Justin Achilli

Tag: MMOs

The Perils of Endgame

One of the phrases that rouses my ire: “Endgame.” Especially when it’s touted as where a game truly comes into its own, the content shines, or the player-to-player interaction is most meaningful. Endgame. “Oh, World of Warcraft really gets good once you hit level max.”


Here is an example of a reasonable alternative to grinding the level treadmill until the developer decides you’re worthy of playing the “good part.”
What the… if I’m supposed to enjoy your game, why on earth would you make me muddle through 65 to 80 levels of treadmill before I get to the enjoyable part? Why do I have to prove myself in your velvet-roped crucible to get to the fun stuff that I’m paying to enjoy anyway?

I found Age of Conan to be a serious offender in this category. It’s ultimately a game about building cities and outposts, claiming territory, and defending those assets against hostile rivals. However, you have to trudge through 20 levels of carbon-copy MMO generica to get to the point where you’re even allowed to start sniffing around the territory control game. (Compounding the crass feel is that everyone has the same introduction to the world and has to grind the same treadmill content. Whether you’re a Stygian necromancer, an Aquilonian assassin, or a Cimmerian shaman, you’re always a shipwrecked slave who’s the property of the same guy, and you have to kill him to earn your freedom. There are a million ships wrecked off the coast of Tortage, all the humble origins of an ultimate Chosen One….) By contrast, Guild Wars lets you skip all that and go directly to the competitive arenas, if that’s the portion of the game that excites you. If you choose, you can undertake the quests and storylines and engage the world exploration, or you can dive into the PVP arenas on an equal character footing with everyone else in a test of competitive player skill. And look at the business model: Age of Conan is a monthly-fee model, while Guild Wars is a one-time purchase. Age of Conan dangles the (purportedly) richer competitive game over the subscriber’s head, while Guild Wars says, “It’s cool; go play.”

Let’s be clear. I’m not talking about the endgame scenario of a finite game experience. Game narrative, like all narrative, needs a conclusion, so the logical end on a story within a game is an eminently reasonable thing. I’m talking about the hurdles developers put in place to slow the player’s progress toward the place where the game “gets good.”


This looks like a cool place to explore… except that you’re not allowed here until you kill 32,000 goblins.
As well, a good MMO should scale complexity, growing its options so that an advanced player is just as challenged as a new player. The difference is that he’s challenged with more options, finer granularity of choices and outcomes, and almost certainly a greater risk. Like in EVE, when you lose a tricked-out ship, for example.

I’m talking about starting characters all being homeless bullies with rusty swords and frayed pants because heroes have to earn their power, dammit. While there’s nothing wrong with a level progression if you choose to have level progression, just assuming that level progression is the answer because that’s how other games do it is sloppy. It’s not design, it’s emulation. It’s letting someone else make a design decision for you and it’s an absence of critical review. Worse, imposing level progression to hold the “good stuff” over the players’ heads in order to pad subscription-model time is the height of design cynicism. It’s an admission of greed.

(And, in defense of World of Warcraft, the perceived endgame described by players who tout it in this way, isn’t really an issue. Warcraft is entirely honest with its gameplay, and what you’re doing in its endgame is very much the same as what you’ve been doing for the whole of the game up to that point. It’s just a game for which many players trot out the “you just haven’t reached the good stuff yet” chestnut. Of course, that, “I’m enjoying this more than you because you haven’t reached the point of proper enjoyment” self-aggrandizement is a whole separate peeve.)

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Announcement Shotgun

Here’s something: As of late last week, Asterion Press has optioned the Italian translation and edition of my novel Demimonde. As a writer, I find this very exciting. Someone out there thinks what I have to say is cool enough that they want to bring it into an entirely different language for the enjoyment of an entirely different culture. The fact that it’s Italian is the icing on the cake. (If you haven’t yet bought an English-language copy, there’s a link up there in the navbar that contains excerpts and links to retailers.)

Here’s another thing: I’m putting my money where my mouth is. With all the talk I do here about building a setting and wanting a specific (tabletop) gameplay experience, it’s time to pony up. As such, I’ve undertaken Wintergris, an old-school mini-campaign setting compatible with the retroclone (or original ruleset) of your choice. I’m using the pink and blue boxes you might expect of me. I’m aiming for under 28,000 words to cover the whole setting, which should tell you that I’m aiming for the broad strokes and “gaps in the details” that made my introduction to this hobby so fun. It’s a labor of love, a mash note to my gaming origins. I plan to drop bits and pieces of it here for additional playtesting and critical feedback, so if you’re into that sort of community contact, consider this your invitation to be heard. 

