A breakdown of player motivation and both philosophical and mythological ties to the Greek myths and existentialism.

Introduction.

When one looks to find meaning or purpose amidst the grandiosity of Dark Souls’ world they shall find at first a feeling of insignificance, of disempowerment. Yet amidst the pantheon of the Gods, the eternal nature of its world and the cyclical frugality of which we endure, there lies, in the meagre shadow of it all, the Chosen undead, a.k.a us. By establishing parallels between Dark Souls’ mythology and that of the Greeks, along with the fervour we retain as a player to that of existential philosophy and lastly a mechanical breakdown utilising the MDA framework, as established by Hunicke and Zubek, I shall examine how this feeling of minuteness and perseverance is both established and instilled within us. One must also wonder, when faced with odds that appear at first insurmountable and a difficulty which punishes our every mistake, what need is there to continue onward and how is this retained by the player and crafted by the designers.

Greek myth and the world creation parallels.

‘In the age of the ancients the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of grey crags, arch trees and everlasting dragons. But then there was fire and with fire came disparity’. The pluralisms of the undisturbed equilibrium is that which led to the nature of disparity, and with the disparity of the elements in Dark Souls there rose the lords. This is the creation myth as depicted by the opening monologue of Dark Souls. A short cinematic of around three minutes which has gone on to become emblematic of storytelling through allusion, laying out before us the implied grandiosity of that which we never once glimpse through gameplay. The unfolding of this process is told to us via the precursive monologue and evidenced via the opening cinematic. As we learn that in the deepest recesses of this ashen world there came the first disparities, many years prior to our existence as the chosen undead. A format of storytelling that is akin to that of the Greek myths, wherein the world exists undisturbed prior to the birth of man and gods alike and thus by the natural dualities that life itself represents.

The parallels are evident between the Greek creation myth, particularly as defined by Hesiod, in his work, the Theogony. The myth of the world is told as such, ‘Some say that darkness was first, and from darkness sprang Chaos. From a union between Darkness and Chaos sprang Night, Day, Erebus and the air’. This is a paraphrased surmise lifted from Robert Graves’ work the complete and definitive Greek myths. Digressing though, here in Hesiod’s initial description of disparity’s birth we see how it details the elements’ initial beginnings with a state of undisturbed equilibrium, of one singular whole. And thus with the fracturing of said whole, the oppositions are born. A key distinction to note, is that Hesiod’s world myth sees the elements being personified as individual gods whereas Dark Souls sees the elements as nebulous catalysts of nature that will bring the gods into being and their subsequent inheritance of the elements they would later come to fervently covet. Yet both myths begin with the undisturbed equilibrium as it exists before man and the gods. An embryonic world that seems eternal in its being, acting only as crucible to the birth of humanity and the gods.

It is this implication that the gods and man act to disturb this whole and that nature itself must act in conjunction with this to facilitate the birth of chaos. Chaos itself is typically viewed as emblematic of life, and in Freud’s (albeit antiquated interpretation) is representative of the feminine. This is only worth noting due to the sole female lord of Dark Souls, the witch of Izalith having inherited the flame of chaos, as she too is the antithetical to Nito, who represents death. Hesiod’s myth also extends to contain these elements of death and light. He writes, ‘from a union between Night and Erebus sprang Doom, Old age, Death, Murder, Continence, Sleep, Dreams, Discord, Misery, Vexation, Nemesis, Joy, Friendship, Pity, the Three Fates, and the Three Hesperides’. The expansion of the metaphor to include elements of the human spirit, so deeply intrinsic to both emotional interpretation and expression that detail what would become the culmination of man’s being.

This is a metaphor which runs symmetrical to the birth of man as seen in the world of Dark Souls, or this tale’s Prometheus so to speak, known in game as the ‘Furtive Pygmy’. He is one of the lords, born in the age of ancients in conjunction with Gwyn, Nito and the Witch of Izalith. All of whom inherited the ‘souls of lords within the flame’ as evidenced in the opening monologue. Yet amidst these eternal beings it was the pygmy who went on to grant the power of the dark to man, as he inherited the dark soul. And it was Gwyn who was the opposition in the quartet of the lords, for he inherited the soul of light. Just as Nito is the Witch of Izalith’s elemental opposition. The composition of these elements illuminates the imperative need for opposition as a necessity for balance. Without the composition of these elements in opposition to one another, the unity of the whole would be akin to that of the world as it was in the age of the ancients. As much as Hesiod’s creation myth which necessitates the fact that the elements must eventually awaken or be stirred into action by the need to balance that which was once ‘one’. In the existence of Hesiod’s darkness, as in Dark Souls’ age of ancients there is no balance, for there is no opposition, merely a singular will. Yet the avarice of the lords must always seek to disrupt that which grants the world an instance of peace, for their nature is akin to that of man, yet their might surpasses that of our own.

