I'll approach this as objectively as possible... to to say only what I think makes a good game, but taking a position that anyone can functionally employ as a means of providing a meaningful experience for the largest number of players that might present themselves. That is far more useful that my making a point about what satisfies me personally... since I am, after all, a decidedly odd person.
In simple terms, a "good game" is obtained by providing the greatest number of players at any time with the greatest number of consequential choices, that together provide purpose (a reason to play), value (the time is spent accomplishing something), significance (something was learned); and clear intent (for much of the time, the players felt in control of the outcome). That's a tall order. But after all, D&D is not a board game.
A board game provides a simplified version of this structure. As an example, let's discuss the Game of Life. If you don't know it, well... bless you, you poor soul, you're not likely educated enough to run D&D.
The Game of Life is essentially Candyland on steroids; it is a railroaded game where pieces land on random squares that provide a wide range of outcomes; all told from the beginning of the game to the end, depending upon which exact routes one takes, there are approximately 130 spaces to cross, give or take a few, using a spinner that produces a random number between one and ten. Therefore, it takes an average of 22-24 spins to finish the game, plus perhaps a few if you're forced back 15 spaces, as can occur. There is little strategy beyond occasionally being allowed to gamble on an outcome or choosing one route versus the other. The goal is to get to the end first, or to have somehow amassed enough money to win despite the "winner" having gotten a big pot for arriving first. The particulars aren't important.
Life is, essentially a game that follows the rule, "roll and see what happens." Many play D&D in exactly this way. The Game of Life describes, essentially, the "dungeon game." Pick doors, enter rooms, roll dice, see what happens. The "purpose" is to see what happens. The "value" comes from collecting treasure and looking back to see which room have been cleared; and in small part, to see who lived. The "significance" is that a rule was learned (how to kill {blank}). The clear intent is to make the players believe that they controlled their experience by picking this door over that, but in reality, all the doors lead to the same place.
Life is, essentially a game that follows the rule, "roll and see what happens." Many play D&D in exactly this way. The Game of Life describes, essentially, the "dungeon game." Pick doors, enter rooms, roll dice, see what happens. The "purpose" is to see what happens. The "value" comes from collecting treasure and looking back to see which room have been cleared; and in small part, to see who lived. The "significance" is that a rule was learned (how to kill {blank}). The clear intent is to make the players believe that they controlled their experience by picking this door over that, but in reality, all the doors lead to the same place.
The conception goes that the "strong" dungeon includes problems to be solved: at best, the learning of the underground's geography, the idiosyncracies of the inhabitants, their motives, the resources to be found and the pressures of managing dwindling resources (hit points, spells, food, sleep, etcetera) to get as much treasure before having to give way and get out. Thus the players choose to fight or not; to barricade or retreat; to map, to listen, to bargain; and eventually to heal up and return.
This is, essentially, the Game of Life where every square can be eventually gotten to while risking the end of the participant, as every valuable square is guarded or boobytrapped or lies under a puzzle. As a game, this process is engaging... for a time. Inevitably, it ceases to be. And as such, most people try D&D for 1 to 4 years, then quit altogether and get on with their lives.
This is, essentially, the Game of Life where every square can be eventually gotten to while risking the end of the participant, as every valuable square is guarded or boobytrapped or lies under a puzzle. As a game, this process is engaging... for a time. Inevitably, it ceases to be. And as such, most people try D&D for 1 to 4 years, then quit altogether and get on with their lives.
Whatever it's value, the number of choices a dungeon offers is fixed. It is obstacle, reward, obstacle, reward... and eventually even the most interesting obstacles and the most cherished of rewards sour. Every obstacle must in some way be tailored for the players, or else the DM is forced to solve the puzzle for them, or weaken the monster for them, or open the door for them, because if no one in the party can bend the bars or find the secret door or cast knock, then the obstacle becomes ill-timed or poorly considered, and in any case, it's a waste of game time to have to go back outside and waste precious play hours when the DM can simply say, "Oh look, the secret door automatically opens for you." Thus, a clue becomes more obvious, a monster makes a foolish decision, a lock turns out to be old and weak, an NPC appears, the puzzle answer is accepted despite being wrong. In the end, continuance is more important than metrics.
Let us consider the board game Careers. The game provides an outside track with a series of inside tracks that the players can choose to take or not take as they will. The goal is to collect money, love ("hearts") and fame ("stars") according to a secret formula the player decides before the game begins. Usually, the aimed-for total equals 60 or 100; thus the player may assign themselves 20 (thousand dollars), 20 hearts or 20 stars. Or they may opt for 10 th. dollars, 15 hearts and 35 stars. Different tracks offer the best chances of gaining some of each kind of thing.
