True Greatness Have you ever found yourself in the situation where the hype around a certain something was so high that it actually put you off watching/reading/playing it? That it couldn't possibly be that good, that the raving fan worship was off-putting, or it simply didn't seem like your type of thing? Well, that was me when I approached Undertale. A game that seems to convert even the most cynical of people. Not that I was ever cynical, mind. I was sure it would be good, but not that good. Now here I am after my third playthrough. Yes, third. I have laughed, cried, jumped out of my seat and shivered from terror. Undertale did not just surpass my expectations, it launched over them and is now somewhere in the stratosphere, possibly in orbit. The praise is absolutely deserved and then some. It is now safely one of my Top 10 Games of all time - and as someone who has played games since 1991, that is not a claim I make lightly. It is a masterpiece, a milestone of the medium that everyone must play, even those who don't “do” games. But I am getting ahead of myself. What is it exactly that makes Undertale so great? After all, at first glance it just looks like some retro RPG with an unusual battle mechanic. Well, as we focus mainly on story here at PJL, that's what we’re going to do with Undertale, though you really can't separate the story from interactive experience. Undertale could never be anything other than a game. Going Underground So what’s the story? At its most basic level, it's about a civilisation of monsters living underground, banished beneath the surface after losing a war to humans long ago. A child falls into this monster world and must now find a way out of it - one way or another. Doesn't exactly sound like Top-10-Game-Of-All-Time material, I know, and the game itself doesn't make the best first impression. While the aforementioned battle mechanic of using a “bullet hell” style area to dodge attacks from opponent, in the beginning Undertale seems to be a fairly generic RPG. Random encounters, battles, EXP, increase LV, gain gold, buy equipment, etc. But here’s the thing: that's exactly what the game wants to think. It wants to come across as generic at first, so the rug-pulling moment has that much greater impact. Because - and this is your last warning for spoilers if you want to go into this game blind, which is the best way to play - you don't have to fight. You don't have to kill. Undertale can be played purely as a pacifist, and indeed Undertale does nudge you into playing it that way - not because it's the better way to experience the game, although it certainly is - but because it's the right thing to do. Who in their right mind goes around killing everything in sight? The rug-pulling moment It's this simple yet effective skewering of RPG conventions that gives Undertale it’s first big tick - one of many. I'll admit it threw me for a loop the first time I played it. A fell into the trap. I played the game like a straight RPG, killing monsters to gain precious EXP, gold and LV-ing up. I had to, surely - I'd need that later in the game when battling tougher beasts and buying better gear, right? Then I got the rug-pulling moment. And this is my final warning for spoilers, which are going to come thick and fast now. The kindly tutorial goat-mother (called Toriel, one of many playful bits of wordplay in this world), who has been my guide and protector throughout the opening area, blocks my path ahead. It is for my own protection, she says, to shield me from the dangers beyond, but it is clear that I can't advance further in the game until I confront her like any other monster. So I do. The battle scenario looks like any other battle. Sure, I tried talking to her, but she is having none of it, and her attacks are aggressive and damaging. So I fight back. And I win. She gives me a gut-wrenching speech, wishes me well, and as she turns to dust I literally watched her heart break. The battle ends, and I'm alone, walking through a silent corridor. Somethings feels off. I can't quite put my finger on it. Then I meet Flowey again, the main antagonist of the game who nearly killed me at the beginning. His motto is “Kill or be killed”, and he mocks me and Toriel. “She couldn't even save herself,” he says before disappearing. Then the game begins proper. At some point, I open my inventory to use my cell. I try to call Toriel’s phone. Of course nobody picks up. I killed her. Then it hits me. I know what that nagging feeling in the back of my head is. Guilt. For the first time in gaming, so have been made to feel guilty for an action that I thought was perfectly normal. Then I looked at myself, and I realised how crazy that sounded. Killing is normal. No, of course it isn't: I know that, but for the first time a game has made me realise that there are consequences to my actions. Of course there would be consequences. I'd just killed someone, a someone who’d been my first friend in this strange world, no less. I'll admit I chickened out. I really didn't feel comfortable continuing the game knowing what I’d done. About 30 minutes after that one time I “reset” the game, an option on the start menu that effectively takes you back to the beginning. No, I’d do it right this time. I wouldn't kill. I hadn't gotten that far in, so starting over wouldn't do any harm, right? "I know what you did." Wrong. Flowey knows. He always knows. After successfully getting past Toriel without resorting to violence, the flower sneers: “Clever. Veery Clever. So you were able to play by your own rules. I know what you did. You murdered her. And then you went back, because you regretted it.” Flowey taunts while wearing the broken face of Toriel. It is a moment of gaming that will cling to my memory for a long time. It chilled me. Because he was absolutely right. Consequences didn’t just have an impact through a singular playthrough, but permanently, even if you “reset” the game. And Flowey isn’t just talking to my in-game avatar. He was talking to me. All bets were off now. Undertale remembers. My actions would have lasting consequences. And it wouldn't be just the big decisions, either. Even the more innocuous stuff would be remembered and have knock-on effects later on in the game: whether you talked to the snowman, if you're wearing a certain clothing item, if you prefer cinnamon or butterscotch. In this respect, Undertale is one of the most realistic games ever made. Seems like an outrageous claim for a game filled with talking monsters, magic and tangible souls, but that's not what I'm talking about. No, your actions have an impact, both big and small. It's an almost “butterfly effect” level of consequence. On one hand, it's a joy - what will this interaction do? Will it be different if I do this? What happens if I go back and talk to this character? - but on the other hand, there's an element of fear as well. When every move you make in a game world has real weight, you really wonder if you'll send the narrative spiralling down a path you don't want it to if you say the wrong thing or turn left instead of right. And what is more true to real life than that? In part 2, we'll discuss the nature of subversion in stories, and what Undertale's moral lessons are.
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Off the ShelfHere I share my ideas, musings and advice on the writing process. I also analyse some of my own writing for examples to show how I work. ShowcaseHere I will show off of some of my favorite good and great stories, gushing lovingly over why I adore them and why you should too. I will also show you the other side of the spectrum: bad examples of stories and what we can learn from them.
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