Game Inventories (3): Diablo and Daggerfall

Diablo II Horadric Cube 2002One key aspect of Minecraft’s inventory practices is absent from all of the examples previously examined: crafting. Indeed, crafting formed no part of Dungeons & Dragons player practices until the 3rd edition in 2000, and none of the early computer role-playing games descending from it feature this concept. The means of creating magical items that tabletop D&D offered has next to no influence, however. It seems to be Diablo II (2002) that largely establishes the player practice of crafting through the introduction of the Horadric Cube (pictured left), a secondary grid inventory of 3x4 spaces that includes a button to transmute its contents into a new magical item. This provided a means for players to create endgame items beyond waiting for them to drop, and although its function was considered fairly arcane, it was nonetheless a central part of many players’ experiences of this game.

That the crafting box in Minecraft resembles that of the Horadric Cube is not coincidental: Diablo (1996) and Diablo II (2002) were so commercially successful that it is these games (and those of the Elder Scrolls series, discussed below), that anchor the conservation of player practices in Western-style computer role-playing games from this point onward. The Japanese computer RPG lineage, which also traces its heritage back to D&D via The Black Onyx (1984) and Wizardry (1980) before it, would tell a different story, and one that exceeds the scope of this serial to adequately trace. Again, as I pointed out last week, we can tell whatever counter-factual stories we like about the ways things could have gone, but they cannot nullify the influences upon the actual history of games.

A less influential aspect of Diablo II’s crafting practices are items with sockets, which can be fitted with gems in order to power-up the item in question. Like the Horadric Cube, sockets attempt to make the overflowing treasure tables of Diablo something other than a demand to go to the shop and dump the junk. Ernest Adams has joked that computer role-playing games make their players into “itinerant second-hand arms dealers” – the practices added to Diablo II attempt (rather unsuccessfully, as it happens) to offset the root causes of this, and crafting ever since has built upon this idea. The only other major contributor to early crafting practices other than Diablo II appears to be Daggerfall, discussed below.

The original Diablo is one of the games that synthesises influences both from tabletop Dungeons & Dragons, and its computer game inheritors. Co-creators Erich and Max Schaefer had played in the kind of mindless dungeon bash style of D&D that was common (but by no means universal) in the early days of the hobby:

We wanted to do an RPG how we’d played Dungeons & Dragons as kids: hit monsters and gain loot. Our mission was that we wanted the minimum amount of time between when you started the game up to when you were clubbing a skeleton.

Indirect influences came in via the other co-creator, David Breivik, who had played Moria (1975/8) and Angband (1990), two early roguelike games descended ultimately from the unimaginatively titled dnd (1974) on the PLATO educational computer network, written in the same year that tabletop D&D appeared.

Diablo 1996The inventory in Diablo has another key point of influence, however, namely Julian Gollop’s X-Com: UFO Defense (1994), originally entitled UFO: Enemy Unknown. The influence here was in the idea of breaking out of the original grid inventory concept, which allocated one square to an item, by having items take up multiple spaces. As the crop of Diablo’s inventory screen to the right shows, weapons take up between three and six spaces in the grid, in various configurations, an inventory practice established by and descending from X-Com, which all three of the Diablo creators mentioned above point to as their inspiration for the interface design. This thread will be picked up next week.

 

Daggerfall (1996)

Daggerfall InventoryThe same year that Diablo was released, Bethesda were working on a follow up to their first Elder Scrolls game, Arena (1994). Just as Condor (later, Blizzard North) had been engaged in player practices from both the tabletop and from computer RPGs, Bethesda’s influences came from both lineages, with Ultima Underworld: The Stygian Abyss (1992) mentioned as informing the design of Arena. But Bethesda were deeply involved with the narrative practices of tabletop role-playing, and were far more interested in role play than the simple kill-and-level rule play that inspired Diablo. Daggerfall marks the point that their influences change from Dungeons & Dragons to later tabletop role-playing systems, particularly Steve Jackson Games’ GURPS (1986).

An interview on Gamespy with designer Ted Peterson (archived in this forum discussion) makes the connection explicit when discussing Daggerfall’s character creation system:

Julian [LeFay] and I had decided to go with a skill-based advancement system rather than Arena’s kill-the-monster-and-advance system, so each of the classes had been assigned different skill sets. Given that, it made sense to allow players to create their own classes assigning their own skills. Then, thinking about GURPS, we added additional bonuses and special abilities and disabilities that the player could assign. I’ve always enjoyed character creation systems in games of all kinds. I don't like playing Gamma World, but even now when I'm bored, I'll sometimes roll the dice and see what kind of mutations my character would develop if I actually wanted to play the game.

