What Is
Ludology?
In the
editorial of the first issue of Game Studies, game scholar
Espen Aarseth argues for the establishment of computer game
studies as a separate academic discipline. (Aarseth 2001b).
He warns against attempts to colonisation from already
established disciplines, especially those dealing with
supposedly related media such as film and literature. The
need for computer game studies to maintain its distance from
various media studies is particularly important now in the
initial stage, to avoid what media scholar Liv Hausken calls
“medium blindness” when searching and defining an
appropriate terminology and methodology for this new field
of study. Of medium blindness, Hausken tentatively divides
between two types: “total medium blindness” and
“nonchalant medium blindness”. “Total medium
blindness” is characteristic of theories and
perspectives that are believed to be media independent when
there is in fact a particular medium presupposed that the
perspective in question relies on. “Nonchalant medium
blindness” appears when theoretical premises that apply
to one medium are uncritically borrowed and applied to a
different medium. (Hausken 2004).
Approaching
computer games as media is complicated due to several
factors. First of all, because scholars tend to disagree on
how a medium should be defined. For my purposes here a
relatively broad definition is useful, according to which a
medium is defined as that through or from which some sort of
meaning is expressed or derived. Different media will have
different restrictions and possibilities in terms of the
form and content of that which is expressed. For instance, a
media specific characteristic of theatre is the physical
presence of the actors on stage. Using the computer as a
medium, physical presence will necessarily have to be
expressed differently.
Media
function as channels for communication or interaction
between parties. As I understand and use these terms,
“communication” always involves meaning while
“interaction” covers a broader field of activities
that do not necessarily have to involve the expression or
exchange of meaning. “Meaning” is here understood
in its most minimal sense, as a process of signification
involving the use of elements (signs) the major function of
which is to refer to something other than themselves. For
something to function as a medium there must be meaning
attached to the interaction that takes place with the help
of it. The kind of interaction that is made possible through
what I define as media is therefore to a certain extent
always communicative.
According to
this understanding, games are not necessarily media,
although they may function that way. Play isn’t
necessarily (or merely) communication either, even if it
often involves communication. Throwing a ball against a
wall, for instance, is not communicating with the wall, and
the ball is not a medium. If there are two persons playing
with the ball, on the other hand, they may have to
communicate in order to play, but throwing the ball back and
forth is not in itself considered a communicative act.
Although it can be: If there is some sort of meaning
attached to the game, intended or perceived, the ball may
function as a medium. In this case play involves a process
of signification, understood as the expression, exchange,
and/or perception of meaning. However, what is signified
– or what the game means – doesn’t have to be
intended or agreed upon by both participants. It is
sufficient that one of the participants puts meaning into,
or is able to identify meaning emerging from, the
interaction. Expressing meaning in, or identifying meaning
from, such an interaction implies that there are at least
two participants who act or are perceived as acting
autonomously. Play, as well as certain forms of magic, will
often involve inanimate objects that are perceived as
autonomous agents, or, especially in the case of magic, as
media through which autonomous agents express themselves.
Although there may, in reality, be only one person acting,
meaningful communication between this actor and the object
she experiences to interact with may emerge. The act of one
person throwing ball against a wall may therefore, in
principle, involve communication, where the wall or the ball
act as imaginative autonomous participants. The importance
of this principle appears evident when applied to the
player’s relation to the text while playing MUDs. A MUD
player engaged in solitary questing may experience both to
interact and to communicate with the text, regardless of
there being no autonomous participant present to interact or
communicate with. In the context of play and make-believe,
it is the player’s experience of a situation that is
constitutive of what the situation entails.
Another
complicating factor when approaching computer games as media
is that not all games that can be played on the computer are
dependent on the computer as a medium to be played. I’m
thinking here of games that were originally based on a
different technology but which now can be played in
simulated computer versions, such as Chess or
Solitaire. In developing a conceptual framework to
distinguish these games as games, consulting theories
developed to explain features of the computer as a medium
does not necessarily appear as a very relevant place to
start. Both computers and games may function as media
through which meaning is expressed or derived. Additionally
the computer may function as a medium mediating between a
player and a game. However, this possible function of games
and computers is in my opinion not sufficient to define
neither the computer nor the computer game played (in this
case computer mediated Chess or Solitaire) as
a medium, if no meaning is expressed or derived from the
game itself.
It
could of course be argued that such games are not really
computer games, and that they should therefore not be
included among what we define as computer games. Computer
game designer Chris Crawford would seem to support such a
view when he warns in The Art of Computer Game Design
against “transplanting” already existing games
into the computer, arguing that the choice of game
technology is not arbitrary when creating a good game. All
technologies will have a certain potential as well as
restrictions that make them more or less suitable to their
particular utilisation. Considering the various advantages
and limitations of the computer as a game technology listed
by Crawford, it appears quite obvious that there are certain
types of games that the computer is better suited for than
others. (Crawford 1982, chapter 4).
Game
scholar and game designer Gonzalo Frasca proposed
‘ludology’ as a name for the new discipline that
“studies games and playing in general, leaving video
games just a particular branch of study.” (Frasca
2001b). According to this definition, the ludological
approach to computer games puts the kinship between computer
games and other games to the fore, arguing that to establish
game studies as an independent academic discipline the first
task required is to define a general conceptual framework
distinguishing games as games. To identify possible common
denominators among what we define as games appears to be a
necessary task for ludologists at this point: to establish
and define the field of research, naturally, but also to
defend the purpose of a new academic discipline against
potential “colonisers” from other academic fields.
In developing a theoretical framework to outline the various
features that characterise games as such, we must however be
careful not to ignore the enormous variations between the
different kinds of games that exist.
Ludwig
Wittgenstein’s discussion of the ‘game’
concept in Philosophical Investigations illustrates
how difficult it is to reach a clear cut definition of
games, distinguishing games from other phenomena.
(Wittgenstein 1997 [1953], § 66-71). According
to Wittgenstein, all uses of the concept ‘game’
will have specific games in mind, highlighting features
characteristic of those games, while disregarding other
features characteristic of different games. In
Wittgenstein’s view we know and distinguish games
through a series of family resemblances. Although no feature
is common to all games, such family resemblances make it
possible for us to distinguish certain objects or practices
as “games”. Still, phenomena that we include in
the family “games” may show close kinship also to
other families. Live Action Role Play, for instance, is an
example of a phenomenon that can be regarded both as
belonging to the “theatre” family, as
improvisational theatre, as well as the family of
“games”, as a role-playing game.
In
this article my intention is to examine the various parts
that make up Tubmud, and ultimately to decide in what
way Tubmud may be described as a game. For these
purposes, a ludological method for analysis may be called
for. A general ludological method to approach games as games
is, to my knowledge, yet to be developed. At the present
stage, despite much discussion in the field no common
agreement as to what constitutes a game has yet been
created. A variety of play- and game definitions do exist,
however. A selection of these will be presented in the next
section of this article, in order to see how the two
concepts have traditionally been defined, and especially how
the interrelation between them is defined. I have collected
and applied these definitions both from what has previously
been written about games in general, as well as from what
has more recently been written addressing computer games in
particular. After this general introduction to relevant
theoretical approaches to play and games I will present two
models developed to analyse traditional games: E. M.
Avedon’s “The Structural Elements of Games”,
and Paul Gump, Fritz Redl, and Brian Sutton-Smith’s
“The Dimension of Games”, both of which appeared
in the 1971 anthology The Study of Games. Although
quite similar, the latter is more detailed than the former,
and I present them both in order to “map” the
various game-like features of Tubmud in greater
detail. A weakness with the two models is that they are
– understandably but unfortunately – not
“objective” models, mapping all possible features
of games: Both quite strongly reflect an underlying purpose,
namely to provide a method how to decide whether or not a
game would be suitable for specific groups of people.
Originally addressing an audience of social scientists,
psychologists, and therapists, the two models represented
highlight features that are relevant to these groups of
professionals, while ignoring features that are not. From a
transdisciplinary point of view, though, this
“weakness” has positive effects as well. As a
scholar most often preoccupied with questions of aesthetics,
these two models forces me to consider parts of
Tubmud that may be invisible from my usual
perspective.
Considering
the various “elements” and “dimensions”
presented in the two models in relation to Tubmud,
I’ll apply external theories – primarily from
other researchers involved with game studies – when
this is relevant. The article, therefore, has several aims:
It aspires to “map” Tubmud as a phenomenon,
listing the several parts Tubmud consists of and
suggesting how these could be conceptualised. It is also a
methodological discussion of how to approach the several
parts theoretically, presenting relevant perspectives from
other scholars in the field. Last but not least it should
serve to clarify my position as a scholar addressing
Tubmud: that is, sorting out and highlighting the
features of Tubmud that appear most relevant and
interesting to address from my theoretical perspective,
without giving the incorrect impression that these are the
only features there are in Tubmud.
Definitions
of Play and Games
Neither Johan
Huizinga nor Roger Caillois operate with a clear distinction
between play and games in their respective books; the two
game studies classics Homo Ludens (1955
[1938]) and Man, Play, and Games (1979
[1958]). Huizinga deliberately aims for a broad
definition that is capable of embracing every phenomenon
that is covered by the English word “play”. Thus
in Huizinga’s words, play is:
a
voluntary activity or occupation executed within certain
fixed limits of time and place, according to rules freely
accepted but absolutely binding, having its aim in itself
and accompanied by a feeling of tension, joy and the
consciousness that it is “different” from
“ordinary life”. Thus defined, the concept
seem[s] capable of embracing everything we call
“play” in animals, children, and grown-ups:
games of strength and skill, inventing games, guessing
games, games of chance, exhibitions and performances of
all kinds. (Huizinga 1955 [1938], 28)
Caillois thinks
Huizinga’s concept is at the same time too broad and
too narrow.
In particular, he criticises Huizinga for not including
games of chance in his book, focusing instead solely on
agonistic games.
Nevertheless, Caillois’ own definition does not appear
very different from Huizinga’s. To Caillois, play is an
activity that is essentially:
1.
Free: in which playing is not obligatory; if it were,
it would at once lose its attractive and joyous quality as
diversion;
2.
Separate: circumscribed within limits of space and
time, defined and fixed in advance;
3.
Uncertain: the course of which cannot be determined,
nor the result attained beforehand, and some latitude for
innovations being left to the player’s initiative;
4.
Unproductive: creating neither goods, nor wealth, nor
new elements of any kind; and, except for the exchange of
property among the players, ending in a situation identical
to that prevailing at the beginning of the game;
5.
Governed by rules: under conventions that suspend
ordinary laws, and for the moment establish new legislation,
which alone counts;
6.
Make-believe: accompanied by a special awareness of a
second reality or of a free unreality, as against real life.
(Caillois 1979 [1958], 9-10)
Caillois makes a
classification that aims to embrace all kinds of games,
dividing them into the four categories agôn
(competition), alea (chance), mimicry (simulation),
and ilinx (vertigo). Within each category the
games are measured on a continuum from paidia to
ludus, according to how orderly they are, his
(general) example of ultimate paidia being
“tumult”, while “crossword puzzles”
holds the position of ultimate ludus. (Caillois 1979
[1958], 36). It is important to notice that the
categories are distinguished through essential differences.
The exact factors or qualities that place a game closer to
the ludus pole in one category, therefore, do not
necessarily correspond with the factors deciding the place
on the continuum of a game of a different category. Ludus in
Caillois’ model is simply more “orderly” than
paidia. Generalising further and comparing the distinctive
pair paidia-ludus to the distinctive pair play-game may be
tempting, but is imprecise. The play-game distinction is far
better provided for by other thinkers in the field, whose
theories I will present in the following.
