he art of an engaging story is constantly explored when it comes to the realm of video games, and still has an exponential amount to expand regardless of the advances that we have made so far. Storytelling is a factor that’s gained more and more focus in elevating the video game experience to another level. Jesse Schell, author of The Art of Games, takes the stage and talks about the likelihood that we will have the Shakespeare of games. The crowd gradually quiets down the excitement of his session introduction, and takes notice to what the luminary has to say for the future of the medium.
The elemental tetrad of modern game design focuses on four fundamental components: aesthetics, mechanics, technology, and story. Most often than not, story is the lowest point of attention 
because of what the elements compromise when designing a game is concerned. It is because of this that the issue with storytelling is often to the par in that which the emphasis placed mainly on the urgency to flesh out the core of the gameplay and what drives it so that the player can attune themselves and move on from there; the story simply exists to justify the mechanics—why not have the mechanics justify the story?
In order to deliver a stellar game, most studios focus on the verb diagram, which centers around actions like running, shooting, jumping, climbing, throwing, casting, punching, or flying and so-on and so forth.
These verbs accentuate the physical dynamics of movement and agency within a game. Schell wanted to bring attention to the verbs that would reinforce the dialectics of gaming along the lines of talking, asking, negotiating, complaining, pleading, and similar actions. These verbs he incites suggest that because games get so involved as you pilot the protagonist through the series of events taking place within the title, you’re always feeling some sense of control because of the responses attributing to action that you take into your own hands. With socializing, however, there runs a much deeper risk: One that demands the dialectic nature that you can never fully be in control of regardless of skill for socializing. There’s really no such skill, because reason is never acknowledged by all beings. When control shifts in this manner and we rely on the response of other characters within the story, the connection of interaction becomes coated with engagement, and we must now work with what we know based on how we would interpret whatever the cause and effect would be. In some circumstances, the results can be tragic, which leads to Schell’s next point.
The element of tragedy is no stranger when it comes to the narrative of video games, but the use of such a hook has often felt disingenuous to the overall arc of the story when the framework of the game is applied to it. Schell made reference to a certain particular flower girl’s death from a popular little RPG, and the alumnus went on to clarify that genuine tragedy is missing. When it occurs in order to serve a different purpose for character development that enhances the gameplay or some factor then the story falls into a scripted cliché. Now if the tragedy itself could be avoided, then the weight of the event is lifted from the mere click to reload a previous checkpoint. Schell did acknowledge that tragedy has been successfully done in a game before, but far from the general artistic standard. And when it is successfully implemented, the element of unification is lost, which brought on his next point.
In the most layered stories, regardless of how many events would differ from one player’s experience to the other, the ending rarely changed if it was changed at all. The lack of unification slowly tears down the artifice that the fiction weaves in order to make the player feel like they accomplished a real difference near the end of the title. The ending obviously reveals that it was predetermined and ordained from the beginning of the story at point A, no matter what took place prior to arriving at point B.
It is then with these criticisms that Schell points out the first course of action to happen in order for storytelling to evolve within games, and he aptly used a comparison involving the evolution of film. Film struggled to be acknowledged as a serious form of media due to the limitations of silent film at the time. It was when film began portraying sound and speech from its actors that it was recognized as a respectable form of media. It was then in this event that Schell made this comparison in order to get his point across; where films needed to learn to talk, games must learn to listen.
How do we start such a venture for the future? Schell brings up the elemental tetrad and explains that key things need to happen. Instead of evolving the story element itself, the future of the medium needs to improve from the characters that are created. Once fleshed out, technology needs to pave the way for AI in these characters to be interactive and borderline self-aware.
Whenever you turn on a game, you’re essentially refreshing the opportunity to experience or continue something from a completely static bookmark where the characters and narrative pick up wherever this bookmark left off on. Schell introduces the idea of AI that’s cognizant to not only your presence, but that also personally identifies you and speaks with you. Lionhead Studios attempted something like this with their short stint involving the Kinect Milo, but the project shortly became vaporware after its reveal. The concept may never have been fully realized during development, but the direction it took showed great promise from a technical standpoint alone, but for the ease of simulating interactivity on a whole new level.
Schell then explained that in order to deliver amazing story that the demographic of players must be considered as well in which he called the four venues of gaming. Each venue is its own play style, habit and behavior when it comes to into playing the games and what they would appreciate from as a 
gaming consumer. The list according to Schell is made up of The Hearth, The Reading Nook, Anywhere, and Workbench. The most ideal environments and play styles that would be able to take the most out of storytelling are the reading nook and the work bench, the solitude and personal bridge that’s established just from the venue’s playing.
This being said, the personal environment and conditions of the venue give for the best outlet to attempt the immersion. The tech is there to some extent; developers just need to use it. Mass Effect 3 was used as an interesting example considering that the voice activation mechanic is a bit simple and nowhere near robust enough to be considered AI. Whenever Shepherd engages in a dialogue situation with another character—players with Kinects are able to speak the choices within the dialogue tree instead of choosing them by controller and Shepherd responds accordingly—Schell points out that what you read aloud, text within the tree isn’t repeated or even paraphrased by the space soldier. Instead, it’s used as a direction to exchange conversation towards that particular point, as if you are intentionally an existential asset observing the situation, and working alongside Shepherd to make it happen. If retooled and developed significantly, AI can take these elements and bridge immersion in completely different way.
Schell’s visions may be oddly specific, but the path to evolve storytelling with this new outlook and these rules have the potential to usher a new revolution for video games to expand into a recognized form of expression for those developers wishing to stand up and take charge.