Masks and Betrayals

Don't ask about the image, there wasn't a whole lot of options.

I have a friend and he hates me. After forcing me to finally finish Neverwinter Nights 2 the Original Campaign (OC), he was adamant that we begin the expansion. As a brief overview, Neverwinter Nights and Mask of the Betrayer are two computer role-playing games (cRPGs) set in the fictitious world of the Forgotten Realms. The Forgotten Realms, themselves, are one of a myriad of different D&D campaign settings published by Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms has the auspicious distinction of being, arguably, the most famous of all the settings.

You have your dwarves, elves and halflings all running around such exotic locations as a city in the north (Icewind Dale) a city in the south (Baldur's Gate) and a city with stupid names like Neverneath (Neverwinter Nights). It's all very derivative Tolkien-esque fare made quite palpable for the masses. There isn't any weighty christological morality, however, so it's freed to explore more complex situations and conflicts than Biblical good vs evil.

It usually doesn't, mind you, but the opportunity exists. Now, as I mentioned, my friend and I finished the OC and there hasn't been many words devoted on my blog to this monumentous achievement mostly because the OC was probably about as exciting as parliamentary debate over a new highway infrastructure. Actually, if given the choice, I'd probably go with the debate to be honest. The plot for the OC was uninspired, convoluted, irrelevant and most offensive of all - boring. And to top it off, it was long.

It also had an annoying dwarf. Screw dwarves. The stumpy midgets aren't useful for anything beyond dragon kibble. But given they're all developing alcoholics, you're more likely to upset your dragon's stomach more than anything. At least they'll slide down nicely.

I am pleased to announce that Mask of the Betrayer is everything that the OC is not. It's short, interesting, explores the nature of love and faith and is, shockingly fun. I find this in direct negative correlation to the number of dwarves present. Which is to say there are none. Though the game adamantly insists on reminding you that there used to be dwarves like some sort of dangling punishment that they've been so benevolent in staying their hand over. However, we're on the final act and we haven't seen hair nor stench of the runty creatures so I'm feeling quite in the clear on this issue.

The story itself, however, poses a curious conundrum. I'm going to discuss spoilers but given the brevity of the game and the way it constantly reminds you about every plot point no matter what you do, I feel this isn't too disruptive. Now onto my discussion!

For those not aware, there are two essential "magic" systems at play in your standard D&D setting. You have the arcane - purview of wizards and sorcerers - that often requires rigorous study and is usually theorized to shape the very fundamental nature of reality and the universe(s). Then you have the divine. This is the domain of clerics and is the powers bestowed upon them by their god for their strict piety and devotion. So separated are these two sources that they have unique interactions with their own spells and other profane creatures that stalk the realms.

Which is to say, it's really, really, really obvious that when a cleric says he's getting powers from a big bearded dude in the sky there's probably some truth to that. Couple this with the fact that the Forgotten Realms has a serious issue with gods coming down from on high, getting killed and promptly shuffling around their seat in the celestial bureaucracy like a minority government trying in vain to oust their opposition, it seems that their existence based on the very nature of the world really isn't one of uncertainty. For the Forgotten Realms, gods are and it would take an incredible amount of ignorance to deny this fact. Worship is more like a trip to the tracks where you chose the horse you think is likely to give you the greatest pay-out at the end.

But the story for Mask of the Betrayer revolves around a curious structure called the Wall of the Faithless. As the name suggests, it is a wall... formed of faithless individuals. As explained through their own characters, for all the people who insist on not laying a bet at all, when they die their souls are shunted into this ever stretching, moaning and howling structure to add their body onto its swelling length. The major events of the story are propelled by a character's faithlessness but I find it most curious that the actual reason for this lack of belief rather perplexing.

It's like basing a story on the actions of a globe-trotting journalist who insists that the world is flat. At some point there must have arisen a conflict when it seemed reality factually contradicted this person's own beliefs. At the end of the day, Mask of the Betrayer doesn't really delve into true issues of faith and faithlessness but uses these concepts as plot points to further the story. It tells a great tale without actually examining the elements that compose it.

Which is a shame since it's almost a third shorter than then OC. I can't help but feel like this is a gross missed opportunity. Wherein the OC had this plodding tale of some swamp man stumbling out of coddled ignorance into a world filled with two dimensional individuals and hours of inane fetch questing, Mask of the Betrayer jumps erratically between some rather heavy existential ideology with barely a moment to even ponder its own intrinsic consequences. There's so much stuff here to actually explore, like self identity and the nature of souls, but it gets shuffled to the sidelines to push the story further at it's frantic pace.

Why would someone believe? What causes people to lose their faith? What is the nature of man and gods and are either intrinsic or important to its own world's functioning. For example, the nature of good and evil, justice and law. Are these the true creation of these divine beings (remember, they get shuffled about any time one of them has the misfortune of stumbling into the machinations of an epic level character) or are these concepts something far grander and primordial than petty deities squabbling over who gets the worship of stubborn hicks who refuse to move out of their swamp.

At one point, your party comes face to face with a dead god and have a brief conversation about how this divine hierarchy functions. The god then points out that one of your companions himself is faithless, and yet standing on the enormous spine of this echoing skeleton, said companion continues to profess his beliefs that gods don't exist. Yet you're given no time to actually point out or examine this contradictory moment as the narrative quickly pats you on the bum towards the next big point and click killing moment.

