#oneaday Day 763: A Question That No-One Seems To Have Asked Regarding RPGs

Here's a stumper for all you RPG fans: exactly how much does taking one hit point of damage hurt?

It's not a particularly straightforward thing to work out, given that hit points are a representative abstraction of physical condition rather than a measurable, uh, measurement. But let's assume for a moment that it is indeed possible to measure one's own hit points. How much, then, would taking one hit point of damage hurt?

The answer to that question would largely depend on what model of hit points you are using. If you're talking Dungeons and Dragons hit points, taking one damage would fucking hurt if you're not in tip-top physical condition. The average "man in the street" sort of person (i.e. not a warrior, rogue, wizard, cleric or what have you) is regarded as a "level 0 human" and generally has something in the region of 2 or 3 hit points, if that. Level 1 wizards often only have in the region of 4 or so. As such, taking one hit point of damage as an average person following the Dungeons and Dragons model would hurt a great deal, putting you potentially up to halfway towards death (or rather, being knocked out, since people don't officially die until bleeding out to -10 hit points in D&D).

Compare and contrast with the JRPG approach to hit points, however, where totals frequently extend into the thousands and, in some cases, the tens of thousands. As a beginning character in a JRPG, you'll often have a low three-figure hit point total to start with, which will progress towards that elusive 9999 (or 99999) as you level up. Assuming that your average person hasn't really levelled up a great deal thanks to a notable lack of monsters (big spiders battled with Hoovers notwithstanding) we can work on the assumption that a single hit point's worth of damage doesn't really hurt a great deal. 'Tis but a scratch and all that.

So, since it's late and my brain is starting to shut down a little bit, let's take this to the next logical extension and consider a variety of horrific injuries to determine exactly how many HP damage they'd do following the two approaches outlined above. We're assuming that the person being injured here is not a Destiny-chosen hero who has been infused by the power of the Goddess/branded by the fal'Cie/chosen by Fate/revealed to be the wielder of the legendary blade Monado but rather, say, that man who works behind the fish counter in Sainsbury's. As such, we'll say he has 4HP in D&D and 150HP in a JRPG.

Getting an electric shock off an escalator handrail — D&D: 0HP, interrupt current action in surprise; JRPG: 1HP electric damage.
Falling out of bed while asleep — D&D: 0HP, lose "Sleep" condition; JRPG: 1HP physical damage, lose "Sleep" condition, afflict with "Embarrassment" (special moves charge slower)
Walking into a coffee table — D&D: 0 HP, maybe stun for a turn, staggering randomly around the room going "OUCH"; JRPG: 1HP physical damage.
Paper cut — D&D: 0 HP, afflict with "very mild bleeding" status, lose 1HP every 500 turns unless the cut heals (use a bandage or roll a D20 every turn, on a number between 3 and 20, it heals naturally); JRPG: 2HP physical damage.
Accidentally grating your fingers while attempting to grate cheese — D&D: 0HP, afflict with "very mild bleeding status" as with "paper cut" above; JRPG: 1HP physical damage.
Stubbing your toe — D&D: 0HP, incapacitate for a turn, remove ability to use vocal components of spells and stealth due to yelling "FAAAAAAAHHHHK!"; JRPG: 3HP physical damage.
Having a cat that is standing on you decide that it needs to hold on tightly with its claws — D&D: 0HP, 50% possibility of affliction with "very mild bleeding" status as with "paper cut" above, movement forbidden (you've got a cat on you); JRPG: 3HP physical damage, afflict with Rooted (you've got a cat on you).
Inadvertently ripping off a toenail by catching it on something — D&D: 0HP, afflict with "bleeding" status, lose 1HP every 50 turns unless the cut heals (use a bandage or roll a D20 every turn, on a number between 8 and 20, it heals naturally); JRPG: 10HP physical damage, afflict with Slow.
Burning your hand on the handle of a poorly-insulated saucepan — D&D: 0HP, interrupt current action, forced shouting of obscenity breaks any Stealth-related effects; JRPG: 10HP Fire damage.
Standing on an upturned three-prong plug — D&D: 0HP, movement forbidden for 5 turns, remove ability to use vocal components of spells and stealth due to yelling "FUCK. Cunt! ARSE! SHIT that fucking hurts. AAAAARGH."; JRPG: 15HP physical damage, afflict with Rooted.
Banging your head on a low ceiling even after seeing a "mind your head" sign — D&D: 0HP, dazed for one turn. temporary reduction to Wisdom and Intelligence; JRPG:10HP physical damage, 10MP magic damage for a blow to the head.
Getting punched in the face by some drunk dude at a bar who thought you were eyeing up his missus but in fact you were trying to read the scrawled sign on the front of that fridge that said that the cheap drinks might actually be a bit out of date — D&D: 1HP; JRPG: 25HP physical damage.
Suffering any sort of trauma to the testicular area — D&D: 2HP (probably won't kill you unless you've just been punched twice by a drunk dude at a bar who thought you were eyeing up his missus, but it bloody hurts), stunned for 5 turns, temporary reduction to Constitution; JRPG: 50HP physical damage, afflicted with "Stop" status as you wheeze and cough in an attempt to recover your dignity.
Getting stabbed in the leg, whether accidentally or deliberately — D&D: 2HP, movement rate halved; JRPG: 50HP physical damage, afflicted with "Slow".
Failing to escape the unwanted affections of an amorous gorilla — D&D: Your adventure is over. You have been adopted by an amorous gorilla as its mate. Any attempt to escape will result in death. JRPG: Perform a badly-executed stealth/platforming sequence to escape.
Getting stabbed in the face — D&D: 5HP (you will likely bleed to an unhappy -10HP death), permanent reduction to Charisma; JRPG: 100-150HP physical damage.
Suffering an apparently successful attempt to behead you — D&D: 14HP; JRPG: 150HP
Getting the smackdown from an angry God/being hit with a planet by the final boss — D&D: 50HP; JRPG: 5000HP
Standing quite close to the epicentre of a nuclear explosion, you know, enough to get a good view and think "ooh, that's a bit hot, I wish I'd stood back a bit more" — D&D: 998HP; JRPG: 9998HP.
Standing in the epicentre of a nuclear explosion — D&D: 999HP; JRPG: 9999HP.