Further comparisons to Greek myth – the pantheon, the archetypes and the avarice.

It was Gwyn who initially challenged the dragons and uprooted them from the ancient world, working in tandem with the other lords to establish their dominion over the unconquered ashen land. It was not the avarice of a singular lord however which resulted in this upheaval. The opening monologue provides insight here that ‘with the strength of lords they challenged the dragons. Gwyn’s mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales, the Witches weaved great firestorms, Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease and Seath the scaleless betrayed his own’. It was the unification of the lords and their avaricious desires that would eventually become the cause of their downfall. It is a will that extends far beyond Gwyn however, with his recruitment of Seath, a dragon who was not granted immortality, as the others were. In him Gwyn found one so devoutly driven by jealousy that he was willing to betray his own kind. And with the greed of the lords, the initial equilibrium was disrupted and thus the world was forever altered.

Both Gwyn and Zeus are kindred in their unquenchable yearning to continuously bolster and assert their power, for Zeus it was the desire to reign over all and his human nature which drove this, for Gwyn it is no different. To tie the insecurity of Zeus to that of man I wish to first posit this notion. The creator shall always reveal a facet of themselves in that which they create. This extends to every creative endeavour as one cannot separate their experience along with their ideological, moralistic and ethical notions from the vessel of creation which they utilise to channel their creativity. Therefore if this is applied to the Greek pantheon we see that if man made the gods in his image then they must act as us. Their inherent insecurities, their nature to covet and war for that which they acquire, for what is sought is not easily lost by the gods and attempts to intervene in this dogmatic pursuit are met with severe atonement. As is seen in the fate of Sisyphus, a man who stole from the gods and made an ensuing futile attempt to elude both death and fate which resulted, rather unsurprisingly, in him being sentenced to what is arguably the greatest punishment for a Greek figure. Yet this is an interpretation that I will bring into question in due time.

The lords of Dark Souls act in accordance to those of myths. They are beings who are driven by their one true flaw, that which ties a god to mortal man, is their possession of desires that pertain to the human soul. For to believe that the gods were senseless in their killings and brutality is demonstrably incorrect. They are fuelled by potent emotions and though their acts are callous, they are always driven by a human insecurity or an overriding fear of man. It was the case for Zeus, who sought to test the strength of man, proving himself the only one deemed worthy of wielding the heavenly thunder. It is this very fragility that ties him to that which he seeks to spurn; the race of man. As is the case for Gwyn and his fear of the pygmy and all that it represents. For it was this very failure to see the necessity of opposition in nature that led to his downfall, and though the pygmy is described as furtive in nature, the dark, akin to light is a force of omnipotence. And shall be maintained with or without the will of the lords. In fact the dark exists to spite the lords, as is proven by Gwyn’s persisting fear of it.

The silver race of man and the interventionist Gods.

Gwyn’s linking of the flame is depicted as an act of self sacrifice, if the gospel of Kingseeker Frampt is to be believed. Admittedly I hesitate to believe this. Gwyn, though he granted great power to the likes of Seath and the Four Kings who were emblematic of man, he undertook these acts of kindness to repay what can be viewed as predominantly debts, rather than gifts. He was indebted to Seath and thus gifted him a fragment of his soul and in the case of the Four Kings he intervened by gifting man the power of a lord soul in order to establish an influence over mankind in the form of these pawns of fate, unseeing that they were. 

Yet despite his intervention, his fear began to gnaw upon that which made him human. Darkstalker Kaathe, the serpent of the dark and opposition to Frampt. Acts as the mouthpiece for the lords. Telling us that Gwyn ‘trembled at the dark’ fearing the ‘dark lord who would one day be born amongst them’, them, pertaining to humanity in this case.  It was this feeble act of self preservation, the human insecurity and thirst for the retention of his power that began the age of fire. It is a prosperous age built upon the fragility of a deity. I liken the establishment of the age of fire to Zeus’ intervention during the Silver race of men in the greek mythos. They are deemed a peaceable race. Described in Graves’ work as ‘quarrelsome and ignorant, and never sacrificed to the gods but, at least they did not make war on one another. Zeus destroyed them all’. And as they are detailed here, a flawed race of man, yet peaceful in nature was not enough for the gods. Their egotistical reign necessitates that they shall be worshipped and remembered. The silver race failed to honour this desire and thus found themselves erased by the will of Zeus.

