Tagged: collegia

play gradient

Flash back to Collegia for a second: would it be better if it were simpler? Would players be happier with a more cohesive flow, one that forwent fine micromanagement controls for a series of clearly-presented story-event choices? Or does that sacrifice too much control? Thinking about King of Dragon Pass, the turn-to-turn clan management isn’t terribly interesting or rewarding; it’s necessary maintenance and it sets the foundations for your success, but it’s only really exciting when it leads to an event. It’s in those events that the real narrative meat of the game lies; everything else just serves to support them. But without those less colourful foundations, do the flashier story bits mean as much? I don’t think that they do. There’s a balance to be achieved between the quick/accessible/immediately rewarding and the more invested/seeded/behind-the-scenes-but-critical decision-making processes. Is a deeper game necessarily a better game? Is a more accessible one?

Maybe I’m just excited about The Yahwg. No, I should rephrase that: I’m definitely excited about The Yahwg; it’s just sparked in me some very interesting questions about the tradeoffs between involved simulation and ease-of-play both in the service of a player-invested story. What is the best path to the dreams of a player?

sea change

Last night: a mishmash of ideas, half-formed concepts, historical references, and impulse notes, written at many different times from many different angles, many of them conflicting or redundant.

Today: the beginnings of a cohesive central design doc. Smooth. Elegant. Strong enough for a man, made for a woman.

It feels good to explore the elements of this game-to-be not in the language of “what ifs” but in that of intentions expressed; that of design philosophy informing underlying structure. By writing each of these previously nebulous and unattached ideas into cohesive expressions of the world we’re trying to build, I’ve made them suddenly more real. The shift in language from speculative to boldly declarative is thrilling; I find myself seeing the bigger picture, but with no loss of fine detail. Each element finds new definition as part of the larger whole, new ideas find their place adjunct to those already solidified, and the mechanical structure of this beast begins its slow shudder to waking.

My god, it’s full of stars.

of axes and allies

<Hey! Neato! I hadn’t realized such a thing existed, but the editors at WordPress.com featured one of my posts today! Hello to my new visitors and thank you to my old ones. I hope what you find here suits your fancy and I’d love to hear from you in the comments.>

Stepping back from the cogs and pistons of GUI wrangling in Unity, today has found me looking once again at the overall presentation of my largest ongoing project, Collegia: Gangs of Rome. And as I do so I realize the huge responsibility I have as game designer: ensure that all aspects of development, from the writing to the art to the mechanics, are adequately presented and thus appreciated by the player. I need to consider not only what information needs to be available at any given time but also how to plate it in the most attractive way possible.

Watching some videos of Monster Loves You has highlighted for me how utterly critical presentation is to the experience of play. That game, at its core, is a pretty straightforward decision tree, with choice and consequence delivered entirely through text. But the colourful and cartoony presentation of everything around that text contributes to an alluring and far more immersive experience. The supporting graphics give the player something to hang the text on; they’re a fun starting point for envisioning the exposited events. And so I seek to immerse the player in a the world of ancient Rome, laying down a world of textual and visual imagery to provide seeds of imagination that gameplay may germinate.

It’s a perfect storm, really, that I’m going for. Each member of my team is making a critical contribution to the overall experience and it’s up to me to tie it all together. Ease of use, immersiveness, and balanced feedback all feed in to player engagement and satisfaction; if anything is out of place a player could get hung up on it and drop out, missing out on all the rich and love-imbued aspects of a passion project like Collegia. I suppose this is why games take as long to make as they do. It’s not just about putting pen to paper; it’s about writing and rewriting again and again until the work is as good as it can possibly be. And at every step of the way,  answering honestly the question “would anyone want to play this?”

surge and surge again

Ah, what an exciting day this has been. I woke up a little earlier than I needed to and so managed to squeeze in a little bit more GUI work on Collegia before my day officially began. What a nice way to start things off; everything about a project looks brighter when there’s at least something to look at. A grotty parchment texture and some generic ruins and bam! Suddenly the project comes to life. Further to this, today marked the first three-way design meeting between I, my brother, and the delightful artist he’s drawn into the fold. There’s something special about triads, I think. Suddenly those patterns of thought, be they at loggerheads or stuck in groupthink, are shaken up and you end up with a whole new set of exciting ideas. Forward motion has a way of generating momentum.

