开发者谈策略游戏设计多个层面的质量标准

来源：好游戏攻略时间：2024-11-22 08:17

本文所讨论的策略游戏被定义为一种“决策竞赛”，即交互式系统的一种非常具体的形式。这类游戏具有高度的可玩性且通常以比赛的形式进行，要求玩家通过创造性的技巧来应对不同的挑战。这类游戏中不存在“击败”之说，因此它们从根本上不同于那些预先设定好剧情和关卡结构的线性游戏（比如《神秘海域》和《超级马里奥兄弟》）。本文将阐述策略游戏系统隐含的核心概念，并由此推导出游戏设计的具体质量标准。

决策

设计师兼作家基思·伯根（Keith Burgun）在他的文章《交互形式的分类》中把决策竞赛简单地称为“游戏”，从而将它们与缺乏目标性的玩具、可解谜题及“纯粹的”竞赛（即衡量某种特定技能的竞赛）区分开来。我们可以将一项决策定义为一种情况，在这种情况下，玩家掌握的信息既充足又不足：一方面他无法完全确定哪种行动方案最好，因为若预先知道最佳解决方案，决策将毫无意义。另一方面，玩家必须获得可供决策的信息，否则每一种决策对他来说实际上都是相同的，这同样会毁掉决策过程（换句话说，这还不如用掷骰子来“决定”）。最重要的是，决策带来的影响必须是永久性的，否则玩家将不会真正地做决定，而仅仅尝试每一种可能性。

clash royale（from gamezebo.com）

此外，一场决策竞赛相当于一个交互系统，在此系统中由至少一名玩家做出决策，然后系统根据具体目标来评估决策的质量，并最终决定胜利或失败。“竞赛”一词并不意味着对手非得是多个人类玩家或AI机器人。在单人战略游戏中，系统本身就是“对手”。衡量此类系统质量的一个公认标准是决策本身的趣味性，而直接关系到这种趣味性的是解决方案与猜想之间的范围 (见上面的幻灯片，源自伯根在2013年纽约游戏设计学术会议上的演讲)：在给定的方案之间做选择有多难？我是否掌握了充分的信息，并能根据信息对最佳方案做出合理的假设？同时，我掌握的信息是否太少，以至于无法完全确定所有方案的定性分析排名？如果是这样，那么我大概面临着一个有趣的决策。以下篇章将探讨更多（可能不太明显的）评估决策竞赛（即策略游戏）设计的标准。

效率与透明度

这里的效率指的是有趣的决策在游戏中出现的频率。因此它也可以被称为“密度”。假设系统的(主要)价值确实在于做这些决策，决策出现的频率自然越高越好(假设这些决策都具有高度趣味性)。一般来说，花在等待或者琐碎的脑力工作上的时间应该越少越好。这类事物的明显例子比如，过场动画、繁杂的内务和手动调整镜头，此外还有一些微妙的例子，比如回合制游戏中的动画。从游戏机制的角度来看它们没有实际意义，因此不会影响决策过程(与即时战略游戏不同，即时战略游戏中动画播放的时间是一种实际的资源)。因此，它们要么应该彻底消失，要么应该与玩家的输入异步运行，以便玩家仍然能够尽快地发号施令。从本质上看，这个原则可总结为珍惜玩家的时间并确保不白白浪费它。基思·伯根同样呼吁提高策略游戏的效率：“如果玩家愿意花五分钟玩你的游戏，你就欠了他们一个天大的人情，你必须确保这五分钟是完全值得的。”

另一个对战略游戏至关重要的因素是透明度，即清晰的游戏机制。当然，这并不意味着玩家应该了解应对任何情况的最佳方法（正如之前提到的，这会破坏决策过程）。然而，玩家应该始终清楚当前的情况是如何发生的，存在哪些行动方案，以及它们对游戏状态的直接影响是什么。透明化需要游戏规则在任何时刻都能被清楚展现。一个非确定性系统（non-deterministic system）也可以完全透明，只要几率是已知的，比如通过掷一个六面骰子来决定怪物被击中还是躲避了攻击。索伦·约翰逊（Soren Johnson）将透明度视为桌游和电子游戏的主要差别。前者的游戏机制通常十分明确，而后者经常(有意或无意地)模糊他们的内部情况(比如他们那巨大而神秘的数据)。

