It seems Flying Lab Software, developers of Pirates of the Burning Sea, has begun to actively recruit members for an elite fan group who they hope will “increase online and offline awareness of the game.” They have a sign-up form here, and anyone who’s interested in the game should probably go sign up right now.
I should note that this isn’t your ordinary sign-up. As they said in their blog post: “Boarding Party Membership is a privilege and not every person that applies will get to participate. As a matter of fact, begging, cajoling, harassing, demanding or complaining about your lack of membership is a sure-fire way to ruin your chances to participate.” The application supports this, requiring written answers to several questions. It even includes a chance to submit a writing sample!
Sounds like this is a chance to become a real, active participant in the community surrounding PotBS. I’m pleased that the developers are taking community building seriously. The community comprises people who care about the game, so it should be well served—hopefully in creative ways. Further, a well-developed community can in turn serve as a valuable resource for developers and designers.
As I may have mentioned, I’m quite excited about the game. I suspect it will quickly become my game of choice. In the meantime, though, if I’m lucky enough to become of The Boarding Party, I’ll be thrilled at the chance to get involved in the community even as it’s forming.
September 25th, 2007
Alec Bings
Although I mentioned that I very much enjoyed my vacation from MMORPGs, in the month since I’ve been back, especially while my wife has been playing WoW, attending knitting groups, or otherwise occupied, I’ve dedicated some evenings to exploring (via betas and free trials) a number of other MMOs, among them Tabula Rasa, Sword of the New World, Everquest 2, and Lord of the Rings.
I’ll chatter on about each of those games (and others) in other posts, but since I signed up for a paid subscription to Lord of the Rings Online, I figured I didn’t want to delay keeping a light journal of my experiences with the game.
This is the first time I’ve ever been subscribed to more than one MMORPG at a time. I’ve kept my WoW subscription open because my wife is still playing. I’d very much like to see her reach level 70 in that game, and her being able to call on my dwarf priest for help when she needs it (almost nothing can get her to look for a group in the game unless she knows the people in real life or through real-life friends) will make that process easier. As long as she has a WoW account, I’ll keep mine open, because I really do enjoy playing games with her.
But on to LotRO. During my seven-day trial, I experimented with a human Captain and hobbit Hunter. My initial assessment: the game is WoW with a different skin.
That is, of course, a gross oversimplification. The two games each have their own unique features to recommend them. But they also have a common core:
- They’re easy to play.
- They’re fantasy games with a class-and-level character development system.
- Character advancement is a big part of the “goal,” and this is largely achieved through quests and combat.
- The tank-heal-nuke-(crowd control)-(buff) model applies in both cases.
- Both games allow soloing as a viable alternative to grouping.
- The base UI is fundamentally identical.
Some of LotRO’s refinements directly address shortcomings in WoW, like the fact that you can make objects useful to your character as soon as you learn a profession. As I understand it, professions are still money sinks, but rather less severe than WoW’s.
So why have I signed on?
- I like the fiction, and LotRO has done a bang-up job capturing Middle Earth in MMORPG format. I’d heard that, but I must admit I’m surprised at how much it feels like I’m actually running around the Shire from The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring.
- I like exploring and learning new classes, and LotRO gives me seven new classes with which to do just that.
- Deeds. I didn’t like rep grinds in WoW, and a lot of Deeds in LotRO seem like mini- (or not so mini-) rep grinds. But as someone who would most like to see a level-free MMO where any character can set out to pursue any quest to gain a given ability, equipment, trait, or the like, I have to say that the deeds give me some of that feel.
- Roleplaying. I don’t enjoy the so-called “heavy rp” roleplaying style that’s emerged in WoW. I hate being called to guild meetings to watch avatars agonize over their personal angst via text chat. But I consider myself a roleplayer because I like it best when I and those I play with stay in character. LotRO does several things inherently hospitable to roleplayers, including a default “RP” channel which new characters do not automatically join; a clearly-marked “OOC” channel and other topic-based channels that one can opt out of; and an immersive, slow-paced game world where fast achievement, boasting, and baseball don’t have a roll.
