As video games have moved to 3d, a number of techniques have emerged to create game animations that are more tailored to the environment, to make game characters feel less like autonomous pawns floating through environments and more like grounded characters touching the world around them. This largely revolves around Animation Blending and Inverse Kinematics (IK for short).
3d game characters are typically animated using a skeleton made of bones. Animators create animations by moving these bones, then the character’s mesh will deform relative to which polygons are controlled by those bones, rotating in the direction specified. This allows animators to move characters around without having to manually control every single vertex in the mesh.
I love picking up new fighting games. The task of learning how to play fighting games at all can seem incredibly daunting, so learning another, or a dozen different games, can seem impossible. Once you’ve gotten your foot in the door, you’ll find that it’s a lot easier than you think it is; to the point where it’s even possible to load up a game with a friend that neither of you have any experience with and play fairly competently! There are even “Mystery Game” tournaments where this is the entire focus, playing a different obscure game each round of the tournament.
In this article, I’m going to assume you have a basic familiarity with fighting games already, and I’m going to drop some jargon. If you’re not ready for that, maybe start off with some Beginner Tutorials and ease your way into the genre. If this article doesn’t make a lot of sense to you, I wrote most of the glossary on the SuperCombo wiki, and Infil has written his own glossary as well.
So what’s my routine for picking up a new fighting game?
I’ve been teaching my third Mastering Game Mechanics course with GameDesignSkills.com and one of the concepts we talk about is Tension. Alex Brazie, my cowriter for MGM and one of the owners of GDS, likes to explain tension like a rope. A rope is loose and floppy and lacks all tension when it’s not tied to anything. When it’s tied on one end, it hangs straight, but is still easily moved. When the rope is tied tight from both ends, it’s stiff with tension. In order to create tension for players, there need to be at least 2 things pulling on you. This analogy never quite sat right with me. It seemed kind of wishy washy.
As I was writing my article on Deus Ex versus Crysis Warhead something clicked for me. It’s about conflicting priorities or objectives. That’s what creates tension. That’s what creates interesting choices, instead of just different ones. And this, like depth, is reflected fractally at all scales of a game’s design. Technically, this tension is precisely what distinguishes differentiated depth from relative depth. This is what creates Interesting Decisions, as defined by Sid Meier.
Even more accurately, this is what Hegel describes as a Dialectic: a set of contradictions that propel action in search of a resolution. In the most simple terms, there is a Thesis, the desire to achieve an objective; an Antithesis, something that stops you from achieving that objective; and a Synthesis, the line of action that allows you to overcome adversity, achieving your objective. Of course, games ideally employ multiple of these. They create desires for players and simultaneously thwart them, such that any attempt to create a resolution between them is flawed and imperfect, a temporary compromise that meets the demands of the moment, but doesn’t ultimately undo the contradiction.
There is a common misconception in PVP game design that melee attacks should be slow and reactable in order to make it fair for your opponents to play around them. The problem with this is that it fundamentally breaks the core game dynamic, resulting in a game where doing nothing is the best option.
PVP games focused on Melee combat must have some way to either hurt the opponent that they can’t react to, or a way to set up a situation where they cannot avoid getting hurt that they cannot react to. If a game doesn’t have this, it will result in a complete stalemate. A more broad way of formulating this is: A PVP game must have a way for any player to advance the game towards a conclusion where one side wins, and any action that would prevent this advancement must be dependent on Rock Paper Scissors Guesswork, or have a chance of failure.
I believe that all PVP games are a complex (or not so complex) combination of 3 simpler games: Rock Paper Scissors, Skill Tests (or efficiency race), and Random Number Generation. Everything PVP is a game of chance, a game of skill, or a game of prediction; or some combination of the three.
Melee combat games are games of largely RPS. Melee strikes have a commitment, like a throw of hands in Rock Paper Scissors. And when they connect with an opponent, they will inflict hitstun, interrupting the opponent’s action. This means that different choices will counter one another, like in Rock Paper Scissors. This is a non-transitive relationship between different options and how many points they score. And critically: When you throw hands in RPS, you do it on the count of 3, throwing them simultaneously, so that neither of you can see which hand the other person threw.
This is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here.
For a long time I have been opposed to the idea of immersion in video games, to the idea that people become “immersed” in fictional worlds. I believe there is no specific mental state that can be referred to as being “immersed” in a video game or work of media. I believe the qualities that people describe as immersive are contradictory, limiting, and self-defeating. I believe that sincere belief in the idea of immersion from both a design perspective, and from a player perspective, is harmful to the creation process of video games and the enjoyment of video games. I don’t think we should make appeals to the idea of immersion, or use it as a guiding philosophy for game development.
