1301: Eclipse of an Empire

My regular group of board gaming buddies and I finally got around to trying a game of Eclipse today. We didn’t finish it, but we all had a pretty firm grasp of what was going on, so the next time we play things will hopefully run a little more quickly and smoothly. It’s very much a “weekend game,” though, due to its length, so I find myself wondering how often it will hit the table.

Eclipse, lest you’re unfamiliar, is a sci-fi empire building game in which you take control of one of several spacefaring civilisations (human or alien) and then proceed to attempt to score as many points as possible over the course of the game’s hard time limit. Scoring is achieved through controlling sectors, winning battles, forming trade agreements with other players and researching new technology.

The nice thing I found about Eclipse is that its sheer number of components make it look hideously complicated at first glance — and the rulebook perhaps doesn’t help matters, either — but its mechanics are actually pretty simple to understand once you get into it. It is essentially a game of resource management and ensuring you don’t overstretch yourself — there’s a lot of having to restrain yourself from doing too much too soon, lest you find yourself having to undo all your hard work in order to, well, pay for your hard work.

Eclipse works with three currencies — money, science and resources, each of which are produced each turn in varying amounts according to which planets you’ve colonised. Each planet has a particular colour according to whether it’s a money, science or resource planet, and one or more “slots” for adding population cubes to them. Taking a population cube off your civilisation’s reference sheet reveals your new income level while simultaneously giving you the means to mark your ownership of a planet. It’s an elegant system, albeit one that requires a lot of “bits” to function.

The main mechanic of Eclipse involves making use of your “influence” to perform various actions. By spending an influence point, you can take another action in the current round of the game, but the more influence you use, the more money you’re going to have to spend at the end of the round. Influence is also used to take control of sectors (and indirectly, by extension, colonising planets) and thus you can find yourself running up a significant bill rather quickly if you’re not careful. This is where the “pacing yourself” thing comes in — you need to balance a series of productive actions with ensuring that your expenses are kept at a manageable level.

Eclipse has a great research system, whereby you use collected science units to purchase technologies, and then, using another action, use your researched tech to upgrade the blueprints for your various types of ship. Your civ’s reference sheet has a “blueprint” for each of the ships and starbases, and adding new tech is a simple matter of laying tiles over the existing stuff to upgrade them. You can customise each ship a huge amount in this way, though you have to do things like ensure there’s enough power available to power the massive cannons you’ve just strapped onto the hull.

I enjoyed what I played. I sometimes get a bit weary during games like this as they can sometimes be a bit too heavyweight for my distinctly non-strategic brain, but Eclipse seems to strike a good balance between accessibility and depth. Plus the excellent iPad version means I can practice whenever I like!

1300: I’m Not a Foodie

After going out for a very nice (and expensive) meal for a friend’s stag weekend tonight, I can confirm something I’ve suspected for quite some time now: I’m not a foodie.

It’s not that I can’t appreciate food that has had care, attention, time and effort expended on it to make it look, taste and smell great. It’s just that I don’t think these expensive restaurants are significantly nicer than something simple. If anything, I find fancy food too fussy — there are too many flavours for me, when I much prefer something simple, homely and enjoyable.

Take steaks. I love a good steak. Steak is one of the most delicious meats there is when just cooked nicely and served up by itself, perhaps with some chips and/or a bit of salad. Smother it in some sort of sauce or marinade, though, and it becomes considerably less appealing — the delicious taste of the steak is, more often than not, overwhelmed by the taste of the sauce, and that’s not the reason I wanted to have steak in the first place.

The menu this evening had a lot of delicious things on it — steak, fish, chicken, pasta, gnocchi. And yet I found it very difficult to pick something I actually liked the sound of, because for every item that was based on something I enjoy — steak, fish, chicken, pasta, gnocchi — it was promptly made far too fussy by rubbing rosemary all over it, festooning it with onions or incorporating herbs and spices I’d never heard of.

This may sound like being a fussy eater and I guess it sort of is — my longstanding violent dislike of onions precludes me from eating a lot of fancy food, which is often riddled with them — but more than being fussy, it’s simply the fact that I just don’t really enjoy food that’s too “complicated”, for want of a better word. I don’t know whether this is because I don’t have a particularly refined palate, or because I’m not used to food of this type, or because it’s just my particular tastes, but regardless of what the reason is, I think I would, in most cases, much rather have a pub lunch or a nice roast dinner than anything that been anywhere near the word “jus”.

