This will be a rant; an unfocused collection of thoughts with regard to the current state of betas and beta testing in the games industry, though this is mainly aimed at Champions Online, which launched into semi-open beta today, and Cryptic Studios, which billed the open beta as a preview.

This is something that’s been stewing in my head for quite some time now. I miss the old beta. By the “old” beta, I mean the period of time before “beta” was taken to mean “demo”. Such a surprise, I know, to learn they are not one and the same!

There has been a lot of rhetoric among gamers about that coveted title of “beta tester”. To many this has been considered a position of honor, coveted for its early access to games that the public would not get for months or even years. An intense, seething desire drives so many to yearn for this position, to seek it without end, so that they may taste the sweet nectar of that which they thirst for with an appetite which can not be sated.

I think this is what really drives the concept of betas as being primarily demos, for the public to consume and enjoy. Surely, they exist to “test” whether you wish to buy them or not! Why else would they call them beta “tests”?

I am not new to beta testing; I’ve tested more than a few things and I’ve found my fair share of bugs. I have thrown my hand in at beta testing a few MMOs, and from time to time I still get offers to do beta testing in City of Heroes for their Issue releases. I stopped participating in betas primarily due to the fact that I’ve simply seen too many blue screens and too many command lines and far, far too many garbled file extensions.

It seems that even as the beta becomes a more and more public thing, people who become involved with them have gained no more insight as to what a beta test actually is.

For those of you who do not understand the concept, allow me to illustrate:

You play a broken game (usually for free if you‘re like me) and try to ensure that the final game works as well as it can. You are either freely participating in, or being paid to, play a broken game, or break a game. It is your occupation to find and identify as many problems as you possibly can. You do not enjoy the game you are playing; it is not there to be enjoyed. You are there to make that game do everything it possibly can to frustrate you. A beta is the bane of your very existence, and it loves nothing more than to snatch the gaming soul right out of you. You spend about half of your time seething with rage, chasing some elusive problem through the devil’s underbelly of 1’s and 0’s that make up a torture chamber you may very well never escape from.

That is a beta. It is not pleasant because it is not meant to be pleasant. You are asked to forcibly inflict as much pain as you possibly can on yourself, so that same affliction is not unleashed upon some poor, unknowing soul who just spent good money on a product that has no excuse for not functioning properly.

Beta testers are the thin line between a functional product worthy of every penny you spent, and a nightmare you can’t wake up from. It is a position for which I have the deepest respect, and the utmost gratitude.

It is for this reason that I find the current state of beta testing in the industry to be such a sorry sight. The words “open beta” appear to be synonymous with “demo” to much of the public. The “beta release” of a game can be a powerful marketing tool for companies to get their games into the hands of hungry players, and keep them enticed through multi-year development cycles.

I am of the opinion that this phenomenon has only thus far served to cheapen the end result, and tarnish the image of the final product potentially beyond repair. Would you play a game that did not work? Would you spend hard-earned money on a product that damaged your computer, or your console? Would you be angry, frustrated, and highly motivated to blame the company responsible? I would be. I have been, from time to time.

Gamers in general have been motivated to treat beta testing as a demo, because that is the manner in which the gaming industry at large has portrayed them in recent years.

Today’s offender is Champions Online. Their official beta launch has been a relatively pleasant stroll through the woods compared to some of the things I’ve tested before. However, their forums are practically on fire with people crying for retribution over something they thought had been delivered to them; a final product for which they had formed some ridiculous sense of entitlement. It is not them to blame, however, as much as Cryptic Studios, for billing their open beta as a “preview”. That is the word utilized on the back of the card I received from GameStop after pre-ordering the game; a term which does not at all belong in the same sentence as beta when referencing video games.

The only reason I am writing this is to call attention to a large group of real (and dedicated) beta testers that are hard at work as I type this. Individuals who are currently painstakingly testing the launcher of the game and finding exactly what is going wrong. Individuals who are going far out of their way to find fixes, workarounds, and more information so that they can inform those who are less computer savvy about what to do, and how to do it. These people are beta testers; they are not along on a free ride to play a game that hasn’t been released yet. They are working their asses off so that you and I will have a functional game on launch day.

So today I am proposing a toast to those proud individuals who suffer so that we do not, and I offer the hope that eventually the industry as a whole will stop treating the test versions of their games as demo material for mass consumption. It degrades the position that these people serve in, practically thanklessly so far as I can tell, as no one seems to really understand exactly what the position entails and requires.