As research for this article, I’ve been collecting statements for years about what people think immersion is, what traits they think are immersive, and what breaks their immersion. Through this, I hope not just to argue against the conceptualization and prioritization of immersion, but also to show that what I am arguing against is representative of the idea of immersion in the broader public consciousness.
I’m sorry for choosing the annoying meme for the banner.
Hollow Knight: Silksong has revived an annoying line of discourse about “Artificial Difficulty”. Artificial Difficulty is ostensibly things that make a game appear more difficult, without actually engaging player skill. However in practice, most people claiming that a game has “Artificial Difficulty” are just complaining that the game is too hard for them, and this isn’t their fault, but the game’s fault. It did difficulty “wrong” in some way.
If we were to take the language of Artificial Difficulty at its face, then we’d consider whether or not a game is engaging in a fair test of skill with you. And in this way, some obstacles in Silksong aren’t fair actually, such as the bench in Hunter’s March that is rigged with a trap, which will damage you when you try to sit on it (I fell for this one). There is a very short tell, the bench depressing like the pressure plate traps in the prior section, giving you a brief opportunity to get off the bench and dash away. Disabling the bench trap requires going through a hidden tunnel and pressing a hidden switch. Silksong has a number of moments like this, which I believe were intended to be funny, because I found them funny and I know other people did too.
10 years ago (and 2 months, but who’s gonna nitpick that?) I started this blog, Critpoints. Before that, I had been writing for Gather Your Party, a modest blog that aimed to challenge the establishment of professional games journalism with a staff of volunteers, no advertising, some of the early crop of gaming video essayists, and the tagline, “Honest Gaming Journalism”. For a lot of fairly predictable reasons, we burned out and eventually the site shuttered.
While I wrote there, I authored a column called, “More Than Mashing”, which showcased and explained different advanced video game techniques and play. This translated into a few YouTube Videos, most of which have been lost to time. I later ended up reviving this concept as a Facebook page, which did great until I got bored of it, and ran out of clips. Currently, that idea survives as a channel in my Discord Server, and as the banner in this site’s layout.
Since GYP, I’ve been involved in a few different projects, including Design Oriented, a group of game designers who were interested in exploring a more mechanical angle to video game design. I ended up leaving due to differences in point of view, but one thing I held onto was the name, “Crit Points”, which I had suggested as a potential name for the DO project. I tried combining the different ideas of “critique,” “hit points,” and “critical hit” into one short name. The tagline under the website name is intended to reflect the triple entendre. (Similarities to ActionPts, someone I used to work with, and ContraPoints are coincidental (I didn’t hear about ContraPoints until 2018) ).
Critpoints became my new brand, and I started this blog in March 2015!
Recently footage of Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth was released, and it contained a shot of The Yellow Paint that we keep seeing to denote objects in the environment that can be climbed or otherwise interacted with. Kayin wrote an article on this, and it inspired me to write my own take.
What’s wrong with Yellow Paint?
So, why do people kneejerk hate the yellow paint? People hate the yellow paint because it “breaks their immersion”, since there’s no diegetic reason why every single ladder, cliff face, or vaultable cover would be splattered in the same yellow or white paint and because it makes them feel like they’re being treated like a child, needing to have the interactable part of the environment highlighted so they can progress.
In Charmed Chains, I chose some early restrictions to emulate some of how Yugioh plays, and over time I’ve been shifting towards different ideas of what I want to do with the game. I chose these restrictions because there are a lot of indie and industry collectible card games that emulate Magic The Gathering (Force of Will, Hearthstone, Lorcana, Final Fantasy, Digimon, etc) in whole or part, and very few that emulate Yugioh (Dual Spirits). When I started making this game, I was really into Yugioh (I’ve recently been swallowed whole by MtG Commander), and I was very much inspired by different facets of Yugioh’s design that I felt could be pushed further (having a defined grid and effects that are based on columns), as well as some aspects of Magic The Gathering (blockers getting a choice in whether to take damage with their creatures, or let it hit them directly).
However, these limitations have lead to some issues with granularity, which I’ve previously discussed. I’m worried that low granularity in creature costs will lead to homogenization in people’s decks, unless I either adopt a resource system more similar to most card games, or start to enforce more strict archetypal synergies, like Yugioh did.
To understand the issues I’m facing, first I’ll need to explain how the resources in Yugioh and Magic The Gathering work.
A lot of what I’ve ended up critiquing video essayists and other games writers about is the clarity of their writing. I feel like many people are trying to create “Good Writing” rather than communicate effectively. Many video essays are written more like political speeches than they are trying to be direct and informative. It feels like they are informed by what makes good fictional writing more than good technical writing, and try to carry a vibe to the detriment of their message.
Here are the principles I follow to make my writing direct and effective:
Celia Wagar's CritPoints 