It's shopping day, so I ran to the store. Currently I've got a ton of leftover dry spaghetti, so in the interests of using all of everything I buy, it's spaghetti week. Last week was Sausages Week, because I had hot dog buns to burn.
Today's meal, hopefully with leftovers for tomorrow:
2 cloves garlic
1 yellow onion
6 large Crimini Mushrooms
1 small can tomato sauce
dash salt
splash vinegar
splash cayenne sauce
Preliminary tastings indicate GREAT SUCCESS!
It's times like this (and lots of other times too, come to think of it) I wish I had a camera up here. Food blogging ftw!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
B is for...
Banderhobb
Basilisk
Bear
Beholder
Black Pudding
Blink Dog
Brownie
Bugbear
...
Banshee. Down a street, in a dark alley, over the hill, from deep in the forests, from across a still, black lake, you hear a woman sobbing, wailing uncontrollably. Her sorrow cuts her to the bone, and chills you to your core. You don't want to hear her, you don't want to see her; she's not behaving appropriately.
But your callousness is your downfall, and it's too late for you. The banshee cries uncontrollably over a death, but whose? Is she crying for her last victim? Does she cry for you? Or does she cry for someone else entirely, and you're just collateral damage, your life force leeched from your body by the empty black of her grief?
Some say the Banshee was a poor woman, mourning the death of a child, a lover, a friend. Alone in the world, her grief ignored by all, her sorrow grew unbearable. Slowly it consumed her, and she remained in mourning even to her death. But her sorrow was hungrier even than death, and she remains, wailing, grieving until the end of time, lashing out now at those who would ignore her sorrow.
A serpentine lower body, the upper body and face of a once beautiful woman, now decayed. The banshee sits beside watery places, washing the blood out of someone's shirt. You may be traveling with another, but your companion won't hear; when the banshee calls, she calls for you alone. Your death is assured, and you are the only one who knows.
Basilisk
Bear
Beholder
Black Pudding
Blink Dog
Brownie
Bugbear
...
Banshee. Down a street, in a dark alley, over the hill, from deep in the forests, from across a still, black lake, you hear a woman sobbing, wailing uncontrollably. Her sorrow cuts her to the bone, and chills you to your core. You don't want to hear her, you don't want to see her; she's not behaving appropriately.
But your callousness is your downfall, and it's too late for you. The banshee cries uncontrollably over a death, but whose? Is she crying for her last victim? Does she cry for you? Or does she cry for someone else entirely, and you're just collateral damage, your life force leeched from your body by the empty black of her grief?
Some say the Banshee was a poor woman, mourning the death of a child, a lover, a friend. Alone in the world, her grief ignored by all, her sorrow grew unbearable. Slowly it consumed her, and she remained in mourning even to her death. But her sorrow was hungrier even than death, and she remains, wailing, grieving until the end of time, lashing out now at those who would ignore her sorrow.
A serpentine lower body, the upper body and face of a once beautiful woman, now decayed. The banshee sits beside watery places, washing the blood out of someone's shirt. You may be traveling with another, but your companion won't hear; when the banshee calls, she calls for you alone. Your death is assured, and you are the only one who knows.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
A is for Aboleth
A is for Aboleth, the abyssal ichthyoid.
Whenever you're wading in the water, especially when the waves and sand and silt and murk make it difficult to see, and you feel something slither against your feet, that's the Aboleth. Some say it's enormous, the size of an island, or maybe even an entire continent, swimming down in the crushing depths. Others say it's man-sized, swimming around on translucent jelly-like fins. Is it a creature of brute strength, sucking ships down to the bottom of the ocean with its tentacles? Or a creature of domineering mind, drawing strange souls to the ocean to stare for hours, looking, searching for something they don't quite understand?
The Aboleth is the song that beaches the whales, it is the sting of the man o war, the broken bottle in the surf. The Aboleth is patient, and ageless. Eternal as the tide, the Aboleth waits for prey to draw near. A gelatinous body with a hundred eyes, all stinging tentacles and toothed suckers, a mind as unfathomable as the depths. There are castles on the ocean floor, palaces and labyrinths and dungeons and spires and canyons, and it is here the Aboleth makes its home.