In
The Oxford History of Board Games (1999), David
Parlett makes the distinction between formal and informal
games, where the latter is “merely undirected play, or
‘playing around’”. Formal games have “a
twofold structure based on ends and means”, where
‘means’ refer to the agreed upon set of equipment
used in the game, as well as to specific procedural rules
that explain how to manipulate this equipment in order to
produce a winning situation. Winning then defines the end of
the game, “as termination and as object.” (Parlett
1999, 3). Parlett’s definition of formal games may
function as a definition of games in general, or of games as
opposed to simply “playing around”. His definition
of informal games, on the other hand, is too vague to be
useful as a general definition of play, especially as it
suggests that there are no rules or regularities involved.
An
alternative to Parlett’s definition is Frasca’s
distinction between ludus- and paidia
rules.
Frasca reserves the term ludus for games that produce
winners and losers. Ludus rules are therefore rules that
define a winning situation. Paidia rules are rules that
define or restrict the process of playing: how the equipment
may be manipulated, for instance. Both play and games
will contain paidia rules, but only games will have the
additional ludus rules. (Frasca 2001a, 7-11). In play,
paidia rules and goals are often set by the player(s), while
in games both ludus- and paidia rules will usually be
defined beforehand. In computer simulation games like Sim
City – a paideic, or play-based, game that
doesn’t contain the ludus rules defining a winning
situation – the paidia rules are defined beforehand.
However, the player is allowed to set her own goals. If her
goals imply a situation she may either win or lose, though,
ludus rules are added and Sim City then turns into a
game.
In the “Introduction” to The Study of Games,
Avedon and Sutton-Smith offer the following definition of
the relation between play and games, in which puzzles are
included as examples of “solitary games”: s
[We]
define play as an exercise of voluntary control
systems. But what of games? [...] From a
cultural point of view it is usual to emphasize that play
is unique and individual, but ephemeral; whereas a game
is sufficiently systematic that it may be repeated by
others in other places. [...] Games are
repeatable because of their systematic pattern and their
predictable outcomes. Play on the other hand is less
systematic, and is open-ended with respect to outcomes.
In a game, the participant’s voluntary control over
procedures has been subordinated in anticipation of, but
without guarantee for, a given goal.
Again, games imply some opposition or
antithesis between players. Even in solitary games (puzzles)
it seems that this same sense of opposition is present. That
is, the player contends against impersonal obstacles or
against fortune, or he mentally pits one aspect of himself
against another. [...] Even in the elementary game
we have a repeatable pattern, opposition, and outcome. At
its most elementary level then we can define a game as an
exercise of voluntary control systems in which there is an
opposition between forces, confined by a procedure and rules
in order to produce a disequilibrial outcome. (Avedon
and Sutton-Smith 1971, 6-7)
Computer
game designer Greg Costikyan however argues that puzzles are
not games, because they are not “interactive”.
(Costikyan 1994). Costikyan offers the following definition
of a game: “A game is a form of art in which
participants, termed players, make decisions in
order to manage resources through game tokens in the pursuit
of a goal.” In Costikyan’s view, “games
are interactive: The game state changes with the
players’ actions. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t
be a game: It would be a puzzle.” He admits, though,
that most computer games make use of puzzles, so it is
possible that a game may contain puzzles and still be a
game.
Costikyan also distinguishes games from toys, arguing that
in contrast to games, toys have no goals. The aforementioned
computer simulation game Sim City should in
Costikyan’s view therefore be defined as a toy, not as
a game.
In “Play, the Game, and the Generalized
Other” (1962 [1934]), the social behaviourist
George H. Mead writes about the relation between play and
games from the perspective of a child’s development of
self. According to Mead, game playing requires a more
well-developed sense of self than does simple play, for with
games a more elaborate set of responses is required. Both
phenomena require that the child be able to assume roles.
However, while play requires merely one role to be assumed,
or that different roles be assumed successively, to play a
game, the child must take on more than one role
simultaneously. In fact, games require that the child be
able to assume all roles and positions available in the game
to be able to predict what is to come and act accordingly.
Every player of a game, thus, needs to account for all
positions in the game (although not all positions all of the
time.) In Mead’s theory, the development of a self
requires that the child be capable of assuming the position
of a “generalised other”, from the perspective of
which he becomes aware of himself as an object. The
connection between the development of a self and the playing
of games, according to Mead, is that participation in a
game, that is, the simultaneous assumption of different
roles, requires the same kind of positioning. Assuming the
position of a generalised other does not imply that other
humans are necessarily involved in the game, however:
It
is possible for inanimate objects, no less than for other
human organisms, to form parts of the generalized and
organized—the completely socialized—other for
any given human individual, in so far as he responds to
such objects socially or in a social fashion (by means of
the mechanism of thought, the internalized conversation
of gestures.) Any thing—any object or set of
objects, whether animate or inanimate, human or animal,
or merely physical—toward which he acts, or to which
he responds, socially, is an element in what for him is
the generaliszed other; by taking the attitudes of which
toward himself he becomes conscious of himself as an
object or individual, and thus develops a self or
personality. (Mead 1962 [1934], 154, note 7)
The
various definitions of play and games presented in this
section illustrate how the writer’s perspective is
often decisive of what particular features are foregrounded
when distinguishing play from games, as well as when
describing play and games in general. When in the following
I use models developed by social scientists to map
Tubmud as a game, I will take into account their
apparent lack of aesthetical concern, and compensate by
adding theories developed in other fields when I think these
are called for.
Mapping
the Mud: A Transdisciplinary Approach
In
“The Structural Elements of Games”, E. M. Avedon
asks:
Are
there certain structural elements that are common to all
games, regardless of the differences in games or the
purposes for which games are used, or the culture in
which they are used? Are there elements that are
invariant under certain transformations? (Avedon 1971,
420)
Combining
various game theories from the fields of mathematics,
psychology, psychiatry, and sociology, Avedon identifies
seven such elements, and adds three more that
“personnel in the field of recreation have called
attention to.” (Avedon 1971, 422). Thus, he is able to
identify the following ten elements of which games are
composed, adding that “possibly, additional elements
will be identified at some future date.” (Avedon 1971,
422):
1.
Purpose of the game; aim or goal,
intent, the raison d’etre.
2.
Procedure for action; specific operations, required courses of action,
method of play.
3.
Rules governing action; fixed
principles that determine conduct and standards for
behaviour. N.B. Some games have very few rules, others have
such elaborate sets of rules as to require a non-participant
to keep track of infringement of the rules or to enforce the
rules.
4.
Number of required
participants; stated
minimum or maximum number of persons needed for action to
take place. N.B. Sometimes minimum and maximum are
identical.
5.
Roles of participants; indicated
functions and status. N.B. Role and power function may
differ for each participant or be the same.
6.
Results or pay-off; values
assigned to the outcome of the action.
7.
Abilities and skills
required for action;
aspects of the three behavioral domains utilized in a given
activity.
(a)
Cognitive domain includes—figural, symbolic, semantic,
and behavioral informational content; and operational
processes, such as cognition, memory, divergent and
convergent production, and evaluation.
(b)
Sensory-motor domain includes—bodily movement,
manipulative motor skills, co-ordination, sequences and
patterns of movement, endurance factors, sight, hearing,
etc.
(c)
Affective domain includes—semiotic factors which
stimulate emotions, i.e., anger, joy, affection,
disgust, hate, etc. Offers opportunities for object-ties,
transference, identification.
8.
Interaction patterns:
(a)
Intra-individual—action taking place within the mind of
a person or action involving the mind and a part of the
body, but requiring no contact with another person or
external object.
(b)
Extra-individual—action directed by a person toward an
object in the environment, requiring no contact with another
person.
(c)
Aggregate—action directed by a person toward an object
in the environment while in the company of other persons who
are also directing action toward objects in the environment.
Action is not directed toward each other, no inter-action
between participants is required or necessary.
(d)
Inter-individual—action of a competitive nature directed
by one person toward another.
(e)
Unilateral—action of a competitive nature among three or
more persons, one of whom is an antagonist or
“it”. Interaction is in simultaneous competitive
dyadic relationships.
(f)
Multi-lateral—action of a competitive nature among three
or more persons, no one person is an antagonist.
(g)
Intra-group—action of a co-operative nature by two or
more persons intent upon reaching a mutual goal. Action
requires positive verbal and non-verbal interaction.
(h)
Inter-group—action of a competitive nature between two
or more intra-groups.
9.
Physical setting and
environmental requirements:
(a)
Physical setting—man-made or natural facility in which
action takes place.
(b)
Environmental requirements—natural circumstances which
are indispensable or obligatory.
N.B. This element may not always be
present.
10.
Required equipment; man-made or
natural artifacts employed in the course of action. N.B.
This element may not always be present. (Avedon 1971,
422-425)
Evidently
Avedon’s model cannot be used to distinguish
Tubmud in its entirety as one game, or even type of
game. For that MUDs are too diverse, as the following
analysis based on the model will show. Already this is an
indication that MUDs are perhaps more correctly described as
“playgrounds”, or “game environments”,
rather than as “games”. Relating each of
Avedon’s elements to Tubmud appears nevertheless
to be a useful operation, not only as it serves to make
visible the great diversity of games to be played within a
MUD, but also as it may direct attention to specific game
elements and phenomena worth a closer look that could
otherwise, if we used a more general, overall perspective,
easily be missed.
1. Purpose of the
game.
With purpose, Avedon is referring to what defines the end of
the game from a point of view that is internal to the game,
that is, its inherent goal. To the MUD as a whole, there is
no such end. There are ends defined in the quests and games
taking place within the MUD environment, naturally. But as
the MUD as such is more open-ended – and in this sense
approaches play, cf. Avedon’s and Sutton-Smith’s
definition quoted in the previous section – the purpose
of playing is often set by the players themselves, and vary
from player to player according to the player’s
preferences. To some players the goal of playing is to reach
level 20, where they can be admitted as wizards and start
coding (i.e. creating) their own quests, areas, and objects
to add to the MUD. Other players spend their time in the MUD
first and foremost to socialise (or role play), while again
others aim toward developing a powerful character, or toward
exploring and mapping as much of the game environment as
they possibly can. Richard Bartle’s article
“Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds and Spades: Players who suit
MUDs” (1996) divides MUD players into four groups:
socialisers, killers, achievers, and explorers respectively.
His model does not cover the ones who are playing to become
coders, but then again, their purpose of playing could be
regarded as lying outside of game play, constituting a goal
that is external to the game. Bartle argues that to create a
successful MUD environment the creators must take into
account the balance of player types: Too many killers spoils
the fun for the achievers;
too many explorers makes a boring game for the socialisers,
etc.
A
second complicating factor when deciding the purpose of the
game is that Tubmud consists of so many sub-games,
with each defining its own particular aim, goal, intention
or raison d’etre. This element, thus, needs to
be considered with a particular player in mind, as well as
exclusively for each particular sub-game in the MUD.
2. Procedure for
action; specific
operations; required courses of action; method of play;
will also vary with type of player, and with type of game
played. Even if we restrict ourselves to one particular
quest, though, and perform the analysis from the perspective
of one particular player, it’s not very likely that we
will be able to pinpoint one particular procedure or method
for playing, as the tasks to be performed will be varied,
and some of them will even require that we step out of the
particular game for a period of time to prepare (i.e.
developing the skills needed to perform a certain operation)
by playing an entirely different game. Solving puzzles, as
far as puzzle games are rightfully conceptualised as games,
the game itself is a matter of identifying the right
procedure for action in order to be allowed to proceed.
