The brave warriors of nowhere

Maybe I'm just an introvert (who shares his thoughts with the rest of the world), but there's something about the rise in Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Games (MMORG) that's not sitting right with me.

MMORGs have been around for only a few years, but their progenitors have been playing on a computer near you for at least a decade. Maybe more, if you want to count the primitive "Netrek." (A history of Netrek, one of the first online multiplayer games can be found here.

The largest MMORG I know about is “Everquest,” a sword-and-sorcery concoction where players don personas ranging from the mighty fighter to the puny, but magical mage. Players can choose to be a different race, including the standard dwarf or elf. You can recast yourself in a whole new image and depart for dangerous and mysterious horizons. Along the way, you can find fortune and glory, amass treasure, join a team, possibly die and maybe fall in love. Or none of the above. “Everquest” is a massive hit with tens of thousand of users logging in from all over the world, each paying a monthly access fee to get in touch with their inner Legolas.

And yet, this embrace of a virtual world, where nothing is real, unsettles me.

I should talk: About eight years ago, while at grad school, I was drawn heavily into an online virtual world, but this one was made of text and called "LambdaMOO." Inside “LambdaMOO” (Multi-User Dungeon, Object-Oriented) was a massive mansion and peripheral domiciles for the MOO's residents. Of course, it was all text. There were no pictures of rooms or portraits of who you were talking to. It was all theater of the mind, with the text scrolling up the telnet window giving you the mental cues.

Inside LambdaMOO, there were people in funny virtual costumes who took on different personas, whether they be mild or wild. Users got to experiment by masquerading as different genders, adopting different sexual lifestyles or living out some bestial fantasy as an animal. Soft-spoken people in the real world became loudmouths in the MOO. The shy became suave. There was online sex, feuds both large and small, hearts broken, words exchanged, bonds formed, MOO marriages and children...all in all, a close, albeit unreal, version of human society. In some ways, it was an idealized vision of a world where people were judged by their ideas and not what they looked like.

And damn if it wasn't addicting. I remember spending hours, even whole days connected to LambdaMOO, chatting with other users, scripting commands, creating interactive objects and getting into private affairs and verbal shoving matches with people I never met. I’d forego sleep, social events and even eating (only breaking away from the terminal to get my pizza from the delivery boy). I'd log in to LambdaMOO before and after class. I’d be half-aware of friends and other students passing in and out of the room, like I was seeing them in the hazy gauze of a dream state. I spent so much time in LambdaMOO; I think I had no other choice but to write my thesis on it. Hey, you write about what you know.

Running on a parallel course with MOOs and their cousins, the MUDs, were deathmatch games, spawned from Id Software "killer" applications, "Doom" and "Quake." Now, instead of text, you entered into a visual arena with strangers to compete against each other in open combat or work together on specialized missions. Either way you sliced it, being alone or on a team, you cut your digital opponents into meat chunks with any weapon you can find. And your character ran around a lot, too. I mean, who's dumb enough to stand still in a fragfest?

And then there's Blizzard's "Diablo," "Starcraft" and "Warcraft" multiplayer worlds, luring players to go on massive quests against dark forces or to build enormous armies to hurl at another player. "Starcraft" and "Warcraft" (think “Risk” for outer space and Tolkien, respectively) had endless replay value as new battle maps, strategies and players awaited the gamer.

Soon, nearly any game worth its code carried some kind of multiplayer feature, enabling gamers to frag each other under any setting, whether its World War II France, the depths of hell in "Diablo" or the cold, merciless setting of “Quake: Arena," a game that gave up any real pretext of plot and threw users in headfirst to slice each other up into deli meat.

But MMORGS are different. More sprawling in scope, they allow users to travel through some fantasyland and interact with other players (or their avatars, rather) in a combative or social environment. Like “Diablo,” players can work in a party to fight beasts, but the world is much larger, and constantly expanding. You could opt into quests, or (like in “LambdaMOO”) just hang out and “chat” with other player using a messaging feature. MMORGS are completely immersive environments, complete with trees, clouds, hills and all sorts of weather features. You can run, swim, talk, do battle and much more. MOORGs typically set in a “Dungeons & Dragons”-type world, where there are fierce dragons, warriors swinging swords and wizards casting tremendous spells. However, MMORGs are growing into new niches, especially outer space. Coming soon, you can adventure through the worlds of “Star Wars” in “Star Wars: Galaxies.” But despite the genre, the essence is the same: Wander about, talk to people, slay beasts, gain levels to be a more powerful character.