To all of you working valiantly to hunt down bugs in our beloved games, I offer a sharp salute. And, more specifically, to those hard at work as we speak to make Champions a thoroughly happy experience on September 1st, I raise my glass of very, very cheap Scotch, and wish you an easy ride.

Welcome to a special Wednesday edition of Loving the Narrative. I will be busy for most of tomorrow, and will not be able to post on the normal Thursday schedule I set; so you‘re getting it early instead! (Though please be aware that I will not have time to proofread and edit as I usually do, so things may be a little long and a little raw compared to previous postings.) Article Three of what is now going to be a Six-part series will cover some western RPGs.

Loving the Narrative is a Six-part series in which I will chronicle and analyze the use, abuse, and effect of narrative across a variety of genres and games. In Article One I covered some narrative choices in the Shooter arena that I found interesting. Article Two covered some games of the RTS and RTT genre. Today in Article Three we will explore the expansive and generous world of western RPGs. Article Four will cover some games of the Japanese RPG genre. Article Five will cover a few Action/Adventure games. And finally, Article Six will be a summary, and an in-depth look at some of my favorite game stories of all time. If you enjoy this, remember to check back every Thursday for the next installment.

Warning: Spoilers will likely be present in every article. Read at your own risk.

First of all, I’ve decided to split the RPG types into separate articles. RPGs are an extremely rich, active living worlds, and I think it would be wrong of me not to treat western and JRPGs to their own separate articles.

With that out of the way, let’s get right down to business.

When you think of the word narrative or story, what genre jumps to mind? If you play games as much as I have, three letters should appear emblazoned upon the back of your eyelids, searing the concept deep into your synapses. These three letters are R, P, and G.

I consider the Role Playing Game to be the grand-daddy of story based games. Great care, it seems, has always been taken in RPGs to ensure a complex, consistent story, and the gestation of a living, breathing, functioning world. Every RPG does not meet these lofty goals (in fact, many do not), but I’m sure we can all name more than a few which either measured up or set the mold for everything that followed. The games I will cover in this article are special in their own ways; whether they are trend-setters, unique experiences, or they are simply too damn good to put down because you have to know how it ends, each game has earned its stripes.

The beginning, for me, was Baldur’s Gate. This was and continues to be a special game for me. It is something that opened my eyes to a brand new type of game; one in which the goal wasn’t to rack up kills, but so much deeper and more important than that. Interacting with characters, watching them go about their lives, battling through hordes, and striking down small legions of foes. All the while completely immersed in another world, barely aware of the fact that as living and breathing human being that I should probably be eating or sleeping at some point.

It’s impossible for me to pin down a moment within the game that really linked up with me. The reality was, the game itself was actually more like some kind of psychedelic trip brought on by a single, solitary drop of LSD. That “drop” was a moment which will live on in my memory until I wither and die. Character creation.

I had never thought about creating a character before. Characters had always come pre-packaged and pre-assembled for my use and abuse. Avatars through which I channeled pure, fast-paced adrenaline-pumping destruction. To create what I would play was like the first taste of a wondrous, intoxicating elixir. One whose alluring call I obey to this day with the giddiness of a child experiencing fingerpainting for the first time; the very basic satisfaction of creation would serve to link me to my characters from that day forward. Everything that they experienced was something I shared with them. Every blow landed to their bodies was always sobering strike to my own.

Through creation I had placed a personal stake in their journey, from beginning to end, and I have been a slave to the RPG genre ever since.

If Baldur’s Gate was my awakening, then Mass Effect is my apex.

Some of you might have read my first Monthly Musing. Those of you that have would remember that I gave Mass Effect a pretty thorough lashing over being a mash-up of two often counter-intuitive genres. And while I maintain that the physical gameplay of Mass Effect was an atrocious mockery of both genres, the fact remains that Mass Effect was a brilliantly written, brilliantly told story full of fairly complex characters and viewpoints. But if we’re going to talk Mass Effect, we’ve got to talk about its lineage first.

Knights of the Old Republic was amazing. There’s no two ways about it; the combat was fairly complex, satisfying to watch, and just fun in general. The real draw of KOTOR, though, lies in its story. Clever selection of time and place allowed it to slip out of the traditional Star Wars canon and really allow the player some leeway in their character’s discovery of the Force, share in the joyous hum of that first ignited light saber, and choose to follow their own path. Everything, from the design of the characters, their personalities, and the great twists and reveals throughout the story, added to KOTOR’s naturally impressive atmosphere.

