Breaking Open the Black Box

The Secrets and Stories of Game Design

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Communication is Hard Work

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Before I was assigned to work with Mike, the way we designed zones was something like this:

 (Names removed to protect the innocent and content dramatically oversimplified to exaggerate the point)
Eight designers are gathered in a circle of chairs outside of their offices. The soft yellow light overhead is complemented by the low hum of the computers in the background. Small space aliens float by murmuring something about Warlock Tears.

Agent J: “So, this is Alexander’s first time doing abilities on a zone. Agent K, you printed out a list of the creature types in the zone that Agent M approved. Why don’t you run us through it?”
Agent K: “Of course! Agent M has requested that we put more Bird People in the western half of the zone.”
Agent J: “Oh! Bird people! That should make for some interesting opportunities. Perhaps they can attack with their feathers.”
I furiously scratch down notes on the sheet.

Agent M: “Well, bird people don’t seem like the type to use their own feathers. Definitely more… dark magic users.” 
Agent J: “Shadow Bolts for sure then! Nothing says evil like Shadow Bolts!”
Soft laughter fills the space.

Agent S: “You know, we’ve got this new Mage ability known as Spellsteal. It’s very important that opportunities exist for player to steal things. These guys should have a buff you can steal.”
Agent T: “That’s a great idea. Maybe it boosts your mana regeneration or something handy. Hey, we just got knockback tech – it would be really funny if the bird people knocked you off of their ledges.”
Agent J: “That actually sounds really annoying. We should be careful to not overuse knock backs. How about a charge on the pull instead?”
Agent K: “Maybe only the mages can do it. That way you know to be more careful when you see them.”
Agent J: “Okay! I can dig that.”
I continue to jot down notes and throw out my own ideas into the mix. 30 minutes later…
Ghost Knights! They charge!
Agent J: “Whew. Alright! Is that the last of the creatures?” 
Agent M: “Yup! Oh wait, actually we have uhm… some ghosts we just added last night.”
Agent K: “Ghosts of what?”
Agent M: “Ghosts of deceased alliance soldiers. Looks like a mage and a warrior type. “
Agent J: “Well, lets just go with War 3 style abilities there. Fireball, Frost Nova. The warriors can use Shield Block and Strike.”
Me: “Maybe we can even mix a few ghostly knights who patrol and charge at you when they aggro?”
Agent J: “That sounds great! Make it happen.”
I set off furiously to work copying the abilities described to the creatures. 

Communicating Theme is not Communicating Mechanics

The above was a huge exaggeration, but notice where the emphasis was – what story-wise makes sense here. The lore directed into themes and ideas. 
What it was not directed at was mechanics. 
“… so who exactly decided this?” asked Mike as he looked at the list I had made a few months back. 
“We did, in a meeting.”
Mike gave one of those huge grins he reserves for polite self amusement, “Design by committee is good for getting rough ideas and poor for fleshing out mechanics.”
“Didn’t you just say last week that the most boring wolves in Elwynn were enough, because your class abilities were fun enough?”
“Yes. It’s important to remember the context. It’s not enough to have a rule. You must know when to apply it and – much later – when to ignore it.”
“So what should we do here?” 
“These are advanced, matured players who have been playing the game for a long time. So we should generally cater the abilities to players who know how our game works. At the same time, if everything is a unique snowflake, nothing is. Let’s pick a few things to make flashy and let the rest be simple.”
“Okay,” I said, “So lets say half the creatures get something new and cool and the rest get Strike.”
Mike laughed, “Heh  – no. Almost nothing should have Strike. Strike violates both sides – it has no gameplay and no theme. Avoid those at all costs. At the very least, call it ‘Clawing Strike’ to reinforce that these are birds.”
“So what makes something fun and interesting?”
“If I knew the perfect answer to that, this would be a much shorter conversation.”
“Okay, then what should we be trying to do with the outdoor spawning?”
“Lets try to create lots of situations where players get to either use abilities or adjust their positioning to handle the monsters better.”
“This sounds like a lot of work.”
“Don’t worry, it is.”

Building Good Mechanics is Hard Work Too

We spent the next two weeks reviewing the old game, writing down a list of memorable experiences, dangerous moments, mechanics and themes that worked throughout the game and compiled them into a huge library of tools to draw upon as we built Outland. 
We combined a lot of the stuff we’d already done in the game with ideas drawn out from other games, other departments, other people and ourselves. If you’ve ever heard the term “Designed by Blizzard” this is exactly what it means. Reflecting upon a combination of a long legacy of good mechanics, combined with the passion, input and inspiration of new ideas, often leads to a great mix of familiarity and novelty.
But what does it take to make great mechanics? That is ultimately where I want to take this blog. The answer is disturbingly simple, but the journey to get there is not.

