作者：Jeff　Wofford

近年来，冒险游戏开始呈现复苏趋势。在线Flash门户网站为其赋予全新面貌。诸如《The Great Living Room Escape》与《The Scene of the Crime》冒险游戏均在ArmorGames.com这类游戏网站占据榜单首位。曾经死气沉沉的题材如今开始吸引大批新玩家。

前阵子，有个好友向我发送了《机械迷城》的游戏链接，这是款迷你冒险游戏，且曾在2009年独立游戏节上荣获最佳视觉艺术奖。我喜爱这款作品。甚至曾一度打算购买完整版本。而其样本体验总会让我想起冒险题材起初衰落的原由，这要追溯到20世纪90年代末。

机械迷城(from jeffwofford)

冒险题材的衰落

首先我们应清楚冒险游戏的定义。冒险游戏以故事为主。玩家会进入到充满神秘、谜题与线索的紧张情境中。其中不存在大量战斗。游戏玩法主要围绕环境切换，解决谜团，偶尔与游戏内置角色互动进行。

在经典搜索点击冒险游戏中（游戏邦注：比如《猴子岛》、《神秘岛》或是《机械迷城》），玩家主要通过点击屏幕操控整个世界。他们的视野里填满丰富多彩的图像，但只有某些热点区域暗藏线索。玩家的职责是找到这些重要细节，点击物品，拖曳，而后拼接成解决方案，推动故事继续发展。

文字冒险游戏，也称交互式小说（interactive fiction，简称IP），从属另一种冒险题材。其首次成功由传奇Infocom Corp.创造，之后风靡了整个80年代，然而高品质图像的崛起导致此类题材热度迅猛下降。IF通过简单纯粹的语言为玩家打开了游戏世界，其中不包含任何图像元素。玩家只需在提示框中输入指令，比如“向西走”，“拾起刀剑”，“向Jeeves打探血迹问题”，便可操控游戏进程。

正是来自人类想象的文字保持了IF长盛不衰。如今它只有小群粉丝，随着成千上万为玩家慕名而来，每日将有新作问世，其中甚至融入了奥斯卡风格的奖励系统。

由于图像冒险游戏与文字冒险游戏中包含丰富的情节，深刻的角色，以及强大的谜题元素，因此它们吸引了大批玩家。如果把第一人称射击游戏比作一部动作电影，那么冒险游戏便是一部悬疑小说。它将我们引入了一个生机勃勃，迷人的有趣世界。但与其它游戏题材相比，冒险游戏常常会忽视互动性与场景活力。

它更偏向于展示美工与故事作者的才能。而这也是个吸引玩家的性能。可是，设计师的才能往往会掩盖玩家的智力。每当他们放弃游戏进程时，我们最常听到的抱怨是：“我仍无法揣测设计师的思路。”

自80年代早期，我便沉迷于图像与文字冒险游戏。其中某些我一直钟爱的作品（游戏邦注：包括《Full Throttle》、《Enchanter》与《冥界狂想曲》）都属于冒险题材。然而它们在80年代与90年代的衰落并没有令我感到惊讶。我也毫不吃惊其如今的平淡成绩。但我相信，它们会再次复苏，成为重要的主流题材。首先我们应解决界面方面的问题。

冒险题材的弊端

冒险游戏中一大问题便是容易挫败玩家。

比如《机械迷城》会为我展开一个由上百万像素构成的精美详细场景。我可以自由移动光标，点击任意场景。但只有某些细节，或像素对故事发展起关键作用。也就是说，大部分场景看着美观，实则毫无作用。

如果不研究其它游戏题材的运作方式，我们便不清楚此问题存在的原因。比如在第一人称射击游戏中，鼠标的每次移动都富有意义。如果在游戏中输入大量内容，便会收到完全互动的景象与声音。无论对准何地开枪，都会收到回复——至少会是一些火花，或是一大声的“砰！”，也许是箱子打翻，玻璃破碎，木桶爆炸。虽然我们拥有FPS游戏的通关秘籍（瞄准“坏人”，射击），但是“错误的对焦”也会获得有趣反馈。