It's the stuff you can write great stories about but they've given themselves so little time to actually explore it. The brief taste you get is tantalizing and I really wish that Mask of the Betrayer was the OC and that the OC was... well... just a unfortunate memory much like the dwarf.

Olympus Was Ballin

So, this weekend I saw Olympus Has Fallen. Which is unfortunate since I was planning on doing some more rambling on world creation.

Instead, you get a shitty review.

But, Kevin, what is Olympus Has Fallen I hear you say. Is it some interesting movie dissecting the decline of Grecian cultural hegemony over western development? Why are there so many American flags being waved. And is that Morgan Freeman? I love that guy! I hope he plays Memnon.

Well, my beloved readership, Olympus Has Fallen (abbreviated to OHF which should be easy to remember since its so close to Oh F@#$!) is Gerard Butler's grossly self-indulgent, narcissistic, fantasy indulgence centering around the ridiculous modern ubermensch and the failing of the outdated classical action hero trope in carrying current cinema. But that's a bit long of a tag line so it's normally billed as a story about the White House being taken over by terrorists.

That sounds like it could create a compelling story right? A movie that examines the frailty of the American illusion over its own supposed invincibility. Gosh, post 9/11 America has become really self critical and introspective has it not?

No, no it has not. OHF is easily the blandest, driest and boringest movie I've seen all year. Granted, it gets that through sheer convenience of being the only movie I've seen this year but I have high hopes for the new G.I. Joe flick. Suffice to say, the movie is more than deserving of its rotten status on review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes. Don't expect this to be winning any awards. Don't expect it to win anything period. I was literally bored ten minutes into the movie.

And let me tell you why.

The narrative, story and characters of this movie are about as cliched and one dimensional as you can possibly get. If you're worried about spoilers well... you shouldn't since this movie is about as predictable as the outcome of the Trojan War. Now, I could probably write thousands of sentences on how this movie is bad (I know my family has listened to just about as much Saturday afternoon) but I'll try and keep with the initial stumblings of the film and not even touch the some of the more ludicrous elements that most viewers will probably notice (Cerberus and Dylan McDermott).

This movie is bad right out the gate. The story opens one blistery winter evening up at Camp David where we're treated to some nonsensical moment where Gerard Butler and Aaron Eckhart are rolling around in some sweaty embrace that's suppose to mimic boxing. No doubt this moment was meant to establish the close bond between Butler's secret service agent and Eckhart's President character. Perhaps we were meant to see these two at their most intimate time, when both their guards were lowered and they had shed all pretenses of job and protocol so they could express their own deep seated worries and fears.

Well, no, it's nothing like that. It's... something about Butler teaching the President to stop sucking at boxing. He gives him some times to improve his game but if you think this is foreshadowing a moment where Eckhart is going to knock some jerk out then you're going to be sorely disappointed. In fact, this entire Camp David scene which ostensibly is suppose to be introducing us to the major players is nothing more than an enormous waste of twenty minutes. The only thing established in this time is that the secret service are incompetent drivers and could never survive in Canada. If the President had hired some Mounties to be his chauffeurs then maybe his wife wouldn't have taken a forty foot plunge off the world's flimsiest bridge.

At least the cars don't explode when they crash against ice.

So, here the audience sits, twenty minutes in and the only thing of note is that the First Lady has died in a car crash. What does this have to do with terrorists and the White House? Absolutely nothing. Because if you think this moment is important in developing some deep character conflict between the President and his secret service agent then you'd be wrong. Because all that's changed is that Butler has been moved to some cushy job at the Treasury since he reminds Eckhart "too much about that one time at band camp."

The best part, is that the entire twenty minutes is literally recapped in the next scene when a bunch of secret service agents walk into a caffe where Butler is on break to explain that he doesn't have a job with them anymore because the First Lady died eighteen months ago in a terrible car accident. Look, if you're going to summarize immediately something that's juts happened, why bother showing it in the first place?

On top of which, none of this matters for the overall narrative other than it delays Butler's arrival at the scene when the White House inevitably comes under attack. So we're twenty five minutes into the film and already you know that it's going to be a stretched time sink padded with pointless moments because the writers and director really had nothing to tell with this film.

Speaking of a waste of time, cue Butler's contrived marital troubles with a wife that thinks he "works too hard" and a man that is sad because he can no longer tell the brat of the most powerful man in America to stop playing violent video games. Wait, isn't this the exact same conflict that the First Lady and the President had before the First Lady's inappropriate bridge jumping exercise? How astute of you!

Which brings us to the boring ass characters. There is nothing to any of these people parading across the screen. I challenge any viewer to try and describe the characters without referring to their job. Because at most you might get one or two lines about how everyone seems whiny and that's about it. These people have the emotional complexity and depth of second grader's family portrait. And yet, oddly enough, the movie tries so hard to get the audience to feel some capacity of sympathy or emotion towards these beautiful, rich, white folk whose biggest troubles is that their husband missed the latest weekend barbecue and can't remember who Patty or Paula is married to.