Lesson 1. Clarity

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A man lies unconscious in a hallway. Does he need help or is he just asleep?

What should you do?
As humans, we frequently encounter ambiguous situations like this. Few people would want to wake a napping man and fewer still fail to assist a dying man. How quickly do we determine if we need to take action? It depends on the clarity of the situation. 
In the picture to the right, it’s unclear if he needs help – perhaps he’s sleeping, perhaps he just got hit over the head and needs to be rushed to a hospital.  
Now let’s change a few factors. What if he’s well-dressed, wearing a suit and tie and has a beer bottle in his hands?  Far more likely that he’s just unconscious, but still possible that he needs help. Crank it up another notch: he’s a coworker and you just had a party celebrating the launch of your new website.  Another notch – there’s a note on his head that his wife has been called.  Almost certain that he’s OK and help is on the way.
Poor guy. 
Let’s go the opposite direction – add in a knife in his side, blood dripping from a small cut on his head. He’s moaning painfully and you notice his wallet is missing. At a glance, it is instantly clear this man needs help. 
Just a few details completely change your behaviour in this situation. We would likely run for help, while someone trained in first aid tended his wounds. The braver of us might even pursue his attacker. 
A wide variety of responses, elicited rapidly and efficiently simply by adding a few crucial details to the situation.

Clarity

This is first focal point of improving any design. The clearer the situation, the more obvious the devices in play, the more rapidly we respond to the situation. There are thousands of ways to do this. In Starcraft 2, Nuclear Launches were made incredibly clear through the use of unique art, sounds and telegraphing. 
In Super Mario World, the importance of the game over timer was reinforced with a warning sound, a change of music and pulsating numbers on screen.
Portals were so pivotal to Valve’s Portal that they named the game after the concept. 
Clarity doesn’t just happen. Players don’t magically understand what you want them to do. In fact, increasing the clarity of the situation was so important that Hellfire Peninsula was redone three times until the threat of the Burning Legion was the in-your-face centerpiece the moment you began the expansion. 
If you can only take away one thing from this post, remember this: 
The tool to improve clarity is communication.

Communication

Why is a Fireball clearer than an instantaneous Heroic Strike? 
One is communicated. The other just happens. 
When facing down a Mage, it’s incredibly clear what they’re doing. They stop moving. Their hands glow with fire. A bar fills under their target flame and finally a fiery ball flies through the sky, warning you the damage is coming. 
A heroic strike instantly causes a number to fly over your head.   Is it any wonder people feel infinitely more frustrated with a Warrior in their face than a Mage? … is it any more of a wonder that Mages constantly clamor for their all of their new abilities to be instant? 
Keep in mind that what a player clamors for is not necessarily right. 
The clearer and better telegraphed the ability, the more powerful that ability can be. The Starcraft Nuclear Launch, Super Smash Falcon Punch and League of Legend’s Zigg’s Inferno Bomb are all amazing examples of this lesson in play.

The Simplest Thing First

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My first major lesson on the importance of simple things occurred shortly after I was reassigned to work on the outdoor world with Mike Heiberg, the legend that inspired the High Bergg Helm and my first official Blizzard mentor.

I was sitting in a cheap, plastic chair, leaning in to a 14″ monitor one day when Mike turned to me and asked, “What’s the simplest thing in WoW?”

It seemed like a trick question, but I said the first thing that came to mind: “Well, a wolf, I suppose. It runs up and does its thing, but it’s not very interesting.”

Mike grinned and said, “that’s right, wolves are incredibly boring, yet they still do their job – why?”

“I dunno, you kill enough of ’em, you complete a quest and you get some stuff. That’s most of the game, right?”

Mike frowned for a split second, shook his head and said, “that’s not quite it – you’re missing the whole step before it. How’d you kill those wolves?”

“Well, I threw a Fireball at it.”

“Aaaaahhhhhh,” spoke Mike with a sagely tone, “tell me a little more about that.”

“I stood back, cast it, cast it a few more times, then it died.”

“So what was engaging about it?”

“Er… well, what? I dunno, using my abilities on it was kinda fun, if simple.”

