Thursday, August 27, 2020

Blackguards 2

alternate title:
The Lady or the Tiger or the cRPG


I don't believe I've ever before played a game from Daedalic Entertainment except for Valhalla Hills, which was crap. Most of their stuff looks like simpleminded tablet fodder, and the few more promising titles' customer reviews amount to a "meh" chorus. However, I do love a good gothic ambience and am always on the lookout for turn-based RPGs, so it's high time I tried Blackguards 2 (on a hefty sale.) Conveniently, it's rumored to be a short campaign and I need something to tide me over until Wasteland 3 launches in a few days. Let's give it its fair shake.

All through the early game I struggle to figure out whether I should already know all these characters and political factions from having played the first installment or whether the writers are just so enamored of dumping the player "in medias res" that they can't see all their obtuse references pile into a jumbled mess. Apparently they expect all their customers to have played both The Dark Eye tabletop setting and the original Blackguards, and even within its native Germany I'm guessing that would be a stretch of the imagination. Other cRPGs like Tyranny or The Age of Decadence can drop you into a new world and by the end of the first mission make clear the current and historic conflict, the moral milieu in which you must operate and your standing within that world. Here I'm several missions in, having recruited three champions of who-knows-what and a mercenary company worshipping... some kind of generic deity... and I've yet to figure out what it is I'm trying to conquer. A city? Ok, a city, sure, why not. What's so special about it again?

On the other hand, the setting and the characters' personalities strike the right tone, grim and merciless yet not too cartoonishly evil, each with their own distinct backstories which occasionally become relevant to your campaign. Annoyingly repetitive music but surprisingly good voice acting in the English version. On the other other hand, the main plot's not very engaging. The heroine seems to just trip into success at every step, everyone she meets weirdly eager to take the masked hobo up on her promises of future glory and declare her a prophecied conqueror - all in the worst tradition of cheesy RPG plot devices.

By mid-game I find myself enjoying both the stratetic map campaign (along with pumping NPCs for relevant factoids to use during your missions) and the basic tactical gameplay. Mana runs out quickly so your casters can't just spew magic missles all day long. Missions are laid out with a heavy emphasis on choke points and controlling your enemy's movements, enemies' stats are slanted just heavily enough to encourage prioritizing targets without making them one trick ponies, and every map contains interactable objects.


Unfortunately, you are given no information whatsoever as to any of this! Instead, missions are so overloaded with event triggers as to make foreknowledge the only "strategic" option.
On this particular map you're told to activate levers/winches to lower those bridges in the background to summon reinforcements. All well and good, except on other missions the same levers/winches summon adds. Sometimes you can see a monster next to the lever, but as often as not it's literally a case of "the lady or the tiger" on your first run through a mission. Good luck figuring out which winch is which! Or whether dropping a particular pile of rocks will kill everything under them or merely stun! Or whether the puddle of bubbling mud slogs your clogs or flares into instant death!
Walking into the summoning circle in the middle of this map triggers a swarm of high damage/low-health insectoids to drop down on top of you. In every other mission you traipse across summoning circles with no repercussions.
You're told the ent in the top right is "controlled" by the chimes next to it, but activating the chimes instead only activates the summoning circle, presumably for you to lure the ent into it to banish it.
I also went this whole mission without realizing the beehives on this monster type's horns can be targeted independently, and had no way of knowing they leave behind a permanent poison AoE wherever they fall, including upon the ent's death... or that it's a poison with strength 2 and my cure spell only works on strength 1 because I've never encountered poison before this relatively early mission and justifiably assumed it would scale gradually. They're poorly scripted to boot, performing a 1-tile-radius AoE attack even when the only character in "melee" range of them is a spearman... with bonus reach.

On other maps your mission success might depend entirely on knowing exactly how each particular enemy's scripted to act (e.g. it's the shield mook who goes for the winch, so you need to focus him, or the insectoid surrounded by guards will all turn on you as soon as you're in range, or the boss casts immunity on himself in the first round, negating any debuffs you might cast on him, or the reinforcements summoned by an enemy blowing a horn are on your side, inexplicably.) Even the interface can be a crapshoot: voiceovers frequently play with no visual clue as to the speaker's location, attack previews randomly show 0% odds or your pointer doesn't register as hovering over a gigantic 7-tile monster, and have fun hunting pixels for a beehive superimposed on a convoluted mob's twisted horns.


Oh, and did I mention you can't save inside missions?
Every time a monster pops up out of nowhere or you misclick shifting pixels at a critical moment or you activate the wrong doodad or you realize enemies keep spawning unless you advance to tile #123, you will likely have to redo the entire mission.
A-yup.

As annoying as it can be to admit you've been ripped off by a bad game, watching an otherwise worthy title stumble into an undeserved early grave somehow bothers me even more. Blackguards 2 does not deserve its current banishment to the dollar bin. Its tactical gameplay is fairly solid, its writing on par or better than the Neverwinter Nights original campaigns, its level design far superior to cRPGs' average, its monsters more interesting.
Yet still, when every single map contains a brand new mechanic or some moronic scripted "surprise" halfway through to be discovered by sheer trial and error forcing gratuitous restarts every time, the main criterion for success in this campaign is obviously... having already played the campaign.

There's replay value, and then there's the cheap old "rocks fall, everyone dies" routine which only cheats players out of their time investment.

Monday, August 24, 2020

Terminalogy

I've gotten sick of hearing accusations of "whataboutism" over the past few years. For anyone lucky enough not to have heard the buzzword, in Anglophone media this refers to public figures (especially Trump apologists in recent years) replying to any accusation by shifting the conversation to "what about" the others' faults. In other words it deliberately invokes the Biblical mote in another's eye. In all fairness it is often abused as a cheap rhetorical cop-out, but the label has increasingly grown just as ludicrous.

