Anar’alah belore. My name is Lyraea, and I’m a pacifist priest.

Do no harm.

My Player is fairly new to WoW (she’s only played for about a year and a half), and despite her noobness, she got very bored with the game after capping her Blood Elf beast mastery hunter and was looking for a new way to play. That’s where I came in.

My Player attended a 2010 conference in Montreal around the sociality of play, where one scholar mentioned a guild that (unsuccessfully, if I recall) attempted to level pacifist toons. After creating me, she took pause – what did it mean, exactly, to be a pacifist in a world where violence is the principle means of advancing?

In reality, it’s not very exciting. It’s actually pretty excruciating for the first 7 levels or so. Run-die-run-die-run-die-run. At level 7, having proven my worthiness to learn Power Word Shield, it became easier. Run-Shield-run-Shield-run-Shield. Through some pacifists will deal damage in self-defense and complete “good-cause quests” for experience, I decided to embark on this endeavor as a purist: do no harm. That equates to a lot of mining and flower-picking to earn experience, and the occasional courier and collection quest when it becomes available. The tedium is probably why My Player has left me at the end of her toon list, having only made it so far to level 9. I’ve died 16 times in my short life (My Player kept a journal and screenshots … you know, for “science” … kinda morbid if you ask me). I guess the nice Belf finishes last.

What My Player found most interesting was how it felt to develop a system of rules based on a virtual moral commitment. To have no accountability other than to oneself requires an immense amount of discipline, especially in the face of guildies goading me for being a sissy. It meant that she and I had to get used to dying, as it was as much a part of play as living. It was a matter of selectively engaging certain game mechanisms as part of the challenge – appropriating the affordances (e.g., experience from mining and herbing) and tolerating the constraints (the sparseness of non-violent quests). There must be some sort of religious parallel here – self-sacrifice for the ideological cause.

Of course, I’m not getting as much screen time as my big sister, My Player’s hunter, I think that somehow I’m still the bigger Elf. I’m sticking to my guns … er, to my … Power Word Shield … and doing no harm.

Centipede, my childhood companion.

Inspired by A.’s recent post here, as well as by a simply astounding book I’ve been reading, I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole “going solo” business.

I agree that we shouldn’t somehow position those who game alone as “sad.” Frankly, that’s  just silly.  I don’t think that studying social interaction around games is overemphasizing the social, but it’s a good point that those who do study the social online also need to keep in mind the solo dimension. It’s important to pay attention to going solo because there are a lot of game-playing people who don’t play the “social” games like WoW (more than those who do, in fact). But it’s also because playing by yourself is a huge part of playing the “social” games, as well. In WoW, as A. points out, a tremendous amount of game play is actually done alone – leveling, for example, is largely a solo activity. Even when you play “with other people” in, for example, a pick-up-group (PUG) to run a dungeon, there’s essentially no conversation; you might as well be playing alone for all the sociability that experience has.

But for me, part of the joy of going solo is actually the relationships. Yes, relationships. Bear with me, here. When I read a good book (like this 2nd installment of The Kingkiller Chronicle I’m reading… amazing), I get so engrossed in the characters, their world, they story, that it doesn’t actually feel like I’m alone. As I read that book, the pains of the characters hit me in my gut; their joys make me flush with happiness; their fears make me tremble anxiously. Don’t look at me like that. You know you’ve done it, too. I mean, what fun is a movie, for example, if you don’t jump when the hero is attacked or cry when she loses her love?

Indeed, I think much of my own obsession with books as a young kid – and later with video games – was appealing because I felt as though I was part of this whole world of amazing other entities. My only-child existence was a little less only for a few hours as I poured over those pages and lived the adventures of those characters. When I finish the really good books, I find myself actually missing the characters; I sometimes even catch myself wondering what they’re up to “now.”

Video games are the same for me. I recently watched a trailer for one of my favorite games, The Longest Journey. Just watching the characters and listening to the music gave me pangs of nostalgia not only  for the amazing experience of playing, but also for the characters, the world, the imagery – for the object that is the game itself and for all the objects that make up the game.

Bruno Latour says that we have relationships not only with other humans, but also with objects – that things like books or computers or even my mouse or my chair have meaning in our life. So, he says, the relationships we have with those things shouldn’t be put onto a lower tier than relationships with humans. He argues that the network of our lives includes all those relationships because they all  have meaning. In other words, we don’t construct what it is to be social (or anti-social, for that matter) based on our interaction with humans alone, but also based on our relationships with objects.

