The Lord of the Trainings, or the paradox of ancillary activities in the twilight of the world

Warning: this text reveals some key elements and structures of several games, to varying degrees.

Games with heavy spoilers : 

Cyberpunk 2077 (CD Projekt RED, 2020)
Disco Elysium (ZA/UM, 2019)
Final Fantasy VII (SquareSoft, 1997)
Final Fantasy VII : Rebirth (Square Enix, 2024)
Final Fantasy X-2 (Square Enix, 2003)
Final Fantasy XIII (Square Enix, 2009)
Final Fantasy XIII-2 (Square Enix, 2011)
Final Fantasy XIII : Lightning Returns (Square Enix, 2013)
Like a Dragon : Infinite Weath (Ryū ga Gotoku Studio, 2024)
Oddworld : L’odyssée d’Abe (Oddworld Inhabitants, 1997)
Outer Wilds (Mobius Digital, 2019)
Outer Worlds (Obsidian Entertainment, 2019)
Shadow of Memories (Konami, Runecraft, 2001)
The Legend of Zelda : Majora’s Mask (Nintendo Entertainment A&D, 2000)
The Witcher III : Wild Hunt (CD Projekt RED, 2015)
Pillars of Eternity (Obsidian Entertainment, 2015)
Red Dead Redemption II (Rockstar, 2018)
The Last of Us : Part II (Naughty Dog, 2020)

Games with minor spoilers : 

Assassin’s Creed : Odyssey (Ubisoft, 2018)
Baldur’s Gate III (Larian Studios, 2023)
Diablo IV (Blizzard Entertainment, 2023)
Final Fantasy VII : Remake (Square Enix, 2020)
Final Fantasy VIII (SquareSoft, 1999)
Final Fantasy X (SquareSoft, 2001)
Final Fantasy XIV : A Realm Reborn (Square Enix, 2013)
Final Fantasy XV (Square Enix, 2016)
Grand Theft Auto III (Rockstar, 2001)
Grand Theft Auto V (Rockstar, 2013)
Kingdom Hearts III (Square Enix, 2019)
Persona 5 (ATLUS P Studio, 2016)
South Park : The Stick of Truth (Obsidian Entertainment, 2014)
Starfield (Bethesda Softworks, 2023)
The Elder Scrolls V : Skyrim (Bethesda Softworks, 2011)
The Legend of Heroes : Trails of Cold Steel (Nihon Falcom, 2013)
The Legend of Zelda : Breath of the Wild (Nintendo Entertainment P&D, 2017)
The Legend of Zelda : Tears of the Kingdom (Nintendo Entertainment P&D, 2023)
Uncharted 4 : A Thief’s End (Naughty Dog, 2016)
Yakuza 0 (Ryū ga Gotoku Studio, 2015)

Mentioned :

Animal Crossing (Nintendo Entertainment A&D)
Animal Well (Billy Basso)
Assassin’s Creed (Ubisoft)
PoKéMon (Game Freaks)
TUNIC (Andrew Shouldice)

In the epic story of Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, Cloud and his companions hunt down a Sephiroth more menacing than ever, now capable of disfiguring reality and bending destiny. And yet, why not take a few moments to engage in an abdominal contest against a minor secondary character? This playful proposition, which in terms of narrative cohesion makes no sense at all, allows for a sudden wandering away from the nails of the main plot. It’s a proposition that’s even harder to avoid when you consider the overall structure of this opus, which is studded with ancillary activities and other quests offering a breath of fresh air in the pursuit of the storyline. It quickly becomes apparent that the coexistence of a fast-paced story and high-stakes imperatives can easily come into conflict with deviating from this path. How can developers envisage the symbiosis of two such different, yet paradoxically complementary, narrative systems without running the risk of alienating the audience?

What is a side activity?

First of all, we need to define the reason for the existence of a secondary activity in a game. Depending on the genre, the nature of secondary objectives can vary drastically. A shooter, for example, will offer a methodical succession of levels to be traversed in order to have the chance to contemplate the end credits. The secondary objective in this type of game is to achieve the best possible score in the levels. A more traditional platformer will conceal a variety of objects in the nooks and crannies of its boards, which can sometimes unlock access to additional content. Role-playing games, on the other hand, offer secondary stories that take place off the main narrative path, but are always scripted, and whose purpose is to enable players to obtain equipment or discover more about the universe, or even a character.

Scoring side activities (i.e., those involving the collection of points, usually devoid of story elements) therefore appear to be less relevant to the subject of this text, which will instead focus on dissecting the story motivations behind such additions. What’s more, the reasons why developers create additional activities are not the same as those that encourage players to complete them. A developer will sometimes program these extras to increase the lifespan of his work, and thus offer more content. This is the case with the minor side quests in Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey , for example, which are plentiful but offer little satisfaction beyond cleaning up the game’s map. In a similar vein, there are the repeatable quests of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or Starfield, which are randomly generated. These examples are only there to allow fans of a game to extend their experience, while improving their character through experience gain. But most of these short stories (when they are present) don’t require any substantial writing effort, nor the setting up of deep subjects or dilemmas, and are essentially about enjoying the gameplay. For developers, they are a way of keeping the audience engaged with their game, which is a logical feature of many MMORPGs and other service games.