The Aboleth is what you can't see and what you don't know. It is what you fear may be in the water, the slime on the bottom of your foot, the brief flutter against your leg. You can't see it, you can't know it, you can't find it. It sees you. It knows you. It finds you.
Whenever you're wading in the water, especially when the waves and sand and silt and murk make it difficult to see, and you feel something slither against your feet, that's the Aboleth. Some say it's enormous, the size of an island, or maybe even an entire continent, swimming down in the crushing depths. Others say it's man-sized, swimming around on translucent jelly-like fins. Is it a creature of brute strength, sucking ships down to the bottom of the ocean with its tentacles? Or a creature of domineering mind, drawing strange souls to the ocean to stare for hours, looking, searching for something they don't quite understand?
The Aboleth is the song that beaches the whales, it is the sting of the man o war, the broken bottle in the surf. The Aboleth is patient, and ageless. Eternal as the tide, the Aboleth waits for prey to draw near. A gelatinous body with a hundred eyes, all stinging tentacles and toothed suckers, a mind as unfathomable as the depths. There are castles on the ocean floor, palaces and labyrinths and dungeons and spires and canyons, and it is here the Aboleth makes its home.
The Aboleth is what you can't see and what you don't know. It is what you fear may be in the water, the slime on the bottom of your foot, the brief flutter against your leg. You can't see it, you can't know it, you can't find it. It sees you. It knows you. It finds you.
The Monster Alphabet
So Zak over at Playing DnD with Pornstars did this thing a while back where he went through the alphabet and wrote about some iconic monsters. I will sorrowfully admit to reading some of it, but not all of it.
However, I really like the concept. I'm copying his idea, both as a brainstorming exercise and because I've had Aboleths on my brain all day.
Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, let us commence the Monster Alphabet!
However, I really like the concept. I'm copying his idea, both as a brainstorming exercise and because I've had Aboleths on my brain all day.
Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, let us commence the Monster Alphabet!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Hoss Brainstorms a Questionnaire
I've been reading both the Dungeon Master's Guide 2 and a lot of Playing DnD With Pornstars lately, and both have some excellent comments about trying to discover what your players want and how to give it to them.
This is my brainstorming post for things-to-ask-players-so-we're-all-on-the-same-page-of-a-dnd-game-from-the-beginning.
1 - Do you want to BE, or SEE? Some DnD games are about your character BEING weird, or BEING heroic, or BEING awesome. Other DnD games are about a relatively unimportant nobody who nonetheless SEES weird shit, or SEES heroic circumstances, or SEES awesome worlds. The former is a focus on the nature of the characters, because it's the characters that are weird/heroic/awesome or otherwise notable; the later is a focus on the nature of the world, because while the characters are just farm boys or scullery maids, the world is weird/heroic/awesome.
2 - Do you prefer weird fantasy or heroic fantasy?
Weird Fantasy: the heroes encounter a female bullywug that insists that it is a beautiful kobold maiden that's been transformed. She only talks in rhyme, and hopping is her only method of transportation. To restore her to her original swamp-lizard-halfling glory, the heroes must bring her the hair of the sorcerer who transformed her, which she must eat to turn back the transformation.
Heroic Fantasy: the heroes encounter a female bullywug that's responsible for the plague sweeping through the town. In an epic battle against the bullywug cultists, the heroes stem the tide of filth and save the town. Also, the mayor's buxom daughter was being held in a nearby cell- the heroes claim a handsomer-than-usual reward for her return.
3 - Do you prefer fighting or roleplaying?
4 - Do you prefer puzzles that the players have to figure out (like a number puzzle that everyone has to think about together, which unlocks the door) or puzzles that the characters have to figure out (some combination of skill checks or other actions by the characters unlocks the door)?
5 - Do you prefer Dungeons or Dragons? Effectively, do you prefer fighting the environment (the dungeon as the primary enemy, with monsters as "flavor") or monsters (the dragon as the primary enemy, with traps/hazards/dungeon features as "flavor")?
Just a few for right now... others perhaps to follow at a later date.
This is my brainstorming post for things-to-ask-players-so-we're-all-on-the-same-page-of-a-dnd-game-from-the-beginning.
