Why Atmosphere Matters in Games

Think back to the classic games of your childhood. Metroid. The Legend of Zelda. Super Mario Bros. Sonic the Hedgehog. E.T. These games (with the glaring exception of E.T.) won you over with crystal-perfect gameplay and solid world design. Really, that's all that was needed back then to build a fantastic game. I mean, come on, music and sounds were all completed by the only guy they knew who could play a keyboard. There were maybe twenty people who worked on the game. It was a much simpler time back then.

Fast forward twenty or thirty years. Games like Grand Theft Auto V, Assassin's Creed, Bloodborne and Dark Souls 3. These games have budgets that make small island countries jealous. With that budget (and leap forward in technology), gameplay and world design are only small portions of what makes a fantastic game. The atmosphere matters for these titles, and in a number of ways, it almost matters as much as gameplay or story.

What do I mean by atmosphere? Well, I'll give you an example. Here is a screenshot of Bloodborne (side note - Bloodborne is one of the best games I've played in the last 10 years - probably since Metroid Prime).

"Hey guys, is this the newest Pokegym for Pokemon Go?" 

Look at the littered streets, the decaying landscape. A creature is being burned in effigy surrounded by torch-wielding creatures. The sky burns an unnatural orange. The flickering flames loudly pop in your ear, as one of the creatures drags an axe almost too heavy for it to carry, scraping across the ground. As your character approaches, the scene's terror almost makes you smell the burning flesh. There is a tremendous sense of the unknown here, and you feel it, thanks to atmospheric game design at its best.

Grand Theft Auto is another prime example. As you walk through the city, people walk by chatting on their phones about useless shit. Billboards and advertisements are everywhere, bombarding you with a faux Los Angeles. The world itself pulls you in by making you feel like you are there, living the life of a Californian.

No Helmet? Dumbass.

Red Dead Redemption drew you in with a fantastic wild west setting. Assassin's Creed sets characters milling about in historical settings (though it's too bad they don't use the languages that would have been prevalent in those settings).

Video games thrive when the game's atmosphere and world are designed to draw the player in, and it makes sense that a poorly executed atmosphere can kill a game, regardless of its gameplay. Think about it. With movies, you're viewing another character's stories. Yeah, the world matters, but you're really along for the ride. When reading a book, it's all up to you to picture the character's surroundings, regardless of the author's style. With video games, you are the story. You are drawn into the world. The great game designers know the importance of atmosphere now more than ever.

That's not to suggest that atmosphere alone can save a game. The gameplay and story have to be appealing and fun as well. In this sense, Bloodborne and the Souls games are a tougher sell. Blooborne had some of the most fantastic combat I've ever had in a game, but the story was severely lacking, and it's not because it's not there - it is - but because it's not blatantly obvious. I would encourage any Bloodborne fan to watch this video

I'm sure there's nothing but sunshine and a unicorn this way.

 What other games have fantastic atmosphere?

Whatever Happened to Arya? [GOT SPOILERS]

As most of you know, I am a big fan of the book series A Song of Ice and Fire (ASOIAF) and the Game of Thrones (GOT) television show. Obviously the show-runners have run into a pickle, since Georgie is writing slower than a sloth avoiding being run over by a Zamboni. Without a guide, the show producers have had to either become more efficient with their characters, or make sudden swift adjustments to character arcs. As a writer, I found what they did with Arya this season to be lazy writing, not only because there were scenes which went against everything we know about Arya, but her overall character arc was jarring.

Stabbin' Folks with My Hobo Knife...

I'll start this off by admitting the last two ASOIAF books aren't nearly as good as the first three. Part of the problem was resetting the chess pieces, which required a build-up. Even then, Martin admitted he wrote himself into plot knots. Let's focus on Arya's arc.

Arya has seen some shit in the show and books. Her desire to enact revenge on those who have wronged her and her family drive her into the waiting arms of a strange religious cult who are paid to assassinate anyone who has the money to pay for it. They do this by literally taking people's faces, allowing assassins to look wildly different. The Faceless Men's goal is to drive away the individual and attachment to a person's previous life, something Arya struggles to give up. By the end of A Dance with Dragons, she has succeeded in her first assassination mission, but the lingering thoughts of her family and wolf dreams leave the reader wondering if she will succeed in becoming a full-fledged assassin for the Faceless Men.

