“What do I do?” 



Words uttered by pretty much every kid to have ever held a controller in his or her hand. Don’t lie. I know the phrase has crossed your mind and perhaps passed your lips at least one point in your life. Be it a tricky boss battle, a seemingly directionless world, or perhaps just a convoluted inventory system that won’t tell you how to equip that new tool you just acquired, gamers have been asking videogames what to do since the conception of the medium. And for decades, game developers have been asking themselves just how they should answer that question.

Conveyance is… tricky, to say the least. Unlike most other mediums, those experiencing a videogame are playing an active role. The player needs to be engaged, and have at least an inkling of what he or she is doing in order to progress through the game. Simple… right? If all players needed to be engaged was information on what to do next, devs could just stuff their games full of textboxes and annoying side characters, telling you exactly where to go next, what to do next, and how to do it. 

Except not really. You see, because videogames rely heavily on player interaction, the player needs to contribute something of his or her own to an experience. Gamers need to have just enough information to assess situations. How they deal with situations however, in my opinion, should be mostly left to them.



I’m sure we’ve all seen Egoraptor’s video dissecting Megaman X’s opening sequence; exposing the subtlety at which the Super Nintendo classic tells the player pretty much everything they need to know about the game in a relatively short period of time, but I want to approach the subject from a slightly different angle. The beauty of videogames is that they’re extremely versatile, there’s no one way to do something. Conveyance being the topic of focus for today, we’re going to be looking at a game that does a great job of informing the player, while leaving just enough for him or her to figure out on their own.

Mark of the Ninja is a game that should be familiar to fans of the stealth genre. Originally released in late-2012, this sneak’emup was lauded as being a return to pure, unadulterated, stealth. If you’re not familiar with the genre, a robust and well featured feedback system is absolutely imperative if you want your game to be good. And thankfully, Mark of the Ninja has one of the most well-communicated and elegant feedback systems I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience. It does a fantastic job at conveying the two things you need to keep in mind during play; sound and light. If something is illuminated it’ll be colored as expected. In the shadows however, things are outlined in gray and filled with black. It’s so simple, yet extremely effective, and manages to inform the players whether or not they’re detected. Sound, on the other hand, is communicated by rings that radiate from the sounds’ origin. These even appear when you’re about to place a trap, or shatter a light, informing you just how much noise your action will make. It all works extremely well, thanks to a rather sharp contrast between the rings and the environment.

Enemy movement patterns, an aspect of stealth that many games fail to communicate effectively, are very much apparent after a few moments of observation in Mark of the Ninja. The fact that the game’s 2D makes patterns in general a lot more apparent and predictable, which I feel is appropriate in a genre all about exploiting patterns.



The fact that almost everything you need seems to be conveyed in an effective and clean matter may seem like it negates the need for any player thought or problem solving, but Mark of the Ninja makes sure that the information that it gives players only serve as a tool for making choices and executing plans. See, the game tells you the things you need so you can get to the fun stuff without having to wade through bullshit. The levels in MOTN are expertly crafted so that each encounter has a myriad of different solutions that you need to find and execute by yourself with the tools provided for you. This is compounded by the items, costumes, and moves you gain throughout the game that open up the possibility for even more solutions for avoiding or obliterating obstacles.

To sum up just why Mark of the Ninja is such a fantastic example of conveyance done right in a game; the information it gives you is communicated cleanly and effectively, and only serves as a tool for you to make your own choices, of which there are many.
Of course, this isn’t the only way to do conveyance “right” in a game. In reality there is no one “right” way to do something when it comes to crafting an experience, but it’s still an example that I think devs need to keep in mind when struggling with communicating ideas to players.

Think about every game you’ve ever played. Now think about just how many of those games contained a risk-reward dynamic. There are some exceptions, but most of those games were using greed to tempt you. Beckoning you to a rather ravishing looking reward, only to pull the rug out from under your feet, making you feel stupid that you ever even thought about attaining those extra coins, or whatever, in the first place. And that’s one of the things I love about videogames. You can call it an abusive relationship, but whenever a game exposes and shames me for a rather faulty character trait, I smile.

But how can designers create risk-reward systems that are good? How do you assure that you’re reward presents itself as desirable to the player, and that the risk is perilous enough to be of some threat? To be honest I’m not really sure. I doubt there’s one answer to this question, there never is, so instead of trying to answer it directly I thought I’d look at a game that I think has risk-reward embedded in it’s DNA.



The Binding of Isaac is a rogue-like/shm’up/adventure created by Edmund McMillen and Florian Himsl. The game gives you control of Isaac, a small boy who must descend deeper and deeper into his basement to achieve the end-goal of defeating his slightly-crazed mother. As I mentioned earlier the game’s a rogue-like, a genre almost synonymous with risk-reward, but I think that TBOI does an exceptional job exploiting humanity’s tendency to want more. I mean, there are multiple rooms dedicated to gambling in the game!