- Immersion and a slow pace. Now, I like leveling and achieving the pinnacles of character advancement as much as anyone, but I also like to enjoy the process. In WoW, I reached 70 largely by performing the same repetitive fight sequences thousands and thousands of times without paying much attention to my surroundings, the storyline, or eventually even the quest text. In LotRO, I may will wind up doing the same fighting, but I don’t feel as if I’m in a hurry. Instead, I actually get pleasure out of running around a given region, discovering what’s over the next hill, finding that I can get a peek in Bag End. I love that NPCs say things inspired by your character as you run past.
- The slow pace also means that I’m likely to do a lot more grouping. In WoW, I always, always felt that I was making a sacrifice when grouping with others, unless it was to do an instance I couldn’t solo. In LotRO, I just don’t care. If someone asks for help, I’ll be glad to help them. I’ve grown very bitter about the fact that WoW’s easy soloing has meant that I haven’t made many in-game friends. (Yes, it’s my own fault, but I’m not the only one who finds solo-grinding to 70 the most effective method in WoW.) In LotRO, I’ve grouped with people just to get to know them.
My main character is a hobbit Burglar. I think she’s level 13 now. I couldn’t tell you her stats if you asked. But I do know that she’s “Undefeated,” a “Fur-cutter,” a “Pie runner,” and an official post officer.
And that, right there, is why I’m playing LotRO, now.
September 24th, 2007
Alec Bings
Another game I picked up during my vacation in Vermont was the Catan Card Game (Amazon
, Board Game Geek). My wife and I hoped it would give us the feel of the Settlers Of Catan Board Game
for two players.
We already have Starship Catan
, a two-player board game that uses a modified version of the resource mechanics from the original board game to fuel a space-exploration themed game. It’s great fun actually physically upgrading your ship with laser guns, engines, and probes, but it takes a while to set up.
I hoped the card game might make for quicker setup, hoped it would stay true to the original setting, and if nothing else give us an interesting taste of how a board game could be reinterpreted as a card game.
I’m happy to say that the Catan Card Game is a grand hit, at least with us. Setup isn’t instant, since the game comprises about six or seven different (small) decks, but once both players understand the rules, it plays fast and fun!
I have to admit, I have so far lost every single game to my wife. (Basically, she absolutely PWNs my ass in competitive tabletop games.) That hasn’t detracted from the fun of the play.
In the card game, each player is given a set of nine starting cards with which to build his or her “principality.” One of the nine cards is the player’s initial settlement, two are roads, and the remaining six are resource nodes, each displaying a single die. As in Starship Catan, resource accumulation is tracked by turning the resource node cards so the number of resources “stored” on that card (o, 1, 2, or 3) is placed at the bottom. A single card can’t ever hold more than three of its resources.
Players spend these resources to build roads (to separate settlements), new settlements (adding two new resource nodes for each settlmenet built), and buildings, as well as to upgrade settlement to cities (which can accomodate four buildings instead of two). Each of these is represented by a card, and as new places are built, the player’s principality grows—horizontally for new settlements, vertically for new buildings.
Although you can always build a road, settlement, or city if you can afford it (and cards of the appropriate sort remain), in order to construct a building, you have to draw it from one of the four decks of face-down cards. Also in these decks are action cards that let you bend the basic mechanics (by destroying your opponent’s buildings, for example, or defending against certain threats). The buildings themselves add victory points, increase resource production, defend against threats, and grant their owners other benefits.
Finally, the game is affected by “events.” When the resource die is rolled, an event die is also rolled. It may indicate an attack of raiders (who steal resources), a free resource to both players, or a draw from the final deck of the game, the “event cards.” These cards are almost always interesting and occasionally catastrophic.
Players may also field armies of knights (the mechanics of armies depend mostly on comparing each player’s knights’ total “strength”).
