The new Zelda game offers valuable lessons in open-ended puzzle-solving and intriguing game design.
Imagine this, dear adventurer: you’re on your regularly scheduled world-saving quest when – surprise! – a locked door stands in your way. Do you (A) search the room for a key, (B) pick the lock, or (C) try to bash through the door?
Although it may seem straightforward, the way a video game allows you to navigate through these symbolic barriers reveals a lot about its gameplay design. I’ve been thinking about obstacles, tools, and solutions ever since I’ve finished the recent Zelda game, so – double surprise! This article is actually just an excuse for me to talk about The Legend Of Zelda: Echoes Of Wisdom (EoW).
I loved the game, and there’s a lot I want to share, from its adorably cutesy, toy-like aesthetics and the fact that you get to play as Zelda to how it’s just a fun playground that’s a welcome introduction to Zelda beginners... but I will refrain, as this isn’t a full review, as we already have one at bit.ly/tech_zelda.
I’m just here to examine the EoW game design and how its flexible puzzle and problem- solving mechanics create interesting and creative gameplay. Now, let’s explore the concept of those metaphorical doors!
Walls and ways
Puzzles/obstacles/challenges in adventure games like the Zelda series can be thought of as a series of locked doors that, if designed properly, make your journey more interesting.
On one end, there’s your goal: a treasure chest you want to reach or a cute green-tunicked boy you need to rescue. Between you and that goal, there’s a metaphorical locked door in the way – a chasm that needs to be crossed, a monster that needs to be beaten, or, erm, an actual physical locked door. (Hey, metaphors can be literal sometimes.)
The tools, abilities, or Echoes (items and monsters you can copy-paste into the world using EoW’s amazing new mechanic) you use to solve these challenges are therefore the metaphorical keys you can use to unlock these doors, whether it’s the ability to jump across that chasm, a sword to slay that monster, or simply the ability to press certain buttons in the right order to unlock that door.
This is a pretty simple concept to imagine, but the big idea that I’ve observed introduced in recent Zelda games – from Breath Of The Wild (BotW) to Tears Of The Kingdom (TotK) to EoW – is that a good locked door can be opened by many different keys.In EoW, most puzzles/obstacles/etc have multiple ways of solving them. Chasm blocking your way to a treasure chest? Build a bridge with a series of beds. Or, a trampoline and bird combo to fly across. Or, climb around the gap with spiders. Take your pick!
Contrast this with classic Zelda games – say, the remastered Link’s Awakening (which started the cute, toy-like aesthetics) or A Link To The Past. If you see a chasm, the only way you’re getting across is if you have the specific hookshot (namely, grappling hook) that was built to solve that obstacle. A classic locked door has exactly one key intended by the game designers.
A lack of a boat won’t stop Princess Zelda from crossing this ocean in EoW, because she has a water bed. Heyo!
As a corollary, a good key should also open multiple doors. The humble bed in EoW isn’t just useful as a bridge – it also works as a ladder and a boat (it’s buoyant!), and, well, it’s a bed. Zelda can actually sleep in it to regain hearts, so if you’re particularly brave (or sleepy), you can take actual naps in the middle of boss fights.
Freedom and complexity
I’m not sure if there’s a better way of describing the “old” and “new” philosophies of designing Zelda puzzles, so I’m just going to call them “classic single-solution puzzles” and “open-ended problem solving” respectively.
To be clear, I’m not saying that classic single-solution puzzles are bad design, but I am saying that the new way of open-ended problem solving allows for something different: freedom of player expression.
This freedom ensures that, despite the puzzles being identical, each player can create a unique narrative about how they solved them, which can create a lasting impression. “How did you reach the end of Florp Blorp Shrine in BotW?”, you ask. “I carefully created a bridge with Magnesis”, says one friend. “I slowed time and dropped a bomb at my feet, turning myself into a relativistic missile”, says another, whose terrifying speed-running ways you’ll never comprehend.
However, open-ended puzzle/problem design can come with some design issues – things that can lead to player frustration if the game designer isn’t careful. The most obvious, of course, is complexity: when you have a lot of tools/abilities/Echoes that can interact with puzzles, the world, and each other, the runaway combinatorial complexity of locks and keys can frazzle any brain.
EoW solves the problem in several ways, and believe it or not, those cutesy, toylike visuals are actually doing a lot of the heavy lifting. It communicates to players that this game isn’t realistic, and a game that uses cartoon aesthetics can get away with cartoon logic.