The move here is towards the second generation of tabletop role-playing games, like GURPS, with their emphasis on putting the player in charge of character creation and away form dice-rolling practices, like Gamma World (which was TSR’s post-apocalyptic game, using rules very close to D&D). White Wolf’s Vampire: The Masquerade (1991) has also been mentioned as feeding into the world of Daggerfall, with clans of vampires added into Tamriel for this iteration of the Elder Scrolls franchise.

A striking aspect of the inventory screen in Daggerfall is its division into categories like Weapons & Armour, Magic Items, Clothing & Misc, and Ingredients. As noted last week, this was a common aspect of Dungeons & Dragons character sheets, but it hadn’t been used much in computer RPGs. The influence of tabletop practices is also felt in Bethesda’s crafting systems. Arena had a spell creation system that was clearly a modular version of D&D’s fixed-definition spells. Daggerfall, on the other hand, has a more detailed spell and weapon enchantment system, drawing very clearly from the GURPS concepts of Advantages and Disadvantages, that would go on to influence Fallout (1997).

Daggerfall 1996As noted in respect of Diablo, tabletop RPGs hadn’t had a motive to include crafting systems, but the excessive volumes of loot earned in computer RPGs (a product, in part, of much faster paced play) created a need to find other things to do with items other than just sell them. For Daggerfall, the system that most resembles future crafting practices is the Potion Maker, pictured above. Certain items in the game were characterised as Ingredients and could be combined in a Mixing Cauldron, accessed from Temples or the Assassins’ Guild. Mixing could be done freely, or recipes (acquired as treasure drops) could be used to operate the Mixing Cauldron automatically.

Although Daggerfall’s Mixing Cauldron is narrower in scope than Diablo II’s Horaldric Cube, both are initiating the same kind of player practice: one where the inventory is not just a source of equipment for immediate use (as in Dungeons & Dragons), or simply fodder for sale (as in most computer RPGs prior to the 90s), but a set of active elements that can be combined in different patterns to get better equipment. These player practices made no sense at the tabletop, where complex look-up tables would be required. But on the computer, the availability of automation within the game systems kicked off experimentation with crafting as soon as there was sufficient memory space for such luxuries. It was thus the widespread adoption of the CD drive around 1993 that opened the door to crafting practices, which have thrived ever since.

Finders Keepers 1985That technological limitations play a role in delaying the onset of crafting can be seen by considering one of the few examples of crafting prior to the 90s: David Jones’ Finder’s Keepers (1985). This budget gem (Mastertronic sold it in the UK for £2, one fifth of the price of most games at that time) had a five slot inventory of the style we have already seen in The Bard’s Tale. The twist was that certain items would automatically react in the player’s inventory to form new items e.g. Bar of Lead and the Philosopher’s Stone would switch to Bar of Gold, while Sulphur, Saltpetre, and Charcoal would produce Gunpowder – used to escape the castle in the ZX Spectrum version, and resulting in the player blowing up (Game Over!) on the Commodore 64. But unlike Diablo and Daggerfall, this game failed to influence even its own sequels, which never again experimented with crafting. The 8-bit era does, however, have an important part of the story of game inventories, which we will turn to next week.

Next week: Resident Evil 4 and X-Com


Game Inventories (2): The Bard's Tale and Dungeons & Dragons

Bards Tale 1985

The ridiculously over-titled Tales of the Unknown, Volume 1: The Bard’s Tale, was released in 1985, two years before Dungeon Master, which as shown last week innovates the grid inventory practice that persists all the way to the present day. It’s a measure of the influence of The Bard’s Tale (as it came to be known) that the sequel drops the Tales of the Unknown branding and goes for The Bard’s Tale II: The Destiny Knight (1986). It ultimately goes on to complete a trilogy of games that are fondly remembered, despite not ranging very far from the practices that SirTech’s Wizardry: Proving Grounds of the Mad Overlord (1980) established five years earlier in adapting tabletop Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) to the computer.