The game has ample complexity, with lots of room for entertaining emergent situations and challenges, but play itself is just plain fun. Strategy from game to game varies depending on the cards you happen to draw—and, of course, the luck of resource production.
I’m also pleased to say that the game keeps players moving along at a reasonably even pace. Oh, yes, my wife beat me every time, but never by so much that I ever gave up any hope of catching up (except maybe in the last turn or two). Unlike with the dreaded Monopoly, the game never devolved to an agonizing and unending pillaging by one player of another. Every turn, each player had some hope of advancing.
We’ve since acquired (but have not tired) the Catan Card Game Expansion Set
. It basically contains six different expansions that can be added to the game, giving each play a very different feel. I also noted from a quick scan of the rulebook that it supports a sort of tournament play where players can build their own decks. I’m unlikely to ever give that a serious try, but adding dragons or barbarians to the game seems just plain fun, and I can’t wait to give it a try.
September 20th, 2007
Alec Bings
I got back from vacation less than a month ago, but I already miss it. I worked almost full time while on vacation, so it’s not the work I have to do now that bothers me; it’s the structure. In Vermont, effective “working from home,” I found time to do work whenever it didn’t interfere with my family life. Now, back in the office, I squeeze family and fun time in when it doesn’t interfere with the expected nine-to-five (or in my case seven-to-three) work schedule my company imposes on me.
One thing that’s missing is the casual gaming my wife and I—and other friends—did while we were in Vermont.
And one game that we’re not playing now is the Illuminati
card game (the deluxe edition, whatever that means) from Steve Jackson Games. I picked it up in Heroes Kingdom in St. Alban’s, VT, because I’ve enjoyed many an SJG product, because the theme (illuminated conspiracy) is great fun, and because the box promised the game would work for “2–6 players.”
Apart from not really working for two players, I have to say it’s a good game. But I’ll start with my quibble.
The box advertises a game for two to six players, but on the first page of the rules it warns that it’s best not to play with less than four. Three is marginal, at two you’re definitely missing something, and both are “not recommended” according to the rules. My wife and I found this to be completely true. I understand why they printed the box the way they did, but since one primary reason for our purchase was that the game was suitable for two players, I’m a bit miffed.
That said, we quite enjoyed the game. My wife beat my soundly four games out of four, we laughed at the cards and enjoyed the different feel the game has when you play different factions.
In fact, I think it’s the factions that really make the game. Depending on your randomly chosen faction, you have very different strengths and weaknesses, and each faction also has its own unique goal. (Except for the UFO faction, which gets to choose its goal from the list and keep that secret.) Thus, depending on your own faction and those of other players, each game is radically different—more different from game to game than Settlers of Catan I’d argue, despite the fact that Catan’s board layout changes every game.
The different factions wind up adding quite a bit of complexity to what is, what it starts, a fairly straightforward game to play. The turns go fast. But depending on your own goals, strengths, and strategy—and of course the happenstance of how the deck is shuffled—the convolution of a world fought over by illuminated conspiracy groups seems to unfold, with wit, on the table.
The rules suggest—and I’m convinced they’re right—that with four or five players the fun increases. One-on-one, the only goal is to win and frustrate your opponent. With more players, though, alliances can easily form (and of course just as easily break). Best of all, the game actively supports the possibility of multiple players winning simultaneously.
Alas, with just the two of us, we didn’t get to sample the real double-dealing and backstabbing of desperate alliances and bitter betrayal, but I hope to rope some gamer friends into a few games soon (maybe even this weekend), to see how it all plays out.
September 14th, 2007
Alec Bings
I love watching my toddler play games, not just because she has so much fun but because she learns so much as she does it.
Because the games—the skills, the goals, the rules—are so simple, I can see that the pleasure she takes from playing derives at least in part from the achievement of new skills or proficiency. Oh, the pretending part—the stories, the imagination, the simulation of things she sees her parents do—are a big part of the fun, of course. She loves imagining that she’s on vacation or that she’s a cat.
