"We are the Forsaken"- Part Three

Kilystia landed hard on the ground, surprised by the way her feet hitting the packed earth jarred her.  It had felt free flying above the Silverpine Forest, above the creatures who wanted to kill her just for being what she was, and so leanding on the ground at the Command in the forest was surprising, forcing her back into herself.  Agatha, the Val’kyr that the Banshee Queen had provided her for the task of spying on the Humans and Worgens in Fenris Isle, led the way to the Dark Lady, ignoring Kilystia.  For most of the trip she had ignored Kilystia, speaking only a few times to talk about raising Scourge to fight for the Forsaken.  Otherwise, Kilystia was left with her thoughts.

Lady Sylvanas

Finally standing before the Dark Queen, Kilystia felt nervous.  She had done her job, performed well, and was ready for the next task, but she felt nervous.  She had always felt such when dealing with a commander, but the Queen was more than a commander.  She was Queen.

“You have performed well, Kilystia,”  Lady Slyvanas offered, extending her hand to Kilystia.  “Come with me.  We will ride to Sepulcher and I will tell you a story.” 

Kilystia reached up and mounted behind the Dark Lady, sliding her arms around the Queen’s waist as the horse picked up a trot, taking them from the Command to the road.  “The Forsaken were created by Arthas, who was to become the Lich King…” Lady Sylvanas told Kilystia of her history, of the Forsaken’s history and their relation to the Horde, and for the first time since she had become Undead, she felt sympathy for the Forsaken.  They were victims of circumstance and the cycle perpetuated—a cycle which had to continue.

As the Lady Sylvanas spoke, Kilystia ignored the passing surroundings, falling into the history of the Queen—once a High Elf and now a Banshee Queen fighting against the Scourge.  She felt her alliance to the Queen grow as she listened.  She couldn’t go back to the Alliance.  She couldn’t—not necessarily because she didn’t want too, but rather, because she was now what she was.  That she could not change.  Why not embrace it?  Accept being Undead, accept the contract with the Dark Lady.  Accept she heard in her thoughts, unsure if it came from her or the Banshee Queen.  Accept.

“We’re here,” the Queen interrupted her thoughts, drawing to a halt.  “You are proving to be very valuable, Kilystia.  We shall meet again.”  She promised as she rode off, leaving me standing in the graveyard, looking around aimlessly. 

Kilystia looked around, spotting a commander who might be able to point her in the direction of her next quest.  She had the feeling that she would no longer be focusing on merely Worgen and Human alliances, but rather on tasks which involved the Horde as a whole. 

“You!  Report to Brill.  There are people there whom you need to speak with.  They know who you are, so they should be easy to find, but make haste!” 

Kilystia nodded, sighing.  One thing that did not change between Alliance and Horde?—the  run around.  She had barely been here more than a few minutes and she was already being confronted with a task and a letter to deliver.

Arriving in Brill reminded her of Deathknell, just as it had when she had arrived there at the beginning of her journey, but this time, aside from orders to fulfill, she was finally allowed, by order of the Warchief, to obtain a horse.  No longer merely at foot-solider status, Kilysia needed to move faster.  She needed to be able to serve the Lady Sylvanas much easier. 

Kilystia and her horse

While handing over the gold for her red skeleton horse and riding training, Kilystia smiled.  She was moving up in the ranks, becoming important again.  Even though she still felt angry at the Forsaken for resurrecting her, she was coming to terms, starting to accept what she was.  She couldn’t change it, anymore than the Banshee Queen had been able to change it, anymore than Lilian was able to change it.  She could do some good though perhaps, at least some good for someone. 

Reaching out to stroke her steed’s muzzle, she shook her head.  “We’re in this together, my boy.  Let’s go find where we’re heading next.”

"We are the Forsaken"- Part Two

After two days of travelling, Kilystia trudged through the forest, almost not caring if Worgens or rabid bears got to her.  Before she had left the general vicinity of Deathknell and Brill, she had managed to find the Mage trainer—a task which she did with some disdain.  As a human she had been a Warlock and through some glitch in something she had been forced to begin training as a Mage.  Not that, granted, she had anything against Mages.  Her mother had been a trained Mage, but that fact that this choice, along with her choice to remain dead, had been forced from her, riled her.  She didn’t want to do what they told her.  She was a grown woman, a woman who had been very skilled in her class, a woman who would have rather remained dead.  But, being as they did not give her such as option, she settled on the fact that they were allowing her some space instead of keeping her chained up with glorified babysitters. 

                And now, after a few days of travel and more than enough time to test out her new skills involving fire balls and arcane missiles, Kilystia wanted to arrive at the Forsaken High Command.  She wanted to arrive, meet this Banshee Queen, get on with whatever task was require of her, and maybe find a weakness in the Horde. If, by any chance, she could convince a member of the Alliance to take her back, she would have valuable information for them.  Maybe. 

