b plot of all fucking time.

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@nyvirea
b plot of all fucking time.
How do you think fail states, specifically dying and reloading a save, affect the narrative of a video game? Because in a lot of games they feel like a pretty detrimental compromise to me, it always feels like I'm not actually supposed to use that mechanic. I haven't really found a way yet to interpret a lot of them in a way that doesn't just make the game worse.
hmm i mean
like, i think there's a lot of ways a ''fail state'' can inform a game's narrative, right? like...
there's the way you're talking about here, right, where the fail state is something you're not 'supposed' to experience, it exists as a structuring element guiding you away from or towards certain actions, right? like... in subnautica, it's pretty rare to actually die. and it can be a frustrating and unfun experience when you do and you were carrying a bunch of stuff and you're like oh great gotta farm all that shit up. but the threat of dying is really really important to building the game's tension, putting some actual real-world weight (even if it's just in terms of threatening a purely digital object that represents a time commitment) into the idea of a reaper leviathan eating you. if there was no 'consequence' for getting Gotten by the Scary Getter, it would suck a lot of tension out of trying to avoid them, right?
this is a recurring thing in horror game design, right, if you make the chase sections too hard they stop being scary because knowing that all that happens is a scary cutscene + the impact of it being diminished by seeing it over and over again turns the Scary Getter into a nuisance that you groan at rather than something scary. so i think there can be a lot of value to parts of a game that you're not really ''supposed'' to experience but that need to exist to structure how you experience the parts you are...
& then of course i think there's a lot of games where you are meant to experience the failure states and they teach you important things about the world and characters. like recently i've been trying out this underrated indie gem called dark souls, you've never heard of it, and within an hour of playing i'd died like five times. and each time the death taught me something iomportawnt about the game: dying to the asylum demon taught me that you don't always have to fight enemies the first time you see them. dying in the middle of a skeleton clusterfuck taught me that you should try to fight enemies 1 on 1 as much as possible. dying when that cunt pushed a boulder onto me taught me to look the fuck out for traps. these fail states are essentially a form of tutorializing, and also help tell the story of dark souls, that you're an insignificant little fuck in a bleak and crushing world.
or, like, take disco elysium -- i think a lot of people who've never played it know you can get a game over screen because you sat in an uncomfortable chair. and yea if your last save was an hour ago i get why that's frustrating. but not only does the whole evrart sequence also serve the tutorializing function that my dark souls deaths did (demonstrating that you should unlearn the traditional CRPG correlation between 'danger' and combat) but it and other potential game overs like it tell you so much about harry du bois: that this is someone whose mind and body ahve been pushed so close to the edge that it's feasible for him to have a fatal heart attack trying to get his tie off the ceiling fan or have a complete mental breakdown because a child called him a faggot or just straight up shoot himself in the head trying to win an argument.
and ofc the fact that people who've never played the game have heard of the chair death speaks to another thing about failure states, which is that they can be fun and memorable. there's a reason why ykow some people demonstarte nostalgia for the king's quest death messages
& then of course there's the ways that 'bad endings' can inform you about the reality of the world of the 'real ending'. crpg ending slides that show you sme horrible fate for the companion that you didn't complete the quest for provide information and context for the quest itself and how it helps them grow and change. & then there's the most literal possible execution of this, zero escape, where due to all kinds of temporal bullshit the events of the 'bad endings' directly causally influence the events of the 'true ending'.
finally, of course, there's games where what would be a 'fail state' elsewhere is just part of a diegetic narrative. pyre is my absolute favorite example of this. if you lose a game of prison basketball then you just lose, and the other guys win, and when the stakes are escaping to the surface that means an npc leaves and you and your friends stay underground. on two occasions, this led me to deliberately throwing matches because i felt the NPCs on the other side deserved the win more than my guys. hades, as much as i hate it for a bunch of other reasons, did pull a really cool maneuver in making the constant death and grinding repitition in-universe features of zagreus' experience and the game's themes. katana zero also goes cool places with this, taking the route of "every failed attempt is the protagonist's precognitive abilities showing him a future where he dies" and exploring what that means for him emotionally and psychologically.
