Polygons and Pain

Review

Bound, Plastic (PS4)

Abstract: Bound is a narrative told through motion. You explore a beautiful and abstract world as you relive your past and confront your fears. Bound learns from a long legacy of 3D platformers while creating an identity completely its own. Balletic dance permeates the experience, bringing life to cold geometry. The game’s emphasis on short cuts and speed runs in subsequent playthroughs unfortunately highlights some of Bound’s weaknesses, like its imprecise controls and long load times. Taken as a whole, Bound is a wonderful experience that is much more than it initially appears.   

For me, it was a tree house. Well not a tree house really, more like well-worn 4’x4’ square of processed wood nestled precariously on top of a Y-shaped corner of branches. The tree was a short walk into the wooded area behind my home. I’d climb, recklessly so, to perch in my spot. Time would stop. It was just high enough up to see the tops of other trees, but not nearly elevated enough to feel in danger. Cold or warm, windy or still, I’d climb to my hideout to be away from it all. The tree house was my answer to the same question Plastic’s Bound poses: as a child, how did you cope with pain? In Bound the answer is a beautiful combination of ballet, monsters, and geometry.

Bound begins as the protagonist, a pregnant woman, comes across a quiet beach. Journal in hand, she begins her walk down the sandy path towards a house. Along the way she’ll open up her journal, which is filled with fantastical images of trees, paper planes, mother and daughter and father and son, abstracted into compositions of jagged shapes. Bound’s narrative unfolds as a reflection of the past, a view into the world the game’s protagonist created as an escape. She is reliving her most traumatic childhood memories as she grapples with fundamental issues of family and forgiveness. Bound takes full advantage of its medium, sharing its story with players through actions. The game seeks to evoke emotions through movement, telling a familiar story in a new way. The story spans a few levels, each manifestations of her past pain turned fear. Bound escorts you through five vignettes in an imaginary world she called her own. Levels end with a reconstruction of the traumatic memory in a 3D space you can freely explore. The game culminates in a difficult decision that feels earned. Despite some looseness of the story itself, Bound does an admirable job at creating a narrative with which players can engage.

Face your fears.

Bound’s world is fantastical and bizarre. Bound transports players into a vibrant, chaotic, polygonal world. Shapes float in a barren expanse, reacting to the player’s presence. Monstrous structures assemble into existence as you draw near and orderly disassemble as you journey away. In this world we play as a masked young princess. Across the different vignettes we see conflict between king and queen in a world that struggles to adhere together. Bound’s world is unlike anything I’ve seen in games. It’s visually striking, stunningly beautiful, and has a signature that quickly imprints itself into your mind. Despite its abstract nature, each of the game’s levels is distinct and memorable. Bound’s world was what first drew me to the game and remains a clear highlight of my experience after playing.

 

Bound has a game world I'm not soon to forget.

Gameplay in Bound derives from a long lineage of 3D platformers. On the surface, your task is quite simple—follow the linear main path through each level jumping from platform to platform, up and down ladders, with very light puzzle solving to make it to the end. Along the way you collect memory fragments, glowing shards that both serve as a breadcrumb trail if you get lost in the dynamically shifting world and to complete an end of level mosaics. The controls are quite simple. The player can walk, run, jump, roll, and… dance. Heavily inspired by balletic movements, dance is an essential aspect to playing Bound. Movement has a lightness to it only seen at the ballet. Running, jumping, shimmying along edges, everything is steeped in dance. Motion capture is utilized brilliantly, creating a character that looks and feels human. She’s elegant and graceful. If that weren’t enough, Bound features a button dedicated solely to dancing. Dancing affords a couple advantages to the player. You dance to complete a level and dance to unlock large memory fragments. Most importantly, the player dances to bypass a level’s entrenched obstacles. You dance to fight your fears.