For one thing, it's called deflection, and leave it at that. It's not a new invention. For another, the accusation of whataboutism itself can just as easily be a form of deflection. Attempting to keep the public's attention focused on only one issue serves the same purpose as fabricating a distraction. This has become especially obvious in the media's unwillingness to condemn the massive amounts of opportunistic violence, vandalism and looting at Black Lives Matter riots, as any criticism is quickly claimed to merely distract from the real issue of police brutality.

Well, thirty people killed, billions of dollars in damages, countless businesses crippled and jobs lost, not to mention the less tangible social costs, has all been looking like a pretty damn captivating distraction, and "look in exactly that other direction while I rob you and torch your house" is not a moral high ground.

So yeah, what about your domestic terrorism?

Friday, August 21, 2020

Magic: the Gathering Arena

I've been playing a lot of Magic:the Gathering Arena over the past year. I'd gotten briefly into Magic during the '90s (still own a shoebox full of old cards) but was terrible at finding other players and my interest petered off as I got more into computer games. Revisiting it now feels odd, as MtG (and in general, the collectible card games it popularized) is the filthy rot at the root of so many despicable game industry practices. Deliberate imbalance in a pay-to-win scheme, cookie-cutter builds (oh look, it's yet another Ajani's Pridemate deck) luck-based success and gambling addiction, "specialness" inflation, chasing status symbols, loophole abuse, MtG has long served as test lab for most of the nauseating perversions of multiplayer gaming. So why, after decades of denouncing other games for copying its worst points, have I come full circle to the original perpetrator?


It's rare to get a match this enjoyable. Most kiddies chase their nominal wins via simplistic rush decks and few try to build up any real complexity. (In all fairness this guy did, but it was still satifying to beat him while he abused one of the most broken cards in the game, Thassa.) Yet, though it unfairly punishes complexity addiction, MtGA does not outlaw it altogether... which is more than can be said for most online games these days with their Diablo-style fighter/mage/thief loot grinding or deathmatch mode pistoleering.

For all its faults, MtG still allows you to struggle to make interesting things happen, to mess around with unpopular options. It still allows you to sacrifice nominal success to strive for a greater theme or chain of causality even in the context of pettiness, instead of hard-coding pettiness.

No, we really should not be bringing back the '90s, but our standards have backslid that far.

Saturday, August 15, 2020

ST: TNG - Endemic Wesleyitis

In an effort to relive my early teens, I am re-watching old episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It is both better and worse than I remembered it, as was my youth most likely.
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Seriesdate: 4.09
Final Mission
(you wish)

Hey guys, I think Gurney Halleck's hand-crafting a thumper!


Oh, if only that were this episode's plot. Forty minutes of Stewart braiding chicken wire would've counted a blessing compared to the sad reality.

The B plot involves the Enterprise tractoring a barge full of radioactive sludge through an asteroid field to throw it into the sun... which makes absolutely no sense from any angle:
- if it orbited close enough to an inhabited planet to start giving people radiation poisoning in a single day, you should probably worry more about half the population getting cancer
- "asteroid fields" are not gravel driveways (you could shoot whole planets through our asteroid belt all day long without directly hitting anything; they're a hundred Earths' distance apart!) and if Robert Heinlein could at least nod to that idea in Space Family Stone in 1952, a bunch of scriptwriter hacks in the nineties have no excuse
- you don't really have to work that hard at aiming anything into a star because... fuck it, just open an encyclopedia to the word "gravity" - horseshoes, hand grenades and decaying orbits would certainly apply

Yet still, still(!) if that misconceived public service announcement about nuclear waste were the main story here I would still find it preferable to the A-plot. Wesley's finally leaving the ship for Starfleet Academy... not that viewers cared where he went aside from "away" and this falsely advertised final mission demonstrates exactly why. Technically there's a plot here about him and Picard getting stranded on a desert planet by an incompetent drunken impulsive shuttle pilot (to provide our boy wonder with an easily despicable antagonist) and that pilot getting killed and Picard wounded by an energy swirling glowing whooshing manifestation of speed lines protecting the only source of water inside a cave. None of it really matters because the whole episode was built around a single nauseating scene of Wesley comforting a wounded Picard, overshooting their already incongruous paternal-filial relationship into... something else:

Wesley: Sir, in the past three years [dramatic pause] I've lived more [dramatic pause] than most people do in a lifetime. I think I'm very lucky [dramatic pause] no matter what happens. How many people get to serve [dramatic pause] with Jean-Luc Picard? [exhales] Sir [dramatic pause] you don't know this. No one knows this [dramatic pause] 'cause I never told anyone. All of the things I've worked for [dramatic pause] [exhales] school, my science projects [dramatic pause] getting into the Academy [dramatic pause] [exhales] I've done it all because I want you to be proud of me. [dramatic musical pause] If there is one thing [dramatic pause] that I've learned from you, it's that you don't quit. And I'm not going to quit now. I've seen you think yourself out of worse situations than this, and I'm gonna think us out of this. [dramatic pause] You're not gonna die. I'm not going to let you die. [dramatic pause] I'll get to the water [exhales][exhales] and I'll keep you alive [dramatic pause] until they find us. I promise.

Four minutes (about two of which are basically dead air) of awkward hurt/comfort May-December homoeroticism, clasping hand in hand, clenched-teeth confessions of love and admiration, panting as though he's just run a marathon... I would sooner listen to John Galt blather on and on for sixty pages than this bullshit! There are cheesy B-grade war movies from the fifties about army buddies dying in each others' arms which still didn't drag things out this badly - and we know damn well the captain of the ship isn't going to die halfway through a season.

