How Level Design Can Tell a Story | Game Maker's Toolkit

Imagine a version of Bioshock without cutscenes.

Without Andrew Ryan’s bathysphere Powerpoint.

Without Atlas yapping in your ear.

And without those juicy audio diaries.

Do you think players would still understand
what the game was all about?

Well, I think they’d actually have a pretty
good idea.

Because all you have to do is look at your
surroundings.

The game is set in a massive city at the very
bottom of the ocean.

One clearly made for those in high society,
considering the fancy bars, apartment complexes,

and theatre districts.

And it’s a place built on lofty philosophical
ideals.

But it’s also a place of ruin and despair.

There was obviously a moment of downfall.

Some people split into violent factions, and
others just lost their minds.

And this all went down on New Year’s Day,
1959.

Bioshock is a wonderful example of how a game’s
environment can be an effective method of

storytelling.

And how embedding narrative elements into
the very spaces and places that we visit throughout

the game, can speak just as loudly as more
traditional forms of storytelling.

And that is exactly what this episode of Game
Maker’s Toolkit is all about.

In this video I’m going to focus on three
ways that the environment can be used for

storytelling - and talk about how level design
can drive our understanding, feeling, and identity.

Starting, with understanding.

So the signs, stiffs, and scribbles in Bioshock
are examples of “environmental storytelling”

- the use of set dressing to create small,
optional, and self-contained vignettes.

Like warnings written in blood, or the many,
many skeletons in the Fallout games, who have

been deliberately posed by the game’s designers
to suggest humorous or melancholy ways that

people have died.

The term was first coined, as far as I can
tell, by former Disneyland designer Don Carson,

who wrote an influential article in 2000 about
what game developers can learn from theme parks.

The term was then made even more popular in
a GDC talk by Harvey Smith and Matthias Worch,

where they described the technique as “staging
player-space with environmental properties

that can be interpreted as a meaningful whole,
furthering the narrative of the game”.

The cool thing about environmental storytelling
is that it requires a certain level of deductive

reasoning, as we connect up details to create
an overall story.

We use investigative and archaeological skills
to determine relationships, cause and effect,

and history.

This makes us an active participant in the
storytelling process, and not just a passive viewer.

Plus, if you just want to focus on the
shooty stuff, you can do that

without the story getting in your way.

For the most part, environmental storytelling
is about static objects - but it can also

stretch to things like overheard conversations,
animations happening in the level, and of

course… text, in things like books, item
descriptions, scans, notes, and emails.

And while it is generally used to describe
what happened before you even got to a space,

it can also be used as a way of highlighting
how your actions have impacted the environment

in the time since you visited.

So if you kill a shop keeper in Deus Ex: Mankind
Divided, later in the game the shop will be

a police crime scene, and then permanently
closed to the public.

It’s also worth noting that environmental
storytelling isn’t just for narrative, but

can have gameplay uses too.

A saw blade stuck in a sliced-up zombie suggests
using these saws with your Gravity Gun to

defeat enemies.

An enemy fried on a fence warns us about the
dangers of touching it.

Maps and signage can help us navigate complex
spaces.

And props can suggest puzzle hints in a non-intrusive
way.

But here’s the thing.

“Environmental storytelling” - if we’re
using the term specifically to mean those

micro-narrative vignettes - is just one part of
a larger structure of using the environment

to suggest narrative.

It’s the high level stuff.

Below that, then, is the individual places
in a game.

You know, a farmer’s market, a bar, a medical
pavilion, and a theatre district.

And beyond that, the individual rooms in those
zones.

That’s the medium level, which might be
most accurately called, well, level design.

And this can also be used for narrative because
things like architecture, layout, materials,

and scale can tell us a lot about the people
who use those spaces.

For example, in Dishonored 2’s Dust District,
the level designers at Arkane use verticality

to show how the working class are literally
underneath the people in power.

And the sheer opulence of Talos I in Prey
tells a very different story about its use,

compared to the more utilitarian Sevastopol
in Alien Isolation.

And this also provides gameplay hints, too:
like in Lord Bafford’s Mansion in Thief,

where all the gold is naturally found in the
lord's chambers - but there’s little of

value in the servant’s quarters.

By making the place a believable location,
the player can use real-world knowledge to

help orient themselves in the space.

Of course, one big challenge of making spaces
where people can actually live or work, is

crafting locations that can actually logically
exist with all the bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens,

and so on to support hundreds of people.

I asked the IO Interactive designers
about this when I did my Hitman 2 video and

they said they focus on levels that are “credible”,
which means the level meets your basic expectations

for how a space works - but it doesn’t have
to make perfect sense.

To finish off our pyramid, we need the low
level - which is the overall setting of the world.