Stacking beds in EoW works because it “makes sense” in a Tetris sort of logic, and you don’t need to worry about the centre of mass. Grabbing a bird lets Zelda fly because they flap their wings really hard, so let’s not worry about aerodynamics. Cartoon logic doesn’t need to be realistic, it just needs to be consistent, interesting, and make just a tiny bit of sense.
A simple, consistent, and obvious game rule like ‘fire burns wood’ can lead to creative solutions by the player. What kinds of ‘fire’ do I have, and how do I get it to the wood?
EoW’s (semi-)2D view and invisible grid-like design of the world map also helps constrain the dimensions that players need to think about – and that’s great for more casual players.
A fully 3D and more realistic open-ended problem-solving game like TotK lets players do more things, of course, but only a hardcore player and/or maniac needs the level of fine control and physics simulation that lets them construct a functional fighter jet to bomb a Bokoblin camp.
Roguish solutions
A less obvious design issue, however, and one that EoW doesn’t address, is the danger of super-optimal solutions – the problem when players find a key that’s so good at opening so many doors, they never bother experimenting with anything else.
For example, I’ve grown an unhealthy obsession with relying on the Crow Echo as my default solution to everything. Need to fight monsters? Crows. Unreachable rupee? Crows! Editor telling me to get to the point? Crows!
This is fine if you want the game to be welcoming and easy for players, as is the case with EoW. But, if a game designer wants their game to challenge players, they need to consider adding limitations to the tools and abilities the players have.
You might think at this point I’m going to compare EoW’s infinite-use Echoes with BotW’s and TotK’s breakable weapons and how weapon durability forces players to experiment instead of relying on a single weapon and how some players disliked that, but, ha – triple surprise, this article is also an excuse for me to talk about Streets Of Rogue (SoR)!
SoR is a chaotic roguelike set in a madcap world that also has a brilliant take on open-ended problem-solving game design – but it contrasts so much with EoW’s design of locked doors and keys.
(Full disclosure: I recently won a signed copy of SoR from a Twitter contest/giveaway, so I may have some positive bias, but nobody has to pay me to talk about a game I’ve been playing for nearly half a decade with my (slightly insane) Aussie friend.)
Anyway, like with EoW, SoR’s locked doors have many solutions, and its keys can open many different doors. You can break into a guarded compound through the (literal) front door, through the windows, or even through the walls if you have the right explosives.
You can go in quietly, or you can go loud. You can use a wrench as a weapon or as a tool for sabotaging generators. You have so, so many options. (Some of which might even not kill you!)
EoW has puzzles like ‘how do I get past this door?’. SoR has problems like ‘how do I get past this mob of police officers fighting off a zombie apocalypse that's rampaging through the city and that has demolished every door I hoped to hide behind?’
The difference with SoR is that both its locked doors (the missions and the obstacles within them) and its keys (the items) are almost completely randomised. And most tools and weapons have limited uses/durability to boot.
The result of this randomisation and limitation is that super-optimal solutions are practically impossible – you can never consistently get the perfect tool and the perfect opportunity to use them.
More often than not, you have to improvise with whatever stuff you have: sometimes the Wall Bypasser only has one charge left, so you can sneak into the guarded compound easily but have to start blasting to get out. Sometimes you have to use your last remaining rocket launcher not as a weapon but as a distraction so your friend can sneak past some guards.
And sometimes, just sometimes, you almost manage to finish a mission perfectly, but then your mad Aussie friend starts a fistfight in the adjacent zoo, and now you need to use all your weapons and tools just to survive the ensuing riot.
The only reason SoR can get away with this sort of unfair, inconsistent gameplay madness is because it’s a roguelike, and randomisation (as well as hilarious failure) is part of the genre. It’s a lesson that, in game design, even the idea of open-ended problem design can be fine-tuned to cater to different kinds of players.
EoW is friendly and welcoming to new players. SoR, meanwhile, caters to the mad, demented, gremlin-like players who revel in self-inflicted pain and unrelenting chaos. I can’t wait for SoR 2 to come out!
Enhancing player experience
Open-ended puzzle design is something I’m looking forward to seeing in more games, as I really enjoy the exercise in creative problem solving.
If you haven’t picked up on it yet, EoW is a game I strongly recommend, especially to more casual players. But if you like a more chaotic experience, keep an eye on SoR and its upcoming sequel.
The next time you encounter a metaphorical locked door in a Zelda or Zelda-like game, I hope you’ll take a moment to consider how the puzzle is designed and how the number of solutions available to you tells you a lot about the kind of player experience the game developers intended for you.
And the next time you encounter an actual locked door, I hope you know how to open it, because – quadruple surprise! This article is also actually a plea for help! I accidentally locked myself in my writing office and can’t get out – someone please call a locksmith!