But when she begins to master a new skill or grasps a new concept, she can’t contain her joy. She dances. She shrieks. She sings. She insists on getting everyone who will stand still long enough to watch her play her game.
Why does she approach these developmental activities in the form of games? Despite being an avid gamer, I haven’t tried to force the concept of game upon her. Instead, it seems to be a natural approach. She imposes a game approach on almost every learning opportunity. Even the (to her) arbitrary rules we make are “game-able.” If we insist that she keep her food on her plate, she’ll test the limits of the rule.
“Can I put it here?” she asks, placing her broccoli on the table.
“No.”
“Here?” The broccoli is on the washcloth we keep at the ready at all meals.
“No.”
“In my cup?”
“No.”
“Can I throw it on the floor?”
“No, just keep your food on your plate.”
She shoves the broccoli into her mouth and asks “Here?” Her eyes twinkle, because she’s found a “cheat” to the game. She’s not putting her broccoli in any forbidden place, but she’s also not complying with the order to put it on the plate.
She has won.
I’ve written before about games being the absolute best educational tools we have at our disposal. Watching S— play, I stand by that assertion. She learns more rapidly when playing than at any other time, partly because the game makes learning fun, but just as much because the learning, properly framed, makes the game fun.
I see this in my own pleasure in games. I like to learn the MMOs I play. Once I’ve learned how to play my character, I lose interest in repeatedly doing so in order to achieve an arbitrary goal (like equipment), although I may enjoy improving my play in PVP. When I’ve learned all I can, I will probaby try a different class . . . or a different game altogether. The only reason I’d stay is for social aspects or exploration and immersion.
That so many people are motivated to collect rare virtual pets in an MMO seems a bit odd to me, I have to admit. I enjoy collecting as much as anyone, and I recognize that any goal in an MMO is an arbitrary one. But the pleasure for me comes not from getting something (especially something not real), but from learning how.
Thus, although I’d like to figure out how to make potty training a game, I don’t want to do so with prizes. I’m averse to giving rewards (like stickers) for successful potty use, even though I hear that it can be helpful. I know rewards of any sort, even arbitrary ones, can be powerful motivators.
My aversion stems in part from a philosophical conviction that the best motivator to learn a skill is recognizing that the skill is its own reward. Also, I want the rules of the game to be self-contained. I don’t want to be an arbitrary prize-awarded and authority; I’d rather play the game with her, somehow. In the best games, achieving the conditions of victory as defined by the game is the reward, because getting there is what’s fun. Trophies and medals are all well and good, and prize money is even better. But I greatly fear becoming the arbiter of my daughter’s potty success.
I’d like her to play the game to win the game.
—
I don’t have any plans for a fifth “Toddler gaming” post, although I have no doubt that I’ll be writing again and again about S— and the games she plays in the coming weeks, months, and years. That said, if anyone has any topics related to Toddler gaming they don’t think I’ve covered, or any thoughts on the topics I have covered, I’d very much like to hear them. Post a comment and let me know what you think!
September 12th, 2007
Alec Bings
In her games, my daughter loves rules.
One of the fundamental components of any game is rules. Without rules, you may have a fun activity, but you don’t have a proper game. That’s why we RPG geeks have (and gloat over) elaborate tomes of arcane rules addressing even the most improbable situations. Sitting around and telling a shared story may be fun, but most of us find it more fun with rules.
My brother and I used to make a game of shared storytelling on long car trips. Eschewing die rolling and combat tables, we nonetheless invented guidelines for whose turn in was to spin yarns about the brave Mercemer Brothers (the heroes of many of our tales, adolescent boys who foiled almost all the villains’ plots through the judicious use of M80s, which we somehow envisioned as the pinnacle of personal explosive devices). Of course, the storytelling could be surrendered voluntarily, but it had to be given up if one player exceeded five minutes or repeated an event without sufficient variation.
And understanding and exploiting rules grants a degree of pleasure itself, of course.