Having saved his captain from certain death, the promised child rides off into the sunset.
Gag.
But at least it's over, right? We finally got rid of Wesley!

______________________________________________

Wrong.

Seriesdate: 5.06
The Game

After a painfully overextended introduction of Riker chasing a woman in a negligee around a hotel room (who introduces him to a headset with a video game about slipping round things into holes) we proceed to ensign Robin Lefler (Ashley Judd) smiling way, waaay more than necessary at Riker, another scene of Deanna sensually caressing and inserting fudge, and if you thought that was ridiculous, in comes Wesley, on vacation from Starfleet. After several minutes of patting the promised child on the back by every member of the core cast, he treats us to some awkwardly parodied awkward teenage flirting with Lefler and then finally, fifteen minutes into the show, Beverly Crusher flips Data's "off" switch, indicating the actual plot has begun.
How did Dorn manage to look extra-smug here?

The crew has been brainwashed by video game addiction! And only the promised child (and his latest star-crossed love interest) can save them! Try to act surprised!

From there things progress via a cheap B-movie tirade of Puppet Masters / Body Snatchers tropes: finding authority figures have been infected, uncovering a greater conspiracy, faking infection to avoid being captured, one of the two heroes finally succumbing, holding the hero still to attach the parasite, a last minute nonsensical deus ex machina-man solution... via strobe light... yeah, ok, that part's new. (Not that undoing the addiction would logically undo the brainwashing perpetrated while under that addiction anyway.) And of course the hero gets a big kiss after saving the day. The End... and good riddens to bad cheese.

This concept of biofeedback conditioning and brainwashing would've been a perfect opportunity to build continuity, claiming it to be an extension of Romulan tech from season 4's The Mind's Eye (brainwashing Geordi through his visor.) Instead we spend half the episode in overextended shots lovingly gazing upon Judd and Wheaton's magnificence and the other half in a paranoid after-school special about the evils of video games. It was 1991, quite early in the endless tirade of rabid lunatics trying to blame video games for everything from rabies to lunacy.

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Seriesdate: 5.19
The First Duty


Picard's opening narration: "I'm also looking forward to seeing Wesley Crusher again."
... heavens...why?



Anyway, problem: young Harry crashed his broom!
Which is to say, the promised child's Starfleet squadron caused a five-dogfighter pile-up on the Saturn freeway, smearing one of them across a few rings. Don't ask me why they're training in one-man fighter craft since you never saw any X-wing vs. TIE-fighter combat on this show before, but there you have it. Now the remaining four ca-dolts are being questioned, inconsistencies appear, our young hero struggles with his conscience, gets a stern talkin'-to by a wise elder (who gets a friendlier talkin'-to by a wiser elderer in turn) and comes clean in the eleventh hour to reveal they'd been attempting a flashy, suicidally risky maneuver at their leader's behest, to put their names in the academy's history books.

The story could easily have descended into the same hollow, overwrought farce as previously, but for the wider focus on an institution of learning, its pragmatic and moral standards and the values it inculcates, a glimpse of Starfleet life beyond the Enterprise. Wheaton and the others youngsters' mediocre emoting (thankfully more restrained this time) gets offset by the Starfleet officers' nuanced impression of village elders balancing their society between the extremes of superego and id. Still, a mediocre showing except for two high points, one being the pivotal scene of the captain sussing out the youngsters' suicidal stunt for attention:

Picard: "The first duty of every Starfleet officer is to the truth - whether it's scientific truth, or historical truth, or personal truth!"

Truth. Not loyalty, not kindness or family or tradition or victory or mass appeal. Objective truth. What happened, happened. It was moments like this which elevated TNG's Utopianism past the TV fare of its time, moments which rose past human codependence.

edit:
Note how that phrase has been perverted by social activism. In Picard's usage, it means the factual truth of a person's involvement. In post-modern activist parlance "personal truth" means a person's imagined, fabricated, subjective interpretation, dishonestly treated as truth for political gain. If Picard had meant it in its modern definition, he would've been encouraging Wesley to lie, to impose his subjective "truth" (that nothing is ever the wonder-child's fault) on the Starfleet commission instead of admitting to his share of the guilt.

The other high point comes at the very end, when Wesley mentions his squadron leader took the blame after Wesley confessed, protecting the rest of his squadron from expulsion... including Wes. The leader (who apparently landed himself a role on Voyager for this appearance) had been built up as using and abusing his underlings all along. On any other show he would have ended as a defeated villain of the week, a punching bag, a caricature of an incompetent blowhard like Zapp Brannigan. His partial redemption, his willingness to back up his bluster about loyalty and cohesion, once again fed into TNG's optimism.

___________________________________________

Seriesdate: 7.20
Journey's End


The one with the... the, uhhh... hmmm. Ugh, there is no other way to say it: the one with the magic space-injuns.
No, see, we already did the "final mission" and then three more final Wesley missions after that. Count me skeptical that this journey, this seasons-prolonged death rattle, this trail of fanboy tears, would ever end. Wesley's back on the Enterprise for vacation... again.

HIS COMING WAS FORETOLD! (To the mystical space injuns... via vision quest in which one "talked to many animals"... Oy vey.)

Also, Picard is tasked by Starfleet with relocating the space non-native non-Americans out of their space pueblo as part of a treaty with the Hardassians. Problem: they refuse to leave their ancestral land they landed on twenty years ago because the rocks spoke to them and it just feels homey. Problem: one of Picard's conquistador ancestors participated in the slaughter of some of their ancestors back in the 1600s so they saddle him with the task of expiating his great-to-the-23rd-grandfather's sin. Or one of them anyway, since 2^23=8,388,608 ancestors, inbreeding and subsequent generations notwithstanding. Are each and every one of you going to look up your eight million ancestors' crimes to pay reparations to their millions upon millions of descendants? No? Didn't think so. Fuck off, Big Chief Selective Enforcement.