I wonder how you refine your palate for things like this? I often contemplate this question when confronted with an impressive-looking cheeseboard, none of which I have the slightest inclination to eat, or am invited to appreciate a salad as being anything more than just bland leaves… or, indeed, as with this evening, am presented with a number of individual ingredients I like by themselves that are smothered with things that I either actively dislike or don’t really appreciate in conjunction with the things I do like.

So there you have it. I’m not a foodie. Consequently, I’m something of a cheap date, too.

1299: It’s Four O’Clock in the Morning

Good morning! I’ve just got in. (Well, I got in about half an hour ago, but whatever.)

I’ve been “out” this evening. I recall writing a post a while back about how I don’t really “go out” any more in the way I used to — that’s “go out” in the sense of “going somewhere to imbibe a lot of alcoholic beverages then stumble somewhere you probably won’t remember in the morning.” And yet this evening I found myself doing almost exactly that. (The only part lacking was the “lot of alcoholic beverages”, since I was driving.)

It was my friend James’ stag night this evening, you see — an event which is continuing over the weekend. This evening was intended to be a fairly conventional night out — a nice meal, then maybe a couple of drinks somewhere, then back home in preparation for other stuff tomorrow. Since we’re all considerably older than we used to be, we weren’t particularly intending on doing anything “big” or time-consuming like clubbing, but somehow here I am at nearly 4am having just rolled in from what ended up being a rather long night.

The specifics? Not a chance. What happens on the stag night stays on the stag night and all that.

Suffice to say, though, I was surprised how much I ended up enjoying myself, and it was largely down to two things: the company, who were pleasingly laid back for the whole evening, and the venues, which, while hastily chosen in all cases apart from the restaurant we’d booked, turned out to be entertaining, pleasant places to hang out. And by that — yes, I’m aware how old I sound when I say this — I mean they were places where you could actually hold a conversation with the people you were with, rather than having to bellow small talk into each other’s ears — something which I always find to be embarrassing and surprisingly exhausting.

On the whole, I think James had an eminently suitable start to his stag night, weekend, whatever you want to call it. The evening took a few twists and turns I don’t think any of us were expecting when we started, and I think everyone had a good time. I also think most people involved were surprised that we all still had what turned out to be a lengthy night out in us — it’s nice to know that we’re perhaps not as decrepit as we might have perhaps thought we were.

I do quite urgently need to sleep now, though, despite the amount of Coke I’ve imbibed over the course of the evening. I can have a lie-in tomorrow morning, at least, then it’s Doing Stuff that is Probably a Little More Sedate Than This Evening tomorrow afternoon and evening. For now, adieu.

1298: Far from the Valley

Jeez. I am so glad I’m not reviewing mobile and social apps any more.

I know I’ve said this numerous times before, but I feel like every day I come across something even more offensively vapid and pointless that makes me want to punch everyone involved in the face for thinking it could possibly have ever been a good idea.

Today, I came across an app called “Kahnoodle.” Here it is.

Kahnoodle is a “relationship app” that, according to The Atlantic, “wants to make maintaining your relationship automatic and easy — as easy as tapping a button. Its options include sending push notifications to initiate sex; ‘Koupons’ that entitle the bearer to redeemable movie nights and kinky sex; and, of course, the love tank, which fills or empties depending on how many acts of love you’ve logged.”

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

Kahnoodle isn’t the only app of this type, I might add. As the Atlantic piece linked above notes, “couples’ apps” have been around for a while now, and represent some of the most pointless implementations of social media I’ve ever seen: they’re social networks designed for just two people. I reviewed one a while back called either Couple or Pair (I forget which one it was, because they changed the name from one to the other, which made all the App Store reviewers of it disproportionately angry at the developers) with Andie, and we both agreed within a matter of seconds that it was an utter waste of time.

The reason that apps like Couple/Pair and Kahnoodle are utterly pointless, of course, are because there are infinitely better ways to do the same thing already available that don’t require their own dedicated app. You can privately message people via Facebook, Google, AIM, Skype, email, text message, What’sApp, Kik… hundreds of other potential apps, from which you can talk to, you know, other people as well as your partner.

Kahnoodle’s selling point is that it “gamifies” your relationship, and as we all know from listening to Silicon Valley startup tosspieces, “gamification” increases “engagement” and “brand awareness” or whatever bullshit they’re talking about this week. Because these apps, despite appearances, aren’t really about bringing people together and helping them communicate at all; they’re about building up a captive audience who can then be either advertised at or monetised straight up the bumhole — sometimes both, in some sort of hideous business double-penetration scenario.