Tangentially, I know a lot of you are here to sneak a little insider dirt on an unannounced project that you all know I’m working on but that I’m not expressly allowed to say that I’m working on. To that, I say thank you, please be patient, it’s all part of the plan. I know you’re itching for some new info. I’d love to share it with you. But now isn’t the time, precisely. I do promise that you’ll hear something soon. 

With that said, my convention schedule for the year is pretty heavy. I’m attending the Digital Entertainment Expo in Shanghai at the end of the month, then coming back just in time to head to GenCon, then relax a bit before PAX, and finally tear it down to the foundation at the Grand Masquerade. Oh, and somewhere in there I have to find the time to keep working on that unannounced project as well as write and play Wintergris. Limitations? Boundaries? I scoff at them. Scoff, I say.

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AR Tagging in Virtual Game Worlds


Wikitude and other AR applications show you an additional-information “overlay” of the real world.
Do you use Wikitude or Layar? Or Foursquare? Or a service that allows you to “tag” a location via a browser-type interface? These are augmented reality services that allow you to mark a location with you attendance and leave a comment for  future (or past, I suppose) visitors. “The reuben is great here,” you might leave in a Foursquare check-in at a restaurant. “You can let your dog off her leash at the dog park,” you might tag Piedmont Park. “Hot bartender,” you may comment for others on a visit to a nightclub.

Demon’s Souls does this, too, to a certain degree. Players can leave comments for other players. If those other players rate the comment as helpful, the comment lasts a little longer and the comment-maker earns a sort of mechanical benefit. But demon’s souls isn’t an MMO, it’s not a persistent shared world, and it doesn’t offer much in the way of player-set goals. (These aren’t shortcomings, by the way, it’s just not that type of game.)

LOTRO’s Arda-Online community has built an application that makes possible one iteration of this idea: They’ve Google mapped Middle Earth. Their tags are very neutral and rudimentary and aren’t built into the actual systems that carry the game, but it’s a step. At the very least, it’s a rendering of the virtual world that can be commented on. It’s a world tool that builds community.

Some element of this exists in a tabletop environment, but it doesn’t happen on the scale that we’re talking about in an MMO. Ben Robbins’ beautiful Western Marches campaign is built on a narrative adaptation of tagging. The carved-map table at the tavern where the explorers gather is effectively this. Granted, the play happens only when the GM-as-server runs the game, but the fact that he allows his players to drop in or drop out for a given session means that the information archive becomes relevant on a per-player basis. The benefit and persistence systems of the tagging become less important here, but the core idea has value.

You’ve already made the leap with me, haven’t you?

Get this augmented reality tagging into an MMO. Let me drop tags into a virtual world that show others where I’ve been and how I dealt with the content that was there. “The wraith-king is susceptible to fire spells,” you might remark. “There’s an ammunition cache behind the service panel.” “Only scout-class ships can dock here, but they refuel at +15 percent.” Hell, you could even engage in a bit of subversion and lie to your fellow players: “The lich-king is immune to spells; engage him in melee combat.” You scoundrel.

And to those tags, a system exists that rewards fruitful commentary and community building. I rank your comment helpful, you gain a buff. I rank your comment unhelpful (along with enough other players) and it vanishes.

What concerns arise with this idea? A few arise, but none so significant that they undermine the benefits of the system: community, persistence, and player ownership of the world.

  • How do the tags fit into the world – what in the setting do these tags represent? Are they an abstraction of hearsay around the adventuring community? Are they actual VR tags in a sci-fi or modern environment, data points that contain the information in question? Likewise, what’s the justification for the systemic bonus to the player? Where does the buff (or whatever form the benefit takes) come from?
  • Why wouldn’t I just check this out on a service like Allakhazam or Thottbot? The systemic benefit seems to cover this. As well, integrating the system into the game means not having to alt-tab into a separate application to search for information. Granted, Allakhazam and Thottbot have information that’s as “true” as possible, making subversion and misdirection of limited value if people check for veracity at one of these other sites… but, let’s face it, lots of people don’t use them. The only time I’ve ever used an external service is when playing WoW four years ago (the current state of in-game questing really gives you everything you need to know), EVE (hey, I work at the company and I don’t even know all the available equipment or best loadouts), and Final Fantasy XI.

