Dragon Age 2 and Balance in Story Telling.

So, now that the game has been patched to properly support DirectX 11 and it no longer crashes my computer at regular intervals, I've been spending more time with Dragon Age II than I probably should be this late into the semester. The direct successor to 2009's Dragon Age: Origins, itself the long-developed spiritual successor to Bioware's much beloved Baldur's Gate franchise of genre-defining PC RPGs, there was a lot expected of this game. Cursory glances around the internet would suggest that it has failed, and while the game certainly has its failings, I would happily direct most of the people who are incessantly bitching about its "simplifications" (of which there are far fewer than one would be led to believe) to a post I wrote addressing similar complaints about Mass Effect 2 last year.

The most obvious and most frequently cited failings of the game are the unfortunate bi-product of a blatantly rushed development cycle. Environment reuse stands out particularly. I clearly recall the first time I was running through a cave and my map showed an area that lay sitting behind what was so obviously an unmarked door that I spent nearly 15 minutes running around the cave trying to find some lever to open it so as to plunder the riches that must be waiting for me on the other side. I can understand reusing resources, and even building dungeons/instance areas piecemeal from stock parts. Simply re-using the exact same environments with certain areas sealed off, though, is sloppy. At the very least, keep the map from reflecting the unreachable areas.

The second trouble area is the general flow of combat. Now, for the most part, I like many of the changes made here. Full disclosure, I rarely used the top down view in Dragon Age: Origins. As far as I was concerned, it existed almost solely to target area of effect spells without getting stuck on specific enemies. As such, being stuck with the lower, more cinematic camera angle doesn't bother me. The faster animations don't bother me at all, and, contrary to what many people seem to be saying, this is the only significant difference in how combat plays out between Dragon Age 2 and DA:O. In fact, there are a wider variety of skill trees available to work through and, due to the absurd bonuses from cross-class combos, greater attention to be paid as to how your party members' skills will mesh together. Combat is just as tactical and engaging as it ever as.

The problem I have with combat is the way fights are now entirely scripted. Sure, it wasn't uncommon in DA:O to open a door and find a room full of enemies you'd have no choice but to fight, but that wasn't always the way things worked. There were plenty of fights in Origins that I only managed to win by scouting ahead with a rogue and using ranged attacks to carefully pull outlying enemies away one or two at a time before engaging the main force. This doesn't work in DA2. Enemies aren't persistent on the map. Instead, they only appear when you step into a designated area. Then, as the battle rages on, more will show up (either dropping in from the city walls or mystically appearing right out of the ground) to take advantage of the fact that your AI controlled teammates shot their wad against your will and are either stuck in cooldown or have no stamina/manna left. It's an irritation that seems designed to force you to play the game within a somewhat limited framework endorsed by Bioware. Fights are rarely tough enough that I would have liked to have the option to do things the old way, but it just doesn't feel even remotely organic.

These aren't major complaints, though. They are quirks that you adapt to as you get into the real meat of the game -- the combat itself and the story telling. Having already touched on the first topic to the extent I need to, I'll turn my attention to the second.

One of the first posts I wrote on this blog was about Chrono Trigger, a game I have played more times than I care to count. In that post, I credited its success and longevity not just to its innovative combat mechanics, wonderful score, and engaging plot, but to the overall story-telling style and the way it merged the perspectives of its creators' signature franchises (Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy). I'll recap the argument in brief here.

Historically, Dragon Quest has been a series about exploration and creating a world filled with people whose problems you get tangled up in. Caring about this world, more than about any particular vendetta of your own, is what drives you to complete the plot and defeat whatever evil is looming on the horizon. Final Fantasy, on the other hand, has long been primarily concerned with its own characters and their struggles. Nearly everything you do winds up having some particular meaning for some member of the cast, and you finish the game because you want to see their problems resolved. Chrono Trigger manages to combine these approaches by throwing you into different eras of your world's history. At each step, you have some larger goal towards finding the cause of humanity's destruction, but you also help resolve the problems of that particular era. Further, each era lends you its own voice to your party in the form of a playable character to whom you develop attachment, furthering your attachment to the game world as a whole.