                She was getting close, could hear the sounds of Worgens and Forsaken guards fighting—the howls of the wolfmen and the grunts of the Forsaken clashing as steel clashed with steel.  The Worgens engaged the guards, pushing back with brutality, drawing the guards closer and closer to their limits of strength, before dancing back a step and letting the guards make a move.  War was definitely at hand, hedging close and closer to its inevitable end, but for once Kilystia wasn’t sure what way it would go.

Silverpine Forest

                Another thing Kilystia was not too sure about was her desire to go about killing.  She was enjoying the scenery around this part of Silverpine Forest—the stately trees, the lush green carpets.  She had never thought that the Horde could live in places of beauty, in places that radiated life.  They were vile, uncouth.  They were monsters.  But so was she now.  She was a monster and yet, here she was, walking through this forest that was, for the most part, serene.  She wanted to focus on the beauty of the forest and stop killing rapid bears and zombies for a bit, as she had done plenty of that the past few days.

                “Where might I find the Lady Sylvanas?”  she asked as she approached a guard near the front of the Command.  Maybe she could reason with the Banshee Queen, as it was rumored that she had been part of the Alliance at one point.

                “Thataway,” the guard responded without giving her so much as a look.  She was rough, covered in a thin layer of dirt, her purplish hair a bit tangled.  She looked like a pauper.

Lady Sylvanas and the Warchief

                “Lady Sylvanas?”  It was definitely the Banshee Queen, the Dark Lady, the Queen of the Forsaken, there was no doubt about that.  The High Elf sat regal on her steed, a black heavily armored stallion who chomped at the bit and pawed at the ground in anticipation.  Her dusky skin contrasted sharply with her dark bound tresses and she looked like a Queen.  Not a warrior.  Still, she was, technically, Kilystia’s new Mistress.

                “I don’t have all day.”  Huskiness edged her voice and she looked down at Kilystia.  “What is it you require?”

                “Deathguard Darnell sent me here to assist you.” 

                “Ah, yes, I heard mention of you.  The Humans, as I am sure you are aware, are constantly in battle with us, but now they are trying to engage the Worgen against us.  We are the Forsaken and this is our territory.”

                “Yes, Lady.”

                “We will not allow such a thing.  The Warchief and I disagree on what should be done, he calls me nothing but another Lich King. I have been raising the Scourge with the help of the Val’kyr in order to have them serve as the Forsaken.  We need the armies, we need the force—for the Forsaken and for the Horde. The Humans and Worgen  have a tenuous bond as of now, and we need to keep on them—watch what they are doing, kill them.”  She paused, looking out over the Command for a moment.  “You will help.”

                Kilystia waited, unsure of the correct response, unsure of what to say.

                “We need help fighting the Worgens that attempt to breech this city, the ones fighting the Forsaken troopers.  Help them Kilystia.  But be wary.  They plot something with the humans.  See if you can find out what it is.  We need to stay strong and be prepared.”

                “Of course, Lady Sylvanas,” Kilystia stepped back, ready to walk away, when the Banshee Queen’s voice drew her back.

                “Feel free to see what other tasks need to be done.  The more you accomplish, the higher you can get in the ranks.  You have great potential, Kilystia.”  She offered a curt nod before turning her horse away towards the Warchief once again.

                Kilystia sighed and headed towards a worried looking official, speaking animatedly with an Undead Deathguard.  “Lady Sylvanas sent me.  Is there anything you need assistance with?”  She interrupted the conversation.  There was no need to be polite.  These were uncivilized people, people who did not deserve kindness the way those in the Alliance did.

                “The giant spiders have captured the Orc Sea Dogs.  We need to rescue the survivors from their webs.  They are located in the Skittering Dark.  If you can rescue them, you will get a reward.”  It seemed like a silly task, but rewards were good, and Lady Sylvanas did promise a faster ascension through the ranks if she helped.

Helping to Kill the Worgen

                Kilystia set out, jogging out of the Command Post and into the forest, heading first towards the warring Worgens and Troopers.  She approached the first pair, standing several yards back, pinning her focus on the Worgen.  He was weakening, of that she was sure, and as she loosed the fireball at him, she prepared for the imminent attack.  It came, pouncing, with claws drawn, raking through her upper arm.  She screamed in pain, stumbling back while attempting to ready her next spell.  She manages and brings the Worgen down, giving her body only a short time before running to the next Worgen. 