3. Rules governing
the action
exist on different levels: At a general level, there are the
rules stated by the administration of the MUD, divided into
player rules, peer rules and wiz rules. These are rules
concerning behaviour toward other players, restrictions to
giving away hints and solutions to puzzles and quests, and
prohibition of bug abuse, to mention a few. Then there are
rules inherent in the code, defining what actions are
possible and what actions are not. These are what Frasca
would call paidia rules. (Frasca 2001a, 7-11). The third
type of rules may be named after Frasca’s ludus rules,
governing each particular sub-game where they define the
procedures that lead to a situation where the player either
wins or loses the game. Paradoxically, when examining
certain sub-games of Tubmud, this is the group of
rules that are most tricky to define within the framework of
a formal ludology. If, on the one hand, the sub-game
examined is based on the game Mastermind, the ludus
rules are easily definable as the following: to place four
coloured pins in a row, to guess the colour and position of
the pins of one’s opponent, and to answer one’s
opponent’s guesses by telling him the number of pins he
guessed correctly (that is, the number of pins with correct
colour but wrong position, and the number of pins where both
colour and position were correctly guessed). But if the
sub-game in question is less abstract, defining the ludus
rules using a formal ludological model turns far more
complicated. Solving a quest, in fact, often requires that
the player identify and abide by a certain code of behaviour
– a moral, or code of honour – that is to be
interpreted and derived from the fictional context framing
the quest. These rules are therefore a special kind of ludus
rule: Not only are they initially hidden to the player, they
are also embedded in a representation that the player needs
to interpret as a (potential) narrative to
disclose.
4. The next
element concerns the number of required participants.
This is also contingent upon the type of player and sub-game
in question: socialising and role-playing require two
players or more, while exploring can be done in solitude. If
we restrict ourselves to questing when considering this
element, though, a major part of Tubmud’s quests
are designed to be solved by one player only. There are a
couple of quests that can only be played by two players
cooperating, and quite a few that require more players if
the characters are below a certain level. This typically
concerns tough monsters that must be killed in order for the
character to be able to proceed: Low-level characters will
need to cooperate, or receive help from a high-level
character to get past such monsters.
5.
Roles of participants. This category is particularly relevant for the examination
of character interaction between MUD players in general, but
also with regard to solitary questing. Addressing character
representation and interaction, character roles could be
seen in a continuum from “presenting oneself”
through an avatar
in a social MOO
to the conscious staging of a fictive character personality
in a role-playing MUD.
Some MUD societies are divided into clans and guilds,
offering a hierarchy for the character to climb through the
development of specific traits, skills, and qualities. Roles
are also determined by the different games that are played
in the MUD. The code of behaviour imposed on a character
while solving a quest, for instance, also affects its
role.
6. Results or pay-off.s.
To look for results or pay-off outside the MUD world, as
something that affects the real life of the player, is
beyond the scope of this ludology. Within the boundaries of
the fictive world, though, the question of results and
pay-off is a highly interesting issue. Contrary to most
traditional games, result and pay-off from one Tubmud
quest often come to play a significant part in the next one.
Rewards won when solving a quest may add to the identity of
the character through its symbolic value; other rewards such
as a mighty magic sword may facilitate the future life of
the character by making him or her a better fighter.
Completing a quest also adds an amount of quest- and
experience points to the character, which are needed to
raise the character in level and also to raise its
stats.
Some quest objects may function as rewards even though they
are not given to the character after the quest is solved,
but during the questing process.
7. Abilities and
skills required for action..
Avedon divides this element into three: the cognitive
domain, the sensory-motor domain, and the affective
domain. Obviously the player’s cognitive skills
play a significant part when solving puzzle quests. Through
the close examination and exploration of the quest space,
textual interpretation is required in order to find the
right procedure for action. Additionally, there are puzzles
that require logical thinking from the player.
The
sensory-motor domain must be divided in two: the
sensory-motor skills of the player (e.g in typing, reading,
quickly reacting to the information presented on the
screen), and the sensory-motor skills of the character. The
character is programmed with improvable skills for climbing,
fighting, magic, etc. If the character hasn’t good
enough climbing skills, certain areas of Tubmud will
be closed to the player no matter how well developed his or
her own sensory-motor abilities become.
The
affective domain includes, as Avedon describes it,
“semiotic factors which stimulate emotions,
i.e., anger, joy, affection, disgust, hate, etc.
Offers opportunities for object-ties, transference,
identification.” (Avedon 1971, 424). MUDs engage the
affective domain to a surprising degree. Using only written
words, instead of video or other more visual representation,
MUDs are what Marshall McLuhan calls cold media – media
that transmit information with “low definition”
– where the receiver has to fill in the massive gaps of
information details that are missing in the transmitted
message. (McLuhan 1997 [1964], 22). Popular
assumption has it that the “warmer” the medium,
the stronger the potential emotional impact of the message
on the receiver. However, it is not the nature of the medium
itself that effects strong emotional reactions, but the
particular utilisation of the medium in question that may or
may not be successful. Feelings evoked in the MUD –
e.g. of pity, shame, fear, or affection – are
experienced as being just as strong, and often even
stronger, than similar emotions triggered by events in the
player’s ordinary life world. Nevertheless, people who
are not themselves familiar with MUD communication often
find it hard to believe that such complex emotional
responses may be evoked by words alone.
While
communicating with other players/characters in the MUD,
written words are exchanged in real time. Lacking
intonation, facial expression, and the immediate gesturing
we use to modify or amplify our words when communicating
within a shared physical space, MUD communication leaves
quite a lot out for the receiver to fill in. So much, in
fact, that it is often more correct to ascribe the
interpolated content to the player’s imaginative rather
than interpretative faculty. Allucquère Rosanne
(aka Sandy) Stone explains how the information added
by the client during phone sex is guided by the
client’s desire, where desire is evoked as a response
to that which is missing. The principle of (wilfully or
accidentally, but inevitably) “taking advantage of
lack” applies to the participants of a MUD
communication session as well:
In
phone sex, once the signifiers begin to “float”
loose from their moorings in a particularized physical
experience, the most powerful attractor becomes the
client’s idealized fantasy. In this circumstance
narrow bandwidth becomes a powerful asset, because
extremely complex fantasies can be generated from a small
set of cues. […] In a Lacanian
interpretation of these interactions, client and provider
mobilize erotic tension by taking advantage of
lack—filling in missing information with idealized
information. In this circumstance desire, theorized as a
response to perceived lack, arises as a product of the
tension between embodied reality and the emptiness of the
token, in the forces that maintain the pre-existing codes
by which the token is constituted. (Stone 1995, 94-95)
The fact that
MUD communication proceeds according to this principle
implies that the other player with whom the MUD player
communicates can never be identical with the way in which he
or she appears in the real world: “The other
player” is a construct of the MUD player’s
imagination, based on the MUD player’s interpretation
of the information that is available to her, as well as her
own input of “idealised” content where the
information passed on to her is inadequate.
8.
Examining the interaction patterns, we again have to
distinguish between the different games that can be played
inside of the MUD world, though the first, that is,
intra-individual action, is here ruled out as there
is always at least one computer involved in addition to the
player. The action is therefore extra-individual, as
Avedon describes it, “directed by one person toward an
object in the environment, requiring no contact with another
person”, as far as the game is played in solitary
interaction with the text alone and not including any
communication with other players/characters. Typically,
though, in Tubmud quests, is a combination of
extra-individual and aggregate action, “directed
by a person toward an object in the environment while in the
company of other persons who are also directing action
towards objects in the environment. Action is not directed
toward each other, no inter-action between participants is
required or necessary.” (Avedon 1971, 424). Exceptions
to this general rule are the few quests that require two or
more players to be solved.
In
Tubmud, the interaction between players is rarely
inter-individual, that is, “a competition
between two persons”. However, such interaction occurs,
for instance, in the games “Waiting”, and
“The Schnitzel Chase”. Inter-individual
competition may also be initiated by the players themselves,
e.g. when competing to be the first one to reach the next
level, or to occupy the higher position on one of the seven
tablets listing the 10 highest ranked players in level
points, combat points, quest points, explore points,
alignment on the good side (from saintly), alignment on the
bad side (to demonic), and age, respectively.
Unilateral action, where
two or more persons compete against one antagonist, is not
very typical in Tubmud, and neither is
multi-lateral action, where three or more people
compete against each other. If we include non-player
characters
among the possible antagonists, however, the picture is
different: Then inter-individual, unilateral, and
multi-lateral actions become the norm rather than the
exception.
Intra-group
action, where a group cooperates to reach a mutual goal, is,
on the other hand, quite frequent. Several quests are played
this way, especially those that involve heavy combat.
Inter-group action, where two or more intra-groups
compete against each other, is rare, although the clan
system was perhaps intended to instigate such activity.
Again, if we include non-player characters as antagonists,
the result is different. In such cases, inter-group action
is just as frequent as intra-group action; in fact, they
would appear more or less inclusive of each other. Examples
here are the quests entitled “Return To Another
World” and “Slay the Evil Necromancer
Kobayashi”.
9. Physical
setting and environmental requirements. Examining the actual
physical setting of the player is not very relevant to this
project, apart from stating the obvious: there is a huge
discrepancy between the actual physical space that the
player inhabits and the virtual space that he imaginatively
inhabits when he enters the MUD. (Logging in to
Tubmud, the player is greeted with the following
message: Ahh.. It's good to return once again from the
horrifying dreamworld of reality. You flex the toes of your
Tubmud body and finally feel at home.) More
interesting, thus, is the space represented by the MUD
texts: the textual environmental settings that frame the
games that are played there. The representation of space in
MUDs will be further addressed below, when examining
Tubmud according to the dimensions of Gump et.
al.’s model.
10. Required
equipment.
The player needs a computer with an Internet connection and
a MUD client installed to enter the game. The rest of the
details will be provided by the game itself. This element is
more relevant to examine from the perspective of the
character inhabiting a fictional world, in which the search
for required equipment is often an integral part of the game
played. A description of required character equipment will
be given later in this section.
Paul Gump,
Fritz Redl, and Brian Sutton-Smith’s “The
Dimensions of Games” is another approach to the
structure of game elements, listing 30 dimensions and
distinguishing different possibilities within them.
Including more variables than Avedon’s, this model is a
more precise analytical tool, useful to spot more aspects of
the MUD that may deserve attention. Because of it being so
detailed while at the same time aspiring to embrace all
kinds of games, though, some of the categories will
necessarily appear less relevant than others.
For overview purposes, I’ll again present the dimensions
together first and discuss them in more detail later while
relating each of them to Tubmud:
I.
Body Contact.
A.
Directness vs. Via Props.
B.
Competitive vs. Non-Competitive
II.
Bodily Activity.
A.
Body Mobility and Locomotion.
1.
Static vs. Mobile.
2.
Rigid vs. Fluid.
B.
Manipulative Opportunities.
C.
Vocal Expression.
III.
Skill Requirements.
A.
Thinking.
B.
Creative Imagination.
C.
Manipulating as in Arts & Crafts.
D.
Manipulation as in Athletics and Body Skills.
E.
Language.
F.
“Reaction Time”.
IV.
Chance Determination of Success.
V.
Competition Factors.
A.
Centrality of Winning and Losing.
B.
Goal Directed vs. Opponent Directed.
C.
Self Enhancement vs. Defeat of the ”other”.
D.
Team vs. Individual Competition.
E.
Interference with Participants by Participants.
VI.
Use of Space.
A.
Amount available.
B.
Freedom in Use of Space.
VII.
Time Considerations.
A.
Amount of time before fun rewards start.
B.
Presence or Absence of Natural Termination Points.
C.
Presence or Absence of Well Closured Steps.
VIII.
Prop Usage.
A.
Clubbing Props.
B.
Power Projection and Extension Props.
IX.
Role Taking Factors.
A.
Amount of Function Differentiation.
1.
Limelight.
2.
Control Positions.
3.
On-the-spot Positions.
B.
Imagination Roles.
X.
Rule Complexity.
A.
Increase demands on the comprehension of participants.
B.