As I’ve already discussed, my two-year-old prefers games of “pretend,” as I suspect most two-year-olds do. These proto–roleplaying games may involve walking in circles around the first floor and calling it “going on vacation” or making sure that her toys are looking in a particular direction or “talking” to one another.
But already they’re starting to have rules.
Oh, I don’t pretend to understand her rules, but she’s got ‘em.
For instance, in a recent game of “follow me around the house,” S— gave me one of her plastic dinosaurs. “You have to hold it like this,” she said, grasping the one she reserved for herself by the tail and holding it as a sort of saurian pistol. I complied, and we completed two circuits of the house.
“Now hold it like this,” she said, switching her grip to its head. She started to lead me around again but caught me letting my arm hang at my side. “No, you have to hold it right!” I complied, and the game continued.
As an example of a non-roleplaying game, I recently found S— and her friend sitting on opposite arms of the sofa in the den, taking turns calling out the names of objects they could see.
“Wall!”
“Pillow!”
“Kitchen!”
“Farm set!”
“Arm!”
“Farm set!”The girls laughed and laughed, but their laughter increased when one of them shouted something out of turn or had to pause to think of something. They began giggling hardest when they started making up words completely. And if you saw them, you’d know that it’s the same sort of laughter that erupts from any player in a good-natured pick-up game when a challenge is missed.As I said, I don’t exactly know why she makes these rules. Is she simply asserting authority? Somehow, that doesn’t feel right. Instead, it feels as if she wants to really make a
game of an activity. Adding arbitrary challenges (holding the toy correctly) and mandating turn-taking adds fun to the fun.
Talking about emergent behavior in response to rules systems is always interesting, but at the moment I’m finding it even more interesting to watch the emergence of rules systems themselves.
September 11th, 2007
Alec Bings
A wave of toys washes across the floors of several rooms in our house when, at high toy-tide, our daughter diligently unpacks the chests and shelves filled with her favorite things. At first glance, these waves may seem chaotic, but look closer. S— has arranged her “people” (mostly Fischer-Price Little People, with a couple of Weebles and her beloved Purple Man DDR figure mixed in) in a graceful fractal arcing from one corner of the coffee table to another. Each is facing the same way, and they’re all “watching” a pile of toy birds “sleeping” on the sofa in a pile that alternates bird and blanket, a sort of impromptu toy napoleon.
On the other side of the room, I pick up a discarded toy cow—or maybe it’s not discarded. “No!” wails my toddler, “It’s talking to the otter!” I look down. Sure enough, the cow was positioned face-to-face with a toy otter. I was unwise to interrupt their conversation.
When S— goes to sleep, the toy-tide recedes. Plastic teacups go back on shelves in the toy kitchen, stuffed animals assemble in the toy chest, and the sofa transforms once again into a place to sit rather than a stage.
Among all these toys, though, there aren’t any that qualify as “games.” Oh, she plays games of pretend with them, and as I posted in the first part of this series, I hope this will lead to a lifetime love of roleplaying games. But she doesn’t have any games proper.
For the most part, manufacturers don’t make too many games for toddlers. Crazed parents will hand over thousands of hard-earned dollars for toys stamped “educational” on their packaging, but the littlest kids just don’t play games. Only after about a year of life to do they even have enough perception, language, and motor skills to start imitating what they see their parents and friends do for fun.
But on one rainy day on my recent vacation, I got to see four kids aged two to four (my daughter on the young end) playing actual, commercial games. These games are actually targeted at older kids, and in fact not one was played strictly according to the Rules. But then, what game ever is?
The three games they played were:
The fishing game—purchased by the parents of one kid because the nearby pond permitted fishing, so they thought they’d bring the fun indoors—proved thoroghly entertaining. On, only one kid (the youngest) had anything approaching the motor skills to actually catch a fish by the official method, but all of them (even the skilled one) had a grand time carefully inserting the hook into the mouths of fish as they passed. Or simply grabbing a fish of an appealing color. In the end, though, they treated the game more as a toy which had a skill element than a real game.