With a short timeline to play with in the show, Arya becomes an assassin far faster than one would expect, but she still holds on to her previous life. She is trained by a waif who hates her (shouldn't her hatred for Arya be questioned by the Faceless Men?) Pressed with a choice between protecting someone she grows to care for or finish her mission, she chooses to save the person. Knowing the cult would come after her, she goes into hiding.

Now, here's where I grew frustrated with what the show runners did. Up until that point in the show, Arya is shown as being intelligent and a little fearless. She's a trained fighter. She can fight in the dark. She knows how to blend in with crowds, and is a successful liar when questioned who she is. She is cautious, deadly, and most of all, tenacious. She would know the Faceless Men would come after her, and the shot of her hugging her sword in the dark suggested she knew her life was in danger.

Grandma be stabbin'...

So the next episode, instead of trying to hide and quietly find passage out of Braavos, she's out in the open, tossing cash into any Braavosi ship captain willing to take on a passenger. She walks around without any fear or care, and without her sword. Stopping at a bridge to smell the air/reflect on how beautiful the sunshine is, old lady walks up to her and stabs her in the stomach. The waif was dressed as an old lady the whole time, utilizing an old lady's face to get close to Arya. Arya manages to escape the fight.

Now, here's what's wrong with this scene. The Arya we know would never do that. She wouldn't be stupid enough to go out in the open. She wouldn't go anywhere without her sword. She would be far more cautious in her plans to escape back to Westeros. The previous episode suggested she was scared, and being cautious was the best approach to take.

This scene was so blatantly anti-Arya that it led many to speculate it wasn't really Arya who got stabbed. That the Faceless Men setup the waif to see if she passes the test. That Arya was wearing a blood bag.That the waif and Arya were the same person, like in Fight Club.

In the next episode she makes a miraculous recovery from an awful stomach wound and manages to parkour her way back to her dark room, where she takes out the waif. It becomes clear Arya wants nothing to do with the Faceless Men's cult, and she is somehow given reprieve from her mentor to leave without penalty.

This is lazy writing, plain and simple. There is nothing suggesting Arya would have been that dumb. She'd survived numerous deadly situations, witnessed atrocities, and losing everything she held dear combined with everything she had gone through suggested a smart and deadly character whose only goal is revenge. Ultimately that's what we get when she kills Walder Frey, but it was shoddy writing that got her there.

Characters should be consistent. If they make a decision against their grain, it should be visible to the reader/viewer. This is something I dealt with personally with my own novel, Survive Well. I had a character make a major decision that went against everything I had written about her. It required some re-writing to make the decision more organic.

Overall the show has done an admirable job with character arcs, but Arya's was poorly done this season.

I will admit it was satisfying to see her gut Walder Frey though, so yay!

A Conversation

You know, there is no Heaven and Hell. There is no afterlife. This life is all we have.

It's cruel, right? This sudden knowledge. This is it. This limited time in a universe of possibilities, and we sit and shit and piss our way into old age and then die. Many pretend to cling to unwarranted belief systems with the hope that death is only the beginning, but it's not true.

You laugh, I see. Oh, I totally get it, this sense of emptiness as the truth sloshes into you, but I want to offer a distinction, my good friend. We understand there is no afterlife, but notice I didn't mention a lack of god, or gods. Why is that? Why do you think? Give me your best shot.

Oh, that's a good guess, but it's not true. A belief in the afterlife has been tied to the belief in a god or gods, but these two things shouldn't be connected. They should be totally separate. so the distinction and mistake so many religious believers make - and have made for thousands of years - is that an afterlife is intrinsically tied to a god.

But gods do exist. Not in Heaven, not in Hell, but here on earth. Right now. You laugh again, thinking I'm bullshitting you, but I have seen it. Seen the power. Felt it. And it's a wonderful feeling, my friend.

Magic is real. Possessions are real, not from the dead or demons, but from the gods themselves. Underground us all sits millions of years of energy, pent up and waiting for the moment to erupt.

Why do you think we have earthquakes? Volcanoes? Tsunamis? Fast food chains? Because the energy of the gods that helped create this world are underground, and occasionally they shift and belch, releasing their chaotic energy through the soil.

