dragon quest

The Playlist / Those Tenuous Twos

  • Reading time:23 mins read

by [name redacted]

You may have read the first part of this column in the December 2009 Play Magazine. It was intended as a single article, and the start of a whole series of such lists. In the event, I was asked (due to my incorrigible verbosity) to break the article into three pieces; only the first found its way to print. Here is the column in full.

Used to be, when a game was successful enough to demand a sequel, the design team would do its best to avoid repeating itself. Though I’m sure they mostly wanted to keep their job interesting, the practical effect was that if the games were different, they would both remain relevant. In an arcade, Donkey Kong Jr. could stand handsomely by its father, each shilling for its own share of the coin. You might call them companion pieces, rather than updates or replacements.

When home consoles hit, design teams were even more modest, and were generally left to do their own thing. So starting on the NES, you will see a certain trend: successful game spawns weird, only tenuously related sequel; fans of the original scratch their heads; a greatly expanded dev team releases a third game, which is basically just the first again, on steroids; fans think it’s the best thing ever, because it’s exactly the same, except better! And to hell with that weird second chapter.

Thing is… usually the second game is the most interesting you’ll ever see.

A Slime for All Seasons: Videogames and Classism

  • Reading time:12 mins read

by [name redacted]

Part twelve of my ongoing culture column; originally published by Next Generation, under the title “OPINION: Yuji Horii was Right to Opt for DS”.

You’ve probably heard this Dragon Quest business; in a move surprising to professional analysts everywhere, producer Yuji Horii has decided to go with the most popular piece of dedicated gaming hardware in generations for the next installment of the most important videogame franchise in Japan. If people are bewildered, it’s not due to the apparent rejection of Sony (whose hardware was home to the previous two chapters). After the mediocre performance of the PSP and the bad press regarding the PS3 launch, Sony has become a bit of a punching bag for the industry’s frustrations. Fair or not, losing one more series – however important – hardly seems like news anymore.

So no, what’s confounding isn’t that Horii has changed faction; it’s that he appears to have changed class, abandoning home consoles – in particular, the sure and sanctified ground of the no-longer-next generation systems – for a handheld, commonly seen as the lowest caste of dedicated game hardware.

While we’re jumping the gun…

  • Reading time:1 mins read

I hope for Dragon Quest X, for the Wii, to filter players’ Mii data though a library of stock Akira Toriyama face and body features, such as to produce customized Dragon Quest styled approximations of the players.

That would seem like something Yuji Horii would have on his “to do” list.

Hey, Tim. Any way you can suggest it to him next time you’re in the same room?

Horii Himself, Out.

  • Reading time:6 mins read

Yeah. This doesn’t completely surprise me, except in the sense that it actually happened.

Handhelds are a better place for introverted, focused experiences. (See Metroid II.) In terms of the mindset involved, playing a handheld is like reading a book, whereas playing a console is like watching TV. Again, look how perfect Dragon Warrior is on the Game Boy — how much better it is than on the NES. Also: having a lengthy “novel” game makes more sense if you can pick it up and put it down at leisure, rather than being forced to sit in one place and stare at a screen for hundreds of hours. Leave the consoles for flash and fun; visceral stuff. Like the Wii, say.

Also to consider: as great as DQ8 is, there are two major abstractions left that seem kind of contrary to what Horii wants to do with the series. For one, the player controls more than one character. That’s a little weird. For another, it’s got random turn-based battles. Honestly, that doesn’t seem like part of Horii’s great plan for the series. It never has; it’s just been something he’s settled with until now.

So yeah. The DS seems like an ideal place to put the game. What’s really interesting is the multiplayer aspect — which I didn’t expect at all, yet which again sort of makes sense, depending on how it’s implemented. If players can come and go at will — join each other or set off on their own tasks, each with his or her own agenda — it’ll work. If there are too many constraints to the framework, keeping people from just playing the damned game whether their friends are around or not, it’ll be a bit of a downer.