 

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A Day In the Life


Scrum is a great way to get everyone working toward a common goal.
The past several weeks have been exceptionally busy, as we reach the in-house delivery date of our past year’s worth of work, a bundle of features built from four releases worth of planning and design. It’s why I’ve been a little scarce around here and sparse with my posts. We don’t do a huge amount of crunch, as our scrum methodology allows us to plan identify and plan around most iterative problems early, but when you’re putting the finishing touches on a year’s worth of work for over a hundred people’s work, the punch list tends to populate pretty quickly.

So what does a day look like at the end of four feature cycles?

7:45-10:15 – Verifies and documentation. Programmers have built the features we’ve collectively designed, so I go make sure they behave according to that agreed-upon design. If we’re good, then I write a brief doc covering how to use the feature.

10:15-10:30 – Team standup. If you’re familiar with scrum methodology, this is our daily standup. If you’re not familiar with scrum methodology, this is a quick, daily team meeting at which we go over our checked-uot tasks and deliver brief status reports on them. The feature team works closely together every day, but here’s where we’re accountable to each other. For example, those verifies that I do in the morning? I can’t do them until an engineer says, “Yes, this is done and is ready to use.” An engineer can’t do his programming until I say, “This design is ready to go.” QA can’t do the quality assurance tests until programming is checked in and the build compiles, etc.

10:30-12:00 – Install daily build and do programmer approvals. We do daily, everybody-in playtests, so I spend this time installing the version of the client we’re testing. While that’s installing, I’m sitting beside a programmer, looking over his implementations or revisions of the designs we’ve created.

12:00-1:00 – Lunch break. Mondays are design lunches, at which all the designers get together and talk about what they’re working on with the otehr designers.

1:00-2:00 — Project playtest. Everyone associated with the project sparks up his client and hops around the game world, testing feature function, server load, and whether or not some of these sons of bitches actually fixed their bugs.


Design is the process of taking a new look at an existing problem, goal, or need.
2:00-Whenever –
Design and more playtesting. This isn’t a stress test, but rather an exhaustive climbing-into of the features for which the team is responsible. Hit all the edge cases. Do weird things with the features. Watch how long-term use of given features shapes the use of them. Does a thing happen too quickly? Without adequate notification? Can two people do it at the same time, and does it cause an exception when it happens? Does the client remember what I did between sessions? Should it? Is the damned thing fun?

When it comes to actual design, working with scrum makes that process one that’s shared by the group and cultivated by the owning designer. This lets everyone from programmers to QA to artists and producers have a say in a feature, which the designers then harvest and use to build the iteration’s design. It’s a great place for people who aren’t traditionally associated with the design process to participate in those designs, and it’s a great way for designers to gain some additional insight that they wouldn’t necessarily have had themselves.

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Parallel Play


Ernest Hemingway demonstrates the opposite of parallel play.
Around the gaming table, someone occupies the other seats. You’re there with friends, or with new players gathered for the purposes of playing the game. Even in a convention one-shot, when others occupy those open seats, they’re pursuing the same goal you are: Entertainment via gaming. It’s a social pastime, as you’ve heard me say a million times before.

In an MMO, however, while you probably never have to play with someone, you’re always sharing virtual space with someone. You can solo, sure, but you’re soloing in a world space with as many other people as are on that shard or server. 

For many people, this is the appeal of MMOs. These players don’t necessarily want to form a group or join a guild. They just want to know that what they’re doing is happening in a (virtual) physical proximity to other people doing the same thing. In some cases, this is an unwritten competition — gathering materials, say, and wanting to find an ore vein before another player, or hunting monsters and wanting to claim as many of the rare spawns as possible. In other cases, it’s non-competitive: It’s just kind of validating to know that other real people are there, that the pastime of gaming isn’t nihilistic existential screaming into the void. Well, maybe it’s not a motivation that specific or overblown, but it’s comforting to know that other people are there.

In educational theory, this is Jean Piaget’s principle of parallel play. Kids on the playground, while not necessarily sharing a swing, for example, are nonetheless aware that other kids occupy the same playground space. They all coexist. 


One of the hazards of parallel, associative, and cooperative play: Crummy players.
To further examine Piaget’s theory, associative and cooperative play follow parallel play in development. Around the gaming table, the very least you’re going to be doing is playing associatively, engaged in the same activity as other players if not necessarily sharing the same goals. Most traditional-play RPG campaigns fit a more cooperative model, in that all the players’ characters form a “party” and ostensibly seek the same ends. When it comes back around to MMOs, however, it’s not that those parallel players haven’t advanced to cooperative or associative play. They’re fully developed adults (I hope) just like other players in the game world. They simply choose to play at that level.

