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Thunderstorm
We first introduced the dice game Thunderstorm in Games as Systems of Uncertainty, where we investigated the dramatic uncertainty created through the game's formal structure. We now look at the game again, this time with an eye toward narrative play. Thunderstorm embodies a very simple narrative. Players await the approach of a thunderstorm. If they play well their houses will be safe from the storm; if not, a powerful bolt of lightning will destroy their homes. Beware the player that fails to roll a 1!
Although Thunderstorm is a game of pure chance, the design of the experience crafts narrative drama on many levels. The experience of the game's "story" is intrinsically structural, tied directly to the game events. The roll of the dice not only controls the rate at which a player's house is built, but simultaneously the speed at which the storm approaches. As the game progresses, players build their houses step by step. Every time a player rolls a 1, he or she skips house construction that turn, stalling the inevitable approach of the storm. Once the house is built, the drama heightens, as each time a player rolls the dice there is a chance that lightning will strike. The climactic narrative drama is enacted in that final roll, when lightning strikes, destroying the house. The finish could not be more dramatic. Thunderstorm provides a many-layered narrative experience. Dramatic tension emerges from the varying rates at which players build their houses. At different moments in the game, some players may be "safe" from the storm (at least momentarily!), while others sit poised at the front line of its fury. These positions can change quite quickly, depending on the outcome of the dice rolls as they progress around the circle. Snapshots of the game in progress would reveal constant shifts and adjustments to which house was closest to being built—and thus destroyed. The translation of a player's performance into a drawing of a house is a distinctly narrative component of the design that makes all of the rich story elements possible. Although the game could have players keep track of their progression in other ways (counting to six, collecting six cards, losing six pennies, etc.), none of these methods would support the story framework of the game nearly as well. By having players draw pictures of the houses that the storm will destroy, the game's design provides a context that grants narrative meaning to the uncertain outcome of the dice roll. The drawn houses personify the formal events of the game, in Miller's sense of "character created out of signs." Additionally, players build their houses in full view of everyone else. This use of public information helps to maintain a sense of narrative coherence through shared experience. The drama of one player's experience is ultimately linked with their ability to see how close the storm is to destroying everyone else's house. The narrative of Thunderstorm also dovetails nicely with the game's structure of pure chance. As players roll and pass dice, they enact a fable about the folly of hubris and the inevitability of fate. As quickly as men and women might build houses— symbols of domestic civilization—nature will inevitably destroy them. Although it is satisfying to slowly build your house, it is at the same time a march toward destruction, a race in which the winners are executed at the finish line. Like the word guessing game Hangman, in which a hanging corpse is drawn line by line with each incorrect guess, completing the image is synonymous with death. The poetic irony of Thunderstorm is that the game's image isn't a negative icon of mortality as in Hangman, but a positive image of construction. In Thunderstorm, the meek player prevails, the most timid builder rewarded for his or her lack of speed, the game ending in the aftermath of the deadly storm, with only one complete or nearly complete house left standing. The formal patterning that emerges from the core mechanic of Thunderstorm supports narrative experience on both macro and micro-levels. The moment-to-moment rhythms of rolling, drawing, and passing the dice set up patterns of events, which are experienced as a story of an approaching storm. As the game progresses and players are eliminated, the circle closes until there is only one house left. The moment-to-moment rhythm of lightning striking individual houses is different every game, but inevitably, as the circle closes, the narrative pace quickens as fewer players remain alive. On a macro-level, the narrative pattern is one of construction and destruction, of movement and stasis.The overall result is a surprisingly rich narrative experience.