I’m kind of undecided what this game means in the end. On the one hand it seems likely it’s meant as an intermediary step while Horii works on Dragon Quest X for the Wii. Considering how far along this game seems to be (implying it’s been in the works for at least months, maybe a year), it seems like it’s part of a long-term plan. Also considering that the sword game seems basically like a testing bed for a new battle system… well, do the math. And yet, there’s this issue about the DS actually being the most suitable system out there right now (in terms of market saturation, the nature of the format, and the qualities it has to offer).

Maybe it’s just the most suitable platform for Dragon Quest IX in particular, for everything he wants to do with the game. If X is going to work the way I think it might, it’s going to pretty visceral and showy — demanding a home system. One in particular (that being the most visceral available).

Basically, every game Horii makes appears to be just another approach to the same game he’s been trying to make for twenty years. He never quite winds up with what he wants — though lately he’s getting a little closer. From what I can see, this is just one more angle, allowing him to capture a certain aspect of his vision that he hadn’t been able to before (perhaps at the expense of some other elements, that he’s already explored). So, you know, right on. These details seem worth exploring.

The next game… maybe it’s time to assemble? See how all the pieces fit?

The thing that I dig about Dragon Quest is that, whatever the surface problems, the games are visionary. It’s a strong, uncluttered vision that all the games reflect even if they don’t always embody it. As “retro” as they seem, they’re not just crapped out according to a formula; they’re each trying to achieve something that’s way beyond them — meaning an endless pile of compromises.

I find that pretty encouraging. Not the placeholders; the way Horii isn’t afraid to use them, while he roughs out everything else. And that he doesn’t let them distract him; he just devises them, then discards them when they’re no longer of use. He keeps chugging along, going through draft after draft until he gets it exactly right. It’s a very classical disposition. Very honest, at least to my eye.

He’s a lot like Miyamoto, except Miyamoto sort of gave up a long time ago. And Miyamoto’s vision isn’t quite as focused (though in turn, it is broader than Horii’s).

The one problem I can see with going from turn-based to real-time battles is that the battles in Dragon Quest — I don’t think they’re really always meant to stand in for actual fighting, as much as they’re a stand-in for any number of hardships and growth experiences that a person like the player might encounter in a situation like the quest at hand. Some of that might be actual battle; some of it might be much subtler and harder to depict in a game like this.

Keeping the battles turn-based and separated from the wandering-around makes the metaphor a lot clearer as a compromise, rather than as something special or important in its own right. Changing to a system that makes the game actually about fighting loads of monsters… I’m not sure if this is precisely the point he’s looking for. Still, it’s a trade off. Get more specific somewhere, you have to lose a nuance somewhere else.

I wonder what other sorts of difficulties or experiences could be devised, besides semipermeable monster walls holding you back. Ones that would add to (or rather further clarify), rather than detract from (or muddy), the experience. And preferably that wouldn’t be too scripted.

I’m thinking a little of Lost in Blue, though I don’t know how appropriate its ideas would be, chopped out and inserted whole. Still, general survival issues seem relevant: having certain bodily needs (and maybe psychological ones — though who the hell knows how to address that) that, though not difficult to attend to, cause problems if you don’t. So in the occasions you do run into real immediate difficulty (battles, whatever), you’ll be in far greater danger if you’ve been pressing yourself too far; if you haven’t sufficiently prepared. Likewise, injury might be a real problem — so the player would have to think carefully, weigh cost and benefit, before charging into dangerous situations.

Not pressing out would mean you’d never learn more, get better, stretch your boundaries. Being foolhardy would get you killed. Same deal we’ve got now; just more nuanced.

I’m sure there are other ways to do it. Maybe more interesting ones.

It could be I’m reading in some things that aren’t overtly intended. Still, I’ve never felt the battles were as important as what they stood for. They’re too straightforward. They’re used too cannily, as a barrier. The trick, again, is whether there’s an interesting and functional way of more literally representing what they might stand for. I dunno. Maybe not! At least, not right now. So all right, violence. Fair enough.