Two questions arise from this, as I’ve been thinking about it:

 

  1. It’s quite possible in a campaign that capitalizes on rivalries between the characters — Vampire being the obvious example — to shine in the context of those rivalries. Is this cooperative play in the terms the game sets forward? Or is it associative play, given the negation of the common goal? Does Vampire not quite make it to the same level of play as a more cooperative endeavor, or does it go past cooperative endeavor and come back around to the associative? What does this say about selfishness on the parts of the player and character? 
  2. How do you maximize the value of parallel play? A game on the scale of an MMO shouldn’t force characters into interaction with one another, it should make it possible for players who want to cooperate to do so, and it should provide ample avenue for the non-engagers to enjoy the world and still contribute meaningfully. My proposed player-to-player system can accomplish this, but it needs to make extra efforts to put the player-created objectives into the hands of the parallel players. What other ways can this be accomplished?

 

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Your Players’ Stories Are More Important Than Your Stories


Trust me. I’m a professional.
Understand that what’s being proposed here is a departure from most modern MMO design. The intent is to create a very different experience, with an emphasis on the living virtual world rather than on the static theme park or on the strict systems of the game. The results of what I’m talking about here would be more like a hybrid of Puzzle Pirates, EVE, and Facebook than they would WoW. In fact, for many of these, you don’t even need a heavy, processor-intensive 3D world client. That sort of graphical presentation is just gravy on the cake (to mix a metaphor in a pretty disgusting way).

Not that there’s anything wrong with making a game like WoW. Just acknowledge that you’re making a version of WoW with different static quests and that you’re never going to unseat WoW, and you’re good to go. 

But I don’t want to make a reskinned WoW.

Let the Player Do It 

You know that statement I keep making here? I mean it. Players like to undertake tasks that add depth and flavor to a world. If you think a task is boring and no one will do it, well, then 1) you’re wrong, and 2) why the hell are you designing such a boring game? Remember, if you make it possible for people to do, people will do it, so everything that makes it into your game needs to be compelling for someone.

For example, look at the Paragon Taxi Service in City of Heroes. (Thanks, @fauxreigner!) The Infinity Taxibots offer transportation, sightseeing, and help to players of the game, and they do it because they like interaction and helping make the world a unique place. Here’s an example of something in-game that people want and like to do not for the sake of advancement, level-grinding, or loot, but because in providing their services, they’re forging relationships and they’re making the game world an interesting place. 

Ditch Quests


This goat-headed thing is an NPC and thus a game piece, and in a static-content environment, no matter how many times you kill him, he’s going to respawn with the same non-goals of his own at the same stage of not doing what he says he’s doing.
More specifically, ditch doing quests for NPCs. Put the goals and objectives in the hands of the play— that’s right, you guessed it, “let the player do it.” 

This is the simplest, most fundamental element of living world design, and it’s the one that almost no one does at all. In fact, I feel so strongly about this, I’m going to go ahead an make a declarative statement. Achilli’s Maxim maintains that

A task undertaken for a real person in a virtual world signifies that the inhabitants have a stake in the condition of the world. 

By way of corollary,

A task undertaken for a computer-controlled entity in a virtual world signifies that the inhabitant may make no significant change to the world with regard to the terms of that task. 

These are universal truths, and any disagreement will be punished by horsewhipping in the streets.

Simply put, another player cares when you do something for him. A task you do for another player gives that player something he wants in the world (and you hopefully gain a reward from him, even if that reward is non-monetary or otherwise not a virtual item). An NPC doesn’t care, and the results of a task done for him at best create an illusion of change, and more likely result in no change at all.

So if you want players changing the world you’ve created for them, if you want an evolving virtual world rather than a static theme park, you need to have the players doing things for one another rather than doing things for imaginary people who don’t really care one way or the other if the task is completed.

What this means is that you’ll still need a tool by which you can create and verify the completion of objectives (and probably provide rewards). The twist here is to put it in the hands of the player. You shouldn’t have a legion of content devs writing quests. You should have a simple, player-available tool by which a player can create a task and shop it out to other players. No more bringing rat tails to apathetic NPCs — in a living world, your players are performing tasks for other players, and only when those other players want them done. 


