Another monetization/gating sidebar I thought of while drifting off last night: ungated progress in any game with an economy leads to the original EverQuest. This is going to get a little MMO-specific inside baseball, but I hope it’ll offer some insights.
Consider these resources: time, skill, and money. These are all things that games can reward you for, and a lot of modern games reward you for all of them.
Cookie Clicker is a pure "time" game. The longer you play it, the more cookies you have. Yes there are some choices as to what to upgrade, but the main gameplay is "spend time, numbers go up."
Street Fighter is close to a pure "skill" game. Be good and win. But in some ways, skill is linked to time: you gain skill by practicing, by doing research, by memorizing combos. While some people may be more inherently talented, nobody is born highly skilled in fighting games.
There are scads of microtransaction games that are maligned as "pay-to-win" with varying levels of accuracy, so I’m not going to call out anything specific here. I will say that this is actually a very popular and deliberately designed game type in several specific markets.
Things get more complicated when you get into an online shared world where resources are accumulated (we call this an economy). At this point it’s a challenge to ensure that the person who can play twelve hours a day every day doesn’t just completely overshadow the player who wants to play an hour a day, or four hours on the weekends… the dedicated player should have more, but the difference shouldn’t be so overwhelming that it makes the more casual player feel like they can’t do anything cool. In games with skill-based combat, you also want to reward people who are proficient in that. And in games with direct monetary expenditures, you want them to be worthwhile but not unbalancing.
At one point, I was in a WoW raid that was one of the top 50 in the US. Almost everybody in the raid had a full time job, so we raided "only" 3-4 days a week, 4-6 hours a night. Every other raid group in our tier was on a 5-6 days a week schedule, but we made up for that with better skill and coordination. This was only possible because time-based content gating existed. Let’s say we played 20 hours a week. During that time, we spent 10 hours farming bosses we knew how to kill and 10 hours practicing new bosses. Raid lockouts are a form of content gating that prevent someone from "farming" the same boss more than once a week. So we could maintain a similar gear level to our rivals by just playing those ten hours. Some of our rivals were playing 40 hours a week. In a game without limits to what a given player can do in a week, our rivals could have spent their extra 20 hours farming and surpassed us in gear handily.
Fallen London is different, of course. There’s no twitchy-skill component to balance, and players aren’t really in direct competition. The Haves aren’t parading around the Have Nots in their super impressive armor, but many of the same principles still apply: if you don’t limit the number of times you can do X per day or week, you have to design with the person who will play twelve hours a day every day in mind. He exists, he always exists, and he’ll be a huge influence on your economy if you let him.
A side note: when time equals money/progress/xp, it actually disincentivizes players from reading. Often if I’m questing with a friend in an MMO I’ll get yelled at for taking the time to read the NPC dialogue. In this modern day of mods and FAQs and wikis, reading can be seen as wasteful, because that’s twenty seconds that could have been spent getting more xp/gold/whatever. In MMOs, the efficient player does not read, so modern games have been designed to be played with minimal reading, which hurts my heart. It hurts my heart SO BAD, you guys. There are people who read and we put as much stuff as we possibly can in for them, but when time is money, reading suffers.
As a result, the Venn diagram of "games where most of the players read a lot" and "games that have an economy" doesn’t overlap very much. In a shared world with unlimited, untimed "actions," a player who reads will always progress more slowly than a player who skips, so the words you put in front of them have to be worth falling behind for. If the player encounters too many non-worthwhile words in a row, they’ll just skip everything from then on and there’s nothing you can do to win them back.
This is why most of the reading-focused games we see these days are single player adventures where everyone gets their own little universe. Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Walking Dead, The Wolf Among Us… we’re in a golden age for those kinds of games. At the same time, the studios making them are PRECARIOUS. Dragon Age 2 was released early for budgetary reasons, and people could tell it wasn’t quite ready. Double Fine had to lay off a crop of people a few months ago when a single project got cancelled. These are the BEST American and Canadian storytelling studios, and neither of them are really secure. That insecurity is the entire reason Bioware is owned by EA at this point… it offers them some small semblance of a buffer.
Interactive economies and shared worlds keep players coming back. They make them roll alts. Few people wax rhapsodic about the economy in an online game, but it’s a secret lifeblood. It causes some problems when time you spend reading is really time you could have spent accumulating, creating a weird tension between the two.
Limited actions are such a simple and clean way to reconcile these things. As long as it doesn’t take you more time to read than it takes an action to refresh, you’re not really sacrificing any efficiency by reading. Reading doesn’t make you fall behind in Fallen London. That’s HUGE. It’s practically alchemical.
Economies and persistent worlds give a studio a kind of security not found anywhere else in gaming. They create a home and family for players. The fact that Failbetter has managed to create one where words are a draw not a distraction is… borderline miraculous from the perspective of a lot of industry assumptions.