As the screenshot above shows, each character in the party is allowed eight items in their inventory. The ordering of the items makes no difference, and the distinction between equipped items and unequipped items is marked with an asterisk. The Warrior shown in this picture has a shield, various items of armour, and a halberd to attack with. His appearance in the display window in the top left is utterly unaffected by what is equipped, but unlike Wizardry the images of both party members and monsters that appear in this corner are pleasingly animated, which added to the appeal at the time of its release.

There is one difference between Wizardry’s inventory and that in The Bard’s Tale: the former used a question mark to indicate items that had not been identified, a player practice invented by D&D but largely maintained only in Rogue (1980) and its descendants. The Bard’s Tale eliminates this practice for simplicity, and indeed can be seen as a refinement of its immediate predecessor, Wizardry, knocking out all manner of clunky elements that had either been inherited from its tabletop forebear (like identifying magical items) or thrown in for good measure (such as adding attribute points on top of random base values during character generation).

The true extent of the conservation of player practices between Wizardry and The Bard’s Tale can be felt with the latter’s sequel, The Destiny Knight, which allowed players to import their party of characters not only from The Bard’s Tale but also from Wizardry or Ultima III (1983). This was possible because the player practices that all three games were built upon were all intimately tied to D&D. Wizardry’s attributes of Strength, IQ, Piety, Vitality, Agility, and Luck become Strength, IQ, Constitution, Dexterity and Luck in The Bard’s Tale. It thus reverted Vitality and Agility to D&D’s terms Constitution and Dexterity, maintained Strength (also from D&D), kept Intelligence as IQ, and dropped Wizardry’s Piety, which had been renamed from D&D’s Wisdom. The only thing new in the computer games is Luck, which replaces D&D’s Charisma, since early computer RPGs struggled to implement any kind of character interaction, and The Bard’s Tale takes this attribute directly from Wizardry.

It will thus come as no surprise that Michael Cranford, the game designer and programmer at Interplay who was responsible for almost every aspect of The Bard’s Tale except its art, was not only playing Dungeons & Dragons at the tabletop (frequently as Dungeon Master,)but also playing a great deal of Wizardry. Like the team at FTL responsible for Dungeon Master two years later, Cranford wanted to create a ‘Wizardry Killer’, and with The Bard’s Tale achieved a streamlined perfection of the player practices of that earlier game, as well as bringing in a few of the new player practices TSR had added in Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, such as changing classes – which is precisely where the Bard character class had come from in the first place.

 

Dungeons & Dragons (1974)

Bob-Ruppert-Character-Sheet-1975_thu

It is hopefully clear at this point that for almost twenty years after its original release, TSR’s Dungeons & Dragons was the wellspring from which the player practices of computer role-playing games were established. D&D had many influences from the tabletop scene preceding it, not least of which the wargames of Charles S. Robert’s Avalon Hill, but the sheer degree to which the D&D rules were distributed throughout the US (primarily via college players) – both by purchase and through unlicensed copies – made this the definitive version of tabletop role-playing games player practices that were conserved by the computer variants.

The tabletop successors of D&D become a part of the story only a decade or so later, e.g. Steve Jackson Games’ GURPS (1986), which gives rise to Interplay’s later Fallout (1997). All the way through the 70s and 80s, D&D was feeding its player practices directly or indirectly into computer games. This is particularly clear in terms of the First Person Shooter lineage. As noted last week, the original controls of id software’s games were inherited from the cursor key movement of The Bard’s Tale and Wizardry, not to mention that the developer were avid players of D&D itself, with one campaign specifically inspiring DOOM (1993). Furthermore, the open world genre equally ties back to Dungeons & Dragons via Traveller (1977) and Space Opera (1980), two early tabletop RPGs that were beloved by David Braben and Ian Bell, whose Elite (1984) would be a major influence on Grand Theft Auto (1997).

In terms of inventories, Dungeons & Dragons effectively invents them (although not the name...) or rather, acquires this practice from early non-commercial tabletop role-playing games, and then becomes the locus of the conservation of player practices by being so widely distributed. The core element of the inventory practices is the use of a set for representation instead of mere function. Sets had enjoyed a millennia of productive use in board and tile games before Dungeons & Dragons used them to create a revolutionary new player practice: the character sheet. In collecting together all manner of fields (Name, Class, Attributes, Alignment and so forth) into one set of sets (a superset), D&D was creating a means of representing entities that would be picked up by early videogames and gradually explored over the decades that followed.

