Interactive Fiction & Visual Novels

A Legionary’s Life: an engaging depiction, one text-based battle at a time

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This entry is part 1 of 1 in the series A Legionary's Life

A Legionary’s Life is a text-based indie game that follows the career of a legionary during the rise of the Roman Republic, through the Second Punic War and the Second Macedonian War. Over this time, the player character goes from raw recruit to seasoned veteran — or dies trying.

This is another game that will not be for everybody. Besides the limited production values, players must have the patience to repeatedly die and start again! Those who persist will discover a satisfying combat system and sense of progression.

What do you do in the game? (Fight. A lot.)

A Legionary’s Life moves between two layers:

  • Camp — Here you work out, or practice with the javelin or the sword. Considerations include time and stress from over-exercise. This also includes a top-down foraging minigame.
  • Battles — The meat of the game. See below:
You’ll see a lot of the battle screen in A Legionary’s Life. I took this screenshot on the Steam Deck, which the game supports well.

The key pieces of information are:

  • The red dial — health. Going to zero is a game over.
    • In this case, I (Tigris) am near full health while the Gallic Mercenary is nearly dead.
  • The blue dial — stance. Being off balance incurs a penalty. This happens if you missed a blow and lost your balance, or because your opponent successfully feinted or shield-bashed you. The same is true in reverse.
    • Again, here I have the advantage: my stance is full while the Gallic Mercenary is slightly off-balance.
  • The green dial — fatigue. Tired fighters perform worse.
    • In this case, I am at the second level of fatigue (the small walking stick icon), while the Gallic Mercenary is a bit more than halfway through the first level.
  • The red / blue bar under the dials — you can toggle this to blue to get a bonus to defence and a penalty to offence, or vice-versa.
  • The combatants’ equipment.
    • I am fully armoured, albeit in light linen, while the Gallic Mercenary only has his sword and shield.

While this looks simple, there is a fair bit of strategy behind it. For example:

  • The relative ability of the combatants is crucial. You can get away with more risks against weaker enemies. Conversely, when outmatched, it’s probably better to play defensively and wait for opponents to stagger before counterattacking them, or just stay alive.
  • Similarly, armour makes a big difference. The torso is easiest to hit, so unarmoured light infantry are beatable by going for their chest. But against heavy infantry in good armour, it’s better to wear them down by going for their arms and legs.
  • Different battles have varying lengths and numbers of enemies:
    • In battles between two armies, enemies will spawn infinitely up to the turn limit, but staying alive counts as a victory.
    • On the other hand, smaller encounters such as duels have a finite number of enemies, but go until death.
    • Some battles also impose a time limit for story reasons — for example, when trying to save the life of a wounded comrade. This may call for a high-risk, high-reward strategy — going for the head or neck.

Going from zero to hero is half the fun

How does this play out?

  • In general, the further through the game I was and the more powerful my character, the more aggressively I played.
  • At one extreme, I beat an experienced, well-armoured Carthaginian nobleman in a duel by playing very, very defensively and waiting for him to tire out.
  • At the other extreme, being the first man over the walls during a siege required beating many individually weak militiamen, within a strict time limit. I had to take risks, fight aggressively, and put my faith in superior gear and skill to carry me through.

The flip side is that I die a lot in this game, especially early on. This is typical:

  • Starting characters in A Legionary’s Life have the skills — and survivability — of XCOM rookies.
  • New players don’t know the battle system and will probably take too many risks.

Death is permanent, but a good score will result in more points for character setup in future runs. The story progression is scripted — replayability comes from trying again, and aiming for a higher score or better ending.

It took me 10 tries before I successfully cleared the game on my 11th run. This was my proudest moment:

Earning a Civic Crown, as in this example, is a tough but cool set-piece.

That was a 5 vs 1 fight (fortunately the 5 enemies didn’t come all at once) to save the life of a wounded Roman. My character became a hero that day, earning a Civic Crown. He later became a centurion, survived the wars, and eventually became a Senator. Hurray!

Tigris got there in the end!

… Then I died on my next run. The fortunes of war are fickle.

Conclusions

A Legionary’s Life is a good example of a simple indie game with a limited scope that achieves its goal. It’s engaging, historically enlightening, and makes me try again after defeat (… once I overcome my frustration).

With a Steam sale on as I write this, there’s probably no better time to give it a look.