Folks like Donna Haraway emphasize that our interactions with objects and bodies are constructed by our ideas about them. She calls us all “cyborgs,” because those ideas are deeply embedded with things (machines literally as well as metaphorically)  and because our affinity with that otherness becomes part of who we are. For Haraway, “taking intense pleasure in machines” (2003, p.490) is part of making the machine us; and the machines are an aspect of embodiment itself. As a result, we are made up of both the”natural” as well as the “artificial.” She urges us to examine the edges, the cyborg, the hybrid, the chimera – perhaps even by seeing the social in the solo.

Some might call my thrill and nostalgia for characters in The Longest Journey parasocial relationships – “one-sided” ones that I get really involved in, but the characters don’t “know” anything about me. For me, calling those relationships parasocial is too reminiscent of the accusation that they are “odd,” or as A. puts it, “sad” – a view that really just misses the point (and tempts us to mistake them for unimportant). But whatever the framework you want to use to describe them, our relationships with those games, books, characters, and technologies are all part of our understanding of ourselves, including being alone (which from one perspective, we always are, no matter how much we talk to other people) and being social (which from another perspective, we are always constructing, whether it be with people or characters or objects). As a result, relationships with characters, games, and objects – yes, even little centipede heads crawling down the screen – can be just as meaningful as relationships with people.

I’m a loner when it comes to gaming. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy playing with friends (I do) or that I haven’t spent hours on end playing with friends (I have), but my default, my preference, my orientation is to solo-gaming. The link to sexual identity (that I hope was obvious in that last sentence) is not too far off. There’s a scene in the movie Go Fish (Troche, 1994) where the character Daria, abducted by what Lisa Henderson (1999) calls the “Sex Cops,” defends her identity as a lesbian despite the fact that she just had sex with a male fuck-buddy. I may enjoy playing with other people, I may even seek it out sometimes, but when I fantasize about gaming I imagine myself playing alone (insert masturbation joke here if you wish).

This realization of my identity as a player came to me as I travelled home from campus following an invited lecture on “video games, identity, and digital media” tonight. At one point in our discussion the students and I were trying to work through why solitary play is so disparaged, while social play tends to be viewed as the “redeeming” fact of video game culture. I have critiqued elsewhere (Shaw, 2010) that game studies often defends itself against the lonely, isolated gamer stereotype by proving that gamers don’t “bowl alone” (Williams, 2006). It’s true, gamers are a social bunch, and gamer identity is highly defined by sociality. I’m not questioning that, and in fact applaud those that study social gaming (some of my closest friends are social gamers). I am, however, questioning the easy dismissal of the loner gamer as somehow “sad.” As a proud and out loner gamer, I take issue with being the straw (wo)man against which game studies defines itself.

One of the little known secrets about online gaming is that one can actually be a solo online gamer. Indeed, that’s how I was talked into playing World of Warcraft in the first place. You can play a surprisingly large amount of the game alone (and in fact many of the hours I played were solo hours). Sometimes, after a long day of teaching and meetings, it was lovely to spend an hour or more leveling up my mining skill while catching up on podcasts of Rachel Maddow. Yes, going on a raid with my guild or or even just chatting with a friend while playing separately was fun too (a lot of fun). The ways in which both kinds of play are fun, however, should not be placed into a contest with each other.

During the course of our class discussion, a few students pointed out that reading alone is not seen as “bad” while gaming alone is (as is eating alone in a restaurant). As we explored the idea further, however, we realized that there are ways in which even reading alone is seen as “sad.” I remember many a joke made at my expense or dirty looks when I spent a good deal of my childhood whole life reading alone. I know many people who have had parents ban them from reading, urging instead that they “go outside and play.” What is it about aloneness that is so disparaged? I confess I have not gotten around to reading Sherry Turkle’s Alone Together yet, but in one interview she says “if we don’t teach our children how to be alone, they will always be lonely.” I don’t know if I support that, but I do think that overemphasizing sociality runs the dangers of disparaging (though it need not have to) the joys of going solo.

Henderson, L. (1999). Simple Pleasures: Lesbian Community and ‘Go Fish’. Signs, 25(1), 37-64.
Shaw, A. (2010) “What is Video Game Culture: Cultural Studies and, Game Studies.” Games and Culture 5: 403-424.
Williams, D. (2006). Why game studies now? Gamers don’t bowl alone. Games and Culture, 1: 13-16.

My friends and I joined the 27,000 other convention-goers wandering the hall and areas outside, soaking up the amazing costumes, nodding to thumping game soundtrack music, and basking in the feeling of being surrounded exclusively by gamers of all types.

