Connecting gaming ecosystems: Serbia & Brazil

Two weeks ago, I unlocked a new milestone in my professional life: I gave a presentation about the Brazilian Games Ecosystem at the Serbian Games Association in Belgrade, Serbia.

Long story short: my cousin, João Eduardo Martin, works as a diplomat at the Brazilian Embassy in Belgrade. He manages cultural projects in the country and opened the door for me to talk about games at SGA. Since I was already visiting my cousin on vacation, we combined tourism with business.



João and I spoke with Mihajlo Jovanović-Džaril (CEO of SGA) and Tatjana Ristić (Project Coordinator) about potential partnerships in industry, market, and education.

Now, we have pitched initial ideas for future gaming projects between Serbia and Brazil. What’s coming next? A book? A game? A podcast? Soon I’ll share the news here!

Epic win

#GoGamers

Why the game of Go defies the universe

When we think of strategically complex board games, Chess is usually the first name that comes to mind for most people. However, if we look strictly at the mathematics behind the gameplay possibilities, the Western classic looks almost simple compared to the ancient Eastern game of Go.



A fascinating trivia piece from the Brazilian book "A descoberta dos números: uma aventura matemática" (The discovery of numbers: a mathematical adventure), by mathematician Marcelo Viana, helps us put this scale into a cosmic perspective.

Numbers That Defy the Universe

In Chess, it is estimated that there are "only" 10⁴⁰ (the number 1 followed by 40 zeros) possible positions on the board. That is an enormous amount, without a doubt.

Yet, when we move to the Go board, the simple rules of surrounding territories generate an unbelievable combinatorial explosion: the number of possible positions is greater than 10¹⁷⁰ (the number 1 followed by 170 zeros).

To give you an idea of what this actually means:

• 10⁴⁰: Estimated possible positions in Chess.
• 10⁸⁰: Estimated number of atoms in the entire known universe.
• 10¹⁷⁰: Possible positions in Go.

The Game Design and A.I. Nightmare

In other words, there are drastically more possible configurations in a single game of Go than there are grains of sand on Earth, stars in the sky, or atoms scattered across the entire observable cosmos.

For anyone who studies or works with game design, this brutal difference explains why computers took so long to defeat human masters at Go. While "brute force" calculation managed to beat world Chess champion Garry Kasparov back in 1997 (with Deep Blue), a purely mathematical approach was physically impossible for Go. No machine could ever compute 10¹⁷⁰ paths.

It required the development of deep neural networks and artificial intelligence based on intuition and continuous learning (like DeepMind's AlphaGo) to finally break through the barrier of this infinite tangle of nodes and branches in 2016.

Go proves that, sometimes, the most minimalist rules yield the most vast and unpredictable systems that the human mind—and the universe itself—can fathom.

#GoGamers  

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Reference:

VIANA, Marcelo. A descoberta dos números: Uma aventura matemática. Rio de Janeiro: Tinta da China, 2025.

Understanding games as media: from McLuhan to Flanagan

The understanding of games as a media phenomenon finds one of its foundational theoretical milestones in Marshall McLuhan’s seminal work, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (1964). In the chapter dedicated to the subject, titled "Games: The Extensions of Man", McLuhan proposes a rupture with the trivialized view of play, elevating games to the same epistemological status as any other medium of communication. According to the author:

games are popular art, collective social reactions to the main drive and pressure of any culture. Games, like institutions, are extensions of social man and of the body politic, as technologies are extensions of the animal organism (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 235).

This definition articulates two essential theoretical movements. The first concerns the collective and participatory nature of games: unlike other media, the game presupposes the subject's active adherence to its formal structure, what McLuhan terms interplay, meaning the dialogic quality that transforms the game into a system of symbolic exchanges among participants (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 242). The second movement refers to the modeling function of games in relation to the culture that generates them; as the author notes, "games are faithful models of a culture. They incorporate both the action and the reaction of whole populations in a single dynamic image" (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 235).