Further reading

A Bay 12 Games forum thread I found helpful when starting out.

Suzerain: a narrative game that brings policy & politics to life

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This entry is part 1 of 1 in the series Suzerain

Suzerain is a work of interactive fiction about leading a country, set in an imaginary world reminiscent of the early Cold War. Since its launch several years ago on Steam, it has become a cult classic, and both the base game and DLC impressed me when I played them earlier this year. They tell engaging stories that feel true to their subject, making them well worth a look for news and politics junkies.

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Text-heavy interactive fiction

So far, there are two stories available:

  • The base game casts the player as Anton Rayne, the newly elected president of Sordland, as the country emerges from 20 years of one-man rule.
  • The “Kingdom of Rizia” DLC shifts the focus to a new country and a new character, King Romus Toras.

In either case, playing Suzerain involves a lot of reading. Players read story events as they unfold, proceed through dialogue, and choose conversation responses to progress the story. Occasionally there is legislation to approve or veto. “Rizia” allows the player to be more proactive, as King Romus can issue royal decrees that might include starting work on a new dam, exploring for resources, consolidating provincial militias, or funding a new university.

Left: Active modifiers for Sordland in the base game, resulting from my diplomacy. Right: A Rizian decree.

Instead of the numerical resources and stats of a strategy game, Suzerain presents information in a qualitative way. Characters may warn in dialogue that a problem is brewing. Clicking on cities will show modifiers that currently apply to their regions. A sidebar menu keeps track of various indicators, ranging from school quality to the strength of the air force. Finally, the many newspapers of Suzerain’s world will comment on current events from their different perspectives — some more neutral than others.

Rizia lacks a free press at the start of the game. As such, its Royal Herald can be sycophantic.

Throughout, the writing is effective. The characters feel like people rather than strawmen, and events can be gripping — or downright stressful. The prose can be slightly formal, wordy, or stilted, although I can forgive it in the case of dialogue explaining policy options — that can be justified by the game’s need to explain information.

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

Whether in Sordland or in Rizia, the player’s nemesis is “events, dear boy, events”. Plot twists come thick and fast, presenting a constant stream of crises. And on a first game, it’s necessary to work out characters’ loyalties on the fly. Who supports which cause, who can be a useful ally, who is out for themselves, and who are the idealists and the patriots?

Left: Deivid Wisci, Rayne’s mentor, is one of the good ones. Right: Duchess Lucita Azaro is one of the more memorable characters in “Kingdom of Rizia”.

Compounding this is the messy situation in which both countries begin the game:

  • Sordland, in particular, rests on a knife’s edge: the economy is both statist and riddled with cronyism, the recently retired strongman still commands an influential “old guard” of loyalists, there is significant tension between the majority Sords and the minority Bluds, and an expansionist neighbour is watching with hungry eyes.
  • Rizia is better placed, but faces its own challenges. While the Rizians may dream of regaining lost lands, the current rulers of those lands have ideas — and allies — of their own. Domestically, while King Romus is an absolute monarch in theory, in practice his power is checked by the aristocratic families who rule Rizia’s component duchies.

My base game run was a disaster. I set out to be a reforming liberal while trying to make everyone happy. I learned the hard way that this made no-one happy instead. My signature reform, updating Sordland’s authoritarian-era constitution, failed to pass. Saying yes to everyone’s policy wishlist led the country into a debt crisis. The economy cratered. Next to that, my achievements (increasing access to healthcare and education, strengthening opportunities for women, befriending a Great Power, and deterring a would-be invader) paled: I lost re-election by a landslide. The conservatives hated my economic reforms; the liberals liked me but not enough to vote for me over their own candidate; and the far left, far right, and minorities hated me, period. Looking at the list of possible endings, I was probably lucky not to be overthrown or assassinated.

The ending of my first game. Don’t ask what happened to Sordland’s GDP.

I did much better in Rizia. This time, I played more cautiously, focused on establishing strong economic foundations, and gradually and incrementally advanced my reforms. I turned the country into an energy-exporting powerhouse, then used trade and energy deals as carrots to peacefully reconcile with Rizia’s estranged neighbours. At home, I reformed Rizia into a constitutional monarchy with power held by an elected prime minister; and saw Romus’s heir, Crown Princess Vina, grow into a wise, confident, and compassionate woman. Compared to the shambles I made of Sordland, this was night and day. But perfection eluded me; I failed to recover lost Rizian land from the neighbouring dictator.