At other times, these gameplay-enhancing activities allow you to progress in the game. This is the case for many hack’n slash games, as demonstrated by the latest opus in the Diablo franchise, the fourth of its kind. Once the campaign is over, the player is far from having taken advantage of all the systems offered by the adventure, and has not pushed his avatar to the limits of what can be achieved. The developers have therefore exploited the main gameplay loop through a multitude of ancillary activities whose sole aim is to make the player more and more powerful. Here, the appendices are at the heart of the experience, and many consider that Diablo IV only really begins after the conclusion of the story told throughout the main campaign. There are some lightly scripted side quests, but these offer little in the way of rewards. The very nature of the ancillary activities is what players come for in such an experience. Whether they’re traversing the Pit (formerly the Nightmare Dungeons) to increase the power of their Glyphs, scouring the Infernal Hordes in search of sealed chests or taking on the game’s most powerful enemies, the essence remains the same: slaughtering demons. However, role-playing game side quests remain the most interesting in terms of storytelling (which is not to say that the other types aren’t worthwhile, far from it).

In fact, the latter serve to enhance immersion and, on occasion, force the player to question himself, either on a given moral issue, or on a theme that may fall outside the confines of the story. In addition to the unscripted activities available solely to gain a material advantage (equipment, experience, etc.), it is possible to delineate three sub-genres within this category of role-playing game appendices: activities that refine the description of the universe, those that develop a character’s personality and, finally, those that highlight a parenthesis that is totally different from the rest of the game. And, of course, these three registers can be merged with one another.

The global side activities: to deepen the universe

When Geralt visits the capital Novigrad for the first time (in The Witcher III: Wild Hunt), he is likely to encounter a non-human being attacked by two humans. The player can decide whether or not to intervene. This event doesn’t take more than a couple of minutes, but it serves to refocus the stakes and carefully weave the contours of the world being surveyed. The dialogue not only brings the issues of racism and intolerance to the fore, but also calls into question the player’s altruistic nature, and has the luxury of laying the foundations for a more important long-term side-quest in terms of stakes: the assassination of Radovid, to extinguish him along with his hatred of non-humans. In terms of pure gameplay, this sub-plot is of no interest whatsoever (a banal dialogue choice).

However, it becomes fundamental when it comes to integrating the player into the universe he’s exploring. In Disco Elysium (ZA/UM, 2015), it is possible to stray several times from the tracks laid out by the investigation, in order to further explore this world that is both so real and so different. One of these peregrinations takes players on a cryptid hunt, without them knowing whether they’re chasing a chimera or not. Disco Elysium brilliantly blends the workings of reality with human impulses, complex systems with primitive bonds: by placing a quest bordering on the mystical in the midst of a grime-stained investigation, the developers realign the stakes with the torments of the intimate. They force players to think of themselves outside the game’s framework, and fuel a questioning process involving concepts far removed from the basic plot.

Upon the main character’s arrival in the game’s first city, Outer Worlds (Obsidian Entertainment, 2019) introduces a side plot consisting of collecting the debt of several individuals, in order to pay the local gravedigger. In addition to introducing various gameplay mechanics, with each debt offering a specific situation, this narrative departure supports the ultra-capitalist context of this universe, in which corporations control and own just about everything. By meeting protagonists who see themselves as tools of the trade rather than individuals in their own right, players come to understand the absolute madness that pervades this world. Here, the rules are set very early on in the adventure, and serve to contextualize the playing field. In these types of quests, the rewards are not the goal. It’s what they tell us about the world around them that gives them depth and interest.

Understand the characters

Another type of subplot consists in determining the traits of virtual characters, of those guides holding the player’s hand as they traverse these universes of pixels and polygons. In this category, it’s easy to lump together all the plots associated with the various members of a role-playing game team, whether they’re the companions of Pillars of Eternity (Obsidian Entertainment, 2015) or the adventurers of Baldur’s Gate III (Larian Studios, 2023). Here, each individual, with his or her own personality, doubts and traumas, becomes the center of a quest whose outcome can only help him or her to, at best, move forward. In general, this type of plot is very rarely linked to the main character, who then acts more as a spectator than an actor, although it can happen that certain decisions essential to the development of these secondary characters are actually taken by the player’s avatar.

These quests are therefore not essential to the development of the main storyline, but while they do provide power gains for the characters concerned, they do, above all, foster the development of their story, and the resulting attachment to them. It can also happen that the story arcs of these secondary protagonists are in fact resolved during the progression of the main adventure: this observation does not, however, prevent the introduction of ancillary content exclusively dedicated to power gain, through the presence of activities entirely unconnected with the main progression. This is the case, for example, with some of the most traumatic activities in Final Fantasy X (SquareSoft, 2001), which require players to obtain a specific item by avoiding lightning 200 times in a plain, pressing the right key with near-perfect timing.

This mini-game (which is a “game” in name only) does not help to paint a detailed portrait of the character concerned, Lulu, and serves only a gameplay-related objective (obtaining the best weapon), itself associated with a unique ancillary activity at odds with the rest of the adventure (dodging lightning bolts). This approach is double-edged, as some players may feel galvanized by the presence of atypical and varied challenges, far removed from the main gameplay loop, while others may quickly find themselves sidelined, failing to see the interest or enjoyment in these particular activities, compared to the rest of the adventure.