Enrich game experience.
C.
Cause Unexpected advances and reversals.
XI.
Interdependence of Players.
XII.
Volume and Distributions of Participants.
1.
Active participation.
2.
In-game passive participations.
3.
In-game waiting.
4.
Out-of-game waiting.
a.
Amount of Guaranteed Active
Participation.
b.
Rapidity of Shift from less
Active Types of Participation to Active Participation.
c.
Continuity of Active Participation.
XIII.
Leeway for Marginal Impulse Expression.
XIV.
Respite Possibilities.
A.
Safety Zones or Positions.
B.
Built in rest periods.
XV.
Suspense Emphasis.
XVI.
Switches Between Opposites.
A.
Theme Switch.
B.
Action Switch.
XVII.
Pleasure-Pain Content of Winning or Losing.
A.
Loss of “Possessions”.
B.
Implications that one is inadequate skillwise.
C.
Implication that Destiny is against one.
D.
Loss of Dignity.
XVIII.
Spread of Winnership.
A.
One winner—everybody else loses—elimination games.
B.
One-winner and seconds and thirds.
C.
Several winners.
D.
All win but the loser.
XIX.
Penetration of Game by Rewards and Penalties.
A.
Game Play.
B.
Game End.
XX.
Institutionalized “Cheating”.
A.
“Lying” and Bluffing.
B.
Deliberate Misleading.
C.
Stealing.
D.
Sneaking.
XXI.
Nature of the Obstacles in Game.
A.
Beyond the participant obstacles.
1.
Opponent produced and/or manipulated obstacles.
2.
Impersonal obstacles.
B.
“Tied-to Person” Obstacles.
XXII.
Trust Dependence.
XXIII.
Permanence of Alliances.
XXIV.
Direct Mirroring of Life Themes.
A.
Contemporary Events and Culture.
B.
Institutionalized Fantasy.
XXV.
Personalization of Game Props.
XXVI.
Introduction of Ritual to Game.
XXVII.
Potential Sexualization Range of Games.
A.
Incidental Body Pleasure.
B.
Eliciting and Tying Sexual energies on Certain Given
Sublimational Level.
C.
Safety-Guaranteed Sexual Gratifications.
XXVIII.
Potential Humor-Producing Range of Games.
XXIX.
Outcome Clarity.
XXX.
Challenges.
I. Body
contact. Already the first dimension of body contact
confronts us with two of the more fundamental questions that
need to be addressed in order to make this model functional
for our purpose. Firstly, as we are always acting through
textually defined avatars in MUDs, this dimension could be
regarded irrelevant. However, entirely omitting the
dimension of body contact would hardly prove to be a
reasonable decision. Simulation of bodily contact through
textual commands is, after all, one of the more significant
communication devices at work in MUDs. A better solution is
therefore to acknowledge the textually defined simulations
of physicality/physical space as equivalent to ordinary
physicality occurring in the ordinary physical space that is
referred to in the model. And just as some dimensions could
easily be considered irrelevant unless we regard the
represented MUD world as an equivalent to the physical
world, regarding non-player characters as equivalent to
player characters (as allies or adversaries) is necessary in
order to apply other dimensions.
The
second problem is that MUDs – again – prove to be
too diverse. Several forms of bodily contact occur during a
MUD session. Some are direct, some are performed via props,
some are competitive in one way or the other, and some are
non-competitive. Distinguishing the MUD as a specific type
of game through this dimension is impossible. Evidently, for
these rather specific categories to be analytically useful,
we must separate between different events in the MUD,
looking at each of them individually. Complicating the
situation further, though, we see that singular quests and
scenarios will also appear to embed several different games
if games are to be defined and distinguished according to
the positions they occupy within this scheme.
This
is not, however, exclusive to MUDs, but will probably apply
(to a lesser or greater degree) to all games that present
the player with a series of tasks requiring different
approaches. Non-abstract computer games – in which
playing takes place within a represented game world –
often present the player with great diversity in the tasks
to be performed during game play. An “eventology”
to map such diversity in games is proposed in the article
“Video games and configurative performances”:
As
games consist of open series of events rather than of
closed sequences of events like narratives, we might try
to apply Aarseth’s heuristic functional typology
(Aarseth 1997, 60-63) also to individual and
semi-autonomous strings and clusters of events instead of
the totality of them. Then we would have a very different
eventology at our disposal, capable of taking into
account the combinatory nature of events in the bottom-up
world of computer games, or more generally the ways games
divide themselves into parts and sequences. (Eskelinen
and Tronstad 2003)
While
Gump et. al.’s model is already too rigid to
distinguish Tubmud as a type of game, it serves as a
first step on the way to mapping the diversity of possible
MUD games and game events. If one’s objective is to map
the various types of game play available in MUDs on a strict
formalistic level, the next step could be to subject these
games and game events to a more detailed eventology of the
kind that is outlined in the article quoted above.
II. Bodily activity.
Body mobility and locomotion is required in order to
explore the MUD space. However, there are periods of just
standing around as well, chatting with other players, for
instance, or waiting for things to happen. Restrictions on
bodily mobility may be rigid (as when the character
is trapped or paralysed), but mobility tends to approach
fluid in the sense that the character is normally
free to move around as it (or rather, the player) pleases.
(Common restrictions to the characters’ mobility are
described further under dimension VI, “Use of
space,” below.)
III. Skill requirements.
Thinking applies particularly to puzzle solving.
Creative imagination is necessary in order to
experience the MUD as something more than mere words on a
screen, that is, to conceptualise it as an imaginary
environment to be inhabited. Manipulation as in Arts
& Crafts is irrelevant from the perspective of the
player, as every object will be represented, manipulated,
and created through the medium of letters and words. From
the perspective of the character, on the other hand, this
dimension is relevant: playing an instrument or forging
weapons are examples of skills available to learn and
improve for the character. Similarly with the dimension
known as Manipulation as in athletics and body
skills: without having to be particularly athletic
himself, the player will often have to train his character
in body skills (e.g. climbing) to be able to perform certain
actions. Language is of course a highly relevant
category, which applies first and foremost to the player.
(First and foremost, but not exclusively, as language
is in fact a skill available to the character as well in
Tubmud: He or she may learn to speak the foreign
language known as Liztongue.) Language skills of the player
are required in all MUDs but highlighted in role-playing
MUDs which are based on the players’ own description of
their interactions. Reaction time can affect the
outcome of a fight. Sometimes when the system gets
overloaded extraordinary time lag between the player’s
giving a command and the computer’s execution of it may
overrule reaction time, though, causing the character’s
death regardless of the player’s timely reaction. Reaction time can also be an
issue in quests, if there are tasks that may be performed
only within a limited period of time.
IV. Chance determination
of success.
Chance is seldom a significant factor in quest solving,
where success is rather skill determined. When the
distribution of tokens involves an element of randomness,
however, chance becomes a variable. For example, in the
MoMu
scenario “Waiting”, players compete against each
other to successfully seat groups of guests arriving at a
restaurant. The guests are of different races and genders,
and they must
be seated in a specific order, according to a quite complex
set of rules. The race and gender of successive guests
accumulating in each waiter’s line to be seated
successively is distributed at random. Success in
“Waiting”, thus, is partly a matter of chance, and
partly a matter of strategic thinking.
V. Competition factors.
The question of winning and losing is central in
questing, and to the achiever
type of players. Among socialisers, this category may be
considered irrelevant, and MUDs that are designed primarily
for socialising purposes may lack this dimension entirely.
Whether or not MUDs that lack this dimension are
“games” at all depends on how we define the
difference between play and games: according to
Frasca’s definition they are not games, while according
to Caillois they may very well be.
Competition
is goal directed in questing and in competitions of
advancement between players. During fights, the element of
competition is opponent directed. Here the goal can
be both self enhancement and defeat of the
“other”, depending on the contextual setting
for the fight. Most competition in Tubmud is
individual; team competition between player teams is
rare, but – as mentioned earlier – some quests
involve team competition between a team of players versus a
team of monsters. Interference with participants by
participants – i.e. where a player creates
obstacles to hinder another player’s success – is
a feature of role-playing MUDs, where there may be no
obstacles other than those that are created on the spot by
one’s antagonist(s). In Tubmud, the obstacles to
overcome in each game are already defined in the code. Other
players may of course interfere, but as competition between
players is not a factor that is particularly emphasised in
the various games, interference with participants by
participants is not encouraged, and rarely
happens.
Again, if non-player characters are considered
“participants”, the result is different: then the
category regarding participant interference applies to
Tubmud as well.
VI. Use of
space.
MUDs are game spaces representing miniature worlds. Smaller
game spaces, or playgrounds, are embedded within each MUD.
These game spaces may be separate or overlapping. A quest
may define one such game space, or be divided into several
game spaces (sometimes overlapping), or define one major
game space embedding several sub-game
spaces.
In “Allegories of Space” Aarseth proposes the
terms open space and the labyrinth to
designate two different ways of simulating space in computer
games. In open space simulations, the player can move freely
into any direction, while in the labyrinth there are paths
defined that the player will have to keep to. Labyrinthine
game spaces may represent open spaces such as landscapes by
using realistic obstructions (hills and rivers, for
instance) to “naturally” restrict the game space
available. (Aarseth 2001a).
Aarseth
opposes the assumption that computer games will necessarily
benefit from the development of ever more realistically
simulated 3D spaces, arguing that to certain types of games
it is in fact the non-spatiality of space simulation that
makes gameplay possible:
[S]patial
representation in computer games [is] a reductive
operation leading to a representation of space that is
not in itself spatial, but symbolic and rule-based. The
nature of space is not revealed in this operation, and
the resulting product, while fabricating a spatial
representation, in fact uses the reductions as a means to
achieve the object of gameplay, since the difference
between the spatial representation and real space is what
makes gameplay by automatic rules possible. In real
space, there would be no automatic rules, only social
rules and physical laws. (Aarseth 2001a, 163)
Representing
miniature worlds, MUDs are generally constructed as open
spaces, while also including areas that are structured like
a labyrinth. The player may, to a great extent, freely move
his or her character around in Tubmud, exploring and
using the text space available. There are, however, spatial,
temporal, or personal (tied to the character) restrictions
as to which rooms the character may enter. The character
cannot move instantly to any room in the MUD, but must
follow the available exits leading out of the room he or she
is currently positioned in. Nevertheless, teleportation
between rooms that are not explicitly linked together this
way is possible. The destination room cannot freely be
chosen on the spot, though, but needs to be set beforehand
by the player visiting the room the regular way and
“saving” it in the memory of the teleportation
device that will be used. Temporary restrictions exist too:
For instance, some of the village shops will be closed
during the night. An example of personal restriction is when
a room can be visited only after the character solves a
specific task.
Aarseth’s
cybertextual variables of access and linking
should be applied to this dimension. Aarseth makes a
distinction between random and controlled access to texts,
described in the following manner: “If all scriptons of
the text are readily available to the user at all times,
then the text is random access (typically the codex); if
not, then access is controlled”. (Aarseth 1997, 63).
Linking may be explicit, conditional or non-existing (no
links). Conditional links are links “that can only be
followed if certain conditions are met”. (Aarseth 1997,
64). Rooms that can be visited only after the character has
solved specific tasks are examples of conditional linking in
MUDs. Following Aarseth thus, we can say that the
player/character of Tubmud has controlled access to
the text rooms of the MUD (not all rooms are available all
the time but dependent on the character’s position in
the landscape), and some times access is further restricted
through conditional linking between rooms.
VII. Time considerations.
Tubmud is text based, which means that before any
play can take place, the player must have succeeded in
situating herself mentally within the game space through
reading and textual interpretation. This takes time. Also
when solving puzzles, the amount of time before fun
rewards start can be quite substantial, depending on how
difficult the puzzles are. To define what “fun
reward” may imply in games I use Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s
concept of flow, which is described as an
“optimal state of experience”. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1988a, 3).