As I mentioned above, each of Bound’s five main levels is a powerful vignette from the protagonist’s past. Each of these centers on a childhood fear: steam, trees, pearls, shout and planes. These fears manifest themselves as physical barriers in each of the levels. Trees are nests of tendrils that grab the player and hold them in place. Planes are paper airplanes that swarm the player, again preventing movement. Dancing frees you from these fears. But there’s so much more. As you play through Bound, each level you complete conquers a fear. For example, conquer the planes level and you’ll no longer be affected by the swarms. This alters the way you play through subsequent levels. Sections that were previously blocked off now become open for exploration. The world adopts more striking colors and warmer tones. Bound is different each time you play, assuming you choose to complete levels in a different order. This offers a unique kind of replayability that I appreciated in a short game like Bound (you can complete your experience in less than 2 hours).

Dance will set you free.

Conquering fears and opening new paths are only one small part of the beautifully designed 3D worlds in Bound. These wide-open spaces are absolutely packed with depth. Levels are replete with hidden memory fragments, telegraphed shortcuts, and fear-blocked paths. You’ll also discover hidden and highly skill intensive sequence breaks, which allow the player to skip huge sections of the level. Bound wants players to find these, and even dedicates a whole mode to speed running the game (completing it as fast as possible) Bound’s main path is easy to complete. Bound’s fastest paths are punishing and demand precision. It’s a great feeling to discover a shortcut the hid in plain sight, or find a hidden path that shaves five plus minutes off your completion time. Despite not having the usual bells and whistles of 3D platformers, like oodles of collectibles and enemies to defeat, Bound offers players plenty to do.

By emphasizing short cuts and speed runs, however, Bound highlights some of its biggest weaknesses. The game’s platforming works well when players are taking their time and absorbing the fullness of the experience. The controls are less than ideal when placed under the magnifying glass speed runs demand. Jumps often feel imprecise. It can be hard to know if you’ll make a jump or fall to your death. Bound has a finicky ‘edge guard’ system that, in theory, is there to help players with difficult platforming sections, but in practice detracts from the fluidity of the motion. Bound implements some smart systems to avoid bad camera placement (endemic to the genre) like having shapes disappear when they would block the screen, but camera problems still arise from errant level geography and during non-horizontal movement. The game’s speed run mode is a disappointment, too. Levels have unskippable opening and end sequences that frustrate as you repeat a level over and over. Repeating is another act of frustration, as long load times make it feel particularly painful when you mess up your run. I typically like pushing myself in platformers to complete these challenges, but some design incompatibilities prevented me from investing myself in Bound beyond its story playthrough.

As much as they are emphasized, speed runs are not the best part of Bound.

Bound exists in great company, however, as one of the few games I’ve ever immediately played through a second time after first beating it. I wanted to see how the world changed, how my play had evolved, and perhaps most strikingly, to make a different narrative decision at the game’s end. Bound is more than visuals. Bound isn’t style over substance. Bound is, in a number of ways, about how one copes with strife. For me, I’ll always think back to my tree house. Bound makes me wish I could have escaped to its world, though. Bound’s was fantastic.

Bound

4/5

Dark Tendrils

Review

That Dragon, Cancer; Numinous Games (Mac)

Abstract: That Dragon, Cancer by Numinous games is one of 2016’s most powerful experiences. The personal narrative of a family dealing with their son’s terminal cancer is not one you often see in games. That Dragon, Cancer takes you through vignettes of the human experience, from the depths of sadness to the unquantifiable small moments of joy. The striking art design, clever symbolic representation of the abstract, and archival nature of That Dragon Cancer are exceptional. Unfortunately, uneven pacing and a less-than-ideal control scheme hampered some enjoy of the game, often breaking my immersion in its incredible world. In the end, however, That Dragon, Cancer is absolutely a game worth playing and one that still resonates with me weeks after completion.