And soon enough, one god in particular will awaken. No one knows what will happen. Will it be angry? Happy? hungover? I'm excited to find out.

I'm rambling. Anyway, the thing to remember from this conversation, is that we all die, and that the gods that created this place are real, and still here. Tsethlekai will be awakened, and soon. Read the conspiracy blog written by Julie Brainerd, she'll set you straight.

Now, do you want anything else to go with your almond milk no foam latte with two and a half shots of sugar free sugar? A biscotti perhaps?

My Grandmother

As my grandmother nears the end of her life, memories have flooded in, cascading over the sad reality that she will no longer be with us.

Easily my fondest memory (that is also slightly embarrassing to me at least) was my first visit to Phoenix. I want to say I was twelve or thirteen years old. It was in the fall. My cousin Parker and I thought it would be smart to play football outside on a rock-and-cactus-covered front lawn. Sure enough, after a few minutes of horsing around, I managed to trip and fall backwards onto some sort of cactus. As I stood up from the cactus, everyone laughed/gasped as numerous needles were visibly poking through my jeans.

Parker and his sisters help me waddle inside, and my mom takes me into the bathroom. This is where Grandma comes in. As Mom is helping me pull needles out of my butt, Grandma is nearly hysterical.

“OH MY GOSH!” She exclaimed to everyone in the front room. “Look at his butt!” My grandpa Reed was sitting in his favorite chair, trying not to laugh, as she wanted everyone to look at my needle-infested bum. I don’t know how many people saw my behind, but she went on for quite some time about it. She made it sound like my ass was covered in a forest of needles. In reality, I maybe had ten to fifteen.

“I don’t need to see the boy’s behind, Elizabeth,” Reed laughed. Finally, my mom closed the bathroom door before more hysteria could occur. This was a classic memory I will remember forever.

There was also a dark moment of my life, when I was the most depressed and the most in need of help. I reached out to Grandma, and she gave me money when I was most desperate, and did so without question. This is the Grandma I will remember.

She always wanted to make sure I was fed. She would send me home with food. Was I comfortable? Did I need anything?

I know even as I write this, she wants me going to church and raising a family, but ultimately, she knows I am happy and content, and she can accept that.

Is she perfect? Of course not, but she is my Grandma, and she loves her grandkids with a fiery passion that is seen in how my mother loves her children and grandchildren.

She will be missed. Whatever happens after this life, I she finds peace.

The Tsethlekai Comes

The Holy Text of the Tsethlekai Cult

Note: most of these are oral stories that have been shared over thousands of years. The first written text of Tsethlekai stories goes back to 1874. Found at a Native American ruin in South Dakota, the text was highly damaged. As such, certain sections have been filled in by the Chosen Fifteen, the leading Vicar of the Cult of Tsethlekai. This version has been translated to English.

Creation

In the beginning, there was dust and death. From the dust and death came the Old Gods that molded our world.

There was Vantar-ma, the Giver. She sacrificed herself, her fiery insides spewing forth to create the land.

Win-Forsythe, the Air. His monstrous gaseous body created the air we breathe, and the water we drink.

Ploca-Norat, She Who Gave Life. She spread her spores onto the land, giving us plants.

Xiogenesii, the Provider. He spread his seed upon the earth, creating animals and man.

For (millions) of years, the world evolved and a delicate harmony was crafted. The Old Gods looked over their creation in pride.

Then came Tsethlekai the Chaotic. The swirling dust and death leftover after creation, Tsethlekai roamed the world upsetting the balance the Gods had created. Cleansing through fire and shadow, Tsethlekai the Chaotic destroyed with malice. It wanted the (world?) reborn in its image. Mountains were leveled, oceans and lakes were dried, and life was wiped out.

The Gods fought back. They forged (weapons? Creatures?) to combat Tsethlekai, but each (creature/weapon) they created was destroyed with ease. Tsethlekai grew in power with each kill. Man began to worship Tsethlekai in fear, ignoring the old God’s pleas to forsake it.

So, the Gods turned their back on their creation, powerless to stop Tsethlekai’s rise.

Tsethlekai grew bored without enemies worthy of its menace, and so it fell into a deep sleep below the ground, satisfied with its attempts to reforge the world in its image. Tsethlekai would awaken on occasion to stretch and remind us of its power, destroying again to reform the planet when it grew too prosperous.