Should you find yourself suffering any of these injuries, though, fear not; for a good night's sleep cures all ills, as everyone knows. Unless you're already dead, in which case you'd better get on good terms with your local Cleric or purchase some Phoenix Down.

#oneaday Day 73: The Late Review - Final Fantasy XIII

[This post contains spoilers.]

Final Fantasy XIII is a game about control in its many forms. What happens if the State or Church has complete control over the populace? What happens if beings beyond our understanding control the resources that determine humanity's survival? How do you challenge a fate which seems to be set in stone?

This theme permeates the entire game, from its visual design through its progression structure to the oft-criticised linearity. The game starts with the Sanctum-endorsed "Purge" sending hundreds of citizens to their death. Lightning and her soon-to-be companions are the ones who step up to challenge this seemingly-inevitable fate, but they don't really have a choice. It's fight or die, and to our heroes, death is not an option. This sets them on their path, and once they're on this path, there's no escaping their destiny: they are going to become Pulse l'Cie and receive their Focus: to destroy Cocoon as Ragnarok.

This inescapable destiny is reflected by the fact that there's no deviation from the path on which you, the player, can move. The first part of the game is completely linear for some time, and this is entirely appropriate for the theme. It reflects several things: the tightly-ordered society that is the Sanctum-dominated Cocoon, and the inevitability of preordained destiny. It's not until much, much later in the game that our heroes come across the verdant green hills of Pulse, a land devoid of human life and thus free of the "control" and corruption which the Sanctum and, by extension, the fal'Cie hold over the heads of the population of Cocoon.

But there's subtler things, too. As our heroes progress along their path, they grow in power. At the start of the game, they don't learn from their experiences. Shortly after they become l'Cie, they have the opportunity to develop themselves in the disciplines in which they're good at. Shortly before they arrive at Pulse, when they make the decision to challenge the unjust fate which appears to lie before them, their options open up. The player is able to develop them down pathways which were formerly closed to them. It's harder work for seemingly relatively little benefit, at least to begin with, but the option is there. The path of least resistance still allows the greatest benefits, but those who are willing to make the effort and invest the time will find it pays off later. And as their l'Cie brands advance, bringing them ever-closer to their inescapable destiny—destroy Cocoon or endure an existence worse than death—ironically, their options open up and their potential for advancement becomes ever stronger.

It transpires throughout the course of the story that the party has, in fact, been manipulated for nefarious ends. The interesting thing about the end section of the game is that it jumps firmly back onto rails, but this time it's rails that the party (and/or the player) has chosen to jump onto and follow to their conclusion. There's nothing stopping the player keeping the party down on Pulse, indulging in sidequests, trying to hunt down elusive treasure and wondering if they'll ever be tough enough to take down one of those enormous Adamantoise creatures. The player makes the choice to return to Cocoon and see the story through to its eventual conclusion. And when the final confrontation ends up causing that which the party had struggled so hard to avoid, it's through strength of will that Fang and Vanille manage to use Ragnarok's power to make a choice. A choice not to destroy Cocoon, but to save it instead. The two worlds are changed forever by their actions. The choices that they made put into motion a chain of events that inextricably tie Pulse and Cocoon together—literally, physically.