Nearly all RPGs (except, perhaps, for open world games like the Elder Scrolls series) fall into some point on this world vs. character spectrum of story telling. Few nail the balance as perfectly as Chrono Trigger, but Bioware games tend to come close. I think that the problem that many people have had with both DA2 and Mass Effect 2, is that both shifted focus slightly, relatively to their predecessors, in the direction of character-focused story telling in an effort to better find that balance.

Let's look quickly at Dragon Age: Origins. Throughout everything you do, the threat of the Blight looms in the background, and your personal motive of being a Grey Warden -- not only sworn to stamp out the blight but the only individuals capable of it due to your ties to it -- drives you to continue. And yet, you need to put your concerns on hold as you run around the country side, easing political tensions and freeing up factions to pledge resources to your crusade against the Darkspawn. You become directly involved in the fate of every civilization in the nation of Ferelden (perhaps too much so, but whatever) and are made keenly aware of the tenuous balance that you're trying to keep in place. Meanwhile, your companions travel with you and have problems of their own that they would like to put behind them -- from Alistair learning to cope with his lineage to Morrigan asserting freedom from her mother to Shale learning some semblance of respect for squishy beings. These stories are engaging, and the banter between particular party members may help to dictate who you bring with you in battle, but they don't drive you directly to defeating the blight or hook you deeper into mythology of Thedas.

Similarly for Mass Effect. You move between planets, uncovering details about Saren's plot and eventually learning about the Reaper threat. You come to an understanding about how humanity's ambitions impact their relationship with the established space-faring races and how you, as an exemplar of your species, will inevitably impact that. Your companions are an entertaining diversion, but contribute nothing to the real plot beyond providing key information at certain points.

Both Mass Effect 2 and Dragon Age 2 tell much smaller stories. In ME2, the entire game revolves around recruiting and building trust with a squad capable enough of determining why the Collectors are abducting human colonies. You focus on your crew because their allegiance and dedication is the only thing that will get you out alive. As much as I enjoy the game and the characters, I'll admit that this story is almost too small, and there are a couple of revelations that could have been handled better.

Dragon Age 2 is about a slowly building avalanche. It's a story about how one man and his decisions -- fueled by his relationships -- change the entire history of a city on the brink. Because Hawke is meant to be affected by his experiences with his companions, we spend a lot more time with them and their personalities are much more thoroughly established. We see them engaging one another, developing friendships and rivalries within the group instead of just with you. The nature of the game as a story within a story (one of your party members is relating the true events of your life to a less-than-friendly interrogator) places unfortunate limits on your freedom. These are events that have occurred, and there is a framework that must be followed. But by building so much around your relationship to your friends and family and the organism that is the city of Kirkwall, we can see different reasons that some of these same, unavoidable events could have come to fruition.

Compounding this is the fact that Dragon Age 2 only barely touches on the major topics of Dragon Age: Origins. Nearly the entirety of the game takes place far removed -- in time and space -- from the events of the first game. Few familiar characters show up, and none of the lingering questions are answered. Taken together with the drastic change in tone, it's a shock that people expecting another grand, nation-spanning adventure weren't ready to deal with.

For the most part, though, it's an interesting approach and, so far, an engaging time. It had some bugs out-of-the-gate, but it really doesn't deserve the hate that's been spewed its way by PC vanguards insistent that any sort of streamlining (to visuals or gameplay) is a sin meant to take advantage of the supposed naivete of console playing "babies". I'd definitely recommended it to anybody who likes games with strong writing and entertaining combat -- in that order.

The Littlest Hobo Makes a "Friend"

The Littlest Hobo should, by all rights, be one of the saddest people alive, but he'd never know it. Hiding from hail nearly as large as himself beneath a fir tree that has become thoroughly devoted to dropping every last one of its pine cones on him, the delight in his face cannot be conveyed. "How can this be?" you may ask, and I will answer. During his brief, unexpected respite at a nearby asylum, The Littlest Hobo had made a new friend. A friend who would never, who was, in fact, physically incapable of, abandoning him. Now, you are likely asking yourself, "What sort of wondrous friend is this, and where can I find one?" To this question, I insist that Brutus the "Gentle" Sock Puppet is far from a wondrous creation. And yet, for better or for worse, only time will tell which, The Littlest Hobo could not disagree more strongly. It is, after all, in his nature to see wonder in all things, and his loving devotion to Brutus is a powerful reminder of this.

Now, there is certainly no innate harm in befriending a puppet, but that is only the case so long as one understands that the puppet is not its own being but merely a facade for one's self. Whether The Littlest Hobo knows this about his new companion, though, cannot be known, yet. And if Brutus' darker side comes to bear, then he will prove himself a fell companion indeed.

You see, Brutus' previous master, his creator in fact, was a troubled soul. A borderline schizophrenic with a debt to society that few would believe one man could incur. For the benefit if young ears, we will not describe his exploits here, but believe me when I say that they were many and that each was particularly grim in its own way. Having spent years locked away, not seeing any improvement, one of the great many psychiatric practitioners hoping for his improvement had an idea: perhaps, if this patient could find an external outlet for his appetitive urges, it might be possible for the man buried beneath them to be reached.

I cannot fault the poor fool for doing what he could to provide more effective therapy for such a thoroughly broken individual. And had things continued to go as they began, we would not be writing this tale -- or at least not this particular one. In his early days, Brutus lived up to his name. He was affectionate and loving -- if perhaps overly so. As Brutus sat and nuzzled playfully at those around him, our inmate began to open up. The staff were not surprised to find that neglectful and abusive parents had led the inmate to his current state, and fear of further neglect had contributed to his crimes.

Things were going well, until the day that one poor therapist, pushed beyond his comfort zone, denied Brutus his physical advances. It was at this point that the asylum was reminded why the man attached to Brutus was in their midst. Brutus the Gentle Sock Puppet took his first life that day, in a manner so ironic and so gruesome that I can scarcely begin to describe it. In an instant, the act was over, and this is where The Littlest Hobo enters the picture.

Suddenly aware of the danger that Brutus the Gentle Sock Puppet and his utterly unrestrained emotions posed, the asylum proprietors decided, post-haste, to place the inmate in solitary confinement. Unfortunately, the room into which they placed him wasn't unoccupied so much as its lone inhabitant was so small as to not earn their attention. You see, in the hopes of finding shelter from those pesky owls, The Littlest Hobo had wandered into the asylum that very afternoon. Upon seeing a room that appeared to be covered in pillows, he immediately wandered in and fell asleep.

He awoke that evening with a jolt to find Brutus the Gentle Sock Puppet happily nibbling at his tiny knees. Delighted by the strange creature growing out of the arm of the quiet man who sat next to him, The Littlest Hobo gently stroked Brutus betwixt the eyes and fell back asleep. In large part because The Littlest Hobo has no concept of personal space, he and Brutus quickly became good friends. It did not take long, however, for the asylum staff to realize that this dangerous prisoner and his perhaps more dangerous puppet were not truly alone. Prudently, they decided that The Littlest Hobo's safety would be best assured by separating him from from Brutus' and his master. Little did they know how powerfully Brutus had begun to feel about The Littlest Hobo in their short time together.

Brutus again woke The Littlest Hobo up the next night, though in a decidedly different fashion. Late in the night, the only illumination into his cell coming from the glowing red exit sign in the hall, The Littlest Hobo heard the following sequence of sounds.

A turning lock
A knock
A gurgle
A clatter
A thud

In bewildered puzzlement as to what these sounds could all mean, The Littlest Hobo carefully opened his now unsecured cell door, to find Brutus the Gentle Sock Puppet sprawled out towards him. His owner, on whose arm Brutus still rested, lay there as limp as Brutus himself, a scalpel several feet away, and a sign on his back reading, simply, "Would you give me a hand?".

As sirens started to sound throughout the asylum, The Littlest Hobo began to fear that owls had been let loose in the building. Able to think of nothing that would give him more joy than to take his new friend with him as he continued his adventures, The Littlest Hobo snatched Brutus from his master and placed him snuggly about his own arm.

So, now, here they sit in the hail, The Littlest Hobo watching with great vigilance for those persistent owls as Brutus nips tenderly at his ears. What the future holds for the pair, I cannot say, but I only hope that Brutus' darker demons remain in that asylum with his owner. If not, if The Littlest Hobo does not take the initiative to exert control over him, then we can only pray that the two are parted soon.

Dear Burritos:

You are, quite possibly, the purest possible proof that creation is fundamentally good that has ever existed. Delicious, soul-cleansing packets of pure delight, you are a healthy, hearty meal that can be enjoyed at any time of day, in community or solitude, joy or heartache. With only minimal thought, you welcome any ingredients that seek shelter in the warm embrace of your tortilla.

Beans and rice, tried and true staple of cultures across the globe provide a wholesome and energizing base for the experience. Sauces that boggle the mind and tantalize the senses, ranging from chunky to creamy, from spicy to sweet to tart, accentuate all facets of your being. Vegetables, whether mundane or exotic can be accommodated with the slightest effort. Meats of any and all varieties, be they braised, roasted, or grilled, act as the star of the show for some, but they are far from necessary amidst your bounty. Dairy and even eggs have their place in your construction. Truly, no ingredient is beyond your grasp, as is no beating heart.

You do not care if we devour you ravenously with our bare hands, forgoing even a plate, or if we smother you with oozing cheeses or chili sauces before thoughtfully picking you apart with a fork. You can be bought wholesale, prepackaged in supermarkets or lovingly and painstakingly prepared by hand. You can be found in restaurants ranging from the mass-market to the artisanal. Even sidewalk vendors and food trucks know the joy you provide the masses. On hot days, you bring us refreshment, and on cool days, you transport us to a sunnier place.

I know we haven't been together in several days, burritos, but we will be again soon. And, on that day, you will remind me what it is to live.

In Which The Littlest Hobo Nearly Discovers Brunch

In The Littlest Hobo's mind it was, as always, the nicest day imaginable. He listened to the majestic howls of the coyotes below him mingled with the gusting winds that threatened to topple the very tree that was keeping him free from their jaws. Once more, he marveled at the act of athleticism that had allowed him to vault, against all odds, to his current perch. It truly is wondrous what physical feats a person, even one as small as The Littlest Hobo, can accomplish when fueled by adrenaline born of sheer, magnificent terror and a desperate will to live. Blessing compounded upon blessing, The Littlest Hobo celebrated the presence of the neighboring gas-producing bog that kept those pesky owls away from this region of the forest. Truly, this was, at least for now, the safest of havens against the myriad conspiracies of nature.

Without any further distraction The Littlest Hobo could have sat for hours contentedly reflecting on his great fortune, but he was brought out of his meditative state by a louder-than-normal rumbling of his sad, shrunken stomach. Suddenly jolted to his senses, our diminutive friend recalled the purpose of his current journey. He had only ventured into a region filled with so many dangerous creatures in an effort to expedite his arrival in a neighboring town where he had heard great wonders awaited: There was a restaurant in this town, or so he had heard, that specialized in serving breakfast and lunch at the same time. For weeks, The Littlest Hobo scraped up what money he could find before, deciding that 73 cents certainly ought to be enough to cover his costs, he set out to witness this phenomenon for himself.

Now, The Littlest Hobo had the only vaguest ideas of what breakfast and lunch were. Those occasions on which he was able to eat two meals in as many days were always among the pleasant surprises to him. The idea of eating two meals simultaneously was a dream so glorious he could scarcely comprehend it. "What on earth would one choose to consume on such an occasion?" he wondered. "Perhaps a crust of bread and a handful of peas!" As he salivated uncontrollably at the very thought, The Littlest Hobo nearly passed out from the increased dehydration. This was an event he simply had to experience.

Using his trusty hat to harness the howling winds, The Littlest Hobo managed to glide in an uncontrolled, tumbling fashion from tree to tree, escaping the forest without further encounter with the growling beasts that infested its labyrinthine floor. Before he knew it, he had escaped and once again reached the highway just outside of town. As he wandered the city streets -- delightfully devoid of coyotes, owls, ocelots, or any other dangerous creatures -- The Littlest Hobo eventually came to a diner with a bright red sign that read Mel's. Recognizing the name as that of his goal, our friend wandered right in.

After several minutes spent gaining the attention of the hostess, he was promptly seated at a booth that may well have been even cozier than the branch in which he had half-dozed the prior night. All signs pointed to this being the world changing moment he had expected it could be. "I'll have the brunch, please," The Littlest Hobo insisted, earnestly hoisting his smallest of fortunes towards the gruff looking woman who had come asking for his order.

She would have gladly taken the inadequate sum offered in exchange for such a meal, but, much to her dismay, the waitress had to inform The Littlest Hobo that it was, in fact, 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and that brunch was no longer being served for the day, and is there anything else his precious little heart might desire? Alas, there was nothing else that The Littlest Hobo's precious heart did desire, and disappointment threatened to creep in and fill the hole that this mystical "brunch" had left there.

Just then, however, he noticed another customer happily slurping away at a plate of spaghetti. So enamored was The Littlest Hobo with the slurping and the spinning and the pleasant redness of the sauce that he immediately asked to have the same. Now, even by the standards of highway diners, Mel served an atrocious plate of spaghetti, but such trifles are of little importance to The Littlest Hobo. He happily ate a whole 5 noodles before collapsing into a deep sleep. As he slumbered, the restaurant closed around him, nobody noticing the boy of prodigiously small proportions curled up at Table 6.

Hacking, Piracy, and "Freedom"

Warning, strong language ahead.

This shit has got to stop.

As an advocate of Free Software and the uninterrupted flow of information between individuals, I'm all for more open standards and practices. As a fan of the creative process and human advancement in general, though, I'm increasingly of the opinion assholes who think that they should be able to do whatever they want with technology deserve to be put in jail.

Yes, patent law is a mess -- especially in regard to software patents. Yes, Copyright has been bloated to an extent that unrestricted use of creative products is now nearly non-existent. Yes the DMCA is an overly-restrictive piece of legislation that often keeps us from being true owners of our possessions. That doesn't mean vigilantism is acceptable, and that's exactly what this shit is.

All the rhetoric about the initial hack being in response to Sony's removal of the option to install Linux on the PS3 is BS. People wanted to have more complete ways of accessing unpaid content on the system, and they would have gone about doing it even if they could still run a secondary OS. It's juvenile and fueled by an absurd sense of entitlement that seeks to actively deny the existence of anything remotely like a commodity in the digital world. After all, if it's all just infinitely reproducible ones and zeros, why should there be a cost?

You see, boys and girls, if you had even the most basic economic background (or a hint of common sense and self-awareness), you'd know that there's this thing called "profit motive". The only reason Sony has any reason to make PS3s is because they can make money off of it, and since they don't make a whole lot of money on the system itself, they rely on licensing fees for the games that are available on it. The only reason companies have incentive to make the games that Sony pulls most of its profit off of is because they know that they can still pull a reasonable profit for themselves.

If somebody finds a flaw in the system that makes it trivial to play games or consume content you don't actually own, then the companies that make those games have less incentive to do so, Sony has less incentive to make new systems, and none of us actually get any new content to enjoy on our newly "freed" piece of technology. So, when you go about trying to spread your exploit and the accompanying gospel of economic non-participation as loud and fast as you can instead of making Sony aware of the flaw, they are going to use their entirely legal (if not entirely reasonable) rights to try to not only stop you but to pump you dry in the process.

The response to this is not to say, "Oh, Sony is an evil megacorporation that wants to force us to actually pay to enjoy the material they produce!" and call them names while maliciously attacking their servers with your illegally acquired bot-nets. The response is to go, "Wow, that guy really should have seen that coming" and go on buying or not buying things based on your sense of the reasonableness of their market value.

So, all of you little script kiddies out there, go to hell and get a job. If you think things are too expensive, go without for a change. There are so many cheap ways to consume all of the media you could possibly want that you really have no excuse. If you think that the systems are broken and favor corporations too strongly, get involved in the political process like a goddamn adult.

Angst Mash-Up

There is a pain
deep in my heart
that can be known by no-one
except me.
It cries out, demanding
my attention
and my affection.

This affliction rends
my very soul.
I cannot share it,
but nor would I want to.
Because then, knowing
that my pain was seeing other people,
jealousy would consume me,
leaving me even more alone.
With myself.
And my pain.

And then,
my beloved pain,
we would sit
in awkward silence.
I would long to forgive,
to embrace you once again,
to find my identity in you.
But you, unwilling
to apologize, always
making excuses --
the way you once
helped me to --
would keep us apart,
just as you once kept
me apart from
the world.

Wait!
I am still apart
from the world.
I am still making
excuses.
You, my lovely,
unknowable pain,
are still keeping
me isolated.
And safe.
You have not cheated.
Yet.

I sit, in the rain
and gloom of my heart
and I weep.
In joy.
And in pain.

Why I Don't Care About Heaven and Hell

The notion of Hell is theologically troubling for lots of reasons. At the surface, it basically asks you to accept one of two things: Either we have an omnibenevolent God who has created billions of people over history for the express purpose of delivering them to eternal torment, or we have an omnipotent God whose greatest will -- that all should come to know and love him -- can be thwarted by mere mortals. This conundrum has probably turned more people away from faith (in the traditional understanding) than just about anything else; and it has led plenty of theologians to attempt to find new and creative ways of eliminating the issue, virtually all of which also fall on their faces at some point.

Several weeks ago, certain circles of the internet were agog in news that Rob Bell, pastor of Mars Hill, one of the most prominent mega churches in the country, was publishing a book, Love Wins. In particular, the hullabaloo was related to the book's description, which suggested an endorsement of Universalism (the notion that everybody is granted eternal Salvation). I haven't read the book, and I highly doubt I will, but based on what I've read since its release, it sounds as though it's largely laying out what I was introduced to in my Calvin College philosophy studies as The Doctrine of Second Chances.

Essentially, this doctrine turns Hell into a sort of Hell-Purgatory mash-up from which suffering souls can repent, accept Christ, and be granted entry into Heaven. There are lots of obvious theological problems with this idea -- the fact that it stands in direct contradiction to scripture for one (the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man, most notably). It also seems to stand in direct opposition to the traditional definition of Hell -- a place of complete absence from God. It would seem that, without the presence of God, one could not recognize His Goodness.

This is all well and good, but it doesn't seem to be what most people are up in arms about. I'm sure that a man as respected as Bell knows all of these complaints and others perfectly well and has found clever ways of interpreting scripture that try to sidestep them. Instead, I see way too many people who are opposed to Universalism not because of Theological reasons but because it makes them ask the following questions: If everybody goes to Heaven, what's the purpose of being Christian? If there is no eternal punishment, why am I trying to be good now?

This sort of thinking just makes me sad. It suggests that being "good" is some how onerous. That it would be better if we could all just be selfish and greedy and follow our basest instincts. It endorses the view of life as some sort of balancing act in which we want our good deeds to outweigh our bad deeds by a wide enough margin that we will be let into heaven. By this view, not only can we "earn" Salvation -- one of the fundamental ideas against which Protestants rallied in the Reformation -- it suggests that we can somehow put God in our debt, an absolutely ludicrous notion. More important, though, this line of thinking denies fundamental truths that we attest to: That we were created good and to be good. That sin is an aberration that we are meant not just to avoid but to despise. That true joy and peace rest in returning to some semblance of Communion with God.

If we embrace these truths, the question of "Why be a Christian now?" becomes an easy one, even in the face of Universalism. Because God first loved us and we are called to reciprocate that Love. Because every additional moment we spend in even limited awareness of God's Grace is a moment of greater joy than we can find in any other way. Because now is when we are amidst creation and able to help take a stand against the evils that have tainted it. Because it is what we were created to be.

If you call yourself a Christian and spend your time worrying about where people are going to spend eternity at a level that goes beyond the academic, please, take a moment to think about how you're living your life. Odds are it isn't particularly Biblical and you might want to re-examine where you're going by your own standards. Stop worrying about your "reward" for all the suffering you're putting yourself through by trying to be good because, if you're doing it right, the work -- hard as it can be -- is its own reward.