All this, and we haven't even touched the silly terrorists yet. At any rate, we're now thirty to forty minutes into the movie with the only established fact being an unnecessary job promotion for Gerard Butler that he's going to just leave anyway to rush headlong into the White House to save the President. So, what was the point in having all this time wasted? It certainly wasn't because the terrorists plot was so well co-ordinated that if Butler was there then he would have surely been killed. I mean, the first phase of their plan was to fly a heavily armoured military craft over DC and miraculously not get shot down before gunning its stupid escort and opening up a whole bunch of Gatling fire onto the unsuspecting tourists strolling through the National Mall.

Of course, our heroic Butler is the only one who can run through this gunfire while surprised men and police officers are mowed down like it's the last charge on Vimy Ridge. He even has the time to rescue a woman and her little child by tackling them to the asphalt before sprinting to the White House before the airplane is shot down overhead, taking out the enormously phallic Washington Monument in its descent. There, he nearly foils the terrorists plans to irrevocably mar the cast iron fence before that's blown up. But while he now runs through the gap in the fence, he has the opportunity to casually shoot the only two female Korean terrorists in the head before reuniting with the secret service on the steps of the White House.

Basically, this is a long winded way of saying that Butler is the only one capable of doing anything. This becomes painfully obvious as he's the only one to survive the next wave of spawning baddies like the producers already had plans to turn this into a video game before rushing up into the White House's interior to be the only man capable of finding the wayward President's son. And, by now, I'm sure you've figured out he's also the only one to single handedly rescue the President and kill the main baddie after single handedly disposing of the automatic, highly advanced and secretive turret the White House had installed by didn't have the foresight to use when it was under attack (but the terrorists knew how to operate in order to shoot down the only back-up he was going to receive).

Needless to say, it's all a little eye-roll inducing.

Which brings me to my original point. The biggest problem with OHF is that it didn't know what it wanted to be. It tried taking itself far to seriously and realistically to be considered a throw-back to the bygone era of the 1990s action hero but had too much nonsense to be considered remotely logical even within its own narrative. I mean, three quarters of the way through the introduce an almost James Bond-esque plot contrivance because it seemed that the producers almost feared the audience wouldn't care about troop movements in the Korean peninsula (or the life of a very bland President which was probably accurate).

So what could it have done? Well, first, suck less. Second, ditch Gerard Butler. No one cares about your Mary Sue superman that is the only bad enough dude capable of rescuing the President. I'd cut most of the pointless nonsense surrounding the First Lady's death which, by the way, never once came into play (the briefly hinted emotional distress that President and son had over not yet getting over the grief was completely brushed aside by the end and never mentioned again). What I would have done was had four lead secret service agents who end up being the leaders and key players in the defence of the White House. Have most of the movie revolving around the attack and resolution of the assault on the building. Instead of having the terrorists "win" and then squat on the property for so long, have these four agents working together and with the Pentagon to try and stave off the assault and, ultimately, bring about the conclusion. Between the four of them and their different circumstances you could easily fill a movie with compelling situations and challenges. Have one agent end up holing up with a bunch of staff and tourists who then has to decide between abandoning their post as this groups sole defender for serving the greater duty of trying to rescue the President. Have another agent with the President holed up in the bunker doing her best to try and keep channels of communication open and the President alive while enemies close in on all sides. Hell, if we're so hell bent on having the little brat play any role in this, one of the agents could be his personal detail and spend most of the time trying to evade the captors and get the kid to safety.

Between four different agents you can have four more compelling individuals and perspectives to detail one single 'day of hell' that could bring about that touch of humanity that Butler's wooden acting could only dream of.

Also, can we have some female secret service agents? I'm sure they exist.

In total, I'd give this three Morgan Freemans out of ten illogical consistences.

Writing Writers

So, it's Monday. And I don't have anything to say. Quite the conundrum.

So let me just update what I'm doing!

I'm currently working on my next project - tentatively titled The Clockwork Caterpillar Affair. It's a work in progress. However, I find that I'm absolutely rubbish at coming up with titles. Sometimes, I create a story only because I've come up with a great title for something. And if I don't have a title but a story, then I can't seem to create anything decent to call it.

Which I suppose brings me to the creative process. How someone writes and creates their stories is a deeply personal affair. Some people meticulously research and plot, creating complicated word webs of ideas and relationships that they distill into a narrative. Other people will have a scene and possibly a character and just jump in, letting the story essentially write itself.

I lean more towards the 'by the seat of my pants' approach than the planning. My story of Thyre came about after a long walk in the countryside when I got the ludicrous idea of combining Scooby Doo and Batman in a Victorian steampunk setting. That's all I had, just some smattering of mood and styles that I thought would be really entertaining to create. From this little nugget of inception arose the characters. I had to turn Scooby and the gang into something my own that I would enjoy writing.

So, humorously enough, the original Thyre had a loyal hound that would bound around with the group on their adventures. Needless to say, this lovable little pooch didn't survive the first draft and is barely a footnote in the final creation. Which is probably for the best because we got the far more lovable Count Theodosius (who is still somewhat of a dog). But the hound isn't the only character to receive substantial rewrites.

The "Fred" of the group is now the haunted Jarret Renette but he didn't start out as the wounded soldier alienated from his own home and country. In fact, Jarret was originally a rather well respected member of the aristocracy and rubbed shoulders with the Prince in lavish gentleman clubs. However, I really struggled writing his character and creating something interesting to hook the reader into his troubles. He was too smart, too handsome and too well placed for any of his issues to really resonate. As the author, I couldn't stand writing him so I can't even imagine what it would be like for the reader.