However, despite all the praise I have for this game, I have to say that I’m still deeply saddened by the fact that it opted essentially for the “good” and “bad” concept of morality. You could be a murderous, baby-eating Sith monstrosity, or a champion of good and balance as a Jedi master. Light or dark; no ambiguity to be found, and no middle ground to be straddled. The game asks without judging: “Are you a monster, or a saint?”, and guides you down your chosen path from there.

In Mass Effect, life is not so simple as good and evil. There are many roads to your objectives, and you may choose which roads you wish to travel in order to get there. It’s not about being good or evil, or even right or wrong. The only concern in Mass Effect is how you personally feel about what you decide to do.

It was strange, yet pleasing to step into the shoes of a pre-made character for an RPG; an experience I do not typically savor, as you might imagine from reading my earlier comments. Commander Shepard is essentially whoever you determine him/her to be.

Let’s talk for a moment about the sheer complexity of Mass Effect, from a narrative perspective.

Everything about Shepard comes into play in the story. The class you choose has an effect on the dialogue other characters will have with you, or about you. The background you choose determines a side-mission relating to your chosen story, and also has a marked effect on dialogue and interaction with other characters. The service history you select determines a second side-mission relating to Shepard’s military history, and further specializes the dialogue and bonuses you receive.

From this point forward, decisions you make, dialogue you choose, and your general standing all have a further effect on Shepard. As you mold Shepard into the character you think he/she ought to be, you are allowed to see the evolution of your choices in the characters around you, the assignments you are given, and the contacts you are able to make.

Your decisions throughout the game can have varied, and important consequences. Some sequences of the game can play out completely differently based on a single dialogue option, or a decision to go left instead of right. Subtle and minute differences between play styles can lead to varied and different experiences for every player. That is not a simple task to complete, but Mass Effect is able to do it with a bare minimum of difficulty; an impressive feat by any margin, and one that demands respect.

The first time I completed Mass Effect is something I will never forget. I had fumbled through the earlier parts of the game, just generally getting a handle on the lousy shooting mechanics and power/squad controls. Just as I was beginning to really grasp what I was doing, I realized that I didn’t like the story much up to that point. It was all sort of dragging on in a way that I didn’t find particularly pleasant, and the finality I usually seek in a game seemed to elude me. Something big would have to happen if this game was going to snare me, and finally it did.

What got me to drop my previous perceptions of the game? I answer in a single word: Virmire.

Virmire changed everything for me. The revelations of that mission, about how dire the situation truly was, about what was really happening, and about how important my choices would really be, all hammered home Mass Effect as one of my favorite gaming stories and narrative styles in years.

It was set in motion with Wrex. One of the inner circle I had created of characters that I simply liked being around. After every mission I ran into the elevator and tapped my feet impatiently to wait what he, Garrus, and Ash would have to say about whatever we’d just done. I loved Wrex… and then he pulled a gun on me.

I smashed Wrex in the face and then blasted him to death with a shotgun. One of my most trusted had turned against me. Never again would I make the same mistake. From that moment onward, I had grown infinitely more cold toward my compatriots. I treated them with caution and distance. If I could not trust Wrex, it was possible that I could not trust any of them. When I was done, Kaiden walked up and asked how I was doing. Eyes on the corpse of his former Krogan comrade, my Shepard almost laughed. “I’m doing a Hell of a lot better than he is.” But I wasn’t, and Shepard wasn’t; we would both carry that burden, tossed in a pile marked loosely as “Getting the job done.”

That moment changed the whole game for me, but it was just the beginning of a series of climactic events that turned the game from acceptable into one of my favorite and most-played games in recent years.

The second moment came when I learned the terrible truth of the Indoctrination. I subsequently went about exterminating the poor bastards in their cages; they would die in the explosion, I knew that with almost certainty, but I was still so angry over blowing away Wrex that I wanted to kill everything I laid my eyes on, and I did. In the third, I spoke to a Reaper, a vanguard of the destruction of all biological life, and subsequently severely pissed it off. Finally, I made my final decision of the mission. Kaiden did not return to the Normandy, and from that moment on I felt a painful sinking feeling with every glance at his former post, and the gnawing knowledge that a few words I chose had been the difference between one life persisting and another being snuffed out.