I apologise for that mental image. But if you need to “gamify” your relationship in order to remember to have sex or whatever, then perhaps you should sit down and have a very serious talk with your partner, because I would suggest that’s a sign that Things Aren’t Going All That Well. A real-life relationship is not like The Sims, where you can get yourself out of the doghouse by grinding the Chat, Compliment and Joke options until the meter climbs out of the red.

Sigh. Anyway.

One of the big reasons the App Store, Google Play and its ilk are such frustrating places to browse these days are because there are so many of these ridiculous apps available that provide nothing of any particular worth to society. The few useful apps that are available for phones inevitably get buried under this torrent of digital sewage, leaving those who are making good things consistently frustrated at the fact their stuff can never get noticed. It’s not just in mobile games this is happening — it’s in all types of apps. I’ve pretty much given up looking at the App Store now — I use my phone for basic communication through Twitter, Facebook, email and the like, and only download something from the App Store if I know precisely and specifically what I’m looking for.

So good job, shovelware merchants; you’ve pretty much destroyed the concept of “discoverability” with your relentless pursuit of the crap. I hope you’re pleased with yourselves.

1297: “Remember When…”

“…games were fun?”

It’s a question often trotted out any time there’s some sort of controversy in the video games medium, whether it’s someone saying something stupid, or something in a game offending someone. Basically any time there’s discussion beyond “this game are good, I liked the graphics the best”.

Actually, that’s grossly unfair to those who do good work on video games criticism when there isn’t some sort of overblown controversy going on, but it is accurate to say that there are some people out there who use “remember when games were fun?” as a method of attempting to shut down discussion beyond simple, relatively superficial comments.

“Games are fun” isn’t even a particularly accurate statement to make these days, because there are plenty of experiences out there that are specifically designed to be not fun. Take something like Corpse Party, which I wrote a little about yesterday, or Silent Hill — neither of those series are intended to get you thinking “this is fun; I’m having a good time”. Quite the opposite, in fact — both are intended to unnerve, disturb, frighten and depress you. This doesn’t make them bad games, however; in fact, it makes them extremely good games, because they both succeed admirably in achieving what they set out to do; both are genuinely unnerving, disturbing, frightening and depressing experiences.

Take something like Journey or Flower, too; neither of those carry the deliberately negative emotional baggage of stuff like Corpse Party or Silent Hill, but neither are they particularly designed to be “fun”. Rather, they’re artistic, contemplative experiences that are enormously open to interpretation; your own personal interpretation of both games might be that you find them fun, but likewise you might find them sad, or they might make you angry, or they might leave you awestruck at the scenery, or… you get the idea.

Visual novels, too, aren’t designed to be “fun”, at least not in the traditional sense of “having fun gameplay”. No, you might find the characters, setting or story of a visual novel to be fun to hang out with or immerse yourself in, but the actual act of “playing” a visual novel is not fun at all. And that’s fine — it’s not a negative thing at all. In the case of visual novels, “gameplay” can distract from the narrative, which is the reason to play (or, more accurately, as many fans say, “read”) these games in the first place. (There are exceptions, of course; Aselia the Eternal strikes a great balance between narrative and gameplay, and successfully integrates both into a surprisingly coherent, if technologically rather primitive, experience.)

So yeah. I remember when games were just fun. That was cool, I guess, but I’m much more of a fan of the diversity of experiences we have today. I enjoy the fact that modern games make me think or make me feel something. I’d be kind of sorry if we didn’t strive for anything more than “just fun” in interactive entertainment.

1296: Repeated Fear

After re-finishing Corpse Party for the second time (and this time around actually playing through all the bonus chapters) I moved straight on to its sort-of-sequel Corpse Party: Book of Shadows, a game which I’ve owned for quite some time but haven’t got around to because I wanted to replay Corpse Party first.

So far, I’m very impressed. Book of Shadows maintains the things that were great about Corpse Party — its dark, mature storyline; its realistically flawed but likeable characters; its unusual but startlingly effective soundtrack; and its incredible, incredible sound design and voice acting — while making a few significant and notable changes.