In this sense, the game does not represent culture from the outside; it is culture in operation, codified into ritualized rules, tensions, and resolutions. McLuhan articulates this thesis within his broader conception of media as extensions of the human body and mind. Every medium prolongs a human faculty: the wheel extends the foot, the book extends the eye, and games, as media, extend the social nervous system, offering models of collective participation that escape the fragmentation of specialized labor. This is precisely why the author states that "games are situations contrived and controlled extensions of group consciousness, which permit a release from customary patterns, as if society were holding a conversation with itself" (MCLUHAN, 1964, p. 244).

This perspective finds contemporary resonance in the work of Flanagan (2009), who situates digital games within the broader framework of hegemonic cultural media. Flanagan points out that digital games can be considered a contemporary medium, and that computers and video game consoles have become a highly significant cultural vehicle, reaching diverse audiences across different economic and social classes, ages, and genders (FLANAGAN, 2009, p. 1). The convergence between McLuhan’s and Flanagan’s theses lies precisely in the affirmation of the game as a mass communication system, not merely by the volume of transmitted messages, but by its capacity to engender forms of cultural participation and identification on an expanded scale.

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References:

FLANAGAN, Mary. Critical Play: Radical Game Design. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2009.

McLUHAN, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964.

New look, new projects: my game design portfolio is live!

Building a strong portfolio is essential for any game designer. It serves as your visual and functional resume, showcasing not just the finished products, but your creative process and problem-solving skills.

Here are three fundamental advantages of having a dedicated game design portfolio:

1.Proof of versatility: it demonstrates your ability to work across different genres, mechanics, and platforms—whether digital or analog.

2.narrative of process: a good portfolio explains the "why" behind your design choices, proving your strategic thinking to potential collaborators and clients.

3.professional identity: it establishes your unique voice and design philosophy in a highly competitive industry.

I'm happy to share that my portfolio website has been completely updated with a fresh new look! Check out my latest projects and games here! Click in the image below:



#GoGamers

THE ART OF FAILING WELL: Jesper Juul and the paradox at the heart of games

There is something strange about the way we play video games. We load them up knowing full well that we are going to fail — sometimes spectacularly, sometimes painfully, almost always repeatedly. And yet we keep going. We press continue. We retry. We lose an hour to a single boss fight and call it a good evening.



Jesper Juul, in The Art of Failure (2013), offers one of the most lucid and uncomfortable explanations for this behavior: failure is not a flaw in game design. It is the point.

Two kinds of failure

Juul opens his analysis by drawing a crucial distinction that any thoughtful player will immediately recognize:

"two types of failure: 1) real failure occurs when a player invests time into playing a game and fails; 2) fictional failure is what befalls the character(s) in the fictional game world." (JUUL, 2013, p. 25)

The example he gives is about Red Dead Redemption (*spoiler alert*). To advance the story, you must die with John Marston. There is no other way. The character's death is narratively mandatory; it is a fictional failure scripted into the architecture of the game. But the player's experience of that moment is something else entirely: real time invested, real emotional weight, and a loss that is simultaneously required and felt.

This double layer (the fictional and the real running in parallel) is what separates games from most other media. When you watch a film and the protagonist dies, you grieve. When you play a game and your character dies, you also grieve, but you also feel responsible. You were there. You were in control. The controller was in your hands.

Why we want to fail (at least a little)

This is where Juul's argument gets genuinely counterintuitive. He identifies two coexisting desires at work in the player:

"In games: 1) Immediate desire – desire to avoid failure; 2) Aesthetic desire – desire for an experience that includes partial failure." (JUUL, 2013, p. 43)

These two desires are in direct tension, and that tension is productive. You want to win — every instinct pushes toward success. But a game in which you never fail is not a game; it is an animation. The resistance of failure is what gives victory its meaning. More than that: partial failure, the stumble before the climb, is aesthetically desirable. It structures the experience. It creates the narrative arc that makes the eventual success feel earned. 

Juul pushes this further on page 45, offering a deceptively simple formulation that reframes the entire philosophy of play:

"Games are a perspective on failure and learning as enjoyment, or satisfaction." (JUUL, 2013, p. 45)

Games are not about succeeding. They are about the experience of learning to succeed — and that learning is, in itself, the pleasure. This has profound implications for how we think about difficulty, accessibility, and the design of failure states. A game that punishes without teaching fails its own purpose. A game that challenges while guiding turns failure into a feedback loop, and that loop is fun.