Also, for all the dramatically scored hand-wringing about "these people deserve better than to be removed from their homes" no further mention is made of the treaty being mutual with the same drama presumably being mirrored on evacuating planets in Cardassian space in preparation for Federation takeover, or that the "natives" are prepared to sacrifice presumably millions of lives in continued warfare (and they'd be first up against the wall in case of a Cardassian invasion, most likely) despite being offered free, effortless relocation to any number of similar planets, for the sake of their bullshit stone-age hocus-pocus. If this plot had substituted for the magic Indians a handful of gap-toothed yokels of European descent refusing to inconvenience themselves for a peace treaty because they claim their current planet gives them visions of the Virgin Mary in their oatmeal every morning, few of the show's target audience would've suffered any guilt calling them on their bullshit.

But in Wesley's words "These people are not some random group of colonists. They're a unique culture with a history that predates the Federation and Starfleet" except that describes literally all persons comprising The Federation and Starfleet, which were founded on pre-existing cultures like every single other grouping in history, including Pueblo Indians!

Then Wesley inhales some (implied; we've got censors to worry about) hallucinogens volatilized in campfire smoke because yes of course the promised child is going on a spirit journey. I promised myself I wouldn't fast-forward... Anyway, Wesley is unhappy at wizarding school, so instead of rationally taking stock of his options and formulating a coherent life plan he hallucinates his father telling him in a ghostly echoing voice to "find a path that is truly yours" which leads to Wesley turning against the Enterprise's crew by divulging the plan to teleport the locals off planet, leading them to revolt, despite the fact that doing so will probably lead to their entire "unique culture that predates the Federation and Starfleet" being nuked from orbit by a Cardassian warship. There follows a scene with Picard, rightfully outraged, being written as an oppressive authority figure ordering blind obedience, all the while eschewing the very salient argument that you are going to re-open a war and kill a billion people you snot-nosed little imbecile!

Wesley resigns in self-righteous indignation, wastes several minutes of air time reiterating his angst to his mother. Planetside, the logical conflict erupts, but that's ok! Because Wesley suddenly stops time by yelling at it. The shaman from before transmogrifies into The Traveler (Wesley's mentor) who offers to guide the promised child to a higher plane of existence and leave the humans and Cardassians in the lurch:
"have faith in their abilities to solve their problems on their own" - great, except they were solving those problems until you two shitheads interfered!

We finally reach the obvious conclusion that should've been put forth as soon as the Puebloans refused to leave, remaining on the planet as Cardassian citizens. So this could've been a five minute episode if not for digressing into a half hour life lesson: as long as you're "special" in some nondescript way, you can act as idiotically, suicidally, genocidally reckless as you want to act - because a space wizard will show up to lead you to another dimension!


Ta-daaaaa: "Science" Fiction!
Gah!
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It's no coincidence that almost every time Wesley returned to the show, Stewart's opening narration had to remind us it's supposed to be a joy having him back. Got that? Love the Wesley, damn you. When I previously discussed the dread malady Wesleyitis under the ST: TNG tag here, I centered on two problems:
1) He's a fantasy character in a SciFi series, Harry Potter working magic spells by furrowing his brow on a spaceship
2) As a Mary Sue, his presence infected every other aspect of the show, twisting other characters to suit his fantasy heroics and flimsy pretexts to rebel against adult authority. (See: "shut up Wesley")

It was possible to fit him into the show, so long as he remained a reasonably clever Starfleet ensign working out problems by intellectual and scientific means. The First Duty provides the best example: despite being built around Wesley's life, it maintained adequate proportions and utilized his youthful viewpoint to expand upon our knowledge of Federation life. However, everyone could smell "a Wesley episode" a mile away by the cheap drama and the convoluted justifications for treating him like a Messianic figure.

Amusingly, writers and directors seemed to throw up their hands in desperation after a certain point and started repurposing Wesley episodes as vehicles for any cheesy, half-assed script ideas they might've been sitting on: drug war parables about crack addiction, after-school specials about nuclear waste (in a society that no longer relies on fission) cute little alien girls with ham radios, an infestation of alien brain parasites, more Body Snatchers grade paranoia about the new technology of video games, space Indian vision quests, you name it. From the viewpoint of an outsider to Trekdom, they certainly seem to have decided early on that if any Wesley episode's gonna be a shit-show anyway, it may as well double up on the shit.

Wesley Crusher stepped onto the scene fundamentally flawed for being Gene Roddenberry's self-insert Mary Sue into his own series. I strongly suspect the actor's adolescent ego, easily inflated by stardom, his probable expectations of playing the hero also contributed negatively, no matter his later re-tooling of his public image as a more mature blogger and commentator. However, when Wil Wheaton complains that TNG's writers kept dumping him into ludicrous scripts... the man's got a point.

Friday, August 14, 2020

Foam on the Waves

Let me put this bluntly: pay more attention to how people act in computer games. Despite gamers' age rising constantly as they become a more and more mainstream activity, computer (more than console or mobile) games especially have retained an inherently neophile appeal and mentality, rendering them a better than average barometer for the tastes of the rising generation.