Now, Tsethlekai slumbers, sending its dreams to us. We see its spirit rising. We feel its desire, its chaos.

Tsethlekai will awaken again, and we will prepare the world for our god’s arrival.

The (Mis)adventures of Sci-Fi Speed Dating

I recently went to Comic-Con.  It was fun.  Way too many people, but that’s how it goes when around eighty thousand people, which would equal the entire population of Ogden, Utah, decides they need to go be geeks with everyone else.  There were some serious flaws with the setup and crowd control, but overall it was a good experience.  I was able to go to a number of writing panels which I hope actually do some good. 

While I was there I saw there was a Sci-Fi Speed Dating thingamajig.  Now, initially I thought to myself, “Gus, you aren’t that desperate.  Don’t do it!”  I said this out loud next to a portly gentleman dressed as...well, I don’t know what he was dressed as.  It looked like he had decided the best costume was one involving trash bags and an overdose of LA Looks Gel on his thinning hair.  Anyway, he was munching on a churro and sort of looked at me funny.  Since it was already awkward enough, I snorted loudly and huffed away as if I had somewhere important to go. 

After talking with my friends I decided I had nothing to lose.  At best, I would meet someone interesting.  At worst, I would lose two hours of my life, hours that I could never get back, unless I developed the ability to warp time.  I tried that once though, the warping time thing.  I think I passed out and broke my computer chair and destroyed a small village in the Amazon.  It’s all really hazy. 

Anyway, I decide to do it.  Now, the first clue that I should have backed out was the notice that guys had to pay money and the women didn’t.  This sort of fit the stereotype that all guy geeks and nerds are desperate to pay cash for the possibility to meet interesting women.  I was tired though, and probably needed food, so I plopped down my ten dollars to a gentleman that fit the mold of the super overweight nerd dressed in some sort of World of Warcraft outfit.  In my head he became Captain Rotund, or Mage Rotund.  Anyway, he told me to come back in two hours.  So I wandered around some more, bought some cool art, ate a protein bar and meandered back to the room and got in line. 

So there I was, in line with a bunch of other guys down a corridor in the Salt Lake Convention Center.  It was at this moment that a second clue into the waste of time I was about to partake in came into focus.  There were no air vents down this corridor.  A bunch of guys – some fat, some creepy, some skinny, and some normal – started sweating.  To top off the clue sundae, someone ripped a fart. 

Stinky, sweaty guys trapped in a corridor with no air, and now it smells like shit.  At this point I pulled out my phone and posted something along the lines of, “Either that is the smell of desperation, or someone farted.”  To be honest, in that group of guys the smell could have easily been mistaken for desperation instead of gas. 

As I gasped for air, I started to look around at my competition.  I was dressed plainly in a pair of jeans with a t-shirt that said “The Expendables,” which has the movie cast dressed in red shirts from “Star Trek.”  I actually got a lot of positive comments on the shirt.  Anyway, as I looked around I quickly began to feel sorry for some of the women, which we could not see yet.  There was the trash bag guy from earlier behind me.  He was sweating profusely, mopping his brow with the back of his hand.  In his hand was some sort of staff or wand thing, which looked absolutely ridiculous.  It looked like he took a BIC pen and taped a bunch of cardboard around it to form a triangle, and then colored it black with a Sharpie.  There was the older guy with the creepy guy mustache and gigantic glasses wearing jean shorts, long socks and a TNG (The Next Generation) captain’s jacket.  There were the skinny kids next to me dressed as Booker from Bioshock Infinite and Batman.  There was another overweight guy dressed as.. I can’t remember, but it looked hideous. 

Now, I say this with a hint of self-satisfaction, but I am happy that I have lost a great deal of weight.  Being around these other guys reminded me of why I lost all that weight.  I started to think to myself, I am perfectly normal compared to some of these guys.  I smiled and waited for Captain Rotund to let us in. 

Finally, after suffering through a few more minutes of stench and sweat we were rushed into the room.  We were directed to take our seats across a woman and pin the nametag with a number to our shirts.  As I did so it became glaringly obvious there was no way I was going to be able to speak to all of the women.  There must have been seventy-five pairs, and you were only allowed three minutes to talk to someone.