The rather better ending I secured for Rizia. Long live Romus the Reformer!

Less predictable than a strategy game — but also scripted and finite

While Suzerain is not a strategy game, it does share similar themes. In some ways, I find Suzerain more convincing:

  • Strategy games are mechanically-driven, so they require transparent rules and predictable outcomes.
  • Suzerain can be more opaque, and throw more unexpected events at the player, because it is narratively-driven. Nasty events are part and parcel of the story.

The flip side is that strategy games are unscripted and replayable: new events unfold each time. Suzerain has a wealth of content, but it is scripted and finite. Yes, there is a lot I haven’t seen. Yes, there are many paths I could take on a replay — I could follow different ideologies1, befriend different characters, or execute better on my original goal. But I still know what happens next. As someone who incessantly replays strategy games but plays narrative games once, so far I’ve yet to replay either story in Suzerain.

Maybe I can avoid this mess next time?

Conclusions

For anyone interested in their subject, and who enjoys this kind of narrative game, Suzerain and “Kingdom of Rizia” are easy recommendations. There is something authentic in how the base game and “Rizia” bring their messy, complicated countries to life — and while I’ve focused on the turmoil, my experience in “Rizia” showed how the game depicts hope as well. I’d love to see more content in this universe.

  1. But not become a murderous authoritarian. Some of the content I’ve seen is pretty disturbing. ↩

Six Ages: Ride Like The Wind is an interactive story bringing myth and magic to life

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Six Ages: Ride Like The Wind is a gamebook — an interactive story about leading a clan in a world of myth and magic. Alongside its predecessor, King of Dragon Pass, Six Ages is almost unique in its intersection between storytelling and a resource-management game. And like King of Dragon Pass, Six Ages brings its setting to vibrant life, encouraging the player to stay in-character in a world where the divine is never far away.

Much of Six Ages is spent managing the day-to-day business of the clan: which gods to propitiate that season, where to send emissaries and scouting parties, whom to raid, whether to focus on herding, crafting, or sharing stories, and so on:

This is essential stuff — a clan that’s short on cows isn’t much of a clan — but by itself, not terribly exciting. The heart and soul of Six Ages is the illustrated story events that pop up, like the one below. Some are one-offs. Some are part of ongoing subplots. Some are major story beats. And one sequence turns out to be the path to winning the game. Each offers a choice:

An event in Six Ages.

The key is to think like your people, the Riders. Understand their ways, their portents, their rituals. Tradition is a good guide, though not infallible. When in doubt, conducting a divination is usually a good first step, and sacrificing to the gods a good second step. Your advisors, at the bottom of the screen, will chip in with their own opinions (more skilled advisors give better advice).

Six Ages’ design goals are clearest in the rituals in which you send a hero into the gods’ world to seek a boon (in a clever touch, the mortal and divine worlds are drawn in different styles and by different artists – see the image below). The ritual unfolds as a reenactment of the chosen god’s myth, Choose Your Own Adventure-style: how should Ernalda, goddess of trade, win the trust of geese? What should Busenari the cow-mother ask from her counterpart the horse goddess? Your clan can do several things to prepare, for instance, allocating points to ritual magic, requesting worshippers from friendly clans, and sending the right hero. And you, the player, can prepare by going to the game’s “lore” section and reading the myth. It’s not a test of rote knowledge — I have succeeded by going off-script, and I’ve read a developer interview (linked below) indicating that these quests were designed to be flexible. At the same time, I would not go in blind, and the act of reading and preparing brings me one step closer to the characters and the world they inhabit.

The outcome of a successful ritual in Six Ages.

And that’s what Six Ages does so well. It’s a game about peoples, mythologies, and the mindset that connects the two; and a story that takes advantage of its medium.  I would like to see more like this, and I look forward to the planned sequels.