Dragon Quest IX: Starry Sky

  • Reading time:2 mins read

It looks like it’s been announced for the Nintendo DS. Which is… pretty big news! I mean, this is one of the most important series in Japan — one of the things that effectively makes a console. Though to be fair, it’s also usually released for the console with the biggest (or projected so) user base. For that to be the DS, instead of a home system… hell. You want to see some paradigms shifted? Here you go.

I’m guessing that Yangus Mysterious Dungeon game was meant as a test for the system, to see if the DS could handle a game roughly on the scale of DQXIII. I’ve not played the former (I don’t think it’s even getting a release over here); I hear it’s pretty darned impressive, for what it is. I’m undecided if I think this DS game is in turn meant as a prototype for a Wii game (as Horii has hinted at in the past), or if he’s trying to say something by moving the series to a portable system. Considering how damned well earlier Dragon Quest games have worked on the Game Boy (way better than on home systems), and considering how much more free time Japanese salarymen have on the train than at home, I’m guessing this might be considered a more efficient format for “timesink” games of this sort. I know I’ve suggested as much in the past. (Hey, is the industry starting to catch up to me?)

Here’s another paradigm: it’s turning into a “communication” game (Wi-Fi enabled), and it seems it’s becoming real-time. So hell, there are a couple more abstractions out of the way — basically the last significant ones remaining in DQXIII. No more turns, and you only control one character. I wonder how this will work out in practice; if players can simply hop into and out of each other’s quests, or if it’s more restricted.

EDIT: Well, there we go. Someone’s writing about it already. And yeah, forgot to mention the Level-5 bit. It’s interesting they’re still tied to the series, considering how eager they are to break out and do their own thing!

And Then There Were None

  • Reading time:25 mins read

by [name redacted]

Part three of my ongoing culture column; originally published by Next Generation, under the title “Culture: Five that Fell”.

For all its immaturity, you can tell the videogame industry is getting on in years. With increasing, even alarming, frequency, the faces of our youth have begun to disappear – forced from the market, absorbed into conglomerates, restructured into oblivion, or simply retired from the grind.

The first big wave hit back in the mid ’90s, when increased development costs, the demise of the American arcade, and the shift from 2D development left dozens of small and mid-sized developers – from Toaplan to Technos – out in the cold. Those that didn’t die completely – Sunsoft, Vic Tokai – often pulled out of the US market, or even out of the videogame business. Western outfits braced for the storm by merging with larger and ever larger publishing conglomerates, rationalizing that it was the only way to survive in an uncertain market.

The second wave came only a few years ago, after the burst of the tech bubble. In effort to streamline costs, parent companies began to dump their holdings left and right, regardless of the legacy or talent involved. Those that didn’t often went bankrupt, pulling all of their precious acquisitions down with them. Sometimes the talent moved on and regrouped under a new game; still, when an era’s over, it’s over.

The Ends of the World

  • Reading time:27 mins read

by [name redacted]

Part one of my ongoing culture column; originally published by Next Generation, under the title “Culture: Games and Metaphor”.

For the last several months, this site and others have been nodding along to figures like Satoru Iwata explaining that everything you know is wrong; that everything you recognize as videogames is actually backward and childish, and making bold claims about what the future might hold for the medium. We’ve seen the “games as art” movement and “new games journalism”, and the backlash to both. It’s understandable enough; we’re human. We get attached to things; mere familiarity is enough to calm us down. Make the world a little less lonely.

Something I’ve not really seen addressed is, well, what’s wrong with videogames, anyway? The simple answer is that, in their current form, they’re pointless. Or, well. They’re not conducive to conveying a point, anyway.

The Method

  • Reading time:5 mins read

So.

* Zelda 1 and 2.
* Dragon Quest in general.
* Riven.
* Shadow of the Colossus.
* Metroid II.
* Half-Life 2.
* Phantasy Star II.
* Metal Gear Solid 3, in particular.
* Lost in Blue.
* OutRun.