The furtive pygmy akin to prometheus utilised the dark soul to spawn man. Dark being the antithetical of light, a balance which Gwyn sought to diminish in its might. Thus birthing the first sin. The unity of light and dark was ratified as the ashen mists of the ancient world had parted. It is the first sin that a god should dare disrupt the disparity of nature. Thus the cycle is birthed by the fragility of Gwyn’s ego, his own insecurity, a glimpse of one’s mortality is the one truth that was mighty enough to shake the gods. Therefore is it not the same motivation that drove Gwyn to link the fire. A lord intervening to prevent that which he feared is yet to come? This is no act of sacrifice, no continuation to an age of prosperity but rather an act that furthers the reign of the fragile pantheon. An age established and maintained upon lies and deceit, of faux prophecies and puppeteers of the gods. Gwyn’s children Gwynevere, and Gwyndolin are representative of both sun and moon, a pairing of dualities who reign over the land of the lords, known in-game as Anor Londo. A sight which greets the player around the midpoint of the game, dazzling them with its incandescent vista, an ornate city unlike the precursive shanty towns, forests and sewers we have encountered. Yet this too is a lie of the lords. A mere mirage constructed to deceive, orchestrated by Gwyndolin. Though Gwyn’s husk is consigned to act as guardian for the diminished light of the first flame, his children have come to groom the chosen undead into fulfilling the prophecy. A prophecy we come to learn is also weaved by the lying tongues of the lords. Yet it is our nature as a being who has risen from the race of man that grants us the capability to shatter this cyclical retainment of the lord’s power. Though what does it truly mean to walk from the flame, or even to link it?

Light and dark: A cyclical inevitability.

To walk from the ordained mantle we are destined to inherit is to embrace the age of man, or so we are told. To accept the mantle of lord and link the flame is to continue the age of fire, of all that is just, or so we are told. To believe either presents us with a quandary. These malleable truths are told to us by sources who seek to extend their rule. By beings that are inevitable in their positions and eternal in their reign. The serpents, Kaathe and Frampt seek to extenuate their rule in one form or another. For Frampt, he is servant to the lords and therefore a beneficiary to the age of fire and indebted to Gwyn. He is the initial mouth from which we learn of our fate as the chosen undead,  though this truth is undermined by the realisation that many came before us and indeed, many shall also follow. A realisation which becomes manifest in the third entry in the series in the form of the soul of cinder, a personified husk of all those souls who linked the flame prior.

The age of dark would seem to be the age of man due to its nature as the representative element of man. Though dark, akin to Gwyn’s light stems the further elements which corrupt the souls of those who covet it. For the dark as is light, presents immense power to those willing to wield it. Manus, who is described as a ‘primordial man’ became wholly corrupted upon his embrace of the abyss, a facet of the dark. The same fate came to befit Oolacile, the township which fell to the hunger of the abyss and the spread of it that stemmed from Manus. Artorias, a prominent knight in the court of Gwyn, also became wholly corrupted by the abyss, who having lost his cognizance became a forlorn husk. He was left a shadow of his former prowess. Yet the nature of the abyss itself stems from humanity, either altering that which is, or willing into being that which is yet to be. It both comforts and distorts, enhances those who gaze into it and devours them whole. It is a mirror into the soul, stare too long and one may well fall prey to their own vanity.

Neither the extension of the age of the gods nor the embrace of the age of dark, appears to be a definitive answer to what could be deemed beneficial to the world and its inhabits. The corruption these endings present detail a grave affliction that shall follow our choice. The grey liminality between clear morals is what makes this choice so dire, for neither seems to present a binary truth to the concluding choice we must make. To extend the age of the lords is to see another follow in our footsteps. Another unknowing soul ferried on forth by the lies of the lords. Or shall we instead embrace the dark and rest this age from the gods? Yet in this choice are we not Zeus? Striking down that which we deem unethical and instead imprinting our own age. To become the dark lord is to merely extend the cycle, yet in the process we must erase that which we deem unjust. The answer lies not in what is correct, but rather in the notion that one could believe better souls shall follow in the wake of the decision we make. To overcome the mistakes of the forefathers is to be greater than the sum of our mistakes. In doing so we rise above the quandaries that plagued those who bear our burden, we must believe that those after us shall be better. 

