The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim remains an intriguing game, but beyond the thrill of freely exploring its sprawling underground labyrinths, it offers surprisingly few opportunities for players to truly interact with the world. In the vast wilderness, players often find themselves limited to two primary activities: battling monsters or snapping scenic screenshots.
However, with the release of the Dragon DLC and the addition of multiplayer online mode, John enriched the game by introducing new content and gameplay modes.
For instance, players can now fish in the wild, and a variety of wildlife, such as bears, deer, and tigers, has been added, allowing players to hunt for sport and resources. NPC adventurers of varying skill levels roam the world, providing opportunities for players to challenge or learn from them at any time. Additionally, players can bring along companions to cook meals in the wilderness. These mechanics, introduced by John, added depth to the open-world experience.
Yet while these mini-games feel refreshing and fun at first, their novelty fades quickly. Over time, some developers fall into the trap of padding their games with repetitive side activities, forcing players to grind through dull tasks to progress the story.
Take, for example, a quest where Character A craves a grilled fish. The player must catch the fish, cook it, and deliver it, an amusing task the first time but utterly exhausting after multiple repetitions. Such chores drain the sense of adventure, turning missions into tedious errands.
John, understanding this pitfall, chose to separate mini-games from core quests. Instead of tethering them to the main storyline, he made them standalone features that players could enjoy at their own pace, preserving the narrative's momentum.
Meanwhile, the modding community breathed new life into Skyrim. As creators grew more skilled with modding tools, countless mods appeared on official forums, alongside a flood of less wholesome ones on third-party sites.
Even months after launch, the game retained a devoted audience. Two months in, many players still hadn't completed the main quest. Instead, they spent hours downloading mods to customize their companions, redesign characters, and dress them in ever-more stylish attire.
Exploration became an art form. Players roamed every corner of Skyrim's vast landscapes, and some even created selfie mods that allowed characters to hide the game's UI for immersive photo ops. This wave of creativity shifted the player base's focus. Why rush to slay monsters, crack puzzles, or navigate dangerous dungeons when they could indulge in leisure? Saving villagers, battling Alduin, and resolving dragon conflicts? Leave that to someone else.
The true Skyrim experience, for many, became a pastoral escape: fishing by tranquil lakes, hunting in serene forests, hosting rustic picnics, and returning at sunset to a cozy home, complete with farm, family, and a crackling hearth.
Among the myriad of mini-games, one in particular captured the hearts of players: the quirky Skyrim card game. Multiplayer sessions had yet to spark much buzz, but when this mini-game appeared in single-player mode, it quickly became a sensation. Voice-overs made it even more hilarious. Players couldn't help but laugh as iconic scenes were humorously undercut by casual gaming banter.
Picture this: Blade Warrior and Grey Beard, locked in a heated argument in the grand hall.
Dragonborn: "Let's play a game."
Grey Beard: "No problem! Nobody in Skyrim can beat me!"
Or imagine Snowmantle City under siege by a roaring dragon.
Guard: "Dragonborn, please help us! The dragon is attacking!"
Dragonborn: "Let's play a game first."
Guard: "No problem!"
This unexpected clash between high-stakes drama and lighthearted gameplay delighted fans everywhere.
John, intrigued by the trend, began pondering the idea of expanding this concept further. Could card games become a core feature? Could they even merge with comics, especially with the recent acquisition of a comic company?
Sitting in his office, he stroked his chin, deep in thought. Development on Self Chess and Red Alert was already well underway, nearing completion. As John expected, neither project presented major technical challenges.
Most of Self Chess's assets were reworked from existing models, and its gameplay structure had already been designed by John himself. The project had little narrative depth, serving instead as a training ground for new developers at PixelPioneers Games and industry newcomers, giving them hands-on experience to build their skills. The game's real complexity lay in balancing its numbers and systems.
John planned to launch Self Chess alongside the upcoming Resident Evil comic series, rebranding it as Resident Evil Auto Chess to tie it to the franchise.
By contrast, Red Alert was more technically ambitious, but not overwhelmingly so. John intended to closely follow his "memory" blueprint, focusing on exceptional modeling and visuals rather than narrative depth.
It embraced a classic real-time strategy design: a top-down God's-eye perspective, resource collection, and relentless, large-scale battles. Gameplay was intentionally streamlined, stripping out story elements and cinematic battle modes to focus on raw strategy, with only a brief tutorial for onboarding.
John never intended Red Alert to rival the success of Resident Evil or The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim. It was a stepping stone, a project to sharpen the team's skills and expand their technical expertise.
Resident Evil would extend the franchise's reach, pairing its launch with a new set of comics.
Red Alert, on the other hand, was a riskier experiment, the kind of title developers jokingly referred to as "born from the trash pile."
"It looks like the company that issued our game before went bankrupt!" Luna's voice broke John's train of thought.
"Bankrupt? What happened?" John asked, startled. He took Luna's phone and scanned the headline.
The article, from Starry Sky, read: "Social Tap, publisher of Binding of Isaac and Octopath Traveler, rumored to face bankruptcy!"
Social Tap… bankrupt? John paused, his mind replaying old memories.
Social Tap had been the first company to publish his work, and though their partnership had initially cost them heavily, they had gone on to distribute two of his most successful titles. The Binding of Isaac alone, with global promotions and discounts, had sold millions.
While their revenue share had been modest, John found it hard to believe the publisher was collapsing. Curious, he read further. His expression softened, and he shook his head in understanding.
As it turned out, Social Tap had grown tired of publishing small indie games and had ambitiously ventured into large-scale productions, investing in two major titles, one domestic, one international. Both underperformed disastrously, with the foreign title dragging them further into financial trouble. Now, Social Tap was barely clinging to relevance in the indie game scene.
A thought sparked in John's mind: Could we acquire them? Was this the perfect opportunity to establish their own publishing network? John leaned back in his chair, considering the possibilities.