That Dragon, Cancer is brave. It’s a game that tackles one of the most difficult subjects I can think of: the death of your child. It takes narrative conventions and retools them to fit the unconventional structure of the story being told. It takes gameplay conventions and fuses them, hybridizes them, to form an experience that comfortably exists in a niche of its own making. That Dragon, Cancer is an emotion-filled diary of the highs, lows, and existential crises of a family dealing with one of the most pervasive diseases known to man. Despite high expectations, That Dragon, Cancer still wowed.

Everyone knows the story of the struggling indie game dev team. It’s a small group of individuals trying to cut through the noise of a crowded games space to get their voice heard, and their creative vision into the hands of the players. Numinous Games, the developer behind That Dragon, Cancer was struggling with more than financials or press or being the next big name in independent development. They were struggling with love, loss, and cancer. I came into my time with That Dragon, Cancer knowing more about the personal life of the game’s developers than I do most titles. A piece produced by Radiolab gave me an introduction to the Green family, Ryan and Amy, and their son Joel who, at the age of 1, was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. An atypical teratoid rhabdoid tumor in his brain. With this mindset, I came into That Dragon, Cancer thinking I knew what to expect. But there was a whole lot in the game that was unexpected.

That Dragon, Cancer is a first- and third-person light adventure game, with elements of familiar genres like adventure or walking-simulator. The game takes you through the earliest days of Joel’s diagnosis up to his eventual death at the age of five. You’re taken through vignettes of the Green’s time with Joel, abstracted and made emblematic through the artistic power of games. In each scene you’re told something new about Joel’s life, or about the thoughts and struggles of his parents who are trying to stay afloat in the tumultuous waters of their terrible situation. In one scene, you’re taken to a park where you can interact with a time-frozen Joel as his swings, slides, or rocks on a horse. Another takes you to the hospital where you must walk through a treatment ended party for another unseen child, knowing full well Joel’s treatment will only end once he has passed. And yet another where you’re taken to an enormous cathedral, replete will filigree and pipe organs, as Joel moves onto another life. That Dragon, Cancer is filled with profound sadness. A kind of sadness that kicks you while you’re down. That Dragon, Cancer is also filled with profound love. Not only is the game itself a love letter to Joel, but also through numerous interactions you can see just how much burden these parents bear for their children. You don’t have to have experienced what the Greens went through to be moved. The life snapshot narrative of That Dragon, Cancer is deeply affecting.

 

Following this family's journey is deeply affecting.

The game’s developers go to great length to personalize, and humanize, your abstract experience of playing the game. Husband and wife, and the game’s creators, Ryan and Amy voice themselves throughout. Much of the game’s audio comes from family recordings. The archival nature of the Green family is astounding. It made me uncomfortable, in the best way, to hear Amy’s tear filled pleas recorded from a prayer event for her son. Or her exasperated voicemail after learning Joel’s last round of chemotherapy was ineffective. When not real-world recordings, Amy and Ryan have recorded audio that reflected how they felt as they went through this process. One moment that stuck with me in particular is when the two get in a huge fight about maintaining hope for Joel’s eventual recovery. Ryan, exhausted by the struggle and continual reminder that his son’s cancer is terminal, is drowning in sorrow. But Amy will not let him grieve a son he hasn’t lost yet. The Green family was clearly still affected by their experiences while making the game, and it comes through in every facet.

What it's like to be lost.

Playing That Dragon, Cancer reminded my of the power of video games as an artistic medium. Numinous Games takes full advantage of the medium to share this experience with players. Interactivity is at the heart of games and is central to your experience in That Dragon, Cancer. Walking through hallways, opening letters, pushing Joel on a swing, feeding him pancakes. All bolster the narrative rather than detract. That Dragon, Cancer also does an excellent job at creating symbolic representations of complex, and abstract, concepts. For example, balls of dark tendrils represent Joel’s cancer and are present in nearly every scene. Sometimes in the background, sometimes in the fore, the dark tendrils are a reminder of the ever-present nature of Joel’s disease in the family’s life as well as a great artistic interpretation of the physical tumor itself. Another poignant symbolic moment was when the Green family is told that Joel’s care is switching from curative to palliative (i.e. making his end of life as pleasant as possible). You’re in Amy’s perspective for this scene, in a quiet room with doctors sharing the terrible news. Suddenly storm clouds form in the room and your world shrinks. Water quickly fills the room as the storm rages, Amy now transported onto a small sailboat rocked by crashing waves and lighting. You can circle the giant-like doctors as they sit still, cold and hollowed by the devastating news that had to share. That Dragon, Cancer is brilliant in its smallest moments and in its ability to combine art, narrative, and interactability to create an experience only possible in games.

