My Role Playing Perils

Starfield is on the horizon, and I find myself lost before even entering the unknown.

I have always found myself drawn to the hypnotic potential of role playing video games. Burying myself into infinite stat lists, menus, and weapon bios in a world with centuries of history and lore promises if nothing else, an engaging experience. One cannot meaningfully interact with an RPG and not become connected to the setting the game takes place in, the mechanics the world presents, or character they have created. At least, that’s the idea.

With the release of Bethesda’s latest RPG behemoth on the horizon in “Starfield,” I have felt the familiar interest return. Once again, I find myself dreaming of the adventures I’ll find myself in throughout the vast expanses of space as my own unique person in a world completely divorced from reality. This fantasy was interrupted, however, when I came to realize that I had been playing RPGs incorrectly my entire life. Not once have I ever engaged with an RPG in the way it was seemingly intended, my entire gaming experience has been hampered due to one crucial error: I never role played as anyone but myself. 

Youtuber Razbuten (Raz) has an incredible video essay titled “Roleplaying in Video Games (and why I barely do it)” that inspired this thought. In the video, Raz explains how in tabletop RPGs, it is effortless for him to roleplay as a made up character in a fantasy world. He would make decisions his character would, speak in the same tongue, engage in the same behavior; Raz would embody his character whenever sitting at his table, dice in hand that might as well be a sword and shield. However, he struggled to perform this same action when playing an RPG video game for a number of reasons. The video sees Raz attempting to roleplay as a character in “Outer Wilds,” a first person space exploration RPG similar to Bethesda’s latest. While the experience was fruitful, there were a number of observations he made that lead him to believe that he may not see roleplaying as a certain character as the most optimal way of actually engaging with a role playing game. To prepare myself for “Starfield,” as I am most definitely going to get and play the life out of that game, I have decided to interrogate my own role playing habits in the past to determine how I might want to approach what seems to be a role playing juggernaut. With Bethesda touting “Starfield” as being infinitely replayable and exploratory, what better game is there for me to lose myself in, and become someone new. 

Most of my roleplaying experience comes from playing other Bethesda titles. “Fallout 4” and “Skyrim” are the two Bethesda RPGs I have the most experience with, and ironically, have never played in the way they’re seemingly meant to. On every character creation screen I mold the waxy human model into something resembling myself, choose perks I find interesting instead of fitting for my character’s backstory, and always have the same first and last name regardless of race or background. “Nick the Nord” is the legendary hero of Skyrim, as is “Nick the Dark Elf” in my second playthrough, or “Nick the Bounty Hunter” in Fallout 4. Typically, I’d craft a character build that I simply find the most enjoyable, usually being some combination of every mechanic the game allows me to interact with, as after all, I bought this game with my own money, why would I not engage with all it has to offer? My experiences with RPGs when approached this way usually have a similar conclusion as well; my eventual disinterest in, and parting from, the game world and character I created. After all, it’s not like anyone will miss me, it’s just a game. My character is a vessel I embody, not actually the father to an estranged son or Nordic warrior saving the world. For whatever reason, I have always struggled to connect with the game world’s so many find utterly enthralling. Despite restarting “Skyrim” dozens of times, I’m not sure I have ever beaten the main story. I certainly remember finishing “Fallout 4,” but the decisions made and characters created were lost to time and memory.

The most obvious reason for my role playing struggles is perspective. In a third person action adventure game like “God of War: Ragnarok,” I see Kratos as separate from myself partially due to the camera. Having Kratos’ hulking frame always visible is a constant reminder of a third party in the date that exists between me and the game. I am not Kratos, and I am not in Midgard, he is his own entity that I happen to be controlling. However, this changes when my perspective is placed into the eyes of a nameless, voiceless character that anyone can impart their identity onto. For this reason, a first person RPG like Skyrim, to me, has always invited a self insertion into a character that refutes the imagination that goes into creating someone unique. Without any key distinguishers to differentiate myself from my character, why would I decide to play as anyone but, well, myself? The simple solution is to make a character that looks different from myself, throw on a different name and play in third person, as that is a consistent option in most Bethesda RPGs. This solution is far from satisfactory however, as it reveals one of the inherent weaknesses in first person RPGs, that in the end, the storytelling and gameplay limits are not defined by creativity, but technology. 

It is easy to see how immersion is crucial to roleplaying. In a stage play, the illusion is maintained by the components of the medium and a suspension of disbelief from the audience member. A viewer is never tricked into believing that a play is real, that a live war wages mere feet from their seat or a ghost is truly haunting an invisible opera that is definitely real. Despite this, actors do not call each other by their real names or address the audience, as it would deconstruct the illusion both parties are working to construct. In video games however, it seems as though much more of the immersion creating is in the developer’s hands. Highest fidelity graphics are an expectation in open world RPGs, as are expansive dialogue options, little to no bugs, and infinite freedom. The confines of a video game are only determined by the technology that projects the graphics on our screens, whereas a tabletop RPG has no such limitation. And thus, we have a spectrum. On the one hand we have video game RPGs, which lay the responsibility of immersion onto the developer, where on the other we have tabletop games, which places the responsibility onto the player and their imagination. In between we have media like the stage play, which relies on the belief and maintenance of the immersive illusion from both the developer and viewer. The issue arises when realizing that technology at the moment is simply too limited to create a completely immersive experience, which is yet to take into account the fact my space-odyssey is developed by the same company that has deadlines and a profit margin that forces the release of unpolished games. Skyrim’s world never looked or felt real enough for me to believe in. The textures are muddy, the NPC’s are repetitive and simple, and the entire game simply feels fake. With combat akin to two mannequins swinging their static limbs at each other, Skyrim never felt…real enough to role play in. A character will never say my unique name, or reference a moment from my character’s past. Instead, I can try to talk to “Citizen” where they tell me the local tavern is a real hoot on Heart’s Day. Not to mention that Bethesda’s games are already notorious for being riddled with immersion breaking bugs that fans have to patch themselves through mods. Meaning, the roleplaying experience is hindered simply by the fact that these worlds are hard for me to believe in. Similar to the issue of perspective, I could see this being unique to Bethesda RPGs, or first person RPGs in general, as games like the original Fallout are not chasing real world fidelity, allowing for a suspension of disbelief that made 2D sprite pokemon battles seem just like the anime, while the 3D models in Sword and Shield only serve to remind the player they are, in fact, playing a video game. In summary, it is the game making its gaminess apparent that hinders the role playing experience.