The most notable change from the previous Corpse Party is that it’s no longer a top-down RPG-style affair and has instead become a first-person perspective point and click adventure with lengthy visual novel-style sequences to advance the plot. I’m fine with this, but I was also fine with the top-down nature of the original. I actually really liked the fact that the first Corpse Party had all the trappings of a JRPG — top-down perspective, a menu you pop up with the triangle button, hit points — without any fighting whatsoever. (That said, the PC-98 original version of Corpse Party, of which the PSP version is one of several remakes, concluded with a boss fight.)

Book of Shadows’ shift to the first person is an interesting one, because despite the change in perspective and despite the change from tile-based backdrops to hand-drawn environments, it’s still recognisable as Heavenly Host Elementary School. The map is the same; the rooms are laid out the same; you’re just seeing them from a different perspective. This gives a pleasing degree of consistency to the experience.

The concept is peculiar but kind of neat, too. One of the “wrong ends” of the original Corpse Party saw the band of unfortunate teens travel back in time after successfully reversing the charm that had got them into the school in the first place, only to find themselves repeating the same events exactly as they were before — thereby dooming themselves to the same fate. Book of Shadows runs with the idea that the characters being aware of this “time loop” might see them try to cheat their fate, and the first chapter at least explores what happens if a particular tragedy that occurred early in the first game was averted. In doing so, we get a chance to spend a lot more time with characters who didn’t get a great deal of screen time in the original game (because they were the first to be unpleasantly murdered) and gain a greater understanding of both them and their relationships with others in the process.

I’m digging it so far. The palpable sense of menace of the original is very much intact in this new game, as is the wince-inducing violence — though as with the previous game, Book of Shadows has a wonderful understanding of the concept of “less is more” when it comes to horror. The most effective scares come from the imagination rather than gory scenes on the screen — and while Book of Shadows, like its predecessor, certainly isn’t afraid to show the aftermath of a violent event, the actual instance of something unpleasant happening tends to be depicted through nothing more than text and sound.

Book of Shadows deserves particularly special mention for its sound. The original Corpse Party made magnificent use of fake 3D effects in the stereo field to make it sound like people were whispering in your ear, standing behind you and all manner of other things. Book of Shadows continues this and somehow manages to be even more effective. In an early scene, for example, you’re playing the role of the character Naomi, who finds herself in bed with her possibly-a-lesbian best friend Seiko, who is over for a sleepover. When the lights go out and Seiko falls asleep, you can hear her soft breathing and occasional murmuring to herself in your left ear while Naomi ponders things to herself; when Seiko is roused by Naomi’s mumbling, her voice sounds like she’s lying right next to you. It’s unnerving in its realism, but startlingly effective for immersing you in the game world and story.

I’m partway through the second chapter of Book of Shadows so far. I’m enjoying the “what if?” nature of these chapters, but what I’m really looking forward to is the not-so-secret final chapter that actually acts as a sequel of sorts to the original story. I’m intrigued to see where the story goes, and despite the fact it’s such a consistently unpleasant, depressing series, I really hope we see more in the future.

1295: Co-Op, Counter-Op

I like cooperative modes in games, though usually only when I get the opportunity to do so with people I know and trust. Co-op gameplay is often reliant on communication, you see, and as has been well-documented here in the past, I often feel a little uncomfortable when forced to communicate with strangers. I’m usually all right when it comes to text-based chat, but voice chat? No no no. Thank you.

I’ve had a few great co-op experiences over the years. Actually, one of them wasn’t co-op at all — it was “counter-operative” in Perfect Dark for the Xbox 360. This mode, somewhere between traditional co-op and competitive multiplayer, cast one player in the role of the usual protagonist, and the other in the role of all the enemies in the level. If the protagonist character dies, the counter-operative wins; if the counter-operative player dies, meanwhile, they simply shift to another body and continue until no enemies are left.

One of my favourite instances of this game mode came when I was playing with my friend Calin on the first level of Perfect Dark — a level that had already played host to some frighteningly competitive speedruns between my friends and I. Calin was the Counter-Operative, I was the protagonist. Wandering through the level, I was surprised to discover there didn’t appear to be a single trace of any enemies. I made my way down through the building, as you were supposed to do in the level, and got to the bottom. Still no enemies.

Suddenly… BIFF. My gun was knocked from my hand and my vision blurred. I’d been hit over the back of the head. I wheeled around to discover the only remaining enemy in the level — Calin had been through and, before I’d got there, systematically eliminated all his “extra lives,” as it were — and it was coming down to a fist fight. By this point, we were both in stitches, which made flailing wildly at each other all the more difficult. I forget who “won” — probably me, because the protagonist has significantly more health than generic fodder enemies — but it was a hilarious experience.

