Post by icyhotspartin on Feb 4, 2019 20:42:59 GMT
Philosophy of Level Design
Cornelius Robbins
How is a developer supposed to develop a successful business plan for a video game? How is the Player of such a game supposed to develop a successful strategy such a level in the game? How is a Level Designer, amateur or professional, supposed to develop a competitively viable environment for that game? The principle remains the same for all of them. The person engaged must know what his goal is, the tools at his disposal, and the nature of the material or environment at his disposal. All then depends on the limits of the person’s imagination and skill.
For the player, one of the first steps in answering their question is provided just by sitting in front of the screen and picking up the controller. The person will know that they are entering a somewhat magical world of completely intelligent (I hope) design, where rules are clear, action is consistent, and the experience is fluid and responsive, in order to fulfil some kind of desired pleasure.
“Where am I? What am I - what can I do?”, the player will ask. They’ll have some idea already, if the game’s box art is any indication of its contents. “What should I do?”, the player will then ask. If the game is complete, then the purpose of their quest - their objective - will be conveyed to them in a clear manner. Whether that’s through slick dialogue, voice acting, button prompts, or a badly-animated rap routine is not important; all that matters is that the player is given a goal.
These three questions are equally crucial in the realm of level design, and their answers depend entirely on what game - and what player - is at hand.
Say, for example, the level designer is provided a sandbox with a theme based around magic, survival, horror, and RPG mechanics in a Transylvanian country, at some time in the Middle Ages or early Renaissance. Depending on the tools available, that could become one of two games I'm sure you've heard of: Castlevania, or Dark Souls - or something else entirely.
Isn’t it amazing how such little information can lead to such vastly different, though similarly acclaimed products? And yet - these two games share some really interesting parallels beyond their thematic similarities - in particular, the way their worlds are designed and how the player traverses them. Both consist of, in essence, a single, continuous game world that progresses in a linear or semi-linear fashion, tied to the unlocking of new abilities, item hunting, enemy encounters and difficulty modifiers, and which provides replay value through the opening up of alternate routes in old sections with new abilities, or new strategies.
This style of game is not exactly new - the Metroidvania formula is at the foundation of many successful video game series; push your limits, learn the enemies’ patterns, die a lot, defeat them, level up armor, weapons, and items, save, and repeat until you’re burned a hole in the couch. One might think that such a common formula would be incredibly limiting - if, as I’ll even admit, form follows function, will not every game that attempts to use it boil down to the same, boring, repetitive gameplay?
No - this formula benefits from a modular flexibility. It not only allows the players to make their own choices without artificially shunting them along a single route, it also allows the designers the most amount of freedom - it also gives them the most rope to hang themselves with.
By that I mean the type of mechanics implemented in the final design can be done in all kinds of different ways, all of which require a different style of game, combat/progression and subsequent level design that allow for the player to learn the ropes, evolve his strategy, face challenges, and ultimately win.
Following from this type of gameplay and progression design, it is therefore essential that the levels change the kinds of challenges the player faces based on the equipment/movement upgrades that are collected along the way - a progression which is determined by the kinds of evolving challenges desired by the game designer, and possible within the game’s engine. Indeed, some challenges may even be presented as nothing more than a choice of how to destroy a wall, or enemy - or as thought-provoking as a choice between two wider narrative arcs and level progressions - the possibilities are seemingly endless.
“Repetition is actually a boon for a designer who knows how to wield its potential. It can create a beautiful dynamic where the meta for any given game or map evolves over time.”
Westin Koessel - Creative Allowance
Of course, just because your game implements a basic Metroidvania progression system and a lot of content doesn’t mean that it’ll be successful. Successful variations on this theme don’t throw the kitchen sink at the player, either in the art department, or in the gameplay department. Even such far-reaching takes on the formula as the recent Dead Cells, with its expansive and variabilities in weapon combinations, and player strategies, provide a severely limited player experience: every playthrough is on the same set of repeated levels, with the same enemies, and generally the same difficulty.
But that repetitive structure is exactly why Dead Cells shines. Not only can the levels be completed in whatever order the player chooses, based on the unlocked abilities and re-acquired weapons they have at their disposal (after hours of obsessive replay), but the levels themselves are never quite the same, procedurally generated around the level’s theme, using milestones that the player must remember and actively look for in every new playthrough; there may be a ton of notes to play, but it’s all neatly packed and layered like the overlapping, iterative themes from a Baroque Fugue. With such an approach, the Level Designer forces the player to think on his feet, not memorize inputs or formulas.
And to that point - in the most successful variations of the Metroidvania genre, each new challenge is clearly telegraphed by colors/lights, sounds, the type of attacks the enemies use, or just the distance between platforms, all within a clearly-defined and consistent visual language; environmental cues and AI behavior do as much to provide the rules of the game to the player as the controller schematic in the user manual. I think - no, I know - that this principle holds for every kind of game out there, and I hope to show, in tighter and tighter focus, just how important this is in creating a functional and compelling* level.