Long-term annexes: a breather in the adventure

In addition to the two types of side quests mentioned above, there’s a third relevant genre, whose main characteristic is that it’s based on its own rules and, most of the time, benefits from dedicated staging. One of the best-known examples of this is the various card games featured in certain adventures, such as the iconic Triple Triad from Final Fantasy VIII , which was so successful that it can now be played in Final Fantasy XIV: Online – A Realm Reborn, or the game of Gwent (again in The Witcher III: Wild Hunt), which has given life to a spin-off offering its own scripted gameplay experience, with mechanisms that are more in-depth than those of the base game. The incredible thing about these mini-games is that, as well as offering timeless interludes with the main adventure, they also become the scene of experimentation, enabling the developers to set up long-term subsidiary plots.

These secondary activities regularly rise above their mere status as appendices, if players take the time to become as interested in them as possible, with the aim of offering a reward based on players’ successes. For example, Final Fantasy VIII cards can be turned into items that can be used in battle, as well as providing access to a tournament hidden behind the stakes of the main plot. Games of Gwent, similarly, unlock a number of sub-plots, as well as being an essential element of world-building: it’s not uncommon to see people playing card games, to notice cards scattered around tables, or to be asked to collect the rarest copies. Sometimes, non-player characters even suggest a game to pass the time, just as it’s possible to take part in real tournaments scattered throughout Geralt’s adventure.

Here, then, are the most basic examples of the presence of side quests within an adventure. However, this is only a superficial, surface layer, which needs to be scratched to extract all its possibilities and objectives. In reality, there are as many types of side quests as there are games. To sum up what has been said so far, and in preparation for further reflection, we’d like to remind you of some of the information we’ve already shared.

From a developer’s point of view, setting up side quests serves several main purposes:

• Extend the game’s lifespan when integrated into the main storyline
• Diversify activities to stand out from the competition
• Boost content by adding varied activities
• And thus increase the game’s appeal and the time spent on it.

For players, building appendices also serves various purposes:

• to gain power
• Obtaining a rare item that promotes social recognition within the community (mainly in multiplayer experiences)
• Deepen your knowledge of the world you’re exploring
• Get to know the characters they interact with, and foster (or weaken) ties with them
• Access new narrative segments otherwise inaccessible

In any case, indulging in this kind of activity is accompanied by an inconvenience that is difficult to resolve: a disconnect from the main storyline and the ensuing rhythm. The question that many developers are trying to answer remains unanswered to this day, although a number of proposals are being put forward by various studios (solutions that change form depending on the nature of the game concerned and impacted). These proposals will be examined here.

Some studios have decided to include ancillary activities directly in the main plot. This is the case, for example, with Sony’ s most recent productions, such as Uncharted 4: A Thief’s End and The Last of Us: Part II , which sprinkle the main path – often linear, sometimes open, but always sprinkled with recesses and other interesting hideouts – with a host of documents and secondary objects to unearth. Here, the appendices are part of the path, rewarding players either with fragments of lore, or with resources essential to increasing the character’s power. Although hidden away in places that are not obvious at first glance, these rewards, located outside the beacons, are nonetheless integrated in a natural, almost organic way into the overall experience. They encourage players to get off the beaten track and explore the deepest recesses of the game zones, which are clearly designed to take players from point A to point B. The emphasis here is on exploration, which supports the themes of the various games involved: exploration, then, but also discovery and immersion.

However, this system has little impact on the narrative: Nathan Drake (the main character in the Uncharted saga) is already defined by his status as an adventurous explorer, and the collection of treasures is merely an extension of this status, telling nothing more about him. In the same way, Joel and Ellie, the protagonists of The Last of Us, are already defined as adepts of survival in a dangerous post-apocalyptic world, and here, too, gaining resources only reinforces this state of affairs. It’s also interesting to note that the resource-gathering, crafting and exploration systems are unavailable in The Last of Us prologue, as the story takes place in a period in which the protagonists are not yet seasoned in the art of survival. Two final examples can be cited from The Last of Us ‘ appendices , mainly from its second opus.

In the latter, Ellie is led to unearth various playing cards, collectibles that serve no other purpose than to fill a kind of compendium. Beyond this focus on building a collection, these cards are also, and above all, the remnants of a world that no longer exists. In contrast to the more or less important resources unearthed in safes and other hideouts, these cards are witnesses to a gentler life that Ellie never had the chance to experience, and whose outlines she imagines in her wildest dreams. This basic side quest (a simple collection of objects, like hundreds of others in the medium) is thus adorned with a slightly deeper purpose that serves as a constant reminder of the character’s emotional status. These collections of more or less hidden items do not shine by their necessity, and are clearly presented as what they are: bonuses. Players can decide to go hunting for these treasures or, on the contrary, rush off to the next objective without looking back. They serve both universe-building mechanisms (collectible cards) and gameplay (crafting resources). In the same way, on numerous occasions, the young woman will express her thoughts on various elements encountered during her journey, which again provides nothing more than a slender opening to the discovery of her psyche. This device is also present in Red Dead Redemption II (Rockstar, 2018), treated in a very elegant way through the keeping of a notebook, moreover divided into two models, each corresponding to one of the game’s two playable characters. The sketches on the pages of these books are open windows into the souls of these flawed, but terribly human individuals.