And we played Fiasco! A pretty solid storytelling framework; I quite like the built-in variability within each predefined setting. Our story of the Old West was one of a strange upstart religion, shifty family relations, and debts coming due. But, very much to the game’s credit, I imagine yours would look nothing like that. It played out relatively quickly, though having only three players kept relationships fairly tight and all stories closely interwoven. In working on that story game with CJ, it’s easy to get caught up in ease-of-play mechanical tweaks and forget just how much fun it is to work with others to craft a story all your own. The best way forward might be one of pulling back a little bit and just letting things unfold. I hope to refine it to a point where I might be able to pilot it tomorrow, though the larger group I’m anticipating presents its own set of challenges: how to make everyone crucially involved in the story? How to keep things clipping along at a decent rate so individual downtime is minimized? Maybe there’s another game to be made here.

Ack! How will I ever get anything done with so many new ideas just begging to be explored?

someday something

Hadge and I had a good Collegia design session the other day, though what I’ve taken away from it more than anything else is just how hard it is to conceive of something before seeing it at least partially in action.

We’ve got a whirl of ideas: guilds and gangs and negotiations and power grabs; a series of choices each more exciting and critical than the last. But conceiving of this in such abstract terms has a way of just smoothing over all the gaps, more or less ignoring the instrumental necessity of the in-between. And that’s where the really hard work comes in. What do the mechanics actually look like? More importantly, how do they feel? I can scheme and dream and conceptualize as much as I want, but until I’ve got some tangible pieces to move around I can’t see the entirety of the picture.

But wait! I’ve got to sort out the backend first. How to best keep track of all these variables? How to optimally sequence events? And then I end up thinking about how to relate these to the player. Then I’m off on a tangent of interface and presentation. Then I start worrying about art assets. Ack! It’s all so interrelated! How can I get anything done when I need to consider everything?

This is when I have to step back, make sure each of these is written down somewhere on my to-do list, and pick one of them to start working on. Which one isn’t important; if I just keep chipping away at each of these million little things, eventually I’ll cross that almost-imperceptible threshold where, suddenly, there is something. And then the real fun starts.

Back to work ; )

paradigm shift

A wave of exhilaration just now as I realized the whole of Collegia might be more easily built in Unity. It sounds absurd, I know: a menu-heavy game based around text and static art in an engine designed for 3D? But the more I work with Ren’Py, the more clearly I see its limitations.

My coding knowledge is not sufficient to build things from scratch, which it appears I would have to do fairly often in Ren’Py to get the sort of presentation I’m looking for. It’s an engine built for a specific type of game. It does this and some small variation within this very well. But I can’t help myself; I seem always to have little ideas that don’t quite fit existing frameworks. I could invest the necessary time into learning Python and the specific quirks of Ren’Py, but it feels more and more like starting anew on a path with fewer possible endpoints.

Whether it’s just my longer experience with the engine or a greater inherent flexibility, Unity is looking better and better every day. Having to work through problems in Unity specifically not only confers the general benefit of more programming practice, but increases my familiarity with this toolset I’ve already decided I quite appreciate and want to use in the future. And if I want to break the format at some point (e.g minigames, visual simulations, etc.) I’ve got much more in the way of already-established framework to build upon. Also, given my Google-heavy approach to problem solving, the much wider base of Unity users gives me a great deal more experience and examples to draw from.

I still feel like I’m teetering on the threshold: do I take the plunge? Am I ready to dive deep into Unity’s shadowy underbelly? It might not be pretty, sure, but if I can make it through it will be with greater future applicability. And that’s not even considering the ease of porting Unity games to different OSes and displays and control schemes…

Ah, okay. I think my mind’s made up. My trepidation at getting into entirely new territory has been replaced by that of looking much more closely at that which I’ve already tread. Adventure awaits!

beyond the pass

I just can’t get you out of my head. It’s King of Dragon Pass, again, and I’ve been thinking about how to best draw inspiration from it for Collegia. What was it I so enjoyed about the experience of playing it? What did I find frustrating? Are there ways to take these in new directions and create a different and still worthwhile experience? I present to you a chart of my thoughts:

<Ack; I’m having a heck of a time getting nice borders on this table. I’ve added some formatting for improved readability. Sorry about that.>

Awesome things

Counterpoint

A better solution?

Hidden mechanics increase player buy-in

Once the mechanics are understood (to an extent), they’re relatively simple to apply, e.g. “Guys are mad? Give them 15 cattle.”

The mechanics that remain unknown (because they’re not reflected in the lore) can lead to frustration in the face of repeated failure.

