Massively^™

"Come on, you apes! Do you want to live forever?"
- Unknown WWI platoon Sergeant, as quoted in the epigraph of Starship Troopers, Robert Heinlein

This sort of chaos, of being flung into the maw of an overwhelming and relentless foe, very succinctly sums up the jovial insanity of Massively's foray into PlanetSide's world-event realm as so-called Black Ops. Replete with frenetic action, us-versus-the-world attitude, and the ever-so-helpful seismic and meteoric stylings of a GM eavesdropping on our Skype chat, TGI hopes that our incursion into PlanetSide's universe provided an entertaining distraction to the folks for whom it's been a long-time daily driver.

Our efforts could politely have been called "lambs to the slaughter." They could less-politely be visualized as a well-worn combat boot meeting a sensitive part of TGI's anatomy, perhaps the one he sits upon, repeatedly and with great vigor.

It was glorious.

Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret.
- Judy Bloom

(Hey, just be glad you didn't get another Neitzsche quote*)

The fantasy-based worlds our characters inhabit are, almost without exception, richly steeped in legend and brimming with lore. This is doubly true for those that have come to parturition after having existed outside of the digital realm. Frequently, the book or books upon which they are based feature the prominent (occasionally bordering on overwhelming) presence, if not direct and outright influence, of the God or Gods the characters worship... or at least call upon to save their bacon once in a while.

Having been so much a part of the lives of the inhabitants of these universes, at least before they found themselves to be at our command, the relegation of these heretofore great cosmic forces to the essential position of role-playing wallpaper at best is puzzling, the occasional trimming of an Elder God's Toenail notwithstanding. In all these worlds full of powerful wizards channeling arcane energies and hurling bolts of numinous fire at their enemies, or healers using their connection to the divine to aid their allies -- some of whom are called Priests outright -- where are the Gods themselves? And, more to the point, where is the role of religion in the characters' lives?

A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation. -- Friedrich Neitzsche

The first person who considers TGI to be poetry is a perfidious and nefarious cad, who is not to be trusted, and any pretentious wanker to use the phrase "blank verse" when speaking of it will be met on the field of battle to enjoy a Norton Anthology upside the head. However, thinking TGI to be great is vigorously encouraged.

We're not here to be subtle, folks.

Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot.
-- Oscar Wilde

The notion of having one main character or avatar that claims the bulk of one's play time and attention is fairly straightforward. It simplifies raid life for your officers, for one thing -- avoiding loot drama and similar chaos -- and gives your friends a convenient fall-back name to call you by on Ventrilo or in person. Even those folks who are able to juggle a large number of characters at or near endgame -- whatever level that might be -- typically have one they designate as their primary one. However, that character might not be their first, or favorite. That oddly enduring but tenuous bond exists for may gamers -- the one toon you keep coming back to, even though it may have shortcomings, or be badly-equipped, or not in demand.

In a similar vein to the previous installment of TGI, where we touched on the notion of changing titles altogether, we'd like to explore this notion of having a favorite character. Don't break out the Peter Gabriel yet, we're not going to be pining for lost love, or the one who got away here. Rather, let's take a look at what keeps us coming back to a particular digital minion despite the allure of new and different ones, both within a single game and among the myriad titles we can possibly choose from.

In the spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

No matter where you go, there you are.
-- Buckaroo Banzai

Recently, in The Daily Grind, Brenda brought up the subject of taking up a new game in addition to, or instead of, one you currently play, and there were some very insightful responses in the comments. We here at TGI have been mulling over the same issue lately as well. There's apparently something in the air or water these days that leads to such ruminations. Not necessarily outright dalliances, per se, but as a gedankenexperiment into the merits of leaving our current realm or realms and striking out for greener fields.

There seems to be a generalized atmosphere swirling around this notion of changing games lately, but why? For some players, it's idle speculation; for others, serious contemplation. For developers, it's either cause for concern or Miller Time. Is it merely widespread anticipation of Warhammer Online and Age of Conan? Is it boredom with the current crop of MMO titles?

Or is everybody out there just playing Grand Theft Auto IV?

"Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"

"Oh, I'm not any kind of witch at all!"

-- The Wizard of Oz

What about you? Bastion of righteousness or purveyor of deceit? Some folks, to be certain, put a lot of thought into this, balancing role-play, game and class mechanics, racial traits, and a whole constellation of other factors. Some merely find one race or other more interesting or entertaining to look at. Others go where their friends in the game already happen to be. But, initially, when a game is launched, those first adopters will break a certain way demographically. Nick Yee's excellent research on the subject at The Daedalus Project has been touched on here before, and using that as a starting point, we here at TGI have done some statistics-infused navel gazing.