Our inconsequence births this almighty reckoning for the present age we find ourselves in. We may be informed of our prowess and the inevitability of inheriting the mantle of Gwyn, yet this lie is not to be believed, nor is the juxtaposing ‘truth’ of Kaathe. Each serpent seeks to manipulate those it sees before it. Oolacile fell to the allure of Kaathe and the disastrous awakening of Manus ensued. The dark births the abyss and the light brings with it the gods. We are merely kindling for the flame, regardless of our choice. Our journey, our being, our choice is cyclical, Sisyphean in nature. We are the foal that follows the shepherd or we become the wolf in the pen. Either outcome results in our death. Whilst the hunt dwells before us, or the grass that we feast on, it is all grown in the same pasture. We are encased by the will of the greater, whilst we are the lesser. And thus I present the Sisyphean metaphor as it pertains to our journey and trials as the chosen undead. We are wholly inconsequential and seek to alter that which is ultimately null. Our journey as the chosen undead may end, yet we perpetuate, with either choice that which is inevitable and cyclical in nature. We are Sisyphus, frolicking unwittingly in the pasture of the lords, puppet to their will and nothing more.

Imbuing the need to roll the boulder: a sisyphean undertaking.

Thus having established the correlations between the unelected, avaricious nature of the Greek pantheon and the lords of Dark souls world, who akin to the Greek gods are unelected. Rather the lords are willed into being by an existential force at play. The conceptual will, whether it is conjured by the birth of disparity and with its necessity for duality, must bring about those with human desires. Birthing the duality and nature of oppositions in dark souls’ world. One whose existence is intrinsic to the nature of dichotomy, for fire there must be dark and vice versa. These are integral divides which form the whole, after the era of ash. Yet amidst this, one must wonder, what position does the player occupy between the pantheon of the lords and the grandiosity of its narrative. To acknowledge the aforementioned fact, it is to rationalise the existential position which we occupy.

For we are devoid of sovereign in our position and are one who is left aside by the nature of the will. Indeed we are informed we are the ‘chosen undead’ yet this title is mere deception. A faux guidance of those in favour of the flames’ continuation in pursuit of their own individual benefit. We are mere kindling for the will, a pawn upon the board. Yet we continue forth. It is the acknowledgment of the existential imperative of our task that places the player in a position akin to that of Sisyphus in the Greek myths. Yet this intrinsic link to the existential acknowledgment draws parallels between the French existentialist philosopher, Albert Camus’ essay written upon the Sisyphean myth where I believe the true philosophical  link lies. For we are aware, akin to Sisyphus and his momentary reflection he is afflicted with wherein the boulder rolls to the base of the hill, that we must continue once more into the fold. To endure that which we know to be endless. We are the enduring proletariat acting on behalf of an existential will for an existential cause, yet all the while conscious of the inconsequentiality of our task.

Camus’s framing of Sisyphus within his essay posits that Sisyphus must remain stoic and enduring in spite of the inevitability of his infinite cyclical labour. It is the existential reading which Camus takes that draws such strong parallels between the chosen undead and the Sisyphus of Camus essay. On Sisyphus’ fate Camus frames it as an almost just reckoning for his acts, ‘his scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted towards accomplishing nothing’. For as bleak as this depiction rings, its roots in existentialism subvert the inarguably tragic nature of his fate. To continue onward whilst remaining aware of ones futility almost grants us power over this realisation. I say almost for we cannot overcome the fact that all our toils in life, no matter how great a legacy we leave or how meagre an existence we occupy during our days, we are all doomed to die from our very birth. Yet as Sisyphus does, to continue on necessitates a comprehension of our place amidst the ‘whole’ and the joyous realisation that our continued perseverance displays a conquering of or at least an equality to our fate. We may never best death, though to grow frail and morose in its shadow proves little else than the nature of one’s willingness to surrender to it. So we continue on and find accomplishment. Akin to Sisyphus in spite of this fact of life. Therefore we are equal to our fate.

Yet what if our mere comprehension of the fact is not enough? For in the case of the chosen undead death is not the end. It is the curse of hollowing which erodes what drives us all, our humanity. In the aforementioned quote from Camus the whole being of the chosen undead is exerted in strenuous repetition to not only die and continue on in their Sisyphean undertaking but to remain aware of such failings time and time again. Not only is the nature of the undead one of a repetitious tragedy but they are faced with the enduring allure of hollowing. The intentionality of the use of ‘hollowing’ also implies that it first begins with a whole, which is then hollowed, suggesting that there is an end to this process. Yet one can surrender to this process or choose to resist it. The Crestfallen warrior, an NPC local to Firelink shrine is emblematic of this surrender. Though I believe that even surrender necessitates an existential understanding of their fate. The crestfallen warrior has grappled with his futility of spirit and thus reached the conclusion that to surrender himself to grow ever more hollow is the justified response. It is this surrender which ultimately sees him grow hollow and descend into the depths of New Londo, where he can be killed by the player. 