For the Horde!

Curse.com party

For the Horde!

Yeah, so the Lovely Purple Dress clashes with my skin. And?

A dear friend of mine, M., has a saying: “I do what I want!”

Sometimes this is said in an instance when she auto-runs her toon head-long into a group of mobs, pulling a baker’s dozen that might or might not wipe the party. Sometimes it’s said in response to questions like, “Um… why are you wearing a [Lovely Black Dress] instead of your tier gear for this fight?”  It mostly comes out, though, when people suggest that perhaps going north, then south, then crossing the river will save her 3.729 seconds on her run through Feralas instead of south then northeast then 16 degrees west.

Bottom line is, you don’t tell M. what to do (well, unless she asks).

I’m feeling inspired by M. this week. Not just because her Fel Guard’s name is waaaay cooler  than mine (hers is Shaathun, mine is some unpronounceable thing with V’s and L’s), nor because  she has the badest-ass pet collection eveah.

I’m feeling inspired because M. is someone who, even as she struggles with people who think they Know Better, always returns to that simple phrase: “I do what I want.”

Don’t think this is an excuse to do just anything. M. is careful, considerate, and thoughtful with those around her. Doing what you want is actually incredibly hard, and there are always a lot of people around waiting to tell you how you should have done a different thing or maybe see, that didn’t work you shouldn’t try to do it your way, or most often if you do what you want then other people will get all mad so you should just stop rocking the boat.

But I’m thinking that rocking the boat is just about the bravest thing a person can do. Sometimes it’s a total wipe, there’s no denying that. But most times that wipe teaches you a thing or two, you generate a laugh or 50, and you follow what you believe is right, not what people tell you. I’d rather have fun and wipe than /cower in the corner, in any case.

She’s not alone. Pretty much all of us who look that doubter in the eye and say, yeah, I play video games, or, yeah, I study video games, or, yeah, I’m a girl and I play WoW without flinching are kind of saying “I do what I want.”  I’ve watched my friends I. and S. do this repeatedly in bars and academic conferences alike without a shred of apology, even when the  crowd is giving the ole’ who is this chick and why doesn’t she fit my assumptions?

So here’s my invitation to you. Jump off a cliff. Step into the void portal. Do a naked dungeon run. Join 300 dwarf hunters and kill the Whale Shark.  Join an RP server and hang out in Goldshire for a night. Have a dance party in Scarlet Monastery. Use your priest to tank.

In short, do what cha want. You might just find…. you get what you need.

~Lan

The elusive Spirit Cat

My guildies and I were loitering in Org one evening, I on my main (female BM Hunter) and they on their alts (resto and feral Druids), preparing for some inappropriate adventure or another. I, in my efficiency, was repaired and outfitted, and sufficiently stocked, which left me to chat with my spirit bear. I noticed a fellow hunter next to me with a sparkly spirit cat – I acknowledged his pet with appreciation and mentioned in public chat that it was first time I’d seen one in “person”.

Meanwhile, I was chatting with my druid pals via Skype, and I started giggling as Mr. Hunter started to spread his digital tailfeathers, bringing out rare pets. I followed suit: spirit crab, rhinoceros, runed demon dog. I called over the druids to see this fascinating exchange – one of the druids has a paladin, and I’ve regularly seen him engage in a similar ritual with other pallies, healing each other continuously until they were out of mana.

For some reason, my druids did not like this hunter-stranger. The druids joined our little party in the Valley of Strength and made fierce gestures and commented that they should leave “their girl” alone. These were of course followed by alternate forms and their relative sparkly effects that make the druids so endearing.

The transformations started out small – cat form – and became gradually more spectacular – Moonkin form, triple tree form. For each heightened display, the hunter responded with a bigger pet – Maddex the scorpion, King Mukla the gorilla, King Krush the devilsaur.

Druids make themselves known in front of Shauxna.

During these shenanigans, Mr. Hunter whispered to me: Add me sweetheart maybe we can catch some bgs, double BM :D. As a RL female having heard tales of such wooing but never having experienced it, I related this to the druids via Skype. The emotes unfolded, and all the while Feral Druid was running around making sparkles in his characteristic style:

Resto Druid winks slyly at you.
Resto Druid says NO. Not going to happen.
Resto Druid stares Mr. Hunter down.
Mr. Hunter laughs at Resto Druid.
Mr. Hunter smiles at King Krush.
Resto Druid tells Krush NO. Not going to happen.
You pet King Krush.
You strut.

