Hi! My name is Charlotte Toumanoff, and I am a first-time game developer. This post is part of my project, “I Created A Video Game in 8 Weeks, Using RPG Maker MZ,” where I create a self-contained video game quest with impact, choices, and multiple endings, from scratch, using RPG Maker MZ.
To see the rest of the project (and play the game), click here!
Crafting the Beginning
Something that took me by surprise about making a video game intro is how much the introduction is about the ending of the game and what information has to be established and conveyed in the beginning, in order for that ending to make sense.
I would compare it to: not preparing a grocery list until you know what you’re planning to cook with the food you buy.
In my case, the information I needed immediately on-hand was two-fold:
Who/What is G.R.A.N.D.M.A., and what information do the characters have about G.R.A.N.D.M.A. prior to the beginning of the story?
Why is the main character trying to visit G.R.A.N.D.M.A. to begin with? What are his motivations for doing so?
Firmly convinced that I had all of this information in-hand (I did not have it), I confidently set out to learn how to create cutscenes that would suck the player in and not let them go.
Learning How to Make Cutscenes
I wanted to terrify before introducing humor. I wanted to establish mystery and intrigue. I wanted spooks. I wanted thrills. I wanted to show that some funny business was happening behind the scenes.
So, I began by learning how to create a text-based introductory cutscene.
It looks like this:
Fancy, right? Seductive, even.
So much information, just bursting at the seams.
I’m kidding, obviously.
It turns out that if you want to make a text-based scene, you probably want to do away with any background, and make your main character invisible.
Thus, the void you see before you was born. All of the cutscene information is hidden in that tiny little shadowed box, hiding up in the corner.
At first, I just had fun.
I wrote “Welcome to my cutscene,” and played what felt like the equivalent of sticking your finger next to someone’s face as a kid, saying that you aren’t touching them, and waiting until they get annoyed enough to react.
I also learned how to let the player input their own character name! Turns out, it’s as simple as a single button on an events page. Who knew?! (Me, now. I now know this.)
When I was asked to input the maximum amount of spaces a future player could use to create their character’s name, I chose as many as I could (16 in total) to allow for all of the funny, expletive-filled names that filled my future players’ hearts with joy.
(As a side-note: when I invited a friend of mine to test-play my game, she chose to name the main character “Dominatrix.” So, providing space for creative freedom when naming your character has already begun serving its purpose.)
After playing around with the introductory “Look at what I can do!” cutscene and naming mechanics, I tried to create a much more compelling and grounded cutscene that would introduce a mystery and imply BAD THINGS happening either in the past or the future.
With that, plus a jump scare that I don’t want to spoil in a weekly update, I thought I was finished.
…That is, until I showed it to some friends of mine, and realized that I had completely forgotten to make you CARE about the main character, or what happens to him, before starting official gameplay.
Curiosity isn’t enough. There needs to be an emotional connection, too. I asked my friends about their favorite video game beginnings, and I heard a pattern. They loved video game beginnings that introduced emotional bonds, and then broke them apart. They loved beginnings that established stability, and then tore it out from underneath your feet.
As I listened to them, I mentally created a checklist of things I needed my new beginning to achieve.
Show who or what the main character values.
Introduce emotional connections.
Introduce stakes.
So, I went back to the drawing board, looked at what I had done, and realized that I had a lot of the pieces already in place, but I needed an emotional core to connect it all. I wanted to introduce the concept of sadness and loneliness, yes, but I wanted the main character to have a reason to keep going. I also needed a reason for the player to care about where the main character goes and what he does.
The result was a brand-new character: a heroic, loving older brother named Sam who had gone missing and was presumed dead…until circumstances imply the possibility of a reunion.
As soon as the brother was created, it felt like he had always been there. Shaky motives and wobbly “But why or how?” questions that had been popping up throughout the game suddenly slid into place.
Sam had always existed. I just met him a little late.
Here is the result:
1 Flash screen command
1 Pre-planned movement route (that involved making permissions changes within the tileset itself, in order to make the movement possible)
2 Character transparency changes
2 Sound effects (one of which is 8 individual sound effects, stacked on top of each other)
2 Jump scares
3 Player transfers
4 Maps
4 Self-switches
5 Events
13 Carefully-measured “wait” commands to control the timing within each scene (this is probably what I spent the most amount of time on)
Overall, hours and hours of work led to about 90 seconds of playtime.
And I’m THRILLED!
It was so much fun to learn how to do. I felt triumphant each time I managed to learn a new feature, implement it, or see it turn into what I imagined in my head.
Knowing how many changes I made to the game’s beginning throughout this whole process, and how many iterations and versions it has been through, I think it’s safe to say that it’s unlikely this will be the final version of my game’s beginning, but here it is, all put together! (The password is: intro.)