The emotional contract

There is another dimension to all of this that Juul does not let us ignore: emotion. We are not passive processors when we play. We are invested — sometimes uncomfortably so.

"We are emotionally affected by games, and we are aware of this before we start playing." (JUUL, 2013, p. 56)

This is remarkable if you sit with it. Before we press start, we already know that we will feel something. We anticipate frustration, excitement, satisfaction, even grief. We consent to being emotionally implicated. Games are, in this sense, a form of voluntary emotional exposure — and the management of that exposure, how much failure a player can absorb before the experience sours, is one of the deepest challenges in game design.

Responsibility and the fictional world

The most philosophically rich passage Juul offers on the subject comes near the end of the book, in a reflection on fictional tragedy:

"The problem with fictional tragedy also showed that it is failure that makes us feel responsible for the events in the fictional world." (JUUL, 2013, p. 117)

And then, almost as a counterpoint:

"Hamlet dies but it is not our fault." (JUUL, 2013, p. 118)

The contrast is sharp and clarifying. In theater, in film, in literature — we witness. We may be moved, we may be changed, but we are not culpable. Hamlet's death happens to him. In a game, your character's death happens because of you. The failure is yours, even when it is fictional. The agency that makes games uniquely engaging is the same agency that makes their failures uniquely personal.

This is why the death of John Marston lands differently than the death of any movie hero. You did not just watch it. You lived it, failed at it, and then had to choose to press continue.

What this means for design

Juul's framework has direct implications for anyone thinking seriously about game design. The management of failure — its frequency, its cost, its legibility, its emotional register — is not incidental to the game. It is the game. A well-designed failure state teaches, resets, and motivates. A poorly designed one exhausts, obscures, and alienates.

The games we remember most vividly are often those that failed us most meaningfully. The boss that took forty attempts. The level we thought was impossible. The narrative moment that demanded we lose before we could continue. These are not bugs in the experience. They are the experience.

Jesper Juul's The Art of Failure is a short book with a long argument, and that argument is this: to understand games, you must understand failure not as a negative outcome to be avoided, but as the generative force that makes play meaningful.

We load the game. We know we are going to fail. We press start anyway.

That is not masochism. That is game design.

#GoGamers

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Reference:
JUUL, Jesper. The Art of Failure: an essay on the pain of playing video games. Cambridge/London: MIT Press, 2013.

From game to the big screen: the minimalist horror of Iron Lung

Last year, I had the privilege of presenting my research on the indie Iron Lung at the Video Game Cultures conference in Prague. It was an incredible opportunity to discuss how creative constraints can redefine digital dread with scholars from around the world. I am now thrilled to share that this research has been expanded and transformed into a full book chapter, set to be published very soon, providing a deeper academic dive into how minimalism can maximize psychological horror.

While adapting the original conference paper into this upcoming book chapter, I saw a unique opportunity to expand the analysis by including the recently announced Iron Lung film adaptation. Observing how this indie narrative is transitioning to the cinema not only enriched the academic text but also served as the primary inspiration for this blog post. It is awesome to see how a project rooted in extreme digital minimalism is now evolving to challenge audiences in a completely different medium.

Check the content below!

• • •   

Minimalism, dread, and the leap to cinema

The timing of this publication couldn't be more appropriate. This month, David Szymanski’s oppressive masterpiece makes its debut in theaters, marking a significant milestone where indie game narratives occupy diverse media spaces. Iron Lung (2022) is a masterclass in what I term "horror ludens"—a playful yet terrifying engagement with fear that thrives not on high-fidelity graphics, but on the power of restraint.



The game’s transition to film underscores a core argument of my study: that the most unsettling stories are those that leave the most to the imagination. In the game, players are confined to a rusted submarine in an ocean of blood, forced to navigate using only a grainy, low-fidelity camera and rudimentary sonar. This "meta-diegetic" interface—where in-world tools are the only source of information—forces the player to become a co-author of their own terror. As Iacovides et al. (2015) suggest, removing traditional non-diegetic overlays (like HUDs) prevents immersion breaks, making the character's struggle identical to the player's cognitive labor.