1 - Do you want to BE, or SEE? Some DnD games are about your character BEING weird, or BEING heroic, or BEING awesome. Other DnD games are about a relatively unimportant nobody who nonetheless SEES weird shit, or SEES heroic circumstances, or SEES awesome worlds. The former is a focus on the nature of the characters, because it's the characters that are weird/heroic/awesome or otherwise notable; the later is a focus on the nature of the world, because while the characters are just farm boys or scullery maids, the world is weird/heroic/awesome.
2 - Do you prefer weird fantasy or heroic fantasy?
Weird Fantasy: the heroes encounter a female bullywug that insists that it is a beautiful kobold maiden that's been transformed. She only talks in rhyme, and hopping is her only method of transportation. To restore her to her original swamp-lizard-halfling glory, the heroes must bring her the hair of the sorcerer who transformed her, which she must eat to turn back the transformation.
Heroic Fantasy: the heroes encounter a female bullywug that's responsible for the plague sweeping through the town. In an epic battle against the bullywug cultists, the heroes stem the tide of filth and save the town. Also, the mayor's buxom daughter was being held in a nearby cell- the heroes claim a handsomer-than-usual reward for her return.
3 - Do you prefer fighting or roleplaying?
4 - Do you prefer puzzles that the players have to figure out (like a number puzzle that everyone has to think about together, which unlocks the door) or puzzles that the characters have to figure out (some combination of skill checks or other actions by the characters unlocks the door)?
5 - Do you prefer Dungeons or Dragons? Effectively, do you prefer fighting the environment (the dungeon as the primary enemy, with monsters as "flavor") or monsters (the dragon as the primary enemy, with traps/hazards/dungeon features as "flavor")?
Just a few for right now... others perhaps to follow at a later date.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Encounter of the Week: Fire Alarms
So part of this blog's purpose is to serve as a creative outlet, either with short stories, or gaming scenarios, or what have you. Ideally, I'd like to do something creative in that manner once a week.
The scenario that's been bubbling around in my head this week is based around fire alarms.
Back when I was having trouble with my phone beeping, which I thought was my fire alarm beeping, my attention was called to the fact that fire alarms are very commanding. When a fire alarm goes off, people pay attention, and I don't think it's just because of the volume, I think it's almost a classical conditioning response. People pay attention to fire alarms because they've been trained to from a very young age.
So how to take advantage of that in an encounter?
In Dungeons and Dragons, I'm not the sort of DM who regularly incorporates sounds or music into the gaming session. I think I've done it very infrequently, but I've read some good ideas on it. Here's one encounter idea:
The Background: Strange noises, like howling gusts of wind, crackling lightning, and sonic bursts, have been coming from one of the dilapidated old buildings at the center of town. Since the low-level noobish PCs have been bothering the local constabulary for work, the sheriff directs them thither.
The Lead In: The party is exploring through an abandoned building. Because the building is in the midst of a populated city, the building is set up with working fire alarms; ritual sigils inscribed on walls or ceilings that detect the presence of flame within some number of squares.
The Encounter: The party kicks in the door on a few acolytes experimenting with some very expensive elemental crystals. To protect themselves, the acolytes cast a quick summoning, drawing a few fire elementals into the room.
The Kicker: The DM has set up his computer with a loud and annoying looping fire alarm mp3. When the Fire Elementals are summoned, and whenever they're within 5 squares of a Fire Alarm Sigil, the DM plays the mp3 at max volume. Think of it as a hazard that affects the players instead of the characters, motivating the players to draw the fire elementals away from the Fire Alarm Sigils, thus motivating specific prioritization of enemies and movement around the battlefield.
The Caveat: Don't use this trick more than a few times. Loud noises are annoying and you might have to find another group of players to torture. Also, 4e fights tend to take a while, and long-lasting loud noises are even worse than short ones. Even if it's not standard practice in your campaign, do everyone a favor and consider cutting hit points by 25% and letting enemies deal an extra 1[W] damage to the players when they're bloodied. The fight will go faster, enemies will be more of a threat when bloodied, and the alarms will stop sooner.
The scenario that's been bubbling around in my head this week is based around fire alarms.