 

The cancer is always there. Encroaching further and further into their life.

Intentional or not, however, That Dragon, Cancer does suffer from some pronounced pacing problems. Some of the game’s moment linger longer than they should, outstaying the concise sentiment they portray. The sequence of events also leaves something to be desired. Life clearly doesn’t fit neatly into conventional narrative structuring, I get that, but the way you move through the narrative felt notably uneven. It was hard for me to focus in on one, or even one set of, emotions as I played. This emotional confusion broke my immersion several times throughout That Dragon, Cancer. Pacing issues led to an increased gamification of my experience. I noticed myself pushing to reach the end of a certain sections as quickly as I could, rather than letting them flow naturally, because I needed the game to progress. These gripes are minor, sure, but did detract from my sum experience with the game.

The gameplay itself in That Dragon, Cancer is functional. It gets the job done. The most powerful moments of gameplay were those when I forgot I was playing. You click to move from one part of a scene to the next, sweeping the player camera from one location to the next. There were moments where the click-to-move control scheme failed, however. And unfortunately those moments also break immersion. Perhaps I’m more accustomed to the kinds of stories like the one depicted in That Dragon, Cancer being found in more traditional ‘walking-simulator’ games. Games in which the player has full control over the player character, camera, etc. Regardless, I found That Dragon, Cancer’s controls wonky at times. That Dragon, Cancer places you in some beautiful and expansive first-person environments but never looses its control of player moment. Having to click each and every time I wanted to move slowed down my exploration and highlighted the extreme linear nature of the game. It also led to many awkward moments where I would click and not move, or click and move to the wrong location. Control issues made it feel, at times, like I was just being shown the story rather than what I truly love: when I feel like I’m discovering a story and interacting with it.

 

It would have been great to have a less awkward movement option
at my disposal. The game's world is fantastic.

That Dragon, Cancer consistently finds ways to surprise the player with new type of gameplay, however. Each vignette brings a new element to the table, whether it is a mini-game or light puzzle solving. These micro gameplay experiences range in quality, but I appreciate how much thought went into their inclusion. I found myself smiling from ear to ear when Ryan’s bedtime story about Joel the dragon warrior turned into a 2D platforming game. I felt dread when I was tasked with controlling a balloon-holding baby Joel as he was forced to navigate a maze of dark tendrils—knowing full well that no matter how proficient I was at dodging, the tendrils would pop my balloons and Joel would fall. Other games were less successful, however. A constellation-based mini game had poorly communicated goals and a kart racing section, while cute, controlled so poorly it was something I just wanted over as quickly as possible. Still, That Dragon, Cancer offers a multifaceted gameplay experience that complements its abstract and multilayered narrative, and ultimately it comes together as one cohesive package.

 

Not all mini-games work as well as they should.

One last minor element I wanted to specially commend is the game’s tone. It’s astounding. Sharing a story about the death of your child, cancer, religion, and family strife could have gone in any number of different directions. I was worried that That Dragon, Cancer would work too hard to make me sad, to play at my heartstrings. I was also worried that the religious background of Ryan and Amy would override other ways of interpreting Joel’s experiences. I’m happy to write that That Dragon, Cancer perfectly nails a mature, thoughtful tone. The game is respectful, sad but not exploitative, open but not voyeuristic, discrete but not vague, hopeful but not saccharine, artistic but also grounded. That Dragon, Cancer is human. That Dragon, Cancer is great.

