card (instead of the bottom, where flavor text is usually located). Because the text uses a first-person perspective, more players would read the text since it seemed to naturally describe what they wanted to do in game. From a video game design standpoint, we could probably put more thought into how we name actions and skills, or how we introduce abilities and mechanics to the player. Describe mechanics clearly, but use those moments to impart a bit of flavor into the game as well.

Overall, I think there’s a lot for video game designers to learn from board game design, despite the vast differences in development and distribution. I look forward to covering more board games on Dev Take Tuesday, as well as adding flavor in stages to our game, Alkanaur.