Another famous diptych offers an equally interesting solution to the problem of the presence of these optional elements: the Nintendo Switch duo The Legend of Zelda. In addition to the dozens of more or less elaborate side quests that adorn the two opuses, there’s a long-running epic present in the pair of adventures: the Sanctuaries. Sanctuaries are easily identifiable buildings in Hyrule, colored to help players find their way around: blue for Breath of the Wild, green for Tears of the Kingdom. These Sanctuaries are underground constructions, with only their peaks disturbing the landscape, and allowing the hero of these adventures, Link, to reach unique and varied challenges. Tests of skill, intellectual riddles, deadly jousts – everything is here. Each of these Sanctuaries, apart from the handful that open each of the two adventures and serve as tutorials, offer only equipment and a collectible item as rewards, which, once accumulated in large numbers, increases the hero’s stats.

In other words, by their very nature, Sanctuaries are optional, and it’s not uncommon on the web to find talented players able to finish games without exploiting the bonuses of these facilities. However, while dispensable in terms of the main epic, these Sanctuaries allow Link to gradually rebuild his legend. Each victory in these mystical temples ultimately increases his potential vitality and stamina, a definite advantage in the face of the terrible trials awaiting him at the end of the adventure. Nintendo’s formula here is cleverly thought-out, serving multiple purposes: firstly, the discovery of these Sanctuaries directly supports the main objective of the adventure, exploration. Secondly, solving these same challenges is an ode to imagination, which is the spice of these adventures. There are as many solutions to these enigmas as there are players, capable of respecting the tacit rules set up by the game or, on the contrary, thinking outside the box to explore more ingenious avenues. This emphasis on thinking outside the box can only rub off on the adventure, which can be solved in different ways at each stage.

Finally, and most obviously, these Sanctuaries help Link gain the power he needs to defeat the forces of darkness that plague the kingdom of Hyrule. In short, these appendices are intrinsically linked to the overall experience offered by the Zelda Switch dyad, and sum up the very essence of the game design philosophy that drives these two games.

Reconciling the end of the world and the hunt for cockroaches

Now that we’ve had a chance to look at the objectives behind the presence of ancillary activities at the heart of scripted video games, a much more pertinent question arises. How can we justify the success of objectives whose stakes are so minor compared to the apocalyptic threats that are likely to befall the world? One of the most obvious answers is to limit the time allotted to the appendices, in order to allow the storyline to unfold at a controlled, sustained pace. This is the case with games that opt for a calendar system, such as the celebrated Persona 5 or the exceptional The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel.

In these two adventures, the story is shaped by the passing of days, then seasons, which limit the number of possible interactions. One of the advantages of this choice of setting is that it allows the plot to unfold while retaining control over the nature and timing of events, but just as importantly, despite the discreet nature of the mechanism, it allows for a perpetual continuous narrative. Indeed, in Trails of the Cold Steel, every step forward in the storyline influences the dialogues of the non-player characters, who will tirelessly comment on the state of the world according to geopolitical movements and other historical upheavals. Of course, going round the NPCs to listen to their comments on the state of the world is not a side activity of the same interest as beating a record in a mini-game or gaining access to a secret dungeon.

However, far from being obligatory, these indications are a golden opportunity to discern the contours of a world in constant mutation. In this case, the appendices have a single purpose: to develop the universe. The Persona saga (especially opuses 3 to 5), for its part, relies on a school calendar that’s totally in tune with the plot. In these games, gameplay phases are divided into days, themselves divided into time slots. Each action undertaken during these time slots consumes the available gameplay time, so much so that it quickly becomes impossible to reconcile all gameplay possibilities given the myriad of activities available. The game’s stroke of genius, however, lies in not separating the main activities (i.e. those that advance the scenario) from the secondary ones. What’s more, the latter are associated with long-term objectives, meaning that it’s their repetition that allows players to progress towards their goals.

Thus, a choice quickly becomes necessary: ​​move forward in a concrete and efficient manner within the scenario, or sacrifice playing time to gradually get closer to objectives whose horizon seems very distant. By not establishing any barrier between the main and secondary content, the decision-making itself becomes a conscious choice to make, the first step in the gameplay loop. The new generation Personas thus merge the two types of activity in the game in a natural and clever way, thanks to the presence of the calendar which dictates the rhythm of the adventure.

Unfortunately, this elegant choice doesn’t apply to all video games. Quite often, the threat to the protagonists, or even to the world as a whole, acts as a kind of guardrail, allowing the player to lose himself in senseless activity and meaningless exploration. Some scriptwriters and game designers do, however, come out on top, as is the case with the trilogy begun by Final Fantasy XIII (Square Enix, 2009). This opus was much talked-about for its very structure, which consists of a headlong flight illustrated by a series of mostly straight corridors forcing the group of characters to flee relentlessly forwards, never taking the time to indulge in side quests, or even wasting time wandering around the (non-existent) hamlets scattered along their route. The game is structured into various chapters, with groups of characters following the same path each time: fleeing.

