Return to “WarCraft”

November 18, 2010 in Reviews

After a good five months in which my lack of purpose, funding and available time kept me away from World of Warcraft, I have finally renewed my subscription in order to enjoy the Cataclysm prequel events ahead of the expansion’s launch in December. It’s felt quite strange, attempting to engage with the game again after so long. World of Warcraft was my first MMO RPG game; thus it is the only game I’ve had to return to without the luxury of starting at the beginning.

Many patches have passed me by since I played ahead of the Ruby Sanctum, back in June. I expected a few changes as a result of this. The largest of these changes came in the switch from version 3 (Wrath of the Lich King) to version 4 (Cataclysm). Though announced well in advance, the changes this patch brought were sweeping and disruptive. My ‘main’ is a warlock, and she bore the brunt of the biggest changes. The entire warlock mechanic shifted, from gathering Soul Shards as enemies fell in order to power spells, to these reagents now powering upgrades to spells which now required no such soul-draining. The UI changed; my inventory shifted now it was no longer bogged down with bags of 28+ soul shards; Spellstones and Firestones, once applied to my weapons in order to boost spell damage, have become inert mementoes; most of my gear was rendered inappropriate, as outfits featuring spirit no longer provided useful statistics. This on top of the facts my UI had been changed, many character abilities were removed or altered, and my destruction specialisation points had been reset, all made for a hefty bout of housekeeping as I attempted to re-learn the game.

Talent points were reset in order to facilitate widespread change; the panel now comes with useful pop-up tips.

There are some unique challenges inherent in re-learning a character who, at level 80, is expected to be fairly confident in their role within the game. I’ve written about the social expectations within the so-called ‘endgame’ many times before, as peer pressure can mount upon even the most regular of players; this frankly becomes overwhelming when you attempt to engage with the game after a few months’ break. Whereas I would start a console game again from scratch rather than attempt to follow on halfway through a save file, MMO RPGs like World of Warcraft rely upon weeks and months of accumulated knowledge – and often upon the choices made with finely-tuned reflexes as well.

There is, of course, an element of muscle memory involved with these games. Though the rules had changed quite dramatically for warlocks, it didn’t take more than a few hours’ practise for my spell rotations and spacial awareness to kick back in. Trickier was the navigation of my UI, as it had literally taken a year for me to arrange each character’s spells and abilities in such a way that summons, silencers, healing spells and other types of shared ability could be found within roughly the same area on-screen. Now that the number of abilities has actually been reduced for many of these character classes, I find myself having to start again from scratch.

All this adjustment comes within an exciting time for World of Warcraft‘s visiting players. Though I arrived too late for a much-hyped assault upon the Echo Isles – and thus the formation of a home city for the troll race – I came at a time when cataclysmic events have begun to rock Azeroth. Blizzard has arranged similar ‘prequel events’ in the past, such as a largely player-run gathering at the Dark Portal prior to The Burning Crusade and a Scourge invasion upon each faction’s capital to announce Wrath of the Lich King.

Rumblings of the changes this year have been in place for quite some time, with mysterious earthquakes having long rocked the cities of Orgrimmar and Stormwind. Emissaries from both factions – including the disputed Horde warchief, Thrall – have departed Azeroth in order to research the threat, and currently stand at a cliffhanger in quest chains related to the event. City guards also have players working on undermining the persistent Twilight’s Hammer cult, and their efforts to summon elemental beings into each capital. Their efforts have succeeded this very week, as players who might have thought their work against Twilight’s Hammer done were confronted by thunderstorms and inferno.

Blizzard orchestrated their launch of Wrath of the Lich King with vast numbers of undead foes and ice dragons; razing these havens for players of all levels, when often the only threat they’d face would be an organised raid of 40 or more players of the opposing faction. No NPC enemies had been allowed inside these areas of player commerce and training before. Similarly for Cataclysm, the darkening of skies, the cries of desperate citizens and the eventual eruption of elemental portals triggers an invasion which fundamentally disrupts all activity within the city. Players who might have been minding their business in auction houses, guild vaults and smithies will find themselves alone and unable to work; instead they are recruited into war.

Panic strikes the Horde capital of Orgrimmar.

I’ve been deeply impressed with how war efforts have been arranged. As one would expect, it is largely a level 80 player’s game. Weaker elemental foes give way to elites who can only be realistically beaten by high-level players, and once players have beaten the attack back (with help from boss characters like Rexxar, Vol’Jin and Garrosh) they are allowed entrance to four quick boss battles. There is a role for lower-level characters though, as instead of being called to arms they are directed to build barricades and rescued citizens, trapped in elemental prisons. This rather frantic effort runs alongside pitched battles in which your character may find themselves targeted by an indomitable foe, only to be saved by a level 80 ally. The player community does not often come to each other’s aid in this way before, and so it is refreshing to see such change upon the social scene as well as the game world itself.