Further reading

How Six Ages builds a game around the power of myth (also discussing King of Dragon Pass)

80 Days, a steampunk retelling of the Jules Verne novel, is another fun interactive story

Choose your own adventure IN SPAAACE: The Fleet

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The Fleet is a CYOA-esque piece of interactive  fiction from indie outfit Choice of Games (I wrote about Choice of Broadsides, one of their earlier releases, last week). The Fleet trades in Broadsides’ sailing ships for space cruisers, and costs money ($3) whereas Broadsides was free, but in mechanical terms, the two are very similar. Both take about 30-60 minutes to play through, and both are about making choices that play to the main character’s strengths. (For instance, attempting fancy manoeuvres in Broadsides will lead to disaster if the player character has a low Sailing stat.)

 

Fleet’s greatest failing is that it lacks Broadsides’ charm – Fleet’s setting isn’t just  space opera, it’s stock standard space opera. It will contain nothing new to anyone who’s read or watched much science fiction. Still, its plot – dealing with the trials and tribulations of a refugee fleet fighting to reclaim its homeworld – is serviceable, and I was thoroughly satisfied with the ending I achieved: I finished as a true statesman, someone who’d led his people – and the galaxy – to a better tomorrow. There are other endings out there, but I’m reluctant to replay the game to discover them – I don’t want to mar my first ending! Overall, a decent time-killer.

 

If you’d like more detailed looks at The Fleet, Pocket Tactics and Jay Is Games both have helpful reviews!

Choose your own seafaring adventure: Choice of Broadsides

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“Fire the starboard broadside!” shouts the Captain.

 

Cannons roar as H.M.S. Courageous attacks the enemy frigate. As one of the junior officers–really, more of an officer in training–you command three guns on Courageous’s main gun deck. The guns of the battery next to yours fire, leaping back against the heavy ropes that prevent them from smashing across the ship. Clouds of white smoke billow about you as you give your gun crew the commands to ready your battery’s cannons: “Swab! Powder! Wadding! Shot! Run out the guns!”

 

The Captain yells out, “Fire as the guns bear!” You give your gun crews orders to load and fire as quickly as they can, without waiting for the rest of the broadside.

 

They swab out the bore, push in a charge of powder, push wadding down on the powder, load the shot, push the gun out through the gunport, and fire the cannon, with you commanding each step of the process. “Swab, powder, wadding, shot, fire! Swab, powder, wadding, shot–”

 

The world turns upside down as the enemy’s broadside rips through the hull some ten feet away.

 

As the enemy cannonball tears through the side of the ship, giant splinters of wood fly through the air. One of the splinters, perhaps a yard long, rips through the stomach of Davies, a sailor under your command. A fragment of a cannon ball smashes Fisher’s arm, mangling it horribly. Your sailors seem stunned by the carnage, standing in shock while Davies and Fisher scream in agony.

 

What do you do?

 

A.           Attend to the wounded personally–the safety of my sailors is my top concern.

B.            Give some quick orders for them to be taken to the surgeon in the cockpit, then turn back to my duty in commanding the guns.

C.            With a gut wound like that, Davies is done for, but Fisher can still be saved. I order some sailors to take Fisher to the cockpit but leave Davies on the deck to die. I need the extra sailors to use the guns effectively.

D.           My duty to the ship outweighs my duty to two sailors. I ignore the wounded and concentrate on firing my guns as quickly and accurately as I can.

 

That is the opening of Choice of Broadsides, a free, short (30-60 minutes), and very good “choose your own adventure”-type game for Web, Android, and iOS. If you have ever read CS Forester, Patrick O’Brian, or one of their ilk, you will be right at home here: Broadsides chronicles your adventures as an officer in the Royal Navy of Great Britain Albion, during war against Napoleonic France Gaul. You start as a lowly midshipman, but you won’t stay that way! By the end of the game, I’d retired as an admiral, laden with honours – though not quite as much prize money as I’d hoped…

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Love, Hate, and Stories: The Visual Novels of Christine Love

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This entry is part 7 of 7 in the series Storytelling in Games

To what heights – and depths – of emotion can we be moved by text in a game? This is the question posed by two of the best games I’ve played recently: Christine Love’s Digital: A Love Story and Analogue: A Hate Story.

 

Perhaps I shouldn’t call them games so much as I should call them interactive works of epistolary fiction, in which the player pieces together a story from documents and messages. The two titles contain very little in the way of abstract systems – apart from a couple of puzzles, there are no rules to be mastered here. This doesn’t mean the player is uninvolved! While both games rely on plenty of text, they also deploy that interactivity to good effect. They would not work in any other medium, something we’ll see with Digital.

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