What’s interesting about Final Fantasy XIII is that the straight-line level design adapts to the state of mind of these protagonists, hunted and pursued, whose only way out is to race forward, again and again. This choice is all the more eloquent when the technical considerations of the PlayStation 3 system come into play, and these straight lines adapt perfectly to the console’s limitations, but also to the engine used to design the game. A final point links this linear structure to the narrative of the game: the struggle against destiny, with the path representing in the most beautiful way the straight course of fate to which Lightning and her companions are subjected. In this way, Final Fantasy XIII completely sidesteps the very idea of ancillary content, at least until the main group extricates itself from Cocoon and joins the wild plains of Pulse, in which not only does the level design open up cheerfully, but also boasts a number of ancillary activities that, while classic, have the merit of existing. It’s as if freeing yourself from the reins of destiny opens up a whole new world of game content.

The sequel to Final Fantasy XIII, soberly entitled Final Fantasy XIII-2, continues this thematic reflection, and doesn’t shy away from blowing the spatial and temporal boundaries of the first opus out of the water. Numerous ancillary activities make their appearance, including a permissive monster-collecting system, offering a salvific freedom to the first game’s audience. The frozen team explodes its limits, as does the progression system, which was previously a simple line punctuated by unlockable waypoints. The apex of this evolution occurs in the trilogy’s incredible conclusion, Ligthning Returns, a game in which Lightning breaks free of all limits imposed until now, to the point of flouting the laws of time, and articulating her main plot around subplots. In fact, it’s the stories on the other side, those involving the secondary characters, that serve as fuel for the progression of History with a capital H, culminating in a finale that transcends the limits of the medium. In these examples, Square Enix explores the different natures of secondary activities, to weave a relevant story, in total adequacy with the nature of the medium, and without ever flouting the contradictions that might emanate from it.

This is all the more the case given that, in the intimist – almost selfish – approach of the Final Fantasy XIII scenario, the trilogy’s conclusion proposes an altruistic approach, in which Lightning sets out to help others and, by extension, the related characters… Despite its many shortcomings, the Final Fantasy XIII trilogy shines with luminous qualities that serve the overall purpose of its plot admirably, giving the whole project a relatively unique aura in the contemporary videogame landscape.

Lightning Returns exploits a rather effective tool for involving players’ wanderings as the end of the world looms. Indeed, this game exploits the time loop technique: once a certain period of time has elapsed, the status quo of the universe is reset, with the player’s avatar returned to the place it occupied when it arrived in this world. This is of course the case with this opus, but also with numerous classics such as Shadow of Memories, The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask and Outer Wilds. In these games, appendices are mere illusions, for despite the diversity of seemingly unrelated activities and the multitude of points of interest that stray from the major narrative axes, these deviations actually help to reconcile the smaller stories with the larger narrative. These games embrace ancillary status to shape the heart of the experience.

This is of course a perilous exercise, constantly on the razor’s edge, since the main path needs to be marked out at least a little so that players never get lost. So, for example, the exploration of Cravité, the planet collapsing towards a black hole in Outer Wilds, indicates certain trajectories by placing points of light along an imaginary path, with the aim of guiding explorers. Shadow of Memories , for its part, uses various thematic temporal references from one era to another, be it a place, a character or an object, to point the protagonist in the right direction. What these examples have in common is that they never clearly indicate the nature of the action performed by the players: are they indulging in escapades unrelated to the story, or on the contrary, are they getting closer to the truth? Finally, a last type of game treats side activities as a joke, hiding victory behind these optional extras in name only.

At the end of the last century, the incredible Oddworld: Abe’s Odyssey was released. In this two-dimensional adventure, the player had to turn the controlled character, Abe, into the messiah of an entire people, ready to revolt against a carnivorous boss without a shred of empathy for the living. In addition to its many qualities, which to this day have no reason to be ashamed of in the face of the competition, Oddworld featured a basic but essential communication system. Abe could communicate with his fellow Mudokons. The choice of words remained limited, as Abe could only give succinct orders to his comrades: hello, follow me, wait, etc. In addition to the numerous scenes to be traversed, scattered across a multitude of exotic biomes and always subject to a playful and ingenious level design , it was also possible to meet several Mudokons, slaves to a life entirely devoted to big business. Most of these Mudokons lurked behind secret passages, sometimes hidden by foreground elements of the scenery, actually concealing an entrance to the basement, and other times relegated to the bottom of winding passages guarded by enemies.

While access to the end credits was simply a matter of progressing from one level to the next, the game’s finale didn’t fail to reveal a tally of all the Mudokons saved by Abe, as well as those – more dramatically – exterminated along the way. Access to the “good ending” is actually hidden behind the fraction of compatriots freed. If this number is not high enough once the conclusion is reached, and despite the successes in each of the levels traversed, Abe will be confronted with the bad end. This choice has a logical resonance with the stakes of the adventure, given that the Mudokon, though surviving, has failed to protect his people. It’s impossible to see this as a positive conclusion. On the contrary, if a maximum number of allies have been freed, the conclusion of the game is much more optimistic, with Abe having fulfilled his destiny as the chosen one. In this particular case, the Mudokon release appendices become, by necessity, an essential condition for Abe’s success. Is it fair, then, to consider all these secret rescues as pure side quests? Or do they define the game experience as a whole, as it is meant to be played?