After cleaning up the wine I spit out from laughing so hard (pinot grigio is required for adventuring in Azeroth), I got to thinking about identity – there’s some gender business going on here, especially assumptions on Mr. Hunter’s part that I am, in fact, a female player. Or, rather, he just doesn’t care if I am or not.

There’s a class identity dynamic as well … I complimented Mr. Hunter on a lovely pet and he responded in kind based on the shared meaning we hold for our pets because we’re both hunters. Then there was some crazy difference in the risk-evaluation that was going on among the avatars compared to how we might interact offline … I’m not sure I would have approached Mr. Hunter offline, and while my guildies may have come to my “defense” in such a scenario (we are a bit of a family, after all), it’s doubtful that they would have come in brandishing their finest weapons (or other such sparkly equivalents).

The very sick grad student in me wants to write 30 pages on why this scenario is so fascinating.

WARNING Zelda references to follow

I don’t know why, but people seem to hate Navi. You know, that cute little fairy that  follows Link through blazing dungeons and ghostly graveyards, the flying thing that journeyed with Link through seven, count ‘em, SEVEN years of adventuring (some time travel is involved but it’s all the same thing. )… yeah, people seem to hate her guts… if fairies even have guts.

I don’t fully understand why. I mean, sure, her constant “HEY, LISTEN!!” can get slightly annoying since she seems to chirp it at you every 2 minutes, but it’s all out of love and in an attempt to help you save the world. She’s such a sweetie. However, she’s not the only tiny friend of Link who was on the unpopular side. But while Navi was considered annoying, the word I’ve heard used to describe Midna is bitchy.

That bothers me, because from the first time I met her, I thought Midna was awesome. The Legend of Zelda has used many different individuals to guide Link, whether it was Navi in Ocarina of Time or the King of Red Lions in Wind Waker who turned out to be the king of Hyrule (probably should have done some kind of spoiler tag for that but… meh, too late now). In Twilight Princess (TP), we finally got a guide with a personality, and a hilarious one at that. Sure, for the majority of the first part of the game she spent her time making fun of Link, calling him her slave and all, but she was feisty, and better yet, she was feisty in a tiny, package.

But whether you thought Midna was a horrid little witch or the best friend Link’s ever had (you know, besides Saria), there is one moment when you panic for the little munchkin. The next however many paragraphs will be spoilers, so if you don’t want anything spoiled, you should read the other posts on this lovely blog :). But seriously, I don’t care if this is a 5 year old game, it’s amazing, it’s Zelda and if you haven’t played it, shame on you, go play the GameCube version so you can experience the greatness in its truest form, with Link as a lefty. (If you knew Link is naturally lefty, you’re awesome :)

As in many games in the Zelda franchise, Link is tasked with getting three artifacts that will save the world.  But something inevitably goes wrong and then the real adventure begins. More specifically in TP, you gather the 3 artifacts, but OH NO!! One of the antagonists shows up, takes the fruits of your labor, reveals some plot stuff and curses Link back into his wolf form. This is where Midna shows her true colors. Although she has green on her hands and yellow/orange eyes, her body is mostly black and grey as you would expect from a creature of twilight. The colors they use, especially in the twilight areas make her black and greys pop as vibrantly as a peacock, it really is something to behold. (I never thought I would describe black or grey as vibrant but LoZ has been known to do amazing things.) However, as a creature of twilight, she also is pained by Light, and so hides in Link’s shadow outside of the Twilight realm. (Foreshadowing possibly?)

While Link lies on the floor, cursed into canine form this “witch” tenderly cares for her now-canine companion and tries to defend him, but it’s obvious she is outmatched. As Link (and you) watches, Midna is tormented, dangled, flung to and fro, and eventually forced to come face to face with the light spirit, Lanaryu, and infused with light… yea, that’s no bueno.

When you regain control, it turns out Lanaryu teleported you out of danger, and informs you that heading to Hyrule Castle and speaking to Princess Zelda is your only chance. But Midna is not looking so well. Whereas Midna normally sits up and rides Link like Epona, she is now draped on Link’s back, unable to move, barely able to breathe, mostly colored grey with a few black spots and a sea foam green tuft coming out her head that glows in the moonlight.

And then this song starts to play:

O
M
G!!!!!