或者我们可以自上而下研究《暗黑破坏神》与《火炬之光》这类RPG游戏。其中的各个像素仍富有意义。点击怪兽表示攻击，点击宝藏表示获取，点击地面（最无聊的举措）表示角色会移动到该位置。在此类游戏中，点击任何物品都是有效的。借此，你可能会逐渐抵达胜利，也可能会陷入更大漩涡。

而在文字冒险游戏中需面对一些文本与提示。比如：

巨魔房间

这是个小房间，里面有通向东面与南面的楼梯，还有通向西面的险恶洞穴。墙上留有血迹与深深的划痕（也许的斧子所为）。

对此你会采取哪些行动？

假设你十分熟悉文字冒险游戏，你便清楚只要输入“东”或“西”或“南”便能开始探险。你可能会调查墙壁，血迹，或是深划痕。那你还应检验地板或天花板吗？我觉得查看物品清单更为明智。

文字冒险游戏的精髓是你可以在提示框中输入任何内容。你甚至可以突发创意，输入“在衬衫上涂上鲜血”。玩家想法的多样化可能无法匹配游戏动态。玩家在其中的走向应基于设计师的想象。当它们达到极致时，第一人称射击游戏中的简单指向点击模式则略显幼稚。

然而，事实上大部分文字冒险游戏对玩家行为的预想过于狭隘。其中设定的某些关键道具与动作是玩家必须采用的。这类游戏的最大败笔在于，通常在你想出表达方式前，你已经找到正确的解决方案。或者你自认为的完美解决方案会遭到设计师（碰巧未想到这种方式）武断驳斥。比如，当输入“利用火堆中的木炭点燃蜡烛”时，回复会是“我并不认识‘木炭’一词，”由此可见，文字冒险游戏鲜少采用生僻词汇描述房间。

拒绝（游戏邦注：比如当玩家输入某些内容时，用户界面会回复道“你不能这样做”）是最糟糕的电脑反馈。然而这两类冒险游戏均建立在此元素基础上。他们邀请玩家尝试某些做法，而后又拒绝他们。这势必导致该题材衰落。

然而，冒险游戏仍有望重获昔日的盛行与成功，但这是一段艰辛之旅。

Zork_I(from jeffofford)

模拟元素

冒险游戏的一个劣势便是其数字化内容。

大部分现代游戏都是经高度模拟而成。其中囊括的各个元素较为平淡，失真：比如物体的位置，速度，及可燃性。现代电子游戏中主要采用浮点数模拟各个元素。换言之，冒险游戏可以称为点数作品。它们会分支出多个故事，且包含n个选项；但数量有限；选项之间无中立观点。可能画面上只有9个可供点击的热点区域。可能文本分析程序只能识记15个动词。除此之外，没有灰色地带。

这种分支性可能会给玩家体验带来麻烦。玩家可能会处在必须通过的限制路径，比如铁路。设计师Jove会制作出独特路径；玩家必须遵照他们的愿景。当然玩家没有发挥创意的余地。

如果冒险游戏打算再次蓬勃发展，那它必须删除这些约束条件。出色的作品应以玩家为中心。它们会培养并奖励玩家的创意；而设计师的创造则起辅助作用。

比如，假设在某款冒险游戏中，玩家不得不到达峡谷的另一面。此时，设计师不应该只设计一两个解决方案，而是应预想多种可能办法，且赋予相应奖励。很大程度上，设计师应构造电池、喷灯、感应器及水管这些工具与元素，而不是精心设计一些一次性装备。而且，这些道具与元素不应受到问题约束。它们可以用于多种渠道与情境。玩家还能发挥创意，利用它们的结合解决问题。

能够奖励玩家创造力（通过多种方式解决问题）的游戏才能堪称为成功佳作。众多玩家均喜爱这种谜题形式。

然而，任何尝试编写冒险游戏的人们都可以想象到这类题材设计规模的庞大。可以说，依靠个人力量是无法创建一款文字冒险游戏。而大型的图像冒险游戏则需要一支主要开发团队。

小众市场的优势

落笔前，我想要纠正刚刚提到的建议。之前我谈及的内容都不是重点。也许冒险游戏制作本该属于小型模式。它们本应瞄准小众市场。毕竟，有多少题材可以依靠个人力量完成制作？这类题材肯定包含某些出色元素才能够吸引一小群忠实追随者。