“Yup, that’s it. Using your abilities is fun. That’s true. A lot of games can miss that – and spend too much time making interesting monsters. If your own abilities are fun, even the most boring of monsters can be interesting. People spent hundreds of hours right clicking in Diablo 2, but it was those moments when they leaped in and pushed whirlwind that they remembers.”

“Sure, Mike, but that’s all so basic.”

“Tell, you what, let’s stop here for the day. Tomorrow, I want you to come back and tell me why a Fireball is fun.”

“What?”

“Do you already have an answer?”

“Well… no, not really.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The Importance of Thinking Basics Through

I honestly didn’t have an answer for him. A fireball? God, those are so overdone. Every game has them, even Mario 1 had them. Plus, what distinguished them in WoW, anyways? Fireball was about as simple as you get. 
You didn’t get to avoid it, you couldn’t even roll out of the way. It’s just a fiery load in your face. Fine. Maybe that’s it, I told myself.  So I did what any well-equipped and professional person would do – I cheated.  
I rang up my friend and mentor, Tom and asked, “Tom, what the hell makes a Fireball interesting?”  Tom pretty much laughed me off the phone. “Mike’s training you, isn’t he?” 
Caught!
“Yep… and I have no clue what the hell he’s looking for.” 
“Well, he can explain the answer better than I can – he’s so old he was there when the first ones were made. But here’s a tip to get you started: What are the limits of a Fireball?” 

Limitations

Games are about rules, rule bending and sometimes rule breaking.  Rules define the limits of what you can do – and those limits often point to the power hidden behind a given ability.  In fact, the ability to read between the lines of an ability’s limits is so powerful, that players frequently read too far into them and mistake a minor bug cleanup with a deeper grand purpose. 
After a certain point, you play so many games, you forget the steps you took to learn the original rules and how you used that ability. In a way, the ability to forget what you know is the most powerful skill a designer can have. 
What did you see when you first saw a Fireball? Here was my list:
  • I can attack without getting close
  • Monsters will attack me after they get hit
  • The cast time for Fireball wasn’t very long so…
  • If I throw one from far enough away, I can hit them with another one before they hit me
This seemed like enough. 

Dream On

I recited my list to Mike, who politely listened as we worked, then thought for a moment and replied: “That’s a good list. All of those things are true. However, there’s more to a Fireball than its mechanics. What else?”
“I’m doing the impossible, hurling a giant ball of burning death, and then BAM”, slamming my hand onto the desk for emphasis, “the target dies in a fiery explosion!” 
 “Yep,” Mike said matter-of-factly, “there’s a lot of wish fulfillment in there too – and the sound of the Fireball reinforces that a lot. Since we could spend a month – and we did – trying to come up with everything that makes a Fireball feel right, I’m going to skip ahead a bit.”

The Simplest Thing

“There’s far more happening on screen than just what you’ve described. Look at the way the game visibly lets you know the fireball is coming: the sound is different than when the fireball is unleashed, the character stops moving, its hands light up, the animations change, a bar begins filling up.
“Each detail is woven together to create a tapestry of telegraphing – to let you know what’s about to happen… and most importantly… how much time you have before it occurs.”
I frowned slightly, “You really know how to make basic things seem very ornate. You know, when I saw a monster cast a Fireball, that was the first time I thought they were ever doing something interesting. ”  
“Basic things are ornate, we just rarely take the time to see them. For example, the time a Fireball takes to complete is very important. It changes what decisions you make, and opens up opportunities for the ability to be countered with a kick.”
I agreed. “Sometimes I think too many times abilities get made without thinking about the other side of things – what it’s like to be the victim. Like Strike for example – absolutely no telegraphing its coming, just bonus damage and no gameplay.”
“Then let’s try to minimize that where we can. We’ve got to think about the kids, you know!”
He meant the players, but Mike’s wife had just become pregnant, so I replied, “You’re either going to be an amazing or a horribly annoying father someday.”
Mike replied with a toothy grin, “don’t be silly – I’m a scrawny, Asian gamer. I’m going definitely be both.”

Lessons

There’s more to a Fireball than just the things I’ve described here. I leave it to the reader to ponder the rest. Taking the time to think through what you take for granted is incredibly difficult. I attribute most of the failures of the past few years of MMOs to this flaw. 
If you ask any player what they want out of an attack: instant, powerful and unstoppable are words that quickly come to mind. However, they all miss out on the deeper lessons of a Fireball – that sometimes what makes a game fun is actually the same thing that’s holding you back. 
Next time, I’ll start to move onto a juicier topic… the first of my five steps to improve any design.