Back when I was having trouble with my phone beeping, which I thought was my fire alarm beeping, my attention was called to the fact that fire alarms are very commanding. When a fire alarm goes off, people pay attention, and I don't think it's just because of the volume, I think it's almost a classical conditioning response. People pay attention to fire alarms because they've been trained to from a very young age.
So how to take advantage of that in an encounter?
In Dungeons and Dragons, I'm not the sort of DM who regularly incorporates sounds or music into the gaming session. I think I've done it very infrequently, but I've read some good ideas on it. Here's one encounter idea:
The Background: Strange noises, like howling gusts of wind, crackling lightning, and sonic bursts, have been coming from one of the dilapidated old buildings at the center of town. Since the low-level noobish PCs have been bothering the local constabulary for work, the sheriff directs them thither.
The Lead In: The party is exploring through an abandoned building. Because the building is in the midst of a populated city, the building is set up with working fire alarms; ritual sigils inscribed on walls or ceilings that detect the presence of flame within some number of squares.
The Encounter: The party kicks in the door on a few acolytes experimenting with some very expensive elemental crystals. To protect themselves, the acolytes cast a quick summoning, drawing a few fire elementals into the room.
The Kicker: The DM has set up his computer with a loud and annoying looping fire alarm mp3. When the Fire Elementals are summoned, and whenever they're within 5 squares of a Fire Alarm Sigil, the DM plays the mp3 at max volume. Think of it as a hazard that affects the players instead of the characters, motivating the players to draw the fire elementals away from the Fire Alarm Sigils, thus motivating specific prioritization of enemies and movement around the battlefield.
The Caveat: Don't use this trick more than a few times. Loud noises are annoying and you might have to find another group of players to torture. Also, 4e fights tend to take a while, and long-lasting loud noises are even worse than short ones. Even if it's not standard practice in your campaign, do everyone a favor and consider cutting hit points by 25% and letting enemies deal an extra 1[W] damage to the players when they're bloodied. The fight will go faster, enemies will be more of a threat when bloodied, and the alarms will stop sooner.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Jet Boating the Rapids
So this morning, a whole slew of people from my work went off jet boating on the Lachine Rapids of the St-Lawrence river. It was a blast, though next time I'll definitely opt for being further forwards... the back row got a ton of water flowing past our feet (we were practically floating at times), but it was the front that got soaked from above. We definitely got pretty wet, but only the biggest quarter of waves usually made it back our way.
It was amusing when the tour guide giving us "the talk" before the jet boating asked where we were from, and he had about 9 people saying "North Carolina." After that it was "What are you here for? Vacation?" to which we, of course, replied that our company had moved its office here. "What company?" "A video game company." "Ahhhhh," came the reaction, "I hate you guys! If I'd known you were a gaming company, I'd have cancelled your tickets!" He was joking, of course, and after the hour-long tour of the rapids was over, it was "Come back again. We'll give you free rides so you can make a game of rapids-jet-boating."
Ironically, I had already been thinking about how one would go about recreating that experience in a videogame format. Here are some of my thoughts!
Why Jet Boating on the Rapids is fun:
* You get wet.
* It's unpredictably predictable. The guide at the front would give us a 3-second countdown to the biggest waves, and we could see many of the water hazards coming, either from the flow of the water or through the banking of the boat, but getting splashed in the rapids always carries an element of surprise. There would be times we thought we were safe when a hidden second wave (or third... or fourth...) would come out of nowhere and hammer us.
* You get to see neat features; the rapids themselves, wildlife on outcroppings in the river, some sections of the city from a new angle.
* Seeing all that water molding into 5- and 6-foot waves, or being carved into a deep trough by the hull of the turning boat, is really pretty awe inspiring.
* Getting blasted with a huge splash of water is exhilarating- you see it coming, then you can't see, and you hear the flush of water all around you, and you're getting pressed into your seat by the impact, and it's cold but warmer than the air, which is a dramatic tactile sensation.
Some of that stuff is kind of abstract, and entirely impossible to recreate in a video game. Obviously the tactile elements, getting wet and feeling the weight and impact of the water, are impossible to pass directly along to the player of the game. Other elements, however, might be easier to implement, and there are probably some ways to broadcast the more tactile elements from the character to the player.