This is world building, and is where the developers
and narrative designers set things like the

factions, the major plot points for the world’s
history, and the main players in the story.

All three parts of this structure should work
in concert, and - ideally - ideas should echo

up and down the stack.

Here’s an example of that working in practice.

In Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, the low level
setting is a futuristic Prague where augmented

humans face oppression from those without
modifications.

This is represented in the mid level by places
like train stations with different cars for

naturals and augs, and a slum-like city where
augs are kept in dire conditions.

And then the smaller narrative moments on
the high level also talk about oppression and

racism, though anti-aug graffiti, and emails
about being kicked out of the capital.

Every level is talking about the same theme
- from a grand, systemic level on the high level, to

to more intimate and specific stories on the low level.

Of course, easter eggs and moments of humour
are fine too - but storytelling like this

is at its best when all aspects are marching
towards the same thematic goal.

This can be quite challenging in practice
because, on many large games, each level is

looked after by a completely different person.

So it’s vitally important for teams to come
together to make sure the vision is being

shared across the game as a whole.

So designers can use world building, level
design, and environmental storytelling to

convey literal and specific information about
the world and its inhabitants.

But, the design of a world can also be used
in a more evocative and emotional sense.

Game designers can use things like scale,
shape, and colour to evoke certain feelings

in the player.

Here’s Naughty Dog level designer Emilia
Schatz talking about how she did this in Uncharted 4

EMILIA: “If i want to have the player feel
triumphant at the end and scared towards the

beginning, I might make the environment create
a lot of pressure on the player.

I might make the ceiling very low, might make
the walls come in, so you feel tight and constrained.

And eventually as we get to the end of the
level, bring you out way into the open and

give you this giant vista”.

The shape of the cave doesn’t give us any
further understanding of the backstory in Uncharted.

It’s just a cave, after all.

Instead, it creates emotion - which helps
the player better understand how the character

is feeling.

Here’s a good example of just that in the
most recent God of War.

The story beat is that Kratos starts to panic
because Atreus has run off and may be in danger.

Here’s how the designers manipulate the
environment to ensure that you, as the player,

also feel this sense of tension.

So, the space constricts to narrow pathways.

There are dead ends, forcing you to turn around
and backtrack.

Your visibility is reduced thanks to a thick
grey fog.

And the final squeeze between rocks completely
slows Kratos down.

It’s only when you get through that the
world opens up, the fog lifts, and colour

returns, letting you know that Atreus is safe
and that this mysterious person is probably

not there to hurt you or your boy.

Or take the original Portal.

The first half of the game takes place in
a test lab, and the second half has you escaping

from an evil AI and darting through a maintenance
area.

This dramatic shift in the game’s story
is emphasised through

all sorts of environmental choices.

The lab is white, sterile, and lacking in
detail.

The maintenance area is bathed in warmer orange
tones, and looks lived in and used.

In a talk in 2017, former Crystal Dynamics
art designer Brian Horton talks about this

part in the Tomb Raider reboot.

At the start, Lara is low down, with the environment
bearing down from above her.

Everything is plunged in an ominous dark green
colour.

As you become level with the environment,
the colours begin to lighten up.

And then as you climb, you’re actually high
above the level, and Lara is bathed in a warm,

orange sunlight.

Her journey of survival - from a point of
despair to a point of hope - is emphasised

through the level design.

As a practical method of achieving this, I
want to point to a GDC talk by former BioWare

level designer Dave Feltham who talks about
two tools they used when making the levels

for Mass Effect 3: Emotion Charts and Intensity
Charts.

So the level in question is set on the planet
Tuchanka, and involves providing a cure for

the Genophage - a biological weapon deployed
against the Krogan.

The level sees you landing at the hollows,
driving towards the shroud tower, having your

convoy get blown up, sneak through some catacombs,
pop up in the city, take down your first reaper,

and - well - I won’t spoil the mission anymore
than that.

So the designers broke the level down into
a bunch of sections.

They then decided what theme needed to be
represented in each part.

And then decided what emotion the player should
feel at that time.

Finally, they used environment design to evoke
those emotions.

For example, in the pre-crash you should feel
a sense of hope and confidence about defeating

the reaper.

So there’s a huge convoy of vehicles at
your back to make you feel strong, and the

Krogan are happily lazing about to suggest
nonchalance.

After the crash, you should feel a sense of
chaos.

So there’s flames, explosions, and your
convoy is destroyed.

In the catacombs, you should feel a sense
of mystery - which is driven by the statues

and murals of ancient Krogan life, And then
the triumphant reveal of the city is supposed

to make you feel awe at what the Krogan empire
grew to become before the Genophage.

And make you feel guilty if you were planning
to betray them.

The contrast from the dark catacombs to the
open city emphasises the reveal.