Flow is experienced when the activity performed appears
rewarding in itself. Play is usually thought of as being
intrinsically rewarding, in contrast to work which is done
for the purpose of obtaining extrinsic rewards, e.g.
money.
In flow, people forget time and place: they become totally
absorbed in performing the task at hand. No reflection is
needed as to how to perform it, either. It is in this state
that concentration is optimal, according to Csikszentmihalyi.
Reaching the condition of flow, though, also requires that
the challenges perceived in a situation and one’s
ability to handle them are perfectly balanced. If the
challenges are too difficult to handle, we become anxious.
If the challenges are too easy, on the other hand, boredom
is the result. The ability to experience flow is partly
dependent on the person, or the personality type, as certain
people seem more talented than others in establishing this
required balance. There are also types of activities that
are more likely to effect flow experiences. As Csikszentmihalyi writes:
In
everyday life, challenges and skills are rarely balanced.
Either there are too many things to do, clamoring for
attention, in which case we tend to be worried or
anxious; or there seems to be nothing to do, in which
case we end up feeling bored. This is why flow typically
occurs in clearly structured activities in which the
level of challenges and skills can be varied and
controlled, such as ritual events, games, sports, or
artistic performances. (Csikszentmihalyi 1988b, 30-31)
A continuous
sense of flow is rare when playing Tubmud. This too
is partly due to the diversity of the game: It is simply not
possible to learn the rules once and for all, and set out
playing. All through the game, there will be new things to
learn, and new skills to develop. Pondering over impossible
puzzles; spending one’s time collecting all sorts of
healing items in order to be able to beat a particularly
tough monster in combat; or practicing for hours to be able
to climb a difficult wall; forging a special sword; or
making light by magic, might be considered tedious rather
than fun. Juul calls time spent in games performing dull but
necessary tasks like these “dead time”. (Juul
2003). Obviously, these activities can’t be rewarding
in themselves, as they’re performed for the sake of
something else: that is, in order to reach a higher goal.
The focus of the player will be on this future goal, rather
than on the performance itself. To see the solution to the
puzzle is fun, as is beating the monster, or reaching the
top of the wall. Fun rewards in MUDs will, for the most
part, be experienced as moments of flow, occurring when the
player finally, after hours of preparation or pondering
– or suddenly, by a lucky coincidence – masters a
specific task. As Juul correctly points out, though;
spending a lot of time in frustration preparing for a task
may enhance the feeling of joy when one finally masters it.
(Juul 2003, note 10).
Juul
divides time in computer games (game time) into play
time and event time. Play time is the time
playing takes, while event time is the representation of
time passing in the game world projected. Not all games have
a separate event time: for example, abstract games such as
Tetris, which do not project a game world. Play time
and event time can be concurrent (typical in action games),
or event time can proceed faster than play time (as in
simulation games where the passing of a year in the game
world may take two minutes play time.) The player may be
informed about events that happened previous to play time
through cut scenes. While these go on, play time is
necessarily paused, as there is no way the player can
influence cut scene events: They are merely passed on to
him. Sometimes information about events that happened in the
past can also be gained during gameplay, through objects
left in the game world that contain such information (e.g.
the books in Myst). (Juul 2003).
Tubmud
is set in a “long distant past”, and time proceeds
much quicker there than in our world. This indicates that
play time and event time are different in Tubmud. The
quick progression of event time, though, is significant only
to certain kinds of activities: Idling ten minutes to wait
for the village shop to re-open after it closed for the
night, for instance, is considerably less frustrating than
having to wait ten hours. During questing or fighting, on
the other hand, the player may easily get the experience of
acting in real time: that is, that play time and event time
are identical. While socialising with other players, the
“long distant past” dimension tends to be
suspended.
Some
quests in Tubmud make use of an equivalent of cut
scenes, for example when streams of information are
presented while the character is in a state unable to leave
or interfere until everything is said. A more typical
feature of the genre, though, is to have information
revealed little by little through exploration of the quest
space.
Juul’s
distinction between play time and event time and his
examples of how this relation differs according to game
genre has interesting implications when applied to
Tubmud. An analysis of game events here reveals
several layers of event times going on at the same (play)
time. Traditional distinctions between computer game genres,
thus, are not always easily drawn in games like
Tubmud, in which a single game event may include and
mix features from various genres, such as the simulation
game, the action game, the role-playing game, and the
adventure game.
Aarseth
operates with a threefold temporality in relation to
computer games, consisting of event time,
negotiation time, and progression time:
In
the clockwork world of the game, events occur when the
controlling program enacts them, and when the user acts
on the same level. The event time is the basic level of
ergodic time. [It] is a result of the user’s
growing knowledge of the event space, as laid down by the
designer of the game. This knowledge process takes place
on a level outside the game’s event time, which may
be seen as a level of negotiation, where the possible
event times are tested and varied, until a sufficiently
satisfying sequence is reached, or not reached. If it is
reached, a third level of time has been affected: that of
the progression of the game from beginning to end.
(Aarseth 1999, 37)
The
amount of time before fun rewards start could be approached
with the pair aporia and epiphany used by
Aarseth. Aporias are obstacles that hinder the player’s
progression in the game, keeping her stuck in negotiation
time. They can be puzzles, monsters, or physical obstacles
that the player needs to find a way to pass or get round.
What Aarseth calls epiphany is the moment when the player
realises the correct way to proceed in order to overcome the
obstacle. This is a typical moment of flow: When the player
“knows” exactly what to do, and the game responds
accordingly, confirming her knowledge and rewarding her with
the sense of mastering her task.
Presence or absence of
natural termination points. When the player has to
wait for his character’s hit points
to be restored before continuing fighting, the game he was
engaged in is naturally paused. He may, of course, use this
time to engage in another game, solving a puzzle, for
instance, which does not consume hit points. He can also go
for a drink to speed up his character’s
recovery.
If the pub is closed when the player/character arrives, and
he decides to wait for it to open, this would represent
another “natural termination point” in the game.
Presence or absence of
well closured steps. Regarding Tubmud as a whole, when a
player finishes a quest, or reaches a higher level, she has
completed a part of the game. Some quests are also divided
into smaller parts or sub-games that are “saved”
after they are completed, for example the quests entitled
“Be kind to an Old Lady” and “The Lands of
Havoc”. Such parts or sub-games represent “well
closured steps” in the game.
VIII. Prop Usage.
Clubbing props. These range from chopsticks, knives,
and daggers, through brooms and ordinary swords, to magical
swords and whips. Only characters that have reached a
certain experience level can wield some of the very advanced
weapons. Wielding a good weapon makes the character more
powerful, facilitates gameplay, and may enhance the
experience of flow. Wielding extremely powerful weapons can
also add to the character’s identity or status within
the game world. A few weapons have special purposes, for
instance, when a certain monster can only be killed by a
particular weapon. This weapon may be extremely powerful
when used on this particular monster, while being
practically useless when wielded against other monsters. An
example is “the indescribable monster slayer”
which is used to kill the “indescribable monster”
in the Monty Python-inspired quest entitled “Revive
some Glorious Knights of a Long Forgotten Age”.
Power projection and
extension props. To the adventurer’s typical outfit
belong armour (boots, mail, robe, shield, gauntlets, helmet)
as well as monster spectacles,
rope, torch, shovel, and a bag to carry things in. Ordinary
boots may be replaced with Freya’s boots (containing a
little imp with teleportation- and healing powers); ordinary
mail can be replaced with a bluemail, or a healing mail
(both have healing powers, but the bluemail can also store a
certain amount of spellpoints to be released when the player
needs them); the character may wear a white robe or a
brilliant mantle (emitting light); and instead of a helmet,
perhaps a wizard’s hat (with the same powers as the
imp, approximately) or a witch hat (which has varying
functions according to the alignment of the
character.)
In addition, the character may get herself a spell diploma
(which implies mastering the available spells on it), a
magic broom that can take her to certain locations, and
perhaps a spell adder (containing an amount of additional
spell points that the character can use.) In short, there is
a wide variety of power projection and extension props to be
used in Tubmud.
IX. Role taking factors.
Amount of function differentiation. In “The
gaming situation”, Eskelinen builds upon Aarseth’s
distinction between static and dynamic roles of the player
(Aarseth 1995), and describes player functions and
functional differences between players in the following
manner:
The
static and dynamic functional relations among players
refer to the functional capabilities of their
representations (characters) in and during the game: they
can either acquire new qualities and capabilities in the
course of the game, or not. One should also make a
distinction between functional similarity and
dissimilarity of available roles in a game, as whenever
there’s a team there is usually also a division of
labour. (Eskelinen 2001)
In
many MUDs, possibilities and restrictions concerning the
development of character skills are tied to guilds and/or
races.
Such organisation of character creation offers the
opportunity to create characters that specialise in specific
tasks such as healing, magic, or fighting. This is a way of
encouraging role-play as well as cooperation between the
players in the MUD. Before setting out on a mission, players
of such MUDs may group together according to their
characters’ specific skills and traits: skilled dwarven
fighters grouping together with a couple of physically weak
elven druids offering healing in exchange of protection, for
instance. Tubmud characters are not defined according
to race differences, and the guild system offers minimal
differentiation only as to what skills the character may
possess and develop. Consequently, functional differences of
characters in Tubmud are primarily a question of
character level, in addition to the player’s experience
and personal style of playing.
Limelight position
and on-the-spot position: Character names may be
exposed through public announcement (a message occurring on
all the players’ screens), either because he, she, or
it accomplished something great (e.g. saved the Golden
Country) or because of bad behaviour (e.g. cheating Old
Mastermind).
Control positions
belong to the wizards of the game, who can expel players who
cheat or misbehave according to the rules of the game.
Imagination roles.
In order to be admitted permanent access with a personal
character to a role-playing MUD, it is often required that
the player describe in great detail characteristics of his
or her character before it is formally created. She must be
faithful to this description later in the game by allowing
it to determine precisely how the character acts and reacts.
As explained above, race and guild association function much
in the same way, allowing and restricting the possible
actions of the character. (A difference is that in the
latter case, it is the computer that keeps track of
available and unavailable actions of the character, making
it futile to even try to transcend limitations in the
character’s “nature”.) These two ways of
organising character creation in a MUD emphasize the
role-playing element of the game, focusing on the character
as a fictive personality inhabiting a fictional space. The
player is asked to identify with the character’s
personality type and take pleasure in the assumption of its
role in the game. In this process, a conflict between
representational and functional aspects of the character may
arise, if the representational aspects appealing to the
player’s imaginative identification are not
compatible with the player’s personal or preferred style
of playing. An example of this could be a player who wants
the appearance of an elven druid but realises during game
play that she is far too impatient and independent as a
player type to enjoy a game in which she must rely on other
players’ help in order to earn combat points, or even
to make it through the woods in one piece.
In
“The Myth of the Ergodic Videogame. Some thoughts on
the player-character relationships in videogames”,
James Newman argues that representational aspects of the
character in computer games are less important than its
functional capabilities in regard to the player’s sense
of character identification and immersion in the game:
[T]he
character-selection process described by Kinder reveals a
relationship with these characters that disregards
representational traits in favour of the constitution of
character as sets of capabilities, potentials and
techniques offered to the player. The player utilises and
embodies the character in the gameworld. While it may
retain significance on the box, in adverts, even in cut
scenes and introductions within the game, during
On-Line
engagement, the appearance of the player’s character
is of little or no consequence. By this, I mean to
suggest that the level of engagement, immersion or
presence experienced by the player – the degree to
which the player considers themselves to “be”
the character – is not contingent upon
representation. On-Line, “character” is
conceived as capacity – as a set of characteristics.