Some thoughts:
* The player obviously can't get wet. But clever animation and feedback worked into the game mechanics themselves could give the player the distinct impression of being wet. For example, a number of games implement at least audio feedback for when the character has exerted themselves; the player will hear some heavy breathing, as of someone who had just finished running.
Also, I feel that "Shadow of the Colossus" is notable here for really broadcasting to the player the character's exertion in holding on to the colossus. A grip gauge broadcast exactly how much strength the character had left, but at the same time, the character would hold on with both hands when he could, and frequently lose grip with one or the other. The shaking of the colossus would fling the character around, and if the character was walking when the colossus began to shake, he would visibly lose his balance and begin to stumble and eventually fall. All of these elements created a very tense experience for the player; an experience in which the player really believed that the character had difficulty maintaining his grip, or an experience in which the player was immersed in the character's on-screen struggles. The player made no physical exertion, but mentally they were right there with the character.
Similar feedback systems could be put in place for when a character is hit with a wave of cold water. A quick burst of under-water sound, a sharp gasp for breath indicating the return of breathing and the coldness of the water, the visual feedback of a soaked character onscreen or more subtle lighting elements to suggest the changes in temperature between being swamped and being exposed to the air, the gameplay-feedback of either being pushed around or swept off your feet, potentially losing progress towards your goal. It might help increase this immersion if there was some action you could take to prepare the character for impact, and thus lose less progress, or at least be incapacitated for a shorter amount of time. The key to this sort of believable experience is cross-feedback; it has to look like the character is suffering the effect, it has to sound like it, and the gameplay mechanics must simultaneously broadcast that same information.
* Predictable unpredictability is what games like World of Warcraft specialize in. Barring add-ons that broadcast a boss's next move, the player doesn't really know what the boss will do next. However, World of Warcraft is notable in that if you are paying attention, you can see what's coming next. A cast bar makes it obvious, but so does a casting animation, a particle effect specific to the spell at hand, and a series of sounds accompanying the particle effect. Frequently, there's even a tracer particle- a fireball shoots from the enemy's hand towards the player quickly enough that it can't be avoided but slowly enough that the player can see it coming and identify what is happening to his character and why.
There's a clever balance at hand in World of Warcraft, and it's actually more delicate than you might think. Even things like size-of-effect are carefully broadcast, because when that information is fuzzy or inaccurate, the game loses its predictability, which hampers players's ability to react to what's going on, and reduces their chance of success-through-skill.
This also makes me think of situations I've run into with Dungeons and Dragons 4th Edition. One of the key aspects of the game, and very explicit within the rules of the game, is that the characters themselves (and monsters as well) KNOW what effect many spells and abilities have. Characters KNOW that the zombie they're fighting has a drowning aura 3 squares from him, and they also KNOW they'll take 5 damage if they start their turn within it. Why do they know these things? Because effects like a Mark (-2 to attack rolls unless you're attacking the target that marked you), or a Zone (if you enter or start your turn, suffer an effect) are designed to motivate player behavior, and players can't behave as intended if they don't know what a spell or ability does.
That's really what this all comes down to- motivating player behavior, and allowing players to feel success by acting appropriately. So they moved out of the way of your Exploding Keg- that's on purpose. The keg was supposed to get them to move away! They avoided the sucking mud and defeated your encounter quickly? Good for them- it's reward time!
Similar to the way we could see waves coming, or watch a countdown on the boat and either brace ourselves or get a sinus-cavity full of water, players feel good about noticing hazards or benefits and reacting to minimize their detrimental effect, or maximize a beneficial effect.
* Visuals can play a huge role in games, from the obvious to the very subtle. One of the things I noticed very strongly both when flying on a plane and when riding on a jetboat, is that gravity will very frequently still feel "down," beneath my butt, when in actuality the vehicle is banking at a very steep angle. World of Warcraft has flying mounts that bank when they turn (flight points), and Age of Conan has horses that bank to turn, but in both games the camera stays completely vertical while the character banks. If we really wanted to give these experiences a more visceral, gut-pulling feeling, it would be an excellent idea to allow the camera to "bank," identifying that the character feels gravity not as towards the ground, but still beneath his or her butt.