In D&D terms, the outside track is the outside world; the village, the wilderness, the circular back and forth the game offers between purchasing equipment and the "dungeons" which are the inner tracks. Each inner track or dungeon requires a commitment... but because there are eight of them, no one dungeon must be chosen. Some are full of undead, some with orcs and some with lots of traps. Some are easy to get through with little reward, some are excessively dangerous with lots of reward, though with a fair chance of dying and getting nothing.
This describes the generally more advanced game, or the "campaign" game, because it gives a greater sense of agency. The purpose is building up a presence in the off-dungeon game, the value is overcoming dungeons so that the money has a place to be spent, the significance is in learning not only the kinds of dungeons there are and the game rules, but the greater structure of the larger world... and finally, the clear intent is that the players feel at least some control over their lives.
Yet... the purpose just stated is pre-ordained. The player has little choice but to build their house or castle or church or structural centre as a homebase from which to strike out at the next dungeon. There is little value to be compared with that which comes from dungeons, as they are far more lucrative than anything that can be accomplished in the "outside track/game setting." Very little actual significance is achieved since one gets the feeling that there is nothing else to do except build until the money is gone, then upon getting more, do more building. The buildings in game might as well be large round holes into which gold coins are thrown, as there is little if any substance to imaginary buildings, towers, walls or the gathering of followers in one form or another. These things cannot be applied to anything in-game, since the game remains the ever-necessary return to the dungeon, so they are literally just places for the unloading of wealth. As "significance," they have little virtue.
After a while, this lack of significance, this returning to dungeons like homing pigeons, this sense of purpose, fades... and with it, any real feeling of control. The experience is not unlike that of building up a large complex structure in a video game like The Sims, where the more that is built, the greater the need for the player to spend time in maintenance, until it's all just one long sludge of repeated actions that feel like work rather than play.
From a young age we are trained to think within the structure of finite games. Wikipedia, ever the idiot, defines a "finite game" as a game theory term meaning "a two-player game that is assured to end after a finite number of moves." I should like to expand the term in reconciliation of the English definition of "finite," which is, "having a definite limit, bound or end point."
D&D's finite vs. infinite quality is smudgy. On the one hand, the same group of players, stymied only by the fact that an individual life is finite, can enter dungeon after dungeon, or even the same dungeon ad nauseum — and why not, given that I've played the games Life and Careers I don't know how many times — without let up, for as long as they can stand it. Theoretically, a single "campaign" could extend thousands of years, with DM's and players being replaced in Ship of Thesian-like fashion... but in reality, with other things to do, D&D like this is not, in fact, infinite. Players get bored. Life intervenes. One bad players blows up a game. The DM gets old and there are not substitutes. But I am letting digressions get the better of me, so let's back up and go over this again.
Chess is a two-player finite game. After a finite number of moves, the game will end, because both sides are trying to destroy the enemy and inevitably, either the enemy will be destroyed or, importantly for our purpose here, it will be revealed that no further value will come from continuing to make moves. In chess, a factual stalemate occurs when neither side is capable of checkmating the other. No matter how long the two sides play after that point, the play is just going through the motions. No resolution can occur.
D&D is a multiplayer "finite" game that can be played, as said, indefinitely. But a stalemate occurs when the DM or a sufficient number of players, perhaps all of them, are either unsatisfied or sick of playing, and do not wish to any more. Once that happens, no resolution can occur.
This is a very different way to think about a game... and it's problematic, because we are used to thinking about games as having an "end" that occurs as a resolution — whether board game or a video game, when eventually we run out of "game" assuming we don't quit beforehand. And why do we quit? Because the game is not providing us the urge to continue. This latter is the reason that D&D fails. Not just because it's the "wrong kind of D&D," but because, in fact, for whatever reason, either the imagination of the DM or players crashes and burns, or the process being played is unable to hold our attention.
Structurally, we tend to think D&D failed for the reasons a video game fails. Because it wasn't designed well. And when it fails like that, we assume that D&D, whatever version we speak of, can't be fixed. Especially when in fact we can't see what's wrong.
All this, so far, has been merely to unravel what's meant by a "good game." We haven't begun discussing how to make one yet.
This describes the generally more advanced game, or the "campaign" game, because it gives a greater sense of agency. The purpose is building up a presence in the off-dungeon game, the value is overcoming dungeons so that the money has a place to be spent, the significance is in learning not only the kinds of dungeons there are and the game rules, but the greater structure of the larger world... and finally, the clear intent is that the players feel at least some control over their lives.
