MUDs are the text-based precursor to MMOs and there are thousands littered across the internet – some even have hundreds of players!
Without the limitations of graphics, the systems can get quite intricate and the pared-down text interface helps expose the workings of these mechanics. It’s easy to figure out how game dev objects work once you interact with Iron Realms crafting, for example, where you enter descriptive text for every situation a player might encounter.
Links (but don’t just go by the top games, some ancient abandoned games have interesting ideas as well!):
Some of my personal favorites for game design inspiration:
– New Moon. Has fun NPC design, like arresting players (complete with jailbreak attempts) and different day/night behaviour. Very responsive to command-based exploration. http://eclipse.cs.pdx.edu/
– Iron Realms Entertainment. Company that runs several polished, staffed games. Lots of complex systems like intricate combat, sea/spacefaring, puzzle quests. https://www.ironrealms.com/
– Avalon: the Legend Lives. Big historic game, was the first online multiplayer rpg. Mostly abandoned and buggy these days, but it has some very interesting ideas. The economy/warfare system in particular is fabulously designed, with constant tension and resource management ensuring player cities always want to skirmish for power. The war system got an update that made it REALLY complex, but there might be docs online of the older, more elegant version. https://www.avalon-rpg.com/
***Important note***: this post was originally written a few years ago – Avalon is now offline, which is a fucking shame because it should be documented for video game history.
Bought this game on sale (or maybe through PS+?) months and months ago, when we went on a binge of looking at couples’ games to get. Hadn’t played it after that, though, but the other day husband saw that RDR2 went on PS+ so we went through our library to figure out what we could delete and we saw this downloaded and I said “Oh, let’s save this for a date night.”
Yesterday, I walked into the living room and my head tilted – the music for my husband’s sounded far more…whimsical than I thought RDR2 would be. The music, actually, instantly captured my attention. It was soft, enticing, indie, almost off-key in that music box way and I came over to see what he had loaded up. I couldn’t help it! I was instantly intrigued by the sound design because it suggested a certain type of game, which the art reinforced. There’s great coherence here in presenting an experience, especially when you learn it’s co-op.
It was an unexpected surprise, but a welcome one. How cute is it to have your SO seduce you with a game?
The first cut scene was adorable. We love pun-based humor and also enjoy cooking together, so the overall theme and writing appeal to us. I settled back, thinking this was going to be a cute little coop story game where I basically mashed a few buttons to help out my hubby.
lolno
It started great but cut to learning how to make rice and our entire – and I mean entire – kitchen is on fire. I apparently thought I could put them out by dashing at them. Meanwhile, I had also picked up the fire extinguisher, thinking it was chopped tuna, and put it on a plate.
This game ramps up QUICKLY, but the failures are fun and memorable.
At this point, I’ll diverge to talk a bit about memory.
There’s been some interesting research done into how our memories work and there seems to be some evidence to show that we remember bad memories in more detail that we do good ones.
There’s ALSO been research done to show that couples bond and retain bonds when they make new memories together.
Think back to your own gaming history – what do you remember the most? The time you got first or the time you ALMOST got first?
My husband literally just came by, read this, and whispered “Don’t pull the lever!” – we met in a MUD and our most memorable experience was when he was taking me to get a super important quest done. Like he had prepped the start for this quest ending for hours, setting up all the details.
And all we had to do was pull a lever to finish the quest. The thing was, the lever needed to pulled at the exactly specific time. He told me “don’t pull the lever” and so all I could think about was pulling the lever to see what it did.
I pulled the fucking lever, ladies and gents, and it did… nothing. My future husband was like “Did you seriously just pull the fucking lever?” and I was like “yeah, sorry, you just made me really curious about the fucking lever…”
This was a crux moment.
And this is when I decided I was going to marry this man, because he was like…. “Welp, that sucks and here is why:” and he proceeded to tell me what the lever did and why pulling it was a bad thing and then he was like “on retrospect, I should have opened with that.” And I knew, just knew, yep, that’s my husband.