优雅（Elegance）和多样化

优雅虽然不太容易被感知，但它同样是一个重要的概念。杰西·谢尔（Jesse Schell）在《游戏设计的艺术》中这样描述道：“优雅是任何游戏中最受欢迎的品质之一，因为它意味着你的游戏上手简单且容易理解，但又充满了各种有趣、新兴的复杂性。”因此，优雅的基本原则是“易上手，难掌握”。这意味着整个系统必须由易理解的元素(这些元素本身没有复杂性)组成，并且只有这些元素一起运作时游戏才表现出了众多深度和可能性 (即新兴的复杂性)。换句话说，系统的各个部分相对微弱，然而组合成的系统本身却具有强大的功能。一款游戏可以同时具备高度复杂性与优雅性，但条件是游戏仅依靠规则的内在复杂性来实现深度化。反过来看，一款简单的游戏却不一定优雅，如果它的一切都流于表面的话 (比如三连棋)。尽管如此，一个伟大的设计通常尽量少而简单。这使玩家能更快接触到真正的战略深度，并使整个游戏生命周期中的学习曲线更加乐观。总之，优雅是高效价值传递的基础。

上述的新兴复杂性促进了另一大标准：多样化。一款好的战略游戏中会出现各种各样可能的情境。关于这一点，沃伦·斯佩克特（Warren Spector）曾经把基于系统的游戏称作“永恒的新奇发动机”。玩家将不断遇到新情况。因此，他们不能简单地依赖于记忆中的知识，而必须运用他们系统的认知来寻找创造性的解决方案。理查德·加菲尔德（Richard Garfield）和他的同事在《游戏的特点》中将这种行为描述为启发法的应用：玩家在逐步学习理解系统的过程中建立起了“经验法则”。在面临任何情况时，他们都会决定是否遵循这些法则，甚至完全放弃或修改这些法则。深度的多人游戏具有高度的多样性，由于对手的行动永远无法被真正预测，因此每一场比赛都可能成为一种新的体验。此外，影响游戏的初始设定的输入随机性(例如《文明》系列中的随机地图)能够促进游戏状态的多样化。在单人策略游戏中，这种随机性是绝对必要的，否则一旦玩的时间长了，玩家将不加思考，仅依靠记忆进行决策。

连贯性和平衡

游戏系统的连贯性指的是游戏机制的相互关联性，比如各个元素间的联系的数量和强度。一般来说，我们希望元素间存在许多紧密联系，因为它们不仅促进了新复杂性的产生 (通过在多个机制中紧密合作)，并且它们能使游戏设计更加优雅。如果一个元素与许多其他元素相连，它便能在整体系统中发挥多重作用。反过来说，这也意味着任何或多或少孤立于系统剩余部分之外的元素都必须被剔除。即便是一个松散结合（loosely coupled）的元素也应受到质疑：这种联系能以某种方式得到加强吗？这个元素能够与其它元素联系起来吗？如果答案是否定的，那么最好把它完全移除掉。基思·伯根在《游戏设计理论》中甚至提出了一个围绕单一核心机制进行设计的理念：“理想状态下，游戏中的每样事物都应直接支持核心机制——任何与核心机制无关的东西都可以被剔除。”

接着是平衡问题。一款游戏的平衡不仅与各个系统有关，也与决策本身有关。当一场决策竞赛“处于平衡”时，所有的行动方案都是相当的，不存在什么优势策略，因为它们本质上都是解决方案，甚至在被考虑之前就已经做出了的决策。另一方面，游戏中也不应该存在从未发挥作用的明显劣势元素，这种元素最终会成为系统的沉重负担——使系统设计不够清晰。例如，试想一种具有“重踢”和“轻踢”攻击方式的格斗游戏；假设只有力量和速度是影响因素，“重踢”的速度肯定会被设计得慢一些，否则但凡是理智的玩家都永远不会使用 “轻踢”，它甚至不应该出现在一个平衡的系统中。让每一个元素都在游戏中发挥出各自的作用。平衡将帮助你减少不相关的元素。

次要标准：创造力

强连贯性、由此产生的复杂度结合上平衡的行动方案，将刺激玩家动用他们的创造力。策略游戏的本质是，玩家所采取的每一步行动以及系统做出的相应反馈均非预先设计好的。游戏的情境不是手动组合成，而是戏剧性地出现的。很多电子游戏都鼓励创造性的玩法，但大多数情况下它们只是一种“很酷的假象”，一种可以让玩家在朋友面前炫耀的操作，但在游戏中没有实际意义，因为它远非最佳的方式。而一款优秀的策略游戏，则通过让这些“酷”操作成为最佳方式并引发系统最佳的反馈，从而刺激玩家发挥创造力。