Whether in the cockpit of a virtual sub or a seat in a dark theater, Iron Lung leverages "cosmic dread" by restricting sensory input. This forces our minds to fill the vast visual gaps with personalized forms of terror. As the film brings this desolate, blood-submerged moon to a wider audience, it continues to prove that in horror design, "less is more". By subjecting ourselves to these "unnecessary obstacles," we find a unique ludic pleasure in navigating existential despair.

 

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References:

Iacovides, Ioanna, Jon Cox, Richard Kennedy, Paul Cairns, and Charlene Jennett. 2015. “Removing the HUD: The Impact of Non-diegetic Game Elements and Expertise on Player Involvement.” In Proceedings of the 2015 Annual Symposium on Computer-Human Interaction in Play, 13–22. London: ACM.

Mastrocola, Vicente Martin. 2014. Horror Ludens: Medo entretenimento e consumo em narrativas de videogames. São Paulo: Livrus.

Suits, Bernard. 2005. The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia. Toronto: Broadview Encore Editions.

#GoGamers

The strategic pivot: integrating uncertainty into the game design process

In the realm of functional design, predictability is often viewed as the ultimate benchmark of quality. As Costikyan (2013, p. 16) argues, in real-life situations—such as shopping online, electing a congressman, or utilizing software for work—we demand a lack of ambiguity, noting that "we prefer simplicity, surety, and consistency." In these contexts, uncertainty is a defect to be mitigated, as users prioritize efficiency and the seamless achievement of specific goals. However, the architecture of game design operates on a fundamentally different logic, where the elimination of the unknown would result in a sterile and unengaging experience.

While we strive to minimize unpredictability in quotidian services, within the ludic context, "a degree of uncertainty is essential" (COSTIKYAN, 2013, p. 16). This element serves as the primary catalyst for player immersion and entertainment, transforming a static system into a dynamic challenge. By strategically withholding information or complicating the path to victory, designers create a "possibility space" that compels players to remain cognitively engaged. Without this tension between the player's intent and the outcome's volatility, the experience loses its competitive and emotional resonance.



The implementation of this uncertainty is not monolithic but is derived from various structural layers. Costikyan (2013) analyzes different kinds of games and explains that sometimes uncertainty comes from programmed random results, such as dice rolls or procedural generation; other times, uncertainty lies within opponents and how they perform, particularly in multiplayer environments. Ultimately, uncertainty may result from the player's own abilities in the game, where the execution of a maneuver or the solution to a puzzle remains in doubt until the moment of fruition.

Therefore, the game design process must be viewed as the calibrated management of these various "sources of doubt". A successful designer does not merely create a set of rules, but rather orchestrates a sophisticated balance between agency and chance. By understanding that uncertainty is not a flaw to be corrected, but a strategic tool to be leveraged, developers can craft experiences that transcend simple utility, providing the meaningful struggle that defines the very essence of play.

#GoGamers

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Reference:
COSTIKYAN, Greg. Uncertainty in games. Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2013.

My most played mechanics of 2025: why trick-taking and climbing stole the show

In 2025, my journey through the world of tabletop gaming was defined by a deep dive into two specific mechanics: trick-taking and climbing. Looking back at the hundreds of hands played, these genres provided the most tension, strategy, and pure excitement at my table. There is an undeniable elegance in how these games use a simple deck of cards to create complex social dynamics and tactical puzzles, making them my most-played styles of the year.



My fascination with trick-taking reached new heights through titles that pushed the boundaries of the traditional formula. Sáng Dèn stood out for its incredible atmosphere and the way it forced me to rethink how I managed my hand, while Salty provided a sharper, more competitive edge that kept my gaming group coming back for "just one more round." Perhaps the most experimental highlight was Match-fixer’s High, a game that brilliantly subverted the goal of winning tricks, turning every lead into a psychological battle of manipulation and calculated risks. These games proved that even within a centuries-old mechanic, there is still so much room for innovation.