Within the superset of data that was the written character sheet, the inventory was nothing more or less than a written list, recording a subset of all of the possible items specified by the written rules. The original white box game of 1974 did not have a pre-designed character sheet, and players recorded all the text and numbers required to specify their characters without any established format. However, there was soon a thriving experimentation in home-printed character sheets, like the one depicted above that was created by Bob Rupport in 1975.

D&D Character Sheet 1980Many other variations followed until TSR established an official printed character record sheet in 1977, a 1980 variation of which appears to the right. In fact, as both these examples attest, the early tabletop RPG inventory was quite frequently multiple written lists: Rupport’s version divides the inventory into sections named Weapons/Armour, Magic Equipment, and Other Equipment, while TSR’s official version provides separate boxes for Magic Items and Normal Items, stressing the importance of Magic Items (acquired as treasure) to character advancement, both in the tabletop game and in its immediate successors. At heart, this choice to list items in two separate sets had no representative force, and it is hardly surprising that Wizardry and The Bard’s Tale didn’t bother to make the distinction. They also limited the size of the list to eight items (the paper sheets having no such limitation) as a practical matter tied to the keyboard: number keys could be used easily to select which item was to be used.

The tremendous influence of Dungeons & Dragons, in terms of the use of sets for representation (inventories, character sheets), character progression (experience points, levels), and codifying game worlds (dungeon, village, wilderness) may inevitably invite the retort: if it had not been D&D, it would have been something else. However, this counter-factual argument is not as important as it feels to game designers as they try to shrug off their debts to their direct influences. The 1980 release of Wander (a rival for the first text adventure, but nowhere near as influential as D&D-descended Colossal Cave Adventure) has an inventory command listing the items you are carrying; perhaps this was also in the original 1974 release. But game design ideas do not exist in a Platonic void, where the are magically plucked from. Game designers are players, and they are embedded in the player practices of the games they play. Once this is accepted, the legacy of Dungeons & Dragons is unavoidable and undeniable, and it comes into focus as the most influential game ever published. 

Next week: Diablo and Daggerfall


Wikipedia Knows Nothing - Out Now!

What does the Wikipedia know, and how can it know it? More to the point, how can anyone using an anonymously edited source, the contents of which change on a daily basis, know that what they are reading constitutes knowledge? In this provocative challenge to contemporary concepts of objectivity, four figures of knowledge – the Wikipedia, scientific experiments, anonymous peer review, and school education – are investigated in order to question the way we understand the world around us.

Rather than support the classical view of an objective world 'out there' that our beliefs must accord with in order to count as knowledge, Wikipedia Knows Nothing argues that all facts are the residue of skilled activities and that knowledge is better understood as a practice. Furthermore, rather than a single 'real world', the many worlds that we each live within form a multiverse about which our subjective knowledge-practices give us broader understandings than the objective knowledge produced by experimental apparatus.

The merit of the sciences doesn't lie in their possessing the only path to truth, but in their capacity to develop knowledge-practices that can resist objections across all worlds. This leads to an urgent need to recognise the role of practices in creating and maintaining knowledge, and the different ways that truth can be stitched together into distinct but non-contradictory patchworks of 'real worlds'. When we do, we must question any claim that knowledge can come from anonymous individuals exercising an unchecked power to silence others – whether this happens on the internet in wikis, or in professional academic discourse.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 License.

Purchase Print or eBook from Lulu.com, or Download for free.

Cross-posted from ETC Press.


Fresh Lick of Paint

Finally got around to updating ihobo.com to the Responsive Template that I'd already implemented over at Only a Game. It should now work better for everyone - let me know what you think of the new look!

Update 1
Just so you know, I will be rebuilding the banner without the blue bar as soon as I can find the original source image!

Update 2
Fixed a few issues with the stylesheet. Still having problems with Safari. Do let me know if you are having problems, and which browser is giving you the hassle.

Update 3
Changed the dark blue sidebar text from #0F64C1 to #01B0F1, for greater legibility.

Update 4
Rebuilt the banner without the blue bar. That should be everything for now!