(Newman 2002)
Tubmud is neither a role-playing MUD (in
which role-play is required), nor does it offer different
races for character definition.
The few guilds provided would need to be more distinctive,
varied, and better integrated in the MUD to constitute a
proper guild system of the kind that guides or determines
role-play in other MUDs. Imagination roles in Tubmud
are therefore to a lesser extent defined or determined by
the player beforehand, but tend to develop over time, that
is, they are determined by events happening in the process
of game play.
The wide variety of games
to be found inside of Tubmud assign the player
various roles, as well. Later in the article, sorted under
XXX. Challenges, Gump et. al. present a list of possible
player relations (“Purpose of Actor and
Counter-Actor”) that I will include here, as it also
concerns possible roles assigned to the player during
competitive gaming:
The
Race. Actor: To overtake.
Counter-actor: To stay ahead (both are attempts to reach a
goal first). As
Tubmud games seldom involve competition between
players, the pair actor/counter-actor will in general
consist of a player (or players) occupying one position,
while non-player characters occupy the other. The exception
to this rule occurs within The Race. This is the only
category in which we find games where players occupy both
positions. One example is “The Schnitzel Chase”,
which is organised as a race between two players, or two
teams of players, hunting little coloured pigs which are
scattered around in the MUD landscape, bringing as many as
they can possibly catch to Big Bad Wolf the Pig Eater before
the time runs out. Another example is the player-initiated
game in which players compete to reach a higher rank first.
The
Chase. Actor: To try to catch, tackle, tag.
Counter-actor: To outdistance, dodge, elude. The aforementioned “Schnitzel Chase”
is additionally a chase in which the players occupy the
actor position while the pigs are counter-actors. To cross a
labyrinth appearing in the quest entitled “The Lands of
Havoc” is an example of a game event in which the player
is assigned the position of counter-actor, being chased by
fifteen orcs.
The
Attack. Actor: To overcome barrier, enter a guarded
area, overpower a defense, to injure—psychologically or
otherwise. (Attacks may be obvious and frontal or
“undercover”.) Counter-actor: To defend an area, a
person, to ward off assault by maneuver and force, to be on
guard (meet force with force—or alert watchfulness.) Game events of this category are quite typical
to encounter in quests. In general the player is assigned
the actor position in these encounters: overcoming barriers,
entering guarded areas, overpowering defences – head
on, or undercover. Non-player characters typically occupy
the position of counter-actor. However, moving around in the
MUD the player always needs to be on guard when entering
unknown areas, as well as areas in which aggressive monsters
reign.
The
Capture. Actor: To take (to take
a person, a symbol; includes swiping as well as open
grabbing.) Counter-actor: To avoid being taken; to avoid
loss of symbols or one’s allies. Game events
of this kind are also commonly included in quests. As in the
previous category, players usually occupy the actor position
here. Non-player character thieves roaming the MUD,
apparently at random, ensure that most Tubmud players
will be familiar with the experience of occupying the
counter-actor position as well.
The
Harassment. Actor: To
tease, taunt, lure to mistake or to unsuccessful attack.
Counter-actor: To see through the trick, to move suddenly
and punish attackers, to “bide one’s time”
until one can really be successful. A typical harassment situation is when the player
tries to attack a monster without possessing a necessary
item – either a special weapon (such as the
“indescribable monster slayer”) or an item for
protection (a special amulet, for instance). The item will
be hidden, and the player will often have received hints
that the item is necessary. The player thus acts as
counter-actor. These situations, which
often end in
the character’s death, are seldom due to the skills of
the actor (“to tease, taunt, lure to mistake or to
unsuccessful attack”) but rather to the player’s
own inability to “bide her time until she can really be
successful.” Other harassment situations exist too, for
instance, when the character is trapped as a result of
trying to help an apparently innocent creature feigning to
be in danger. There are quests in which the player assumes
the actor position in a harassment situation too, such as
“The Realm of Witches is in Danger”. Here the
character is given the opportunity to poison a good witch in
order to receive information from an evil witch. Tricking
the good witch into eating a poisoned apple pie, the player
solves her task. However, the good witch learns from the
experience and in order not to be tricked by the same
character again, she’ll refuse all future attempts of
contact from the character.
The
Hunt. Actor: To find—by chance, by following clue
(the object of search may be person, thing, or idea).
Counter-actor: To hide—by simple cover, by misleading
clues (feigning) (to hide oneself, an object, an idea). The puzzle
belongs in this category. In fact I find this category to be
representative of the puzzle quest genre as such,
designating its major feature. In a quest, the player is
actor, while the entire text-space serves as counter-actor.
In smaller puzzle quest events however, the counter-actor
may be personalised in a non-player character, or quest
objects may take this position. Within this category,
players seldom assume the position of counter-actor, but it
happens: disguising oneself as a bush in order to pass
Rondar the Giant unnoticed is one example.
The
Rescue. Actor: To
“spring” the prisoner. To be the
“savior”. Counter-actor: To be a jailer—to
guard against the escape. Quest events
– in particular their final event – are often
variants of this category. The player will more often assume
the role of actor in such situations, rather than that of
counter-actor. If the player is supposed to act as
counter-actor in a rescue situation, the prisoner in
question is likely to be a creature of the very evil kind.
The
Seduction. Actor: To
tempt another to the “forbidden act” (to talk,
laugh, make the wrong move). Counter-actor: To resist
temptation; to be controlled and not influenced. In “The
Lands of Havoc”, the player encounters several events
in which non-player characters assume the role of actor in a
Seduction situation as described above. The player is
counter-actor, and is supposed to resist temptation. On a
more general level, players may often experience themselves
as seducer actors when encountering stubborn or awkwardly
coded non-player characters or objects, trying out every
possibly relevant or irrelevant command and combination of
commands in order to lure valuable information out of them.
Additionally, the Seduction represents a fundamental
rhetorical feature of the puzzle quest genre, in which
objects and non-player characters use strategies of
seduction in order to keep the player from reaching his
assigned goal.
X. Rule complexity.
Increase demands on the comprehension of
participants. In MUDs, as well as in many other computer
games, paidia rules – such as how to navigate the space
and the mastering of equipment – represent, if not more
difficult, then at least additional challenges to
understanding the ludus rules. When the space is mapped and
the player knows how to use the available equipment, playing
– or the fun – may start. (Cf. the distinction
between negotiation time and event time, explained above.)
As MUDs are text based, though, mapping the space involves
closely reading the text, which may take quite some time.
The next level of rule complexity is where ludus rules are
added, or identified. At this point, I would like to divide
between two types of ludus rules in Tubmud. On the
one hand, there are abstract ludus rules: These are ludus
rules as we know them from traditional abstract games such
as Mastermind. There are, in fact, two instances of
Mastermind in Tubmud. One is identical with
the Mastermind we know from the physical world,
except that it is played in a textually represented room,
with textually represented boards and tokens, against the
textually represented non-player character Old Mastermind.
The other appears as part of the quest “Retrieve the
Amulet of Yendor”. Instead of the traditional board and
tokens, this version is played on a flute. Neither does the
player compete against a personalised adversary, instead the
correct combination will lead to the lowering of a
drawbridge that the character needs to pass in order to
continue her quest.
In
the first example, both game and rules are easy to identify,
as the only object in the room except for Old Mastermind is
a sign on a wall listing the game rules. In the second
example, identifying the game and its rules is more
complicated. There is no flute available where the
drawbridge is. There are no hints as to how to lower the
drawbridge either. First, when the player solves a different
task – a task that isn’t even obviously part of
the quest, as it is assigned to the player in a room that
appears to be external to the quest area – she’ll
receive the flute, with an inscription on it reading:
“Music hath charms to affect the stubborn drawbridge.
Play the f-o-u-r notes and the way is open.” This is no
obvious way of telling the player she is going to play
Mastermind, however. “The f-o-u-r notes”
could imply almost anything. But there is another hint, a
scrap hidden in a fortune cookie somewhere else in the area,
reading: “There is a Mastermind deep in the
dungeon.” To solve this quest, thus, the player needs
to be familiar with the game Mastermind. To be able
to play the right combination in this setting, she must also
be familiar with the letters musical notes translate to.
When
the game can be identified as the same it is because its
rules are the same. The fact that the equipment is different
and the rules are not explicitly given in the latter
instance adds nothing where rule complexity is concerned.
While both instances of Mastermind take place within
the framework of another game,
though, the first still remains
separate.
The second is, by contrast, tightly interwoven with the
quest that is framing it. Quests, however, belong to a game
genre operating with quite different kind of ludus rules
than abstract games such as Mastermind.
While
the abstract game is procedural, the quest is also textual
in the sense that it plays with meaning and signification.
Its solution depends on the player’s ability to
interpret the text, identify its determination, and arrange
it accordingly. Identifying its determination is the same as
identifying its ludus rules – how to win the quest. It
is also the same as identifying the ultimate meaning of the
quest. Abstract games do not involve meaning: Set in a
meaningful context – acting as the secret password to
enter the castle of the Wizard of Yendor –
Mastermind itself doesn’t carry any meaning. It
merely serves a meaningful purpose. Integrating the rules of
Mastermind into the quest, though, does increase rule
complexity of the quest as a whole, especially as this
instance involves familiarity with yet another convention:
the musical notation system.
Deprived
of their reference, g as in green and g the note are
interchangeable. Abstract games are not referential, thus in
principle, where rule complexity is concerned, it
doesn’t matter whether the tokens designate colours or
tones. Quests are based on the referentiality of signs, thus
they do not to the same extent limit themselves from the
rest of the world but may address the player’s
experience in any domain. This is why the nature of the
token is significant in the context of the quest, but not in
the context of the abstract game.
The
question of rule complexity enriching game experience
has already been indirectly addressed above, when explaining
Csikszentmihalyi’s concept of
flow as a state beyond boredom and anxiety. To reach this
state in Tubmud, it is necessary to be quite
experienced, which confirms the assumption that all in all
its level of rule complexity is high.
Rule
complexity causing unexpected advances and reversals
applies in particular to the interpretation of quest rules:
misinterpretation of the author’s intention is likely
to cause unexpected events. It can also be connected to
knowledge of the MUD space and its available objects:
Sometimes it is possible to solve a quest aporia in a way
that was not intended by its creator, by applying an object
imported from a different quest area.
XI. Interdependence of
players:
According to Gump et. al., “[a]ll games imply
some interdependence competitive or
cooperative—question is whether the poor play or
uncooperative play of one participant can significantly
affect the continuance of satisfactory play of the
rest.” (Gump et. al. 1971, 412). There is one aspect
related to questing that is particularly worth mentioning
here, namely the limited availability of quest objects. Some
quests have objects that must be collected in order to solve
the quest. When taken, the object is gone for a period of
time until the area is reset. A player trying to solve the
quest for the first time may, if another player just removed
a quest object, search in vain for an object where it should
normally be found. Because there is usually no way the
player can know that the object should be there if it
isn’t, she may consider the room fully explored,
believing there isn’t anything to find there, and
continue searching in vain for the object in different
rooms. This is not a very satisfactory situation either for
the player, or for the creator of the quest whose particular
composition of information, balanced with puzzles to be
solved revealing new information, is in this way seriously
messed up.
Now as Tubmud (presently, at least) does not have too
many players, the chance is relatively small that more than
one player at a time will be seriously engaged in a quest,
that is, solving it for the first time. Re-solving a quest
is however the easiest and quickest way to gain additional
experience points in Tubmud. Experience points are
valuable as they can be traded into stat points. Knowing the
solution to the puzzles, and the correct way to proceed, a
quest such as “Free the Golden Country” could
– under its original circumstances – be completed
in less that a minute’s time, gaining the character a
substantial amount of experience points. This quest thus was
practically impossible to solve the regular, time-consuming
way when more players were logged on, as the objects needed
to complete it were snapped away by more experienced players
as soon as they were reset. To solve this problem additional
challenges were introduced to characters that already solved
the quest once or more than once, making re-solving it less
attractive (as no additional points were attached to the
extra challenges).