The nature of hollowing itself presents an interesting antithesis to the Sisyphean resolve. It complicates the myth in many ways as it faces the player with a recurring reminder of what occurs when their resolve is depleted. The Sisyphus of Camus tale is a stoic, solitary figure who rolls his boulder in spite of the thought of his futility. A thought I found myself returning to was to imagine how the Sisyphean metaphor would be altered had Sisyphus been faced with a shadow of himself. A failure so to speak. One who relinquished hope in the face of their task and dwells at the base of the hill, gibbering in morose tones to Sisyphus with each beginning of his journey to the summit. Had he been faced with the continued reminder of what occurs to those who relinquish hope would this grant the proletariat with a reinforced resolve or draw him toward embracing hopelessness? For this is the very allure that hollowing presents. Not only are its thematic ties so deeply omnipotent but its presence in the game world is visual and mechanical too. It is a conceptual idea granted absolute dominance over almost every aspect of its world. For even the gods of Dark Souls are not free from the grasp of hollowing. The mighty Gwyn also found himself reduced to a mere husk acting as signifier and guardian to the consequence of linking the first flame.

Camus does reflect upon this notion of retaining a resolve in spite of the thought of hopelessness, writing ‘a face that toils so close to stone is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step towards the torment of which he will never know the end’. It is the inevitability of the labour which, for both the myth to work and the resolve of the player to remain kindled in their desire that demands a dialogue with our hollow aim. We realise, as the narrative unfolds, akin to Sisyphus and his measured step, that our mission is rooted in a concrete notion of absurdity. Despite it all and the blatant futility of linking of the flame we continue onward with a formulated resolve. It is an upholding of the human desire to go on that prevents us from falling prey to the allure of hollowing, thus we retain the ‘whole’ of our being. For me the definition of the whole in terms of an antithetical to hollowing is the retention of the human will. It is our will that is hollowed and when the will to go on is lost then one shall find themself becoming hollow so to speak. The absurdity of life and the inevitability of death does not imbue in us a gleeful draw to relinquishing our hope due to our retention of humanity and this resolve is also applicable to the fate of the undead.

Reflective of this resolve is Camus’ line regarding the link between the absurd thinker and Sisyphus, he writes ‘the absurd man says yes and his effort will be henceforth unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny or at least there is but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable’. The established ties between the absurd man and the chosen undead are emblematic of Camus’ assessment here, for both confront their existence and hold a dialogue with a higher thought. They must assess what meaning they wish to locate. For the chosen undead their fate is indeed both inevitable and despicable. For we are ferried onward by higher forces who hold no care for our condition yet still hold concern for our role upon their board. In order to continue we, as the player, must hold this dialogue too, and find meaning in the meaningless. Many games wish to imbue a sense of power or of the ‘one true’ protagonist who occupies a role in the narrative which sees the world alter to their will or a world which lives to praise their existence. Dark Souls presents a cold embrace for which there is no comfort. Its world exists in spite of us and often acts to spite us. Though malleable in its nature its cycle is despicable and unforgiving. It sees us reduced to kindling for the greater will or one who rests the flame from its kiln, only for it to inevitably be relit. Our choice of ending proves ultimately hollow. 

The chosen undead however is elected as one who is ‘chosen’. This wanes with increasing transparency as our fate reveals itself. Frampt, Gwynevere and even Kaathe present this notion of being one who is elected by a greater power. They are beings who have been selected by forces that will put into action the linking of the flame. One could argue that this is merely a reason for the player to continue onward yet this false pretence can be shattered with ease. Gwynevere, the incandescent figure, is merely an illusion. The grandiosity of Anor Londo, the ultimate reward for our toils, proves to be a deception too. Even the linking of the fire is futile. Dark Souls has proven through its unforgiving nature that it is not a game that wishes to compromise on its metaphor, therefore I believe this idea of imbuing a sense of being ‘chosen’ to merely be an additional layer to the Sisyphean undertaking, as opposed to a purely narrative drive. The cruelty it presents with each failure and its punishment for the players unwillingness to adapt to its systems is unwavering. For Sisyphus himself, unlike the player, was not informed of his failings with the blatancy of a ‘you died’ message appearing before him. But rather, he was afflicted with the clemency of introspection with each subsequent failure in his endeavour to roll the boulder.