Instead of raging at me or making me feel bad, he explained and then **immediately** started teasing me about it, to the point that it’s a joke he mentions as part of the “how we met” spiel.
Pick someone who explains what the lever does instead of being mad that you pulled it, right?
I wanted to make my donkey go away all cool like, so I thought I’d like…kick it to shoo it off… You leap into the air and launch a flying kick at a donkey. You have scored an ANNIHILATING CRITICAL hit!!! Damage done: 1500, blunt. A grey wolf springs to a donkey’s defence. A venomous forest snake springs to a donkey’s defence. A cunning red fox springs to a donkey’s defence. A small, brown lemming springs to a donkey’s defence. A grumpy badger springs to a donkey’s defence. An ebony raven springs to a donkey’s defence. A gossamer butterfly springs to a donkey’s defence. The final blow proves too much for a donkey, who expires, pitifully. You have slain a donkey. A donkey, your loyal companion, has been slain by Moirean Seirath. A rush of energy fills you as you feel ready to deliver a devastating blow upon your next target.
You say, “…damnit.”
(Market): You say, “Seeking someone skilled in the arts of donkey revival.”
Ison tells you, “((oh geez, what did you do now))”
Darliea tells you, “I assume you don’t mean something akin to “slice up its organs and place them in a jar”.”
You sniffle softly.
Amara peers around herself in confusion. “Who is that crying?” she asks with a frown.
With a hiccuping cough, you say, “Can you bring Trouble back?”
“Trouble?” Amara asks, plainly not understanding. “I can… try… but why would you want trouble?” she blurts.
You have emoted: A cloaked figure pushes the corpse of a donkey close towards the tear, the dead beast’s hoof dangling woefully down to splash limply at the water. She scoots along beside him, her hood falling away to reveal mournful, Impish features.
Amara finds the usual placid expression on her face crumbling into sadness as she watches you try to ress the limp creature. “Oh dear,” she breathes, plainly sympathetic. “May I see him? I cannot promise anything, but I am most certainly willing to try,” she offers with a sad timbre to her voice.
You have emoted: Softly stroking the dead donkey’s mane, Moirean blinks up at you through red, swollen, tear-filled eyes. “My ass is Trouble,” she explains, underlining her words with a loud, honking sniffle.
Amara blinks and makes a rather odd choking noise while extending her hands toward your ass and explains gently, “I will have to touch it to try to fix it.”
You have emoted: Moirean bends down onto her knees and tries to push the donkey towards you, both hands pressing against its haunches as she puts her whole weight into moving the creature. Her feet dig furrows in the damp grass and she eventually gives up, breathing deeply as she slumps over the slain corpse. “You might need to get close,” she explains, wiping at a dribbling trail of snotty tears (it only smears them more across her face). “My ass is too big to move, I think.”
You have emoted: Moirean bursts out bawling, eyes squeezing shut.
Amara offers the bawling you a quick and somewhat leery pat of comfort, her hands moving quickly toward the dropping thing. “Here, let me, your ass is not so big…” she offers agreeably, kneeling down to be within reach.
You have emoted: Her sobs only increase in volume at the touch. “It is!” Moirean wails, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hiccups again, and coughs, shaking her head. “No,” she objects to herself. “WAS. Big enough for at least three to ride, but now…”
With a more quiet whimper, you say, “….broken…”
“Miss Moirean,” Amara interrupts with no small measure of empathy in her voice. “I can assure you that your poor, broken down ass is… WAS… not too big for me to handle!” she finishes quickly, hoisting the ass in question with all her strength as she struggles to stand beneath its barely-bearable weight.
Amara sways on her feet, her stature somewhat diminished by the sheer size of your ass.
You have emoted: Moirean gasps at your sudden movement, sitting back on her heels and wiping at her tears with dirt-smudged hands. “You sure you know how to handle an ass?” she asks, watching nervously as your weight shifts.
Amara grunts, nodding her head. “Your ass is… safe… with me!” she groans whilst her knees almost buckle. Somehow, she manages to gather the light of healing within her overladen hands, running them gently over the limp, droopy ass, attempting to restore firmness and life, but nothing seems to happen.