Virmire sent me catapulting toward the endgame of Mass Effect. After Virmire, I was compelled, I was consumed by my desire to see the mission through to its bloody end. It had gone far past a passing curiosity. I had to know what would happen to Shepard and the crew. I had to know what the future held. From Virmire on, I didn’t stop to do anything except go to the bathroom. I needed the closure.

But what was it that made Mass Effect’s narrative system so satisfying? Surely the complexity of available options, as I’ve already suggested, but there’s something more. For me, it was the cinematic quality of the dialogue system. So simple, yet so brilliant. A few short lines give the player a general idea about what Shepard will say or do, but in the end the lines that are delivered by Shepard are not the same lines that the player selects. This adds a certain unique cinematic quality to the gameplay that nothing else quite touches. It allows the player to select and set the mood, but still be surprised and satisfied by the delivery of the dialogue by the characters. The dialogue system in Mass Effect gives the player something rarely seen in the main character of an RPG of this sort: spontaneity.

Now, for our final game this session (as this is getting a bit long even by my standards): Fallout 3.

I considered going over Morrowind, or perhaps Oblivion, but in the end I decided that I would have to discuss the game which resonated with me the most from Bethesda.

Fallout 3 is all about atmosphere. It is unique, cheeky, witty, dark, cold, adventurous, narcissistic, virtuous, and all the while manages to have more than a few laughs at itself. It is difficult to find a game, particularly in this genre, that is able to straddle so many contradictions and still manage to be coherent.

Fallout 3 is one of those games which I honestly can’t pick a moment in. There was no great storyline punch in the mouth like Virmire in Mass Effect. Instead, Fallout 3 managed to captivate with atmosphere alone. It demanded my attention because I wanted to spend my time in the wasteland. It was a world I wanted to be a part of, and that is just as difficult a task to achieve as anything else can be. Whether you’re fighting giant fire-throwing ants, scrounging through a raider settlement after procuring it from its former occupants, or marching toward doom itself in well maintained, heavy plated power armor, the atmosphere of the game is evident throughout, and that makes Fallout 3 an experience that is truly special.

That’s all for this week. In further installments of Loving the Narrative, I will continue to explore some of the most beloved games in their respective genres, and more of my personal experiences with game stories. Tune in next Thursday for Article Four, where I will be discussing a couple of very special JRPG games.

Welcome to Article Two of a Five-part series in which I will chronicle and analyze the use, abuse, and effect of narrative across a variety of genres and games. In Article One I covered some narrative choices in the Shooter arena that I found interesting. Article Two will cover some games of the RTS and RTT genre. Article Three will cover some games of the western RPG and JRPG genres. Article Four will cover a few Action/Adventure games. Article Five will be a summary, and an in-depth look at some of my favorite game stories of all time. If you enjoy this, remember to check back every Thursday for the next installment.

Warning: Spoilers will likely be present in every article. Read at your own risk.

Today we dive headfirst into the rich narrative realm of Real Time Strategy and Real Time Tactical games.

I have always had a love for the RTS/RTT genre, sparked by my time with WarCraft II, which must have accumulated into years at this point. Building maps, scenarios, and simply enjoying the sight of my Troll Axethrowers hurling their hand-made hatchets into the faces of human peasants. Greedy little bastards, chop down my trees will you!

…ahem. Sorry. Lost my train of thought for a moment.

Some would say that the RTS/RTT genre is not exactly the best playground for storytelling. I must say, I agree in certain respects. It is difficult to produce a named protagonist, character development, a successful direction, and a narrative which connects with the player when the nature of the game’s mechanics is so detached and academic. However, there are certain elements of narrative and storytelling that RTS/RTT games excel at. One of the major advantages of RTS/RTT design is that it allows the developer to provide the player with a deeper, more thorough view of a world.

Everything in an RTS/RTT game can add to its atmosphere. Designers are able to produce a myriad of different designs ranging from infantry, armored vehicles, and more colorful and infinitely more strange units. Everything from the terrain to the building architecture to the audio responses of the units can give the player a window into a brand new world with all sorts of individuality and personality. RTS games snare us so often because of the depth and complexity available here is not so easy to accomplish in other mediums. In the RTS/RTT genre, the entire world becomes the primary entity that the player meets and interacts with rather than individual characters.

However, there are some instances in which the characters of even an RTS/RTT game can reach out and touch the player.