On the other side of the coin, climbing and shedding games offered a completely different kind of rush. The feeling of jumping over an opponent's play with a stronger combination is unmatched, and Odin was undoubtedly the king of this experience for me in 2025. Its clever system of incorporating played cards back into your hand transformed the math of the game into a fluid, evolving strategy. I also found myself captivated by the high-stakes combinations in Haggis (excellent for two players, by the way), which remains a masterclass in card play, and the chaotic, inventive energy of Inchiki Daifugo. Whether I was trying to master a lead in a trick-taking game or aiming to be the first to empty my hand in a climbing match, these titles defined my year in gaming and solidified these mechanics as my absolute favorites.

#GoGamers

Top 10 games - 2025 edition!

Riding the wave of the Game Awards, I'm going to present my modest list of the 10 best games I played this year. There is no particular order of preference. They were the most incredible games I played. Here is the list!

Hauntii



Blue Prince



Hellblade 2



Silk Song



Hades 2



Indika



Clair Obscur: Expedition 33



Dispatch



Cosmic Invasion



The Alters



#GoGamers

The interesting ecosystem of Swedish RPGs

Sweden stands as a truly unique bastion in the landscape of tabletop role-playing games. In this post, we will delve into the distinct characteristics of this creative hub, exploring a region that has consistently published—and continues to deliver—some of the most innovative and compelling titles the genre has ever seen.



#GoGamers

To think about game design process

An excellent point of view about game design by Anton Slashcev. Click here to check the original post.



#GoGamers

Using Artificial Intelligence in board game beta testing

Undoubtedly, artificial intelligence is rapidly pervading our daily lives, from entertainment to professional applications. We are immersed in a technological context where the competency to effectively utilize diverse tools is essential for optimizing our actions and outcomes. In this post, I will discuss the methodology I employed in using AI for the beta testing phase of my last two board game projects.

First and foremost, I must clarify that my application of AI is not a substitute for creative effort. I avoid using lazy or generic prompts such as, "create a card game with Roman Empire theme using trick track mechanics." I consider this approach to be ineffective, as it would likely yield a generic, derivative product lacking a distinct core concept or "soul."

Instead, I employ AI in a pragmatic and iterative manner. The process begins with establishing the game's core concept, writing the comprehensive rulebook, and compiling a complete list of assets (board, components, dice, etc.). This initial stage results in a prototype ready for preliminary testing. However, prior to testing with human players, I utilize Manus AI to conduct a complete virtual beta test session.



The process is straightforward: I submit the rulebook (PDF) and the file detailing the game pieces (PDF). I then provide the initial prompt: "Manus, I request you to analyze the content regarding my new game. Upon completion of this analysis, please identify any aspects that are not completely unambiguous or 'crystal clear'." After addressing the system’s initial queries, the final prompt is executed: "I now request 100 simulations encompassing two, three, and four players. The required output is a detailed feedback report assessing game balance, pointing out potential rule errors, and suggesting improvements for the core mechanics." A significant advantage of Manus is its capability to generate Python programming code to facilitate testing on external platforms beyond the application itself.

It is crucial to note that testing with human players will always remain a fundamental part of the development cycle. Nevertheless, the initial results demonstrate that the prototypes are significantly more refined before the first human playtest. For example, in a recent beta testing session for my new game, the prototype was substantially more polished prior to the initial live test. The overall iteration process becomes considerably more efficient when AI is applied judiciously.

I am currently refining this methodology and anticipate being able to share further insights and impressions soon.

#GoGamers

The clash between diegetic and non-diegetic elements in Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice

Iacovides et al. (2015, p. 1) distinguish game interface elements into two categories: diegetic elements, which are integrated into the game's fictional reality and can be perceived by the characters, and non-diegetic elements, which are exclusive to the players' perspective. According to these authors, common wisdom in the games industry suggests that excessive use of non-diegetic elements, such as Head-Up Displays (HUDs), can potentially compromise the immersion process. Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice challenges this convention, offering a remarkable demonstration of how these concepts can be manipulated to deepen the player's experience.



The game stands out for its almost complete elimination of non-diegetic elements. The absence of a health bar, a map, or equipment indicators forces the player to interpret information organically. Senua's health and status are communicated through signals that, while functionally essential for progression, are intrinsically rooted in the narrative. The damage suffered by the character, for instance, is expressed by the progression of a dark "corruption" spreading across her right arm, a visual manifestation of the protagonist's mental illness.