Ironically, of course, the ultimate control of Final Fantasy XIII's world is that which the creators hold over the player. The characters make choices for themselves and the player is powerless to do anything about it. The player is just along for the ride. But the lengthy setup, the introduction of the characters and the resolution of all their personal stories by the time the party reaches the relative "freedom" of Pulse—if the player has let themselves become invested in the fates of these diverse characters, if they can let themselves look past these characters' first impressions: that Lightning is an aloof, arrogant arse; that Snow is an idiot; that Hope is a whiny brat; that Vanille is an irritatingly girly girl; that Sazh has a stupid name and never quite seems to understand what's going on; that Fang is all too quick to jump off a metaphorical cliff at the slightest provocation—then they'll be right there with them, rooting for them as they decide the fate of the world.

Final Fantasy XIII isn't for everyone. The mixed critical reception the game got on its initial release is more than enough to make that abundantly apparent. Is it the large tracts of linearity, the characters, the fact it's not Final Fantasy (insert number here) that puts people off? I don't know. But I absolutely loved it. It was a spectacular thrill-ride with characters that despite occasional pretensions of obnoxiousness that they display at the outset, end up being a good, memorable ensemble cast—and seriously, what JRPG cast doesn't have occasional pretensions of obnoxiousness? I found it fun to play and beat it with a sense of satisfaction and closure, not least because of the fact that I know that it's over (until the full-on sequel of course) and won't feel obliged to return because of some piecemeal DLC.

I am half-tempted to go Trophy-hunting and/or finish off the last 24% of sidequests on Pulse that I didn't complete—but if I don't, I still feel like I've had a satisfyingly "complete" experience. And that, in this day and age of games that keep getting extended, extended, extended and thus losing the impact of their original "ending"… that's something to be celebrated.

#oneaday, Day 344: Bullshit Filters

One of the biggest challenges in creative writing is overcoming your own personal bullshit filters—those parts of your brain that point out what you're writing is complete worthless nonsense and garbage that no-one in their right mind would ever want to read.

My own tolerance for nonsense is pretty high, as my enjoyment of JRPGs and love of Bayonetta will attest. But even when I'm writing creative stuff myself, I end up picturing some variant on Comic Book Guy reading what I've written and saying "BUT THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN!" I guess I have bullshit filters by proxy, as if I were writing stuff purely for myself, it could make as little sense as I please.

One simple way to overcome your own bullshit filters (whether or not they're proxies like mine), though, is to watch some movies or read some books. When you see how much nonsense other people—published people who actually get paid for their bullshit—put out, you'll feel a lot better.

Let's take Tron: Legacy for a moment, which I went to see the other night. This is a movie built almost entirely on nonsensical premises. Why are the programs in the computer personified as humans? Why do they behave in a human way? Why do they need vehicles? And given that the main distinguishing feature of one group in the movie is that they act "more human", what, in fact, is the difference between them and those who are already acting pretty human? How does a virtual projection of an aircraft stall at altitude in a virtual environment which presumably has no air? THAT WOULD NEVER HA—

Stop. Tron: Legacy isn't a bad movie despite the fact that all of the above issues are clearly nonsensical plot holes which spectacularly fail to be resolved by the end of the movie. I enjoyed it very much and intend going to see it again. In fact, Tron: Legacy is a movie which actually benefits from you specifically not trying to read too much into it. The reason the programs act human? Because it's relatable. The reason they drive vehicles? So there can be awesome action sequences. The reason a virtual aircraft stalls at altitude? Because it's exciting. Nothing more than that.

So it is when you're writing. Not everything has to be laced with hidden meanings, metaphors and commentary on the human condition. In fact, some of the best "hidden meanings" come about completely unintentionally, as an unconscious communication on the part of the author, an unconscious expression of something deep-seated in their mind that comes out in the things that they are writing. A window onto their soul, if you will.

Of course, some people can transcend that kind of writing and deliberately do clever things. But then they probably get labelled as "pretentious" and don't get appreciated in their own lifetime. And everyone wants to be appreciated in their own lifetime, right?

So, the next time you're writing something, take care that it makes sense, sure. But if you want to write something which initially appears to be "stupid", think about the rest of what you're writing too. Does it make sense in context, however "unrealistic" it might be when compared to reality? If so, then there absolutely is no reason that the Blood Sausage of Agamemnon can't turn into a semi truck at the push of a button when combined with the Amulet of Lindor under a full moon.

And if you still feel what you're writing is ridiculous, go watch Tron: Legacy.