Creation Kit – First Impressions

Kris Takahashi Other 3 Comments

2013-10-30_000052013-04-23_00024Whenever someone is critical of an NPC in ways that are ostensibly subjective, the first thing I try to do is understand why, and perhaps figure out ways to improve the experience. Why do some users hate an NPC that others unconditionally love? Sure, it’s easy to ascribe this to taste and opinions, but that would imply it’s an unsolvable quandary for which I can only toss my hands in the air and curse the Gods for making people different.

However, if you’re like me (for your sake, I hope not) and are unsatisfied with such an answer, there is another explanation. Even if the world was filled with emotional clones who felt the same and thought the same and were in love with the same person, if you think about it, there is still one variable that often changes depending on the playthrough, and could account for some of these varying opinions. Location, location, location. In other words, where you meet an NPC is just as important as what they’re saying.

For instance, when I added daily schedules way back when, it may have compromised your first impression of certain NPCs, especially the folks in Whiterun. Meeting Iria outdoors in the sun results in a completely different mood than if you’re meeting her in the Hall of the Dead. Even in the crypt, if she’s sitting down chowing on a piece of bread, that doesn’t feel particularly morbid. As a result, the deadpan, gallows humor can get misinterpreted.

On the other hand, if you meet her in the crypt first, then see her parading around Whiterun, suddenly it adds a second layer of depth. All right, she’s a creepy, ghoul of a woman, but she also doesn’t mind the occasional walk in the park. So, minor tweaks like the one pictured are aimed to enhance the experience. In the next version, she’ll stay here mulling over a corpse (I considered the open coffin being taboo, but fuck Andurs asks you to kill skeletons so whatever) until you speak with her. Only then will she depart. The same could probably be done for Eldar, although it would be somewhat bizarre for him to run the shop in the middle of the night. Larkspur too will have his initial encounter moved to the dungeon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXuMsXtEpRc

Another thing I want to correct is the generic combat dialogue for super followers. Bethesda used generic combat lines because the same files were utilized across multiple NPCs. Since Aela has the same voice as Uthgerd, it’s convenient for them to share the same battlecries.

Conversely, there’s no reason for unique voice types to do the same – it was probably laziness on my part that I had the actors share a list of generic babble. This results in hilarious incongruities like Valgus screaming “Why won’t you die already!” despite him being a healer who advocates peace. The video also shows him heal you at the end of battle, which yes, isn’t the same as him using the spells in combat, but I’ve yet to figure out how that’s done – hence no animation or magicka use involved. It’s solely for immersion.

In any case, these are some examples of what I’m working on as I take a break from quests and new NPCs. I think the mod can always find ways to get better, and not just by adding new content. In other words, it’s more about turning my brain sideways as opposed to upside down. Yeah, that metaphor makes no sense.

Playing My Song

Guest_NPC Storytime 3 Comments

2013-10-29_00002rayvioguestbylinewhitebarAnother glance around the room following another empty mug. Another frustratingly friendly smile from the wench as she walked over with his next drink. Another dose of her depressingly cheerful banter and her sickly sweet cheap mead. He tossed a coin onto the table, landing in his empty mug. She gave an insufferably cheerful giggle as she fished it out of, wiping the dregs onto her apron. Another miserable little tavern in another miserable little town on another miserable day but these hollow-headed, easily amused fools refused to share his misery.

His life wasn’t supposed to be like this. A year ago he’d been in Solitude, a student at the Bard’s college who was showered in praise more often than in snow. How fast things can change and how fragile the future can be. His pride had taken him to Solitude but his shame had brought him south.
Another hush descended and again all eyes and ears waited on the bard. A pretty young thing, she lifted her instrument but it wasn’t the strings of her lute that her fingers played, instead they brushed across his heart as the haunting beauty of her voice caressed his ears.

With a beer in hand
The thieves did stand
Cheering a toast to their health
The cat downed her beer
And she said with good cheer
The next round is on the elf

It wasn’t a song you heard often, he’d only met a few bards who still knew it and none of them would play it again. He’d sometimes hear of bandits singing snippets of it but none who knew all the words. It was the song he’d written, it was his shame.

With the beers all drank
The Elf’s heart sank
As he handed over the coins
The nord made a toast
And he yelled out a boast
As the drunk cat eyed his loins

He remembered when he’d first tested his words on an audience of his fellow students. Let them keep their epic ballads, he’d known the best way for his words to spread across Skyrim wasn’t with some historically inaccurate love story but with a simple drinking song.

With three beers down
The orc did frown
And bid the elf goodbye
For none could know
‘Twas not or show
And someone had to die

He’d dreamed that one day he’d walk into a random inn, some place he’d never heard of before, to hear strangers singing his song.

He let out a roar
As the elf fell to the floor
Then he snapped the neck of the nord
As the orc grabbed her hair
The cat leapt out her chair
And she whipped out a hidden sword

It was his own fault really. He could have written something simple, he should have written something simple. Instead, despite his plans, he found himself writing a story.

The orc downed one last beer
And he said with a sneer
The treasure will all be mine
She knew that his knife
Could cost her a life
But that cat she had nine

It was supposed to condemn the treacherous nature of bandits but the college claimed it romanticised and celebrated their thefts and backstabbing. He’d left in shame when he’d heard that the very people it was supposed to criticise had taken it as an ode to their heroism.

As the cat dodged his blade
The orcs courage did fade
And slowly gave way to fear
The cat slashed his throat
Then brushed off her coat
And ordered another beer

The small crowd cheered their drunken approval but the bard had eyes only for him. She ordered drinks and took a seat at his table.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” he smiled. “I’d forget my own name before I forgot your face.”
“Liar!” she teased. “You barely noticed me at the college. I noticed you though.”
The barmaid brought over the drinks and this time he returned her smile. He’d finally found what he’d been searching for.

Another walk along another road on another day. His misery had been merely momentarily misplaced last night. One more bard who knew his song but would never sing it again. He wondered how long before they found her body. A little less of his shame in the world, but what of the drunken fools who’d heard her? He could only hope that they were too full on drink for the words to fill their memory. After all, he thought as another caravan of captured rebels passed by, it wasn’t as if he could silence everyone in Helgen.