Curiously, the great revamp of Jarret happened after my return from Japan. I remember riding a bus to visit a friend and looking out over the Canadian countryside and thinking how odd it all seemed. It was, at the same time, comforting and alienating in its strange familiarity. It was then I got the inspiration for a returning soldier looking out over a land he fought for and feeling completely disconnected from. I think the first chapter really captures that reverse culture shock and suddenly I had my new hero.

The cane and limp were added for flavour but imbued a certain interesting juxtaposition in Jarret's struggle. Here was a young man so used to being able bodied and strong now reduced to a cripple. He had defined himself as a man of sport and strength and would have to reconcile his new reality with that outdated self perception. The added bonus was that he was dressed as my classic hero - so sure of himself and his strength - and yet he was now physically outclassed by even a lady of leisure. There is more I could discuss on this aspect but I'll save that for another time.

So that's my old novel, what about my new project? Well, it came about by visiting a museum. I was with my friend and his girlfriend and laughed to myself when she got very excited over the train display. My sister often goes on about how fascinating trains are and to find another woman to share that interest struck my funny bone.

But as we poked about the old engines, I began to have some ridiculous thoughts. What would it be like to live on these old machines? Was that an old style bathroom? Could these be used as a facsimile of ships? Could we have train pirates?!

And thus, the Red Sabre was born. Unfortunately, unlike Thyre, this story didn't come with five templates to create characters with and so I've been reduced to another creative method to begin this work. But I've rambled on enough for today so maybe next time I'll detail how I went about assembling my crew for the Clockwork Caterpillar.

Serial Killers

I'm feeling like giving a break to our intrepid readers. There's been a lot of bards and sorcerers and what not, but I felt I should share some more thoughts on writing in general. Today, I want to tackle serials and the impact this format of story-telling has on your narratives and characters.

I've been giving some thought to the serial nature of writing, not least because my D&D stories are essentially that. I've taken a rather peculiar approach to it - one that I'm not sure could really be replicated and certainly not in another medium. But before I get into that, I want to talk about serials people are going to be far more familiar with: television shows.

Now, the serial format isn't particularly new. Radios had their famous series and even before that papers and magazines were bringing readers monthly updates for their favourite characters. Some classic literature was originally published as monthly serials. Pride and Prejudice is the first that comes to mind and probably explains partly why Austen adopted the letter format. However, television is easily the king of our generation. Most shows are serial by the nature, with mini-series and made for television movies the only thing I can really think of that don't quite fit the category. Watching television, I've noticed there's really only two prominent styles.

The first is the series that tells an overarching narrative with each component fitting comfortably within its thirty to sixty minute time slot. These shows generally have an overarching premise or focus on character development. Twenty-four is an obvious example, with each episode representing one hour from a rather action packed day. Each episode builds on the last, often requiring a quick "Previously on..." segment to remind its viewership what occurred before.

Running counter to this style is the episodic, slice-of-life, return to normal style of show that's almost ubiquitous in sitcoms. Here, the emphasis is on some quirky situation for that single episode and the emphasis is shifted away from the narrative and to character interactions. There is little theme or connectivity between episodes and the characters are pretty immutable once they've been established. These shows are immediately evident by having quick opening segments that will immediately familiarize the audience succinctly with the primary actors. Typically, there will be a shared location that most of the cast convenes on that they can use to draw out these interactions. The Big Bang Theory is a prime example and Sheldon's apartment serving as the de facto 'hang out' for the gang.

Now, from this break down, it should be rather obvious the biggest difference between these two approaches. The first has a story it's going to tell and places that narrative first and foremost to its audience. The second cares less about the narrative and is more concerned with interactions amongst its characters.

So what does this mean? Well, probably a lot of complaints for different series will arise from these different aims. Sitcoms are notorious for the 'return to normal' in that, at the end of every episode, nothing is lost and nothing is gain. Sheldon and Leonard are generally the same from episode to episode and season to season. Contrast this with, say, The Walking Dead, where you can't even be assured that some of the primary actors will even be in the next episode. The benefits of an unchanging format is that it makes it incredibly easy for people to jump into your show. There isn't a rich history or story for them to catch up on. Most interactions will be evidently explained in that one episode and after watching a couple, a new viewer will have as good an understanding of the show as someone who's been watching from the beginning.

The biggest problem with this format is stagnation. It's very easy for characters to slip into caricatures - to boil down their personalities to a simple trait that can be expressed in seconds but depriving that character from any deep or intricate development. Since there is no grand narrative, these shows often become a bunch of stock characters parading through samey situations parroting the same contrived jokes and interactions from episode to episode and season to season. This immediate accessibility breaks down to shallowness and two dimensionality. Look at any sitcom in its twilight years and most you'll find are poor shadows of their original selves. Like the Simpsons. It's awful.

How can this be avoided? Well, for one, a creator can be wary of the first signs of this stagnation and end it before the show has truly jumped its shark. Alternatively, they can always start introducing elements from the other format - creating a continuing narrative that will fundamentally change the nature of its actors and premise. But this runs its own risk of alienating the audience.