为了探讨这个概念，让我们以Dinofarm Games的游戏《奥诺》（Auro: A Monster-Bumping Adventure）为例。这款回合制策略游戏的核心理念是，所有的操作均围绕着核心机制“碰撞”间接发挥作用。比如玩家无法直接向怪物射击火球，而是（通过多种方式）让怪兽撞击预先放置的火焰圈。怪兽从不会直接攻击玩家，只会在地图上挪动一格。玩家需用各种道具技能让怪兽掉到火中或水中。游戏中“只有”九种不同的技能，但经过多年的平衡和打磨后，它们无论是自身还是同彼此结合均能最大程度地发挥趣味性。此外，这些技能还能与不同种类的地形和怪物(怪物也具备各自的战术技能)以多种方式互动，由此产生了高度的复杂性。但最重要的是，系统对玩家精彩而机智的表现给予丰厚奖励，玩家们通过在连续的操作获得高分，例如在多个连续回合中巧妙地组合使用不同技能。这鼓励玩家们不断思考创新性的打法。

运气与操作

策略游戏设计一个忌讳就是让玩家的输赢完全取决于运气，例如由于输出随机性(比如用掷骰子来确定对RPG造成的伤害)或输入随机性，运气在不同场次或玩家身上的效果差异很大。这些因素与系统的核心——决策，存在直接冲突。运气和随机性对游戏结果的影响力越大，玩家所做的决策分量就越小。最重要的是，玩家得到的系统反馈被扭曲了：我赢了是因为我做出了更好的决策吗？或者也许只是运气差罢了？在大多数情况下，划清运气和决策间的界限是件不可能的事。与这个问题密切相关的一种现象叫“自我假想能力”（imagined agency）：在失败的情况下，许多玩家认为他们只是运气不好；然而一旦胜利，他们会将之归功于他们的高超技术。从心理学的角度看，这似乎是一个积极的特征，但事实上它完全是玩家的一种自我欺骗。而依赖这种心理的设计至少是值得怀疑的。

除了对运气的依赖，操作速度对游戏结果的影响力过大也是一个问题。如果比赛结果大部分取决于谁的操作更灵活，决策的重要性会相应降低。举个例子，在《星际争霸》中，一个决策更好的玩家最终可能会输掉比赛，因为他的对手的操作更快更精准。然而，在理想的策略游戏中，最终结果应该完全取决于决策。决策是“你应不应该做X”的问题，而操作则是“你能不能做X”。从这个角度来看，即时战略游戏具有一定的争议性。一个疑似案例是《洞穴探险》（Spelunky），游戏十分考验操作，但至少决策的影响力与操作相匹敌并常常凌驾于操作之上。

最后的思考

当然，上述的这些标准和观察大多属于机制和系统的范畴。事实上，就设计准则(这也是本文的重点)而言，剧情、人物、背景甚至主题等也起着次要作用。对于策略游戏来说，主题的主要作用是让游戏机制感觉更直观。例如，“剑士只能攻击相邻的敌人，而弓箭手可以攻击两个距离以内的敌人”比一个抽象的“方石头只能消除相邻的石头，而圆石头可以消除两个距离以内的石头”更容易理解。主题借助玩家的常识使他们更容易了解规则。进一步说，以上讨论的标准从根本上刺激创新：两款策略游戏如果只有主题不一样，但机制相同，那么它们实际上没有区别。而较晚出现的那一款游戏基本没有设计上的创新，除了包装，或者拉斐尔·科斯特（Raph Koster）所说的“装饰”。

但话又说回来，“包装”无疑是几十年来整个行业的一个主要关注点。尽管上世纪90年代至2000年间，由于技术的飞速发展，视听效果丰富的游戏占据上风，策略游戏的流行程度大大下降，但近几年来它又呈现出了某种复苏之势。不可挽回性和以技能为基础的游戏再一次受到瞩目。像《超越光速》（Faster than Light）、《以撒的结合》（The Binding of Isaac）或《节奏地牢》（Crypt of the NecroDancer）这样的游戏都非常成功。“roguelike”几乎成为了一个热门营销词汇，以及用来判断游戏是否真的具有策略性的指标。除此之外，桌游（一直以策略游戏为主）也在不断数字化，桌游改编游戏占领了iOS策略游戏类别。策略游戏的黄金时代才刚刚开始。