The false nihilism and gung-ho jingoism of the 2000s was inherent in the braggadocio of 1990s' first-person shooters. A decade before snowflakes in their 20s started rioting for no particular reason beyond egomania, the problem was already visible in online games, where snowflakes in their teens would declare, en masse "I don't play support" and spelled the death of classic DnD wizardry by refusing to adopt buffing / debuffing / crowd control roles. We are discovering now that a populace indoctrinated into a lifetime of narcissism via the so-called "educational" system, of "personal truth" and top grades for participation and safe spaces and trigger warnings, is incapable of accepting that the real world will not stroke each and every one of their egos at each and every step. But, a decade before the wave of college riots in 2016-2017, that same narcissism was already destroying teamwork in virtual worlds.

Watch how they prefer to act where they're allowed preferences. You'll have those preferences crammed down your throat a decade later.

I mention this now because the new trend seems to be a whole generation incapable of doing more than going through the motions. Catatonia. Just as the gratuitous nastiness of generation X fomented a backlash of prim, preening, precious prima-donnas, millennials in turn have over-regulated social interactions to such an extent that up-and-coming youth are simply... shutting down. Not interacting, for fear of getting caught in some mis-step.

Prove me wrong. Please.

 

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edit 2023/03/12
Expanded upon here. Teamwork remains dead, and griefing is now an institutionalized practice, protected by online games' authorities.

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

The Corsair Demographic, Part 3: The Magic of the Mind

"But who that Chief? his name on every shore
Is famed and fear'd—they ask and know no more.
With these he mingles not but to command—
Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand.
[...]
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy—yet oppose in vain?
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
The power of Thought—the magic of the Mind!
Linked with success—assumed and kept with skill,
That moulds another's weakness to its will—
[...]
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt
"

Lord Byron - The Corsair




I wholeheartedly applaud modern advances in instant quasi-randomized matchmaking for multiplayer games. Whether in a MOBA, FPS, RTS, card games in their online incarnations, this lazy old dog shouldn't need to yap about in chat boxes or sniff through lobby lists to pick a fight. I should be able to simply fire up a game, hit the "play" button and... play.

Unfortunately, the idea was quickly picked up by MMOs as well, the genre least amenable to random player concatenations, and for the past fifteen years WoW-clone MMOs have been struggling to cram their customers into randomly matchmade instance runs and randomly matchmade PvP teams. Remarkably, not even the dullwited hordes comprising MMOs current audience will fall for it. Automated matchmaking has routinely gone unused and the most reliable way of getting a team remains the trusty old elleffgee channel.

Algorithmically slapping players together and labeling them a "team" precludes any activities more complicated or with longer repercussions than Pokemon or Mortal Kombat. In a persistent world pervaded by individuals' myriad divergent choices, having one's teammates randomly selected will inevitably prove either pointless or suicidal - just as you don't randomly hire people off the street for qualified work in the real world. If you'd like a quick confirmation, log in to Planetside 2, join a platoon with high cohesion and listen to the contempt in your squadmates' voices at mentioning "blueberries" - PS2 jargon for the uncoordinated bulk of blue-colored ally markers on the minimap, playing solo or wandering about shooting at the first thing they see, who albeit useful for catching bullets will never, ever, ever get anything done. Keep in mind PS2 offers a bare minimum of the options or long-term interaction which would make a true MMO.

For any alternate online dimension to rise above WoW-clones' "kill ten rats" routine, it must depend on intelligent player leadership. A grander persistent world requires grander activities which require coordination, therefore coordinators. Note the paradox. A persistent virtual world would be the greatest escapist fantasy of all: an entire world at one's fingertips. Our modern idea of escapism spread in the wake of industrialization during the 19th and 20th centuries, heralded by romantic adventure stories like The Corsair. We're motivated in this to a larger extent than we'd like to admit by a laughably romanticized notion of lawless freedom; we escape into role-playing games to imagine ourselves as pirates yet to our frustration, in order to play a pirate among other pirates one must accept a captain.

Taken to its logical extreme, this reminds me of the Pinky and the Brain episode It's Only a Paper World, where Brain lures the entire human species onto an artificial "Chia Earth"* so he's left ruler of the original planet... only for a meteor strike to strand him on Chia Earth as well. No good creating a separate world if you're stuck on it with all the same idiots, right back where you started from, every night, like a laboratory mouse whose genes have been loused. Back in WoW's first year while getting kicked out of or quitting a guild (as is my Byronic wont) I was having a... let's say heated argument with my guild leader about her and her real-life friends hogging all the loot. She at one point spouted what must have seemed to her an irrefutable condemnation:
"If I was your boss in real life you wouldn't dare talk to me like this!"
Well, yes, true. But how does your personality look through the lens of your inability to interact with anyone you can't threaten with homelessness and starvation? If this is what passes for leadership, one can't fault gamers for wanting to escape it into pirate fantasies.

True communal escape requires a niche audience (addressed in #1 of these posts) who want to play a role, to cobble together a personal ethos and narrative, instead of merely chasing cake. It also requires redefining leadership within a fully voluntary activity. More than enterprises or sports and games in the physical world, leadership in an online game can be isolated from contaminants like personal charisma or pre-existing social rank, distilled to its fundamental property of coordination. The power of Thought secures resource deposits, builds bases and upgrades everyone's parrots to +2 squawk damage. FPS/RTS hybrids like Natural Selection or Savage made a good early show of it, in which the team's commander played in a top-down view, issuing context-sensitive orders by selecting other players and right-clicking just as one commands units in an RTS. Chatting up and fluffing individual players' egos was superfluous as long as you gave timely prompts and got shit done.