Negotiating breaks in tone

Some experiments, on the other hand, place a strong emphasis on ancillary content. To illustrate this point, let’s look at three examples that are as disparate as they are surprisingly similar. In Square Enix‘s MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV, so-called main and secondary activities are amalgamated throughout the player’s progression. In simple terms, the adventure tells a single story, broken down into various segments, developed through expansions. The main campaign of an expansion accompanies the avatar’s progression in terms of experience gain, allowing him to learn new skills along the way, and to equip himself with more powerful weaponry. Once an expansion’s narrative has been completed, the game unlocks ancillary content, which does not need to be validated before continuing with the rest of the adventures.

This ancillary content is diverse and varied: it can be supercharged versions of battles encountered during the course of the game (more powerful bosses with new techniques), narrative lines involving abilities unrelated to combat (such as fishing, goldsmithing, harvesting, etc.), customization elements (the acquisition and decoration of houses, or even the management of a wild island, agriculture or animal husbandry), the promotion of several collectible items (musical scores, etc.). ), elements of personalization (acquiring and decorating houses, or even managing a wild island, farming or breeding), a number of collectible items (musical scores, mascots, mounts, maps, etc.), not to mention activities whose main objective is simply to have fun (via fun activities to be done alone or in a group in an amusement park, for example). All these activities have NO added value in terms of discovery and enjoyment of the main quest, but they do strengthen the bond between the player and his avatar, while providing an opportunity to share pleasant moments with the game’s community, and obtain items that would otherwise be unavailable.

Here, ancillary activities constitute a reward that takes over from the emotional journey experienced through the Epic (the name given to the main storyline in Final Fantasy XIV). What’s more, most of the rewards obtained by successfully completing these appendices are essentially cosmetic: they can be outfits, companions without combat abilities and other bonuses that ultimately offer very little in the way of pure gameplay benefits. These advantages do exist, however, notably through specific content. For example, the Relic Weapon quests are time-consuming, investment-intensive adventures that allow you to obtain flashy, otherwise unobtainable weapons. By the same token, much simpler, classic content based around monster-hunting mechanics allows players to gain valuable advantages, such as increased movement speed on certain terrains.

Last but not least, the various jobs available in the game unlock the possibility of crafting recipes, from cooking for a temporary boost in power, to making unique equipment (weapons, decorations, etc.). To sum up, Final Fantasy XIV ‘s appendices are part of a microcosm that offers the game a variety of content, with different possibilities that respond to each other, thus fostering players’ interest in them and reinforcing the public’s attachment to the lands of Eorzea, the scene of the game’s action. Finally, it’s interesting to note that, since the appendices are unlocked once the expansions have been completed, there’s no paradox between the urgency of the main narrative and the time allotted to these appendices, since by the time players get to the fringe activities, the following expansions are generally not yet available. These periods offer a much-needed breathing space, allowing players to enjoy the pleasures of the game without feeling caught up in the race for power inherent in the release of new activities and raids (events that allow players to strengthen their characters).

The second example of the emphasis on ancillary content is yet another Japanese saga, known in our latitudes as SEGA’s Like A Dragon (formerly known as Yakuza). This atypical series is divided into two main gameplay loops: the first consists of progressing from chapter to chapter, completing fixed narrative objectives and traversing the primary plot that sets the pace for the adventure. The second is unlocked as you progress. In fact, each chapter introduces the player to secondary activities which, while by no means necessary to reach the end credits, offer a generosity of diversity rarely seen. The nature of these secondary activities is gargantuan, with each of the saga’s opuses taking a few of the staples from one episode to the next (board games, baseball, darts, billiards, etc.), while at the same time offering long, scripted adventures with unique gameplay.

Yakuza 0, for example, offers players the chance to manage a cabaret and a property portfolio, while Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth doesn’t beat about the bush, revealing clones ofAnimal Crossing or the famous PoKéMon franchise. These sections of the Like a Dragon experience offer moments out of time, in which the stakes of the main quest are temporarily evaded, and during which players’ attention is no longer focused on the emotional overtones of the plot, but rather on achieving the objectives associated with these activities. Here, players voluntarily choose to evade the imperatives of the storyline, in favor of the most fun aspect of what the software has to offer. In addition to these mini-games spread out over the course of the adventure, Yakuza is sprinkled with subplots, which are in fact scripted segments of varying length, exploiting different registers. From comedy to drama, from the absurd to the tragic, these story fragments allow for a freedom of tone that offers an exuberant but ultimately incredibly touching and human mirror of Japanese society.

Filling in a crossword puzzle, chasing a ghost in a haunted apartment, impersonating a stage director, confronting escaped animals from a traveling circus – these are just a few of the funny and improbable situations that paint an unbridled portrait of the most sensational thing about human beings: their imagination. These bits of story resonate with the very nature of the Like a Dragon saga, which strives to describe Man through his flaws and successes, his faults and his goodness. Like a Dragon ‘s side quests are an ode to human diversity in its entirety, capturing moments that may seem anecdotal at first glance, but are nonetheless of vital importance to the individuals involved. Each of these sketches ends with life lessons, which may not always be original, but which have the merit of letting players’ minds wander for a few moments, and of taking flight outside the narrative limits set by a simple video game. The Yakuza / Like a Dragon series has made these ancillary activities part of its identity, and doesn’t bother to justify their relevance, or their urgency, to the main issues.

