In a new video on his YouTube channel, prolific RPG developer Tim Cain broke down what his average daily schedule looked like while working on the original Fallout at Interplay Entertainment. Along the way, he reflected on the grueling pace of work he took on, and why it felt more acceptable in 1995.

Cain sets the composite average day in '95, about a year into development. This is distinct from the irregular preproduction work that came before, as well as the even more blistering, seven days a week schedule he kept during the game's final stretch in 1997.

Cain would wake up at 6:00 AM, take care of his cat, then reach the office by 7:00⁠—homemade loaf of bread in hand⁠, recipe helpfully under the video's top comment—to get an early start on coding tasks when there were no meetings to interrupt him. Cain would check in with members of the team at midmorning, excepting the ones who requested to be left alone.

Cain's lunch habits⁠—he would return home to make something each day⁠—touch on an economic reality that makes me wish I was born 20 years earlier. He was living paycheck to paycheck, and so largely avoided eating out… in order to pay off the mortgage he took on a house in Southern California. Not to take anything from Cain's fiscal discipline and hard work, but these days in the games industry, you're probably feeling the same squeeze sans property ownership.

One fun tidbit regarding that house: Fallout assistant producer Fred Hatch rented a room from Cain for much of the game's development. "I need a little extra money … and he needed a place. So it worked out great for both of us."

Cain would stay until 7:00 or 7:30 in the evening after lunch, coding for Fallout if he could, but more often getting called to meetings with other producers or departments at Interplay. He would eventually share much of this burden, including mandatory project reports, with Hatch. "I don't know who read them," said Cain. "I suspect sometimes they weren't read, because sometimes they had questions in them and the questions never got answered. But the reports got written."

"I often drove to work in the dark and drove home in the dark," Cain said of these 12+ hour work days. At night, he would eat, compile detailed notes on Fallout's progress and the day's events⁠—part of how he's able to make such comprehensive videos about this time in his life—then be in bed by 10:00 PM.

At this midpoint of Fallout's development, Cain also revealed that he would typically work eight hours on Saturdays, something he jokingly referred to as "Timmy Time." With minimal-to-no meetings or production demands to eat into his time, Cain would work on programming extra tools or features that his colleagues requested throughout the week: "I'll give you the feature if you give [me] content," he summarized.

Cain rarely found himself alone on Saturdays, with other Fallout devs or employees on other projects also coming into the Interplay offices. In one amusing example of extracurricular labor at the company, Cain recalled that some QA testers were staying late, but not collecting overtime⁠—they just wanted to play more Fallout. Cain took that as a sign they were onto something special, though apparently it gave one Interplay executive some California labor law-related conniptions.

"I know a lot of you are like, 'It's horrible, they're abusing you with crunch.' I wanted to do this," Cain said, arguing that "there's nothing more exciting" than seeing the hard work directly result in improvements to a game. "I hope some of you get to experience, at some point, making something that you love so much, that you devote time to it because you love it, not because you're being made to."

Cain seems to have no illusions about whether this sort of work schedule has a place in modern, industrial-scale development, however. "I'm glad things have changed, that was unsustainable," he said. "But it was also absolutely amazing."

I'm a huge fan of turn-based tactics, but I can recognise why many people see it as an intimidating genre. Between complicated mechanics, detailed unit stats, and lengthy missions, they can feel like a big investment of time and energy.

Heading into new roguelike Blightstone, just launched this week in Steam early access, I was girding myself for another steep learning curve and hours lost to figuring out which exact weapon works best against which goblin. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Blightstone is snappy. I'm thrown right into a battle between my three-man crew (well, technically three men and a dog) and a small group of villagers. Within just a few minutes I've not only gotten to grips with how combat works, I've finished the fight, and I'm onto the next challenge.

My brawler, hunter, and arcanist each have two action points per turn to play with. Though they boast substantial hotbars of abilities, it's immediately clear what each one does—here a damaging arrow shot, there a dog attack that inflicts a bleed status effect, etc.

It's straightforward but not simple. As in any great turn-based game, every turn comes with difficult choices. You can't use every ability and you can't be everywhere at once—that's where the tactical meat is.

And, importantly, each of those abilities feels impactful. When my arcanist casts a lightning spell, it strips away the health of a whole line of foes. When an enemy steps in one of my hunter's bear traps, they stop in their tracks on death's door. When my brawler shoulder-charges someone, they're hurled backwards to crash into one of their friends.

That doesn't mean your team feels overpowered—there are some tough foes arrayed against you—but their actions are decisive. They ensure that these small bouts are over in just two or three turns over five minutes, success or failure determined by a few significant choices rather than the culmination of a hundred little ones.

I'm soon exploring different ways of deploying this arsenal of abilities, and discover a rich vein of one of the best mechanics any turn-based tactics game can have: chucking things at other things. (I have previously written entire odes to this concept.)

From the arcanist's telekinesis to the brawler's grapple-and-throw, Blightstone offers a lovely array of ways to hurl friends and foes around, and it's here that really interesting combos start to present themselves. Some are obvious—throwing an enemy at an explosive barrel is as intuitive as it is explosively satisfying—but some start to open your mind up to surprisingly creative tactical thinking.

Early on, I struggle to make the most of the hunter's beartrap ability. Enemy pathing isn't quite predictable enough to reliably place it in their way, and I'm finding too often they simply swerve my snares. Then it occurs to me—can I just shortcut this whole process by using telekinesis to throw enemies into the traps myself? Yes, yes I can, and the reverse is true too. Condolences to the many demon-worshippers of Blightstone who now have to worry about steel jaws flying directly at their heads at mach speed.

It's around then that the game introduces charged attacks. Certain enemies will prepare to unleash an ability during your turn, with an indicator of the area they'll hit and a countdown of how many actions you can use before they'll trigger. An archer, for example, might be preparing to shoot arrows at everyone in a large circle, or a wild boar might be about to sprint forward, smashing into everyone in his way.

With only a few actions to find a way to neutralise whatever's coming your way, all that control over positioning becomes all important. An ally can be hurled out of the way of those arrows with telekinesis, or an enemy chucked into them. That boar can be knocked off course by one of my own charges, sending him careening headfirst into a boulder instead of my squishy flesh.

It's a clever way of forcing you to get to grips with the nuances of Blightstone's systems. By focusing your attention in on one clear problem, it pushes through any analysis paralysis and gets you right into problem solving mode. "How do I defeat this horde of possessed villagers?" is a layered question, with an answer playing out over multiple turns. "How do I stop this one guy in three moves or less?" is much more immediate, and if you don't find an answer in time, you'll certainly learn some lessons from the consequences.

The more I learn the right tricks for these situations, the more I go from just trying to stay alive to seeking combos that don't just solve the situation, but leave me in an even better position than more. When I throw my hunter out a boar's path to safety, I'm also placing him where he has a clear line of fire to his next target. When I nudge this archer to throw off his aim, I'm also putting him in a lovely line of enemies right in front of my arcanist, ready to be obliterated in one magical beam.

It's accessible, but deep. I'm in the fight in minutes, but an hour and a half later I'm still building my skills, finding new ways to finish out encounters efficiently and leave my crew with as much health left as possible for other combats to come.

Even in its unfinished state (the developer estimates it'll be in Early Access for another six months to a year) Blightstone is a lovely gateway into a rewarding genre. Poring over stats and strategies can come later—kick off your turn-based tactics journey here by getting a zombie in a headlock and piledriving him into a tree.