However, one of the game's highlights lies in the fusion between diegesis and the non-diegetic experience. In this regard, we turn to Galloway (2006, pp. 6-7 ), who defines diegesis as the "total world of narrative actions". From this perspective, we can hypothesise that in Hellblade, this world is the subjective and chaotic universe of Senua's mind. Elements that would conventionally be non-diegetic in other games, such as audio cues indicating the path or voices warning of enemy presence, are, in reality, manifestations of the character's psychosis. The player does not receive mere hints; they experience the diegesis of insanity, where the perception of reality is mediated by Senua's suffering. The game's hermeneutics, therefore, cease to be a detached interpretation and become a real-time performance, where the act of playing and interpretation merge into the immersive experience proposed by the system.

The game thus demonstrates that the distinction between diegetic and non-diegetic can be intentionally obscured to create a more cohesive and psychologically immersive gaming experience. By eliminating the HUD and transforming feedback elements into an integral part of the narrative and character perception, Hellblade not only enhances immersion but also establishes a pattern for interface design that seeks to deepen the connection between the player and the fictional universe. Building on this, it is possible to argue that in Senua's Sacrifice, the player potentially experiences a "meta-diegesis." Here, we employ this term to understand a meta-diegetic situation as one that refers to elements which, although intrinsically belonging to the game's diegetic world, communicate directly with the player, subtly subverting the fourth wall. The voices in protagonist Senua's mind represent a compelling application of this idea.

The meta-diegetic nature of Senua's voices can be understood from three analytical perspectives. Firstly, their existence is diegetically grounded: they do not constitute an external narrator or an interface element dissociated from the narrative. On the contrary, they are a central manifestation of the character's psychosis, affecting her perception and interaction with the world. Secondly, they perform an essential non-diegetic function for gameplay. They act as a dynamic feedback system, providing the player with alerts about imminent threats, spatial guidance, and hints for puzzle-solving – functions that, in other games, would be delegated to a HUD or conventional narrator cues.

Finally, the use of voices blurs the boundary between player and character. By merging narrative function with gameplay, the game transcends the mere presentation of information, inviting the player to actively experience Senua's ordeal. The anguish, confusion, and cognitive dissonance caused by the voices become part of the player's immersive experience, and not merely an object of observation. Therefore, the voices in Hellblade constitute a paradigmatic meta-diegetic element, functioning as an interface that deepens immersion rather than breaking it, and offering a sophisticated approach to how narrative elements can be co-opted to optimise the interactive experience.

Meticulous observation of the diegetic, non-diegetic, and meta-diegetic elements in Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice forms the methodological foundation for an in-depth analysis of the game as an empirical object. By examining the intentional elimination of traditional interface elements (HUD) and the subsequent adoption of a meta-diegetic interface, represented by the voices tormenting the protagonist, it becomes possible to unravel the complexity of its structure.

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References

Galloway, A. R. (2006) Gaming: Essays on Algorithmic Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 6-7.

Iacovides, I., Cox, A. L. and Kennedy, R. (2015) ‘Diegetic and Non-Diegetic Interface Elements in Digital Games: A Review of Prior Work’. In Proceedings of the 2015 Annual Symposium on Computer-Human Interaction in Play. London: ACM, p. 1.

What was the Video Game Cultures conference like?

Last week, I attended the Video Game Cultures conference in Prague, Czech Republic. It was an excellent three-day event with a lot of content to consider and reconsider in the fields of game design and gaming studies.

I presented my work Minimal resources, maximal horror: a study of the game IRON LUNG, and had the opportunity to admire great ideas from all my colleagues there. I hope soon I'll be posting the complete article here in Gaming Conceptz.

A special thanks to my friend Daniel Riha, who captained the entire event and gave us an epic welcome in Prague. Here are some good photos from the conference.









#GoGamers

Video Game Cultures 2025 - 10-12 September 2025 at Charles University, Prague (CZ)

Between September 10th and 12th, the VIDEO GAME CULTURES conference will take place at Charles University in Prague, Czech Republic. I will be presenting my work in person during the "horror spaces" session, and I'm sharing the abstract of my paper with you all below. (I'll also be sharing the full article soon).