 

My heart goes out to the Green family. Rest in peace, Joel.

That Dragon, Cancer continues to astound me with just how much the Green family felt comfortable sharing with the world. I said it once but I’ll say it again: That Dragon, Cancer is remarkable. As a tribute to their son, the game succeeded. As a narrative experience, the game succeeded. And as a game, That Dragon, Cancer succeeded. I feel privileged to have gotten to play That Dragon, Cancer. It’s not perfect. But neither is life. Try to find the time to play this one.

That Dragon, Cancer

4/5

Eye In The Sky

Review

Firewatch, Campo Santo (PS4)

Abstract: Firewatch is a game, a vignette of the human experience, that’s in a league of its own. There are no aliens, no headshots, no fate of the world, not even a focus on one of life’s particular moments. Firewatch transports the player into a snapshot of existence. It takes you to a time and a place and a mindset we haven’t really seen before in games. Firewatch is gorgeous, well-written, well-acted and gripping. The game skillfully touches on themes of love, loss, isolation and paranoia, delivering a mature narrative that has stayed with me. I give it my highest recommendation.

It’s hard to make sense of life. Our world is filled with the unforeseen, the chaotic. Humans are natural pattern finders, hoping to see through reality’s veil and connect the dots between seemingly unrelated events. We like to make sense of everything, discover the purpose of why things happen the way they do. When we can’t, humans often like to escape. Retreat away from the uncertainty. Humans are also social creatures by nature, quick to form bonds and seek companionship. Broadly, Firewatch is about these themes. Firewatch is about characters seeking to both understand life’s tumult and run away from it. Firewatch is also about understanding the human condition and how people react depending on the summation of their experiences. Firewatch is excellent.

Firewatch is the latest in the recent trend of exceptional first-person narrative games. The talent behind games such as The Walking Dead S1 and Gone Home got together and formed Campo Santo, a new Bay Area based studio. When you consider the talent of individuals like Sean Vanaman, Chris Remo and Olly Moss who worked to make Firewatch a reality, it’s understandable that the bar of expectation was set so high. From the earliest trailers I was fascinated with what the fledgling Campo Santo could bring to the table. Luckily for them (and me), Firewatch met and exceeded all my expectations.

 

Firewatch is the best game I've played in 2016.

The year is 1989. You play as Henry, a slightly chubby nearly 40-something who in attempt to deal with, and escape from, personal tragedy has taken a summer job as fire watch deep in the Wyoming wilderness. Several days walk from civilization and dozens of miles from another human his task is simple: sit up in his tower looking for forest fires and report them. His one lifeline, his one human connection, is with Delilah, a fellow fire watch (& his boss) who resides in the nearest watchtower. They communicate only via walkie-talkie, Henry reporting what he sees and Delilah responding accordingly. What was supposed to be a quiet, isolated summer turns into anything but when Henry realizes he is not as alone as he thought. On the surface, Firewatch weaves a compelling suspenseful narrative that touches on the fear of being alone, of being watched, and the thrill of solving mysteries. You follow Henry and Delilah as they try to deal with a series of bizarre, and unsettling, events and piece together what exactly is happening.

 

I fell deep into Firewatch's narrative. It remains compelling throughout
your 4-6 hour playthrough.

But Firewatch is far more than that. Firewatch is about relationships. It’s about Henry running away from his relationships at home and forging a new one with Delilah. It’s about Delilah seeking companionship in potentially unhealthy ways. It’s about the love, life, and struggles of a father and son. Firewatch is also about loneliness and depression. You don’t take a job as a Wyoming fire watch unless you are running from something, Delilah mentions early in the game. Firewatch explorers how you can feel at your loneliest even when you’re close to someone you love. And how even when miles and miles from another living human being, how something as simple as a voice from a walkie-talkie can be all the company you could ever ask for. Firewatch also touches on how we deal with loss and how, fundamentally, people aren’t prepared to face some of life’s harsher truths. Henry is escapism embodied. And finally, Firewatch is about fear. Fear of the unknown and fear of what we wish we didn’t know. Fear of having to deal with what life throws at us, and the lengths we’ll go to in an attempt to create new fears for us to face instead of dealing with those staring back at us.