MMOs need to provide interface functionality for guild leaders and officers to manage property and goods, set underlings' attributions and issue fluid battlefield commands on the go, without the need for lengthy explanations. They must attract not only role-players, but would-be game masters and strategists... and then must hobble those would-be master strategists' impact upon others, ensuring that the rank-and-file can weigh both the risks and potential rewards of an activity before they accept anyone's leadership in it. Loot distribution, chain of command, duration of engagement and designated enemies must not only be assigned through the game interface but with sufficient forewarning to allow ordinary players to formally accept or opt out of anyone's leadership for any short or long-term engagement. Clan/guild/squad/team leadership must become a part of the game itself, and not a function of the chat box.




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* Chia Pets were a '90s thing, look it up.
Also, any blog post I can source by watching Animaniacs counts as a win.

Friday, August 7, 2020

Glob Bullies Owe Chine

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Wednesday, August 5, 2020

Fern? Golly!

It's weirdly heartwarming, when typing the phrase "how often" into a search engine, to see "how often to water ferns" pop up as the top autocomplete option. Other possible options would've been "how often do epidemics significantly reduce the human population" or "how often do the ignorant rabble spontaneously rise up to destroy their neighbours" or "how often do Asiatic empires go on genocidal rampages" - but no. You all want to know about the ferns.

Damnit, every once in a while you give me a reason to almost tolerate you.

The general answer, by the way, is "just slightly more often than you'd water most temperate plants, and the main issue is providing constant moisture and not large amounts of it, so misting can also help."

Take good care of those ferns, you crazy lovable bunch of murderous monkeys.

Monday, August 3, 2020

Darkest Brothers' Desolation

Baldur's Gate 3 is a long ways off. Bloodlines 2 is presumably bleeding in a ditch somewhere, having committed ritual suicide on the altar of political correctness. Cyberpunk 2077... will hopefully not be delayed until 2077. Bannerlord is by early accounts a bare skeleton of what it might become.

Waiting for these various Godots, I wanted some class-based combat and didn't feel like trudging through any outdated, clumsy '90s pixelation so this seemed like a good time to dive into some squad management games instead of full-scale RPGs. Yes, terminology is relevant here, but I'll return to it at the end of this post. While I do like RPGs, I find the bare-bones dungeon crawl routine by itself, divorced from meaningful long-term decisions, to grow rapidly tedious, whether expressed in over-randomized roguelikes or linear series of overly-scripted missions like Icewind Dale or Fallout: Tactics. Despite their overlap with some of my all-time favorites, squad tacticals are one genre I've never much gotten into. Skipping the obvious choice of the unplayed XCOM titles in my library I instead slotted three turn-based squad management games from the past few years, all with vaguely medieval aesthetics and all seemingly low budget, for the sake of comparison.

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The first of the three, most promising initially and most disappointing ultimately, is Battle Brothers, a poor man's Mount&Blade with zombies and goblins thrown in.

Admittedly, the various supernatural creatures' special abilities are well implemented. Ghouls get significantly stronger by passing a turn to eat a corpse, ghosts frighten your troops into running, vampires whip around the battlefield preying on weakened soldiers at the outskirts, orcs charge at your units to stun them, zombies can pop right back up a turn after being re-deaded, albeit weakened.

The combat system is basically solid, with stringent movement and fatigue limits making you plan out your units' positioning beforehand. Initiative sees a more relevant implementation than usual due to the need to organize sequences of attacks (e.g. freeing your archers from melee engagement before they can shoot or cracking an enemy's shield using an axe before laying into him with swords and javelins) and flanking gets its due in both attack bonus and demoralization of the flanked.

Aesthetically, the battle busts do nothing for me (either here or in RimWorld) but though uninspired and generic, every flavor of the game could be counted sufficient (the writing can even be quite entertaining at times) had its gameplay been better.

Sadly, the skill system is mostly cosmetic with obvious false choices: no particular reason not to grab the exp bonus at second level or get all your melee the survival chance bonus at third, or the weapon specialization at fifth. Also, despite their special abilities, enemies' target priorities and attack patterns are quite homogenous. Everything from trained mercenaries to zombies and wolves seem to know what an archer is and try to focus them - and while we're at it, who handed out head and body armor to all these wolf packs anyway? Combined with a maximum army size of 12 on a hex grid (severely limiting hand to hand combat) and the need to focus fire to thin out enemies due to the steep damage/health ratios, your group composition basically writes itself. If you're passingly familiar with the notion of combined arms and medieval formations, ever heard words like phalanx or tercio, you're set strategy-wise. You won't be swapping more than a couple of roles out of your 4/4/4 shield/polearm/shooter formation. There's simply little to no incentive to build themed groups, no matter where or what you're fighting, especially since you'll never know where or what you're fighting.

Battle Brothers' most glaring flaw by far is its heavyhanded abuse of leveling sideways, a.k.a. "level scaling" since your main activity is running quests against enemy groups who will always spawn as slightly tougher or slightly more numerous than your own current group - on paper. My own chief gripe with it however goes back to why I called it a poor man's copycat of M&B, despite one using FPS combat and the other turn-based tactics.

In both cases you'll schlep from town to town, accepting quests as a mercenary for profit and favor, selling loot out of your limited inventory, recruiting replacements for downed troops and grabbing local trade goods to sell to other towns. In M&B however trading was a staple means of gathering money, with each kingdom and each individual town and surrounding villages producing specific goods and specialized troop types. You could also grab as many quests as you wanted, so long as you thought you could complete them by their deadlines. This amounted to planning weeks-long trips beforehand, predicting your probable losses and purchases in light of where you could unload your current inventory, timing your troop training and provision decay, reacting to shifting objectives or alarm calls from back home. Its map was alive, shifting, crawling with independent agents interweaving their megalomania. M&B utterly gloried in multitasking, and lo 'twas utterly glorious!