It is the cyclical failings of this which act upon him in juxtaposing fashion to  his devout continuation of his mission which defies the will of the gods who believe that the proletariat Sisyphus is condemned to toil in failure. As Camus wrote ‘one must imagine Sisyphus happy’ as one must also envision the player motivated in their desire to resist simply walking away and abandoning their play through. For indeed their character, the chosen undead, may be condemned to the Sisyphean undertaking, they themselves are not. We are granted the freedom to walk away, to continue on with our lives and cast away the frustration and failure that the game imposes upon us. Yet we do not. Akin to Sisyphus it is the undertaking, determination and progression which separates the willing from the unwilling. It is to choose to roll the boulder not the necessity where Dark souls sets itself apart from the nature of the Sisyphean metaphor.

For Sisyphus, the motivation dwells in the inevitability of his ascent, descent and the reflection between. Thus the nature of his fate is deemed to be one of a tragic nature. It is a cyclical repetition of suffering and introspection. Yet we are not condemned nor are we bound by factors of the inevitable. The Sisyphean and the chosen undead’s kindred fate lies in the perseverance of their continued labours of which they are faced with. To die, to reflect, to ascend and thus descend and to die once more is the nature of the chosen undead. Like Sisyphus, the chosen undead is a tragic figure. One who must retain their will to continue in order to progress their undertaking. Our volition, our agency is what dictates whether our journey shall meet its concluding note. Though this requires participation on the players behalf, it must also be facilitated by the richness of the game’s story and progression. 

This link between the imbuing of the Sisyphean resolve and the inevitability of failure is a conceptual notion which the game facilitates through both learning curves and design motivators. For, as stated prior, if the game felt akin to a hollow, meaningless undertaking then the player’s resolve and their willingness to persevere would ultimately feel fruitless in nature. Dark Souls evidently evades this empty metaphor and carves for itself a reason to continue onward. Though every video game, much like many menial tasks can be classified as a Sisyphean undertaking in which there is no end. Nor is anything tangible truly accomplished. There may be visual cues and reward systems which act to elicit this feeling, the real world effects of accomplishment within the realm of gaming, at least in a casual setting setting is ultimately meaningless. A designer must be aware of this fact however and thus is born the visual and gameplay feedback loops which conjure these feelings of victory as Dark Souls, despite the brutality it incorporates. Albeit a victory in this game is hard earned it is the undertaking of which that grants the feeling of accomplishment. Thus the Sisyphean meaningless which could quite easily claim the resolve of a new player, is shattered.

Mechanics, dynamics and aesthetics. A causal relationship and the kinship with the Sisyphean myth.

To better understand what defines and creates these reward and gameplay systems I shall be employing the mechanics, dynamics and aesthetics framework as established in MDA: A Formal Approach to Game Design and Game Research (Hunicke, LeBlanc, Zubek). To surmise how their system functions I will highlight the three pillars which comprise their analytical toolkit. The aforementioned mechanics, dynamics and aesthetics. Mechanics, as established in their model. These relate to the particular components of the game, at the level of data representation and algorithms. (e.g the rules, system and individual stats and numbers), the dynamics describes the run-time behaviour of the mechanics acting on player inputs and each others’ outputs over time and the aesthetics relate to the desirable emotional responses evoked in the player when they interact with the game system. Are they empowered or weakened and how they feel in response to this.

Through the utilisation of these elements a designer is able to elicit their intended emotion. For director Hidetaka Miyazaki this aim is to imbue a sense of overcoming, of exploration and of despair. Akin to the Sisyphean metaphor, this approach to design demands that the player formulates a resolve in answer to the difficulty that faces them. For as unforgiving as the mechanics can at first appear, one can argue that they are very rarely unfair. The first key example of the mechanics is how they relate to the systems that the player can leverage to their advantage. Thus enters the system of dynamics. The ubiquitous cruelty of its world can be tackled through this dynamic means of negotiation and mitigation. The mechanics that fuel the game enable the player to discover ways in which they can act in accordance to these aforementioned dynamics. I wish to also preface this analysis by stating that this is not an effort to anatomise the ‘souls-like’ genre, a term akin to ‘Metroidvania’ and one which I find to be equally as dogmatic in its naming and pigeon-holing of games lumped under said umbrella. Rather this is an MDA approach to how disenfranchisement and the Sisyphean similarities are both perpetuated and juxtaposed by the content and design of the game itself, not the genre. With that said The first area to view as an extension of the Sisyphean metaphor is that of the bonfire checkpoint system and the secondary mechanics that are tied to it. The bonfire acts as the checkpoint for which the player will return to upon death whilst also serving as a multifaceted hub for the secondary elements of levelling, healing replenishment, weapon upgrades, the homeward bone warp-system, weapon repair and spell attunement. The culmination of its capabilities makes it an essential interaction for the player, serving as both sanctuary and empowerment for them.