Ultimately, though, what I love most about Firewatch’s narrative is that it isn’t trying to weave some epic narrative. It isn’t bombastic. There isn’t a clean three-act structure. Many of the plot threads have simple resolutions and are unrelated. Firewatch is about nothing. But in that way, Firewatch touches on everything. Firewatch speaks to many of life’s fundamental truths. Life is disappointments, missed connections. Life is trying to ascribe greater importance to the unrelated, the chaotic, the random. Whereas the game’s predecessors like Gone Home and Dear Ester seemed to have one fundamental message at their core, Firewatch is content to ‘simply’ be a vignette of the human experience. I’ve read the disappointment of many in the gaming community about the narrative’s ‘pay off,’ but I suspect Campo Santo resolved the story in exactly the way they intended. Life isn’t always a feel-good, perfectly resolved, dark secrets revealed page-turner. Firewatch’s narrative felt mature, something I desperately want more of in gaming.

 

Like life, Firewatch has a lot hidden below the surface.

A quiet, human narrative would never have worked without strong characters and great writing, and Firewatch has both in spades. Henry and Delilah are fully realized, nuanced characters with strengths, faults, and a ton of depth. You understand Henry, his life and his motivations, and can shape his personality throughout the game accordingly. The dialogue between the two is phenomenal. The game features deft writing overall. You’ll want to report every single thing you see to try to hear more of the great dialogue. Speaking of that, the voice acting in Firewatch is seriously top notch. Some of the best in gaming. Like everything else, it felt natural, genuine, and reinforces the humanity and the heart of the Firewatch’s experience.

Like other ‘walking simulators’ before it, Firewatch’s gameplay is predominantly first-person exploration. You walk, explore, inspect items, and interact with some basic puzzle / traversal elements. Firewatch, like many of its predecessors, gives players the ability to pick up (& throw) objects in the game. Like I wrote in my SOMA review, this gives tangibility to the world that helps immerse the player. Firewatch is also the most ‘gamey’ walking simulator that I’ve ever played and therefore one I would recommend to anybody. You can freely explore, find hidden secrets, take pictures, open up new movement options, mark places of interest on your map, initiate non-main story dialogue, etc. There’s a lot to do that you don’t have to. The best thing about Firewatch’s gameplay, however, is what it brings new to the walking simulator / first-person narrative genre: interactibility with a contemporary story. Let me clarify. As great as first-person narrative experiences have been, nearly all feature stories whose peaks have already happened. You’re an observer. For Gone Home or Bioshock or Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture or SOMA, it’s mainly about piecing together the past. In Firewatch, everything is happening as you play. You are experiencing the most interesting part of the game’s (and world’s) narrative. Your actions as the player are forming the story. This interactibility is enhanced by the inclusion of dialogue choices. The Telltale pedigree of the team is clear here. Being able to choose what you say, and who you are as Henry, strengthens the present narrative of the game and makes Firewatch a stronger, and thoroughly unique, experience.

 

Small choices like this help to reinforce Henry's and Delilah's personalities.
Dialogue options are a great evolution for 1st person narrative games.

