Apologies for the length.
Handling Downtime
So the adventurers return from the dungeon and hang out in town for awhile. At this point the narrative lulls. We learn about Elan’s sensitivity (#128), get more proof of Haley’s deceitful greed (#129), and watch as the loot is divvied up (#130).
The question is: is it okay for the narrative to lull? If so, how does one lull well? Dungeon crawlers handle these moments very well. Beating a dungeon is fun, but it’s probably more fun to go back to town and play around with new gear loadouts. You sell some stuff, equip the new goodies, etc.
Since I can’t control any of the PCs in OOTS, that excitement of min-maxing isn’t there. Burlew tries to sidestep this problem by doing a string of gags between the character and the shopkeeps. Roy tries to buy a polearm from a guy who has no inventory, Durkon tries out an increasingly bizarre series of armor options. As of strip 300, Burlew still hasn’t made me laugh, but I’m not too irritated by the humor. Easy enough to just click next.
Besides some jokes, Burlew uses a technique that I quite like: finding the cloud in every silver lining. By which I mean that some ominous stuff happens, even in the midst of the triumph. For instance, I think V’s ring will harm him, so there’s some tension between my reaction to it and his. (Burlew already did this “not so fast” move with #120.)
Another trick Burlew uses to hold our interest when nothing is really happening: revelations. Popular writing advice makes way too big a deal out of conflict, which is too narrow a term. “Disturbance” is what you’re looking for. Conflict connotes competition between characters. A disturbance can take any shape – even a letter.
In #131 we learn that Haley’s greed is actually altruism – she’s trying to scrounge up ransom for her imprisoned father. A clever move for three reasons: one, Haley was kind of a bummer, because she belonged to a regressive class of female character, the minx; two, it introduces a new plot thread and character; three, it is action without being an action. So while nobody has done anything – Ian Starshine was imprisoned whether or not we knew it – the letter reveal disturbs the story. Information can change characters (in our eyes) as much as, say, a vampiric transformation.
Video Game Storytelling
Burlew seems to have internalized the quest model of storytelling. In #134, Roy chats with a blacksmith about reforging his sword. He’s told he needs starmetal to do it, and receives helpful instructions to the “exact center o’ Wooden Forest.” Roy is skeptical. “So you, a complete stranger, are telling me that I need to go into dangerous territory and bring back some of this ‘starmetal’ for you, and then you can fix my sword.”
I haven’t liked the meta elements of the story, since they’ve so far just been a channel for easy jokes. But here’s a definite advantage to metafiction. When Roy then says, “Goddamn it, I hate side quests,” Burlew can comment on just how contrived the set up is. That maintains the reader’s confidence in him – so long as we know that he knows this is contrived, then we’re willing to take the ride.
So: is the quest good storytelling? It’s certainly been around forever. Hercules’ twelve labors could be ported directly to World of Warcraft. Do these 12 things, get immortality. The challenge and rewards are clear. What’s the upside of this, and why’s it so prevalent in stories? It sets up two levels of expectation. By outlining the forthcoming challenge, the reader can anticipate, and anticipation/surprise are the active ingredients in any page turner. The predictable stuff – they’ll go into the forest and fight some mobs – gives the reader a sense of where we’re going, and therefore makes the surprising stuff more surprising.
Then there is the reward, or incentive. Narratives prioritize motivations, even if neuroscience suggests we don’t really understand our own motivations for doing things. Another oddity: the only incentive that really matters is the one that appeals to me. If it only appeals to the character, the author must somehow make me feel that appeal vicariously – otherwise I’ll stop reading. Right now I have no interest in the status of Roy’s ancestral sword. What would make me care about it? If it, reforged, can have an effect on the world. In traditional stories like Burlew’s, the things that matter are those that are instrumental. The precise quality of a Macguffin is not important: just its potential impact.
But it turns out we’re actually doing the starmetal quest. Kind of surprising, since as of #134, the sword’s value is only sentimental, so the sword doesn’t matter to me either way – Roy isn’t Martin the Warrior, or anything. Roy has to convince each character to come along. Once more Burlew has an opportunity to highlight the character’s motivations, and some characters have better motivations than others. Haley needs cash for a good reason, so that’s fine. Vaarsuvius could make some magical stuff with starmetal, though we don’t know what those items could be. Belkar joins for the opportunity to kill giants and assuage his little man complex. Elan joins because he’s needy. Durkon joins for the hell of it. (Durkon continues to be the flattest character, just ahead of Vaarsuvius.)
Moving on
They get horses, and realize that nobody knows how to ride – except for Elan (#141). Haley is impressed: “Gotta love a man on a noble steed.” I’m really dubious that this comic can pull off a credible romance. More likely, they get together and then something really dreadful happens to one of the two.
Ah! Interesting! In #142, it turns out that the starmetal thing is a wild goose chase orchestrated by Nale, who’s trying to distract the Order. (Again, Burlew is scoring points as a plotter. Having your reader’s trust is huge.) Nale’s got his own plans, like restocking his roster and… other evil stuff. I have some issues with the supervillain routine of Nale and Xykon, but… eh. In the world of D&D true blue villains exist. They shake things up, so they are instrumental (in a way the sword of Roy isn’t).
By #160 we’re into the woods, Elan’s been captured, and he’s trying to sleep his way out of it. Haley is predictably jealous – I hope Burlew jukes this storyline somehow – and Elan’s lady friend gets into it with Haley. (It’s at this point that I notice the misogynistic streak in the storytelling. See below for citations.) The Elan/Haley thing continues in #184. Still not interested in it. I think Elan’s too dull so far. In #200 he says “I like you in one big Haley-shaped piece, so try to come back that way.” I feel like I’m watching The Princess Bride, but not in the good way.
Running in parallel to the Order’s forest hijinks is a bit about Xykon reclaiming his power and stumbling into an army of hobgoblins. We learn about Xykon’s big plot in #196.
The blue cloaked figure turns out to be a lady named Miko – a potential love interest for Roy, whom he turns out to hate. The story is really lagging as of 211. The starmetal thing is a bust, now the Order is headed off to the Asian-inspired town. Not too much grabbed my attention here. There’s a farce at an inn, inspired by “Who’s on First?” That leads to some mistaken identities and gender-bending, which is a little intriguing. (I’m mostly impressed at how dutiful Burlew is in tying up plot threads. He loves his Chekhov’s guns – the gender-bending belt was discovered in #009.)
In Azure Town, they get brought up on charges of threatening existence, or something. It’s all a ruse by Lord Shojo to retain their services in a very standard D&D quest. There are these gates, and if they aren’t protected chaos itself will destroy the world. The Order is exonerated, they agree to stay together, and they get outfitted for their next attack on Xykon.