Yikes.
This is the core of what drew me to KoDP in the first place and what sustained the experience for as long as it did. I think this balance of the visible and the intuited is among the most difficult of design challenges and and I don’t know that it could be improved without unbalancing things elsewhere.

Predetermined stories add richness to the setting

They are (taking into account a fork or two) always the same. After a while, you’ve seen the most common many times (and the less common perhaps not at all.

More stories? That just delays the point where you’ve read them all.Better mixup of when they occur (e.g. early/late game)? This can only be done to a point; the endgame needs to have some unique content to feel special.

Semi-procedural generation? Could stories be written on the fly in response to the choices you’ve made throughout the game? Perhaps they could be constructed from recombinant blocks of story elements? That’s a tall order, especially if one is wanting to paint a cohesive picture of the world.

Hero quests necessitate comprehensive reading (and thus buy-in to the lore)

Once the player knows the story of a heroquest, they no longer need to understand it (as they can just choose the right options)

They also don’t really help you play better (i.e. they are stories removed from your day-to-day activities)

On the topic of procedural generation, could quests be constructed based on past decisions and history of this particular playthrough? Though this does run the risk of being too transparently formulaic and not adding as richly to the flavour of the world.

Complexity of behind-the-scenes world interactions is sufficient to produce emergent stories

Seldom reflected in predetermined stories (which are richer and more explicit in their telling)

Ensure that each predetermined story relates meaningfully to one or more happenings in the present game. Rely less on chance and more on triggers hidden in the gameplay.

Challenging road to becoming tribal king

Once achieved, there is pressure to play much more defensively (i.e. with reduced choice)

Can one increase the complexity of necessary decision-making while keeping the sorts of challenges consistent? I feel like KoDP’s endgame is one of running down the clock rather than coming to a climax.

Satisfying balance of risk and reward (e.g. high level ring member will definitely get the job done… if they don’t die)

Can be frustrating when you set everything up as well as you possibly can and still fail

If something has a maximum chance of succeeding, perhaps knock some of the worst outcomes out of the possibility pool? It’s artificial, but it might lead to greater player satisfaction.

Alternately, the constant risk of certain activities could be made more explicit so the feeling of disappointment is not one of frustration.

I know, I’m all over the place, but there’s a definite theme emerging here in the possibilities of procedural generation. This is curious; it’s so distinct from the way in which King of Dragon Pass drew me in with its handcrafted stories, forcing me to find meaning within them to succeed at playing the game. Is that a property exclusive to prewritten narrative? Or can recombinant story blocks be written well enough to provide a consistent foundation for world-building? It’s times like these I wish I was a better writer (and a better programmer and a better designer)…

storied

A few days ago, I realized that, following a should-have-won-but didn’t game, I stopped playing King of Dragon Pass completely. An ill omen for the future of my interest in Collegia? I hope not; the question that arises from this is why my interest has subsided and how to bridge that gap in a different experience. But who’s to say where that gap lies? Talking with anbrewk (who still plays KoDP regularly), it’s clearer to me than ever how two people can seek entirely different things from the same game.

In playing the game as much as I have, I feel like I’ve seen a majority of the events, enjoying their stories and the consequences tied to them. I’ve learned, more or less, what I needed to to get by in the game and appreciated how I was forced to buy in to the lore and world setting to succeed. But now it’s become a grind. “Oh, the one about the dragon skull. Best if I do this.” “Ah, no luck for the beastman this time. Darn.” In coming to understand some of the underlying mechanics of the game, I’ve become divorced from its worldstory, which I feel is its strongest asset. To contrast, though, Anbrewk tells me the stories he’s enjoyed in the game are not those that are written, but those that emerge through play: stories about an irrepressible clan to the south, pushed to the utter brink of destruction before surging back and raiding again and again until other clans had no choice but to fall under their banner. There’s a story there, absolutely, and it’s a story that can only be told within the mechanics of this particular game. But so too is it limited by them. The actions, open to interpretation as they may be, are selected from a narrow set of possibilities. “Does this impact cows, goods, or food?” Because they aren’t the playing pieces of the game, there’s no chance for a story to emerge about the wooden toys of the village children, or the slow decline into dementia of a once-proud chieftain. That doesn’t mean these are less interesting stories; the content we project onto mechanical happenings can in many cases be far more vivid than that which is made explicit, made especially so by its direct link to player action.