There is a common thread to all of these. It has to do with the gameworld, and the player’s method of interaction with it.

Stacking boxes to make your own path or eating the parrot in Half-Life and Metal Gear are the same as the magic wand in Zelda 1 or the structures in Wanda that serve no apparent purpose except to look at them, climb on them, stand on them, ponder about them. Building a spear in Lost in Blue is the same as gaining that level or buying that copper sword in Dragon Warrior, as finding a heart container or a boomerang in Zelda, as making that leap of logic in Riven, about that device halfway across the island.

The technique names in Phantasy Star are the same as the number system in Riven, as the clues in Zelda, as the Erdrick lore is in Dragon Warrior, as the artifacts are in Lost in Blue. And these are the same as the boxes and the parrot and the spear and the boomerang.

These are all different approaches toward the same, or similar, ideals. Player progression relies on personal growth and curiosity. Within its own laws, the gameworld is responsive to nearly all actions allowed the player. There is a strong focus on trial and error. On exploration on both the micro and macro levels. On pushing the limits of the gameworld to see what happens, and maybe being punished half the time. On intuitive leaps of reasoning, within the given laws. On patience. On innate appreciation of the intangible within a greater scheme.

The laws and structure of the gameworld are a framework filled with an open question. Rote progression is never a problem, and yet the purpose never particularly lies in the plot. Or in completion. Any story, any imposed goals are simply excuses. MacGuffins. They’re there to get you out the door. To give you an anchor, a point of reference. Maybe a path to walk down. The real joy, the really important material, comes in the unimportant treasures of providence provided by the player’s presence in the gameworld, by interfering as an outsider in a self-contained system.

The player, as Link in the first Zelda in particular, is not particularly meant to traverse Hyrule. He has no weapon. He has no defense. He has no health. There is no path specifically laid out for him, and yet there is a certain logic to be exploited — inconsistently, though consistently enough. At no point does the game call for the boomerang, or the wand. The game can probably be beaten without the sword, if the player is so inclined. Yet the tools are there to be made use of.

The world of Riven is alien to the player, and presents a barrier at every turn — and yet there is a logic behind it all; a reason why everything is where and as it is. As an outsider this lack of familiarity is an initial barrier. Later that same outside perspective and status puts the player in a rarified position. The simple joys of Riven come again from a whimsical turn of that same relationship with the gameworld — from sitting on a sun-baked stone stairwell, listening to the birds and the insects and the surf below. Imagining the coolness of the shadows and the moss on the stones. Appreciating what would go unappreciated were the player to belong here. Finding one’s own treasure in a broader system.

And yet none of these games are wholly open. Unlike Morrowind or Fallout or Baldur’s Gate, there is a clear and immediate structure. There is a limit to the options available to the player. The rules and the logic of the worlds are all simple and compact. There are only so many actions. There are only so many items. There are only so wide a world, so many levels, so many set pieces, so much of a variance in direction. There is a specific ultimate task before the player, a specific direction to move in. Save the princess. Learn about these Biomonsters. Figure out what’s going on in this world. Defeat the Metroids. Survive and maybe escape. Defeat the Colossi.

The secret to success in all cases is in understanding the reasoning of the gameworld, and the method of understanding — as in life — is experimentation. It is in the quirks, the exceptions, the trivialities — that with no clear explanation — that the searching mind finds the most wonder and curiosity. And it is in these quirks that such a mind imbues the most meaning, specifically for their lack of meaning, their lack of purpose. Their lack of structure, and all it implies about the gameworld and the player’s presence within it.

It is in these imperfections that we find beauty and we find reality. In which humanity and therefore something we identify as truth shows itself. In which we see hints of a structure or a randomness beyond our comprehension, that is greater than us, that is greater than our mission and yet that leads us to our fate. It is here that we find significance, that we find meaning, that we find verification for our continued efforts.