so, yknow! i think there is a huge amount of super worthwhile space for failure states, whether it's by teaching you about the game's world and characters, or helping create a specific experience by pushing you to avoid them, or by simply integrating them directly into the narrative and interrogating them... i think they're pretty neat and a storytelling tool that's unique to games :)
When Urianger said he had a plan I turned to my husband and said, "I think Urianger is lying to us. More specifically to Y'shtola. Because if he told me he didn't have a way to save me I'd probably still do it and try my best, but if he told Y'shtola now that he didn't have a way to save me she would beat him to death with her bare hands."
northernlion was reading out a sweet note his daughter wrote him in kindergarten that said "i know my dad loves me because he's my favorite person and i'm his favorite person" and someone commented "circular reasoning"
Did you play AD&D? I can't remember how old you are, so hopefully that's not too offensive. If so, was a typical game really as hostile as people say it was?
That's one of those question where the answer hovers somewhere between "no, with a couple of massive caveats" and "yes, but not in the way most people think".
A lot of AD&D 1st Edition's GMing practices are pretty hardass by modern standards; however, they need to be understood in the context that the game's authors were writing for a target audience who mainly played the game in college wargaming clubs, where players would frequently transfer between groups and group sizes tended to be very large â six players per GM was considered a bare minimum, and up to a dozen player characters in a single party was by no means unheard of!
In particular, players would often bring their character sheets with them when hopping between groups, and it was considered a faux pas for a GM to reject an incoming player's existing character or request any substantive changes be made, so managing expectations could be quite challenging; even as late as 2nd Edition, the Dungeon Master's Guide contains extensive discussion of how to gracefully handle players bringing existing characters with them who aren't necessarily a good fit for the present game's tone or resource economy.
The upshot is that the culture of play these iterations of Dungeons & Dragons are targeting inherently obliges the GM to take a much firmer hand to keep things on track than a pickup game that draws players exclusively from within the GM's established friend group might â and to be sure, some GMs abused these expectations to act like petty tyrants, but some contemporary GMs do that, too.
A big part of the modern perception that 1E and 2E were extraordinarily player hostile, meanwhile, has nothing to do with the previously discussed GMing practices; rather, it emerges from the transition away from that culture of play in a slightly unexpected way.
In brief, back when D&D was mainly played by wargaming clubs, it was fashionable to run pre-written adventure modules competitively at conventions; the competition wasn't between players, but between parties, with multiple groups running the same adventure in parallel to contend for prizes. Tournament play sometimes chose its winners based on the fastest real-time completion of the module in question, or set specific objectives within the module which would award points when completed, a bit like speed-running or achievement-hunting in a video game (though neither practice existed yet at the time).
It was the survival module, however, that quickly emerged as the most popular tournament format. In a survival tournament, each player would provide or was furnished with a binder containing a fixed number of pre-generated character sheets, switching to the next character sheet in the set as each preceding character died; the winning group was the one whose last surviving character's corpse hit the dirt furthest from the dungeon entrance.
Many of 1E's most popular adventure modules, including the infamous Tomb of Horrors, were originally written as survival modules to be run at tournaments in conventions. As such, they were designed to kill off player characters both quickly and efficiently, so as to reduce the likelihood that the tournament would run overtime and get kicked out of the convention venue. When they were later cleanup and repackaged as commercial adventure modules, their text rarely bothered to explain any of this â who doesn't recognise a survival module when they see one?
The answer to that question, of course, is kids who didn't come up through the mentorship system of the college wargaming clubs, but taught themselves how to play D&D from first principles using books they bought at their local hobby stores â and when D&D's popularity unexpectedly exploded in the early 1980s, there were suddenly rather a lot of them!
These kids purchased the repackaged survival modules along with all their other D&D books; having no frame of reference, they assumed that these represented what a "standard" D&D adventure was supposed to look like â and since they weren't experienced players with whole binders full of pre-generated backup characters at their fingertips, the result was a lot of seemingly unfair total party kills, and a lot of kids concluding that the previous generation's GMs must have been objectively insane.
There is an additional amusing point of order here, which is the answer to the following two questions. I once had a discussion with someone in Gary Gygax's gaming group, who was involved in early TSR work a bit. Allow me to paraphrase my questions and his answers.