You have emoted: Moirean frowns as she watches, biting her lip. “Is it tapped out?” she offers, attempting to be helpful, as she gestures vaguely behind you. “Your devotion….”
“I may not have enough to tap this here ass,” Amara admits, sounding defeated, her words punctuated by the panting of her strenuous efforts.
You have emoted: Your words prompt another round of tears from Moirean and she softly, mournfully mumbles, “That ass. That ass.”
You have emoted: Moirean bows her head and pulls her knees to her chest, curls obscuring her face.
Amara groans as her hands flare with the last bedraggled tendrils of devotion, but just as quickly they fizzle out. “I.. I am so sorry, Moirean. This has never happened to me before,” she mumbles, embarrassed at her premature finish which fails to evoke the merest twitch from your ass. She sinks once more to her knees in humble defeat.
Words muffled by her sniffles, you say, “My ass is grass. Dust. Bones.”
Turning away, you say, “Thank you for trying.”
“Moirean, we can get you a new ass. A better ass. A stronger ass. We have the means,” Amara offers softly.
You have emoted: Moirean shakes her head, replying, “I think I want a pony, instead.”
You may have heard the recent news about e-theft; in case you haven’t here’s a quick re-cap: Two boys in the Netherlands physically attacked (in the real world) a third to get to acquire items in RuneScape. The verdict? On top of assault, they were guilty of theft. This is only the latest in a series of similar rulings establishing precedent for real world value for online concepts.
The notion that items which exist solely on the Internet still have some intrinsic real world value is not a new one. You might recall the virtual island which sold for nearly $30,000 several years ago, or the Supreme Court ruling over ownership of domain names. However, this case is unique in that it’s not tens of thousands (or more) of dollars at stake here. It’s basically the equivalent of two kids beating up another to get his prized baseball card – and the courts are recognizing this as just as valid an issue, despite the fact that the stolen item exists solely in a game.
I VALUE MY DARN FULL MALEVOLENT GEAR OMG
The ramifications are interesting. IRE‘s EULA provides a solid blanket of cover, ensuring that items such as credits and artifacts are always protected, while items you acquire in-game are subject to game world theft, subject to the individual game’s rules. However, what does this say about the value of our characters themselves and the items they hold? Do they now have a real world or monetary worth? Can items which exist solely in the virtual ether have any sort of price tag attached to them, or are they just intangible abstracts?
An intriguing way to look at this is to consider what in itself denotes value. Basic Econ 101 courses look at real world goods in this way, assessing factors which contribute to an item’s value. One theory suggests that value derives from the inherent costs of production. For items which exist solely online, however, the need for labor and materials is completely absent – a virtual sword doesn’t require a smith’s time or iron ore to make, just like a house in Achaea’s subdivision doesn’t need masons and stone to actually build. Yet these can be highly desired things to acquire in games, so there is obviously something else which plays into how much an e-item is worth – a more subjective scale of perceived use and desirability.
For the most part, items fall into three categories, although there is understandable interlap: utility, enjoyment and rarity. A rune for your blade or a set of wings, a special design for your unicorn in Avalon, or a meta gem in WoW – are all clear examples of items which are highly valued for their utility. These items augment your fighting or greatly ease your travel through the land, and carry high price tags which players consider worth paying because of how useful they are. A house one can roleplay within or a fancy mount, on the other hand, would be an item considered valuable because of the enjoyment factor it contributes to. These types of items often are acquired more for roleplay or sentimental purposes. Finally, rare items, such as prizes earned through events or promotions, or pets which have a very low chance or spawning, are valued primarily because other people don’t have them, or need them and find them hard to acquire.