 


Game Inventories (1): Minecraft and Dungeon Master

Minecraft 2009

Look at this screenshot from 2009’s Minecraft, one of the most successful games to be built upon the player practices of the role-playing game lineages. What can immediately be seen are a set of armour slots and an image of how they look upon the character, a crafting area, a grid inventory, and a quickbar. There is nothing new in this design, and neither should there be; Minecraft’s innovations are primarily in its customisable regimes of play, not in its interface. What I want to draw attention to here is the way that every single element of Minecraft’s inventory descends directly from a lineage of videogames rooted at its base in the original tabletop role-playing game (RPG), Dungeons & Dragons in 1974. Even its ‘mouselook’ control scheme, which originates in the First Person Shooter (FPS) lineage, has its roots in the RPG lineage.

This serial takes pairs of games in key lineages that descend from Dungeons & Dragons (D&D), either looking at the relationship between a newer game’s design and an older game that developed or popularised the interface practice being examined, or otherwise drawing historical parallels. This first piece looks at the grid inventory of Minecraft and shows how this originates with 1987’s Dungeon Master, itself a direct descendant of D&D. Future pieces cover all the other elements we see here in Minecraft, as well as a few other aspects of inventory practices in games. Alongside this retrospective analysis I will also be espousing a different philosophy for understanding and practicing game design, one that I have been writing and presenting about more or less since I finished writing Imaginary Games. This perspective is focussed upon continuities in the practices of players, which become in turn the practices that inform game designers, who pass those practices onto new players.

The prevailing tendency when examining the design of games is to break down the functional elements of the design as mere atomic entities that can be freely combined. This is how most game designers, myself included, think about the game design process – as selecting options from an imaginary bag of game design elements. Despite its efficacy, my claim here is that this model risks utterly misunderstanding the importance of both history and practice for game design, and only works because the game designer is so deeply embedded in the existing player practices that they knowingly or unknowingly reproduce them. In contrast to the ‘atomic theory’ of game design, I advocate understanding how the conservation of player practices (which are highly variable in commercially unsuccessful games, but not in successful ones) is in itself the key to successful game design.

Understanding games and game design in this way does not entail any dramatic sea change to the way games are made, it only involves foregrounding what is commonly just dismissed: that games are connected by historical lineages that are sustained by common player practices, which is to say, things the player learns to do consistently. The game designer, as a player themselves, recreates the player practices they have learned from other games. When a game designer thinks they are pulling together isolatable atomic elements of a game design, they are simply ignoring the practices those elements belong to. But success at game design is attained most effectively by understanding how player practices function. As I’ve argued before, the tremendous success of Minecraft was not just down to its original elements, which were small but significant. It was largely down to the way that it leveraged well-established player practices.

 

Dungeon Master (1987)

Dungeon Master 1987The grid inventory, so prominent in Minecraft and the backbone of game inventories for nearly thirty years now, is part of a series of player practices that owe their origins to the influential Dungeon Master, by FTL. This remarkable game came about through the co-operation of two designers who were intimately embedded in the player practices of tabletop role-playing games and their early computer descendants – Doug Bell and Andy Jaros. SirTech’s Wizardry had been their direct inspiration; they wanted to make a dungeon crawl in that vein, and set to work on what was then called Crystal Dragon. However, they didn’t have the funds to complete the project alone.

Six letters to software companies in the Los Angeles and San Diego area eventually hooked them up with Wayne Holder, husband of fantasy and horror novelist Nancy Holder. The combination of a pair of designers rooted in the player practices of role playing games, a professional writer, and a business-savvy company owner was to prove immensely productive. Bell and Jaros, like most game designers, enacted the conservation of player practices in their work, but were repeatedly challenged by the Holders to push past the usual assumptions. In particular, Nancy Holder was responsible for contributing one of the first – and greatest – plot twists in any videogame ever written, and Wayne Holder’s outsider perspective on role-playing helped remake the menu systems of the game to bring them up to the standards then coming together in Graphical User Interfaces at the dawn of the WIMP era (Windows Icons Mice Pointers).

The core vision that guided the project was giving the player a powerful sense of immersive presence. Jimmy Maher, in an outstanding summary of the circumstances behind the game, characterises their goal as “an embodied CRPG experience”, and quotes Nancy Holder as asking: “How do you go from being a player to being ‘in’ a game?” Thus the agency practices of Dungeon Master involved breaking down the sense of separation between the world and the character sheet that earlier games in this lineage had inherited from Dungeons & Dragons. In Dungeon Master (itself obviously named in reference to its tabletop progenitor), the player can find a sword on the floor of the rendered three dimensional dungeon, move their pointer (styled as a hand) and grasp it, delivering it into inventory slots in the grid inventory (Wayne Holder’s WIMP-inspired innovation) or into the ‘paper doll’ slots representing each character’s personal equipment. The widespread deployment of both these practices descend from this game, and they are massively conserved from this point – just compare the screenshot of Minecraft with that of Dungeon Master’s inventory: the key difference is that Minecraft’s is notably more shoddy in terms of presentation values.