So, before moving on to the meat and potatoes, I’ll briefly sum up my premises once more:
In a video game, everything ought to be understandable and clear in the context of the game’s universe and purpose, because the whole point of entering the game’s Meta-Reality is to complete the quest, story, or challenge with the tools at hand. Games use Sandboxes - collections of rules, moves, tools, that provide the most basic level of interactivity within game’s world. The Sandbox is the product of the gameplay designers, the writers, artists, and anyone else involved in the game’s conception and development. For the sake of simplicity, we assume this Sandbox is cohesive and well-designed; ‘Sandbox’ can just as easily be used to describe the game world itself, since this contain that set of rules, moves & tools. It is the job of the Level Designer to not only provide an engaging environment for the player to play in, but also to provide options to the player based on the sum of cues that the Sandbox provides. So - regardless of genre, by providing a consistent set of rules, moves, reactions/cues, etc... the game designer is not only able to tell the player what they are, but also where they are - and through careful consideration of these rules and moves, the level designer can effectively convey what the player can do in the pursuit of their objective. In this way, the Level Designer provides not just a pretty experience, or an interesting experience, or even a compelling* experience, but a meaningful experience.
Please join me next week when I dive deeper into the Metaphysics of Level Design!
But before you go, just a couple things:
First, I am well aware that a game’s Sandbox and challenges may be dictated by the changing art direction, character, or theme during the development cycle. This does not affect my ultimate aim, nor will it change any of the principles I conclude - if anything, it will strengthen many of the points I will make. To keep things simple, for the purposes of this series I will focus only on fully fleshed-out sandboxes, so as to more accurately address the task of the Level Designer within such an environment - in particular, on his role in the Multiplayer FPS. Second, I have a particular philosophical idea about what leads to and what makes good gameplay in a competitive FPS, which I will touch on briefly in the coming installments of this series, and will elucidate in a separate piece. Contained in the following footnote is a taste of that.
*Compelling is a Weasel Word: it contains the implication that the player has no choice in the matter. Think back to the first questions that the player asks when entering a game world . What if the last question was instead: "What am I supposed to do?" This question represents a profound surrender on the part of the player - assuming the player is otherwise intelligent and aware, it's utterance would represent a failure of the Level's design, if not the Game's design as a whole, because the player has no choice. Imagine if you were to play a game, and the controller were suddenly ripped from your hands, and your fate chosen for you. Is this fun? Is not choice a key component of life as a Human Being, in general? Why rip that away from an activity based entirely around distilling that facet of the Human experience and existence?
Cornelius Robbins
Introduction
How is a developer supposed to develop a successful business plan for a video game? How is the Player of such a game supposed to develop a successful strategy such a level in the game? How is a Level Designer, amateur or professional, supposed to develop a competitively viable environment for that game? The principle remains the same for all of them. The person engaged must know what his goal is, the tools at his disposal, and the nature of the material or environment at his disposal. All then depends on the limits of the person’s imagination and skill.
For the player, one of the first steps in answering their question is provided just by sitting in front of the screen and picking up the controller. The person will know that they are entering a somewhat magical world of completely intelligent (I hope) design, where rules are clear, action is consistent, and the experience is fluid and responsive, in order to fulfil some kind of desired pleasure.
“Where am I? What am I - what can I do?”, the player will ask. They’ll have some idea already, if the game’s box art is any indication of its contents. “What should I do?”, the player will then ask. If the game is complete, then the purpose of their quest - their objective - will be conveyed to them in a clear manner. Whether that’s through slick dialogue, voice acting, button prompts, or a badly-animated rap routine is not important; all that matters is that the player is given a goal.
These three questions are equally crucial in the realm of level design, and their answers depend entirely on what game - and what player - is at hand.
Say, for example, the level designer is provided a sandbox with a theme based around magic, survival, horror, and RPG mechanics in a Transylvanian country, at some time in the Middle Ages or early Renaissance. Depending on the tools available, that could become one of two games I'm sure you've heard of: Castlevania, or Dark Souls - or something else entirely.
Isn’t it amazing how such little information can lead to such vastly different, though similarly acclaimed products? And yet - these two games share some really interesting parallels beyond their thematic similarities - in particular, the way their worlds are designed and how the player traverses them. Both consist of, in essence, a single, continuous game world that progresses in a linear or semi-linear fashion, tied to the unlocking of new abilities, item hunting, enemy encounters and difficulty modifiers, and which provides replay value through the opening up of alternate routes in old sections with new abilities, or new strategies.
This style of game is not exactly new - the Metroidvania formula is at the foundation of many successful video game series; push your limits, learn the enemies’ patterns, die a lot, defeat them, level up armor, weapons, and items, save, and repeat until you’re burned a hole in the couch. One might think that such a common formula would be incredibly limiting - if, as I’ll even admit, form follows function, will not every game that attempts to use it boil down to the same, boring, repetitive gameplay?