Again, Shadows of the Colossus shines here. When riding the horse there was no change in camera, but there were a few colossi that flew. These creatures would take spectacular dives and turns, and the camera always moved to follow and bank with the creature itself, creating a real impression of momentum and movement. The screen would even blur during faster movements, as though the camera's "eyes" were watering sympathetically with the character's.
That's it for now! Being exposed to some more impressively visceral real-life experiences can always inform the way we make games, and how we make them fun. After all, people pay big money to go to an amusement park and get thrown around. It's not (necessarily) because they like being tossed around at random- a person who suddenly went flying across the street would probably end up quite unhappy- but that we enjoy being in an unusual-yet-somewhat-predictable environment. We can react to the world around us, choosing which roller coaster to ride, when to raise our hands, when to scream, or when to duck our heads to avoid a rapid sinus-cleansing. The world around us shifts, banks, and rolls with our vision, as we look around and see new sights from new angles. And all the while, our bodies are actively screaming at our brains, telling us exactly what's going on. To recreate these experiences in games, all of these elements have to unite to be convincing and exciting. I still remember how sore my thumb was from tensely gripping the thick fur on the back of some doomed colossus, as the camera pitched and rolled with its attempts at survival.
It was amusing when the tour guide giving us "the talk" before the jet boating asked where we were from, and he had about 9 people saying "North Carolina." After that it was "What are you here for? Vacation?" to which we, of course, replied that our company had moved its office here. "What company?" "A video game company." "Ahhhhh," came the reaction, "I hate you guys! If I'd known you were a gaming company, I'd have cancelled your tickets!" He was joking, of course, and after the hour-long tour of the rapids was over, it was "Come back again. We'll give you free rides so you can make a game of rapids-jet-boating."
Ironically, I had already been thinking about how one would go about recreating that experience in a videogame format. Here are some of my thoughts!
Why Jet Boating on the Rapids is fun:
* You get wet.
* It's unpredictably predictable. The guide at the front would give us a 3-second countdown to the biggest waves, and we could see many of the water hazards coming, either from the flow of the water or through the banking of the boat, but getting splashed in the rapids always carries an element of surprise. There would be times we thought we were safe when a hidden second wave (or third... or fourth...) would come out of nowhere and hammer us.
* You get to see neat features; the rapids themselves, wildlife on outcroppings in the river, some sections of the city from a new angle.
* Seeing all that water molding into 5- and 6-foot waves, or being carved into a deep trough by the hull of the turning boat, is really pretty awe inspiring.
* Getting blasted with a huge splash of water is exhilarating- you see it coming, then you can't see, and you hear the flush of water all around you, and you're getting pressed into your seat by the impact, and it's cold but warmer than the air, which is a dramatic tactile sensation.
Some of that stuff is kind of abstract, and entirely impossible to recreate in a video game. Obviously the tactile elements, getting wet and feeling the weight and impact of the water, are impossible to pass directly along to the player of the game. Other elements, however, might be easier to implement, and there are probably some ways to broadcast the more tactile elements from the character to the player.
Some thoughts:
* The player obviously can't get wet. But clever animation and feedback worked into the game mechanics themselves could give the player the distinct impression of being wet. For example, a number of games implement at least audio feedback for when the character has exerted themselves; the player will hear some heavy breathing, as of someone who had just finished running.
Also, I feel that "Shadow of the Colossus" is notable here for really broadcasting to the player the character's exertion in holding on to the colossus. A grip gauge broadcast exactly how much strength the character had left, but at the same time, the character would hold on with both hands when he could, and frequently lose grip with one or the other. The shaking of the colossus would fling the character around, and if the character was walking when the colossus began to shake, he would visibly lose his balance and begin to stumble and eventually fall. All of these elements created a very tense experience for the player; an experience in which the player really believed that the character had difficulty maintaining his grip, or an experience in which the player was immersed in the character's on-screen struggles. The player made no physical exertion, but mentally they were right there with the character.