Yet... the purpose just stated is pre-ordained. The player has little choice but to build their house or castle or church or structural centre as a homebase from which to strike out at the next dungeon. There is little value to be compared with that which comes from dungeons, as they are far more lucrative than anything that can be accomplished in the "outside track/game setting." Very little actual significance is achieved since one gets the feeling that there is nothing else to do except build until the money is gone, then upon getting more, do more building. The buildings in game might as well be large round holes into which gold coins are thrown, as there is little if any substance to imaginary buildings, towers, walls or the gathering of followers in one form or another. These things cannot be applied to anything in-game, since the game remains the ever-necessary return to the dungeon, so they are literally just places for the unloading of wealth. As "significance," they have little virtue.
After a while, this lack of significance, this returning to dungeons like homing pigeons, this sense of purpose, fades... and with it, any real feeling of control. The experience is not unlike that of building up a large complex structure in a video game like The Sims, where the more that is built, the greater the need for the player to spend time in maintenance, until it's all just one long sludge of repeated actions that feel like work rather than play.
From a young age we are trained to think within the structure of finite games. Wikipedia, ever the idiot, defines a "finite game" as a game theory term meaning "a two-player game that is assured to end after a finite number of moves." I should like to expand the term in reconciliation of the English definition of "finite," which is, "having a definite limit, bound or end point."
D&D's finite vs. infinite quality is smudgy. On the one hand, the same group of players, stymied only by the fact that an individual life is finite, can enter dungeon after dungeon, or even the same dungeon ad nauseum — and why not, given that I've played the games Life and Careers I don't know how many times — without let up, for as long as they can stand it. Theoretically, a single "campaign" could extend thousands of years, with DM's and players being replaced in Ship of Thesian-like fashion... but in reality, with other things to do, D&D like this is not, in fact, infinite. Players get bored. Life intervenes. One bad players blows up a game. The DM gets old and there are not substitutes. But I am letting digressions get the better of me, so let's back up and go over this again.
Chess is a two-player finite game. After a finite number of moves, the game will end, because both sides are trying to destroy the enemy and inevitably, either the enemy will be destroyed or, importantly for our purpose here, it will be revealed that no further value will come from continuing to make moves. In chess, a factual stalemate occurs when neither side is capable of checkmating the other. No matter how long the two sides play after that point, the play is just going through the motions. No resolution can occur.
D&D is a multiplayer "finite" game that can be played, as said, indefinitely. But a stalemate occurs when the DM or a sufficient number of players, perhaps all of them, are either unsatisfied or sick of playing, and do not wish to any more. Once that happens, no resolution can occur.
This is a very different way to think about a game... and it's problematic, because we are used to thinking about games as having an "end" that occurs as a resolution — whether board game or a video game, when eventually we run out of "game" assuming we don't quit beforehand. And why do we quit? Because the game is not providing us the urge to continue. This latter is the reason that D&D fails. Not just because it's the "wrong kind of D&D," but because, in fact, for whatever reason, either the imagination of the DM or players crashes and burns, or the process being played is unable to hold our attention.
Structurally, we tend to think D&D failed for the reasons a video game fails. Because it wasn't designed well. And when it fails like that, we assume that D&D, whatever version we speak of, can't be fixed. Especially when in fact we can't see what's wrong.
All this, so far, has been merely to unravel what's meant by a "good game." We haven't begun discussing how to make one yet.
A good game is one that urges the player to continue playing.
Chess, though finite, is for some a very good game. They can comfortably and happily play with the same 32 pieces on the same 64 square board for all of their lives and not wish to do otherwise. This sort of commitment is unheard of in nearly any other game. Exceptions include Go, Bridge, Backgammon and Poker, though obviously that's not an exhaustive list. There are few video game examples... though personally I have a few that I do return to that I've played ten years or more. I do not write blogs about those games, however.
My steam tells me that I've played 4,344 hours of Oxygen Not Included. That's a trifle worrying.
No, it is not an addiction. It helps me relax. I swear.
Chess is an important guideline in understanding game quality. It does not need a new map, new factions, new skins (though, for some, they do get weird about collecting chess sets), new editions or new "lore." If a D&D game pretends that its better because the DM rushes out to buy the latest splatbook or argue one edition over another, or throw out all they have in favour of a new edition, it suggests that everything they've believed or done up until that time has been disposable. And truthfully, it probably was.
If D&D has an equivalent of inexaustibility to chess, it cannot be "more stuff." Going back to its origin, D&D has always embraced that concept, because "more stuff" means more shit to sell... it's the representation of an excellent business model. Perhaps Bill Gates learned what he knew from it. First, sell a broken, badly created game, full of "bugs" and garbage. Then, sell the user more bugs and more garbage as a "fix." If there's any chance that a fix occurs, reinvent the game as another badly made, "buggy" game and proceed to sell more fixes. Do this every 7 to 12 years. Rake in the profits.
