The Final Fantasy Project: Final Fantasy III, part 3
Artwork from a sketch by Yoshitaka Amano
Let’s recap, shall we? When I left off, I was in a cave full of friendly vikings. My options at this point seemed fairly simple:
- Remain forever in this happy place full of vikings, which presumably would mean plenty of mead, lots of singing, fun times in general, and maybe the occasional raiding party against coastal villagers unable to put up an adequate defense. Eventually we might even reach North America!
- Go back to the whole “saving the world” bit based on some vague thread of fulminating darkness overtaking the world.
The correct option seems clear, and yet for some reason I still wound up heading back to that Light Warrior thing. What can I say? I love hanging out with vikings, sure, but I am a sucker for fulminating darkness.
There’s not a whole lot to do in the cave other than pilfer every available bit of treasure, possibly taking a slight detour back to the gnomish village to get another copy of Aero. While there’s not much else of interest here, though, the vikings do agree to give you a ship if you can quell the super-angry dragon off in the sea right now. Seems like a lark; we’ll do it.
Telling Stories: Enhance both experiences
Tabletop roleplaying isn’t the same as roleplaying with people online. And not just for the obvious reasons where you can’t all be sharing a pizza around a table and spend a bunch of pre-game time chattering about whether or not you enjoyed the last episode of whatever television shows are airing now. Is Game of Thrones still a thing? I don’t have cable.
But really, even beyond the obvious gaps of personal interaction, there are a lot of differences between a gathering in the real world and just roleplaying in an MMO. The systems are different, the environment is different, even the way that the games play is different. It’s a lot easier to roleplay in the middle of a dungeon when the entire world stops and starts based on what the player characters are doing, after all, compared to your average online game where the game is going to keep moving whether you like it or not.
But that’s the thing – there are some good lessons to be learned from online worlds that you can apply to your tabletop sessions. So don’t discard one out of hand! A bit of time in an online game can make your game that much better.
The Final Fantasy Project: Final Fantasy III, part 2
Artwork from a sketch by Yoshitaka Amano
Easy come, easy go. After a quest to retrieve an airship that took all of ten seconds, you are deprived of your first airship shortly thereafter. Yes, your constrained little world opens up by smashing your airship into a rock, revealing a much bigger world than you had thought you occupied. This is a regular theme in this game, as it happens; you think you know what the world looks like, but soon thereafter you get something bigger. It’s also the first of many airships that you ruin, but let’s not talk about that.
The important thing is that this opens up a path to head south and to Cid’s hometown, where he promises that he can conveniently build you a replacement airship if you can just get him an engine. So we have a long-term goal, and astonishingly it doesn’t really involve the crystal at this point. Sure, we’re supposed to be saving the world from darkness, but it’s not yet clear how we’re going to go about doing that. Is there darkness in the optional little side-dungeon in Kazus (which I’ve been calling “the second town” the whole time because of laziness)? Nope, just some Mythril Swords and a chance to wear out that job sickness.
Hard Project: Silent Hill
The hills are alive with mist monsters and nurses.
I have a deep love of Silent Hill. Part of this is due to being from New England; sleepy little resort towns being drowned by mists are less “unexpected horror” and more “standard window dressing” around here. I am fairly certain I’ve driven through towns that could fit the description of the eponymous town with one or two details changed.
But that’s not the heart of the reasons, obviously; what I really love about the series is its slow, grinding, oppressive psychological horror. It’s that sense of wrenching and grinding awfulness, the idea that you’re trapped in a town that is actively malevolent, wearing down your defenses and your sense of boundaries until you no longer know what you’re trying to do. The whole thing just wears at you, player and character alike, leaving you with the slow rolling burn that’s so valuable in horror.
Unfortunately, the series has been faltering in recent years. Silent Hill 4 started a downward trend, and of the four subsequent installments the only one that’s received fairly strong praise is the remake of the first Silent Hill. So why is this horror franchise so difficult to keep alive, especially when it’s got some of the strongest horror games ever as a foundation?
Telling Stories: A little special goes a long way
You want your characters to be special. That’s fine, that’s understandable, that’s even commendable. So you make your first character a half-dragon spawn of the realm of faeries, and…
Well, no. No, we’re already clocking out, and no, it’s not just because you’re doing so in a game with neither dragons nor faeries. It’s because your character is too special. Your character has broken the Specialometer. It’s impossible to relate to them any longer, they’re just too special for us to properly internalize what their deal is.
So let’s talk about people who are special in small ways. About picking out one or two obvious things that aren’t common and then building a character around that rather than trying to be The Most Unique Snowflake Ever. Because wouldn’t you know it, being less special can actually make your character feel more special in the long run than being a half-dragon faerie spawn. Unless you’re playing a superhero game, maybe, but even then.
Recent Work
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Chocobo Dash
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Eliot Lefebvre 