Level the Field

by Gabriel Putnam

Today I will discuss a topic which many a player of RPGs will be familiar with. It is a subject that is relevant across numerous aspects of game design. It is a cornerstone of game design, which I have lightly touched upon in other articles; it is a constant worry for accountants in predicting sales and long term forecasts, and it is an endless battle among updaters and patchers who tire endlessly to balance its effects. That topic upon which so many aspects of the RPG world lie is difficulty. Its very name belies the troubles it spawns: message boards full to the brim of angry fans, ranting over the ease or impossibility of the newest gift to their favorite series; treacherous tasks and hidden items beyond the grasp of even the most powerful individuals or cunning players; and worldwide nerfs of über gear, in an effort to stem the rapid shift of a virtual economy. As can be seen, difficulty is a slippery concept, one which can overwhelm even the best efforts to control its pace through errors of code or human judgment. However, this is not to say it can’t be tamed. Boundaries can be set and guidelines drawn, all through the application of simple principles which I will attempt to detail.

One of the first aspects of difficulty which must be discussed is the difference between those RPGs which are only a single player or short term effort, and those which are far more permanent. In the case of a single player game’s difficulty, there are somewhat less variables to consider, and the results of a failed attempt are quite a bit less severe. First and foremost, the simple question has to be asked: “Can the game be beaten without endless appeals to luck, and if so, how much of its total time will players have to devote to increasing their strength without pursuing the story?” In a few rare games, there are simply conflicts which are nigh impossible to win without the aid of a four leaf clover. A good example of this would probably be Saga Frontier 2’s last battle, which relied on the use of characters that most players probably didn’t train heavily, and a battle mechanic depending almost entirely on luck. Mind you, strategy could make this task somewhat easier, and pre-planning made it less of a chore, however, most players were caught unaware and forced to spend hours hitting reset and praying for a lucky crit or missed strike.

In the case of endless strengthening, if the result of your time calculations comes back with anything more than about a fifth to quarter of their total game time, then you probably need to reevaluate those aspects of your design. Back in the days of early RPG gaming, players were satisfied to spend hours leveling up their characters, because they had never had the chance to do so before. The entire concept of RPGs was new, and the battles themselves were almost as much of a draw as the stories. However, as game developers have evolved in their ability to tell the stories they want, and gamers have experienced each of these adventures in turn, a resistance to the concept of mindless leveling has been built up. The community is far less willing to accept leveling for its own sake in a single player experience, and the hint of this from reviewers or buzz can cause a game to languish in sales or utterly fail. Thankfully, solving this problem is actually quite easy. One ideal solution is to let players themselves determine the challenge. Some folks like to wrack their brains for a weakness to the enemy, they like to powergame, and they like to level. If so, then let them. However, make this option their choice, and allow those less interested in combat to follow their own, less difficult path. Even more importantly though, don’t make this choice a penalty. Gamers who want to experience the game in its fullness shouldn’t have to expend 100’s of hours of play for this privilege. In addition, this option for a choice also helps to alleviate those concerns that the game is too easy or a walk in the park.

Now lets move on to the case of permanent and multiplayer RPGs, which are a somewhat more prickly affair. One of the first things most developers realize when making these games, is that the combat is moved rapidly to the forefront of the experience. In general, the story of the title is only a secondary affair to the act of beating foes and gaining in power. As such, a number of the initial precepts about difficult have to be rethought. Initially, all talk of difficulty should begin with the idea that there are two types of multiplayer gamers: those we could refer to as weekend-warrior types, out to simply experience the game and get away from the world; and the more hardcore variety, who will explore every cranny and nook of the world in their quest for power. Now, for the truly hardcore, there should definitely be a prize to reward their efforts. They have sacrificed a lot in terms of the rest of their lives to play your title, and they should not view their devotion as a waste. In addition, they also represent the bulk of continuous funds, for those systems which depend on enrollment, and as such should be catered too. Since they have already committed to playing the title, the only effort should then be spent on keeping them interested. Offering challenges, tasks, and a steady progression of difficulty, which keeps them interested, but not frustrated, over a long period of time. However, this is where many companies often botch the process. They seem to view the higher echelons of the multiplayer experience as a prize which must be protected to the death. Barricades are raised, progression slows, and the satisfaction of accomplishment comes fewer and farther between. In time, even the most dedicated player’s interest can wane in the face of impossible odds, and with it will leave money which could have been preserved had the carrot of accomplishment not been encased in steel.

Amidst this hardcore mindset, there also exists a secondary problem, that of the forgotten weekend warrior. They are not nearly so driven and willing to spend hours on the treadmill, yet often, this means that there is simply no game for them to play. And what a tragedy this is. Their money is no worse than a hardcore devotee’s. Will your bank account not willing accept either? Yet they are easily dissuaded from play by the walls which have been erected to secure a powergamer’s funds. The solution to this problem is also something of a quandary. One option is to provide them with a power curve which accelerates towards the high end of play, but allows low level players to prosper. As has been mentioned before, there are problems with this design as well, however, it has the benefit of making the experience accessible to all ranges of play. The second option, and one which is somewhat more devious, is to simply offer an avenue of gaming which doesn’t depend on destruction for enjoyment. Existing either in parallel or intermixed with the powergaming experience, this can offer a source of enjoyment for those who don’t want to expend vast amounts of time, but still desire a haven to frequent online. An important concept to keep in mind when designing this secondary avenue is that it should have minimal dependence on play time. If a rouge powergamer wanders onto the scene, they should not be able to dominate the experience.

As can hopefully be seen, the issue of difficulty in game design is a complicated topic, which in editorial form, can at best be discussed as an overview of the issues and a summary of important concepts. An analysis of its intricacies could fill a dissertation with arguments over the fine points of various power progression schemes. However, hopefully my minor talk today can at least convey some of the overarching concepts which must be considered when developing for disparate platforms and playerbases. Their wants, their needs, and their motivations must all be taken into account, and for each possible combination of these factors, there should be a game waiting for them which can satisfy, no matter their orientation.