So Captain Rotund lays out the rules and reminds guys to be polite.  He makes some awful jokes not worth remembering, and then says, “Go!” 

Now, imagine you are in a room with 149 other people who immediately start saying “HI” at the same time.  It quickly became apparent that there was going to be little talking and lots of yelling. Every conversation I had involved yelling and straining to hear the other person.  It would have been funny if it wasn’t intentional. 

I started yelling at the woman next to me, who didn’t seem interested in me at all.  Dressed in jeans and simple Star Wars t-shirt, her blue eyes couldn’t be any more annoyed that I was there. Still, I figured I might as well yell at her and start the conversation.

“HI!” I screamed.  “I’M NUMBER 24!”  She screamed back at me, and we had some small yelling about the convention.  After what seemed an eternity Captain Rotund counted down and we switched chairs.

What became apparent was that some women were not there to do anything other than stare at you and not engage in questions.  I would start by screaming a question about their costumes, or what their favorite part of the Con was.  They would answer, and then not ask me a question in return.  It was so awkward.  This is also a phenomenon I’ve noticed with meeting women from dating sites.  I’m not saying all women are like this, but it’s so damn bizarre.  Even if you aren’t physically attracted to me, at least try to have a conversation, you know? 

The worst was a really big woman dressed as Ursula from The Little Mermaid.  It took me a second to remember the name, and once I figured it out I told her that as a kid I loved that movie, but as an adult I didn’t care for how Ariel was portrayed, and that in general most female princesses are nothing but stereotypes of the bimbo girl who can’t do anything or protect themselves.  This must have hit a nerve, because her purple eyes glared at me, and she crossed her arms above her rolls.  She stopped engaging me at that point and stared around me.  Realizing I hit a nerve, I stopped yelling at her and decided to wait out the awkwardness.

There was the woman dressed as Wonder Woman who couldn’t remember if Wonder Woman was a DC or Marvel comic (a normal person wouldn’t care about the difference, but to us geeks/nerds, it matters), there was the cute woman dressed as a Final Fantasy character, the woman dressed in wings and leather, another woman in a simple t-shirt with a tattoo of some sort of squid thing on her arm, the woman who had to be in her fifties, and some others.  I didn’t find a great deal of them interesting or engaging, so I jotted down their numbers and hoped that this would end quickly. 

What I found extremely annoying was Captain Rotund’s lack of an ability to count.  I swear there were times where I only screamed at a woman for a minute or two.  It eventually felt like a chore, the screaming and the yelling.  I asked a woman who was dressed as Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock what her favorite part of the Con was, and I swear I heard, “Grabbing Q’s ballsack.”  Knowing that couldn’t have been the correct answer, but not polite enough to ask her again what she really said, I just nodded politely and responded to her question about my favorite part of the Con. 

Finally, it was over.  I had yelled at about thirty women in the span of 60 minutes.  Of those thirty, I only jotted down the dating number of about five.  The low number of those I found interesting was the realization that the more attractive women most likely wouldn’t respond to me (being brutally honest here), and the rest I had no desire to ever yell at them again.  Still, I jotted down my name and number on their corresponding dating sheet at the opposite side of the room. 

It was at this point the creepiest guy there decided to show his true colors.  While the rest of us sat down and waited to be free a middle-aged guy with a Hawaiian shirt, jean shirts and long socks was writing down his number on every single woman’s dating sheet.  I didn’t think it was possible to get creepier than the guy with the Trent Lott glasses and jean shorts wearing the TNG jacket, but I was wrong.  Everyone looked over at him awkwardly, and I cringed, feeling even more sorry for the women who might have been normal. 

To top off the awkward cake, while we were waiting for the dude to finish, Captain Rotund decided to do some “impersonations.”  I quote the word because he didn’t impersonate anyone well at all.  He called himself an amateur comedian, which would have been a polite thing to call him.  Imagine if Robert DeNiro tried to do impersonations of Gollum and other famous Sci-fi characters.  It was a complete failure. 

Then it managed to get worse.  How, you ask?  Well, I will tell you.  Someone asked him to impersonate Barack Obama.  Instead of impersonating Obama, he decided to impersonate a badly informed talking head.  He began to rail on immigration, the “Kenyan” president, and the budget.  It went on for minutes, as the crowd groaned.  The levels of awkward jumped to 11 as Captain Rotund turned into Captain Asshole.  Finally someone told him the creepy guy was done, and he finally shut up.  We were told we could pick up our dating sheets and could leave. 