My other favourite co-op experience is in Saints Row The Third. Saints Row’s co-op is great because it’s just the exact same game as in single-player, only there’s two people running around causing chaos instead of just one. You can work together to complete missions, or participate in all the silly activities together, adding your scores together in an attempt to reach the various targets. Alternatively, you can both just tool around the open world completely separately if you desire, independently causing chaos. It’s a lot of fun, particularly given the diverse array of different activities on offer in the world of Saints Row — one minute you might be flinging yourself in front of vehicles in order to commit insurance fraud; the next, you might be working your way through a “killing floor” gauntlet on the city of Steelport’s favourite hyper-violent gameshow.

Having completed Saints Row IV over the weekend, I’m particularly keen to try that in co-op, as the single player was ridiculous enough. For those unfamiliar with the fourth installment, it’s set in the same game world as Saints Row The Third, albeit a computer simulation of it instead of the “real” world. This means there’s Tron-style visual effects all over the place, but more importantly it means you have “superpowers” such as super speed and a ridiculous Crackdown-style jumping ability. I can only imagine the ridiculous situations that will result from not one but two superpowered nutcases boinging around the city rooftops. I’m looking forward to trying it when the retail version of the game becomes available in two weeks.

1294: Campaign Mode

Random bit of gaming trivia for you: the word “campaign” wasn’t always synonymous with “single-player story mode.” In fact, in the 16-bit era I recall playing numerous games in which the “campaign” was actually just one of several different game modes — it most commonly cropped up in flight sims, but occasionally made an appearance in other types of game, too.

Taking flight sims as the main example, a “campaign” mode tended to be what it sounds like: an ongoing campaign of the player against computer-controlled enemies, either through a linear sequence of missions like we have in many of today’s single-player modes, or through a more dynamic, strategic sort of affair that changed and evolved as the player took various actions.

One particular example I can think of was the then-popular flight sim Falcon 3.0, which was one of numerous F-16 simulators around at the time. Past incarnations of Falcon had generally seen players taking on one-off missions, raising in rank and collecting medals through grinding the same missions over and over again. What Falcon 3 brought to the table was what was regarded as one of the best campaign modes ever seen in the genre at the time — I’m sure it’s been bettered by all manner of other games since, but I remember it being quite impressive at the time.

Looking the game up to better refresh my memory, in fact, it seems that Falcon 3.0 was, in fact, one of the first games ever to incorporate a dynamic campaign mode, and this is what drew praise. In fact, so confident were developers Spectrum Holobyte that they even gave the campaign engine its own branding: “Electronic Battlefield.”

Electronic Battlefield was originally intended to be a campaign engine that transcended individual games and allowed for multiple different products to interlink with one another for network games. Three games eventually made it to market: Falcon 3.0 itself, MiG-29: Deadly Adversary of Falcon 3.0 (for it was tradition that the F-16s in flight sims at the time would spend most of their time fighting MiG-29s, their biggest rival from the Soviets) and Falcon 3.0: Hornet: Naval Strike Fighter, which simulated the F/A-18 Hornet. These three games could all talk to each other in network sessions, but I never got a chance to try it; sadly, this was in an age prior to widespread use of the Internet and online play in general, so when it says “network game” it actually means LAN play — a luxury only really afforded to those who worked in offices.

So how is this kind of “campaign” different from what we have today? Well, the main thing is that it’s not scripted, and there doesn’t necessarily have to be an “end”. Falcon 3.0’s campaign simulated a conflict in which the player is just one element; through completing or failing various missions, they could help or hinder the war effort as a whole, presumably eventually culminating in one side or the other declaring victory. I never saw that as I wasn’t really very good at flight sims, despite enjoying them as a young ‘un, but I could tell my efforts were having an impact on the virtual war as a whole.

It was kind of cool, really — despite the fact there was no ongoing “story” like in, say, the later Strike Commander (which again concentrated on F-16s, but had a much more arcadey flight model), there was a real sense of emergent narrative — of things happening due to your actions rather than just being plopped down in front of either a limited selection of missions, or randomly-selected scenarios. It was pretty neat.

I’m not sure why I blabbered on about all that — I just find myself thinking back to that every time a game makes me click on the word “Campaign” when what it really means is “Story”.