"Second Life" Virtual Fashion Lookbook

September 24, 2009 in Uncategorized

For all the things I disliked about the ‘new look’ website Linden Lab deployed this Summer.. their fashion Lookbook is a very slick piece of work. The featured pieces were showcased during the online world’s Summer fashion extravaganza, and have been collected as an interactive catalogue. The pieces are sorted by designer, and are blown up from thumbnails to include a ‘buy now’ link and share tools, allowing us to shop directly from the woefully-named X-Street SL. Pretty and convenient.

Ironically, the Lookbook‘s a lot more convenient than visiting each designer’s own shop, for all the landmark-hunting and slow downloads that involves. Could this spell an end to my one pleasurable indulgence on that platform?

GLS 5.0 Day One: Guilds & Guilt

June 21, 2009 in Uncategorized

Looking back across talks at GLS 5.0, on academic guild management and ethics (designed and emergent) in our interactive media.

The first session I attended at GLS was a ‘fireside chat’, lead by members of the Terror Nova guild in World of Warcraft. In a discussion moderated primarily by Thomas Malaby (of the namesake blog to which this guild is loosely affiliated), the group spoke about their experiences running a unique guild, in which only academics may seek membership but not one person may research the guild itself.

As a member of a guild which hopes to stake some academic ground myself, I found this to be a pretty enlightening example. One big question hanging over our own guild’s officership is that of governance, and it was interesting to hear of this example in which a ‘council of elders’, primarily tenured professors, would steer the course rather than having established hierarchies. The trick here was that most members of the guild knew each other from conferences or within their own universities – how does an academic guild manage such an open structure when there is quite clearly a divide between graduate student players and the tenured faculty staff? The group seemed not to reach any firm conclusions. Really, I believe that there would always be a degree of social hierarchy, even if it’s not an administrative one. Students would generally be unwilling to really lead their own professors, while the reverse may come somewhat naturally. I hope to come back to this idea once our own project guild kicks off, looking at how it can apply within a work environment of directors and designers.

Try as they might to avoid researching this strictly play-only space, few members could help but look at their lives outside the guild and see about applying some ludic metaphors. For example, one ‘guildie’ remarked that while sacrifice of their material goods at the guild vault came naturally to them within the game, it actually led to a degree of social sacrifice in their workplace, and an understanding that reviewing papers and the like worked out a similar goal for similar rewards. There was also some talk of ‘gaming the system’ in their own faculties, arranging conference ‘raid groups’ of tank, healer and DPS or finding interesting new ways to ‘ninja loot’.

The second session we attended was a series of micro-presentations, with a central topic of Ethical Choices & Transgression in Games. The star presentation for me was Manveer Heir‘s talk on Designing Ethical Dilemmas. Speaking directly from a games design background, he laid out exciting reasons why and how games can be made to offer meaningful ethical choices in order to lend the medium greater impact and interest.

He suggested that the two motivations games really pander two are fear and aggression (to which I would perhaps add greed, thinking along the lines of WoW professions, Katamari Damacy, etc.), but that a game which encourages a deeper emotional investment of its players may be capable of a much broader spectrum. So too would having permanence in the design. As well as encouraging a player to become more emotionally involved in the game (something we now seem to be getting the hang of, as games linger about this uncanny valley with expanded storylines and so on), the idea of choices having permanent consequence would seem to a good bet for our allowing games to express ethics. Sure, I can unlock the ‘bad ending’ by killing this NPC, but what impact does my choice really have when, at the click of a few buttons, I can reload an earlier save point and let him live? There was a phrase which Heir used when describing the combination of game mechanics and emotional investment – “ludonarrative discourse”. I plan to look into this in greater detail later.

Citing a fascinating example in Star Wars, he remarked that if gameplay mechanics made it much harder for a neutral player to become Jedi than turn to the dark side, deep questions could be asked of its plot and narrative, as well as of the mechanical choices the player would be expected to make. This pure narrative is what grants the medium its best chance of ethical choice, and actually gives us an exciting view of the grey areas in that world, instead of focusing on pure black and white, Jedi vs. Sith, good vs. evil fare.