Battle Brothers displays all the same set pieces: trade goods, troop recruitment, quests, occasional roaming bands. On the other hand, it only lets you accept one quest at a time. Trade goods yield trivial profit and troops only gain experience while fighting. The map is randomized, and despite local event modifiers, every noble house is pretty much the same, producing the same generic troops and armor. Meaning I have no incentive to waste a few hours' wages to stop at Langenburg in that screenshot, despite it being on my way to my next quest. The whole game boils down to bullheadedly chasing one quest marker after another, making no plans whatsoever. Wherever you go, there you are, recruiting the same peasants and fighting the same randomized enemies. It removes both the ability and incentive to multitask or think long-term - by design. It's galling to see Battle Brothers abusing Dwarf Fortress' "losing is fun" tagline or bragging that it "is a hard game" - no, it's not much of a game at all, and losing is a matter of dice rolls and not player decisions.

I'm tempted to be lenient and call this an amateurish imitation of greater inspirations, but the more I've gotten into it (and the more I see its developers finding new ways to ask customers for more money instead of delivering actual content) the more it looks like a cynical cash-grab banking on superficial nostalgia. It tries to recreate the emotion of playing better titles, streamlined toward the core impression, the "feels" of pitched battles, squad management or a randomized map while eliminating any of the variety, adaptation and meaningful choice which elevated DF or M&B to niche notoriety. Battle Brothers is a dullwitted impression of something more interesting.


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I have less to say about Urtuk: the Desolation because it's the newest, being sold in "beta" - whatever that still means when everyone markets products as "beta" versions to lower customers' expectations. Its main problem (more so than even most modern games) is being blatantly conceived as a mobile app, even if that port hasn't been finished yet. The large-print, thumb-friendly interface, the intemperate jittercam abuse included as a basic feature (thankfully toggle-able) which could only be bearable on smaller screens, the limited number of options per menu, all scream phone app. This need not necessarily spell doom. FTL and Into the Breach ultimately made a good show of it after all. Still, a product intended to twiddle your thumbs as you mindlessly yammer with your friends on the bus will necessarily be geared toward limited attention spans.

Urtuk's"map" is even more pointless than that of Battle Brothers', being merely a random-generated lattice of encounters where you'll never see more than two steps ahead and have little reason to backtrack. You automatically get level-scaled gear to suit your party as you advance through tougher fights (more sideways leveling) but at least character advancement is expanded by a fairly wide choice of "mutators" adding bonus attack procs or abilities. It does offer more flexibility within its 6-character party composition, but its real strengths are terrain interaction and ability chains:


In the image above my own character, a monk, instantly kills an enemy by flipping him into a spiked pit, incidentally also giving a regeneration buff to the priest who has to cast protection and lifesteal spells from his own health. (Fun story: while trying to bait something into position to set up this screenshot, I also managed to get myself knocked back into a "dead zone". Reeeeee-load.) The difference is striking. Though both Battle Brothers and Urtuk use the same hex grid with the same vertical levels and elevation bonuses and both include some knock-backs and penalties for dropping multiple z-levels, in the first case terrain is mostly a nuisance while in Urtuk it becomes an active part of combat in a way almost reminiscent of Into the Breach.

In addition to stamina limiting your actions per turn, your crew also get a "focus" (or rage bar) which fills up as you fight to allow for global-cast ultimate ability buffs like life-stealing, critical or bonus hits. The end result is a satisfying acceleration of combat round by round, rewarding aggressive, focused tactics with even more killing power while still maintaining the inherent fragility of your units and allowing for disastrous mis-steps.

Remains to be seen whether Urtuk's developer will make something of this. Its visual art style is refreshing in its dark age pox-ridden, gap-toothed, hunchbacked, knobbly, disfigured, macabre refusal to bow before the current fad of bland prettiness in games. I'll never get tired of seeing the vampire vanquisher hammering foes literally into the ground with his flail. Ah, the simple pleasures of leading a supernaturally mutated scavenger army. Its descriptions and encounter prompts... are surprisingly legible given the lead developer is Slovakian leading an apparently minuscule local team, but one would hope they'll collaborate with a competent writer at some point. Its quests could really use more variety beyond protecting neutral NPCs or attacking featureless "villages". The real test, however, is whether Urtuk will acquire a more consistent framework or will resign itself to a "fart around on the bus" stand-in for Fruit Ninja.

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Darkest Dungeon is the one example I thought I'd end up panning at first glance yet turned into the only overall pleasant surprise.


It's a 2D sidescroller, a simple dungeon crawl with a group of four heroes, reiterated through endless dungeons. Again, the concession to phones and tablets is both unmistakable and unwelcome (and odd to see presumably younger gamers gush about the side view as somehow innovative when it's just bringin' back the '80s) but if the devil's in the details this game exorcised quite a few of them.

Though one-dimensional, your heroes' formation matters, allowing most abilities to be used from only two or three of the four places in line and similarly affecting a limited number of enemy spots. Granted shifting ranks doesn't add anything which a top-down hex grid wouldn't, so I can't really justify it as a design choice, but it loses less than I expected in the 2D transformation. The big bruisers still go up front and the squishy casters in back, weapons still have minimum and maximum ranges, etc. Teammates can still interfere with each other's firing line by dashing ahead or cowardly hiding. Maybe the real lesson learned is that we need a less linear concept of formations for top-down strategy.