Why publish survival modules as your primary format of published adventure?
"Because that's what we had -- they were already laid out for publication. Why not publish them and make some money off it?"
Did it ever occur to you at the time that publishing adventures like these would shape the larger D&D culture's expectations of what play was supposed to look like?
"No, why would it?"
One of my favorite anecdotes about early D&D, from Blog of Holding:
"Itâs hard to get that context just from reading the original Dungeons and Dragons books. If nine groups learned D&D from the books, theyâd end up playing nine different games.
"Mornard told us about an early D&D tournament game â possibly in the first Gen Con in Parkside in 1978? Gary Gygax was DMing nine tournament teams successively through the same module, and whoever got the furthest in the dungeon would win. Youâd expect this to take all day, and so Mike was surprised to see Gary, looking shaken, wandering through the hallways at about 2 PM. Mike bought Gary a beer and asked him what had happened â wasnât he supposed to be DMing right now?
âItâs over!â replied a stunned Gary Gygax.
"Gary described how the first group had fared. Walking down the first staircase into the dungeon, the first rank of fighters suddenly disappeared through a black wall. There was a quiet whoosh, and a quiet thud. The players conferred, and then they sent the second rank forward, who disappeared too. The rest of the players followed.
"The same thing happened to the next tournament team, and the next. Players filed into the unknown, one after another. And they were all killed. The wall was an illusion, and behind it was a pit. Eight out of the nine groups had thrown themselves like lemmings over a cliff; only one group had thought to tap around with a ten foot pole. That group passed the first obstacle, so they won the tournament.
"Gary and his players couldnât believe that the tournament players had been so incautious. But, to be fair, none of those tournament groups had played in Gary Gygaxâs game. They had learned the rules of D&D, but they had no experience of the milieu in which the book was written. Of those nine groups that had learned D&D from a book, only one played sufficiently like Garyâs group to survive thirty seconds in his dungeon."
#ngl survival module sounds fun as fuck. maybe i gotta torture my current group a bit (via @nadaismus)
It's worth bearing in mind that tournament-style survival mode developed in the context of a version of D&D where you can create a new character and hit the ground knowing everything you need to know to effectively play them in just a couple of minutes. 5E isn't structurally terribly well-suited for the binder-full-of-backup-PCs approach, and it's definitely a recipe for disaster in 3E or Pathfinder unless your entire group consists of a very particular flavour of high-effort masochists.
It also bears mentioning that the current culture of RPGs encourages a separation of player knowledge and character knowledge. I, as a player, know that the big cat with tentacles out the back is a displacer beast, but my character doesn't, and the character that replaced the one the displacer beast killed. That separation, particularly with Survival Modules, was not the case back in the day. Characters had full knowledge shared between them, so if Dave the fighter got disintegrated by a beholder, Dave's identical twin brother now knew beholders have disintegration attacks. This is part of the reason why it was considered bad form for players to read monster books.
It's broadly untrue that the idea of separating player knowledge from character knowledge is a modern development. The practice descends to tabletop RPGs from the historical wargames they splintered off from; tabletop wargames which focus on accurately re-creating historical battles often operate on a gentleperson's agreement to refrain from acting on strategic information that your side's commanders couldn't reasonably have been aware of, or employing tactical doctrines which had not yet been developed when the re-created battle took place, and many early tabletop RPGs adopted similar conventions, to greater or lesser degrees. Heck, games like Paranoia were parodying those conventions as early as the mid 1980s! It's come in and out of fashion in mainstream RPGs over the past half-century, but it's not a recent thing.
It is, however, correct that there typically was no expectation of observing these conventions when playing survival modules in particular.
Oh, so that's where Munchkin got the idea of your identical twin turning up when you die in game.
Yeah, having your previous PC's identical cousin randomly come rocking up five minutes after you died is totally a thing that happened, largely as a response to the awkward transitional period where survival play was still in fashion, but the game's rules had become too fiddly for rolling up a new PC on the spot to be a pain-free process, so folks would just recycle their existing character sheet instead. You saw a lot of it in the 2E era!