Yet the bonfire itself and its representative calm are intrinsic to the difficulty. Thus the relationship between the dynamics ensues. When a mechanic akin to the bonfire acts as checkpoint between areas of such brutality and ones that gradually lead the player back upon themselves through their use of the labyrinthian shortcut system seen predominantly in the first half of the game, it ensures that risk becomes a primary factor to account for. In order for the player to interact with the aforementioned mechanics tied to the bonfire, they must retain their ‘souls’ , the games currency for which upgrades, purchases and levelling are acquired. If this currency is lost then these mechanics cannot be interacted with. Thus the dynamic of risk mitigation becomes an inherent factor. Upon repeat play throughs this can be mitigated with enemy placement and route memorisation, though for a first time player this presents a sense of danger and therefore demands risk assessment.

The death and rebirth system is also tied to that of the bonfire and primarily the souls currency of the game. This gives rise to the mechanic of ‘corpse-running’. A term taht refers to the players journey back to their point of death. As Dark Souls leaves behind a form of ‘collection point’ for the player to regain their souls they lost upon death. Failure to reach and acquire these after a subsequent death results in the loss of souls on one’s person. This ensuing toil furthers the sense of disenfranchisement, acting in juxtaposition to the forgiving checkpoint systems seen in the likes of the FPS genre, wherein the player shall merely return to the most recent checkpoint that the game has established for them, with only a loss in level progression. Dark Souls negates this feeling of the power fantasy and instead demands that mindful risk mitigation must remain at the forefront. This is a notion which permeates the majority of their mechanics. Despite reclaiming the lost souls located at their death point they must still return to a checkpoint, or, if they have acquired one, they can use a homeward bone an in-game item which allows them to warp to a nearest checkpoint.

In their journey between these checkpoints the player will also be supplied with a replenishing healing item, as named in-game the ‘Estus flask’. The use of which is limited to five and whilst it can be increased through the acquisition and employment of the ‘rite of kindling’ which increases uses, is also tied to said bonfire which the player chooses to reinforce the uses of the flask. The negation of omnipotent healing, opting instead to limit it, acts in accordance to the design philosophy of the survival-horror genre. Much like Dark Souls this genre seeks to create a sense of disenfranchisement and vulnerability in the player. The parallels between deliberate checkpoint placement and healing sparsity is evident largely due to the dynamics they elicit when working in conjunction with one another. The juxtaposition of what is commonly associated with the fantasy genre and the power fantasy is what separates Dark Souls. Few games are so willing to leverage the mechanics from games that wish to imbue a sense of frailty, making for an experience that is punishing yet ultimately fair. A continuation of juxtaposing mechanics can be sighted in its approach to weaponry. Despite it featuring an extensive upgrade system which also extends to its armour, it is unafraid to limit the attacks that the player is capable of through its stamina management, animation priority and action warmups. These terms were established by Tim Rogers in their article Bloodborne: you are the experience points, which sought to analyse the Miyazaki-directed project Bloodborne. Due its ties to Dark Souls and extension of mechanics established within, it also holds relevancy here too. The wedding of upgrades and its combat mechanics creates a feeling of progression yet also one of risk, as such the disempowering design is retained. I say this largely due to the fact that one can upgrade their weapon or acquire one that is exceedingly more powerful than that of their prior armament, yet their attacking capabilities and combat approach shall inevitably be mitigated by their limited stamina management alongside the aforementioned animation priority and action warmups.