The homemade fishing game that I brought over—which my wife made from wooden dowels, rare earth magnets, string, paper, and paperclips—proved much more popular. Sure, we had only two rods, and the “fish” were pictures and bits of greeting cards. But the fun of fishing for a picture of my daughter or a reindeer with a magnet dangling from a string was something the girls were better able to do, was more relaxing, and was much more rewarding (”I got a horse!” “I got S—!”)
They treated the Peanut Butter & Jelly card game as a toy instead of a game, too. Instead of trying to build a particular sandwich, the kids just shouted out when one dad would call, “Who wants peanut butter?” or “Who wants bacon?” The littlest kid wanted them all, of course, but in the end the girls assembled some remarkable sandwiches. My daughter decided to treat her sandwich (meticulously free of meat products, coincidentally; maybe she’s picked up on our family’s vegetarianism without understanding it) as a toy and pretended to eat it for several minutes after the other girls put theirs away.
Zingo! came the closest to being played as a game. Basically “bingo with pictures,” the game drops two sturdy tiles with images that may match the squares on each kids cards. The girls each took one card for themselves and one for their dolls, and they happily laid matching tiles on pictures as they showed up. The precocious youngest girl quickly memorized both sides of her cards (the green side apparently leads to less “competition,” but both sides have images), and we laughed as she flipped each card over whenever a chip with a picture she remembered on the other side came up, dumping any that she’d placed on the front.
None of the girls played to win. None of them felt the slightest bit of competitiveness (which,
really, is a fine thing; toddler competitiveness can get ugly fast and is expressed mostly through
whining). But they did sort of play to fill their cards.
The youngest recommended age for these three games is four, and the girls definitely weren’t ready to play them as proper games. But as a gamer myself, and a doting father, I had a grand time watching them experiment with the beginnings of gaming.
After the last sandwich card and Zingo! tile was put away, they reverted to their favorite kind of game: roleplaying games. The oldest decided she was a teacher, and the other three—and their dolls—happily assembled as pupils and did what she told them. Or did something else. No one really minded, as everyone was having fun.
September 7th, 2007
Alec Bings
Sabertooth Games is offering two free random demo decks of their UFS (Universal Fighting System) collectible card game, along with a copy of the complete rules. All you have to do is fill out the form here before supplies are gone.
I’m not the target demographic of this game. I have never been very interested in the fighting video game genre, and the last thing I need is another CCG to interest me. That said, this seems like a great chance to try something I wouldn’t otherwise even consider, so I’ve signed up.
Any devotees of the game out there? If so, put up a comment letting me know what to expect!
September 7th, 2007
Alec Bings
Recently, my daughter played what I called her very first game. Since that time, she’s become something of a hardcore gamer, at least as much as a two-year-old is likely to be.
No, she’s not like this kid (featured in a story that smacks of bad parenting and a healthy serving of hot, steaming bullshit), but she does love to play games.
There are the obvious “pretend” games. This past weekend, for instance, she decided to pretend that we were going on vacation again. She packed bags (paper ones) full of her favorite toys, handed one to me and one to my brother-in-law, and led us in an endless march around the downstairs. She also enjoys making pretend food in her kitchen (which must be left where she puts it on the dinner table next to the real food or we are subjected to serious complaints) and pretending that things are not as they seem.
“This is a truck,” she declares, holding up a toy rabbit. And when corrected: “I want to pretend it’s a truck!”
This is all good practice for roleplaying games, of course, as is her budding collection of various dice. She found my dice collection very interesting long before it was safe to let her play with the little polyhedrons.