最后，策略游戏的真正独特之处，也是使它具备“常青树”潜质的原因，在于它的系统是可以学习的。掌握一个深度的策略游戏，就是看穿一个由内在联系构成的复杂网络（其缜密而优雅的构图可能具有巨大的审美价值)并能够自信地操纵和利用它。它是通过对系统的假设进行反复验证来找出个体元素之间的相关性，并一点点构建出一个关于游戏可能性空间的心智模型，即一个巨大的启发式网络。玩家亲眼见证自身理解和策略水平的提升是策略游戏的核心价值所在。它就像弗兰克·兰特斯（Frank Lantz）所说的“看得见自身的思想”。

本文由游戏邦编译

In the context of this article, strategy games are defined as “contests of decision-making” and therefore a very specific form of interactive system. These potentially highly replayable games are usually played in matches and demand creative finesse in coping with diverse challenges. They can’t be “beaten” and are therefore fundamentally different from linear games with a preset story or level structure (such as Uncharted or Super Mario Bros.). The following article elucidates the core concepts underlying these systems to then derive specific quality criteria for their gameplay design.

Dissecting Decisions

Designer and author Keith Burgun would simply call decision-making contests “games” in his taxonomy of interactive forms, thus separating them from goal-less toys, solvable puzzles, and “pure” contests (which measure a single specifically defined skill). A decision is defined as a situation, wherein the player has enough and insufficient information at the same time: On the one hand he can’t be completely sure as to which action alternative is the best one, else there would be nothing to decide since the correct solution is already known. On the other hand the player must have some information on which to base his choice, otherwise every alternative would effectively be the same, again destroying the decision (in other words, it might just as well be “decided” by a die roll). On top of that the decision has to come with permanent consequences. If it didn’t the player wouldn’t decide anything, but merely try out the options

Further, a contest of decision-making is an interactive system wherein at least one player makes decisions, whose quality is then evaluated in the context of a specific goal, and finally leads to winning or losing. The word “contest” does not necessarily imply multiple human players or an AI simulating a human opponent. In the case of single-player strategy games the system itself is the “opponent”. An obvious criterion for the quality of such a system is the interestingness of the decisions themselves, which is directly connected to the range between solution and guess (see slide on the left, taken from Burgun’s talk at Practice 2013): How difficult is it to choose between the given alternatives? Do I have enough knowledge to make a well-founded assumption as to what the optimal option could be? Do I, at the same time, have too little knowledge to be completely sure of the qualitative ranking of all the actions? Then I’m probably facing an interesting decision. The following sections will explain a few more (possibly less obvious) criteria by which to assess the design of a decision-making contest.

Efficiency and Transparency

Efficiency describes the frequency with which interesting decisions occur during gameplay. It can thus also be called “density”. Assuming the (primary) value of the system really lies in making these decisions, more decisions per second are of course better (given equally high interestingness). In general as little time as possible should be spent waiting or performing mentally trivial tasks. Besides obvious examples such as cutscenes, housekeeping busywork and manually adjusting the camera, this also concerns more subtle elements such as animations in turn-based games. They have no mechanical meaning and therefore do not affect the decision-making process (in contrast to real-time games where the time an animation needs to play out is an actual resource). Therefore they should either not exist or run asynchronously to the player’s input so that he can still issue commands as quickly as possible. Essentially this principle comes down to valuing the player’s time and making sure not to simply waste it. Along similar lines Keith Burgun calls for efficiency in strategy games: “If players give you five minutes, that’s a huge gift and you owe it to them to make sure it is completely rewarded.”

Another factor of central importance for strategy games is transparency, the clarity of the game’s mechanics. This does of course not mean that players should know what their best action is in any given case (again, this would destroy the decision). However, it should always be clear how the current situation came to be, which action alternatives exist and what their immediate consequences are regarding the game state. Transparency is concerned with clearly laying out the rules of the game at any given moment. A non-deterministic system can also be completely transparent if all the odds are known, for example when rolling a six-sided die to find out if a monster was hit or missed. Soren Johnson views transparency as the primary difference between board and video games. While the former are usually mechanically very well-defined, the latter (intentionally or not) often obfuscate their exact inner-workings (simple example: huge and mysteriously calculated scores).