Nexus: The Jupiter Incident snared me with the promise of intense real-time space combat. It delivered on that promise, and more. In all honesty, I hadn’t expected it to offer all that much. In my experience, RTS/RTT games taking place in a space setting tend not to have the same kind of depth and accessibility as their ground-based counterparts, particularly in terms of things like character development. Perhaps this can be linked again to the detached nature of strategy games, reinforced by the fact that there isn’t even a face to associate with any of the units you command. For all intents and purposes, the characters you interact with are essentially a bucket of well-assembled bolts.

With that in mind, the last thing I expected was to actually enjoy the story of Nexus: The Jupiter Incident. I knew I would enjoy commanding a small fleet of ships and watching as the enemy craft within my reach dropped like flies. I didn’t know that I would enjoy the calm, even-handed delivery of lines by every character, and a galaxy-spanning storyline that probably congealed itself into something cohesive by feeding on the dregs of the best science fiction writing has to offer. The ideas weren’t new (artificial intelligence, greedy humans, enigmatic aliens, vicious aliens), but they were presented in a manner that I found compelling enough to thoroughly enjoy.

The thing that really took Nexus: The Jupiter Incident to another level for me was the way that it made me actually care about the ships under my command by allowing me to gain a personal stake in them. You see, Nexus: The Jupiter Incident allowed for complete customization of the armament and capabilities of every ship under the command of the player. Through this system, the player can assign “roles” to specific ships by modifying or expanding their loadouts, or the player can try to make their ships into relatively successful multitaskers. After spending so much time customizing the craft I would send into battle, they had become personal to me. Every loss was a personal blow, every victory a celebration.

I realize that the narrative of the game itself was not responsible for this sensation, but the mechanics of the game allowed me to become personally involved with the success or defeat of my fleet. The creation of a personal connection with anything in the RTS/RTT genre is a stunning feat, and one that I think deserves at least an honorable mention here.

StarCraft. One of, if not the best RTS games ever created. It is still being talked about as one of the greatest games of all time. The best part is, all that praise is very well deserved. But any game can be well designed. Any game can play well. Not every game can do all of that and have personality to boot. And let’s face it, StarCraft just oozes personality.

It doesn’t matter how high or low on the food chain a unit is, they’ve all got loads of character and personality. It doesn’t matter if it’s the battle-hardened cocky Marine, the maybe-too-enthusiastic Firebat, the calm and confident Ghost, or the all-too-compliant SCV worker, or any other fully fleshed-out personality wrapped up in a few pixels on the screen, they all provide you with a real feel for the world they live in. The grim parts, the funny parts, and the brutal parts are all a piece of the narrative portrait StarCraft paints of itself.

The narrative greatness doesn’t stop there, though. The world of StarCraft is a rich one, with unique characters that really stand out, even now. Perhaps especially now, with the newer waves of RTS/RTT games hitting the shelves. I have searched the RTS/RTT genre and my own personal library, the Dawn of War series, the Company of Heroes games, and lesser-known titles like Nexus: The Jupiter Incident and slightly older titles like Ground Control II, but there was no such thing as Jim Raynor to be found.

Perhaps it is just the nature of StarCraft that makes characters like Jim Raynor and Kerrigan so easy to like. By the end of their stories, they’re less characters in a story and more like living, breathing people. Weighed down by their own thoughts, dreams, and responsibilities. It is such a simple thing to write a character out on paper. To select dialogue, to create interactions between other characters. What is not simple, and will always fascinate me, is when a character completely transcends that medium of pen and paper and becomes as real as the person sitting next to you. To make a character live, truly live, is a magical thing.

To be able to kill them after that is also a special thing, and yet it‘s made so much more wrong by nurturing a character into being only to snatch them away. I won’t go through the entire moment with you, because it’s been recorded already here at Destructoid, and frankly I don’t think I can say it any better than it has been already.

I only wish every RTS/RTT was able to conjure as much personality and personal relevance as StarCraft.

That’s all for this week. In further installments of Loving the Narrative, I will continue to explore some of the most beloved games in their respective genres, and more of my personal experiences with game stories. Tune in next Thursday for Article Three, where I will be discussing the Western RPG and JRPG genres. (Bring your reading glasses, folks, because that’ll be a long one.)

Hi, I’m Blindfire, and I am a fight-a-holic. I love fighting games, probably more than most rational men should. I only wish that they loved me back.

For me, it all started with Mortal Kombat III. MK3 was my first introduction to the concept of a fighting game, and it was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen. Punching, kicking, freezing people solid, crazy grappling-hook-spike-rope-things, fatalities. It was intoxicating to watch, and devastating for me to play. I think in an entire day I could manage one or two wins out of sheer luck. It would be a long time before I touched another fighting game. I’ve played a few over the years. I’ve dabbled in Tekken, I’ve tried out Soul Calibur, but nothing to this day can compare to what Dead or Alive 4 did to me.