One of my long-time gaming buddies and I caught up a couple of weeks ago, and he was astonished that I still play World of Warcraft. I'm the impatient hot-head of the group, usually the first one to unload the choicest four-letter words or suggest that the drinks, service, and (ahem) "prospects" at another bar might be superior to our current location. Anarchy Online got stale for all of us at about the same time, and I was the one musing loudly where we ought to go next. But, here I was, two years after my buddies had retired for one reason or another, still playing as enthusiastically as ever. Heck, maybe more enthusiastically than I did back then. We'd all created Alliance characters, but thinking back to those days, I began to wonder at the mindset and mentality that goes into choosing sides when we're given the option. I'm with the Horde now for the simple reason that almost all my gaming friends were there, and it was "change sides or miss everybody."

A mind, once opened, can never be shut again.
-- Alfred Einstein

Have you ever wondered how the other half lives? Maybe you're a tank, and know the intricacies of threat and mitigation inside and out, but can't figure out what those finger-wigglers at the back are going on about. Or perhaps you're a sniper, and don't care about what goes on in the melee fracas.

When the game itself runs out of challenges for you, and you're not ready to move on, it becomes time to challenge ourselves. We may not be ready or willing to move to another virtual world altogether -- we've got friends in a guild that we want to keep playing with, for example, not to mention all the sparkly toys we've accrued. If you've gotten too good at your primary role, and keep frequent company with a group who is likewise adept at what they do, it can be easy to grow complacent. There are ways to spice things up once in a while, by doing themed events, or partaking in certain vices. But these are temporary measures, more the exception than the rule.

To truly push ourselves, we need to step fully clear from what we've mastered. For some folks, it may be sidling around from the bad guy's face to their back, or trading in some brass knuckles for a crossbow. For me, it meant wading into the thick of the fray, rather than lobbing damage or healing from a more-or-less safe distance. In this spirit, I wanted to learn what those sneaky guys at the top of the damage charts were up to.

How hard could it be, right?

Many MMO aficionados cut their roleplaying teeth on one of the many pencil-and-paper titles that formed the early generation of multi-player gaming. In addition to rolling (and rolling, and rolling, and rolling) some dice to come up with their basic stats and traits, character generation involved a lot of "wet work" when it came time to acquire skills. Often, players would bargain with their Game Master to get special dispensation for pushing the envelope.

Player: I want to run this adventure as a zombie elf with three arms.
GM: Okay, but if you do that, none of the other characters will trust you. Also, you will spend 50% more on shirts and body armor. Still want to do it?

Thus, the mechanic of trading character flaws for enhanced abilities was born. One of the hallmarks of tabletop gaming is this trade-off -- saddling yourself or your character with a shortcoming in order to obtain an advantage elsewhere, either as a skill, or a talent, or just another way to go about Min/Maxing. The huge number of available options in some games (Vampire: The Masquerade, for instance) ensures that any player, with only a few minutes' consideration, will have an almost absolutely unique character, fully their own creation.

And yet, almost without exception, the online iterations we all enjoy seem to have omitted this altogether. We are an immense legion of perfectly-formed, mentally-stable, socially-adept übermensch. Even the so-called "ugly" races -- World of Warcraft's Forsaken or Tabula Rasa'sHybrids -- don't explore the depth and breadth of this concept too deeply. Racial traits and differentiation are the merest tip of this particular iceberg.

Why does this rich milieu, this fecund ground of roleplay fodder and character diversity, languish? (And who left this thesaurus on my desk?)

Our characters spring forth, fully-formed, after just a few clicks, a few deft keystrokes (we're not doing anything so archaic as rolling dice anymore, are we?). They stride into their world built to face down epic challenges, confront any adversary, and never, ever break a sweat. They are engines of pure utility, supremely crafted to take on whatever they encounter and emerge victorious.

Min-Maxing (Min-Max or Min/Max) is the road of ultimate optimization. Allocating every available resource, from racial traits and alignment to equipment selection, to the pursuit of fitness to a specific purpose. This sort of focus and dedication serves our digital minions well, and by extension makes our play more fruitful.

There are plenty of folks on both sides of the argument as to whether Min/Max is a good thing. That's a conversation for another time in this space, though. No, today we're taking a step outside of the myriad virtual spaces where we spend time smiting our foes, fragging our friends, and considering what this would be like out here in the messy organic world.

Would you ever want to meet these characters? They'd be insufferable. Look at this guy -- can you imagine what life would be like for his tailor?

Let's take a few minutes to speak with a Max Mynn and his wife Mindy, to see what it's like for them.

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.

"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

- Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Incorporating an unusual player into a team, group, raid, guild, or alliance, whether it's the players themselves or their character's execution that are unusual, is a lot like cooking with a new ingredient. Sure, it'll change the flavor, and it may not be to everyone's liking, but a lot of times, it'll freshen up an established mix in new and exciting ways.