Elegance and Variety

A little less tangible but at least as important is the concept of elegance. Jesse Schell describes it in “The Art of Game Design” as follows: “Elegance is one of the most desirable qualities in any game, because it means you have a game that is simple to learn and understand, but is full of interesting emergent complexity.” Thus the basic principle is “easy to learn, hard to master”. This means that the overall system has to consist of elements that are easy to understand (having little inherent complexity), and only in working together create a lot of depth and possibilities (emergent complexity). In other words the system does a lot with relatively little. A game can be immensely complex and still elegant if it just creates far more depth than it has by the inherent complexity of its rules alone. The other way around, a simple game can be inelegant if there’s actually not much more to it than what can be seen on the surface (see Tic Tac Toe). In general though, a great design expresses itself in as few and simple components as possible. This allows players to access the actual strategic depth more quickly and makes for a much more pleasant learning curve throughout the game’s lifecycle. In short, elegance is the foundation of efficient value delivery.

The mentioned emergence in turn contributes to another criterion: variety. A good strategy game allows for and generates a broad range of possible situations. Warren Spector, on that note, calls system-based games “engines of perpetual novelty”. Players will consistently be facing novel situations. Therefore they cannot simply rely on memorized knowledge but have to employ their systemic understanding to find creative solutions. Richard Garfield and his colleagues describe this behavior in “Characteristics of Games” as the application of heuristics: Players develop “rules of thumb” over time as they learn to better understand the system. In any given situation they then decide whether to follow these rules or not, or maybe even discard or revise them altogether. Deep multiplayer games offer an especially high potential for variety since the opponent’s actions can never be truly predicted, therefore potentially making each match a novel experience. Additionally, input randomness affecting the game’s initial setup (such as random map generation in Civilization) can support the emergence of varied game states. In single-player strategy games this form of randomness is in fact absolutely necessary. Without it there can be no decisions since long-term it would just come down to memorizing and executing the perfect solution.

Coherence and Balance

The coherence of a gameplay system describes the interconnectedness of the mechanisms of a decision-making contest, i.e. the number and strength of the connections between the individual elements. In general many solid connections are desirable, because not only do they support the idea of emergent complexity (in multiple mechanisms working together closely), they also tend to make for a more elegant game. If one element is linked to many others, it potentially serves multiple purposes within the overall system. Conversely this also means that no element should be added to the design that’s more or less isolated from the rest of the system. Even an only loosely coupled element should be questioned: Can the link be strengthened somehow? Can connections to other elements be created? If that’s not the case, it might be worth removing this element altogether. Keith Burgun, in “Game Design Theory”, even describes the concept of arranging a design around one single core mechanism: “Ideally, every single thing that’s inside the game should be in direct support of the core mechanism – and anything that has nothing to do with the core mechanism can probably be removed from the game.”

Next up, a game’s balancing is not only concerned with the systemic elements but also the decisions themselves. When a decision-making contest is “in balance”, all the action alternatives are weighed against one another. There can’t be dominant strategies because those are essentially solutions, decisions already made before they’re even considered. On the other hand, there shouldn’t be obviously inferior elements that never play a role, since in an otherwise coherent system those would in the end just be “dead weight” – noise obfuscating the systemic clarity. For example, consider a fighting game that has a “strong kick” and a “weak kick” attack. Assuming strength and speed are the only factors, the strong kick can’t also be the faster one. If it were, the weak one would never be used in a competition between rational players, and shouldn’t even exist in a well-balanced system. Every single element has to serve a particular purpose and have “its place” in the overall game. The act of balancing saves elements from irrelevance.

Secondary Criterion: Creativity

A strong sense of coherence and the potentially resulting emergence in combination with well-balanced action alternatives will in turn incentivize players to employ their creativity. Decision-making contests live by the fact that not every small step the player could take and the according reaction of the system is pre-planned by the designer. Situations aren’t manually assembled but emerge dynamically in-game. Indeed a lot of videogames allow for creative play, but in most cases that’s just a “cool shenanigan”, a move that will get the player imaginary “style points” in front of his friends but has no actual relevance in the game because it’s far from the optimal way of doing things. A good decision-making contest enforces creative play by making the “cool” move the mechanically optimal one that causes the best possible systemic feedback.