On the contrary, they serve a laudable purpose often overlooked by the public: they enhance the humanity of Kiryu or Ichiban, the saga’s main characters, who through the many encounters that blossom in the sordid alleys of red-light districts or in the populated arteries of seaside towns, can’t help but display an innocent and, ultimately, indispensable altruism in this world full of filth and bastards. A final point concerns the two opuses in the Like a Dragon saga, the diptych devoted to Ichiban Kasuga. In these two games, which abandon traditional action-oriented gameplay to return to the roots of a genre deeply rooted in Nipponese culture, the turn-based RPG, players are invited to control a motley crew of characters, each with their own design, their preferred skills, but also and above all their own personal history.

A secondary sub-system present in both games consists of strengthening the bonds between heroes and their companions (an extension of the bonds forged in previous opuses, in which certain ancillary activities unlocked access to special abilities useful in combat). Now, depending on the affinities forged, the exchanges during dialogues and the attentions regularly shown (such as offering presents), a friendship gauge representing the strength of the bond between Ichi and his interlocutor fills up little by little. Increasing this gauge unlocks numerous, lengthy cinematic sequences that tell the story of these secondary characters, culminating in the use of powerful techniques that are indispensable in combat. In this way, these games complete the process of linking the ancillary content to the main game, in a symbiosis that is both narrative and obvious in terms of gameplay. The development studio may well have found a solution that doesn’t resolve the conflict between the urgency of the narrative and emotional stakes, but does offer players a satisfying gameplay loop, leaving it up to them to decide how to progress throughout the adventure. It’s worth noting that this method works particularly well here, thanks to the talent of RGG Studios’ artists for weaving together disparate moods and negotiating effective, controlled breaks in tone.

The latest example of a no-holds-barred approach to the crossover between the main path and secondary escapades is hidden in the lines of code of the successful Western role-playing game, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. The Bethesda formula applied to this project is based on tried-and-tested assets from the studio’s various productions. The concept is as simple as it is ingenious. In the lands of Bordeciel, after a short but necessary prologue introducing the game’s basic mechanics, players are given an objective related to the main quest, which they are free to pursue, or not. However, unlike some other open-world games (Grand Theft Auto III, in which the explorable area is divided into islands that can be unlocked as the story progresses, a game design rule that will fade in later opuses such as 2013’s fifth episode), the entire playing field – the vast lands of Bordeciel – is entirely open.

Players can travel to the remote city of Solitude or the winding alleys of Faillaise, clear caves of shaggy creatures or join guilds, shaping an adventure that’s all their own. Skyrim erects no walls between the so-called main quests – those that decide the fate of the world and lead to the end credits – and those that merely serve to explore the various stories unfolding in these snowy lands. While a few impenetrable walls remain in the form of special quests (such as collecting power words), objects to be unearthed (claw-shaped jewels used as keys) or colossally powerful enemies (giants as savage as they are dangerous), freedom is almost total, giving the adventure an organic structure that has played a large part in the game’s overwhelming success over more than a decade.

These three examples illustrate, in different ways, different game design philosophies, each with its own advantages and shortcomings. However, one essential element links them all: players remain the masters of their own destinies, weaving a story that belongs to them alone.

Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, or the renewal of a model?

The overall structure of Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth came as a surprise to a huge swathe of die-hard fans, both those who discovered the project through the long-awaited Final Fantasy VII: Remake, and aficionados of the original 1997 Final Fantasy VII . For the following demonstration, only the rebirth of this timeless masterpiece will be mentioned. Final Fantasy VII: Remake has freed itself from the titanic constraints of squeezing less than a dozen hours of gameplay from the original adventure into a self-sufficient opus when envisaged as a complete video game. As an adaptation of a passage clearly delimited in terms of space (the city of Midgar) and time (a succession of days), Final Fantasy VII: Remake had to offer everything that makes a complete game.

To fulfill this task, the developers have borrowed a structure that proved its worth in Final Fantasy XIII : a headlong rush through marked-out, generally linear levels, interspersed with breaths and other dungeons featuring teams of imposed characters. The pause embodied by Pulse, however, is more frequent here, in the form of a few Sectors to explore and complete several series of quests. Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, on the other hand, treads the same ground as Final Fantasy XV, offering an open world whose interconnectedness is revealed over the course of several hours, but still marked out by waypoints that restrict progression and freedom. Like Noctis and his friends’ road trip, Rebirth is a journey. The team of developers has embraced this direction, making each waypoint an opportunity to indulge in ancillary activities, unrelated to the dramatic stakes, solely with a view to enjoying the moment.

It’s no coincidence that the game features several light-hearted sequences, such as a card tournament during a sea cruise, a photographic competition at a seaside resort, or even a board game involving units to be strategically placed on a field. Even progression through the open world is punctuated by mini-games that unlock access to gameplay tools to facilitate navigation, such as chocobo hunting or summoning. Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, without ever forsaking the intensity of its story developments, is in fact a gigantic amusement park that does everything it can to blend the intensity of an epic story with lighter breaths of fresh air.