1293: [Incredibly tough][Miq’ote][rod]

I’m getting a bit antsy for Final Fantasy XIV. I haven’t felt genuinely excited about an MMO for a while — the last one I played, which was The Secret World, was something I picked up more out of idle interest than anything else. Final Fantasy XIV, meanwhile, is something I’m really looking forward to.

While I’m waiting for the announcement that the open beta has started and I can finally start building what will become my “permanent” character in the game, I’ve been reading back over some of the forum posts, and particularly about people who once played Final Fantasy XI and ended up leaving.

I enjoyed Final Fantasy XI a lot. I didn’t play it for anywhere near long enough to reach the level cap or anything like that, but I enjoyed the experience of what I played. It helped that I had some good friends who played regularly, but it was also just an experience that I found enjoyable. I’m hoping Final Fantasy XIV recreates that kind of feeling, though I’m already aware it’s a very different game — and I’m glad about that.

Final Fantasy XI was hard. Really hard. This was the kind of game where if you inadvertently got a monster chasing you that was too strong for you to beat, you’d better outwit them and run away as fast as possible, because they would chase you across the whole map, and they would kill you. To add insult to injury, Final Fantasy XI also penalised your experience each time you died, meaning that dying too much could actually result in you losing levels if you weren’t careful — something I haven’t seen in any MMO since. This gave the game a real feeling of consequence — if you got yourself into a situation you couldn’t handle, you had better either figure out how you were going to deal with it, or accept your fate.

This sort of “penalty” thing is something that people praise Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls for, because it makes death meaningful. And that’s good. In World of Warcraft, death just means your equipment gets a bit damaged and you have a bit of a run back to your corpse, but otherwise there aren’t really any major penalties you have to deal with. This means that in many cases, challenges can be brute-forced by simply chipping away, dying, running back, repeating. This isn’t really possible when you’re by yourself, as monsters who aren’t being actively attacked tend to run back to their spawn point and heal fully, but if you’re in a party it was most certainly possible.

In Final Fantasy XI, meanwhile, you had to work together. It was one of the most intensely cooperative games I’ve ever played, and while this sometimes led to player tempers flaring, I was fortunate enough for the most part to group with people who both knew what they were doing and were patient with newbies.

Getting into a fight in Final Fantasy XI was a big deal. It wasn’t a hack-and-slash game; it was something where, when you saw an enemy, you had to carefully weigh up your chances of victory as a group. Once the battle began, everyone had to play their part and know what they were doing — even in combat against non-boss enemies. Battle was an intricate dance led by the Warrior, who maintained the enemy’s attention while other classes dealt damage or healed the party. It was stressful, but in a good way; as I say, it was intensely cooperative, and the knowledge that what you were doing was important felt great. Contrast this with something like World of Warcraft, where I often felt rather detached in party play, particularly playing as a Mage. Combat often boiled down to little more than standing back and spamming the same few attacks over and over again while other people did their thing independently.

(Aside: I have no idea what “Abyssea” is, but people who stuck with Final Fantasy XI longer than me seem to complain about it an awful lot.)

I’m not yet sure how Final Fantasy XIV’s cooperative play will work as I didn’t get a chance to try it during closed beta. I am curious to see, though, since from what I’ve heard from other people, each class plays noticeably differently from the others. The Pugilist class that I experimented with had a strong focus on quickly triggering attacks in a specific order to form combos, and this was probably most like what I was doing as a Mage in World of Warcraft. You had to memorise the combination of buttons that was most effective, then repeatedly trigger them as appropriate. Final Fantasy XIV added a bit of extra depth, though; positioning is important, as you can dodge area-of-effect attacks and do extra damage from certain angles.

Party play in Final Fantasy XIV also features the return of the Limit Break gauge from Final Fantasy VII, which I’m interested to see — in this particular incarnation, it’s a meter shared between the whole party which any member can use when it’s charged. The exact effect it has is determined by who triggered it. I’m wondering how sensible and restrained people will be with this feature, or if it will end up getting spammed by people. We’ll see.

With the recent announcement of Everquest Next and its impressive dynamic quests and terrain deformation, attention seems to have swung off Final Fantasy XIV a bit, but I’m still intending to give it a good shot. I really liked what I played in open beta, and I anticipate it’s something that I’ll enjoy sticking with — particularly if I get the opportunity to play with some people on a regular basis, which is looking likely.

Hopefully not too long to wait until open beta. Count on some enthusing on these very pages when it does arrive.