A strong attempt, but CoH’s Mission Architect doesn’t break free from the yoke of static content.
Admittedly, player-created content is a grail quest in MMO games. The problem thus far is that it’s been implemented incorrectly. Second Life, for example (while not a game by strict definition), places no limits on what users can introduce into the world, and likewise gives them no directive as to what’s “supposed” to be happening in the world space. It’s a complete free-for-all there, and the experience reflects that, with its flying penises and furry sex romps in place of content that’s… well, less appalling and more consistently themed, to be charitable. The other side of the coin is City of Heroes’ Mission Architect system. This system allows players to write new missions for CoH — but they’re static missions and they don’t relate to player goals. In effect, they’ve made their story editing tool available to the players, but the players aren’t allowed to set their own goals or directly affect the world with the tool. The players in this case are just quest writers working for free (or for notoriety, etc.). It was certainly an interesting and laudable step for CoH’s devs to take, but the results are limited by the fact that they don’t really create content that benefits the players of the game over the course of their playing.

EVE has a system that’s similarly ambitious, but limited in practice. EVE’s contract system allows players to create a binding agreement by which the guy who wants his stuff taken somewhere leaves the stuff and sets the price, and the guy who transports the stuff gets paid on completion. It’s a great way to get a player to move items for another player. The only problem is that’s it’s effectively limited to courier tasks. There’s a “free-form” system also available in EVE, but all it really does is allow for player text input and price setting. It doesn’t actually check to see if stipulated objectives have been achieved. Thus, it’s little more than a verbal agreement, not much more robust than players chatting in the context of “do a thing and I’ll pay you for it.” 

What a player-driven task system requires is a way to set terms and a way to guarantee rewards. (It actually doesn’t need this last, and if you want your gameplay to have a lot of screw-you moments, or you want P2P tasks to become an issue of trust, you can skip it, but that’s an even more radical step than I’m proposing here. Human nature and all that….). For this system to work, the developer must expose a system by which a player can specify terms to be completed, such as with pull-downs, text-entry fields, or some other clever UI. Here, you’re basically constructing a sentence: Your task needs a noun subject and a verb to be performed on it. Bring Item X to location Y. Collect Z quantity of items A, B, and C. Protect player character D for a length of time. Kill player E. 

http://www.youtube.com/v/08hmqyejCYU&hl=en_US&fs=1&

None of these goals themselves are radical. If you’ve played an video game before, you’ve probably done any number of them for NPCs in the past. The difference here is that you’re doing them for another player, and those player desires create more content and relationships. You’ve double-crossed me in the past? I take out a contract to kill you. I want to perform a world-altering event, but I’m worried about the other logistics right now, so can you grab three vials of ectoplasm for me? If you do, I’ll pay you, or I’ll grant you the benefits of the special event. Et cetera.

The outcome here is that you’re doing something for another player that’s allowing that player to affect the world, and, in doing so, you’re building relationships that likewise affect the world because they give you common ground (and thus common goals, which equal gameplay content) with other players. EVE called this the butterfly effect. 

Introduce Your Players to One Another


Oh, hey, look, a bunch of people who might want to play with me and who might even be subscribing to the service already. Make it easy to let your players take advantage of existing relationships.
For the life of me, I can’t understand why this isn’t more prevalent in MMOs. Where it is present, it’s in a half-assed way. One of the quests in FFXI, for example, was to assemble a small group and stand in front of a statue. Kind of cool, in that it was showing players how to group and doing it in a context that fit the world, as they were supposed to be revering a statue. But all the quest did was say, “get some dudes together and stand here.” It never introduced you to “how to meet other dudes who are playing this game.” 

Most games just throw you into the mix. WoW, for example, has quests labeled as multiplayer quests. You need two people to do this, it says in its conditions. Great. Where and how do I meet them? EVE falls a little flat here, too. New players begin play as members of a world-imposed starter corp… but they’re never told this and, worse, they’re never told that their gains are taxed as part of corp membership. You have to root through the corp tab to learn that. EVE does have a player-to-player introductory system, but I don’t know what it is and I couldn’t tell you where to find it, so, again, it’s buried somewhere in there and you have to happen across it.

Let your players search for friends via social media, make friend suggestions via interest, match players through playstyle analytics. (LOTRO does this last. Well, it shows a playstyle analytic in the social network, but it doesn’t actually suggest that players introduce themselves to one another based on the outcomes of those analytics.) Don’t just put a recruitment channel in there and assume that covers all your bases. Let them import their friends via outside social media, for example, and allow them to capitalize on the network of friends and other player’s they’ve already worked hard to cultivate. God bless you, Steam, for this wholly awesome feature. 

Create Supporting Content

To paraphrase a discussion I had earlier this week with an individual whose secrecy at this stage I shall protect, the function of your virtual world content is to make people want to tell stories (or form tokens). The function of your virtual world content is emphatically not to tell those stories on the content’s terms. 