Artifact auctions provide a great example of this sort of valuation in practice. Aetolia, for example, is currently holding a unique type of auction, where several of the items can only be bid on with special tokens which players acquired in an earlier promotion. One of the items, a torc which gives the Druid vitality skill, currently has a very high bid, due to how useful the ability is perceived to be in combat. Another item, though, is a special traveling house, and is also rising high up on the bid list, because of the “fun factor” many see in driving a gypsy wagon around. The currency itself, finally, is a great demonstration of the notion of rarity – before the items were announced, most people didn’t value the tokens that highly and they sold for rather low prices. Now, however, that the auction is underway and people need the tokens (and the amount available is becoming more scarce) the price these are being traded for is skyrocketing.
It’s somewhat fascinating how the game world can mirror the real one, but with its own distinct spin put on it. Without the fetters of some real world constraints, such as production and material costs, other aspects of the economy come to the forefront, making for a interesting system to sit back and observe.
How about you? What items do you most value in your game of choice, and why?
The following comment from a WI article started reminding me of some of my biggest newb moments.
Daniel said: If quest healing, also remember not to modify your attacks to the alt key! Alt+tab when questing may end in disaster.
You see, I use keybindings a lot for my healing, especially for instant cast spells. Probably a development of all the PvPing I did during my formative levelling. I soon realized that I ran out of keys to use, so I use modifiers quite often.
That’s a simple use of modifiers in a macro. You press different buttons and different things happen. You can use these quite potently…or otherwise…
I, personally, have alt set as my modifier for directing my spells to my tank. Ie, I press 1, I bubble myself. I press alt+1, I bubble the tank. Well, I was raiding on my paladin and we were in Bastion of Twilight at that REALLY nasty trash pull with all the elements, right before the Captain Planet fight.
Now, at this past point in time, I have my hands (eg of protection, salvation, etc) lined up on my F keys to keep track of them really easily (you may see where this is going), but when I try to hand of sacrifice the tank, my game crashes!
“Omg!” I growl into mumble. “Wait, sorry, ack, stupid game crashed!”
I log back in to see that everyone has wiped. Sadface. We run back and try again. Again, I attempt to hand of sacrifice the tank. Again, poof! WoW closes.
“OMG! This spell is making my game crash!!!” I log back in, righteously pissed off at Blizzard by this point, and finally one of my teammates jokes, “Geez, what are you doing? Pressing alt+f4 over and over? Lawl!”
Oh. Duh. I mumble something about bugs as I furtively move hand of sacrifice off of the F4 key.
Apparently I’m not the only one who was reminded of newbiness, as today’s WI breakfast topic is a wonderful collection of amusing raid-based failure. I highly recommend a read.
Some runs back are longer than others…
“Newb moments,” to me, are something longer-lasting than a simple blonde moment or brain fart. They are almost a sort of epiphany, moments where you discover something fundamental and profound – except in this case, that discovery is something you really should have known about.
My very first memory of a newb moment was when I initially began playing MUDs, over a dozen years ago (ugh, I feel so old saying that). I remember reading the game’s website and imagining how I could become an amazing, powerful….something. I wasn’t that clear on how it all worked. Eager to become awesome, I set off exploring.
Now, I had played other games before this. I had a Sega Genesis as a kid and even before that we had an Atari ST (it was the Cadillac of prehistoric PCs kthnx). Even better, we had internet access before the internet was even a fully-fledged thing. This meant that we got, in addition to all the important boring government DARPA defense stuff, SHAREWARE (and demo) GAMES!!!
While some of these games were amazing displays of graphics and sound like TURRICAN, some were little freeware ditties, including a range of text games: virtual trucker games, a Clue knockoff and Zork-esque adventures. The text adventures, in particular, resonated with me, and I spent many an hour trying to “get dragon” and “kill dragon” (and lots of subsequent “you have died”ing).
So, when I got older and we got ourselves a fancy new computer and super fast internet – the phone jack went STRAIGHT INTO THE COMPUTER!!! – I started looking at what games were out there on the web and found a game called Avalon. Fast-forward to my imagined ascent to greatness.
Oh boy. Telnet.