And throw in a couple of F’s in there too, because this scene is so firmly ingrained in my mind, I will never forget sprinting to Hyrule Castle in an attempt to save this little thing that legitimately looked like it was going to die. The sound is so evocative in this part, possibly more so than in any other game I’ve played. The sound effects are slightly louder so you can hear Link’s paws as they sprint to the castle and Midna’s attempts at breathing, labored and painful. AND in what I think is a final screw you to the player, there are still enemies on the field who, when encountered, trigger the enemy music, interrupting the gentle yet urgent track playing during your journey.

But you don’t want to hear that! NOT NOW!!! MIDNA’S DYING DAMMIT, I NEED TO SAVE HER!!

I’ve heard some criticism of this as well. Why would you interrupt such a beautiful scene with enemy battle music? I think it’s for the best, though; the enemies are a disruption, and therefore they disrupt everything: the mood, the music and your attempts to save Midna.

I’ve played through the game twice, watched this particular scene even more times, and I still got goose bumps when I watched it again today. And while her pale color scheme and almost tortured movements aided in my sense of awe, the sound design, especially the song, unofficially named Midna’s Lament, were the true inspirations.

I hate using the term “video game music,” as if all music found in a video game belongs in some less important genre. It’s like saying “movie music” – somehow it loses legitimacy and is relegated to something belonging in the background, not music in its own right, for its own sake.

The music found in video games is diverse, and can be powerful, ambient, melancholy and so much more. I feel silly even attempting to describe it because there are so many tracks that are simply amazing like Aquatic Ambiance from Donkey Kong Country, and so many incredible composers, like Yasunori Mitsuda, composer for two of my favorite games, Chrono Cross and Chrono Trigger. I could spend hours talking about the music in those games alone.

Please forgive me as I am unable to fully express the impact the songs can and have had on me. The best way I can attempt to describe the beauty of some songs in videogames, in particular Midna’s Lament for this example, is this: both times I have played this part of the game I felt as if the song was leading me to Princess Zelda so she could save Midna, and as I arrive just outside Zelda’s I hesitated because I didn’t want the music to end. Midna’s Lament actually caused an internal conflict within me, causing me to worry about Midna, yet making me fear any progress in the story would bring to an abrupt end this eerie bond formed with Midna, as well as the fear that I would never hear the song again (and heads up, you don’t).

Now that’s a powerful song if I’ve ever heard one. Oh well.

Thanks, Midna.

~C.

Old Lloydvi

I was once a Nightelf rogue. It shames me to think of my origins now, but I was young and naïve, and as soon as I learned the truth, I corrected any and all mistakes.

Loydthevi was a rogue who never should have been a rogue. Although I enjoyed PvP, Stealthing wasn’t my thing.  Instead I would – very un-rogue-like – run up and try to burst enemies down. Sometimes it worked, usually not. In instances, I never Vanished (a required move), and I always used Adrenaline Rush to pull agro off healers and fellow DPS (damage-dealers), even if they were better able to survive than I was.

That rush-in, self-sacrificing mentality didn’t fit in with the rogue lifestyle (which is to say, abilities) at all.   So my ways of interacting with the environment ended up… not really working out. I refused to use the stealthy parts of the rogue toolkit, and other things like healing or taunting to save others were just not something rogues were capable of. So I was relegated to Sinister Strike and Eviscerate. Eviscerate and Sinister Strike. Over and over again. After 60 levels, I got sick of it.

After a little digging and a fate encounter at Grom’Gol, I made Lloydvi, a retribution (ret) paladin. Paladins are built to heal, taunt, and rush in willy-nilly. Now I could do the things I wanted to do. PvP was more fun because ret was built the way I always wanted to play the game. None of Lloydvi’s key skills went  unused. If I wanted to save a healer, I could pop righteous fury and pull the mobs off. If I wanted to heal, I could (instead of just hitting /dance in the hopes that my gyrating hips would make you forget the three deranged pigs that just got finished stabbing you with spears). Lloyd let me be who I wanted to be.

Then came Wrath, along with the massive changes to all classes that is to be expected from a new expansion.

Suddenly, the Lloyd I knew was gone. This Lloyd, while similar, interacted     with the world differently and so to me, he was a different Lloyd. For instance, the old Lloyd killed Alliance by surviving with Hammer of Justice, Blessing of Freedom and heals until a timely and potent Seal of Command (TBC version). Then BAM! Crusader Strike and Judge, and finish them off with Hammer of Wrath. My old Lloyd was not an AoE (Area of Effect) beast, but that’s how I liked it. I enjoy single target fighting – none of that spreading things out all over the place for me.