Minimal resources, maximal horror: a study of the game IRON LUNG

This paper explores the minimalist approach to horror in David Szymanski's indie game, IRON LUNG, within the context of dystopian and apocalyptic narratives prevalent in contemporary video game culture. IRON LUNG distinguishes itself by its stark, low-fidelity visuals and audio, creating an atmosphere of profound dread with minimal resources. This study examines how these limitations, rather than hindering the player's experience, amplify the sense of isolation and claustrophobia, core tenets of effective horror design.

The analysis delves into the game's setting: a desolate, rust-covered ocean on a moon entirely submerged in blood, where the player navigates a submarine using rudimentary sonar. This environment, rendered in a limited colour palette and simple geometric shapes, evokes a sense of vast, unknowable danger. The paper argues that this minimalism forces the player to engage their imagination, filling in the gaps with their own fears, thereby intensifying the horror experience.

Furthermore, this paper discusses how indie game development allows for unique, experimental concepts that often diverge from mainstream titles. IRON LUNG exemplifies this, showcasing how creative constraints can lead to innovative gameplay and narrative design. By eschewing high-fidelity graphics and complex mechanics, the game focuses on psychological horror, relying on atmosphere and sound to create tension. This study concludes that IRON LUNG's success lies in its ability to maximise horror through minimalism, demonstrating the power of restraint in video game design.

Keywords: Indie Games, Horror Games, Minimalism, Dystopia, Apocalypse, Game Design, David Szymanski, IRON LUNG.

#GoGamers

There are no fixed rules in UX for games, and everything can be reconfigured

Last month, the Brazilian publisher SENAC released my new book, "Introdução para UX em games" (Introduction to UX in games). There is no English version yet, but I'd like to share a translated excerpt from the book that I'm very fond of.



If we are designing an e-commerce site for a wide audience, for practical reasons, we would never use a black background with dark blue text and out-of-focus photos to facilitate the online shopping experience. However, in a game, this is perfectly valid, especially if we are using this "hidden" text as part of a puzzle to be solved. The first game in the Silent Hill series uses this technique a lot, forcing the player to explore the scenery in search of clues, weapons, equipment, and ammunition. In this case, "complicating" the player's life is what brings the game experience to life.

We often say that explaining a game's procedures is a basic part of an experience with a beginning, middle, and end. But the game Tunic explains nothing to the player. You literally have to guess the commands and use your experience from other games you've played to progress through the narrative. Of course, there are various tutorials on the internet to illustrate the content of Tunic, but the game's unique feature is that you get to fumble through and solve each phase with guesses, hunches, and prior knowledge from other experiences. In the case of a food delivery app, however, we don't want the "challenge" of figuring out how to order a meal; we want something with clear instructions.

We've also mentioned the need for clarity of elements, icons, figures, shapes, colors, and so on, in an interface. But games with a bullet hell premise, such as Enter the Gungeon, are interesting precisely because they make the interface chaotic, creating a challenge of dexterity to escape enemy fire. The stroboscopic effect on the screen in Super Hexagon is a deliberate hindrance that makes sense within the game's skill-based challenge. If we are choosing a movie on a streaming service's interface, the last thing we want is an infinite number of graphical elements or flashing lights getting in the way of reading a review or accessing a movie or series' trailer.

Everything can be reconfigured, re-signified, and remodeled in terms of UX.

Perhaps the great differentiator of your game is a "mistake" in UX standards. The experiences on other platforms help us to compose something more concise and impactful. The game Baba is You is famous for allowing the player to interfere with the level's programming and change the behavior of the elements on the screen. Every level of Baba is You starts with some error or problem in the interface, and you have to move programming blocks to reconfigure the scenario and solve the game's puzzles.

To do this, you need a repertoire. You need to play everything, to experience everything in playful terms. Mixing experiences from other areas—not just games—is also a differentiator that can be surprising in terms of user experience. Above all, most of the time we are not going to develop games for ourselves or for audiences who are similar to us. The exercise of alterity and putting yourself in the target audience's shoes is what will make a difference when creating the experience.

