Game Development Reference
In-Depth Information
My first real player was my little sister. I was around 12 years old when I discovered a digital
game that let you design and play your own levels: the Macintosh version of
Lode Runner
(1984).
It boasted a straightforward but deep system of climbing up ladders and racing across plat-
forms, collecting bags of gold, running from nebulously defined enemies, and digging holes for
them to fall into (see Figure 5.1).
Figure 5.1
A typical level in
Lode Runner
, with the player at the bottom, three enemies, and six bags
of gold to collect.
I found the real magic of
Lode Runner
to be in the level-editing mode, which put the dozen or
so objects of
Lode Runner
at my disposal. All of a sudden I was experimenting, creating scenes
where the hero would be overwhelmed instantly by a horde of implacable enemies, or clamber
and fall into a treasure chamber with hundreds of coins. I could create new scenarios that were
completely unlike anything that came with the game; I could tell simple stories that played out
in a series of twisty, challenging corridors.
When the player has collected every bag of gold in a level of
Lode Runner
, a new object often
appears: a ladder that reaches to the top of the screen, allowing exit to the next level. In my
own levels, I came up with new ways of using this suddenly appearing ladder. The space of the
level would suddenly rearrange, and it would become clear that completing it required getting
back across the dangerous level, being chased by enemies, to reach a previously invisible path.
Suddenly I was creating plots with turning points!
Even though I could play those levels myself to see how they unfolded, there was something
missing: a player, someone else who could experience the dangers and surprises I was crafting.
I wanted to express something
to
someone, through this game. I wanted to see how another
player would respond and if what I'd done would be clear. So I started using my 10-year-old
sister as a guinea pig.