I explored the virtual world, merrily typing north, north, east, look, get dung – you know, the usual. I discovered things all over that I could pick up. I found a whole castle on top of a mountain filled with dwarves! I got lost in the caves under the castle and got killed by an orc. I dropped all of the awesome shinies I had been carrying. Le sigh. A roadblock on my path to becoming amazing!
It didn’t matter. I was enthralled. I played for hours straight, and then again the next day. And at the height of this enraptured gameplay, something happened – the newbiest newb moment of all newb moments – that changed my paradigm on games completely.
I was still caught up in my voracious exploring and questing when I wandered into a building that appeared to be a temple. The rooms had vaunted names and the text descriptions detailed columns and ornate carvings. I felt a shiver of apprehension. Was I nearly at the part where I became the ruler of the world?
I came upon a dead end. There, standing out in bright aquamarine text, was what had to be part of my ultimate quest: “Archimedes, the God of Wisdom.” Normal quest creatures weren’t named in colors that brilliant. Normal quest givers didn’t have names that illustrious. Normal quest givers didn’t hang out in a sacred temple. Exhaling slowly, I readied myself for the final task and then typed in the phrase I had learned would prompt the game’s creatures to give me quests – GREET ARCHIMEDES.
You warmly greet Archimedes, the God of Wisdom.
I waited, breath bated.
And kept waiting. Weird. The other creatures always gave me quests instantly.
GREET ARCHIMEDES.
You warmly greet Archimedes, the God of Wisdom.
Still nothing. I was getting frustrated.
GREET ARCHIMEDES
GREET ARCHIMEDES
GREET ARCHIMEDES
You warmly greet Archimedes, the God of Wisdom.
You warmly greet Archimedes, the God of Wisdom.
You warmly greet Archimedes, the God of Wisdom.
Archimedes, the God of Wisdom lets out a broad chuckle.
Archimedes, the God of Wisdom says, “Quite the persistently friendly one you are, aren’t you?”
GET QUEST FROM ARCHIMEDES
Archimedes, the God of Wisdom says, “Are you lost? Need some help on your novice quests?”
NOVICE
NOVICE commands are the province of the Ministry of Public Relations and the barony.
Ok, what did that mean?! All of a sudden this game was getting confusing.
Theresa appears before you through the black screen of a magical portal.
Whoa.
“Hi!” Theresa happily says.
Theresa says, “Lost novice here?”
Archimedes, the God of Wisdom nods emphatically.
Theresa says, “No worries. I’ll help her out.”
Theresa says, “Follow me. Just type FOLLOW THERESA.”
WHOA.
Suddenly it hit me – these were not computer creatures. THESE WERE REAL PEOPLE. There were other people playing the game with me. The world fell out beneath me. I had been completely oblivious to the vast, expansive nature of the game I was playing…oblivious to the potential of the internet itself. I was in a fantasy world inhabited not just by monsters and dragons, but also by other living, breathing people. All on my computer. The realization was astounding.
This, here, was my newb moment, when I discovered I had been overlooking an essential element of the game. In my case, I had missed the fundamental nature of what a MUD was – a multiplayer dungeon.
Once that awareness sunk in, the game was never the same.
On one hand, a whole new vista of gameplay unfolded. Player-to-player interactions are far more complex and ever-changing than scripted AI. Roleplay develops, alliances form, enemies are made. Combat is intense and politics compelling. The game develops endless playability.
Then again, there is something vital lost in that awakening. It’s like a kid realizing that (spoilers!) Santa doesn’t really exist. Yes, you see the more complex mechanics of the gameplay (or reasons for the holiday) and learn to play at a deeper level (ie be a grown up), but there is still an element of blissful ignorance that has been shed. What started as an impossibly engaging magical experience establishes itself as just a game.
Any level of competent gameplay requires this transition (which is probably a better topic for another entry, as this one is getting rather long). Sometimes, however, I look back on this first massive newb moment, and nostalgically remember what it was like to be clueless.
How about you? Any incredibly huge blind spots you’ve discovered in your gameplay? Any big discoveries? Any reaaaaaally stupid mistakes you’ve made?
a little bit of everything all of the time 