It is this which drives us on.

They Call Me Boldric

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I notice again that Dragon Quest VIII could easily be played on the Revolution. It’s actually mapped so 90% of the time you can just hold the Dual Shock in your left hand. Stick moves; L2 centers the camera; L3 is a dupe of the “action” button. The only major functions missing are for entering the menu or looking at the map, both of which are so minor they might as well be mapped to another button somewhere out of the way.

Something else I notice is that automating your party makes the battles play as in Phantasy Star II. This is preferable, I think — especially if you have a boomerang equipped. Which… furthers the Phantasy Star comparison, really.

What Dragon Quest is not, in any of its incarnations, I notice, is a game a normal person can watch and be entertained by. They’re very personal, introverted games. I think turning the battles into Phantasy Star battles actually aids this, for me. I’m not telling everyone what to do; I’m just doing my own thing, and this guy who happens to be with me, follows my lead.

Every fifteen minutes, my girlfriend asks me if I’m really having fun playing the game. Yes, actually. She kept asking me the same thing when I was playing Dragon Warrior 1 on the Game Boy Player a while ago. And yes, actually. I was having fun then, too. In my own special way. Which might not be “fun” in the objective sense; then, what is?

I just want to see how far I can get today, before I’m forced to turn back.

What’s so good about Dragon Quest games?

  • Reading time:4 mins read

There’s no nonsense to them. Keep in mind every other JRPG is a Dragon Quest clone, and has to contrive something to set itself apart from Dragon Quest. Draon Quest is, therefore, the fundamental game that everything else is a deviation from.

And there is a certain purity and wholeness to it, as an experience. It’s balanced for a certain sense of immediacy: all that matters is right now.

For the most part, the game realizes where its abstractions are and that they are abstractions. Although it’s mostly just statistics, fighting means something in and of itself: the stronger you get, the further you can safely explore. The larger your world becomes. It’s a barrier you must butt heads with if you want to grow. Nothing to glory in; it’s just a fact. This is compared to most RPGs where you fight to make it easier to beat upcoming bosses, or to level up for the sake of levelling up, or where fighting appears to be the whole point, for whatever reason, rather than a mere fact of exploration in dangerous places — and where you move forward to get to the next area and forward the plot and finish the game.

Its simplicity and its honestness really drive home how most other JPRGs have missed the point — by slapping on extra systems, extra layers of complexity just to make themselves different, trinkets, fetishes, by taking literally things that were abstract for a reason (like the numbers, or the concept of an “overworld”), by putting the focus on petty issues rather than practical ones.

When it comes down to it, Dragon Quest is about growing up, maturing, seeing the world. Experience has meaning, because the more experience you have the broader your world becomes. Money is practical because it allows you buy tools to help you in your travels.

You will constantly be hitting your head against your limit and being forced to go home, rest, recuperate. The next day you go out and hit the world again, a little wiser, a little stronger. Maybe today you’ll see something you never saw before.

That’s more or less the focus of every game. DQ8 makes it more clear by making trees trees, making mountains mountains, giving you a horizon and putting things on it to inspire you to go out and look for them. You will still keep having to go home. Stray too far, too quickly, and you will get in over your head and you will be in trouble. And you might just get killed. Yet that danger just adds all the more excitement to every day’s travel.

Curiously, if you can get around the interface issues (like having to choose “stairs” from a menu every time you want to climb them), the original Dragon Warrior has hardly dated at all. Again, that’s just a matter of the game’s fundamental simplicity. It’s like playing Super Mario Bros. or Asteroids. They’re all complete, as far as they go. Not as complex as current games, but so what. What’s complexity other than complexity. Compare that to Final Fantasy 1, which is pretty much unplayable by current standards. It just doesn’t know what it’s doing, or — more importantly — why it’s doing what it does.