What's my solution - to try and avoid this type of serial altogether. My D&D stories follow a narrative - well a timeline at any rate. In my mind, different stories fall at different points in the characters lives so I know that they're changing and if I'm successful, the readers do too. I already have some grander story arcs that are often alluded to in the passages that provide me the freedom to explore a grander story should I choose. Finally, I have new characters constantly coming and going. While this mostly reflects the changes in the inspiring people's lives it also helps keep things fresh and exciting. But I know that my characters change. The challenges they face at the start of their journey are not the same that they encounter later on. And while some troubles haunt them for a time, as they grow and mature so do their personal conflicts.

Sadly, this post is getting quite winded now and I'm trying to not spew too much rubbish on this blog at once. I never really got to go into the weaknesses of the first type of serialization. Nor address series that mix the two styles and the benefits of that approach. Perhaps I'll pick it up in another entry. But for now, I'll leave it at that.

Playing God: Fantasy World Creation and Race

Let me begin this short rant with a quick plug for my friend's blog: http://www.derekgingrich.com/



He has a far more indepth and expert examination of fictitious worlds and creation than I could ever hope to achieve. Discussion about his own topics is what actually inspired me to scribble my own thoughts today. Specifically, I want to address world building in a general sense and possibly detail my own methods for creating fantastical worlds.



Fantasy fiction, I believe, poses one unique problem not truly present in any other genre of speculative fiction. To my knowledge, no other genre offers nearly as much possibility or limitless imagination primarily due to the audiences looser expectations towards the realities of the world. General fiction almost universally takes place on Earth with its implicit histories and social constructs. The most 'world building' an author is required for these stories is generating their main characters with believable histories and motivations.



One step further from general fiction is science fiction. But most Sci-fi is a speculative look at a future impacted by whatever technological advancement or theory spurred the idea for the author's narrative. The world building is more substantive than just fabricating the main cast but requires the author to adapt and change her societies to this new dominant invention. However, once again, the general assumption is that advancement of life followed a remarkably similar thread to our own history.



Space operas and fantasy fiction, however, can take place on different planets or dimensions with truly unique and strange people or races. There is no assurance for the reader that the development of the society and structures to the point where the narrative occurs is anywhere close to something from our own lives. Star Wars, for example, has an entirely different history completely void of planet Earth and it could be reasonable to believe that the humans of that universe aren't actually “humans” at all. Likewise, Middle Earth is truly a world far removed from our own with a past very different to anything we've ever experienced (even though Tolkien envisioned Middle Earth to be the lost mythological age of our own world).



This leaves a prominent issue for fantasy writers. How do you create a world that people can understand and relate to while still being believably fantastic? I mean, one of the huge draws for these worlds is that sense of wonder and exploration of visiting places far different from our own. We don't want to recreate, verbatim, medieval Europe when we could just place our stories in medieval Europe. Tolkien is really the founding father of modern fantasy, so it's no wonder that his approach is so widespread. Tolkien's solution was to base the underpinnings of his world on real life mythology. Elves and dwarves were not raw creations of his imagination but legendary figures and beings from earlier cultures. By adopting these figures as real, he was able to shorthand a lot of his world's creation by invoking those myths.



So successful was this method (coupled with his staggering detail in breathing life to his world) that most fantasy writers just shorthanded their own mythos from Tolkien himself. This perpetuating of the same ideals led to the common tropes of the genre: underground dwelling dwarves with big beards and bigger tempers, lofty elves of a dying or lost age removed from the petty squabbles of other nations and peoples, barbaric orcs obsessed with warfare and conquering and the rest of the lot. One could argue that Tolkien was too successful as fantasy stories became less and less about adopted medieval Europe and its superstitions and more about following the founding father's exacting footsteps.



Which is a shame, since there are so many other nations, mythologies and legends that could be used as genesis instead. This leads me to my own D&D stories. They began as a simple thought experiment, “What would it be like if my friends and I were born in a universe like Dungeons and Dragons.” Course, obvious obstacles like copyright infringement and my own personal enjoyment for world building insured that this wouldn't be indulgent fan fiction but a universe of my own. And as my collection of shorts grows and grows, I'm forced to consider the world they inhabit and the rules that govern them.



Some of these decisions were made early on. I knew I wanted to avoid the same old race wars common in generic fantasy. To address the over saturation of dwarves versus elves, I elected to remove race entirely. My envisioning of the race dynamic was to re-purpose the long beards and pointed ears that distinguished the fantasy peoples and instead dress the diverging elements more in cultural clothes and beliefs. Thus, my barbarian Orc is a large, dominating man that absolutely denies his 'barbaric' origins (Andre). Likewise, the peculiar half-elf Aliessa is rarely even mentioned as such for in my mind being called an elf is an insult and the powerful wizard commands far too much respect for such things.



But since race is more cultural than physical, it is really easy for the boundaries to be blurred or outright ignored. Most people seem to not care about where someone comes from and pointing out racial differences is really unnecessary unless it's strictly for the plot. Which is nice that I don't have to describe a new character as “the dwarf” with all its Tolkien trope baggage and instead I can focus on describing my characters as individuals first and foremost. But that element of race can always be brought up later if I decide it would make a compelling story. The mere presence of race, even if it isn't a sticking point for most, lays the foundations for future conflicts if I so choose.



I have no idea where I was going with this so I'll just wrap it up for now.