Dead or Alive 4 was my own personal Armageddon. For awhile there, I was certain that this terrible, terrible thing might have been crafted in magical foundries before time was time, specifically for the purpose of punishing me for some terrible thing I might do in the future; some unholy realm of madness I must be responsible for creating that will someday consume the universe as we know it.

It took a week before I could stand to play long enough to reach my first contact with Alpha. I still remember the first time I met that soulless monster. It is permanently etched into my being because within four seconds, sixty percent of my health bar had been depleted. It was as if time stopped for just a moment, so that I could truly savor the moment which would forever demoralize me, the moment that came as such a terrible shock; all my success up to that moment was for naught. I had been judged, and I was not worthy.


Pictured: Doom Incarnate

I knew that somewhere inside me there was the capability to learn this game. It would just take time, time and dedication. For more than a month I don’t think I touched another game. I was consumed by the single-minded desire to not suck at this game. My mouse clicks have led whole armies to victory in the daunting face of assured defeat. My dexterity has sent many a terrorist to their untimely death. My perception has allowed me to be three steps ahead of my opponent at all times. I could defeat this game.

It was somewhere around this point that I no longer desired to play the game for fun. I struggled through defeat after defeat, a man completely possessed by a maddening need to get better, if only to prove that I could do it. I had gone beyond yelling obscenities at my TV screen. I may have gone beyond the ability to form sentences and think rationally. I sat, rigid, hands contorted into some strange controller-like shape, going through motions of moves when my 360 was too hot to use. My brain had become an archive of self-defined movements that could lead fluidly into one another. I knew that this had come a long way from a passing interest in a game. I had twisted it into a terrible obsession, one so deep and dark that it might very well scar me forever. I lusted for success like never before in a video game.

Finally, that moment came. I destroyed Alpha once. Twice. Three times. Four times. I lost count. My mastery was complete. …With one character. I sat down and stared at the character select screen. I could already feel the sense of impending doom as I selected the next character that looked like fun and set to work.

And so the process began anew, and my destruction was complete.

From that point on I have been in love with fighting games.

Today, my poison is Street Fighter IV. Having never played a Street Fighter game before (I know, I know, sacrilege, blasphemy, all that), I was in for a rude awakening to just how punishing a fighting game could be. I had no idea what I was in for as I looked at the character select screen and, for no particular reason at all, picked Guile. Nothing about Guile was easy. Even now, after a lot of experience and a brand new fightstick, nothing about Guile is easy. The odds always appear to be stacked against him, just like me. We are quite the match.

I am still terrible, and fighting games still hate me, but I think that I’ve learned to make peace with that.

Welcome to Article One of a Five-part series in which I will chronicle and analyze the use, abuse, and effect of narrative across a variety of genres and games. Article One will cover some games of the FPS/Shooting genre, Article Two will cover some games of the RTS/RTT genre, Article Three will cover games of the western RPG and JRPG genres, Article Four will cover a few Action/Adventure Games, and Article Five will be a summary, and an in-depth look at some of my favorite game stories of all time. If you enjoy this, remember to check back every Thursday for the next installment.

Warning: Spoilers will likely be present in every article. Read at your own risk.

We’ve come a long way from the days when the only explanation for your character’s actions sat tucked away in the instruction booklet. Or have we?

Modern games seem to swing haphazardly between no apparent narrative and far, far too much. As a direct result we’ve had some truly spectacular piles of crap land in our laps over the last few years. Very few games have been able to walk the narrow line between the two extremes and provide just enough to satisfy the player without overwhelming them. This is a tougher target to nail with shooters because adding a bunch of unnecessary junk on top of the action serves mainly to complicate things in an unfavorable way. Some games have overcome this problem by doing away with story entirely, to prevent complications of any kind. Other games, however, manage to find that line and walk it perfectly, and that’s really what we’re here to talk about.

Deus Ex was the second game that hit every mark for me (Metal Gear Solid was the first, but that story is for another article). It was intense, it was tough, it looked great, and the story was as deep as I’d ever seen at that time. Few games since Deus Ex have been able to grab hold of me in the same way; I can count the games that have measured up on one hand.