When it comes down to it, playing Dragon Quest is a meditative experience. In Dragon Quest, things just Are. When you play, you just Are. It’s a game about Being. There’s no real goal; anything that the game might throw at you is a MacGuffin, really. Something to get you out the door. It’s a joyous game, a little melancholy, all about the patterns of life and change while always remaining the same. It’s happy simply to exist, and do what it does because that’s what it was put there to do. No ambition. No glory. No drama. Just a quest. A quest after dragons.

Worlds

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Occurs to me that the thing The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly has definitely in common with Fellowship of the Ring (more than the other two Rings movies), and indeed with things like Lang’s Metropolis and The Third Man and Nosferatu — basically every movie I find magical and involving — is that the movie’s world is in a sense the main character. There are other characers in the movie, with their own agendas that we follow. The main conflict or relationship, though, is between those characters and the world they’re in — which in most cases is their own world; they just don’t see all of the aspects of it that we do, because they live there. The characters exist to bounce off the scenery, to ignore it, to walk us through it, to give us contrast with it..

This also describes The Legend of Zelda. And Silent Hill. And Phantasy Star II. And Dragon Warrior. And just about every videogame I find magical and involving. Hell, Riven is nothing but environment.

In a certain meta way, it also decribes more postmodern fare like Charlie Kaufman and Treasure. In MGS3, Kojima does both at the same time! Resident Evil 4 tries to as well, though it’s a little more clunky in execution.

…

A thread here.

More on experience

  • Reading time:3 mins read

If EXP and other RPG elements are so horrible, why do they get implemented in just about every other type of game? From platformers to GTA to fighters to shooters to sports games, there’s no other genre that hasn’t been infected by the RPG virus at least a little, and often a lot. RPGs don’t seem to be dying, as much as growing, in both audience and into other genres. So they must be doing something right, right?

Not necessarily something right, in that it’s ideal for its own sake. It’s simply an easy solution for just about any context. Design problem? Balance issue? Afraid the game will alienate people if it’s too hard? Throw in an experience system, and let the player work it out.

For a topical example, see the discussion on Sigma Star Whatever in the other thread, and the people pissed off that its shooting segments depend on levelling-up rather than on skill. From some accounts, it’s to the point where skill doesn’t really matter, as the game will just throw things at you that you can’t deal with through any means other than leveling up.

Another high-profile example. The only reason there’s an experience system in the Metroidvania games is that Igarashi wants everyone to be able to finish the games, and doesn’t want people put off by the difficulty. This is a design problem with many elegant solutions (see Metal Gear Solid — or hell, Metroid). Experience is the easiest, though. You don’t have to think about it.

It’s kind of a lazy out. Which would be, I’m guessing, the best reason why it’s used so much, in so many games. It’s almost a get-out-of-jail-free card if you don’t know what you’re doing as a designer.

On that note: experience is often used as a way to make the player feel like he’s actually doing something in a framework where he’s not really doing much of anything else. When you win a battle, you feel like you’ve accomplished something because, hey, you just collected 156XP! It’s materialistic in a monetary way, in a system where there is no real ceiling to inflation, therefore no implicit value.

This is even more obvious when you consider that as you progress, the difficulty generally scales to match whatever experience you collect. Some games even cause monsters to level up at the same rate as your characters, meaning there is effectively no point to this game system at all.

And that’s what I think annoys most of us, and sends us looking for alternatives.

Then again: although obsessive-compulsive game design is a plague in a general sense, and you honestly can’t make me care about those last few emblems in Sonic Adventure, not every widget hunt is unfulfilling. It’s all about context.

Similarly, if experience points aren’t an annoying mechanism in, say, Dragon Quest, then maybe that has to do with what they mean both in the context of the game’s objective design and in the psychology of the playing experience.

The question, therefore, is: what’s the difference? Is it in how the EXP are gained? How they’re used? What they represent? What’s the context?

I venture a big factor in Dragon Quest has to do with expanding horizons (on the player’s end), and the part EXP play in the facilitation and regulation thereof.