Besides immersion via technology, there is the sense of immersion that comes with narrative  and player agency that are too limited by the fact my journey exists in a game, and not in one’s imagination. For example, say I want my character in Skyrim to begin as a morally dubious smuggler who learns through thieving in the new realm of Skyrim that his passion is really a cover for deep insecurity; he hides as a thief for his livelihood because he is afraid of connecting with others in his personal life. Now, how do I manifest this in game? Are there mechanics that would even facilitate this story properly? A player’s character is limited by the option’s the game presents, meaning I could be roleplaying Theodoro the Disquiet thief up until the point I realize his arc is not a viable one to execute in this style of game. Similarly, what if the arc is interrupted by events the game presents as necessary to occur? Any main quest that involves companions would immediately halt my character’s arc, but if it’s required for the game’s story, then my character arc is rendered mute. The lack of dynamism in game design is not the fault of the developers, it is simply impossible to make a game that accommodates for every decision in every situation for every player’s character, and as a result, I often find myself struggling to maintain a role that can contradict with the very DNA of a game. For example, my thief will always also be the noble, heroic dragonborn destined to save Skyrim. In Fallout 4, my heartless, murdering mercenary will always be a sympathetic father looking for his son. 

Finally, there is the issue of mechanical immersion. In his video, Raz mentions how roleplaying in “Outer Wilds” was not as fun as his previous RPG experiences. Playing as an out-of-the-game pilot who is addicted to drugs with a failing body, Raz opted to interact with gameplay mechanics that actively made the experience less enjoyable. While it certainly added to the immersion, was this experience fun? Ultimately, this leads to the question of why one even chooses to engage with an RPG in the first place. For me, partially due to the aforementioned issue of perspective, I never even thought of playing as anyone but myself. “What would I do in this world?” is the only question that drives my playing experience, never that of an imaginary character and their motivations, desires, etc. As someone who has limited time to engage with video games in general, much less ones that can last hundreds of hours, I simply approach RPGs with the mindset of having fun. If there is a mechanic that I personally don’t want to engage with due to presumed boredom but would be logical for my character to interact with, I am more likely to follow my own whims than my protagonist’s. Similarly, if I see a fun mechanic, why would I restrain myself from it? I find it difficult to act in accordance with someone else's interests when there are so many factors already hindering my ability to place myself in someone else’s shoes, so when the options presented are “maintain the illusion by forcing yourself into a less entertaining experience” or “play your own way,” my answer is usually clear. However, I can see how the former is part of what makes the roleplaying experience enjoyable. Making decisions one personally wouldn’t for the sake of playing their character is a core appeal to roleplaying, and to approach an RPG video game in a similar way myself would require a shift in mindset and prioritization when playing. 

Mechanical immersion doesn’t just separate players from their character with the amount of options available to them, but also in what isn’t. Similar to the technological limitations affecting narrative and player agency/choice, games cannot allow a player to solve every problem in whichever way they choose. I cannot recall how many times I’ve attempted to enter a building, or talk to an NPC a certain way only for the game to tell me that is not an option. Once again, my made up character is struck with the reality that they are in a game, and that I am the one controlling them. Role playing as an agile, stealthy Elf only to get stuck on level geometry or be reminded that a window is actually just a texture instead of a viable entrance are only a few examples of the many ways a player is limited in how their character can be realized in game. 

All of this being said, I have come to see the value of roleplaying as a character in-game. After all, my experiences with Bethesda games have always been one’s defined by disappointment. Rarely do I finish a Bethesda RPG when I play as myself. Limitations lead to creativity and memorable experiences. Instead of becoming a jack of all trades, leader of every faction, hero of Skyrim, roleplaying as a thief and managing the limitations of that is an experience unto itself, one that would undoubtedly force me to engage with the game in ways I am unfamiliar with. Entering “Starfield,” I then wonder, is it me that makes RPGs so difficult to connect with, or the game’s own limitations? If I open myself up to the challenge of playing as a fictional character, will Bethesda’s latest allow me the freedom and immersion to believe in that character? To get the most of that experience? Or will my suspension of disbelief have to increase in order to achieve a satisfying RPG experience? The nature of first person RPGs is inherently contradictory due to the unique position they exist in; they must be realistic, but impossibly so while giving players infinite opportunities to do whatever they please. The illusion has to have maximum fidelity while maintaining said fantasy, and while this is an impossible task, it can certainly be made easier by an open-minded player. I hope to be just that when playing “Starfield,” either as myself, or a new space explorer ready to take on a journey of his own.