So is increasing complexity the answer? Should I aspire to Dwarf Fortress so that these emergent stories are as detailed as they can possibly be? I begin to think that, as with so many things, the answer lies somewhere in the middle. Can I describe a world vividly enough that the player will embrace the storytelling context beyond that of the mechanics (“oh good! I got 1 widget and 3 berries! What a tale”) while also finding the stories that emerge within them? I suppose what I want is a mixed system of explicit and emergent narrative, woven together by a theme the player must invest in to succeed. Which is, to an extent, what King of Dragon Pass has done. It seems to me that I might again be a victim of my insatiable appetite for novelty. Maybe I’m just looking for too much of everything in a necessarily bounded experience.

What I’d like for Collegia is for the relationship between mechanics and story to take the experience above and beyond any one interaction, making it a game about actively inhabiting the world of ancient Rome. The mechanics need to run deep enough that the world functions believably and not just along clearly defined lines. But the dressing (being those explicit stories pasted on top) needs to tie back into the mechanics in meaningful ways as well; their flavour must not be cosmetic but crucial. Without the stories, the interactions wouldn’t make sense. And again, I’ve described King of Dragon Pass. So what is it that’s missing?

It sounds like I need to think about this a little more.

walk before you run

The beginning of a new week! A fresh surge of willful energy and all the time one could want in which to explore it. I recall piecing together my game plan as I drifted off to sleep last night: “Should I start by drafting the entirety of the mechanics? Jump right in to Ren’Py? Or learn it all from the ground up?” The morning saw me, necessarily, taking the last of those options.

You see:
I’ve got a pretty good idea of how everything in Collegia will fit together. Some of the interactions will need refinement, but all the major pieces are conceptually in place. Were this a board game, I could grab my scissors and cardstock and whip you up a simple prototype in under an hour. But it’s not! It’s a digital game constructed in an engine I don’t know with a language I’ve never used! So, to reuse a favourite analogy of mine, I need to learn how to use these particular scissors and what exactly you can do with this strange new cardstock. So today brought a simple start:

  • Formatting! Python is markedly different from JavaScript in its use of whitespace as a meaningful parsing element, instead of just a personal organizational preference. It took me a little while to adapt, but I am very much a convert. Not only does it do the job, it standardizes everything! It makes learning from examples much easier.
  • Storing and accessing variables! The crux, really, of what will make Collegia a management game and not, as the engine would encourage, an interactive novel. <Ha! I just thought up a new genre term. Collegia will be a Lore Game. Need to remember that.> Having a basic knowledge of how variables and arguments are passed and called in code has helped me a lot here, but as so much of what makes it work is contextual, I’ve been taking thorough notes about how exactly Python prefers this to be done. Knowledge++ ! <wait, no. That doesn’t work in Python>
  • Making the experience feel distinct from its engine! You know that launcher that precedes so many Unity games? “Choose your resolution, your graphics quality,etc.”? I don’t like it very much. It’s a preassembled bit that, although it allows some easy customization tweaks, is ultimately shaped in the image of the engine, rather than built to optimally present the game waiting behind it. Starting in Ren’Py with this in mind is helping me to make decisions based around presentation as I go along. It just won’t do to have the default text boxes along the bottom of the screen, centered option buttons, and a thoroughly practical font. Bring on the theming! (but only so far, of course, as it serves the game…)

So it’s only really three things today. Not terribly much when I look back on it, but an important start. This evening I want to play with screen elements. Slide-out trays and optional overlays and all these little leaves that fold in on themselves ad infinitum. Well, we’ll see. That might be too much of a jog for a little old hobbler like myself. But I think I just might feel a second wind coming on.

saga the first

49 B.C.: Julius Caesar’s rise to power over Consul Pompey  heralds a new age for Rome. But the transition is anything but a smooth one as existing power structures crumble and are built anew. It is for some a time of turmoil, but for those with a keen eye and swifter hand, it is undeniably an age of opportunity. And so the collegia of Rome, longtime denizens of the streets and dealers of the underworld begin once again to stir.

<Ha! Hadley forgive me; I’m definitely not the historian in this operation.>

In this ever-shifting world of secrets, intimidation, and ill-gotten gains, it’s up to you to see your collegium to the top of the dogpile. Select only the best to be your advisors, but maintain a close eye lest their aspirations grow to write you out of the history books.

Whether yours is a saga of careful manipulation and insidious conquest or the protracted death rattle of a dying institution, history awaits your indelible mark.

Collegia: Gangs of Rome
Summer 2045