然而，即使该市场规模仍较为小型，设计师仍得继续努力把玩家引入游戏中心。创造者总会陶醉于自己创意，炫耀自己的才能，然而游戏制作最不适合爱慕虚荣者。当我将近几年的作品与十年前的相比时，我发现此类题材只有少量进展。而美工应继续提升冒险游戏对玩家的吸引力。（本文为游戏邦/gamerboom.com编译，拒绝任何不保留版权的转载，如需转载请联系：游戏邦）

How Adventure Games Could Become Mainstream Again

by Jeff

Adventure games have enjoyed a resurgence in recent years. Online Flash portals have given the genre a new lease on life. Adventures like The Great Living Room Escape and The Scene of the Crime top the charts of web game sites like ArmorGames.com. What once looked like a dead genre is beginning to attract new players.

A friend sent me a link to Machinarium the other day, a winsome little adventure that won the Excellence in Visual Art award at the 2009 Independent Games Festival. I enjoyed it. I even thought about buying the full version. But playing the demo reminded me of why the adventure genre died in the first place, way back in the late 1990s.

The Decline and Fall of the Adventure

First let’s be clear about what an adventure game is. An adventure is all about story. The player is thrust into a dramatic situation full of mysteries, puzzles, and clues. You don’t do a lot of fighting in adventure games. The gameplay is centered on moving through the environment, solving puzzles, and occasionally talking to in-game characters.

In a search-and-click adventure like the classics Monkey Island and Myst or the upstart Machinarium, the player navigates the world by clicking on the screen. A lush image fills the view but only certain hotspots hold the clues. The player’s job is to find the important details, click things, drag things, and use things together to piece together a solution that allows the story to proceed.

Text adventures—also known as interactive fiction (IF)—are another variant of the genre. First made successful by the legendary Infocom Corp., text adventures flourished throughout the 80s but plummeted in popularity with the rise of high-quality graphics. In IF the world is unveiled to the player through pure, simple language. There are no graphics at all. The player controls the game by typing commands into a prompt—phrases like, “Go west,” “Pick up the sword,” and “Ask Jeeves about the bloodstain.”

The power of mere words over the human imagination is part of what makes IF an intriguing and enduring form. Today it has a small but intensely devoted following, with thousands of players, new adventures arriving daily, and even its own Oscar-style award system.

Players are drawn to both graphical and text adventures because of their rich plots, memorable characters, and strong puzzle elements. If a first person shooter is like an action movie, an adventure is like a mystery novel. It offers an engrossing world, an intriguing situation as vibrant and compelling as anything in gaming. But adventures tend to sacrifice interactivity and dynamism when compared with other gaming genres.

Adventures tend to showcase the talents of the artists and writers who make them. This, too, is an appealing feature when those talents are as thrilling as those of Tim Schaffer or Jeremy Freese. But the brilliance of game designers can eclipse that of the player. One of the complaints most frequently heard when a player gives up on an adventures is, “I guess I’m just not clever enough to guess what the designer was thinking.”

I’ve loved both graphical and text adventures since the early 80s. Some of my all-time favorite games—Full Throttle, Enchanter, Grim Fandango—are adventures. But I wasn’t surprised when adventures declined in the 80s and 90s. I’m not surprised they’re enjoying only modest success now. But I believe they can rise to become an important, mainstream genre again. The solution is in the interface.

A Genre of Rejection

The problem with adventure games is that they offer too many ways to fail.

In a game like Machinarium I am offered a beautiful, detailed scene full of millions of pixels. I can move the mouse cursor freely and select any part of the scene. But only certain details, only certain pixels hold the key to progressing through the story. That means that most of the scene, while lovely to look at, is a continent of failure in the eyes of the player.

It’s difficult to see why this is a problem unless you consider how games of other genres work. In a first person shooter, every movement of the mouse is significant. I give the game a stream of input, it gives me back a wealth of lush, fully interactive sights and sounds. Wherever I fire my weapon I receive a response—at very least some sparks and a loud “ping!”, perhaps a box knocked over, glass shattered, barrels exploding. So although there is a “successful” way to play an FPS—aim at “bad guy” pixels and shoot there—even the “failure pixels” are responsive and interesting.