All of these combat mechanics acting in accordance with the design do indeed work to create a sense of power acquisition. Particularly if one utilises an acquired boss soul to create a weapon,, can even pertain to a feeling of conquering. Having turned the reward of that which one proved insurmountable into an armament one can leverage against enemies. Yet it never allows for the player to feel omnipotent in their capabilities. We must still account for the severe penalty of losing our souls, of limited healing wares and enemies which increase in difficulty and hit points as the game progresses. One shall find it challenging to become exceedingly powerful prior to engaging with an area and its enemies, particularly as the game progresses. What occurs instead is that as we grow in power, the hazards of the world become more ferocious and resistant in correlation to our own growth. The labour meets the strength of the one who begins its undertaking, the boulder never loses its weight, for we are equal to the task. 

Now, now, I can feel the longtime Souls players sighing as I write this, claiming there are pyromancies, the Balder side (swag) sword, overpowered glass cannon builds and so on. But this is the beauty of expression in the face of overwhelming odds. The fact that one can find viability in such meagre armaments and persevere despite the odds that face them or, if armed with sufficient knowledge, can even mitigate the risk presented almost entirely. This speaks less of the game’s ability to be altered, but rather the dynamic approach one can take and the dual viability of both routes. Player expression has always been intrinsic to the Dark Souls franchise and as established prior, each approach retains validity due to the process of accounting for this variety that the developers have undergone. The permanence of Dark Souls maintains its symbiosis to player expression, largely due to the replayability that comes with such varied and malleable approaches to the journey presented to us.

The birthing of these dynamics that can be leveraged to conquer the tribulations before us is emblematic of both player ingenuity and awareness in the design process. The MDA framework does indeed state that developers enter via the mechanical route and players engage via the aesthetic route. The relationship itself is inherently symbiotic. Our experiences are designed, yet not curated. As can be seen in both the variety and viability of the approaches we can take. See how one in everyday life finds such expression in the mundanity of the everyday task, as Sisyphus is seen as a figure who is happy in his deed and the player can remain expressive in their approach despite the brutality of the journey. There is such beauty in toiling against the repetitious, finding that which makes us feel whole in spite of its cyclical nature. Be it through the systems of a game and the inherent need to find expression despite the often dogmatised approach that games demand, there will always be those willing to locate a vessel to display that which they feel is true to them. For me, it’s the elite knight set with the great scythe and a pyromancy build, others may go off and become nude, club-wielding maniacs… duality, you see?

The combination of the aforementioned elements of design act in accordance with director Hidetaka Miyazaki’s vision. The world of Dark Souls retains its Sisyphean nature through not only its narrative, the placement of its protagonist in a place of disenfranchisement but also through the use of its game design. There is no thematic dissonance between the relentless undertaking of the chosen undead and the inconsequence and its world. Due to the world being equally as unforgiving. As is portrayed by its narrative and detailed by its NPC’s. For ultimately we are nothing within this tale and the MDA approach details how this feeling is achieved through design elements and the risk they present. Dark Souls is a balancing act that teeters between power and despair at every instance, yet successfully it never indulges in either. For every death, for every crushing defeat, for every descent into Blighttown there is an ascent to Anor Londo. Our efforts may seem futile and our progression may be rendered obsolete until we regain our resolve and continue on. Akin to Sisyphus it is our perseverance that defines us, not the failures we endure.

Conclusion.

And so we return to the metaphor, our feeble place amidst it all. Having examined the mechanical, mythological and philosophical motivators behind our journey as the chosen undead I find a quote from Camus assessment that surmises this experience in its entirety. He writes, ‘at that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning to his rock, in that slight pivoting, he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which becomes his fate, created by him, combined under his memory’s eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling’. Akin to the player and the chosen undead, who glance back at themselves between the instance of death and resurrection where reflection is invited. Of which hurdle did I stumble, where has my journey gone wrong, how must I improve to overcome that which appears insurmountable? Our Sisyphean resurrection serves to act as a mechanical evaluation for which we must reflect. To evade the allure of hollowing is to continue rolling the boulder, much like Sisyphus. Whose own rock remains rolling, we are still pushing our own boulder, be it the one of life or the linking of the flame. The reflective nature of failure grants with it the inevitably human element of introspection. We resist the nihilistic desire to relinquish hope as much as the chosen undead endures in their mission to link the fire. Life must continue whether one holds their dialogue with the absurd, as the flame shall rekindle with or without us. So in spite of it all, roll your boulder and don’t you dare go hollow.

Bibliography

• Camus. The myth of Sisyphus
• Graves, Robert: The Greek myths: The complete and definitive edition.
• Hunicke, Zubek. MDA: A formal approach to game design and game research.
• Rogers, Tim. Bloodborne: you are the experience points. Retrieved from – https://www.gamedeveloper.com/design/-i-bloodborne-i-you-are-the-experience-points