That is, they are the key objective metric. They therefore have purpose, value, and weight. They have practical representative meaning, even if they remain mere representation.

This Week’s Releases (Aug 1-5, 2005)

  • Reading time:5 mins read

by [name redacted]

Week four of my ongoing, irreverent news column; originally posted at Next Generation.

This week is devoid of releases. There are only three games coming out in North America in the next seven days, the most noteworthy of which is the PC port of Bloodrayne 2. So again we turn our gaze across the sharp, cold fins of the Pacific in search of inspiration. As before, everything that Japan has to show, it’s showing on Thursday. That is, in this case, August fourth.

Armored Core: Last Raven (PS2)
From Software/From Software (J)

The tenth Armored Core game in ten years, Last Raven is intended as a kind of return to form after the previous game, Formula Front. From is trying to stir up a bit of hooplah over this entry, both by posing it as a “tenth anniversary” game and as the final PS2 game in the mech action series. As far as what this game does differently, each part of the player’s mech now accrues its own damage; too much damage, and its efficacity suffers. Notably, according to the plot, the player must finish the game within twenty-four game-hours.

Wonder of Wonders

  • Reading time:3 mins read

by [name redacted]

Originally published by Next Generation.

Yuji Hori’s Dragon Quest was the first console RPG. It established the template that every other Japanese RPG has followed, and none of its sequels have fundamentally strayed from that form. It’s the unchanging grandfather of console culture. In Japan, it’s an institution. Here, it’s been a dud.

Maybe it was the name. Thanks to TSR’s lawyers, we knew the series as Dragon Warrior. On the cover, we saw a man who might as well have been Captain America, battling a huge, leering wyrm. Instead of a game where we took the role of this warrior, we got an introverted little quest where straying too far, too quickly was suicide.

Dragon Quest VIII is much the same; the only real change is in presentation. That might just be enough, though.

On Licensed Fare

  • Reading time:7 mins read

Occurs to me, the best way to structure a Lord of the Rings videogame is to make it from Frodo’s persective, and Frodo’s perspective alone. Everything else is spiralling around somewhere in the background, out of his control, adding to the atmosphere. Assuming this game were based on the movies rather than the books, it would begin, with no particular prologue, outside the Green Dragon. The player, as Frodo, would amble, slightly drunk, back to Bag End; Sam would be around to help show the way. If the player were to go too far off-track, Sam could say, in a comforting voice, “‘ere, Mister Frodo, you’ve had a bit too much. Best follow me.” And Frodo would stumble around and take a step back toward Sam, with a bit of an acquiescent shrug. Sam would leave the player at the gate to Bag End, maybe pushing a bit, allowing the player to trot up through the door and walk around a little before Gandalf jumps out of nowhere, scaring the player half to death, asking about the Ring.

Within the context of the game, the player of course has no idea what’s happening. Frodo mumbles to Gandalf something about how he thinks he left it in the chest over there; the camera moves to frame it, the player is left free to wander Bag End; Gandalf will start to grow irritated if the player doesn’t go straight to the chest and open it, though. Once open, Frodo automatically fumbles around and draws out the envelope; Gandalf snatches it away, the whole sequence plays. Eventually the player is left free to scramble around for a few moments (there’s an invisible timer of sorts — long enough to be sane, short enough that the player can’t take however long he wants; Gandalf starts to get impatient if the player takes too long) and take whatever in Bag End seems of use. If the player seems confused, Gandalf will bark out suggestions. “Take some food! And try that walking stick over there!” When the player is done, he goes to Gandalf. (If the player just dallies forever, Gandalf interrupts and says they’ve delayed long enough. He might shove a generic pile of stuff into Frodo’s hands.) There’s another short bit of discussion, before Sam gets yanked through the window. Then the game cuts to Gandalf and Frodo walking along the road, toward the edge of Hobbiton, Sam scampering behind, Gandalf berating him. Gandalf offers his advice, and the player is left alone.