Or consider a top-down role playing game like Diablo or Torchlight. Here again every pixel is significant. Click on a monster to attack. Click on a treasure to nab it. Click on the ground—the most boring bit—and your character moves to that location. Everything you click is valid. Everything either takes you closer to victory or gets you in deeper trouble. Pure interactivity.

Now consider a text adventure. I’m confronted with some text and a prompt. For example:

The Troll Room

This is a small room with passages to the east and south and a forbidding hole leading west. Bloodstains and deep scratches (perhaps made by an axe) mar the walls.

>|

Okay, your turn. What do you do?

Assuming you’re familiar with text adventures, you know that you can type “east” or “south” or “west” to venture out. You could probably examine the walls or the bloodstains or the deep scratches. Should you examine the floor? The ceiling? Checking your inventory might be smart.

The genius of text adventures—the thing that makes them truly great—is that you can type just about anything at the prompt. You could even get creative: “Smear the blood on my shirt.” The potential for terrific diversity and dynamism of play is unmatched. Text adventures can go anywhere that the shared imaginations of the designer and player can go. When they’re at their best, they make the point-and-click simplicity of first person shooters look infantile.

In practice, however, most text adventures have very narrow expectations for the player’s behavior. There are certain key items and actions that the player must notice, put together, and figure out how to express. The great frustration of text adventures is that you often figure out the right solution long before you figure out how to say it. Or you figure out a perfectly sensible solution that is arbitrarily rejected by a designer who didn’t happen to think of it too. “Light the candle with a coal from the fire,” you say, and the response is, “I don’t know the word ‘coal’,”—yet the adventure just used that very word in the description of the room.

Rejections—where a user interface responds to player input by saying “You can’t do that”—are the worst kinds of computer responses. Both graphic and text adventures are built on rejections. They invite the player to try things, then slap her hand. This has been their downfall.

It need not be so. Adventures of all kinds can still be made a popular and successful genre. But it’s going to take work.

Making Analog out of Digital

The weakness of adventures is their digitalness.

Most modern games are highly analog. Everything is soft, fuzzy: the position of objects, their velocities, their flammability—everything that’s modeled in a modern video game is modeled with floating point numbers. Adventure games, on the other hand, are enumerative. They are branchy. There are n options; there are only those options; there is nothing in between those options. There might be 9 hotspots on the screen that you can click. There might be 15 verbs that the text parser recognizes. But nothing else. No gray areas.

This branchiness spells trouble for the user experience. It puts the player on a rail, a restrictive path that she must tread. The designer made the path and he made it creative, by Jove; the player must conform to the designer’s vision. Certainly there is no room for creativity from the player.

This intense constraint is what must change if adventures are to thrive. Good games star the player, not the designer. The best games cultivate and reward the player’s creativity; the designers’ creativity plays a supporting role.

Imagine, then, an adventure game in which the player had to solve a puzzle—get to the other side of a chasm, for instance. Rather than designing one or two solutions, the designer anticipated dozens of possible approaches and rewarded all of them. To a large extent, the designer built tools and elements—things like batteries, blowtorches, light sensors, and player-layable water pipes—rather than set-piece, one-off devices. These tools and elements are problem-independent. They can be used in various ways and contexts. The player can combine and apply them to a variety of creative solutions.

A game that rewarded player ingenuity in concocting solutions through diverse tools would be a game that made players feel smart and successful. This is the sort of puzzler anyone could love.

But anyone who has tried writing an adventure can imagine how huge such a design would be. Arguably, no individual could build even a single text adventure that aimed for this goal. And a full-length graphical adventure would require a major development team.

Niche is Nice

Before I sign off, I want to offer an antidote to the advice I’ve just given. There’s a good chance everything I’ve just said has completely missed the point. Maybe adventure games should be small-time. Maybe they should serve only a niche market. After all, in how many other genres can a single person build an entire game? There is something beautiful about the small, dedicated following that adventures and text adventures now enjoy.

But even if this market stays small, designers should keep striving to move the player into the center of the game. Creative types always want to revel in their ideas and flaunt their own genius, but games are the worst medium for prima donnas. As I play adventures from the last few years and compare them to those from a decade ago, I see that the genre has developed a little. Not enough. For the art, if not for the market, adventures should continue to expand their ability to delight and support—not thwart—the player.(source:jeffwofford)