Up to Deus Ex I wasn’t aware that a story could be told through interaction rather than the occasional cutscene (This was before I‘d been exposed to RPGs, Deus Ex is most responsible for my love of that genre to this day). It opened up a whole new world for me and showed me what story could do in the medium. Ever since then I’ve been fascinated with the way that the player can interact with the narrative. Being allowed to interact with characters in other ways than the traditional “forcibly insert bullet into skull, move on” was something that I found enthralling; feeling like an active part of the world rather than simply moving through it. Every new game I pick up is one I hope will be able to measure up to that experience; to say that it is a rare occurrence is to belittle the astronomical odds at work. Lightning has a better chance of striking the same spot two hundred times in a row.

Since Deus Ex I have seriously expanded the games and systems I am familiar with. To this day, no other game has provided the same kind of eye-opening experience Deus Ex did.

Now, on to something a bit more recent.

Gears of War took a unique approach to narrative that I hadn’t expected. I’m still not sure if it was intentional or just a lousy work ethic; either way, it’s interesting enough to earn a spot here.

I won’t lie. I bought Gears of War because I thought the idea of chainsawing a guy into itty bitty meat chunks was awesome, and it was. So was blasting Locust in the gut with a shotgun and watching their bodies snap in half, blowing them up with a targeted blast from an orbiting satellite, and listening to their heads pop like a smashed cantaloupe when struck by a bullet from a sniper rifle. I’m certain that almost anyone else that has played and enjoyed Gears of War would agree that the meat of the game (forgive the pun) is found in the gameplay, and not the story. They’re absolutely right.

The main thing to note about the story in Gears of War is that it pretty much stays out of the way. It rarely (if ever) intrudes on the action in a negative way, and provides you with only minor information about what’s going on. For all intents and purposes, the player is jumping into the shoes of a couple of seriously battle-hardened soldiers who don’t go out of their way to conveniently explain anything to the player about what's going on. The characters are there for the exact same reason you are; blowing the enemy into tiny little pieces, chainsawing them in half, and just generally killing them in every brutal fashion available.

This is the part where I can’t decide if it was intentional or just really, really lousy writing that resulted in such simple greatness. By establishing the characters in the manner they do, they are able to completely ignore any of the finer points that might be established in the world. There’s absolutely no need for these grunts to know basically anything about what’s going on beyond what they're doing, or talk about it, or even think about it. As a result, they provide a perfect playground for the player, who doesn’t care one way or another about what’s actually occurring; we just want to kill lots and lots of stuff, and the narrative in Gears of War sets us up for that perfectly.

Gears of War II follows a lot of the same concepts as the first game. The characters are focused on more personal matters than anything else that is occurring. There’s more information about what the COG is up to in the instruction manual than in the game itself. At first I thought Gears of War II missed the mark of simplicity the first game hit so well by focusing so heavily on Dom’s search for Maria. Don’t get me wrong, I thought it was nice to have a little bit more story going on, but the whole mess went on a bit longer than I thought it really needed to. By the time Marcus and Dom finally found her, I was silently thanking some deity that the search would be over, and I could get back to finding new and ingenious ways of killing Locust.

And then the moment came. Out of that God-awful torture chamber came a twisted shell of a human being. Dom’s final moment with his wife was one of the most unexpected and powerful moments in a game I’ve seen in a good long while. So powerful that it has forever connected me to these characters. From that point on, killing the Locust horde stopped being about fun, and started being about payback. It had become, as they say, personal. One moment took that entire game to the next level for me as a gamer; I didn’t care about anything else that was going on anymore. My goal, until I beat the game, was just to slaughter as many Locust as I could find.

One moment changed my entire relationship to that world, and those characters. That is the goal of a good narrative, in my opinion: to link you to a world, or to characters, in a personal way. Whether you love them or hate them, a good narrative’s purpose is to keep you from feeling indifferent toward them and their world.

In further installments of Loving the Narrative, I will continue to explore some of the most beloved games in their respective genres, and more of my personal experiences with game stories. Tune in next Thursday for Article Two, where I will be discussing Real Time Strategy and Real Time Tactical games.

Well, it seems like today is the day to weigh in on concerns over Sony’s place in the industry, what with all the discussion over price cuts and lack thereof, and the statements made by Tretton. So, here goes:

I think the price cut is a distraction from bigger problems. I honestly think it isn’t price that’s really killing Sony right now, it’s the absolutely atrocious marketing strategies Sony’s been utilizing. Their attempts to market their console and their games have had more stops and starts than a traffic jam in New York City during rush hour, and it’s almost as frustrating, too.