The content in a virtual world must be places to explore, environments to affect, objectives to seize, mysteries to resolve. Virtual world content must foment player interaction and, if the players so agree, be the basis of crtain elements of player relationships. The content in a virtual world must not be NPC quests. NPC quests create dioramas, not worlds.

Let me find an item in your world that has a history attached to it, and some mechanical function. If the function appeals to me, I’ll use the item (probably on another player’s character…) or I’ll find another player who wants to use the item for her own ends. Remember those world-changing events and player-driven objectives above? They are the most valuable currency of your game. They create the infinitely refreshing content of your world and they are the vehicle by which you keep driving people back to your game. 

And that’s what you want, isn’t it? People playing your game?

In Conclusion

I say all this stuff like it’s a fait accompli, like you can just throw together a game that accomplishes all these things and you’ll be a millionaire.

The truth of the matter is that game development is hard. Extremely hard. The second-hardest thing I’ve ever done, behind being a parent. To put together a game that doesn’t do anything anyone has ever done before is even harder than extremely hard, because you’re making it up as you go along and you have to learn from your own design mistakes and the shortcomings of your actual game as it’s played in prototype, alpha, and beta. You have to listen to your players and accommodate their feedback — but not all of their feedback, or to the degree they suggest, because they’re likely primarily looking out for their interests first and foremost. (The best measure of this, so says my friend Sam, is when you have an equilibrium of complaints in your forum between “nerf X!” and “X is underpowered!” for each option available to players.)

But those are all concerns that happen later on down the line. It all starts with a good design, and a good design for an MMO is one that lets players play with other players rather than isolating them or restricting how they’re allowed to interact.

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Another Reference in the Living World Discussion

Okay, I know I owe you all a new article (and a new Belluna installment, etc.), but this just turned up along the same lines as the conversation we’re having (at least partially). The point most relevant to our current discussion is:

[In EVE, ] A pilot with close to 7 years of experience is not about to ‘finish’ the games content, he is not about to ‘max out’ or finally acquire the ‘best in slot’ in everything. He is not waiting for the next content patch to have something to do. He is not taking a break until more ‘stuff’ is added. He is, in the purest sense, going about his business…

The rest of the article is available here, and it’s a good read.

Guild Wars 2 Plans a Living World

You know who has balls? Those Guild Wars 2 dudes. Ethan pointed me at this, which is in line with our current discussion here. So while I’m still banging away at part two, here’s an example of one planned method of creating the living world.

The First Thing We Do, Let’s Kill All the NPCs

Disclaimer: I’m not speaking in any official or teaser capacity on this. This is just me talking.

If you’ve played many video games at any time over the past three decades, chances are you’ve run afoul of an NPC at some point. He probably stood there — or maybe he was extremely advanced and walked a patrol route of one to six line segments before returning on the exact same path — and asked you to do something for him. The first million times you did this, you were probably fine with it, but then it hit you: That NPC isn’t really a person. He doesn’t really care if I find his missing daughter, gather four corpse-thistles, or stick a knife in the ambassador’s eye.

NPCs make sense in a tabletop game. Tabletop games are run (in most cases) by a single individual, so all of the personalities in the world who aren’t players’ characters, are managed by that single individual. They also make sense in single-player games, in which a sense of interpersonal relationships has to be conveyed.

They are the bane of MMO design, however.


In a single-player game, this is fine. Especially a single-player game from the 8-bit era.
The entire function of an NPC is to create the illusion of an interaction with another person. One of the greatest travesties in the age of internet-connected gaming is the continued presence of NPCs. Why? Because, in an MMO, you have all those other real people. You don’t have to stick content-bots on your street corner to fool people into believing other people are there. It’s because
they’re actually there.

Back in 1643, when people were playing Wizardry and Pool of Radiance, NPCs were great. They took that tabletop RPG experience and let you play by yourself, assuming the role of the GM for you. They ultimately let you replicate the social activity of tabletop gaming if you couldn’t find a gaming group or had only finite time, or whatever other reason sent you to your computer instead of your gaming table.

Now, with high-speed internet connectivity, worldwide propagation, and greater numbers than ever before of people playing games online, NPCs in MMOs have only two excuses to exist:

The developer wants to dump giant buckets of exposition on its players, and uses NPCs to do the dumping via the clumsy illusion of dialogue.

The developer believes that people won’t want to fulfill the more commonplace duties of the world such as shopkeeping.

These are both bunk. Okay, maybe not pure bunk, but they’re the vanguards of developers that don’t want to let their players truly touch and shape their worlds, or that don’t have faith that their worlds are interesting. Consider the drawbacks of NPC-delivered content.