Each floor gives you a basic outline of the rooms and placement, but leaves out whether or not the chamber in question is filled with blood-thirsty monsters, or a desirable power-up. It’s possible not to explore each floor completely, and just defeat the boss and progress, but what would be the fun in that? I found myself stumbling onto the boss chamber at times, only to choose to venture further into the cold, dark, floor before progressing, my heart filled with hopes of potentially coming across a bucket of lard, a dead bird, growth hormones… yeah, the items in this game are pretty weird. But they all feel appropriately rewarding, and stack not only in effect, but visually as well. Every powerup attained bringing you closer to looking like the greedy, decrepit freak you really are. This lends a sense of excitement to every item encounter, and keeps the reward from getting old, boring, or predictable. The risk component of the risk-reward dynamic is also kept from stagnation by virtue of the games randomly-generated nature, interesting enemy design and patterns, and the fact that the game is incredibly HARD.  

Isaac is also a fantastic example of risk-reward done right in games because the rewards are hidden from you. They might not even seem like a particularly attractive offer if you knew what they were, but you don’t. It let’s your imagination blow the potential reward way out of proportion, which frequently hinders your ability to accurately judge just how significant the risk is going to be. It pokes fun at you and your overzealousness, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Recently, Voltech wrote a blog asking (and answering) a single question. "What does Zelda mean to you?" I've been wanting to write about this for a while now, and I've got a lot of things to say, so I decided to respond with a blog of my own.

Growing up was always a prospect that excited me as a kid. I imagine most kids fantasize about all the things they could do if they were adults, or even teenagers, but I really could not wait to grow up. The freedom, and to a lesser extent the respect, was what really attracted me to the idea of being a slightly overweight, tired, balding man.

Wait what?



And I guess that's what tempered my desire to get older. As a year passed, one more step toward adulthood was taken, and one more reason not to become an adult was uncovered. Tedious jobs, societal pressures, and responsibilities! Oh god, the responsibilities! I had been so excited at the prospect of additional freedom and power just years earlier, but the idea that those liberties came with things like responsibilities and consequences horrified me.

Pretty much every Zelda game introduces you to Link while he's sleeping. There are definitely exceptions, the first two games come to mind, but for the most part, the Zelda series starts you off as a slightly drowsy child. You're usually woken from your slumber by an unusual occurrence. 



Link to The Past really nailed it's execution of the opening sequence, having you wake up to a mysterious voice and your uncle leaving by unspecified circumstance. Sure you could listen to him, and just stay in bed, but you're curious and that voice in your head is telling you to pursue. It's pouring out, guards are everywhere and insist that you return home at once, but you continue your search anyways. Once you find your uncle, that's when things start getting really interesting. He leaves you with nothing but his weapon and a few words, and you soon become embroiled in a quest of greater scale and wonder than you could've ever imagined.

The Legend of Zelda is my favorite game franchise of all time, because it's almost a perfect portrayal of growth and the responsibility that comes with becoming an adult. Quite literally the weight of the world is now on your shoulders from the minute you accept your quest, and even though you're not sure that you're really the right man for the job, you accept anyway, because someone's got to take responsibility for all this.


Skyward Sword and the original Legend of Zelda did the best job of portraying the initial hesitance but eventual acceptance when faced with responsibility in my opinion. The original Zelda dropped you in the game world with nothing but very brief story exposition. You see a cave, and you decide to explore it since there's really not much else to do at this point. You come across an old man, surrounded on both sides by flame, and the image is initially unsettling. He offers you a wooden sword, and somewhat reluctantly, you take it.



Once you decide to become responsible, the whole game world opens up. And even though at times you may feel overwhelmed by all of this, you push on because you know that doing so will only make you stronger, and will only reveal more possibilities. After besting each dungeon you're awarded with a tool, something to aid you in your adventure, and bring you one step closer to realizing your full potential. 

It's possible that I'm looking too far into this, but I think the Zelda series as a whole really has really helped shape my ideas about responsibility and made me view the upcoming prospect of adulthood in a more hopeful light. I'd be curious to see if you guys have any thoughts on this.

Hi Destructoid. 

I'm sure not all of you know this, but I'm pretty young. I'm still in high school, and like most high-schoolers, I'm quite naive, and still have a whole lot to learn about the world and how it works. For the most part, I find learning and experiencing new things pretty fun. Rubs a bit of grime from the lens in which you view the world, possibly revealing a door to a new set of nearly infinite possibilities. There does however, exist various sets of possibilities that you may never want to consider. Doors that you dread opening. Things that once are revealed, set in place the yearning to re-apply a layer of dirt to that aforementioned lens. 

My family has a long history of various diseases and medical conditions. Cancer, diabetes, the list goes on. I can't say I know what causes all of these conditions, I suppose it's a mix of an unhealthy lifestyle and genetics but that's besides the point. These... conditions usually end up shortening their time on this planet to quite a significant degree. With the marvels of modern medicine and a change in lifestyle, however, the effects of these conditions can be delayed, or in some cases, eradicated completely. But while victims of the disease may be cured of their physical ailments, the implications of what could have been begin to manifest in both the victim and those close to the victim.



Almost every time I'm reminded that life is finite, I try to tell myself that I'm not afraid of death. I mean, why should I be afraid? It's inevitable, so why would I subject myself or others to toil over something that we as a species can't do anything about?