Similar feedback systems could be put in place for when a character is hit with a wave of cold water. A quick burst of under-water sound, a sharp gasp for breath indicating the return of breathing and the coldness of the water, the visual feedback of a soaked character onscreen or more subtle lighting elements to suggest the changes in temperature between being swamped and being exposed to the air, the gameplay-feedback of either being pushed around or swept off your feet, potentially losing progress towards your goal. It might help increase this immersion if there was some action you could take to prepare the character for impact, and thus lose less progress, or at least be incapacitated for a shorter amount of time. The key to this sort of believable experience is cross-feedback; it has to look like the character is suffering the effect, it has to sound like it, and the gameplay mechanics must simultaneously broadcast that same information.
* Predictable unpredictability is what games like World of Warcraft specialize in. Barring add-ons that broadcast a boss's next move, the player doesn't really know what the boss will do next. However, World of Warcraft is notable in that if you are paying attention, you can see what's coming next. A cast bar makes it obvious, but so does a casting animation, a particle effect specific to the spell at hand, and a series of sounds accompanying the particle effect. Frequently, there's even a tracer particle- a fireball shoots from the enemy's hand towards the player quickly enough that it can't be avoided but slowly enough that the player can see it coming and identify what is happening to his character and why.
There's a clever balance at hand in World of Warcraft, and it's actually more delicate than you might think. Even things like size-of-effect are carefully broadcast, because when that information is fuzzy or inaccurate, the game loses its predictability, which hampers players's ability to react to what's going on, and reduces their chance of success-through-skill.
This also makes me think of situations I've run into with Dungeons and Dragons 4th Edition. One of the key aspects of the game, and very explicit within the rules of the game, is that the characters themselves (and monsters as well) KNOW what effect many spells and abilities have. Characters KNOW that the zombie they're fighting has a drowning aura 3 squares from him, and they also KNOW they'll take 5 damage if they start their turn within it. Why do they know these things? Because effects like a Mark (-2 to attack rolls unless you're attacking the target that marked you), or a Zone (if you enter or start your turn, suffer an effect) are designed to motivate player behavior, and players can't behave as intended if they don't know what a spell or ability does.
That's really what this all comes down to- motivating player behavior, and allowing players to feel success by acting appropriately. So they moved out of the way of your Exploding Keg- that's on purpose. The keg was supposed to get them to move away! They avoided the sucking mud and defeated your encounter quickly? Good for them- it's reward time!
Similar to the way we could see waves coming, or watch a countdown on the boat and either brace ourselves or get a sinus-cavity full of water, players feel good about noticing hazards or benefits and reacting to minimize their detrimental effect, or maximize a beneficial effect.
* Visuals can play a huge role in games, from the obvious to the very subtle. One of the things I noticed very strongly both when flying on a plane and when riding on a jetboat, is that gravity will very frequently still feel "down," beneath my butt, when in actuality the vehicle is banking at a very steep angle. World of Warcraft has flying mounts that bank when they turn (flight points), and Age of Conan has horses that bank to turn, but in both games the camera stays completely vertical while the character banks. If we really wanted to give these experiences a more visceral, gut-pulling feeling, it would be an excellent idea to allow the camera to "bank," identifying that the character feels gravity not as towards the ground, but still beneath his or her butt.
Again, Shadows of the Colossus shines here. When riding the horse there was no change in camera, but there were a few colossi that flew. These creatures would take spectacular dives and turns, and the camera always moved to follow and bank with the creature itself, creating a real impression of momentum and movement. The screen would even blur during faster movements, as though the camera's "eyes" were watering sympathetically with the character's.
That's it for now! Being exposed to some more impressively visceral real-life experiences can always inform the way we make games, and how we make them fun. After all, people pay big money to go to an amusement park and get thrown around. It's not (necessarily) because they like being tossed around at random- a person who suddenly went flying across the street would probably end up quite unhappy- but that we enjoy being in an unusual-yet-somewhat-predictable environment. We can react to the world around us, choosing which roller coaster to ride, when to raise our hands, when to scream, or when to duck our heads to avoid a rapid sinus-cleansing. The world around us shifts, banks, and rolls with our vision, as we look around and see new sights from new angles. And all the while, our bodies are actively screaming at our brains, telling us exactly what's going on. To recreate these experiences in games, all of these elements have to unite to be convincing and exciting. I still remember how sore my thumb was from tensely gripping the thick fur on the back of some doomed colossus, as the camera pitched and rolled with its attempts at survival.
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