No - this formula benefits from a modular flexibility. It not only allows the players to make their own choices without artificially shunting them along a single route, it also allows the designers the most amount of freedom - it also gives them the most rope to hang themselves with.
By that I mean the type of mechanics implemented in the final design can be done in all kinds of different ways, all of which require a different style of game, combat/progression and subsequent level design that allow for the player to learn the ropes, evolve his strategy, face challenges, and ultimately win.
Following from this type of gameplay and progression design, it is therefore essential that the levels change the kinds of challenges the player faces based on the equipment/movement upgrades that are collected along the way - a progression which is determined by the kinds of evolving challenges desired by the game designer, and possible within the game’s engine. Indeed, some challenges may even be presented as nothing more than a choice of how to destroy a wall, or enemy - or as thought-provoking as a choice between two wider narrative arcs and level progressions - the possibilities are seemingly endless.
“Repetition is actually a boon for a designer who knows how to wield its potential. It can create a beautiful dynamic where the meta for any given game or map evolves over time.”
Westin Koessel - Creative Allowance
Of course, just because your game implements a basic Metroidvania progression system and a lot of content doesn’t mean that it’ll be successful. Successful variations on this theme don’t throw the kitchen sink at the player, either in the art department, or in the gameplay department. Even such far-reaching takes on the formula as the recent Dead Cells, with its expansive and variabilities in weapon combinations, and player strategies, provide a severely limited player experience: every playthrough is on the same set of repeated levels, with the same enemies, and generally the same difficulty.
But that repetitive structure is exactly why Dead Cells shines. Not only can the levels be completed in whatever order the player chooses, based on the unlocked abilities and re-acquired weapons they have at their disposal (after hours of obsessive replay), but the levels themselves are never quite the same, procedurally generated around the level’s theme, using milestones that the player must remember and actively look for in every new playthrough; there may be a ton of notes to play, but it’s all neatly packed and layered like the overlapping, iterative themes from a Baroque Fugue. With such an approach, the Level Designer forces the player to think on his feet, not memorize inputs or formulas.
And to that point - in the most successful variations of the Metroidvania genre, each new challenge is clearly telegraphed by colors/lights, sounds, the type of attacks the enemies use, or just the distance between platforms, all within a clearly-defined and consistent visual language; environmental cues and AI behavior do as much to provide the rules of the game to the player as the controller schematic in the user manual. I think - no, I know - that this principle holds for every kind of game out there, and I hope to show, in tighter and tighter focus, just how important this is in creating a functional and compelling* level.
So, before moving on to the meat and potatoes, I’ll briefly sum up my premises once more:
In a video game, everything ought to be understandable and clear in the context of the game’s universe and purpose, because the whole point of entering the game’s Meta-Reality is to complete the quest, story, or challenge with the tools at hand. Games use Sandboxes - collections of rules, moves, tools, that provide the most basic level of interactivity within game’s world. The Sandbox is the product of the gameplay designers, the writers, artists, and anyone else involved in the game’s conception and development. For the sake of simplicity, we assume this Sandbox is cohesive and well-designed; ‘Sandbox’ can just as easily be used to describe the game world itself, since this contain that set of rules, moves & tools. It is the job of the Level Designer to not only provide an engaging environment for the player to play in, but also to provide options to the player based on the sum of cues that the Sandbox provides. So - regardless of genre, by providing a consistent set of rules, moves, reactions/cues, etc... the game designer is not only able to tell the player what they are, but also where they are - and through careful consideration of these rules and moves, the level designer can effectively convey what the player can do in the pursuit of their objective. In this way, the Level Designer provides not just a pretty experience, or an interesting experience, or even a compelling* experience, but a meaningful experience.
Please join me next week when I dive deeper into the Metaphysics of Level Design!
But before you go, just a couple things:
First, I am well aware that a game’s Sandbox and challenges may be dictated by the changing art direction, character, or theme during the development cycle. This does not affect my ultimate aim, nor will it change any of the principles I conclude - if anything, it will strengthen many of the points I will make. To keep things simple, for the purposes of this series I will focus only on fully fleshed-out sandboxes, so as to more accurately address the task of the Level Designer within such an environment - in particular, on his role in the Multiplayer FPS. Second, I have a particular philosophical idea about what leads to and what makes good gameplay in a competitive FPS, which I will touch on briefly in the coming installments of this series, and will elucidate in a separate piece. Contained in the following footnote is a taste of that.
*Compelling is a Weasel Word: it contains the implication that the player has no choice in the matter. Think back to the first questions that the player asks when entering a game world . What if the last question was instead: "What am I supposed to do?" This question represents a profound surrender on the part of the player - assuming the player is otherwise intelligent and aware, it's utterance would represent a failure of the Level's design, if not the Game's design as a whole, because the player has no choice. Imagine if you were to play a game, and the controller were suddenly ripped from your hands, and your fate chosen for you. Is this fun? Is not choice a key component of life as a Human Being, in general? Why rip that away from an activity based entirely around distilling that facet of the Human experience and existence?