Lore and Story in Dark Souls

"But then there was fire and with fire came disparity. Heat and Cold. Life and Death. And of course, Light and Dark. Then, from the Dark they came and found the souls of lords within the flame."

- Dark Souls Prologue

Dark Souls is an action/RPG hybrid from Japanese developer From Software. It is the sequel to the critically acclaimed and oddly punctuated Demon's Souls. I did not play the first and only recently picked up this game as it finally saw a PC release. However, substantial word of mouth and numerous awards raised my expectations for the title. A number of glowing reviews highlighted its combat and story so I was eager to experience both. 

Since my ramblings generally favour writing and storytelling, I'll leave just a quick summary of the actual game. The combat is fun with an emphasis on a melee system that focuses on proper timing with your attacks, blocks and dodges. Bonus damage is awarded for successfully parrying and riposting an attack or if you're able to manoeuvre and score a backstab against an incredibly small hitbox on your enemies. There is also an archery and magic system which isn't nearly as intricate and mostly results in you running backwards while spamming your spells and hoping you have enough 'casts' to see you to your next bonfire where you can restore them.

Naturally, as an avid fan of Skyrim, I picked a sorcerer. This means I miss out on the varied combos and attack patterns of the different weapon classes and for armour have my choice of three dresses. On the plus side, bosses are incredibly easy since I don't have to run my face repeatedly into their enormous weapons. 

But Dark Soul's story is an interesting beast. 

Unlike most Japanese RPGs, Dark Souls does not rely on scripted cutscenes to tell its narrative. Most are used for quick little boss intros to highlight how much trouble you're actually in. The only substantial story video is the very opening of the game which gives a rather long, rambling explanation about fire and undead that will mean absolutely nothing to the player on first viewing. 

The rest of the story is told through really short descriptions given on items that you collect around Lordran. 

It's a curious format that has received a lot of praise from fans. This puts the onus on the player to seek out information on the story and the world instead of heaping long narrative dumps every three or so hours throughout the game. It's a style that could really benefit from the interactive medium that videogames inhabit. Traditionally, videogame narratives have striven to mimic the more cinematic approach popular with movies. This creates a disconnect between the game portion and the narrative portion of many games as developers will typically rely on animated cutscenes that remove the player's agency in order to show them extravagant explosions or witty banter wholly out of the control of those playing. 

The great thing about Dark Souls delivery is that it doesn't interrupt the flow of the game. Players choose when they want to engage with the story by loading up their inventory and selecting through the menus to the item descriptions. It also provides an additional reward for exploration and discovery as the only way to gain more information on the narrative is to seek out as much equipment as they can which leads to investigating every nook and cranny of the level design. 

And, because the story is delivered in these short, concise snippets much is left to the interpretation of the player to order the information they're provided into a more coherent whole. 

However, there is one major drawback. Because you're limited by the number of items you have in the game, so damn little is actually established or said. 

Now, you can communicate with the numerous NPCs spread throughout the world but most of them have little to say other than some cryptic statement on your current goal followed by the actors most hammed maniacal laugh. This leaves the player in a constant state of confusion since there is so little direction actually given - both for the overarcing narrative and even for current goals within the game. While it promotes exploration and discovery, what you're left with is an incomplete framework in which to organize the information you gather. 

My issue with this system is that it's really hard to judge whether Dark Souls has a good story or if it even has a story at all. Essentially, the narrative you weave through your own actions as you make your way through the forty or so hours to the ending is very rudimentary. You have to ring some bells for god knows what reason, get some giant bowel from some large breasted women for god knows what reason, then fill that bowl with juicy souls for god knows what reason. Nothing is every made clear and closing in on the final act I found myself searching online for videos to explain why I was doing all these unrelated actions. I figured the answer lay in those impossible ledges that I couldn't be bothered finding a path to. So I was content to let more persevering souls explain it to me.

What I found, however, was a wealth of useless information and a sea of shaky speculation. It appears that nothing is ever really explained and most lore enthusiasts are left formulating their own theories on the elements of the narrative. Now, ambiguity is an excellent tool to engage your readership and used effectively can really drive home your themes. 

Unfortunately, too much ambiguity and you stifle the discourse on your work. Most of the discussion on the lore of Dark Souls really focuses on minor elements. Almost every video I cam across discussed Lord Gwyn's Silver and Black Knights, spending valuable time explaining that the Black Knights are not a separate rank but a portion of Gwyn's soldiers who followed him into a confrontation and were permanently tarnished because of it. It's a neat little detail but certainly not something that should dominate discussion. However, it's one of the few details that players are able to ascertain with any amount of certainty. 

Which is a shame because the discourse shouldn't revolve around the fracturing of the Silver Knights or what religion Bishop Havel belongs to when there are such grander elements like the nature of humanity and the meaning of souls. 

This brings me to the goal of storytelling. At the end of the day, there is a story that you want to tell and most stories hinge on a theme or conflict. Fantasy stories are able to explore these themes and conflicts in novel ways by introducing us to worlds freed from the constraints and limitations of our own to further highlight your goals that would be either difficult or impossible if you were limited by accuracy and realism. Want to focus on the nature of good and evil? You can create a universal powered by the forces of these two ideas and shift your societies from the complex morality of our own lives.