XII. Volume and
distributions of participation. Four levels: Active
participation, in-game passive participation, in game
waiting, out of game waiting. Entering the MUD is
entering the game, but as the MUD consists of so many
sub-games, it is possible to be in the overall game while
observing, or not participating in, another. Temporarily
leaving a quest, that is, putting it on hold because one
lost too much power, and meanwhile training skills, or doing
nothing, is another option. The level of participation is
very much up to the player in MUDs.
XIII. Leeway for marginal
impulse expression. Question is: “Will
the game successfully tolerate ‘horse play’”?
This is a very interesting question, as it concerns the
freedom of expression and movement within the MUD. MUDs are,
in principle, restricted spaces in the sense that the player
cannot interact with the space and objects in ways that
aren’t predicted by the programmers. However, this is
not entirely true, as unpredicted actions of the player in
some cases do have unforeseen results. Experimenting with
objects by trying to make them respond in unexpected ways in
fact constitutes a game in itself, ascribed by Bartle to the
explorer type of player. Another, perhaps more relevant,
place to look for potentially successful horseplay is in the
interaction between players. Horseplay applied to a
role-playing situation may direct the game in quite
unexpected directions – enriching the game or spoiling
it, depending on how the other players respond.
XIV. Respite
possibilities.
Safety zones or positions. Rooms not containing any
monsters are safety zones where the player can safely rest
and recover. Safety positions do not exist, though safety
properties do: a liquid making the character invulnerable
for a certain period of time, for example. Built in rest
periods are significant to game play as a period of
puzzle solving after hard combat will recover the character
without the player having to pause the game. Some quests are
difficult exactly because respite possibilities are not
readily available. Instead the player will have to collect
and bring healing equipment enough to be able to stand the
battle on the spot.
XV. Suspense emphasis
is a relevant category in context of the previous example,
where the player spends hours (sometimes days) collecting
healing items and preparing her character physically –
as well as herself, mentally – for the battle to come.
Another aspect involving suspense is the play with the
player’s expectations during puzzle solving.
XVI. Switches between
opposites.
Theme switch is found in MoMu, a mirror
world-within-the-world where the player is supposed to
assume monster identity as her character turns into a
monster while all non-player character adversaries are
represented as if they were player characters. There are
also thematic differences between quests. Action
switch, in the article described as running wildly for
so to freeze, cf. Gump et. al. (1971), is less relevant to
apply directly, as this category appears to be closely tied
to physical bodily control. Less directly applied are of
course action switches that occur all the time, that is,
between chatting, role-playing, exploring, fighting,
healing, puzzle solving, trading objects, preparing,
training skills, etc.
XVII. Pleasure-pain
content of winning and losing. A majority of quests
can’t really be lost, as reaching the end solves them,
and solving them implies having won. There are exceptions
though: “The Lands of Havoc”, for instance, can
also be lost. The pain content of losing Havoc is quite
substantial, as the situation that determines the outcome
ultimately also questions the moral integrity of the player.
Apart from losing a quest such as Havoc, dying is the most
serious way a player may “lose” in
Tubmud. Dying may imply loss of
possessions, as well as suggesting that one is
inadequate skillwise. It may also be experienced as a
loss of dignity and involve feelings of self-pity, or
that destiny is against one. Additionally there is a
loss of experience– and stat points when dying, that
force the player to spend extra time building the character
back to its previous level. This is the kind of activity
that Juul describes as “dead time” in a game, and
thus not a very satisfying occupation.
XVIII. The
Spread of winnership follows the distribution of
players as described under Avedon’s 8th
element, “Interaction patterns”. However, the
question of winners and losers is not straightforward when
examining quests; the player may win but this doesn’t
mean that the quest (or the computer) loses. Conversely, in
the rare situation that the player loses, it makes no sense
to claim that another party (the quest, the computer) won.
Possibly the concept of winning and losing is less relevant
in the context of quests than it is in the context of other
games. This again may imply that quests are not proper
games, but something different.
XIX. Penetration of game
by reward and penalties. Game play is very much
penetrated by symbolic rewards and punishments in
Tubmud. Rewards may be objects that the character
acquires or finds, or small victories either in the form of
an epiphany or simply the defeat of a monster. Making a
wrong move may be followed by a penalty: The most extreme is
death, but less serious punishments such as the loss of an
item, having to redo a task, or realising that the path one
has been following leads nowhere, exist as well. Traps and
mazes sometimes function as penalties as well. The
limelight– and on-the-spot positions mentioned under
dimension IX, “Role taking factors”, are other
examples of penetration of the game by
rewards and penalties. As to rewards and penalties at
game end, see under Avedon’s 6th
element, “Results and Pay-Off”.
XX. Institutionalized
“cheating”.
Non-player characters “lying” and bluffing
as well as deliberately misleading hints are pretty
much institutionalised as distinctive rhetorical features of
the quest genre. Stealing is sometimes required in
order to get hold of a necessary quest object, and
“pick-pocketing” is in fact an available skill the
character may acquire and practice to excellence. To
literally sneak around in the MUD is not efficient if
one’s intention is to avoid or surprise monsters:
Disguising oneself or turning invisible exist as more
plausible alternatives, however.
XXI. Nature of the
obstacles in the game. Obstacles in the game include monsters,
puzzles and riddles, mazes and traps, or physical obstacles
that demand special skills (such as steep mountain walls
that require well developed climbing skills). See also under
dimension III, “Skill Requirements”, and
Avedon’s element 7, “Abilities and skills required
for action”.
XXII. Trust dependence
in MUD quests may be a matter of having to trust one’s
allies or adversaries that they are sincere. Just as often
though, as there is always the possibility of bugs in the
code, this dimension manifests itself as a matter of having
to trust the obstacles one encounters to actually be
intentional.
XXIII. Permanence of
alliances.
The only institutionalised alliances in Tubmud are
the clans, and a “friendship” between the two
players who complete the Ranabar-quest
together.
With the friendship follows certain privileges, for instance
a character can “feel” when her friend character
is in danger (i.e. is low on hitpoints) and assist him by
transferring some of her own hitpoints to him. Unless the
“friendship” is cancelled, it’ll last
forever, and the player will be reminded of her
character’s friend character every time she logs on to
the MUD, by a message telling her whether or not her friend
character is present in the MUD at the moment.
Privileges
follow clan membership as well. Clans have their own channel
for internal communication, and climbing the ranks in the
clan adds personal privileges to the character, such as a
private room and the ability to teleport directly to fellow
clan members. Joining a clan is optional, as is leaving it
again. Players tend to loyally stick to the clan they join
however, especially if there are a certain number of active
members in the clan who keep the clan culture and the clan
spirit up.
XXIV. Direct mirroring of
life themes. Tubmud is an institutionalized
fantasy set in a “long distant past”. Life
themes treated are of the “eternal questions”
kind, the battle between good and evil being an apparent
favourite. It is less reflective of contemporary events
and culture, although its characters may often represent
icons from popular culture. Areas may be modelled after
mythical places such as Avalon and Atlantis, while questing
sometimes involves re-enactments of events described in
fantasy literature, or scenes from popular movies and TV
series, fantasy and science fiction being the preferred
genres. Of more direct mirroring of life themes, the quest
“What is going on in those bushes???” is an
obvious example. Searching some bushes close to one of the
entrances to MoMu, the player finds a monster baby. Her
quest consists in taking care of this baby until it’s
old enough to be on its own, when it will return to its own
world. She must feed it when it’s hungry, provide
drinks for it when it’s thirsty, and play with it when
it wants to play. She must also follow it around whenever it
runs away, making sure it’s not getting lost, as well
as protecting it from other, bigger monsters. The quest is
extremely stressful, particularly if the player is not
familiar enough with the MUD environment to instantly know
where to find a playground, or where to find suitable food,
or drinks, when the baby starts screaming.
XXV. Personalisation of
game props.
The fundamental game prop in Tubmud is the character.
The relationship between player and character is changeable;
sometimes the character is experienced as an individual
entity, while at other times it functions more as a
transparent medium for the agency of the player. Other game
props that the character acquires may add to the
personalisation of the character, that is, to distinguish
the character as an individual entity. Experiences that the
player/character goes through in the MUD may come to
constitute the character’s history in the imagination
of the player. This further enhances the perception of the
character as an individual entity to the extent that at a
certain point, the player may come to think of her character
as an individual “person”, or
“personality”.
In some MUDs (MOO) players are allowed to create their own
rooms and objects. This, of course, provides better
opportunities for acquiring personalised game props. Some
objects can also be personalised in Tubmud, however:
a player may buy her own pet, for instance, which requires
that she includes a description of it in the order. Highly
ranked clan members receive their own room, which may be
described and furnished according to the owner’s wish
and creativity. As mentioned earlier, it is possible to
write a personal character description which will be visible
to other players who examine the character. In addition,
when a player reaches level 20, she is free to choose or
invent a personal title to add to her character’s name.
XXVI. Introduction of
ritual to game. The fantasy medieval setting of
Tubmud provides a perfect environment for inventing
and integrating various rituals to be performed. Rituals and
ritual formula are included in several quests, particularly
in quests in which magic forms a significant part of the
fictional context. Clan leaders will often make a ritual
ceremony when welcoming a new member to the clan, or when
advancing an already existing member to a higher rank.
Visiting a church to pray is another type of ritual, which
is required in order to resurrect the character’s body
after having died.
XXVII. Potential
sexualization range of games. In Tubmud’s main village of
Glandon, there is a bath house where non-player character
prostitutes of all genders offer sexual services. In the Old
Village, there is a female street prostitute, and an escort
service office. Parts of the quest Havoc offer quite
explicit sexual content as well. Interaction between player
characters often leads to strong feelings of affection
between the involved players, which I think is to a great
extent due to the low definition of information passed on
which appeals so directly to the imaginative faculty of the
player interpreting the text. (Cf. Stone’s phone sex
analysis quoted previously.)
XXVIII. Potential humor
producing range of games. “Emote” and
“feelings” are ways in which player characters
simulate non-verbal communication in Tubmud. Using
emote, the player defines a sentence in which she describes
what the character is doing, while feelings exist as a
repertoire of possible actions defined in the program, that
the character performs if the player types a particular verb
that defines the action. Interactions between player
characters experimenting with or improvising around the
available pre-defined feelings tend to be quite humorous.
The MoMu area, where everything is seen from the perspective
of a monster, represents the MUD equivalent to carnival: the
world turned up-side down.
XXIX. Outcome clarity.
As Chris Crawford argues in The Art of Computer Game
Design, as a game technology, computers have an
advantage in that the computer itself is able to act as a
referee, keeping track of an enormous amount of information.
“With other technologies,” he writes, “game
rules must be overly simple because the humans implementing
them cannot be trusted to perform simple numerical
computations. The computer eliminates this
restriction.” (Crawford 1982, chapter 4). While the
computer can implement complex arithmetic and logical rules,
though, it is less receptive to reason. Elaborated
role-playing games in which personal motivation (that is,
motivation tied to character personality) is included among
the rules to be followed may require a human game-master
acting as the referee, as “personal motivation” or
“realistic behaviour” are parameters that are
never absolute but may require negotiation, explanation, and
interpretation.
It is in this sense that Tubmud isn’t a
role-playing game, and interference during gameplay by human
game-masters is limited to programmed comments or responses
to player actions that the creator of the object or quest in
question was able to predict. Even if a reaction may not
always appear reasonable, there is no room for negotiation
as the referee function is ultimately left to the computer.