But the new Lloyd is very much a whack-a-mole AoE kind of guy. No matter what the situation or number of enemies, now I just hit Divine Storm and my other abilities come off cooldown (that means I can use them right away, for you non-players). Lloyd’s helpful abilities are still there, sure, but now it seems like the paladin and therefore Lloyd is no longer built to use them. After a few months, I realized just because you look like Lloyd does not make you Lloyd, and so Watana, my feral druid was created.

To this day, I still consider Watana my main. I love druids, the lore, the design, they’re my thing. However, I recently took Lloyd out of retirement, got him to 85, and started gearing him up.  And I’ve realized all over again that he’s not my TBC Lloyd – that old Lloyd that I loved. They share the same achievements, yes, but at the core, the way they interact with the world – and with other players – is different. My Lloyd was never spec’d for healing. My Lloyd never had 40% of his damage in ranged abilities. My Lloyd never associated himself with anyone named Joe (the name I’ve given to my Guardian of the Ancient kings). But although he’s not my Lloyd, there are some things he can do, and I guess I can find it in my heart to forgive him long enough to play him. So, I enjoy him now, and that’s good enough.

~ C.

Then thar’s Pirate’s Day. Aye, me poppets. Pirates and ninjas. Arr.

Cassavaa the Dwarf Hunter

Moreover, some of these folks will meet up in person at an event at BlizzCon, and my friend and I will be there with bells on. Or, you know, hunter accoutrement. I had to earn my place, though, so I started this lovely lass. Now I can play with hunters both online and off-.

And on this Friday, I’ll go over to her house and we’ll party with the hunters. I’ll bring my newly purple-clad lass, here, along with her shiny new white bear, Hemlock, and fight the good fight. Or at least run around a lot with a pile of hunters and have a good time.

Fun times to be had by all. And likely followed by a new naked dungeon runs. Just to top off the night.

I don’t really agree. I think that a big reason why people are leaving the game after the Cataclysm expansion is because the feeling of “the elite” has decreased.  Because it’s now easier to get high level gear (even if raids themselves are harder), people have less satisfaction from accomplishing elite tasks and thus are less motivated to play. I’m kind of building off Yee et al.’s work on motivations for play generally, here. My view is that striving towards something that gives you a sense of relative status over your peers is what drives many – not just the actual elite – to play.

An insightful friend and long-time player disagreed, saying that he didn’t see being elite as too important – only about 5% of people are actually “elite” in the sense that they saw high end raids. The loss of epic gear that is far and above better than anything you get elsewhere is essentially gone, he argued, and so there’s a decrease in the sense of achievement overall. That’s the loss that makes the game less appealing, he said, not changing notions of what it means to be at the top.

Tier 12 (top) Shaman gear

More importantly, he pointed out,  the lack of group quests and areas you really cannot tackle alone make the world much less engaging. Along with easier instances, the fact these areas are easier mean that social collaboration and coordination aren’t nearly as vital as they once were. He said, “It’s more streamlined, true, but streamlined means you’re guided to end game without many bumps until then…. and then what?”

In his words, “After leveling (some number larger than one) alts I can now say this with certainty: no matter what class/spec you play, you’re a one (wo)man army. You can do everything by yourself – very silly in a massively multi player game. I know from experience that leveling a warrior or druid previously was borderline torture, but rewarding. Every quest meant so much more, therefore the experience was much better, even if I played less. Druids were literally useless until they got cat form at 20 and warriors could not heal at all and therefore died a lot, but they were unique.”

He continued, “The uniqueness also added to the sociability of the game. A quest is hard so you have to make friends to finish it. You’re a heal-less warrior so you make friends with a squishy-ass priest, work together, and become so much more than the sum of your parts. Each class brought something; but now when one person can take on any- and everything, why talk to anyone?”

I still felt the elite issue is important,  but that it’s not so much about being elite, as about striving to be elite. So those in the top 15%, but not the top 5%, can still feel better than those in the lower 20%, etc. Without a sense of working towards socially situated elitism as such, the competitive nature of the game is reduced – akin to what he said about the difficulty being reduced.

My friend suggested that while this may be true for some,  the motivation for being elite only brought a few select – although extremely loud – people joy, whereas the majority found enjoyment in progression,  not just end game content. For him, it was the individual challenge that he saw as bringing enjoyment to most players, not the striving, promise, or hopes of achieving an elite status.

In short, my theory is that the possibility of becoming elite (or approaching elite-ness) before your peers was a major driver in many people’s play. For him, it was the challenge as challenge, not so much the social consequences of having achieved or conquered that challenge.

What do you think?