Finding the right environmental tricks to
convey the necessary emotion can be tough,

but here’s how a few other games have done
it.

Half Life 2 creates a feeling of oppression
through claustrophobic corridors, tall buildings,

cages, and security cameras.

PT creates fear by asking you to repeatedly
turn the same corner, but you’re never sure

what will be on the other side.

It’s important to note that these environmental
choices have to gel with the game’s mechanics,

though.

For example, in a horror game, darkness is
obviously intended to evoke feelings of fear.

But in a stealth game, darkness might actually
provide feelings of power and safety.

After picking the environmental details, BioWare
uses intensity charts.

Basically, the designers have a desired intensity
level - hoping for low moments for story beats,

and high moments for combat.

But this has to be checked against play-testers
who describe how intense each area feels.

If the chart is off, changes must be made.

For example, the catacombs initially had enemies
- but fighting monsters by torchlight was

found to be extremely intense, and pulled
away from the intended feeling, so the monsters

were scrapped to bring the level in line.

Also, a cutscene of friendly bombers was added
on the road towards the reaper, just to give

the player slightly more hope that they might
win.

The ultimate goal for BioWare was to create
a mission that matches a sort of typical three

act structure.

With rising action, a low moment of despair,
and a final climb to victory.

This three act structure is used wonderfully
by 2D platformer Celeste, where the actual

topology of your climb mirrors that graph.

Level after level you climb higher up the
mountain, hitting small set-backs and climb-downs

but ultimately heading forever upwards.

That is until the stage Reflections which
sends you plummeting back down to the base.

The story’s lowest point is also the environment’s
lowest point.

If there’s one game that truly uses the
environment to tell a story, though, it’s Journey.

It uses moments when you’re climbing to
evoke feelings of strength and progression,

and moments where you’re plummeting down
to create a sense of loss and hopelessness.

And notice how the team at thatgamecompany
uses colour to express different sensations

- orange for the calm mystery of the desert,
dark green for the spooky underground graveyard,

white for the biting cold, and bright blue
for the moment of rebirth.

This game doesn’t need any words to tell
you what to feel, because the environment

says it all.

The final thing I want to touch on, is the
way environments influence our identity.

Video games typically put us into the shoes
of a character, and ask us to perform as they would.

As players, we’re constantly looking for
clues as to what sort of person we are inhabiting,

and what sort of actions will be expected,
permitted, and punished.

Of course, the heavy lifting is done by the
available mechanics, the way systems react

to our choices, and our preconceived notions
from the marketing and genre norms.

But the environment can also play a large
part in this.

For example, in the original Bioshock I found
it easy to murder people and steal from cash

registers and safes.

Whereas in Bioshock Infinite, i found these
actions a lot less comfortable.

A large part of this comes from the fact that
Bioshock’s Rapture is in ruins, and the

only people around are insane, bloodthirsty
splicers.

Bashing their skulls in and looting everything
I can fit in my pockets just makes sense.

Infinite’s Columbia, on the other hand,
is still a semi-functioning society when you

get there, with working shops and innocent
citizens.

So violence and robbery just makes less sense
in that environment.

Back down on Earth, the Hitman developers
use this technique to subtly explain

how the world will react to your presence.

It’s often pretty obvious which areas you
can casually stroll into, because of our understanding

of real-world social behaviours and rules.

This comes from a GDC talk by IO developer
Mette Andersen who says “when

we design these spaces, we’re designing
rules of behaviour and we’re designing something

that’s going to tap into your knowledge
of ‘how should I be in this space?’”.

Mette splits the world into public spaces,
which are available from the get go and explorable

in any costume.

And private spaces, which require some ingenuity
to enter, and a costume to stay hidden.

She then splits those further into sub categories,
where social rules go from vague to strict.

The best levels in Hitman, says Mette, incorporate
a rich mix of these area types.

So video game environments can be a staggeringly
effective medium for storytelling.

Whether they’re telling stories about events
that happened before your arrival, giving

clues about the people who live there, evoking
emotions through architecture, or providing

context for player identity, these spaces
can speak volumes.

Let me know your favourite examples of storytelling
through the environment, in the comments down below.

Hi, thanks for watching.

As you might have noticed, this is a re-uploaded
version of a previous video.

Unfortunately, that video was labelled as
not age-appropriate, because of some of the

examples I gave - and so the video had a big
scary warning before you could watch.

Ultimately, I want my channel to be accessible
to as many people as possible, and so I’m

going to work hard in future to make sure
my stuff is suitable for a general audience.

I’m still going to talk about shooting people,
because, hey, my channel’s about video games.

But, still, I’ll take care not to slip into
gratuitous depictions of violence and other icky stuff.

If the original video made you feel uncomfortable,
then I do apologise.