Instead of focusing on the differences between themselves and their competitors, Sony decided instead to play up their ability to best their opponents in the hardware department. Sony has repeatedly failed to recognize the beauty of the marketing strategies of Microsoft and Nintendo. Microsoft’s aggressive expansion into the consumer base allowed them to absolutely destroy Sony on the software front; it doesn’t matter if the PS3 is a more powerful system or not (which, frankly, I don’t think it really is, and if it is it doesn‘t matter nearly as much as Sony wants it to) when every home has an Xbox 360 and they have essentially the same games. Nintendo’s brilliant strategy of offering something different allowed them to slip into previously untouched markets.

Sony’s initial marketing strategy was a complete disaster. It basically consisted of “Wait for us, we’ve got better hardware.” Some waited, but others recognized the value of the 360 early, with its quickly expanding library thanks to its lightning fast explosion into the consumer base. And while Sony was still working on their console, Microsoft had already begun the second stage of its marketing plan: get more developers working on their framework and producing games.

Microsoft had done the inconceivable; they had gotten their console into so many households that most games that might have been exclusives instead go multi-platform in order to take advantage of the massive install base of the Xbox 360. Remember how Assassin’s Creed was a PS3 exclusive, and then it wasn’t? Or Final Fantasy XIII, perhaps?

Now, rather than admit or realize they’re actually in trouble, Sony has the sheer audacity to expect that their hardware will still come out on top because it’s “better”. Then, in a not-so-quiet fashion they start stripping down PS3s in order to cut the cost of making them. For me, this was basically like Sony screaming “Oh God, oh God, we screwed this up, but we can fix it!”, just without the honesty of actually saying it.

It was in this interim between terrible marketing that Sony had its one brilliant ad campaign. It reminded me why I was interested in the PS3, and why I still had a little inkling of hope for Sony: Metal Gear Solid 4 was on the way.

Remember this ad?



I thought this was where it was going to turn around for Sony. They’d finally caught on and began to advertise the PS3 primarily as a game system, only gently touching upon the concept that the PS3 could be a multimedia platform of monolithic proportions. It was like somebody smacked Sony over the head with a 2x4 and the amnesia finally cleared up. There’s the Sony I know and love, it’s still in there!

It was during this interim that I finally got a PS3; the 80GB model, packaged with MGS4. That’s right, I bought the PS3 for ONE GAME, and the potential promise of another in Killzone 2. Since then my library has expanded to include Valkyria Chronicles, Resident Evil 5 (didn’t feel right to be buying that on the 360), Dead Space, Street Fighter IV, and a few others.

Then they got conked on the head again and dove headfirst into the miserable joke that has become of Home. Sony’s attempt to market Home as a reason to buy their console is just flat out ridiculous. It’s gone from being a little sideshow to becoming Sony’s main “draw” for the online community; it’s a great big joke that everybody seems to get, except for Sony.

From there Sony moved to their networking campaign, PSPs on the go, in the hands of every trendy kid on every street corner, Playstation Network providing movies and demos and games. Oh no, Sony! No, no, no! Don’t tell me I need to spend another $150 to $250 to get the most out of your service!

And still Sony has the audacity to claim that the PS3 will conquer because they’re committed to a decade of service. So when we’re buying the next Xbox, and Microsoft’s still got a leg up on Sony, that’s when the PS3 will really start to kick into gear?

In the end, I love my PS3. I love everything it can do. I can seamlessly go from direct connect to wireless at the press of a few buttons, thanks to internal WiFi. My model can do backwards compatibility. My controllers don’t need batteries. The PSN store is easier to navigate than Microsoft’s Xbox Live Marketplace. There’s no hidden extra charges thanks to a wacky, self-determined currency. The cost of the PS3 isn’t the problem; Sony’s schizophrenic ad campaigns and marketing strategies have confused the consumer base so much that people don’t know what the identity of the PS3 is. Does it cure cancer, Sony, or does it play videogames?

I think, price cut or not, the real problem is that Sony hasn’t figured out how to market its console yet. I think this problem is driven by Sony’s inability to recognize that it is no longer the top dog, and it’s only getting worse with every day that they have the sheer gall to claim that the battle hasn’t been fought yet. The battle’s been fought, Sony, and you’ve lost. You’ve lost hard. And the war’s not over yet, though it soon will be if you don’t recognize what’s happening to you, and why.