Death is everywhere in Aesop's dark forest. Asses are drowning under sodden loads, vixens are being torn to pieces by maddened dogs, swans sacrificed for the sake of their songs. Cats are eating cocks. Kites frogs. "What an unexpected treat has come our way!" they cry, descending. All have butcher's work to do. Eagles and vixens devour each other's young, newborn apes are murdered by their mothers, hens by serpents they themselves have hatched. Partridges, goats, doves betray their own to preying men, nannies are butchered to doctor asses. At the request of horses, boars are slaughtered; yet happiness is elusive. Snakes are driven to suicide by the stinging of wasps, elephants by gnats in their ears, hares by their own weariness, as though it were time's way of solving difficult problems. "The moral is that it is too late to be sorry after you have let things go wrong," the fabler explains, but the fact is it is always too late.
â "Aesop's Forest", by Robert Coover
"can mutuals dm" "can mutuals ask for your discord" girl, mutuals have an implied invitation to my wedding
it is the 15th of April, 1919, a calm day in Milan. The recently formed Fasci di Combattimento march towards the office of Avanti!, the newspaper of the PSI. They force their way in and ransack the place, destroying equipment and setting fire to every piece of paper they can get their hands on. An editor faces down the barrel of a gun and realizes: "if only we'd published abstract and experimental art"
April 28th, 1945. soviet forces are bearing down on Berlin like a bulldozer, preceded by a hailstorm of ordinance. the cutting edge abstract art machine guns tear apart the cement facades of Berlin's government district, pushing the hitlerite regime to its limits and over them, Hitler cannot bear the psychological torment of his reality being torn apart by the legions of experimental artists levied to free Europe from fascism.
Did you play AD&D? I can't remember how old you are, so hopefully that's not too offensive. If so, was a typical game really as hostile as people say it was?
That's one of those question where the answer hovers somewhere between "no, with a couple of massive caveats" and "yes, but not in the way most people think".
A lot of AD&D 1st Edition's GMing practices are pretty hardass by modern standards; however, they need to be understood in the context that the game's authors were writing for a target audience who mainly played the game in college wargaming clubs, where players would frequently transfer between groups and group sizes tended to be very large â six players per GM was considered a bare minimum, and up to a dozen player characters in a single party was by no means unheard of!
In particular, players would often bring their character sheets with them when hopping between groups, and it was considered a faux pas for a GM to reject an incoming player's existing character or request any substantive changes be made, so managing expectations could be quite challenging; even as late as 2nd Edition, the Dungeon Master's Guide contains extensive discussion of how to gracefully handle players bringing existing characters with them who aren't necessarily a good fit for the present game's tone or resource economy.
The upshot is that the culture of play these iterations of Dungeons & Dragons are targeting inherently obliges the GM to take a much firmer hand to keep things on track than a pickup game that draws players exclusively from within the GM's established friend group might â and to be sure, some GMs abused these expectations to act like petty tyrants, but some contemporary GMs do that, too.
A big part of the modern perception that 1E and 2E were extraordinarily player hostile, meanwhile, has nothing to do with the previously discussed GMing practices; rather, it emerges from the transition away from that culture of play in a slightly unexpected way.
In brief, back when D&D was mainly played by wargaming clubs, it was fashionable to run pre-written adventure modules competitively at conventions; the competition wasn't between players, but between parties, with multiple groups running the same adventure in parallel to contend for prizes. Tournament play sometimes chose its winners based on the fastest real-time completion of the module in question, or set specific objectives within the module which would award points when completed, a bit like speed-running or achievement-hunting in a video game (though neither practice existed yet at the time).
It was the survival module, however, that quickly emerged as the most popular tournament format. In a survival tournament, each player would provide or was furnished with a binder containing a fixed number of pre-generated character sheets, switching to the next character sheet in the set as each preceding character died; the winning group was the one whose last surviving character's corpse hit the dirt furthest from the dungeon entrance.