Chess lacks bugs. We might call that the first gate that a game must cross through. Is it broken as a game? No? Then it's probably, on the surface, even if its the Game of Life, a better game than D&D.
Chess, though finite, is for some a very good game. They can comfortably and happily play with the same 32 pieces on the same 64 square board for all of their lives and not wish to do otherwise. This sort of commitment is unheard of in nearly any other game. Exceptions include Go, Bridge, Backgammon and Poker, though obviously that's not an exhaustive list. There are few video game examples... though personally I have a few that I do return to that I've played ten years or more. I do not write blogs about those games, however.
My steam tells me that I've played 4,344 hours of Oxygen Not Included. That's a trifle worrying.
No, it is not an addiction. It helps me relax. I swear.
Chess is an important guideline in understanding game quality. It does not need a new map, new factions, new skins (though, for some, they do get weird about collecting chess sets), new editions or new "lore." If a D&D game pretends that its better because the DM rushes out to buy the latest splatbook or argue one edition over another, or throw out all they have in favour of a new edition, it suggests that everything they've believed or done up until that time has been disposable. And truthfully, it probably was.
If D&D has an equivalent of inexaustibility to chess, it cannot be "more stuff." Going back to its origin, D&D has always embraced that concept, because "more stuff" means more shit to sell... it's the representation of an excellent business model. Perhaps Bill Gates learned what he knew from it. First, sell a broken, badly created game, full of "bugs" and garbage. Then, sell the user more bugs and more garbage as a "fix." If there's any chance that a fix occurs, reinvent the game as another badly made, "buggy" game and proceed to sell more fixes. Do this every 7 to 12 years. Rake in the profits.
Chess lacks bugs. We might call that the first gate that a game must cross through. Is it broken as a game? No? Then it's probably, on the surface, even if its the Game of Life, a better game than D&D.
Despite those who defend this with "You can make the game whatever you want it to be," this is not — sorry, not — a virtue.
Let's go back and repeat this paragraph, because I wrote it about a hundred years ago now.
In simple terms, a "good game" is obtained by providing the greatest number of players at any time with the greatest number of consequential choices, that together provide purpose (a reason to play), value (the time is spent accomplishing something), significance (something was learned); and clear intent (for much of the time, the players felt in control of the outcome). That's a tall order. But after all, D&D is not a board game.
What, first, is the reason to play? We can loosely describe that as the concept of D&D, but this only works if the participants accept the premise of that concept. Since most participants have no idea what that premise is, or how it works, they fail utterly right out of the gate. Because they don't know what D&D is, in part because the books don't explain it at all, or so badly, there's no way for them to buy into the premise. Without a premise, the game falls apart. In fact, there is no game. It becomes "whatever you want it to be," which demands multiple people to want the same thing, in the same way, in an mutually regarded and compatible fashion. That's not possible, so we get either a mess without a premise, or even less than that.
The Game of Life offers a simple premise: move along this available track, record the accumulation or loss of resources, proceed until the end is reached. Chess says, defeat the opposing king within an enclosed tactical structure that both sides adhere to. A vast number of people, even those who have played this game for decades, cannot do this for themselves or for other people. Try it, without relying on me. Create a phrasing for a premise that will stand up to the scrutiny of others. Go on. I'll wait.
Let's go back and repeat this paragraph, because I wrote it about a hundred years ago now.
In simple terms, a "good game" is obtained by providing the greatest number of players at any time with the greatest number of consequential choices, that together provide purpose (a reason to play), value (the time is spent accomplishing something), significance (something was learned); and clear intent (for much of the time, the players felt in control of the outcome). That's a tall order. But after all, D&D is not a board game.
What, first, is the reason to play? We can loosely describe that as the concept of D&D, but this only works if the participants accept the premise of that concept. Since most participants have no idea what that premise is, or how it works, they fail utterly right out of the gate. Because they don't know what D&D is, in part because the books don't explain it at all, or so badly, there's no way for them to buy into the premise. Without a premise, the game falls apart. In fact, there is no game. It becomes "whatever you want it to be," which demands multiple people to want the same thing, in the same way, in an mutually regarded and compatible fashion. That's not possible, so we get either a mess without a premise, or even less than that.
The Game of Life offers a simple premise: move along this available track, record the accumulation or loss of resources, proceed until the end is reached. Chess says, defeat the opposing king within an enclosed tactical structure that both sides adhere to. A vast number of people, even those who have played this game for decades, cannot do this for themselves or for other people. Try it, without relying on me. Create a phrasing for a premise that will stand up to the scrutiny of others. Go on. I'll wait.
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