One thing I never expected was how connected I would feel to Firewatch’s world. In the way that I formed a relationship as Henry and with Delilah, I forged a strong bond with the environment itself. I was transported to the Wyoming wilderness. Led by the strong graphic design of Olly Moss, Firewatch’s world is incredible. It’s stunningly beautiful. Your forest playground is colorful, vibrant, and lush. The game’s aesthetic is the perfect mix of the real world with striking graphic novel styled art. The colors and sounds and music ebb and flow throughout. Firewatch is a painting I want to get lost in. On top of all that, Firewatch also builds a great player mental map. Assuming you are not pulling your in-game map up every few seconds, exploring Firewatch’s world very quickly roots itself in your memory. The closest comparison I have is a Souls game. As you progress throughout the game, you get a clear sense of geography. You know how to get from point A to point B by using in-game landmarks. A certain tree or lake or cliff side is as valuable as any superimposed mini-map. This kind of map building draws the player even further into the world, which for a world as rich and beautiful as Firewatch’s, is a very good thing.

 

Keep the map down as much as possible. You won't regret it.

Firewatch is easily my favorite game I’ve played this year. It has learned from the pedigree of first-person story experiences before it, and expanded upon the foundation meaningfully both narratively and mechanically. Firewatch is an evolution, filled to the brim with well-executed and brilliant ideas. Campo Santo did an extraordinary job with their freshman outing. Firewatch is the kind of game that makes me excited for the future of gaming. Go play it. The sooner the better.

I miss my time in the Wyoming wilderness already. It's beautiful.

Firewatch

5/5

News & Views

1/9/16-1/15/16

Welcome everyone to a much more normal News & Views! It’s been a busy first full week back in lab, but The Impact Factor never skips a beat! Really looking forward to relaxing some this weekend, though.

News & Views is always here to bring you the best video game writing, stories, editorials & opinions from around the web. This week, I found great pieces about drug use in eSports, how a dating app is like Warcraft, why Life is Strange passes the Spielberg test of games as art, and how H.G. Wells was one of the impactful pioneers of tabletop gaming. Enjoy!

And of course you can check out the brand new episode of The Impact Factor podcast that was posted today! You can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes, or if you prefer other methods, check out our SoundCloud. We’re on YouTube too!

Spotlight

Werner Herzog Talks Virtual Reality

Patrick House, The New Yorker

Worth Reading

Analysis: Drugs and Competitive Gaming (eSports)

Core-A-Gaming, YouTube

'Life is Strange' passes the Spielberg test for video game as artform

Christopher Byrd, The Washington Post

The Mechanics of Tension

Chris Pruett, Gamasutra

How the voices behind your favorite games and shows are re-inventing live D&D

Ben Kuchera, Polygon

Tinder matchmaking is more like Warcraft than you might think

Michelle Ehrhardt, Kill Screen

With Comments

Behind the dice-based design of space cannibalism sim Tharsis

Zach Gage, Gamasutra

What an awesome look into the analytical mind of a game designer. So many games use, and rely upon, dice rolls (hidden from the player or not). Gage runs through the evolution of the dice-rolling system in Tharsis and it’s fascinating. One of the key points here is the balance of dice rolls leading choices or making a choice and then relying upon dice to see if you can accomplish your goal. It’s the difference between craps and King of Tokyo. Very interesting and well worth a watch if you have any interest in board games, video games, randomness, or game design.

Black women are already superheroes

Sidney Fussell, Offworld

Fussell continues to write extraordinary pieces for Offworld. Here, Fussell ponders what games can do to better represent black women. The depiction of black women often focuses on strength, but in the process loses ‘personhood.’ It would be great to see more characters that are funny or quirky or dark, and less one-note.

How H.G. Wells Helped Pioneer Tabletop Gaming in 1913

Brian Taylor, Paste

Well, if you needed any more reason to like (or at the very least appreciate) H.G. Wells, here it is. Taylor details how Wells championed a tactical tabletop game titled Little Wars, and the evolution of that idea into the modern board game, especially those that are miniature-based. Very cool.

The 25 best Final Fantasy games

Gamesradar Staff, Gamesradar

I’m a big fan of ranked lists. For example, you can check out a list of my #12-7 and #6-1 top games of 2015. Or my ranking of the Souls games. I can’t say this Final Fantasy list is 100% accurate (since I haven’t played them all), but I mostly agree with their ordering. Final Fantasy 6 is the best. Period.