When I see MMORGs like “Everquest” or the upcoming “Star Wars: Galaxies,” I see it through tired and familiar eyes, and let me tell you online gamers, you're chasing nothing. Sure, you are accomplishing feats in-game, and maybe making friends, but you're missing out on so much more. You're not only missing out on sunlight and fresh air, but good storytelling and people who know you already.

Sure you get away from your boring job and slow life (shit, why aren't I there now?), but eventually you have to come back and play with the rest of humanity. And besides, isn't this what "The Matrix" was warning us about: A contained world generated by a computer that fooled humanity into thinking it was real? Why do we promote what Sci-fi films portray as a terrible thing?

Okay, I admit "Everquest" looks fun, making me recall my junior-high days when as Scaroth the Cleric in a “Dungeons & Dragons” group made up of friends in junior high. Back then, I took on the role of a holy man slaying the unholy beings who blighted the countryside. Yet, a couple years later, something in me just moved on, making even the introverted and geeky 13-year-old think that there was something else out there. But when I played, I would study up on spells and monsters for hours, dodging homework and sunshine. I would lustfully eye the equipment pages in the player’s manual, mentally compiling a shopping list of gear I wanted. I debated for ages what was cooler: magic armor or an enchanted mace that did double damage again evil-alignment foes. Over time, however, I realized that what I was obsessing over wasn’t real and wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Plus, that summer, I discovered girls and found something else to get obsessed over. It was time to put aside gaming and go outside.

In a recent airing of the G4's TV show “Icon” (think "Behind the Music" for computer lovers), the folks behind “Everquest” said their players, on average, spend about an average of 20 hours a week in the “Everquest” world. Not much on first glance maybe, but there are a mere 168 hours in a week, subtract a third for sleeping and 40 hours a week for work or school and you have 72, or more than 10 hours a day to commute, go grocery shopping, go out with friends, visit family, pursue artistic endeavors, cook dinner…whatever you need to do to live your life.

The folks behind “Everquest” also patted themselves on the back for creating what they called a global community through the game and its messaging feature which allows players to speak to each other wherever in the world they are. Maybe it’s because instant messaging doesn’t impress me anymore, but I have to call into question the futility of online chat. If we are so interested in chatting, let’s drop the pretext of a fairy tale and get away from the computer and talk to each other.

Your online friends aren't going to be there when you have real-life problems, not going to be there to comfort you when your grandma dies, when you lose your job or give you a lift when your car breaks down. Let me tell you, online relationships are incredible hard and remarkably fragile. For all the online friendships I've forged, I've kept one. And yet, the makers of "Everquest" desire to create a global community populated by players.... players who never see each other, except at great expense and/or at gaming conventions. LambdaMOO had its own social gatherings called MOObashes. Think an “Animal House” frat party by way of pale-skinned computer programmers and you begin to get the idea. Speaking from experience, when you finally meet your online buddies, it’s a bit disillusioning when you see they aren’t how they described themselves online. Add in alcohol, it gets awkward and messy when their carefully crafted online manners go out the window and their true selves emerge.

If you are still hell-bent on roleplaying, try this: Go to your local bookstore, get the “Dungeons & Dragons” rulebooks (I'll sell you mine, if you want to get in touch with me), get your friends together and have a fantasy equivalent of a poker night. When you're with friends, you can goof around, shoot the breeze, hash out differences, split the price of a pizza and, if you have time, go slay that nasty minotaur that's been menacing the peaceful farmers two hills over.

By comparison in “Everquest,” you only have a messaging feature to chat with the other inhabitants. Instant messaging is one thing, but the look on someone else's face says more. And being by yourself isn't that interactive, when you get right down to it. You may get to know people from around the world when you play “Everquest,” but you don't know anything else about that person, like their opinions, their family life, what they want to do when they grow up. When you read a story, you hope the characters are interesting, full of quirks and traits that make them unique. Since the gamers become those characters, they become part of the larger tapestry. If all you have are a bunch of people running around hacking and slashing and not revealing their larger selves, you going to lose richness by way of plot, character and direction.

