How does one go about making a massive role-playing game? Find out.
by Dene and Simon Carter

June 14, 2002 - Surely it's everyone's dream to start their own game development studio? The promise of creative freedom; the opportunity to work with talented, like-minded individuals; the certain knowledge that every long friendless night spent getting a monitor sun-tan is worth it? In 1985 we made a solemn, brotherly vow that, one day, we'd give it a go - just as soon as Simon got through puberty. It only took us 13 years to put the plan in motion, and after 2 months of pointless, exhaustive wrangling over the company name Dene uttered the historic words 'Oh bugger, I don't suppose Big Blue Box sounds too stupid does it?'

Choosing your studio's first game isn't easy. Finding financial backing is obviously the number one priority, and publishers prefer risky, untested startup companies to be fairly conservative with their design proposals. If you don't want your proposal to be dropped quicker than a poo sandwich then your first game should follow the 'Three Golden Rules of the Startup':

1. The game should be small in scale, in a well-defined genre and, preferably, involve breasts and/or cars.
2. The design should be based around existing technology, or at least be technically uncomplicated.
3. It should have a nice, catchy title.

"As such, we had a number of problems on our hands."

We wanted to create a roleplaying game like no other. The world would be a breathtakingly beautiful place filled with waterfalls, mountains, dense forests, populated with compelling and convincing characters with real personality, people who actually reacted to what you did. We wanted to give the player control of a hero who would adapt to the way they played, who would age, become scarred in battle, who could get tattoos, wear dreadlocks and a dress if the player was so inclined. We wanted each and every person who played our game to have a unique experience, to have their own stories to tell. And we called it 'Thingy.'

It was a passing, drunken conversation with Peter Molyneux that changed our lives. We'd worked with Peter for years, on games like Dungeon Keeper and Magic Carpet , and it was during one of our regular board gaming evenings that Simon brought up the headaches involved in designing your company's first game. Peter had recently founded Lionhead and had run into the same problems himself, so he was very sympathetic, and when we compared notes we had very similar ideas about the hurdles facing new studios:

• Publishers loathe 'risk', yet risk is the key to the new, exciting games that drive our industry.
• An ambitious title needs cutting edge technology, graphics, sound, level design and testing - more than a small team could possibly create with the average budget and time restrictions.
• Fledgeling studios can spend a huge amount time dealing with the day-to-day running of the business, instead of actually developing computer games.

To combat these, we needed credibility with publishers; we needed more resources; we needed the freedom to develop games, not push paper. Within a month, we had worked out a potential solution to all the problems facing us: Lionhead would create the 'Lionhead Satellites', a scheme to support new studios creating original games. The idea was that Lionhead would provide us with technology, testing, design, PR and business support, leaving us free to actually develop our game. It was a fantastic idea, one that provided us with the confidence and the backing we badly needed, and made one of our best friends in the industry our business partner.

Next week: The search for a publisher begins.