#GoGamers

About the idea of “kingmaker” in games

A kingmaker in the context of gaming refers to a player or faction that, while unlikely to win themselves, possesses significant influence over the outcome of the game by supporting or hindering other players. This pivotal role arises from their ability to tip the scales in favor of one contender over another, effectively deciding who will emerge victorious. Their power often stems from holding critical resources, controlling strategic positions, or wielding sufficient military strength to sway the balance of power.

The kingmaker's motivations can vary widely, ranging from self-preservation and a desire to see a specific rival fail, to strategic alliances that promise future benefits or simply the enjoyment of manipulating the game's dynamics from a position of relative safety.



The emergence of a kingmaker introduces a fascinating layer of strategic depth and negotiation to a game. Players vying for victory must consider not only their direct opponents but also how to court or neutralize the kingmaker's influence. This can involve offering concessions, forming temporary alliances, or even attempting to eliminate the kingmaker if their interference becomes too detrimental. For the kingmaker, their position offers a unique opportunity to experience the game from a different perspective, often involving complex calculations about long-term consequences and the satisfaction of shaping the narrative without bearing the full burden of direct competition. This dynamic often leads to intense diplomatic exchanges and unexpected shifts in power. Ultimately, the kingmaker phenomenon highlights the intricate social and strategic dimensions inherent in many multiplayer games. It underscores that victory is not always a linear path but can be heavily influenced by external factors and the interplay of player relationships. Recognizing and understanding the role of a kingmaker is crucial for both aspiring champions and those who find themselves in this powerful, albeit indirect, position. Their presence transforms a simple contest into a complex web of alliances, betrayals, and strategic maneuvering, making the game experience richer and more unpredictable.

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The origin of Mario’s iconic jump sound

Today I want to share a masterclass of sound design. Enjoy it!



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What defines a good digital prototype in game design?

A digital prototype within the context of professional game development serves as a crucial instrument for validating core concepts and mitigating risks before committing significant resources. Unlike paper prototypes or conceptual documents, a digital prototype offers an interactive, albeit rudimentary, representation of the intended player experience. Its primary function is not aesthetic fidelity or feature completeness, but rather the tangible exploration of fundamental mechanics, systems interactions, and the overall game loop. A truly effective digital prototype transcends mere technical demonstration; it becomes a dynamic testbed for design hypotheses, enabling teams to confront and evaluate the experiential core of their project early in the lifecycle.


Some screenshots from the digital prototype of my last game The Perilous Chapel

The hallmark of a superior digital prototype, particularly for seasoned game designers, lies in its inherent capacity to facilitate rapid and meaningful iteration. The development landscape is characterized by constant refinement, and a prototype's value is directly proportional to how efficiently it allows designers to test variations, implement feedback, and pivot based on empirical findings. This iterative potential is paramount. A good prototype is architected for change, allowing for swift adjustments to core mechanics, control schemes, or system parameters without requiring extensive refactoring. It prioritizes flexibility and modularity, enabling designers to isolate variables, conduct focused playtests, and gather actionable data that informs subsequent design decisions, ultimately accelerating the journey towards a compelling and well-tuned gameplay experience.

So, while various factors contribute to a prototype's utility, its effectiveness for professional game designers is most significantly defined by its ability to serve as a catalyst for iteration. A good digital prototype is not merely a proof-of-concept but an adaptable experimental platform. It provides clear, interactive feedback on core gameplay, is structured for efficient modification, and empowers design teams to refine their vision through cycles of testing and adjustment. Investing in the creation of prototypes optimized for iteration is therefore not just a best practice, but a strategic imperative for navigating the complexities of modern game development and increasing the probability of delivering a successful final product.

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My new game was launched!

It is with great joy that I announce the launch of my new game, THE PERILOUS CHAPEL. This extremely experimental game is based on the homonymous horror short story by my friend Oscar Nestarez. To play, click here or on the image below. The game is available in English and Portuguese and it's free to play (but you can support with a donnation).



The game is a partnership between my independent label ABYSSTRAKT GAMES and the publisher T4 Interactive. Hope you enjoy it!

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