And that's another thing MMORG gamers should be aware of: These online worlds are merely another way for writers, directors and producers to give up telling a story and turn the reins over to the audience to take up the slack. Sure, you have quests, but that's merely the tease. Go slay this red dragon, and you'll get some tasty treasure. That's not a story; it's a fancy Boolean statement. If you do X, then you get Y. There's no nuance, no depth, no development, no passion. You're just running through a rendered world and slaughtering anything you come across in search of treasure. Congratulations, you've become the online version of the barbarian raiders, killing all those before you and wiping out civilizations, from the Vikings invading the Irish 12 centuries ago or the U.S. wiping out the Native Americans a mere 130-180 years ago. Except in “Everquest” you can see the damage left in your wake and, conversely, you can’t really alter the fate of the universe. While trying to escape the tedium of life, you merely exchange it for another futile existence, one that heavily plays on “kill or be killed…teamwork is optional.”

Strangely, though, I’m very much interested in what MMORGs could do in the realm of education. Consider the historical MMORG: A 3-D A.I. simulation of Gettysburg, with students talking to the major players before, during and after battle with the dialogue driven from historical archives and hyperlinks to photos by Matthew Brady or maps from the Smithsonian. Or maybe consider sitting in on the Nuremberg trials or taking a historical tour of the pyramids. How about a literary MMORG where students travel the dusty paths to California with the Joad family in “The Grapes of Wrath,” intermixed with hyperlinks to real-life stories of hardship during the Great Depression? Think of the job boom for displaced tech workers and starving artists to built these worlds.

Of course, teachers would be up in arms about MMORGS replacing the reading of books, as they rightly should be, but I see MMORGs as a chance for students to travel crudely into another time and discover history in a hands-on method that’s part field trip/part scavenger hunt. Let’s face it: The local school district can’t afford to send kids to Egypt to see the pyramids. Why not give them a MMORG tour that supplements learning? Some, I imagine, would derisively see it as just another mindless video game, but let’s be pragmatic: If you could get young students to learn history using the medium they’re familiar with, is it such a bad thing?

Well, it turns it might be a bad idea for cash-strapped schools to begin with. Consider this: to play in a MMORG, you’ll need a plump wallet for the speedy computer, a broadband line for the fastest access, the proper hardware and software (plus any patches or updates), and the monthly access fee to enter the MMORG. And even if you do get all your ducks in a row, that’s still no guarantee you’ll get on the MMORG. Or even keep the kids interested.

Yes. I understand MMORGs are just a game, but, in a way, they aren’t. When I was in graduate school, I became of a student of the “Uses and Gratifications” theory. Simply put, “U&G” said whenever you do something, like watch a TV show or read a book, there is a conscious reason that you can give stating why you watched an episode of “Survivor” or read “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.” Before you log in to a MMORG, seriously ask yourself why you are about to enter into a non-existent world. If it’s for fun, then go right ahead. But if you get the suspicion that you play because it makes you feel superior or that you feel in control of your life while you are in the game, then you really ought to think about what you are missing in the real world. Moving away from a problem in the real world doesn’t solve it. It just delays that moment of reckoning when you have to deal with it. In simpler terms: You can run, but you can’t hide.

Too “Oprah” for you? Okay, let’s go back and remember that when you are online, you aren’t anywhere else. You are staring into a box filled with rendered images. You aren’t with your friends, your lover, your family. You’re distracted by a magic trick of technology and it’s taking your time and money away from you.

Personally, I wouldn't mind giving “Everquest” or “Star Wars Galaxies” a try. I'm sure I'd enjoy kicking monster ass in the name of righteousness, because that's the kind of guy I am. The monk in “Everquest” looks kind of cool, from a "Kung Fu"/“Fists of Fury” standpoint, but I know that my blog wouldn't get updated, I'd tie up the phone line and, most importantly, my wife would miss me. Trust me, there's no way you can explain how online gaming was so important and fun that it kept you away from your lover without getting, if you're lucky, some very cold looks.

And at the risk of sounding crude, sex is so much better than online gaming. Trust me on this. At the very least, roleplaying still may be involved and you don’t have to worry about your modem crapping out or a dragon stomping in and broiling you to death with its breath.

I suppose it comes down to this, how do you want to spend your time? Do you want to invest time developing an adventuring avatar? Do you want to slay pixels? Do you want to chat with far-away people in costume? Then “Everquest” and other MMORGs are probably for you. Make sure you have the right gear and the subscription fee handy and be ready to hear that your friends and family are upset because they can't get in touch with you. And if you play in a MMORG and still go outside to walk in reality's firm fields, remember that it's a different world out there. Being a 39th level elven sorcerer may sound impressive online, but when you meet your date's parents, it does nothing for conversation.