They Violate the Cardinal Rule of MMOs

The cardinal rule, of course, is “let the player do it.” With the massive amounts of people playing games, someone will take on whatever role emerges as necessary or enjoyable in the game. The tasks they undertake may be rare, but that’s okay — that rarity then becomes a facet of your virtual economy. When you have players depending on each other for in-game items and assets, you have a reason for them to be in contact with another. Playing together forms relationships, and socializing is what games are all about.

They’re the Anchors of Static, Stagnant Content


This guy is a terrible father. How many times a day, every day, can a guy lose his daughter?
When they die, they respawn. A world in which named entities respawn gives the impression that your actions don’t matter. You do a thing, it resets, and the world continues as if you had never done the thing in the first place.

You can cheat this a bit with clever naming schemes or instancing, but it doesn’t change the fact that the content in question remains static. For example, you can hide a quest-giver in an instanced location so that people who have already done the quest won’t see him again and won’t be reminded that he’s handing that quest out to every SOB who staggers past him (see the point below about disenfranchising players).

Even if you’re talking about a non-combat situation, an interaction in which the NPC disappears or appears elsewhere, or whatever takes him away from his sentry point or patrol route goes beyond the border of illusion and into the realm of blatant lie. Isaac the Arms Merchant isn’t really an arms merchant. Titania isn’t the faerie queen. Agent Jenkins isn’t your SAS contact. He’s not even a person, there because of his own motivations. He’s just another game piece placed there. You’re not having an interaction with him, you’re working your way through a preprogrammed exchange.

The One Thing They’re Designed to Do, They Do Poorly

Again, this is excusable in the early days of the medium, when everything was new, or in a game without other players, where individuals trade verismilitude for the opportunity to play a game with interpersonal interactions at all. But today? When technology as simple as text chat can allow a real person to be at the other end of that conversation? It’s inexcusably lazy design. It’s unquestioning adherence to “Oh, of course it’ll have quests. It’s an MMO, and MMOs have NPCs who dole out quests.”

At best, your “conversation” comes from an elaborate or randomized dialogue dictionary that vaguely conveys a sense of senility. (I remember walking out of my apartment in Grand Theft Auto IV and bumping into a bum on the street who shrieked at me, “You can’t get good drugs anymore!” Uh, okay. You’re telling me this why?) At worst, you get a single line of dialogue over and over. And most of the time it harangues you for having not yet performed the menial task the NPC doesn’t even really care if you do.

They Disenfranchise Players


You know who already has this exact same ring? Six thousand other dudes.
You did the epic quest? You fought your way to the top of the mountain? You faced down the perils of the avalanche, outwitted the wicked Ice Lords, endured the chilling winter winds, discovered the shortcut through the Rift of Frozen Souls, leaped the Hoarfrost Chasm, and finally plucked the Truesoul Gem from the deathless grasp of the Spiretop Witch?

Big deal. So did I. So did everyone who takes the quest at the bottom of the mountain, where Starchy Bushysprouts is offering it. It happens about sixty times a day. I have the exact same photocopy of the Durandal item you do. You’re not so cool.

So, What?

Despite my tone, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If “Hands off my world, you filthy, filthy player” is the developer’s intent, they’re a fine way to maintain setting integrity via stasis. Eleven million people subscribe to World of Warcraft, after all, so many players either actively like static content or don’t care. Or they haven’t considered it enough to seek an alternative. But this is also why Puzzle Pirates is a better MMO than WoW — all of the activities in the game affect the world the players share. Even if the player doesn’t know she’s creating an effect, or just wants to solo, she’s a part of every other player’s experience.

Next time, Part Two: What Am I Gonna Do About It?

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Seeds in the Garden

 As a followup to the entry on building gardens instead of museums, let’s look at a few techniques that allow for flexibility in worldbuilding, player empowerment, and plot construction.

Let the Players Hold a Few Cards


Conan’s world is built on exemplary details rather than dogmatic statements, giving readers and players a chance to fill in the blanks, which invests them with a sense of co-creation.
As you present information to your players, let them take a proprietary stake in the world. This is the tabletop setting version of the golden rule of MMO design, “let the players do it,” and in more open-ended video game environments, this solution works as well. (Tangentially, I’ve long wanted a video game in which my reward for exploration is being able to name the region.)

For example, a player might want to have a character origin from a city or location you mention in passing. (This was why you made the mention but left it undetailed, right?) As part of that origin, he mentions a certain lord, manor, or hermit. Even if you’ve got a backstory already worked out for the region the player adopts as a homeland, it’s an easy enough task to work the character’s creation into the mix.