An intriguing new angle was taken in a presentation which followed Manveer Heir’s, entitled Following Basic Directions in the Land of Destructible Delights. In this talk, based on a study which was also presented at last year’s GLS conference, we were introduced to research on user interaction, or more specifically reaction to games like Grand Theft Auto III. Using experiments as simple as asking players to drive from one town to the next, or put out fires using anonymous versions of GTA, the study was finding that bluntly, “given a frustrating task, players are more likely to go nuts”. Once the goal of driving to the next town was achieved, or the player realised the futility of trying to successfuly save lives rather than crushing them under the fire engine’s wheels, they took little more than a minute to go off the rails and mow pedestrians down en masse. The conclusion these researchers came to was that ethics were being informed by the players’ specific investment in the game. Were they told a tale of deaths by arson or given a chaacter story arc to wrap around their journey around San Andreas, might they have been less willing go leap ‘off the rails’? This strikes me as a powerful but subtle means of guiding the gameplay.

Erin Hoffman’s presentation, on why Happiness is Mandatory in worlds such as GoPets, dealt more with emerging ethics surrounding an online community. She started first by defining two key terms – “online world” as a far better description of virtual worlds, and “ethics” as mutual social contracts. She basically outlined how the GoPets community was spawning fascinating new phenomena, such as in the way a negligent pet owner would be lynched by the forum members. Although it was in later presentations that we would be given a more detailed view of such emergent justice systems and cultures, hers made for a good introduction. Key to these phenomena was what she called “incentivised gameplay”. As a result of these rewards for certain social actions within the game (even if it has no relevance to actual progress), she found that players were becoming more highly-strung. Think of those GoPets owners who punish lax owners, or the ‘min/max’ players in World of Warcraft who will happily call out a warrior for using the ‘wrong’ item for their talent specification.

Finally, there was one big point from this presentation which really got me to thinking about emergent social behaviour. It was a citation from Erin Hoffman during the Q&A segment, of work by Bill Foulton into this field. He appears to be suggesting that massively multiplayer online games are, in fact, not ready yet for the ‘massively social’ aspect of their genre. His work appeas to pin such an allegation on the fact that players and users are meeting far too many different people for too short amounts of time. The bustling hordes in Orgrimmar and the influx of shoppers at ETD in Second Life are breeding anonymity, which I would suggest could only be remedied in neighbourhoods, or other enclosed social environments like schools and offices.

There are some questions which were left unanswered, and I wonder if I might try to encourage some discussion here, if anyone’s interested. First of all, in response to Manveer Heir’s presentation and in ignorance of technical restraints here, will games even sell if we know certain actions will last indelibly, or will that change actually encourage more sales? I think that may really be the only obstacle to this movement which, I’m sure, can only help to mature the medium. My second question is, should designers take more or less responsibility for those communities which branch from their products? Blizzard Entertainment was one example give during the post-presentations discussion, with recent news suggesting some ignorance of certain ‘hate’ guilds, but a form hand played when a player was found to be using a bugged, God-mode weapon.

Looking Back to GLS 5.0

June 19, 2009 in Uncategorized

Following the Games + Learning + Society conference in Madison, here’s a new series reflecting on the talks I attended.

So, for those who have been spared the recent bouts of gushing awe of my Twitter feed lately, you should know that I attended this year’s Games+Learning+Society conference in Madison, Wisconsin. It’s a three-day programme of lively events to discuss games in education, organised by a committee of academics at the university. It was John “Kaseido” McKnight who got me onto this event, providing me both with a chance to meet up with my long-term American ‘pen pal’ and an extremely effective means of scoping current research out for myself.

The conference covered topics as wide-ranging as World of Warcraft guild structures, gender roles in modern video games and the impact ‘modding’ may have upon ludic learning. Thanks to (or in spite of) this thoroughly-packed, seven-track programme there was never a dull or uninspiring moment to be had. Varied too were the attendees, coming in their few hundreds. Meeting these academics, teachers, graduate students and game designers offered me, a wide-eyed potential academic, an intimidating but welcoming spread of advice.

I had originally hoped to scour GLS for a new degree course – one which would allow me to study games design from a foundation in research and theory. It turned out to be a vague goal, respectfully and gratefully critiqued by those practitioners I met. Instead of answers, I found greater possibilities – a host of exciting new ideas for my own research, and opportunities in fields I had never considered for their relevance before.

Games academia, just like the conference, is far more vast and detailed than I could have imagined. It has the potential to become surprisingly powerful, too. I can’t wait to go back next year, armed with the wondrous and telling discoveries I’m bound to make about my own learning in the next twelve months. For now though, all I can hope to do is look back and reflect. I’ll be attempting to write my notes up over the course of the next few weeks.