So I picked up my sheet.  To my lack of surprise, there were only a few numbers and names on there.  Sadly a few of the numbers were women that I didn’t find interesting or attractive, but one the Final Fantasy character put down her #.  A woman I didn’t even get a chance to yell at also jotted down her #. 

So was it worth it?  Did any positives come from the experience?  Yes and no.  It was worth it because I get to write this blog post about it.  It was worth it because it boosted my confidence.  It was worth it because it reminded me that all the weight I’ve lost separates me from those who don’t treat their bodies like the temples they should be worshipping at.  It reminded me that I am not that awkward.  It was not worth it because nothing came from any of the numbers.  The one woman who I didn’t talk to lives in L.A., and the Final Fantasy woman was 23, a little too young for me. 

Would I do it again?  I don’t know.  If I could get down to my goal weight, perhaps.  I’m not saying that it matters as much as it used to, but it certainly helps.  Given a choice between a bunch of nerds and geeks who have similar interests, a person can choose between those who are fit compared to those who aren’t. 

If I go next year I would LOVE to dress as The Joker from The Dark Knight, but that would require a purple suit.  Maybe I can find a cheap one.  At this point I would only go to get more writing material. 

The Strange World of Weight Loss

Recently I was talking to my mom, and she had asked how I was doing with my weight loss.  I had mentioned to her that I am down almost 20 pounds since March 20th.  No doubt this is a good amount of weight to lose in less than three months, and my mom mentioned to me that she was proud of me.

It is this statement, being proud, that brought me to blog about this, but I'll get back to that.  

I have always struggled with my self image.  Chances are that if/when I get down to my goal weight, I don't think I will ever be truly happy.  This is something I have struggled with my entire life, and I don't think there is much that is going to change that.  This is something I have grown to accept, and I just have to deal with it.  

On top of that, I have always felt a great deal of guilt about gaining all the weight I did.  It was pure laziness and bad habits on my part, like most people out there.  I was not happy, and I used food as a means to deal with stress instead of going to the gym.  I made some terrible mistakes that I am now trying to fix.  I am not proud of who I was, and what I looked like.  It is a mistake I will most likely always be trying to fix. 

And this brings me back to the concept of being proud of someone for losing weight.  In my case, my weight loss is a direct result of my mistakes.  I take no pride in fixing those mistakes.  None.  It is simply something I have to do.  When people mention to me how proud they are that I am losing weight, I have a hard time understanding why.  

I suppose I should just shut up and say thanks, but when my mom said that I mentioned to her the reasons above.  I got a little defensive, and I really can't pinpoint why.  

Thankfully, as moms do, she responded with some sense.  "You should be proud," she said with a hint of frustration in her voice, "because you are doing something that is difficult, because you are doing something I can't."  

Okay, that I get.  It isn't easy to go to the gym 3-5 times a week and sweat your ass off on the treadmill doing intervals, or pushing dumbbells until you can't possibly push them anymore.  It isn't easy to count calories, to avoid restaurants, and not drink any beer.  It's not easy to be around candy, and chips, and not have a desire to eat any.  So I get that, and that I guess is something I should be proud of as I continue my quest to get down to my goal weight of 210.  

What I don't get, and what I refuse to believe, is the idea that people can't do this.  Anyone can lose weight.  Anyone can fix a mistake they made.  What it takes is the drive and motivation to tell yourself, "God dammit!  I'm sick of looking in the mirror and being reminded of the mistakes I have made!"  And then you go make changes to your life to fix it.

Now that moment of clarity isn't easy.  You have to be at a very low point to admit it.  But hitting bottom means you have an opportunity to climb back up.  

All you have to do is admit your mistakes, and then go about fixing them.  

Oh, and I will be proud of my situation once the mistakes I have made are fixed.  Until then, just tell me to keep plugging away at it.  Eventually all of us who are on the same journey will see each other at the path's end, enjoying a beer in congratulations.

EDIT: I realize I actually come off as a bit hypocritical.  I guess what I think is that there isn't any real sense of pride to be had until you get down to the weight you want to get down to.  Everything up until then is just fixing mistakes.