To exemplify this concept we can take a look at Auro: A Monster-Bumping Adventure by Dinofarm Games. The core idea of the turn-based tactics game is that all actions work indirectly, centering around the core mechanism of “bumping”. The player for example doesn’t shoot fireballs at monsters, but he tries to maneuver those monsters (by several means) into previously placed flame traps. Monsters are never directly attacked for damage, but only ever pushed one tile further. The player has to find ways of moving them into fire or water, over ice, through the air and any imaginable combination of all those. There are “only” nine different skills but they were balanced and honed for years to be maximally interesting on their own and in combination with each other. Additionally, they also interact with the terrain and all the different monsters (who in turn all have their own tactically relevant special abilities) in a myriad of ways. The resulting emergent complexity is absolutely massive. But on top of all that, the most spectacular and clever way of dealing with a situation is usually the one that’s most rewarded by the game system. Players receive the highest amount of points for big action chains, cunningly combining various skills in multiple consecutive turns – i.e. for employing their creativity in repeatedly coming up with these satisfying little strokes of genius.

Luck and Execution

By contrast, a “natural enemy” of the decision-making contest is the dependence of a player’s success on mere luck, for example caused by output randomness (like rolling dice to determine the amount of damage done in an RPG) or input randomness with unfairly high variance regarding its effects on different matches or players. These elements are in immediate conflict to the system’s core: the decisions. The more the outcome of a match depends on luck and randomness, the less weight a player’s decisions have in the end. On top of that, the systemic feedback is distorted by chaos: Did I win because I made better decisions? Or was it just luck? In most cases it’s simply not possible to draw a clear line between the two factors. The phenomenon of “imagined agency” is therefore closely related to this problem: In the case of defeat many players assume they were just out of luck. Any victory however they quickly ascribe to their superior skill. This may seem like a positive feature at first from a psychological point of view, but it is actually completely based on players willing to consistently fool themselves. And a design relying on such a thing can only be called dubious at the very least.

Besides dependence on luck, a big impact of motoric execution on the outcome of a game is also problematic. If the result for example depends to a non-negligible amount on who has more dexterity, the decisions are of accordingly reduced importance. For example, in a match of Starcraft it’s possible that one player constantly makes better decisions but loses in the end because his opponent was able to click way faster and more accurately. In an ideal contest of decision-making though, the end result wholly depends on the choices that were made. Decisions are questions of “Should you do X?”, whereas an execution requirement asks “Can you do X?”. In this sense real-time games always call for a bit of skepticism. A borderline case is for example Spelunky which has an important execution component, but its relevance is at least rivaled, and often trumped by decision-making.

Final Thoughts

Of course all these criteria and observations are mostly mechanical and systemic affairs. And indeed in terms of the ruleset design (which is the focus of this article), things like story, characters, setting and even theme play a subordinate role. For a decision-making contest the main purpose of a theme is to make the mechanisms feel more intuitive. It’s for example easier to grasp and internalize that “the sword fighter can only attack adjacent enemies, while the archer can attack enemies in a distance of two tiles” than a more abstract “the square stone can only remove adjacent stones, while the round stone can remove stones in a distance of two tiles”. Theme means using the player’s common knowledge to ease him into learning the rules. By extension, the presented criteria inherently incentivize innovation: Two decision-making contests that only differ in terms of theme (not in terms of how intuitive they are), but are mechanically equivalent, do actually not differ at all. In the case of the newer of the two, there was basically nothing to design except the packaging or, to say it with Raph Koster, the “dressing”.

Then again, said “dressing” has without a doubt been a major focus throughout the whole industry for decades. And although the form of the decision-making contest lost a lot of momentum in the 1990s and 2000s due to rapid technological advancements enabling audiovisual spectacle to take over in terms of popularity, there has been kind of a revival over the last years. Permanent consequences and skill-based games count for something again. Games like FTL, The Binding of Isaac or Crypt of the NecroDancer are very successful. The term “roguelike” has almost become a marketing buzzword and often basically an indicator of whether or not a system actually is a decision-making contest or not. On top of that there has been a fusion of the digital realm with board games (which have essentially always been dominated by decision-making contests), especially indicated by a huge amount of board game adaptations taking over the strategy game genre on iOS. This could just be the beginning of a golden age of strategy games.

In the end, what’s truly unique about the decision-making contest and provides it with “evergreen” potential is the systemic learning it allows for. To master a deep strategy game is to see through a complex web of interconnected parts (whose cautious and elegant composition can be of immense aesthetic value) and be able to reliably manipulate it to one’s own advantage. It’s about finding correlations between individual elements through the repeated examination of hypotheses about the system, and piece by piece building a mental model of the game’s possibility space, a giant network of heuristics. In witnessing one’s own understanding and the resulting finesse of play grow, is where the core value of strategy games lies. It truly is, as Frank Lantz put it, “thought made visible to itself”.（source：Gamasutra ）

来源：游戏邦
原文：http://gamerboom.com/archives/95674