From then on, it’s forward. The player isn’t allowed back into Hobbiton. (“No… no, I can’t go back now. I’m afraid it’s no longer safe.”) Otherwise, it’s mostly free reign all through the Shire. Not much will happen aside from exploration. The hobbits become visibly exhausted and will begin to stagger if they don’t rest and eat from time to time. The general idea is to keep off the road, although it’s a good idea to keep the road in sight, lest the player become lost. Stray too far and you might have some strange run-ins; with wood elves or dwarves or even orcs. Sort of a Zelda or Dragon Quest idea of borders: although you can go anywhere, it’s on your own head if you act like a fool and stray far. Likewise, the farther from the path, the darker and more menacing the woods get; the greater the ambient noise. The game will send psychological signals, telling the player he shouldn’t be there (especially given the lack of any real means of self-defense except, perhaps, the occasional stone). Maybe if the player strays really, really far, Sam will be there to freak out and plead with Frodo to get back to the road.

The player probably won’t get actually killed or injured. He might be visibly (if subtly) stalked by wolves for a while. Just to give the player the hint. Perhaps if the player does get attacked, and injured a little, a ranger or a wood elf will pop out to slay the wolf and advise the player back to safety. Of course, if the player runs into someone on the road, that person will probably recognize Frodo and start making a big deal about it: “Why, FRODO BAGGINS, fancy seein’ you ‘ere! Why, wait until I tell the blokes at the pub who I ran across out in the middle of nowhere, why won’t they have a scream!” Frodo will automatically respond “Y…yes, nice to see you again. We’d really best be moving on.” “Oy, now that’s friendly! Well, have it as you will… (mutter mutter)” And the passerby would continue walking down the path. The idea is to give the player the idea that maybe he should avoid being recognized.

It will take a long while to walk from one place to the next; that’s a big part of the point. It’s all about the journey, about the sense of place along the way. Sense of distance. Sense of foreboding, as well. The idea that maybe the player is being watched. That the farther you get from home, the more treacherous the world feels, to a point. (This is before the wonder of travelling starts to really kick in, and when turning back still seems like a viable option, even if you know you can’t.)

Likewise, the game will somewhat funnel the player along the “right” path just by virtue of level design, carrots, and the above psychology. Farmer Maggot’s fields, say, will be the most obvious route to go, just because going any other route will be so unpleasant and slow, and Sam will whine so much, that it will in effect be the only viable option. If the player happens to miss Merry and Pippin one place, they will continue to wander around such that the player will meet them eventually, somehow, in some incidental manner. The level design will also ensure this. How the meeting transpires depends on the circumstances. If the player is being chased by black riders already, the dynamics will be different from if they bump into each other in a corn field or along the road.

As for the black riders: it should be immediately obvious to the player when they are coming — from visual, aural, and tactile cues. The idea is to make the player realize he really, really shouldn’t be where he is, and that he should get away and hide somewhere. It’ll be an ongoing menace for a while, keeping the player from standing around too long. If the player gets caught, maybe Merry and Pippin show up and pelt the rider with rocks, causing it to drop Frodo, and tell the player to follow them. Maybe the game is simply over right then and there. The rider rides off with Frodo, leaving Sam behind, weeping. And after a few moments, the screen fades to black, the player hears the sound of Frodo screaming, and the text “This is not the end…” appears.

The player should have the option to put on the ring at any time. Should be tempted. Perhaps when the Riders are near, the game interface does something to sugest to the player to use the item.

The game continues in this manner throughout the entire quest; things that are out of Frodo’s control are out of the player’s. The player is tempted and guided and manipulated just as Frodo is, all for the psychological effect. The idea is to make the player really feel like Frodo. To eventually confuse the hell out of him, and to make him want to take the easy way out of things.

I don’t see this game getting made. It wouldn’t be all that hard, of course. Not really. It’s certainly feasible. It’s just… not where we are, yet. Not how we think about videogames, yet. A shame, as I want to play it.