Predicting every possible – or even plausible –
action of the player within complex meaning structures such
as quests is a task one is almost certainly bound to fail.
Missing or nonsense reactions to player actions therefore
occur quite frequently, efficiently interrupting any
continuous feeling of participating in an “interactive
fiction”.
Left for the computer to decide, therefore, the outcomes in
Tubmud are for the most part clear, although not
necessarily experienced by the players as fair, or even
reasonable.
XXX. Challenges
in Tubmud are of great diversity, varying according
to game type and type of game event. Puzzles are first and
foremost interpretative challenges, while an obstacle
requiring proficiency in a certain character skill (such as
climbing) may challenge the patience of the player (having
to pause the game to repeatedly climb less challenging
obstacles in order to train the skill to the required
level). Tubmud game events may also challenge the
player’s reaction time, his inventiveness, his memory
of previously encountered objects, as well as his ability
for strategic thinking and planning. See also “Roles of
Actor and Counter-Actor” (which was moved from its
original position under this dimension to dimension IX, Role
Taking Factors.)
Defining a
Tubmud Ludology
The great
variety of games and types of game events available for
analysis in Tubmud implies that as a research object,
it could relevantly be approached from several scholarly
perspectives: each approach emphasising different aspects of
it, while hardly any single perspective being complex enough
to exhaust it as a phenomenon. In my approaches to
Tubmud, I focus on aspects that can be conceptualised
from the perspective of theatre studies and comparative
literature. At the same time though, I try to avoid forcing
the map onto the landscape, both by refraining from
analysing events that are obviously more relevant to
approach with theories developed within other fields, such
as sociology or computer science, and by keeping an open
mind to aspects of the events to which my usual perspective
does not offer any ready-made, relevant theoretical
approaches. The game aspect of Tubmud belongs in this
last category. Ever since my first encounter with it I have
implicitly thought of Tubmud as a “game”.
In this article I have attempted to analytically distinguish
different “game-like” aspects of Tubmud in
order to make explicit some of the factors that justify, or
explain, such an understanding. Because of the various game
activities overlapping in Tubmud, however, from the
player’s perspective, it doesn’t seem very
adequate to make a distinction between Tubmud as
environment or world, and the games that are being played
there. From the perspective of inhabiting a fictional world
with an avatar, the MUD itself is experienced as a game,
with several kinds of sub-games embedded within it. Some of
these games approach theatre and literature, while others do
not. But even those that do approach theatre or literature
often involve a game element that is not sufficiently
provided for in traditional theoretical approaches to
theatre and literature.
Games in Tubmud that do not approach theatre or
literature in one way or another are seldom characteristic
for the MUD as a game medium or game technology.
Mastermind, for instance, functions perfectly as a
game in the physical world and is dependent neither on the
MUD nor the computer to be played. The scenario
“Waiting” is a slightly different case: In
principle both the rules and the randomness could probably
be accounted for by a human referee if “Waiting”
were to be played using a physical board and physical
tokens, but it no doubt utilises functions the computer is
better suited to handle. “Waiting” doesn’t
necessarily require the MUD to be played, either, if we
strictly consider procedural ludus and paidia rules as those
which distinguish a game. Still, the representational side
of the tokens (that is, guests of different races and
genders) makes it appear to be a game created specifically
for MoMu.
More typical – and more media specific – MUD games
are role-playing games and quest adventures. In contrast to
abstract games, both role-playing games and quests are game
types utilising signification as a basic factor: basically
and ultimately there is always some sort of meaning exchange
involved in these games. A Tubmud ludology will
therefore have to include a theoretical framework that takes
into account the MUD as a particular kind of medium,
analysing the restrictions and possibilities inherent in the
form that both approach it to, and distinguish it from,
other kinds of media.
References
Aarseth, Espen (1995) “Dataspillets diskurs”. In
Perifraser. Bergen: University of Bergen, Department
of Linguistics and Comparative Literature. 315-342.
Aarseth, Espen (1997): Cybertext. Perspectives on Ergodic
Literature. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins
University Press.
Aarseth, Espen (1999): “Aporia and Epiphany in Doom and
The Speaking Clock: The Temporality of Ergodic Art”. In
Cyberspace Textuality. Computer Technology and Literary
Theory, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan. Bloomington and
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. 31-42.
Aarseth, Espen (2001a): “Allegories of Space: The
Question of Spatiality in Computer Games”. In
Cybertext Yearbook 2000, edited by Markku Eskelinen
and Raine Koskimaa. Saarijärvi: University of
Jyväskylä, Research centre for contemporary
culture. 152-171.
Aarseth, Espen (2001b): “Computer Game Studies, Year
One”. In Game Studies 1, no. 1. Available from
http://www.gamestudies.org/0101/editorial.html
Avedon, E. M. (1971): “The Structural Elements of
Games”. In The Study of Games, edited by E. M.
Avedon and Brian Sutton-Smith. New York: John Wiley &
Sons, Inc. 419-426.
Avedon, E. M., and Brian Sutton-Smith (1971):
“Introduction”. In The Study of Games,
edited by E. M. Avedon and Brian Sutton-Smith. New York:
John Wiley & Sons, Inc. 1-8.
Bartle, Richard (1996): “Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds,
Spades: Players Who Suit MUDs”. In The Journal of
Virtual Environments 1, no. 1. Available from
http://www.brandeis.edu/pubs/jove/HTML/v1/bartle.html
Baudrillard, Jean (1990 [1979]): Seduction [De
la séduction], translated by Brian Singer.
New York: St. Martin's Press.
Caillois, Roger (1979 [1958]): Man, Play, and
Games [Les jeux et les hommes], translated by
Meyer Barash. New York: Schocken Books.
Costikyan, Greg (1994): “I Have No Words & I Must
Design”. In Interactive Fantasy, no. 2.
Available from http://www.costik.com/nowords.html.
Crawford, Chris (1982): The Art of Computer Game
Design. Available from
http://www.vancouver.wsu.edu/fac/peabody/game-book/Coverpage.html
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly (1988a): “Introduction”.
In Optimal Experience. Psychological studies of flow in
consciousness, edited by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and
Isabella Selega Csikszentmihalyi. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 3-14.
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly (1988b): “The flow experience
and its significance for human psychology”. In
Optimal Experience. Psychological studies of flow in
consciousness, edited by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and
Isabella Selega Csikszentmihalyi. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press. 15-35.
Eskelinen, Markku (2001): “The Gaming Situation”.
In Game Studies. The international journal of computer
game research. 1, no. 1. Available from http://www.gamestudies.org/0101/eskelinen/
Eskelinen, Markku, and Ragnhild Tronstad (2003): “Video
games as Configurative Performances”. In Video Game
Theory, edited by Bernard Perron and Mark J. P. Wolff.
London and New York: Routledge. (Forthcoming).
Frasca, Gonzalo (2001-2003): Ludology.org. (Weblog).
Available from http://ludology.org
Frasca, Gonzalo (2001a): “Videogames of the Oppressed:
Videogames as a means for critical thinking and
debate.” Master thesis, Georgia Institute of
Technology. Available from http://www.ludology.org
Frasca, Gonzalo (2001b): “What is ludology? A provisory
definition”. Available from http://www.ludology.org/article.php?story=20010708201200000
Friedman, Ted (1999): “Civilization and Its Discontents:
Simulation, Subjectivity, and Space”. In On a Silver
Platter: CD-ROMs and the Promises of a New Technology,
edited by Greg Smith. New York: New York University Press.
(Quoted from the online version.). Available from http://www.gsu.edu/~jouejf/civ.htm
Gump, Paul, Fritz Redl, and Brian Sutton-Smith (1971):
“The Dimensions of Games”. In The Study of
Games, edited by E.M. Avedon and Brian Sutton-Smith. New
York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc. 408-418.
Hausken, Liv (2004): “Textual Theory and Blind Spots in
Media Studies”. In Narrative Across Media,
edited by Marie-Laure Ryan. Lincoln and London: University
of Nebraska Press. (Forthcoming).
Huizinga, Johan (1955 [1938]): Homo Ludens. A
study of the play-element in culture. Boston: Beacon
Press.
Juul, Jesper (2003): “Time to play - An examination of
game temporality”. In First Person: New Media as
Story, Performance and Game, edited by Pat Harrigan and
Noah Wardrip-Fruin. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press.
(Forthcoming). Available from
http://www.jesperjuul.dk/text/timetoplay/
McLuhan, Marshall (1997 [1964]): Mennesket og
media [Understanding Media: The Extensions of
Man], translated by Olav Angell. Oslo: Pax.
Mead, George H. (1962 [1934]): “Play, the Game,
and the Generalized Other”. In Mind, Self, and
Society. From the Standpoint of a Social Behaviorist,
edited by Charles W. Morris. Chicago and London: The
University of Chicago Press. 152-164.
Montfort, Nick (2003): “Toward a Theory of Interactive
Fiction”. In IF Theory, edited by Emily Short.
St. Charles, Illinois: IF Library. (Forthcoming). Quoted
from draft Version 3, posted 29 December 2002 at
http://nickm.com/if/toward.html
Motte, Warren (1995): Playtexts. Ludics in Contemporary
Literature.
Lincoln & London: University of Nebraska Press.
Newman, James (2002): “The Myth of the Ergodic
Videogame. Some thoughts on the player-character
relationships in videogames”. In Game Studies 2,
no. 1. Available from http://gamestudies.org/0102/newman/
Parlett, David (1999): The Oxford History of Board
Games. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Stone, Allucquère Rosanne (1995): The War of Desire
and Technology at the Close of the Mechanical Age.
Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.
Tronstad, Ragnhild (2003a): “A Matter of Insignificance:
The MUD Puzzle Quest as Seductive Discourse”. In
Cybertext Yearbook 2002, edited by Markku Eskelinen
and Raine Koskimaa. Saarijärvi: University of
Jyväskylä, Research centre for contemporary
culture. (Forthcoming.)
Tronstad, Ragnhild (2003b): “Performing the MUD
Adventure”. In Digital Media Revisited, edited
by Gunnar Liestøl, Andrew Morrison, and Terje
Rasmussen. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. 215-237.
Wittgenstein, Ludwig (1997 [1953]): Filosofiske
undersøkelser [Philosophische
Untersuchungen], translated by Mikkel B. Tin. Oslo: Pax.
Games and
MUDs
Chess
Traditional
Genesis Host:
genesis.cs.chalmers.se 3011
IP-address: 129.16.225.60
Homepage: http://www.NeoSoft.com/genesis/
Mastermind Mordecai
Meirowitz. Invicta Plastics Ltd, 1971-72.
Myst Rand Miller and
Robin C. Miller. Cyan/ Brøderbund Software,
1993.
Sim City Will Wright.
Electronic Arts, 1995.
Solitaire
Traditional.
Tetris Alexey
Pazhitnov, Dmitry Pavlovsky, and Vadim Gerasimov,
1985-86.
Tubmud Host:
morgen.cs.tu-berlin.de 7680 IP address: 130.149.19.20
Homepage: http://autos.cs.tu-berlin.de/~Tubmud/
Tubmud
quests:
“Be
Kind to an Old Lady”, written by Alethia.
“Free the Golden Country”, written by Some.
“Retrieve the Amulet of Yendor”, written by
Murks.
“Return to Another World”, written by Domain
MoMu.
“Revive some Glorious Knights of a Long Forgotten
Age”, written by Ethakar.
“Slay the Evil Necromancer Kobayashi”, written by
Chrisp.
“The Crown of the Dragons, a Famous Legend”,
written by Carador.
“The Lands of Havoc”, written by Wizward.
“The Realm of Witches Is in Danger”, written by
Ardanna.
“What Is Going On in Those Bushes???”, written by
Domain MoMu.