This game design philosophy is clearly expressed through the character of Roche, introduced in Final Fantasy VII: Remake. Like Cloud, Roche is an over-trained soldier doped with Mako (a vital energy that confers extraordinary abilities on those able to absorb it). His attacks are grandiloquent, he rides his motorcycle like a god, defying gravity and all physical laws, and his temperament is so unbridled it can be annoying. Roche takes life’s pleasures in his stride. Many fans have criticized the character’s flippancy and exaggeration, but Square Enix’s meticulous scriptwriters have done their homework. In Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, Roche succumbs to Professor Hojo’s unforgivable experiments, becoming a being of tetanizing apathy. This new behavior stands in stark contrast to the euphoria of the SOLDIER’s previous appearances.

If players hadn’t experienced the various moments of joy that punctuate the adventure and strengthen the bonds between Cloud and his companions, the impact of this scripted sequence revealing a monolithic Roche would have lost its impact. Thus, in Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, apart from the immediate pleasure of the various side quests (and putting aside the various rewards that can be obtained by taking part in them), the most significant scripted events would clearly have missed their impact, or at least this impact would have dwindled, or even faded, in relation to the rest of the adventure. It’s as if the characters were enjoying the vicissitudes of the world one last time, before twilight fell upon them.

As a final note on Rebirth, it’s worth noting that Tetsuya Nomura and his team are continuing a game design philosophy they’ve been pursuing throughout their careers. Nomura’s faithful colleague, screenwriter Motomu Toriyama, helped his colleague create Final Fantasy X-2, the first opus in the twin-letter franchise being a direct sequel to one of the saga’s main entries. In this atypical game, players take control of a Yuna seeking to rebuild her life following the loss of the love of her life, but also the upheaval suffered by the world of Spira, disfigured by Sin’s assaults. Final Fantasy X-2’s story structure is not only surprisingly atypical for Square Enix, it also speaks volumes about the writer’s obsessions. Final Fantasy X was a pilgrimage, a straight-line story taking Tidus and his companions to the four corners of the world, discovering exotic peoples and customs, all set against a questioning of the meaning of life that the series has never dispensed with. Final Fantasy X-2 makes a phenomenal break in tone right from its introduction: from the fall of a civilization in the first chapter, the second game opts instead for the staging of a pop concert featuring Yuna as the main performer!

In fact, the more serious and solemn stakes only arise in the last third of the adventure, the first two of which feature a series of activities which, while they appear to be compulsory as part of the main plot, have the appearance of sweet annexes (think of a strange and surprising massage session). Toriyama perpetuated this almost anachronistic tone in each of the productions he worked on, as in the fantastic Lightning Returns, which from a distance looks like a collection of unconnected appendices, but which in the end form a coherent and meaningful whole.

The apex of this enterprise can be found in the unmissable Kingdom Hearts III, which already took on the allure of a gigantic theme park punctuated by varied, engaging, generous activities that were always surprising and enjoyable to play. However, at the time of its release, the game was clearly divided into two narrative blocks: the first half of the game focused on the visit to the Disney worlds and offered a wide variety of diverse activities, while the second and final part revolved around the issues linked to Sora and his allies, as well as his personal quest, which took on a more serious and solemn tone, considerably raising the stakes and therefore the tension of the game in hand. So, in these examples, ancillary activities are part of the overall experience, and once again serve as a valve, allowing players to envisage their game time as they see fit, without feeling hampered by narrative needs subject to a tone that is sometimes too light, and other times heavy.

The secret of a good side quest

Before writing this text, some data was collected from a sample of individuals varied in terms of gender, age, tastes and videogame experience. The question was simple: without thinking, what ancillary activity came to mind? The result has no scientific value, of course, but it did give us a clear idea of the main thrust of the responses. While the quests cited are almost all different, it is relevant to note that all the games mentioned develop a strong narrative tendency. Players don’t recall quests for performing actions that break with the main gameplay loop of the games in question (i.e. using a firearm, selecting a dialogue choice, moving around, etc.), but rather the situations presented.

For example, there’s the famous side quest in Blood and Wine (The Witcher III: Wild Hunt expansion), which parodies the House that Drives You Crazy in the cartoon Les 12 Travaux d’Asterix (Albert Uderzo, René Goscinny, Pierre Watrin, 1976), a plot that ultimately pushes the character from one counter to another within a nonsensical administration, but which is striking for the absurdity of the situation. Another example from a second game developed by CD Projekt Red is the story of Joshua Stephenson. In this story, which begins as a banal mercenary contract, V, the main character, finds himself caught up in the unhealthy foundations of a reality TV show aimed at re-enacting the crucifixion of Jesus. On other occasions, it’s when a quest hijacks the very codes of the game that it makes its mark, as when Al Gore becomes the friend of the main character in South Park: The Stick of Truth, and keeps pestering him with incessant notifications that pollute the game screen. The feather-chasing of the first Assassin’s Creed was also cited, but not for the right reasons.

In short, players are easily marked by activities that not only break with the purpose and tone of the main adventure, but also by the impact they have on themselves as individuals. Whether it’s experiences that speak to them directly by summoning up elements from outside the work they’re currently engaged in (The Twelve Labors), elements that break the rules established by the game for hours on end (see meta experiences such as TUNIC or Animal Well), not to mention themes that impose intimate questioning (e.g. morality, ethics or faith), it’s these side quests that are most likely to leave their mark on their audience.

And in that case, all things considered, is it really so bad to set aside the pace and stakes of the main plot if it’s to learn a little more about ourselves, or understand a little more about the world around us?