I remember one morning about a year ago when I came downstairs after a late-night game session with her. Back then, we took great pains to make sure that nothing that could fit in her mouth that wasn’t food got in her hands. Apparently though, in my exhaustion, I’d left 1d6 on the living room floor. I discovered the wayward cube in my daughter’s mouth, the lopsided grin on her face giving away the fact that she’d popped in something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
She has her own dice bag now (a satin bag that a small bottle of Godiva liquer came in, donated by my wife), and it’s full of several dice I don’t need. Even though I haven’t played D&D for years, I still have a notion that a set of dice requires, at a minimum, 1d4, 4d6, 1d8, 2d10, 1d12, and 1d20, so I made sure my daughter has all of those. They’re mostly dice I never pick up, but I did include several of the very first geek dice I had, clear crystal dice with numerals that I filled in with crayon sometime in the early ’80s.
While on vacation, we played quite a few games with her three friends who were staying in the house next door. There was, of course, some good pretend play, but they also had some purchased games that I’ll write about soon.
September 6th, 2007
Alec Bings
During my two-week vacation last year (2006), I spent many an evening playing World of Warcraft (for which I’d just reactivated my account) on dial-up while my one-year-old daughter slept in a room separated only by a curtain. My delight in exploring the genuinely different workings of each class (I leveled “one of everything” to ten) and pleasure in playing with real-life friends kept me interested and engaged (and up late).
This year, though I had my laptop with me, I didn’t run WoW even once. I spent a great deal of time online via dial-up (mostly for work), but not one moment of it related to MMORPGs. I didn’t even bother to make my once-every-four-days mooncloth or once-daily arcanite.
And I didn’t miss it for even a second.
This doesn’t entirely surprise me. Although I very much enjoyed hitting 70 and the whole process of leveling, I had begun to realize that the time:reward ratio was getting worse and worse. I’d eagerly anticipated some serious PVP time, but after a few attempts I began to realize that my crappy gear was a liability. And the prospect of having to do badly for long enough that I’d earn competitive gear made the whole thrill of PVP start to feel like a treadmill rather than a challenge.
Now, I know that MMOs are designed as treadmills. The most rewarding treadmill is leveling to the level cap, as almost every level grants you new abilities or power improvements to play with. WoW’s reputation grinds are less pleasurable. You have to stay on a rep grind’s treadmill for a long time to get the best rewards. But some of the rewards are good enough that a serious player might justify the time investment.
(Ironically, I know most people see leveling as an obstacle to be overcome to enjoy the game. In truth, though, I think the vast majority of players actually enjoy leveling most. They may not be the most vocal on the various discussion boards, but most players, once they hit the cap, will either start leveling another character or will find another game.)
For myself, though, I’m just not motivated by the idea of having the rarest pattern, mount, or suit of armor. I like ones that give me an edge in gameplay, of course, but once you’ve got 98% of the “edge” you can hope for, investing the same amount of time all over again for the final 2% just doesn’t interest me.
So I’ve begun experimenting with other MMOs. I’m in the beta for Tabula Rasa, and I’ve downloaded demos for Lord of the Rings, Dungeons & Dragons Online, and even Sword of the New World. I’ll have separate posts about all those, of course, and I may actually sign up for any one of them. The prospect of leveling up in LotRO or DDO has tempting elements, although taking a real, extended vacation from MMOs so I can really indulge in board games, other computer games, card games, and even non-game relaxation has great appeal as well.
Quitting an MMO used to seem like a terrible prospect. Having invested time into a character (or several), it’s hard to let them go. But now, because you can always quit an MMO and count on your characters being there if you decide to come back, I’ll be canceling my WoW account soon. I’m almost certain I’ll be back when the expansion comes out, to enjoy the leveling process. And before then, I’ll take the time to enjoy any other MMOs that catch my interest. (Pirates of the Burning Seas seems the most exiting to me, but it could turn out to be terrible.)
But having take a break from WoW, I’ve learned a lot about what I want from my leisure time. I want fun. It doesn’t have to be easy fun, but it better be genuine fun. If not, I’ll be moving on to something else.
For those of you out there who have quit, how did it feel? And what are you doing now?
September 4th, 2007
Alec Bings
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