However, for these worlds to be successful to your audience, you have to create some sort of understandable internal logic that your readers can anchor themselves within. You need them to be able to suspend their disbelief of all the fantastic elements you introduce in your fantasy world and giving them a consistent universe that works on rules and laws that the player can follow is the best way to do that. 

Unfortunately, because Dark Souls is so vague and reticent in informing the player on anything we're never given an opportunity to establish what these laws of the universe are. In the opening cinematic we're introduced to a world that is suspended on giant iron trees filled with dragons and magic and undead. We're told of Ages of Ancients and Fire but we're never told what these descriptors mean. We know that souls are found in the Fire but we don't know what the Fire is. We don't know what souls are. We just don't know anything. 

And when given an absence of information, your audience is going to fill in the blanks. It's only natural that we compose a narrative of the actions and events we experience. And what information are we going to draw upon than elements of our own lives? So the laws of Dark Souls and our own world begin to merge and intertwine in ways the developers had no intention because the players are given so little to work with. 

Which brings me back to a point I mentioned earlier. There's quite a bit of discussion over the religion that Bishop Havel belongs to but unfortunately this discussion is absolutely meaningless. In a world were souls are pulled from some inexplicable Fire, societies are built at the tops of enormous trees that have taken root in an unending lake of ash and some people are born with a sign that designates them as undead, how much weight can we put in understanding titles and concepts that share a name with real world counterparts? How do we even know that Bishop is a position in a church? It could be his first name for all the information we're given. And what is a god in Dark Souls? Is it someone that possesses a lord's soul? Is it one of the first people to have emerged from the fire? Is it just anyone that participated in the battle with the ancient dragons?

Without some sort of foundation for your audience to work on everything ends up being pointless speculation. I can't really talk about this story with my friend since our interpretations of what the hell is going on are going to be so wildly different as we base our understanding on the narrative primary on our own imposed rules and laws than those established by the designers. 

And all of this could be avoided and still keep the very simplistic story reminiscent of ancient legend and myth that I'm sure the developers were hoping to emulate. A few more narrative moments, some establishment of common concepts inherent to this universe and a tighter focus on the elements that the developers wish to explore would do wonders. 

As it stands, we're left as nameless wanderers through a world of fog and smoke with only tiny islands of information to find ourselves stranded upon.

Rivals and Ritalin

Something different for today. I was going to post another piece from that continuing saga about Derek but there's been something more pressing on my mind. And while my sister got the brunt of my rambling about it earlier I thought perhaps I would try slapping some of it up on this blog since that's what it was created for.

Recently I got around to watching the BBC Sherlock - a rather interesting retelling of the classic Sir Arthur Conan Doyle character in a modern setting complete with cellphones, computer hacking and a cursory understanding of modern science.  I have no excuse for seeing this show so late since my sister recommended it months ago. Course, she did mention it around the time I saw Elementary - an American take on the same premise. And Elementary is probably the most offensive use of Sir Doyle's work that I've ever seen (and I watched both Guy Ritchie movies).

I should preface that I absolutely love the old Sherlock Holmes stories. When I was young, my mother bought me a huge anthology of the tales and I can still remember clutching the large, red covered hardback in my tiny little hands. Everytime Sherlock exclaimed that he had the solution to the mystery I would slam the book shut and wouldn't open it until I had puzzled out the answer.

Or, an answer since inevitably half the time Sir Doyle cheated and kept important information or even culprits until the climatic reveal at the end. Certainly a way to keep your audience guessing, but it became quickly apparent that the secret to Sherlock's expansive genius was less reliant on keen analytical reasoning and more a matter of the little jerk withholding information until he made everyone else feel wholly stupid.

Still, they were fun so I always approach retellings of the tales with a bit of apprehension. Whenever you like the source material it's always a gamble whether someone's reinterpretation of the events will be anywhere near the same enjoyment. Hell, Howl's Moving Castle is the perfect example of that (perhaps a discussion left to another time).

So, I sat down ready for a grossly disappointing hour and a half when I prepared for a Study in Pink (oh boy - obviously a take on a Study in Scarlet with a wholly less clever name). After getting used to Benedict Cumberbatch's peculiar look - which isn't that far a stretch from Holmes' description anyway - I was pleasantly surprised to find a Study in Pink to be an actually engrossing story. It was, I dare to say, even better than the original and perfectly integrated into our modern times.

It was hardly without flaws, mind you, but most of them are pretty minor. For example, there's a moment when Holmes corrects a jealous police officer that he is not a psychopath but a high functioning sociopath. Sadly, five seconds of research would tell anyone that the two terms are synonymous and Cumberbatch's character would certainly have known that even if the writers didn't. Anyway, minor quibble over a writer's small attempt at humour.

I suppose I should pause here and warn that there are going to be ample spoilers from this point forward. So, if you care about those things, I recommend you watch the series first if you care to hear the rest of my words on the matter. Currently, it's only six episodes long so it's not too great an investment.

There, now that that's out of the way...

My biggest grievance with a Study in Pink was the bizarre hamstringing of Moriarty in at the end. A quick little lesson on the third most famous character from Sir Doyle's serial: Moriarty was a character hastily created in a short titled The Final Problem. He was made with a specific purpose; to kill Sherlock Holmes so Sir Doyle could get on with writing about more important things... namely dinosaurs.

