Murder Most Foul

I had an interesting experience at the table - where a friend of mine walked away with some pretty negative emotions around a game. It’s really making me think critically about how I interact with games, act at the table, and what I can do better in my designs. It is a little bit of a bitter lesson – but first some context.

Murder

We played Deception on Friday. It’s a nice little social deduction game with a murderer, who is, well, trying to get away with murder. The lead investigator tries to lead the rest of the investigators in solving the crime, by sharing clues about the murder.

It was one of our friend’s turn to be the lead investigator. She had us all close our eyes. Had the murder open theirs and select their mode of murder, and evidence. And we started the round. Clues were shared, we debated who might be guilty, but nothing seemed to fit.

We went through another round. Still nothing, we weren’t getting closer, if anything we were standing still, but really each clue left us more baffled then before. 

We all pitched in our accusations. And all of us came up wrong. The murderer escaped justice, and in a grand moment swept back the curtain and revealed that it was them all along, with the “dumbbell”, leaving “stockings” behind at the scene.

It made no sense.

The lead investigator had misread the “stockings” card, and thought it was “robotics”, with the image on it being a robotic limb.

We let out a collective laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and the audacity with which the murderer escaped the long arm of justice.

It was all in good fun. We were a few beers deep, the lighting was dim (and colored), and our lead investigator was about as far across the table from the murderer as she could be. No one could blame her. Except herself.

There’s More to Every Story

In the moment she smiled and laughed off her mistake, but later told me that it was a really negative moment for her. She’s dyslexic, and so ever since she was a kid, reading in public has been an anxiety inducing activity.

Miss-reading a card across the table brought her back to middle-school, and the situation wasn’t helped by our reactions (even if they were good natured).

She told me that it is the kind of thing she worries about and a reason why she sometimes sits games out.

It is a tough lesson from both a game design, and personal perspective. We can never fully understand people’s motivations, anxieties, and experience. Something innocuous to us can be meaningful, or painful to someone else.

And as gamers, and game designers, the last thing that we want is for someone to walk away from the table with a bitter taste in their mouth.

Not all negative experiences can be avoided, or mitigated, and it isn’t always reasonable to police ourselves when a situation feels light.

But, Friday’s game is making me re-assess how I approach games, and how I can ensure that our games are accessible, and welcoming for everyone.

From a design perspective, this means intuitive rules, solid UI design, and avoiding mechanics that are overly punishing, or will make someone feel stupid for their mistakes.

At the table I’m trying to be more aware of the players around me, and sensitive to the fact that games aren’t a comfortable and safe activity for everyone I play with.

How can we ensure our games can better accommodate all players?