But if I know that I will eventually leave my family and friends forever, assuming they're still around, then why bother with life? The idea that one day, almost everything that I've ever done will be of little relevance to anyone is a pretty humbling one. I suppose the idea that I'm going to go no matter what I do, also implies that I have nothing to lose in this life, which I like a lot more than the former idea. 

It's hard to think or talk about things like death and mortality, because it seems that every time you might have solved a problem or answered a question, five more pop up in their place. I suppose it's a lot easier to find a more hopeful or optimistic way to perceive reality, which is why I think religion can be so powerful.

Because I'm still a naive teenager though, I try to solve puzzles with pieces that I already have, instead of going out and looking for pieces that would probably make the solution to said puzzle a lot more apparent. I have fun trying to apply things like videogame logic to the real world and vice versa.

There are multiple ways in which videogames approach the idea of the death of a protagonist, not to mention the death of others. The way that games deal with concepts of failure and loss can actually heavily influence my feelings towards said game. I love games like Hotline Miami, but I find the disposable, inconsequential, way in which they deal with death detrimental to the experience as a whole. Though I suppose in Hotline Miami it's a little more excusable, as it contributes to the narrative.

One of my favorite things that developers can include in games is permadeath. I suppose it's because I enjoy the real-world implications the most, which I realize sounds ignorant and selfish. I especially enjoy the way that permadeath changes the way you play a game, the way it makes you contemplate every move you make extremely carefully. There is one caveat, however. I mentioned earlier that I like the idea that you have nothing to lose in life. This means that games that include the type of permadeath that I enjoy are byte-sized rogue-likes; think TBOI and Spellunky. Because the time between your conception and your demise in those games are so short, feelings of loss and frustration are usually minimal. This makes me feel like I was never at risk at losing all that much.

Though I suppose that that logic kind of breaks when you add responsibilities like a family and kids into the mix. See? Whenever you think your close to figuring something out, you realize one thing that completely renders the answer to a question you've been asking yourself for years completely obsolete. One day when I'm older I hope to figure all of this out and appear on talk-shows where I tell middle-aged women it's all going to be okay.

But that's a long way away, and I've just realized I've been rambling for almost ten paragraphs, only to talk about videogames for only two. And that's not okay, because you probably came here to read something about videogames, only to have a chunk of your life sapped away by something you didn't really care about in the first place. That is of course, implying that you made it this far. And if your reading this right now I'm inferring that you did. Thanks.

Hi dtoid!
I recently obtained a graphics tablet, and I'm having a blast using it. I'm not an artist by any means, I just enjoy sketching in my free time.

So yeah, I did some fanart of "The Shattered", a title lovilngly bestowed upon us podtoid listeners by Jim Sterling himself!





Again, I'm no artist, just thought it would be fun to share!

One of the reasons that videogames manage to bring me back time and time again is the feeling I get when learning about a game's mechanics or familiarizing myself with a game's world. My favorite games are the ones that really differentiate themselves from real life and each other in terms of logic and atmosphere. There's a real sense of achievement that comes from successfully grasping a game's rules and understanding what initially may seem obtuse or nonsensical. Of course this is not a feeling that I get from every game. There are quite a number of titles that are highly derivative of each other in terms of their mechanics and game-logic. This is understandable; as the industry progresses it's going to become harder and harder to come up with truly "original" ideas. I can still enjoy a derivative game, as long as it puts some sort of spin on the established conventions or has a unique atmosphere.

Darksiders 2 is a game that I played quite a bit of. Currently I've logged in about 18 hours. During that time I fought some enemies, pushed some levers, and climbed on some stuff. I think.



Vigil's sequel is a curious case in that it's the only game that I spent a significant amount of time with but didn't enjoy. I know it seems illogical. If you're not engaged with a game you should probably save your valuable time and stop playing it. But I wanted to be engaged with Darksiders 2. I wanted it so bad. But at no point in my experience was I having fun with the game. Even though Death had been forced to inhabit and save this fantastical and whimsical world, an overwhelming feeling of familiarity permeated Darkisiders 2. I felt like I had been here before.

After I had some time to meditate on the experience I realized that I had in fact been there before. Almost all of the mechanics were retreads of experiences that I had in the past. POP-esque platforming, combat similar but not nearly as deep as Devil May Cry, and an overall structure that was extremely reminiscent of Zelda. As I said earlier, I don't mind derivative games, so long as the game contains a significant feature that hasn't been seen in that genre or an atmosphere that is unlike anything else in the medium. I got nothing from Darksiders 2. The story did nothing to grab me, and I felt that the visual style, while initially beautiful, made everything look rather samey after a while. "Soulless" would be how I would put it.



I don't hate Darksiders 2. I realize that it was critically acclaimed, and I realize that it's a well made game that had an incredible amount of work and love put into it. The developers really did polish the mechanics to a shine, but I couldn't help but feel incredibly dull after spending time with it. I'm still glad that I played it, as it made me realize why a lot of games are just flat-out boring to me. I'm sorry if I upset any Darksiders fans out there, but I just thought I'd share my thoughts.