In setting out to evoke real-time immersive presence, and thus ending the turn-based practices that were both a natural consequence of tabletop practices and a pragmatic option for early computer hardware, Dungeon Master in effect sets up both the shape of forthcoming computer RPGs and heralds the imminent arrival of the First Person Shooter (FPS). Such games are called ‘first person’ in contrast to the arcade shooter, or shoot ‘em up, which was not rendered in 3D, but as a ‘flat’ 2D space. Yet all the dungeon crawl games were in 3D yet did not acquire the appellation ‘first person’. What this term attempts to capture is the very sense of immersive presence that Dungeon Master pioneered; that’s what ‘first person’ is intended to describe. In Maher’s retrospective, he describes this game as “just as obviously a progenitor of Doom as it is a successor to Wizardry.”

Here, we run up against the vagaries of historical research, since while id Software admit to being influenced by dungeon crawl games, no-one will name which. If Dungeon Master were one of them, it would arguably make it the second most influential game after D&D, having set up both the later Western RPG lineage and the FPS lineage. It’s hard to solve this mystery. That Wolfenstein 3D and Doom were both built upon the player practices of computer RPGs is apparent from their interface practices using cursor keys for navigation ('mouselook' emerging only later in Quake, and even then only as an option). But The Bard's Tale (which we’ll look at next week) is an equally plausible point of influence, and there’s a certain sense in which John Carmack’s confidence in the innovation of his first person engine undermines the idea that Dungeon Master was his muse. In an interview for the New York Times he remarked in respect of the sense of fear that the immersive presence of Catacomb 3-D evoked that it was “a reaction that we’d never seen in any other form of video-gaming.” He could not have reasonably have thought that if he’d played Dungeon Master.

Next week: The Bard's Tale and Dungeons & Dragons


No Man's Sky Roundup

Not Really NoctisYou might have noticed a little game came out recently called No Man’s Sky. If you didn’t, you must be trawling a different part of the internet from me because I have been invaded, cajoled, frustrated, and panhandled by No Man’s Sky ads so much at this point that I’m pretty committed to not buying it. Mind you, I had already swayed against since it’s not at all what I wanted – which is just a slightly more polished Noctis. For those of you looking to read something about No Man’s Sky, however, here’s the roundup:

  • Don’t know what the game is? Start with Gareth Damian Martin’s rather reasonable review, which is let down by never mentioning Noctis.
  • Heard about its technical problems? Well the developers say that “Less than one percent” of players have reported issues. They mean ‘have raised a support ticket’. Most players report issues by bitching into Twitter.
  • Lewie Procter, on the other hand, complains about the “lack of multiplayer”, which was at least (he says) implied, if not outright promised.
  • Brendan Caldwell skips straight to ballistic and wades in with accusations of “broken promises”.
  • Brendan Keogh offers a counter-Brendan, trying to drum up sanity from the internet.
  • …and the same kind of “seriously you guys?” with a lot more amusing swearing can be found in Rob’s rambling retort.
  • Lastly, if (like me) you just wish No Man’s Sky was actually a buffed-up Noctis, there’s Dylan Roberts’ piece, Before No Man’s Sky there was Noctis, which might explain why that was what I personally wanted.

Is the opening image from No Man’s Sky or Noctis? Actually, neither, it’s Frig’s mock ups of Noctis V, the sequel that doesn’t exist, as posted to Anynowhere. If you’re making a Noctis-style game, please do let me know, because No Man’s Sky just isn’t Noctis enough for my tastes.


Coming Soon: Game Inventories

lolAs part of my work on the lineages of player practices, I’m beavering away on a five part serial looking at game inventories. It was originally going to be just one post entitled The Joy of Sets, but it has predictably spun out of control and has turned into a bigger project. I will be taking pairs of games and looking at the lineage connections between them, which is not simply a matter of saying what influenced what directly. For instance, Notch never played Dungeon Master to my knowledge – but the design of Minecraft inherits almost the entirety of its inventory practices from it. This will be my big serial for this year, and I hope to kick it off soon. Stay tuned!