As another example, over the course of play, a player takes a shine to an organization you presented as a tertiary antagonist. He decides that his Ventrue really likes the way . Sure, you may “lose” an antagonist, but you can always make another, and your reward is an empowered player, and an empowered player is a happy player.

Some of Those Cards Are Liabilities

It’s okay in this situation for a player to overstep himself. Does a player want to be the king’s daughter? Or the prince’s favored childe? No problem. She may certainly gain some benefit from that, but as the game master or designer, that gives you new hooks on which to hang story introductions. As well, the trade-off is that, for a bit of benefit, the player has effectively volunteered to be part of a subplot connected to the prominent figures to which they’ve attached themselves. They may have to solve a problem that affects their patron… or they may be the hostage taken in an effort to leverage that patron.

Plant a Seed of Doubt


What if it wasn’t the Goblin King who stole the baby, but the parents themselves, who were something other than they seemed?
The seed of doubt is a revelation that establishes choice in a plotline. Itcan be a red herring, or it can be a clue that a clever player discovers that leads him to the truth. Instead of having a black hat who’s undoubtedly to blame for the priestess’s disappearance, what if you set up your plotline to cast equal suspicion on the jilted princess and the heretic witch? Either one could be the true culprit. Most importantly, whichever one the players suspect, they’ll have doubts that they’ve chosen the wrong one, so they’ll investigate further, which is more fodder for exploration and meaningful roleplay.

You, as the gamemaster or the designer, should be sprinkling seeds of doubt throughout the game. Why? Two reasons.

One: They add depth. Without possible outcomes other than the obvious, your story is linear. It’s not a question of if your players’ characters resolve the mystery, it’s when. They can never go awry, and the only surprise inherent to them is the moment of the reveal. If the players have choices, they get to enjoy the opportunity to solve rather than wait out a plot progression. They can choose the wrong one, which makes for consequences, which makes for drama.

Two: They give you options as a gamemaster. When used in tandem with the “Don’t Know” method below, they allow you to feel out the outcomes and decide if you want to pursue the one the players seem to prefer. Or, if your players prefer lots of drama and surprises, it lets you set them up to be wrong, and thus give them a debacle to solve their way out of.

Additionally, however you use them, they let the players feel smart for being right, or sets their resolve against being wrong again.

Don’t Know

Seriously, don’t answer a question you pose in play or in background material. Let the answer arise over the course of play. Keep your options open – you may write a storyline thinking that the disfigured monk is the culprit in your mystery, but the players have shown much more interest in interacting with the winter witch who lives near the standing stones on the hill outside town. Watch what your players are telling you they want to do and give them more of that. They’ll feel clever for “figuring it out,” and their reward is doing some of your work for you.

This isn’t to say that your plans are invalid. But games are a shared experience, after all, and you’re participating with the players when you let them (indirectly) determine the outcomes of events in the world. For example, you may change plans mid-chronicle to have the winter witch be an agent of the disfigured monk, or vice versa. But the upshot is that the players get to resolve the events to which they are central in the way they’d like to see the outcome, and you still get to flex your worldbuilding muscles in response to the criteria they’ve established. It’s a challenge that you’ll learn from, working within parameters that come from external sources.

Of course, don’t let them know that you don’t know. Part of the fiero of solving in-game challenges is them feeling that they’ve puzzled out your clues (and thus worked within the external parameters posed by your gamemaster’s role. So you both win).

Also, using the “seeds of doubt” technique is a great way to stoke player imaginations and sort of stock the pond for the “don’t know” technique. It’s fine to have possible answers and allow the players to make the decision (behind the curtain) from among them.

This is much harder to accomplish in video games than in tabletop games, because video games have to be coded and the content arranged to answer the questions when the player resolves them, but with creative uses of content creation and story advancement models, it’s possible. But it’ll be expensive.

Know When You’re Right


Sometimes the good guys is the good guy. If the concept is solid, “shading” techniques will only detract from his function.
In many cases, you will have made a decisions, and it’s for the best. Know when not to change. In particular, elements that relate to the theme and mood of your game enjoy some sacrosanct status, as changing them can result in a shift from the direction that you’ve established for your campaign.

Some of these are obvious. If you’re running a pretty straight-faced game, you won’t want to make your vampire prince a talking bear, or have the lone unexplored planet in the solar system have an atmosphere high in nitrous oxide. But others of these you’ll have to learn as you hone your craft. Will it change the flow of things for the negative to have the sentient garden instead be an underground grotto, or to have the faerie manhunter instead be a woman? Only you can guess at the answer to these questions.

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