In this regard, Moriarty was less the 'legendary rival' of Sherlock Holmes that he's commonly perceived as and more just another villain for the great detective's Rogue Gallery. Moriarty's sole tale was began and ended in one particular narrative that involved flinging both characters over the lip of a waterfall and never to be seen again.

Until Sir Doyle realized he could make quite a bit of money by reviving the detective and thus retconning was created.

The reason for Moriarty's popularity can only really be attributed to Sherlock's description of him in The Final Problem. The professor never really performed much in terms of narrative impact save for a timely air tackle and if it weren't for Sir Arthur Doyle hyping his prowess I'm sure Moriarty would have been forgotten along with the likes of Jack Stapleton (bet you didn't remember him even though he's the villain of the most famous Sherlock Holmes novel). The only reason Moriarty was given such a fearsome reputation was to ease the blow of Sherlock's death in the story. If Sherlock died ridding the world of a great menace then perhaps people would stop bugging Sir Doyle to write more tales about him.

Sherlock (the series) decided to hype the great Professor before his grand reveal. Which, while a noble prospect, actually became a rather annoying issue. The problem with forcing Moriarty into the narrative prematurely is that he had no business being involved in the issues. A Study in Pink is a story of a rather pedestrian serial killer. Moriarty gains nothing by association with him and actually loses quite a bit since now the authorities are aware of the master criminal's presence... because he was giving money to the cabbie for some imperceptible reason. The reason Moriarty is so sinister is because he's portrayed as the puppet master; the invisible hand behind so many criminal actions that he's essentially the Emperor of the Underworld.

This aspect is completely abolished if every lowly criminal scum and every despicable crime is directed by his hand. Someone stealing candy from a child doesn't have to be motivated by Moriarty's apparently boundless depravity. Sometimes crime can be unrelated to each other.

Anyway, it was a single moment of the show trying to be cute and failing. Except they replicated the exact same issue in the next story, The Blind Banker. Which is unfortunate since Moriarty had more reason to be involved in that story but now him being everywhere was starting to come across as contrived. The Great Game sealed the issue in fantastically bumbling fashion when Moriarty is revealed to not only be an obnoxious twit but also a "consultant criminal" who is far too fast to sell out his clients to the authorities with absolutely zero gain.

The Great Game is perhaps the stupidest episode I have ever seen. The characterization of Moriarty wasn't fresh but idiotic. There is no way that a nattering young man with impulse control issues could ever achieve the complex web of criminal control that he's suppose to obtain. No one in their right mind would work with him. And the deus ex machina of there being a "sniper on the roof" was played far to ridiculously for it even to have such an important role on the story.

Clearly the writers felt the same since the first episode of the second season resolved the "cliff hanger" standoff between Sherlock and Moriarty by the writers literally phoning in an excuse to resolve it and never speaking of the issue again. Except, after completely bumbling the character's appearance they decided it was still prudent to bring him into every episode following until the absolutely retarded Reichenbach Falls. So, I have to correct my previous paragraph - The Great Game is the second stupidest episode I have ever seen. Reichenbach Falls is far and away the dumbest, least thought out story I have ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Nothing in the episode makes sense and already these three sentences I have written on it are more words than it deserves.

Which brings me to the issue of rivals. Rivals make fantastic literary characters, especially for serial stories. They add that personal element to the main character's struggles. Played well, rivals can even be as popular or even more liked than the actual main character. But they require a certain finesse in their execution. Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes can never be rivals in this literary sense. The two characters are far too great a threat to each other that they can't have a protracted engagement since neither benefits by leaving the other alive. Moriarty has far too much to lose with Sherlock ruining his plans and his organization. Sherlock has far too much to lose with a criminal who is willing to kill anyone and everyone that interferes with his aims. The moment Sherlock becomes a threat, the master criminal wouldn't play with the detective but dispose of him as quickly as he could.

For a rival to work, there must be some compelling reason for each other to not put a bullet in the other's face or slit their throat when they first meet. In this regard, The Joker and Batman are far stronger rivals. Both characters are motivated by philosophical prerogatives that forbid them from killing the other. Batman believes that all people are decent and must face the justice for their crimes (and he apparently has a rule against killing even though he plays fast and loose with that one). Joker believes that everyone is a corrupted monster and is just one step away from plummeting into the abyss. So strong a paragon are they of their own beliefs that just outright killing the other wouldn't prove their point. They must either drive or redeem the other in order to prove they are correct. Thus, you can have both commit monstrous acts against the other but they would never actually slay their nemesis. It would be akin to mentioning Nazis in an Internet discussion; the very act immediately ending the debate and proving the offender unarguably wrong.

Thus, ultimately, rivals only work if they have more to gain by the continued survival of their arch-nemesis. If your character is better served by just killing his enemy and forgetting him then they aren't good rivals. They require a compelling personal reason to maintain the relationship - otherwise it just comes across as silly and illogical. It creates a disconnect that threatens your suspension of disillusion.

Remember - if your audience asks "Why doesn't X just kill him?" and you can't come up with a compelling answer for that then you have a big problem. These characters aren't rivals but enemies and are better regulated to the simple rogues of your typical serial then trying to hamstring some greater eternal struggle.

Also, can someone get Moriarty some ritalin. Goodness that portrayal was awful.