Prezi: No-one Plays Alone

For those of you who have brought a suitable device to DiGRA-FDG (and for those not able to make the conference), here's my Prezi for No-one Plays Alone

The timeline in particularly has a lot to offer an errant explorer... go take a look!

Looking for research partners!

I'm always looking for people with similar research interests for possible collaboration on papers, contributions to edited volumes, or possible formation of new sub-disciplines. Please get in touch using the Contact link if your research interests are in any of the following areas:

  • Player Practices: my main Game Studies research subject right now, and I'm interested in allying with anyone who broadly agrees with the following statements, regardless of how they choose to describe their research:
    "no player can play or design a game in complete isolation from the practices of others"
    "an artefactual reading of a game is always an incomplete reading"

    "the history of games is the history of the way players engaged with them" or equivalently "emulation is at-best reincarnation"
  • Philosophy of Imagination: also interested in anyone applying Walton's make-believe theory (or another theory of representation) to any and all aspects of human life. This was the background to my 'imaginative investigations' i.e. the trilogy Imaginary Games, The Mythology of Evolution, and Chaos Ethics. If your work crosses over anywhere near mine here, I'm interested in talking to you.
  • Multiverse/Pluriverse/Ecology of Practices: related to the above, I'd love to hook up with researchers who are pursuing Stengers' ecology of practices, William James' pluriverse/multiverse, or anything similar to my adaptation of Moorcock's multiverse to ethics and politics. If you are working on ways to understand our diversity of being as a manifold of practices or an inclusive set of mythos, please get in touch.

Many thanks to everyone who came to my talk!


The Ignorant Dogmatist

Over at Ice Water Games, Kevin Maxon provides another glorious rebuttal to my firestarter. Here’s an extract:

In some sense, ignorance might be an appropriate word for what I’m advocating: for creators to intentionally ignore with greater diligence the pressures to be similar, to follow fashion or money or power, pressures to use objective, scientific methods of art production. And similarly, I think part of what I’m advocating for could be called dogmatism: for creators to hold firm in their values and goals in order to create works that are more distinct, more filled with themselves, more honest and interesting and worth talking about.

Please rush over to his blog to read the entirety of The Ignorant Dogmatist right away!

The original firestarter makes one of its targets the kind of self-focussed indie game design method Kevin defends here. Yet I cannot do anything but respect Kevin’s commitment to exploring his own creative vision in games. For me, what Kevin is doing is making what I call artgames, and the moment you’re committed to art you are no longer practicing a commercial craft. You’ve gone down a marvellous rabbit hole, one where money may be tight but that worthwhile things get made. Almost everything I’ve thought worthwhile in games in the past five years has been an artgame… This is largely what I choose to play these days.

Why sell out artists in The Craft of Game Design Cannot Be Measured By Any Metric, then? When I look at Kevin’s output, which includes Eidolon and The Absence of Is, I see someone pursuing their vision for its own sake, which is the mark of an artist – a way of life I greatly respect, not least because it now feels closed to me. But when I look at the indie market, I see people pursuing a similar kind of self-focussed process and making yet more-of-the-same violent, repetitive ordinariness. Such indies are, I presume, trying to make a living – and they’re doing it badly. It was these indies I wanted to lambast.

If my piece in any way discourages someone from accepting the role of the starving artist, with all that entails, I apologise unreservedly. Art is one of the greatest ways to add value to life beyond money. But most indies aren’t making art. They’re masturbating into a codebase and thinking they’ll hit big doing so. Maybe I should respect that as a kind of art, but I just see it as bad commercial practice.

With my philosopher-hat on (I wear many, conflicting hats), I can only smile with an inner warmth at this line:

I think that often, the non-mechanical components of a game are more important than the mechanical ones, and so I tend to work on visuals and writing at least as early as mechanics.

I wrote Imaginary Games in part to defend this philosophy, and next week I’ll present to a hundred game academics about how games are more than their merely artefactual machinery. Kevin describes himself as willingly ‘ignorant’… his ignorance, though, is closer to the kind praised in Jacques Rancière’s The Ignorant Schoolmaster – it is a freedom from stultifying conformity. I could never oppose this, especially not when it is done in the pursuit of art. Everyone must discover who they are, sometimes over and over again… and never let someone like me tell you otherwise.