Many of 1E's most popular adventure modules, including the infamous Tomb of Horrors, were originally written as survival modules to be run at tournaments in conventions. As such, they were designed to kill off player characters both quickly and efficiently, so as to reduce the likelihood that the tournament would run overtime and get kicked out of the convention venue. When they were later cleanup and repackaged as commercial adventure modules, their text rarely bothered to explain any of this â who doesn't recognise a survival module when they see one?
The answer to that question, of course, is kids who didn't come up through the mentorship system of the college wargaming clubs, but taught themselves how to play D&D from first principles using books they bought at their local hobby stores â and when D&D's popularity unexpectedly exploded in the early 1980s, there were suddenly rather a lot of them!
These kids purchased the repackaged survival modules along with all their other D&D books; having no frame of reference, they assumed that these represented what a "standard" D&D adventure was supposed to look like â and since they weren't experienced players with whole binders full of pre-generated backup characters at their fingertips, the result was a lot of seemingly unfair total party kills, and a lot of kids concluding that the previous generation's GMs must have been objectively insane.
There is an additional amusing point of order here, which is the answer to the following two questions. I once had a discussion with someone in Gary Gygax's gaming group, who was involved in early TSR work a bit. Allow me to paraphrase my questions and his answers.
Why publish survival modules as your primary format of published adventure?
"Because that's what we had -- they were already laid out for publication. Why not publish them and make some money off it?"
Did it ever occur to you at the time that publishing adventures like these would shape the larger D&D culture's expectations of what play was supposed to look like?
"No, why would it?"
awww the like button turns into a rainbow when you press it! that's so cute...hey staff what's with all the trans women you keep nuking?
i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users
would be remiss not to mention that the rainbow notably straight up just removed the trans flag colors from it. like theyâre gone. itâs the progress flag minus the trans flag colors.
thatâs not the whole flag, now is it
hey staff what the fuck
hey staff don't you think you're being too on-the-nose
HEY STAFF DONT YOU THINK YOU'RE BEING TOO ON-THE-NOSE
the style of writing is not the problem, not the genre, not the subject matter, not even the words themselves. the SINGLE defining issue with the âTumblr Proseâ style i was trying to tackle is that itâs front loaded with imagery and metaphor and completely lacking in sense, reason, symmetry, motion, conveying information. i agree that plenty of writing can sound good and feel good to read when itâs all metaphor and visceral images but it needs to have a baseline that can carry it through or else the tail wags the dog and itâs all cool âquotableâ lines and no substance, nothing to read between the lines, no character
'soup store' this, 'soup store' that HERE is a compilation of code ment scenes that i have been quoting for years
New painting - âhowlâ acrylic on canvas
The Cuban embargo really is evil and I hope every Cuban American who supports it knows the amount of suffering on their hands
Extremely ironic that Wet Foot/Dry Foot was probably the least cruel anticommunist policy in US history and it ended before the embargo did
There's some alternative universe where "We need to let people escape the Horrid Communist Dictatorship" became the default anticommunist opinion and it's a world that's so much less cruel
âAre you saying that Jesus isnât fully manâ heâs literally not. Heâs half deity. Why did you word it like that?
âJesus was fully human and fully divineâ is conventionally accepted doctrine. Itâs called the hypostatic union. Itâs in the Athanasian creed.
Sounds like wormnoodless is recapitulating Eutychianism (Christ exists in one nature and of two), which was rejected by the Fourth Ecumenical Council in 451, instead adopting Dyophysitism (Jesus Christ is one person of one substance and one hypostasis, with two distinct, inseparable natures: divine and human), which is still the main belief of most major denominations.
Sorry, wormnoodless, youâre a heretic.
@apocrypals, do I have it (mostly) right?
Correct
Anything other than âfully God, fully manâ is heretical
#sometimes the nature of tumblr is that someone accidentally reinvents the great schism (1054) all over again
thatâs not what the Great Schism was about! the patriarchates of Constantinople and Rome had agreed on the basic scheme of âfully God, fully manâ centuries before that. it did have something to do with the nature of the Holy Spirit, but it had just as much to do with political and cultural differences that were only vaguely doctrinal
And the above dispute is really about culture war gender politics, for which the nature of Christ is just a convenient excuse to fight on a new front! The metaphor holds!
this is the funniest scp and yet i've never seen anyone posting about it: