Prismata Release

About a year ago, I reviewed a game called Prismata. It was quite rightly pointed out to me that my review mostly consisted of talking about StarCraft.

Woops.

I also promised to reblog that review when the game actually released to remind you all to go play it (seriously, a year later, it is still basically the only game I play).

Instead of reblogging that previous post, I’ll do a little overview to give you a feel for the game. I’m going to warn you that the game looks way more complicated than it is. If you go through the tutorial in the game, it will start you with very simple scenarios and introduce the concepts one at a time. By the time you play an actual game, nothing about it will feel overwhelming.

I will also warn you that it is truly its own thing. All comparisons are misleading. I’ve seen “turn-based StarCraft,” “Dominion, but your whole hand is on the board every turn,” and “Fischer Chess960 without board positioning.” Uh, yeah, none of those capture Prismata quite right.

Here is a match I’ve started vs a bot:

Screenshot (26).png

First important thing to note: it’s not a card game! It looks like a card game, but it’s not. I might have to reiterate this point later. You don’t have a hand. You don’t have a deck. There is no drawing of cards. Think of the squares on the screen as “tiles” or “units.”

If you look at the bottom left of the screen, I have: 0 gold, 0 green, 0 blue, 0 red, 0 energy (the lightning bolt). These are the resources used to buy things.

The bot went first, and now I’ll go:

Screenshot (27).png

Now it says I have 2 gold. This is because I clicked my drones to make gold. I have 7 drones. This made 7 gold. Then I spent 5 of those to make a Blastforge that has appeared yellowish at the bottom (pro-tip: this is a bad play). If you look on the left, this is the fourth item down the list and it clearly says “5 gold.” I also now have “2 energy” created by the engineers.

This blastforge will start giving me “1 blue” to spend every turn. I won’t keep going through turns like this. I did this to illustrate that this is more of an economy building type of game. It’s not a card game! I buy units to put on the board. I never keep units in my hand.

This brings me to the first, and possibly most important strategic concept of Prismata: there is no hidden information. There is no draw luck. The game works closer to chess than a card game because of this.

Unlike chess, every game will be different. There’s a base set of units that stays the same. Then there’s a pool of units from which a random set is pulled for the game. After a while, you’ll know every unit in this pool, so it’s how they combine that’s the interesting part.

Okay, so I’ve said there’s an economy component, but what the heck do you do? What’s the goal?

The goal is to destroy all of your opponent’s units. This is different from chess (“kill” the king, a specific unit). This is different from Magic/Hearthstone/generic card game (bring the opponent’s life total to 0). This is different from “Victory Point” games (have the most of something).

In general, units that cost blue are good defenders; units that cost red are strong attackers; and units that cost green are…well, a mix?

Like all great games, it’s impossible to get any understanding from someone telling you about it, but I’ll try to give a you a “feel” for a small fraction of the types of strategic decisions/trade-offs you’ll be making in a match.

Economy:

Drones produce money to buy things, so there’s a sense in which buying drones is an exponential growth process (though not really for technical reasons having to do with energy and finite supply). The more money you have, the more you can buy.

It’s tempting to try to grow your economy to the max, then you just win, right? Sort of, but economy takes a few turns to actually pay off (a drone costs 3, so it takes 3 turns to pay for itself). This means your opponent could make almost no economy, rush a bunch of strong attackers, and kill everything before any of it pays for itself.

Wait, so why not skip all economy and just make attackers? This sometimes works, but mostly it’s because your opponent could make a tiny bit more economy than you and ride it out long enough to gain the advantage.

There’s a sense in which economy size is the fundamental decision you’ll make each game. It’s really fascinating, because depending on the random units you’re playing with, low economy games are the way to win or high economy games are the way to win. Often, you must find the right balance in the middle.

Tech:

Tech refers to whether you want to be making green, red, or blue. New players tend to want everything. If you’re making all three colors, you have a ton of flexibility, so you can buy anything to counter what your opponent is doing, right?

It seems that way at first, but remember, it costs money to make a blastforge to produce blue. If you spend the money, it’s wasteful to not spend the blue. To put it another way, if you don’t spend the blue resource, you may as well have spent the money on something that goes to use right away. More succinctly: the more efficient player tends to get an advantage.

Another fundamental decision you’ll have to make each game is which units you want to buy and how to get the tech units to make the right colors to buy those. There’s a lot of interesting strategy with this, because as soon as you or your opponent buys a tech building, it gives away information about what units you want. There is a trade-off: tech gives the opponent information, but it lets you buy attacking units first.

Attack/Defense:

This is the meat and potatoes of any given turn, so I’m not going to be able to even scratch the surface.

Basically, Prismata has units that can absorb damage (think Magic, where a blocker that doesn’t die has their full toughness the next turn), but there are also units that permanently take damage (think Hearthstone or really any modern online card game).

Deciding how to distribute damage is one of the main things you’ll do in the midgame.

Prismata has units that always attack but also units that only attack when clicked (usually at the cost of being able to defend). There are also units that can be targeted (in other words, you have no choice how to distribute the damage with respect to them). Some units can block the turn they come out, while others have to wait a turn.

All of these differences make really interesting tactical decisions. To give you the flavor of one. There is a unit that has 4 health and permanently takes damage. It can’t attack, but it can be sacrificed to do a burst of 4 damage.

So you might want to set up your turn so that it takes 3 damage the turn it comes out, then can be sacrificed the following turn to deal damage. This way you get the maximum value from it.

Conclusion:

Well, that doesn’t even begin to describe how fascinating this game is. You’ll have to try it to get a real feel for it. Do not be scared off if this sounded overwhelming. I’d say it’s easier to learn than chess, and at least as hard to master.

 

Do not be afraid of the Early Access label on Steam. It’s been developed for eight (?) years, and it’s been played at a very high level by competitive players for several years. It is quite balanced and polished right now.

Get it Here!

It does cost money on Steam right now. This is for Early Access and the solo content (there’s a whole story and missions to teach you the game, plus a ton of individual tactics puzzles to let you work on your skills). I’ve been assured the game will be 100% free to play once it leaves Early Access, so if you want to wait for that, it is an option.

(Also, if a small number of people ask for a key in comments or something, I can maybe, possibly, probably get you one. I will not guarantee this, though, and you would not have access to the solo content).

(Anti-)Disclaimer: I was not a Kickstarter backer for the game. I have had absolutely no contact with the developers of the game with regard to this review. I am receiving nothing for this review. This review has not been influenced by any forces except my own experience with it.

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Lessons in the Fundamentals of Writing, Part 3

As I continue to read poorly edited (I’m not referring to typos) KU books, I continue to find fundamental problems to talk about. Here’s one that will probably be obvious to many people when I point it out, but it would never jump out in a self-editing session to them.

Here’s a real example:

Maria glanced in the window of the coffee shop and saw that it was nearly packed to completely full capacity.

This lesson is again on the level of word choice in sentence construction. There’s a lot to pull from this one mistake. The first is in modifying absolutes. There are times when there’s no choice. One must modify a word that has an absolute meaning.

An example of an absolute is “perfect.” It exist as an absolute extreme. I don’t have much of a problem with saying “nearly perfect” (in other words, modifying the absolute), because synonyms like “flawed” have too much baggage to get the right meaning.

The first part of this lesson is to always try to get the right meaning without forming this construction. I believe the Chicago Manual of Style even lists this as a mistake. The reason is that something either is the absolute or it isn’t. Absolutes set up a pure binary, so it doesn’t really make sense to modify it somehow.

The common example is “unique.” The word unique means “one of a kind” or “the sole example.” This is an absolute and should not be modified. For example, “That’s the most unique car I’ve seen.” The word “most” doesn’t do anything, because the word unique already has that information in it. One should write, “That car is unique.”

But that’s not the real fundamental flaw in the example. The fundamental flaw is redundancy and wordiness. Let’s just look at “packed to completely full capacity.” First off, “completely” serves no purpose. “Full” and “completely full” have the exact same meaning, so it is redundant to say it that way (it’s again modifying an absolute in an unnecessary way).

But “full capacity” is kind of redundant as well, because “packed to full capacity” and “packed to capacity” have the exact same meaning. It is also touch jargon-y, almost like corporate double speak. The other option was to use “full.” That flows much better to me.

Now “full” is an absolute, so we come full circle and have to decide what to do with the “nearly” before it. I say scrap it. When looking into a coffee shop, a human isn’t going to see a difference between “nearly full” and “full.” It’s just going to look full. Here’s my fixed version:

Maria glanced in the window of the coffee shop and saw that it was full.

Go back and read the original now. Wow. This version is so much better. The last two lessons I said an editor wouldn’t point it out, because the mistakes were too fundamental. Any editor worth paying for will point out this type of mistake, so I have to assume the self-published writer that wrote this book did not hire one.

Sorry for the short post, but I’m away on vacation this week. I think this lesson is quite important though.

Critical Postmodern Readings, Part 2: Finishing Lyotard

Last time we looked at the introduction to Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. That introduction already contained much of what gets fleshed out in the rest of the short book, so I’m going to mostly summarize stuff until we hit anything that requires serious critical thought.

The first chapter goes into how computers have changed the way we view knowledge. It was probably an excellent insight that required argument at the time. Now it’s obvious to everyone. Humans used to gain knowledge by reading books and talking to each other. It was a somewhat qualitative experience. The nature of knowledge has shifted with (big) data and machine learning. It’s very quantitative. It’s also a commodity to be bought and sold (think Facebook/Google).

It is a little creepy to understand Lyotard’s prescience. He basically predicts that multinational corporations will have the money to buy this data, and owning the data gives them real-world power. He predicts knowledge “circulation” in a similar way to money circulation.  Here’s a part of the prediction:

The reopening of the world market, a return to vigorous economic competition, the breakdown of the hegemony of American capitalism, the decline of the socialist alternative, a probable opening of the Chinese markets …

Other than the decline of the socialist alternative (which seems to have had a recent surge), Lyotard has a perfect prediction of how computerization of knowledge actually affected the world in the 40 years since he wrote this.

Chapter two reiterates the idea that scientific knowledge (i.e. the type discussed above) is different than, and in conflict with, “narrative” knowledge. There is also a legitimation “problem” in science. The community as a whole must choose gatekeepers seen as legitimate who decide what counts as scientific knowledge.

I’ve written about why I don’t see this as a problem like Lyotard does, but I’ll concede the point that there is a legitimation that happens, and it could be a problem if those gatekeepers change the narrative to influence what is thought of as true. There are even known instances of political biases making their way into schools of scientific thought (see my review of Galileo’s Middle Finger by Alice Dreger).

Next Lyotard sets up the framework for thinking about this. He uses Wittgenstein’s “language game” concept. The rules of the game can never legitmate themselves. Even small modifications of the rules can greatly alter meaning. And lastly (I think this is where he differs from Wittgenstein), each speech act is an attempt to alter the rules. Since agreeing upon the current set of rules is a social contract, it is necessary to understand the “nature of social bonds.”

This part gets a little weird to me. He claims that classically society has been seen either as a unified whole or divided in two. The rules of the language games in a unified whole follow standard entropy (they get more complicated and chaotic and degenerate). The divided in two conception is classic Marxism (bourgeoisie/proletariat).

Even if it gets a bit on the mumbo-jumbo side through this part, I think his main point is summarized by this quote:

For it is impossible to know what the state of knowledge is—in other words, the problems its development and distribution are facing today—without knowing something of the society within which it is situated.

This doesn’t seem that controversial to me considering I’ve already admitted that certain powers can control the language and flow of knowledge. Being as generous as possible here, I think he’s just saying we have to know how many of these powers there are and who has the power and who legitimated that power before we can truly understand who’s forming these narratives and why.

In the postmodern world, we have a ton of different institutions all competing for their metanarrative to be heard. Society is more fractured than just the two divisions of the modern world. But each of these institutions also has a set of rules for their language games that constrains them.  For example, the language of prayer has a different set of rules from an academic discussion at a university.

Chapters 7-9 seem to me to be where the most confusion on both the part of Lyotard and the reader can occur. He dives into the concept of narrative truth and scientific truth. You can already feel Lyotard try to position scientific truth to be less valuable than it is and narrative truth more valuable.

Lyotard brings up the classic objections to verification and falsification (namely a variant on Hume’s Problem of Induction). How does one prove ones proof and evidence of a theory is true? How does one know the laws of nature are consistent across time and space? How can one say that a (scientific) theory is true merely because it cannot be falsified?

These were much more powerful objections in Lyotard’s time, but much of science now takes a Bayesian epistemology (even if they don’t admit to this terminology). We believe what is most probable, and we’re open to changing our minds if the evidence leads in that direction. I addressed this more fully a few years ago in my post: Does Bayesian Epistemology Suffer Foundational Problems?

… drawing a parallel between science and nonscientific (narrative) knowledge helps us understand, or at least sense, that the former’s existence is no more—and no less—necessary than the latter’s.

These sorts of statements are where things get tricky for me. I buy the argument that narrative knowledge is important. One can read James Baldwin and gain knowledge and empathy of a gay black man’s perspective that changes your life and the way you see the world. Or maybe you read Butler’s performative theory of gender and suddenly understand your own gender expression in a new way. Both of these types of narrative knowledge could even be argued to be a “necessary” and vital part of humanity.

I also agree science is a separate type of knowledge, but I also see science as clearly more necessary than narrative knowledge. If we lost all of James Baldwin’s writings tomorrow, it would be a tragedy. If we lost the polio vaccine tomorrow, it would be potentially catastrophic.

It’s too easy to philosophize science into this abstract pursuit and forget just how many aspects of your life it touches (your computer, the electricity in your house, the way you cook, the way you get your food, the way you clean yourself). Probably 80% of the developed world would literally die off in a few months if scientific knowledge disappeared.

I’ll reiterate that Lyotard thinks science is vastly important. He is in no way saying the problems of science are crippling. The above quote is more in raising narrative knowledge to the same importance of science than the devaluing of science (Lyotard might point to the disastrous consequences that happened as a result of convincing a nation of the narrative that the Aryan race is superior). For example, he says:

Today the problem of legitimation is no longer considered a failing of the language game of science. It would be more accurate to say that it has itself been legitimated as a problem, that is, as a heuristic driving force.

Anyway, getting back to the main point. Lyotard points out that problems of legitimating knowledge is essentially modern, and though we should be aware of the difficulties, we shouldn’t be too concerned with it. The postmodern problem is the grand delegitimation of various narratives (and one can’t help but hear Trump yell “Fake News” while reading this section of Lyotard).

Lyotard spends several sections developing a theory of how humans do science, and he develops the language of “performativity.” It all seems pretty accurate to me, and not really worth commenting on (i.e. it’s just a description). He goes into the issues Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem caused for positivists. He talks about the Bourbaki group. He talks about the seeming paradox of having to look for counterexamples while simultaneously trying to prove the statement to be true.

I’d say the most surprising thing is that he gets this stuff right. You often hear about postmodernists hijacking math/science to make their mumbo-jumbo sound more rigorous. He brings up Brownian motion and modeling discontinuous phenomena with differentiable functions to ease analysis and how the Koch curve has a non-whole number dimension. These were all explained without error and without claiming they imply things they don’t imply.

Lyotard wants to call these unintuitive and bizarre narratives about the world that come from weird scientific and mathematical facts “postmodern science.” Maybe it’s because we’ve had over forty more years to digest this, but I say: why bother? To me, this is the power of science. The best summary I can come up with is this:

Narrative knowledge must be convincing as a narrative; science is convincing despite the unconvincing narrative it suggests (think of the EPR paradox in quantum mechanics or even the germ theory of disease when it was first suggested).

I know I riffed a bit harder on the science stuff than a graduate seminar on the book would. Overall, I thought this was an excellent read. It seems more relevant now than when it was written, because it cautions about the dangers of powerful organizations buying a bunch of data and using that to craft narratives we want to hear while deligitimating narratives that hurt them (but which might be true).

We know now that this shouldn’t be a futuristic, dystopian fear (as it was in Lyotard’s time). It’s really happening with targeted advertising and the rise of government propaganda and illegitimate news sources propagating our social media feeds. We believe what the people with money want us to believe, and it’s impossible to free ourselves from it until we understand the situation with the same level of clarity that Lyotard did.

On Google’s AlphaGo

I thought I’d get away from critiques and reviews and serious stuff like that for a week and talk about a cool (or scary) development in AI research. I won’t talk about the details, so don’t get scared off yet. This will be more of a high level history of what happened. Many of my readers are probably unaware this even exists.

Let’s start with the basics. Go is arguably the oldest game in existence. And despite appearances, it’s one of the simplest. Each player takes a turn placing a stone on the intersections of a 19×19 board. If you surround a stone or group of stones of your opponent, you capture them (remove them from the board). If you completely surround other intersections, that counts as your “territory.”

The game ends when both sides pass (no more moves can be made to capture or surround territory). The side that has more territory + captures wins. There’s no memorization of how pieces move. There’s no rules to learn (except ko, which basically says you can’t do an infinite loop causing the game to never end). It’s really that simple.

And despite the simplicity, humans have continued to get better and produce more and more advanced theory about the game for over 2,500 years.

Let’s compare Go to Chess for a moment, because most people in the West think of Chess as the gold standard of strategy games. One could study chess for a whole lifetime and still pale in comparison to the top Grand Masters. When Deep Blue beat Kasparov in 1997, it felt like a blow to humanity.

If you’re at all in touch with the Chess world, you will have succumb to the computer overlords by now. We can measure the time since Deep Blue’s victory in decades. The AI have improved so much since then that it is commonly accepted across the whole community that a human will never be able to win against a machine at Chess ever again.

A few years ago, we could at least have said, “But wait, there’s still Go.” To someone who doesn’t have much experience with Go, it might be surprising to learn that computers weren’t even close to winning against a human a few years ago.

Here’s the rough idea why. Chess can be won by pure computation of future moves. There is no doubt that humans use pattern recognition and positional judgment and basic principles when playing, but none of that stands a chance against a machine that just reads out every single combination of the next 20 moves and then picks the best one.

Go, on the other hand, has pattern recognition as a core element of the strategy. One might try to argue that this is only because the calculations are so large, no human could ever do them. Once we have powerful enough computers, a computer could win by pure forward calculation.

As far as I understand it, this is not true. And it was the major problem in making an AI strong enough to win. Even at a theoretical level, having the computer look ahead a dozen moves would generate more combinations than the number of atoms in the known universe. A dozen moves in Chess is half the game. A dozen moves in Go tells you nothing; it wouldn’t even cover a short opening sequence.

Go definitely has local sections of the game where pure “reading ahead” wins you the situation, but there is still the global concept of surrounding the most territory to consider. It’s somewhat hard to describe in words to someone unfamiliar with the game what exactly I mean here.

san-ren-sei-opening

Notice how on the right the black stones sort of surround that area. That could quickly turn into territory by fully surrounding it. So how do you get an AI to understand this loose, vague surrounding of an area? One could even imagine much, much looser and vaguer surrounding as well. Humans can instantly see it, but machines cannot and no amount of a calculating further sequences of moves will help.

For years, every winter break from college, I’d go home and watch famous and not-so-famous people easily win matches against the top AI. Even as late as 2014, it wasn’t clear to me that I’d ever see a computer beat a human. The problem was that intractable.

Along came Google. They used a machine learning technique called “Deep Learning” to teach an AI to develop these intuitions. The result was the AlphaGo AI. In March 2016, AlphaGo beat Lee Sedol, arguably the top Go player in the world. It was a five game sequence, and AlphaGo won 4-1. This gave humanity some hope that the top players could still manage a match here and there (unlike in Chess).

But then the AI was put on an online Go server secretly under the name “Master.” It has since played pretty much every single top pro in the world. It has won every single game with a record around 60-0. It is now believed that humans will never win against it, just like in Chess.

More theory has been developed about Go than any other game. We’ve had 2,500 years of study. We thought we had figured out sound basic principles and opening theory. AlphaGo has shaken this up. It will often play moves that look bad to a trained eye, but we’re coming to see that many of the basics we once thought of as optimal are not.

It’s sort of disturbing to realize how quickly the machine learned the history of human development and then went on to innovate it’s own superior strategies. It will be interesting to see if humans can adapt to these new strategies the AI has invented.

Prismata Review

A few month’s ago I reviewed a game by David Sirlin called Codex. It is an attempt to convert a real-time strategy game, like StarCraft, into a card game. And it actually does a really good job (see the post for details).

I’ll try to not talk about StarCraft very long, because the words will be indecipherable to anyone who hasn’t played it (which is probably 99% of people reading this). There is a really old and interesting question about the game: if you strip away everything but the strategy aspect, is it still an interesting game?

This may sound weird to people unfamiliar with the game, because, well, it’s a real-time “strategy” game.

The first ridiculous thing when starting StarCraft is how much there is to learn. There’s probably close to a 100 hotkeys you have to know. There’s the tech tree structure. There’s around 60 units, each of which you should know cost, types of attacks, damage, health, shields, and what the spell-casting abilities are. Knowing those things, you’ll need to learn what counters what and why.

And you might be thinking, but I’ll just click through stuff during a game to find the information. There’s no need to memorize it. That brings up the other crazy aspect of the game: apm (actions per minute). You are going to have to have 200-300 apm (i.e. clicking or pressing a keyboard key 5 times per second on average for an entire 15+ minute match), so you just don’t have time to look stuff up during a match even though that information is available:

 

If you’re not a StarCraft player, hopefully you’re getting a sense of why the question doesn’t have an obvious answer. You have to play for months just to internalize the hotkeys and learn enough to get to the point of forming any sort of strategy.

If you strip out the memorization; If you strip out dividing the opponent’s attention and distracting them; If you strip out the fog of war; If you strip out having to execute 5 actions per second perfectly for an entire match: is there an interesting strategy game left? In other words, is the winner just someone who clicks faster?

Codex went a long way to answering that question in the affirmative. Sirlin brilliantly left in an aspect of the fog of war and tech trees. But the fact that it is a card game messes with the answer a little. There’s still some luck and some blind countering and some memorization to know what possible answers your opponent will have.

Okay, so this post is supposed to be about Prismata. To me, Prismata gives us a near perfect game for answering the question. There is absolutely no hidden information. All the units and their costs and their abilities are listed on the side at the start of the game. A beginner can play matches with slow enough time controls to carefully read all of this and formulate a plan before making moves.

As soon as your opponent buys a unit, it goes onto the board. So there is no random hidden information of shuffling it into a deck like Codex. Despite it’s appearance, Prismata is NOT a card game. There is no deck or randomness in gameplay at all.

The only randomness is in what units you are allowed to choose from during setup, and I think this is absolutely brilliant. In traditional strategy games like Chess or Go or even StarCraft, there are set openings that one must memorize to play at the top level because every game starts the same. This takes the strategy out of the opening.

In Prismata, every game is different. You have to look at the board you’ve been given and start planning a strategy on Turn 1. It’s a really exciting and fresh idea for a strategy game. It’s like if Chess or Go started with some randomized board state. You couldn’t go into a game with a plan to play a Queen’s gambit or the Kobayashi opening or something. You have to develop a plan on the fly based on the board. It’s a true battle of skill.

Before this review gets too far, I have to bring up the last comparison to Codex. Codex is a card/board game. There is no real online way to play. I played quite a bit by forum, and this might be tolerable for some people. The community is certainly very active, and you won’t have trouble finding a match. But it brought too much fatigue for me, and I stopped liking it for awhile.

Prismata is computer only (eventually through Steam and a separate client and web browser, though I’m not sure if all will continue to be supported after Steam release). If Codex had a computer version, it might compete for my attention. As it is, it’s a game that is played in person, occasionally.

Prismata has an excellent set of tutorials and basic bots and “story” to play through to get a newcomer up to speed. The game looks horrifically complicated, but it is actually very easy to learn and difficult to master. I promise if you play through the basic stuff, you’ll have a full grasp of the basics and even have a few basic strategic ideas. Do not be intimidated by a cluttered screenshot if this game sounds at all interesting to you.

Prismata is a game for people who like strategy and/or card games but who don’t like some of the ridiculous aspects of both. Many strategy games have too much hidden information to make good decisions or too much technical execution to execute a strategic plan. And card games, well, the online ones at least have way too much randomness. There’s also that super annoying way card games completely change every few months when new cards get released and you have to dump a ton of money into it to stay relevant.

Did I mention Prismata is true free to play? Since it’s not a card game, you’ll be playing the real game every game. Neither side will have an advantage merely from grinding out hundreds of hours or paying hundreds of dollars to unlock some legendary thing.

Right now, if you want to try it, you’ll need to request an alpha tester key here. It should release on Steam very soon, though, and I promise to reblog this with the link at the top to remind anyone interested.

A Critique of Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons

I recently got around to playing Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons. It’s one of those games I picked up forever ago, and it just sat around. I got it because it has to be one of the most critically acclaimed games I’ve ever seen. Giant Bomb and many, many other gaming sites gave it a 5/5 or very near such a perfect score.

I’m going to take a contrarian view, and I’m going to back up my claims with hard facts. Anyone paying attention and who knows about games should know better. I’m very confused as to how “experts” could have thought this game was good. I’m confused how “experts” could have even liked the game.

First, the game suffered from genre confusion. I’m all for experimenting with new, cross-genre ideas, but there has to be some content there at the end of the day. Was it a puzzle game? No. It fails on this front, because I never once had to “solve” something. From start to finish, the solution of how to progress was immediately obvious. Moreover, many of the puzzles repeated … several times … like, way too many times for a game this short.

Was it a platformer? No. The platforming aspects were too easy, and the stakes were too low. I think I died at one point because I accidentally let go of a trigger. That was my only death, and basically it happened because I itched my face or something. I got to repeat the task immediately with no penalty.

There is no platforming difficulty at all. In fact, many elements were downright bad on this front:

screenshot-brothers-a-tale-of-two-sons-climb-1024x592

brothers

The number of places where you must edge around a cliff or cross a narrow bridge got on my nerves. Not because I had to execute something challenging, but because the game designers clearly have no idea why other games use these elements. There is no risk of falling. The game won’t let you—I tried. So what’s the point other than to slow the player down? It’s more than an annoyance; it’s bad game design.

Basically, the game must be a story-driven walking simulator, because we’ve now determined it isn’t any of the other genres it’s crossed with. So how is the story? Oh, boy. Don’t get me started. It’s terrible.

First, it starts with a MacGuffin. This is already bad, mostly because we don’t even know what we’re setting off on our adventure to find. We only know it will magically save our father. That’s convenient. Where are we going? How do we know this cure will work? Don’t the writer’s know that MacGuffins are considered a cliche trope indicative of bad storytelling?

Then we haven’t even left our town and a kid is trying to stop us. Why? Our father is dying, and this kid doesn’t want to let us through. I get it. They needed an excuse to set up some “platforming puzzles” (that, recall, require no platforming or puzzle-solving skills). But you can’t have such a disgusting character with no motivation. I hate the term “ludonarrative dissonance,” because I’ve never consciously experienced it. But here I did. This conflict between gameplay and story already ruined the mood of the game in the first five minutes.

Another act of ludonarrative dissonance was when I got to this big castle that I couldn’t enter, but it had these perfectly placed pegs to grab on to (not quite the picture I wanted, but you get the point):

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Really? This highly fortified castle has this convenient other way to scale it with perfectly placed pegs, just the right distance so that the rope randomly tied between the two brothers barely reaches. Is this a story game or a puzzle platformer? If it’s a platformer, we could overlook these huge narrative flaws. But it doesn’t work as a game in that genre. It’s a story game, but these scenarios wreck the suspension of disbelief for the story.

More succinctly, in the language of game design, these sections involve “environmental puzzles,” but the puzzles don’t occur naturally in the environment at all. This is bad game design.

And let’s not even go there with the deus ex machinas. Are you stuck and can’t actually progress? Yes? Oh, well, good thing a giant appears out of nowhere and just throws you across the ravine. Did you get to the top of the castle only to be at a dead end? Good thing there is a bird trapped in a cage that will fly you to the next area.

It gets worse. How is that bird still alive? It’s been trapped in a cage for who-knows-how-long, bleeding, without any food, and all the people that could feed it are dead. Are we really supposed to believe the bird is still alive?

Lastly, people claim the ending is really sad. They claim they were moved to tears. I couldn’t get past the shrieking woman singing that shrill song at the climax. It ruined the mood. Ending Spoiler:

On a more serious note, I’ve already mentioned all the reasons I never got into the story: ludonarrative dissonance, tropes/cliches, unmotivated characters, ruined suspension of disbelief, plot holes, etc. I just didn’t feel anything except relief the game was over.

On positive note, the concept could have been amazing. Part of what made the game easy was that the core concept was never executed to its fullest. You have to move one of the brothers with one hand and the other with the other hand.

The potential for some truly interesting and difficult gameplay is there. All they had to do was design parts where you have to move both at the same time in fairly precise and independent ways. Instead, they stuck to having you move both in parallel or one at a time. That was the main downfall of the game: It didn’t even deliver on its core innovative mechanic.

Overall, each element has much better games. For puzzle platforming, there are dozens of examples: Braid, Thomas Was Alone, Teslagrad, Super Meat Boy, Trine, and on and on. For story, there are dozens of examples: Gone Home, Bastion, To the Moon, and on and on. For atmosphere: Limbo, Dear Esther, Kentucky Route Zero, The Long Dark, and on and on. I see no reason why anyone should play this game under any circumstance. There’s just much better games on every front.

I know. The whole is better than the sum of its parts for some games. In this case, that is not true. In fact, many parts messed up other parts. What the critics and people who liked this game were thinking is beyond me.

Reviewing Sirlin’s Codex

I’m travelling, so this might not be the most thorough or polished review Codex deserves. Don’t take this as a reflection on the game.

The game can be learned in one or two playthroughs, but it will probably sound way more complicated when describing it in words. I’ll refer to Magic: The Gathering (MtG), Hearthstone, and Dominion. If you have absolutely no familiarity with any of these games, you may want to skip the post. But, you don’t have to have played any of them. If you’ve heard of MtG and vaguely know what a deckbuilding game is (Dominion), you’ll probably be fine.

