Preemptive Retaliation

I started playing a new game last night called Titan Souls. I had once sat and watched my friend Mike play through it, and when I saw it on sale I thought I’d give it a go. You play a small, fragile character whose only weapon is a magic arrow. You fire it, you pull it back, you fire it, you pull it back. With this arrow you have to defeat a multitude of colossal monsters who find it really easy to kill you. Most of these monsters are fairly weak themselves, and it only takes one good shot from the arrow to take them down, but only if you manage to hit them specifically in their weak points. This makes each enemy a super tense puzzle, where you have to figure out their weakness and take advantage of it whilst trying to survive.

It was actually really satisfying at the end of it. There was a lot of frustration in dying and respawning and dying again just to figure out a weak point. But when the final arrow was loosed and the enemy went down… yeah, it was very satisfying.

Though my favourite part of it was how little the game actually told you, storywise. The game begins with a short, confusing scene, with the main character swirling ethereally round a bow and arrow, before he wakes up on the ground. You’re then taken through the basic prompts of hold A to run, press X to fire, and then suddenly you’re attacking Titans, absorbing their souls and exploring a strange land. There’s no explanation, no preamble, no story to speak of. Just you, killing titans.

This opened up a whole world for me, an idea that there was no reason that I was killing these creatures. I was doing it because I wanted to, and I liked the challenge. I liked figuring out their weaknesses, and dodging their unrelenting attacks just to strike them perfectly. I would spend time examining them before the fight begun, figuring out a plan of attack and a way to deal with their patterns. It was only then that I realised that when I was running around them, examining possible strategies, that they sat their, dormant. They weren’t attacking me.

It was only when I attacked them, when I hit them with my arrow, that they would fight me. They were acting in self defence.

This realisation changed the entire game for me. I was no longer an intrepid adventurer, slogging through wind, fire and ice in some noble quest. I was an invader, a threat that they were reacting to. I was literally stealing their souls, and I didn’t even know why. For the fun of it I suppose.

I really enjoyed the way the game conveyed that to me, in small subtle ways. It really made me think about writing, and the way that good writing is subtle. There’s the classic mantra of show, don’t tell, which slips ideas unconsciously into the reader, that points out that maybe what you’re reading isn’t right, that this character isn’t working the right way.

It’s something I’ve had a lot of trouble with in the past. Sliding clues and hints and nuances into pieces instead of stating them outright. I always feel that my showing is obvious and awkward, like a large man trying to hide behind a too short curtain. Maybe that’s because I’m the one who’s writing it. Are mystery writers aware of how mysterious their plots are, or do they just put it all out there and hope for the best?

I’m working on a story right now about a girl and her exboyfriend fighting over why they broke up, and in the background there’s electricity in the air due to the Scottish referendum. I’m having such a difficult time keeping the stories and the background interweaving without yelling LOOK, THERE’S AN ELECTION GOING ON and LOOK, SHE STILL FANCIES HIM every paragraph or so. The story is still a lot of fun to write, but it’s something I’m struggling with.

I suppose it’s something I just need to work on.

But anyway, I played a cool game and then two hours in my computer died and my save was lost. Now I can’t be bothered to go back to it. I guess I’m not a titan murderer after all.

Currently reading: Dan Simmons – The Fall Hyperion