DD most obviously shines in its various playable classes. Take the houndmaster as an example, most commonly useful as a back row equivalent of artillery capable of slapping bleed DoT on an entire party of biological enemies every round. However, he can also synergize with other heroes utilizing the "mark target" skill or can fill the second slot as a stunning and morale boosting general support. Each of the 17 classes carries its own flavor, and as you can only slot four of their seven skills for a particular mission also a decent amount of flexibility and customization. Meaningful choice is as thoughtfully worked into every aspect here as it was lacking in BB.
You get a town as a base of operations, with fairly steep upgrade costs for the buildings you'll be using to equip and bandage your heroes (back) into fighting shape, decreasing their accumulated stress and persistent wounds (a.k.a. diseases or quirks) acquired during missions.
Despite lacking an overland map, you actually get more choice of destination than in the previous two examples, as each of the four main dungeons comes with its own set of enemies (undead vs. Lovecraftian fish monsters vs. fleshy abominations vs. witches and forest beasts) and its own set of rewards and supply requirements. Again, the lesson learned by comparison is not that an overland map wouldn't open up more options, but that it's not being fully utilized in games that offer it as a selling point.
I couldn't figure out how to keep my town's economy out of the red until an online comment helpfully pointed out recruitment is free but upgrades and maintenance aren't. You're absolutely meant to run a draconian cost / benefit summation for all your new recruits and toss them out the door (as shellshocked husks of their former selves) after a single mission if treating their ailments would prove less profitable than replacing them.
Equipment is unfortunately fixed as in Urtuk (which was likely heavily inspired by DD) though at least it's up to you when and whether to pay for upgrades. Trinkets modifying your stats help with creating theme groups like bleed/blight-stacking combos or heal/protection-heavy endurance fighters.
Being vaguely Lovecraftian-themed, DD of course includes a sanity (a.k.a. stress) meter. As heroes are driven above their stress limit they begin to act erratically, refuse heals, swap places randomly and eventually suffer heart attacks, losing all their hit points.

One of DD's most charming features, and one I don't see mentioned much in reviews, is its encouragement of brinksmanship. Severely limited inventory space, costly hero maintenance financed by massive loot hauls and improved loot drops in dangerous conditions will constantly tempt you to risk your mooks' lives to maximize profit. Usually, it results in some degree of tragedy. Sometimes...

Sometimes you beat the odds. In case you can't tell, all four of my heroes are "at death's door" meaning they have a 1/3 chance of dying from further damage. They'd stumbled into a random shambler in the dark. Guessing that Hellion sitting one round away from certain doom would love to axe me some edgy questions about my leadership style.

Aside from that, I'm impressed by the stentorious yet erudite voiceovers which elevate the atmosphere from cheesy low-fidelity Halloween children's party to moderately engaging Gothic horror.


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So what do these little team-building exercises have in common?

1)
They're luck-based games. DD comes closest to "taming the randomizer" as the '90s saying went, by at least categorizing its randomness and limiting the impact of individual fights, allowing you to recover. There's a lot to be said for the little thrill of pushing a stand-off to the brink, repeatedly doubling down not knowing the final outcome, and especially not knowing exactly you'll find around the corner. Nevertheless, if we're being honest, success comes more often from beating the odds than beating the AI (with the odds occasionally being skewed ever so slightly in our favor to create the illusion of personal success, as with Urtuk's weapon/armor drops.) What's the point of chiding players for "ignorance of your enemy" in DD when said enemy popped up randomly? Yes, I am ignorant of events yet to be determined. It's called the human condition. Sue me.

I was wondering why this tendency toward randomization should be so pronounced in squad management games, but that's not necessarily true. The WH40K-inspired ones I've tried like Final Liberation, Chaos Gate, Armageddon, have tended instead toward strict level design with deliberately distributed and timed enemy waves - to the point of overdoing it. Is it the medieval precept that prompts randomness? The lack of a direct tabletop reference? Being marketed to casual phone-twiddlers? (- but BB wasn't) Is it that they're marketed as rebellious in their denial of the game industry's "kill ten rats" fixation on gratuitous victories? This seems the most likely, overcompensating in creating a chance of loss by instituting loss by chance.


2)
All include some blatantly overextended interface timesinks. That ghoul's attack in the screenshot above consists of all of one frame stretched to two seconds, subverting its otherwise welcome gothic visuals into trudging through a cheap low-frame anime. In all three cases you're made to sit through overextended interface confirmations for various actions: a single frame wobbling about, upcoming unit turns gradually sliding over the bottom of the screen, ability activation icons slowwwwwwwly sliding upwards even when you're the one who gave the damn order, and every single grand interface event plays out separately, making you wait for them to cycle through every damn detail of every damn turn of every damn round, because as noted in the case of BattleTech, apparently nobody told these people that voiceovers should be voiced over actual gameplay.

OK, we get it, you're a low-budget project and you needed to fake some bells by whistling, but if you'd put more thought into actual entertainment instead of padding you'd qualify as a higher-budget project!


3)
These are not RPGs, despite either advertising themselves as such or being listed in that category in stores and review sites. Last year I called for RPGs to rediscover their roots as strategic war games and that "The central question of an RPG is not how to add strategic value to good/evil 20-level wizard/fighter/thief archetypes, but how to add moral and stylistic roleplaying choices to chess." Conversely, leaving out those stylistic and moral choices still leaves you short of the mark. In a role-playing game, the player selects or cobbles together a role, a mentality, a set of guiding principles, interweaving the entire campaign. Squad management games instead rely on replaceable redshirts, and regardless of what classes or interactions these may have, the squad's high mutability erases the player's personality.

This ain't nothin' - to reiterate an old principle, the difference between simple voluntary action and long-term decision-making is the difference between dumb animals and thinking beings. In all three cases here, the player largely just reacts to the next randomized problem thrown his way, shuffling the available pieces without regard to a larger pattern, making no meaningful large-scale, long-term decisions. They rely on reaction and not action, which despite their charm limits them to trivial proofs of concept or practice runs when compared to a true role-playing campaign.