Codex takes the core of MtG as it’s starting point. Each player has their own deck built from various colors. The colors tend to have themes that loosely follow MtG. Red focuses on haste and burn spells. Green is creature and growth spell based. Black uses skeletons and killing off creatures to get effects. And so on.

But that’s about where the comparisons stop. One of the most annoying aspects of MtG for me is that you can only attack the other player with your creatures. The opposing player has all these creatures on the battlefield and can even block with them, but the attacker can’t have their creatures attack them. It makes no sense, and forces really weird play to avoid bad trades. Also, after being damaged, creatures heal for the next turn. This makes healing a totally nonviable type of spell to design around.

Hearthstone basically fixes these two oddities by allowing creatures to attack each other, and damage persists across turns. This is also how Codex works. It opens up so many interesting decisions. Do I heal myself or do I heal my creatures? (It’s actually not that interesting. Answer: Always heal the creatures because your health isn’t as important as board presence).

In all these games, one must pay a cost to cast a spell or summon a creature. MtG builds these costs into the deck by forcing you to have “dead” cards (land). This means you can randomly get flooded by too much or screwed by too little. The ideal would be to play a land every turn to keep ramping up to better creatures until you hit an ideal amount, and then you never want to draw land again.

Since this is the ideal, Hearthstone just forces this to happen by giving you one extra mana per turn. It fixes these two MtG issues in one swoop. You never draw dead cards, and you can focus on strategically playing on curve without being at the mercy of random draw.

In a sense, this goes too far, because it eliminates some of the decision space. Codex draws on RTS games and hits a very interesting middle ground. You pay for cards with gold, and you always have the choice to increase the amount of gold each turn to play on curve. But unlike Hearthstone, there’s a cost to do it. You must convert a card in hand to a “worker.” This removes the card from the game and costs 1 gold, a startlingly high cost that after a few games becomes clear to always be worth it.

The more decisions that have to be made, the higher the skill cap. This one choice each turn is very interesting. Do you forego making a worker to have better card advantage, and 1 extra gold this turn; or is this too risky because the next turn your opponent will have more gold if they make a worker?

Another RTS innovation that increases the decision space is building tech buildings. Each turn you get to add two cards to your deck from a pool determined by your starting factions. This is the Dominion deck building idea. The point of this is that you can try to predict your opponents strategy and then add in cards to your deck to counter them. But maybe they were only feigning a strategy and you teched in a counter which they already countered. The mind games are real.

If you haven’t built any buildings, you can only use cards coming from Tech 0. If you spend money to build a building, you get to use Tech 1 cards and so on. This is often the hardest decision in the game for me. Tech 2 cards are really, really powerful. If one player starts playing them significantly earlier than another, they will probably spiral out of control to victory.

But building the structure to play these powerful cards pretty much wrecks a whole turn. In other words, if you build these too early, you might incur a cost so severe you fall behind and can’t catch up, even with the powerful new cards. If you build it too late, your opponent might just win with their powerful cards. It’s a super interesting and critical decision that has to be made by comparing economies, board state, card advantage, your current strategy, your opponent’s strategy and so on.

The last interesting innovation I’ll talk about is the fact that you have to have a “hero” in play to cast spells. This opens up a huge range of possible targets for attack. Do you kill the hero and cripple their ability play spells? Do you attack creatures for board advantage? Do you attack tech buildings so they can’t play their more powerful cards? Do you all-in and only attack the base in hopes of rushing a victory?

And this is only the half of it. There’s a board, so creatures can take up strategic positions. Heroes have abilities they get from levelling up. Some of the innovative card keywords are really clever, like Purple being about time manipulation. And I’m sure I’m missing dozens of cool ideas they’ve packed into this.

I’ll admit it is quite expensive to get the full thing, but it’s not a collectible or trading card game. The set is complete as is (and considering it’s priced at about 2 booster boxes of MtG cards, i.e. 1/(10,000+) of the cards in MtG, it’s hard to complain). Once you have all the cards (which come in the Deluxe version), you’re done buying cards for the game forever. The Core Set is priced at a standard board game price and gets you the complete Green and Red sets, and if this is interesting to you, you’ll get more than enough hours of play to make it worth it.

Overall, I couldn’t be happier. It’s like this game was designed specifically with me in mind. The game is really fun at a casual level, but really deep. I could see the game becoming quite competitive with how high the skill ceiling seems to be.