1292: LFRP

I haven’t done nearly as much role-playing in my life as I’d like to have done by now. No, I’m not talking about sexy role-playing (although now that you me– huh? You’re still here? As you were.) but rather role-playing in the, you know, role-playing game sense.

I play a lot of RPGs on computer and console, of course, but those aren’t the same thing. True role-playing is the opportunity to become someone else for a while; to take on another persona and enjoy a complete escape from reality.

I’ve indulged on online role-playing a few times in an attempt to get my fix. The earliest time I tried was when I gave the original Everquest a go out of curiosity. I joined a “roleplaying” (“RP”) server, created my character and jumped in. The first person I ran into, I spoke in character, the message log at the bottom of the screen noting that I was speaking in Elvish. The response? “lol”. I was disappointed, to say the least.

Later attempts yielded somewhat better results. My fondest memories of online role-playing — and probably my fondest memories of playing any sort of game online, for that matter — come from the game Neverwinter Nights, the spiritual successor to the Baldur’s Gate series and an unusual multiplayer game. Neverwinter Nights was based on the popular pen-and-paper Dungeons and Dragons role-playing game, see, and in keeping with that, the multiplayer mode allowed one player to be the “Dungeon Master” and take control of the game world and all the characters in it. This meant you could run adventures that simply weren’t possible using pre-scripted modules; instead of being railroaded down a plotline, things could go off in unusual directions.

I had a group of people I played with semi-regularly that I met via the website Neverwinter Connections — said site still seems to be there, but it doesn’t look like it’s really very active these days, which is sad. I’m not entirely sure how I came to Neverwinter Connections in the first place, but that’s where I met StarStuff, Scorpio and several others. I’ve since lost touch with them — this wasn’t entirely my fault, as they moved on to Guild Wars, a game I didn’t really stick with, but I do regret not being able to count them among my friends any more. We had some good times.

One of my favourite games we played together was a lengthy quest that went on for several hours. I forget the exact circumstances of the quest itself, but I remember my character: Jay Wrekin the sorcerer. Jay was a middle-aged wizard with a pixie familiar named Sianie, and a quirk of the Neverwinter Nights engine allowed you to take direct control of your familiar if you saw fit — including making them speak. This led to the interesting role-playing challenge of speaking for both Jay and Sianie simultaneously, though Jay chose to keep Sianie’s existence a secret initially, with her only appearing when he sneezed (or possibly the other way around).

Later in the quest, we found ourselves in a tricky situation — again, I forget the precise circumstances, but I do remember that for whatever reason, the only option was for Jay to reveal the existence of Sianie to the rest of the party, and for Sianie to go off and complete some sort of tricky challenge on her own. It was great fun and, although I felt I was monopolising the role-playing at times, the rest of the troupe all complimented me a great deal after the adventure was over. It was a significant challenge role-playing one character, they said; to manage two and make them distinct in personality from one another was an impressive achievement.

Later, I played a bit of World of Warcraft off and on with some friends. Like my initial abortive foray into Everquest, I picked the role-playing server, only this time I found a lot more people willing to indulge in role-playing fantasies. My friend and I decided how our characters related to one another before we started, and over a long period of time we developed their relationships and personal stories, culminating in us role-playing a run on the original form of the Stratholme dungeon. This was a surprisingly dramatic experience, since we’d agreed between us that, in terms of our character backstory, we both grew up in Stratholme and were driven out during the events of Warcraft III; consequently, we were hungry for revenge, and the long time it had taken us to get up to an appropriate level to beat Stratholme comfortably meant it really felt like we’d been on an epic journey.

There’s a bit of an issue with role-playing in massively multiplayer games like World of Warcraft, however: they’re not really designed for it. Oh sure, you have emotes and can sit in chairs and whatnot, but there aren’t really the tools available to get some really good role-playing going. There’s also a constant nagging feeling of conflict — while you’re sitting around chatting in character with friends, you could be outside bashing goblin heads together for experience points. There’s no inherent rewards for role-playing in World of Warcraft, only the satisfaction of creating an immersive environment with friends.

I’m intending on playing Final Fantasy XIV when it launches later this month, but I don’t think I’m going to be role-playing — it just doesn’t seem to be the right kind of game for it, though I can probably have my arm twisted if people I play with are into it. I am not, however, ruling out the possibility of other forms of online role-play in the future — I do find myself wondering if it’ll ever match up to the adventures of Jay and Sianie, though.