                Again and again she helped the Troopers kill the Worgens, and each death brought more pain to her body.  They were attacking her and she was still weak.  Kilystia had to force herself to cannibalize a Worgen, gaining some of her strength back.  It disgusted her, causing shivers up her spine, but she did it—eating the raw meat from the bonds, forcing herself to swallow.  When they Worgens were finally all down, she took a deep breath, looking around at the carnage.  Baby steps, Kilystia.  Baby steps.  You can do it.

Worgens

                Picking her way among the dead bodies, she found her way to the old house stead, following the directions on a small map that Lady Sylvanas gave her, navigating the rundown floor plan to the uppermost bedroom.  It was a rough house, a place meant for short stays—a rough place with no furnishings other than a bed, a table, a wardrobe.  Kilystia hid in the wardrobe, weaseling in between some neglected clothing.  It doesn’t take long for Packleader Ivar Bloodfang and Deathstalker Rane Yorick to enter, plotting to overthrow Lady Sylvanas and the Forsaken.  They argue (it seems everyone argues around here), their alliance uneasy, and Kilystia listens carefully.  Holding her breathe, her body taut, Kilystia presses back against the wardrobe, waiting for them to leave.  Please, please go away.  I’d rather not die again.  And she wouldn’t, not really. 

                It seemed like a lifetime before they left, having arrived at some uneasy truce, a truce which was not at all a good sign for the Forsaken.  When they finally left to rally their own troops, Kilystia tentatively opened the wardrobe door, moving slowly and carefully.  She needed to keep moving, even though she debated going to the Packleader and Deathstalker to try to argue her stance.  She might not be able to go home, but she could also fight for the Alliance in another way.  She might be able to fight against those who took her freedom in death away.  But instead, she exited the house, heading up towards the Skittering Dark, dodging behind trees and rocks, keeping out of sight from those who sought to attack her. 

                As she crested the largest hill she noticed the oddly shaped bundles of spider silk.  They struggled against their trappings as the large spiders skittered around.  Kilystia hovered behind a tree, carefully considering her options.  The spiders were everywhere, guarding their prey, but she had the advantage.  She could stand near the trees and cast onto the spiders and then get the trapped Orc Sea Dogs, or she could kill one spider and save one Orc Sea Dog at a time. As a spider moved dangerously close to her she made her decision, aiming a fireball at the large arachnid, bringing it down in a few spells.  Once down, she dashed from her hiding place and wrested the Orc Sea Dog from his trappings.  From there on out he helped her, and each time she faced a spider and conquered another one, another Orc Dog was saved until she had six thanking her for her help.  They helped bring down the spiders and she found herself thanking them, glad for their help, glad to have completed another task. 

                Kilystia sat near the tree, chipping n some of the crunch spider legs she looted from the corpses, letting her body recover from the onslaught of Worgens and spiders.  When she had been alive, she had hated spiders.  Small ones would crawl through the family home and big ones, similar to these, were often seen when riding a tour through the forests—and each time she’d find herself screaming.  Kilystia could face mithril and steel weapons, but when faced with eight eyes and bristly legs, she succumbed.  But she couldn’t allow the spiders to scare her today, not when she had things to do.  “They are bugs.  And you have stuff to do.”

                She wrestled to her feet, consulting her map again before heading toward Fenris Isle where Lady Sylvanas hinted at Human vs. Worgen alliance.  It was despicable; to think of humans aligning themselves with humanoids, but it was better than becoming a walking skeleton.  Right?

"We are the Forsaken!"- Part One

Time Played: 24 hours
Words: 4000

“We are the Forsaken!” reverberated on the air, growling across the expanse of the graveyard.  She stood, looking around nervously, unsure of what had happened.  The Forsaken?!  She couldn’t be, would not be, a Forsaken.  She had fought against the Horde in the previous wars and when the Lich King ascended to power, she fought even harder, harnessing her skills as a Warlock.  But now, now she was hearing this blasphemy, hearing it at an alarmingly close distance to her ears.  “We are the Forsaken!” 

                Around her others where rising, looking around, attempting to figure out where they were, what they were.  Every so often a sob wretched through the growling voices, slamming her back into the present.  She was dead.  That was the only option, the only possibility, and for the first time since her younger brother had been killed by a Blood Elf, she wanted to cry.  But warriors did not cry.  Ever.  And so she bite into her bottom lip, surprised she could still feel pain, and started to focus on what was happening around her.

                Loitering near her was a Val’kyr, a beautiful apparition with expansive wings no longer supported by feathers.  Instead, the Val’kyr hovered, ghostly wings vibrating the air, watching over the newly born Undeads—watching their anguish, their distress.  The Val’kyr didn’t speak, didn’t say anything, but Kilystia approached her, weaving past a man on his knees, head down.  “What did you do to me?”  She demanded the apparition, hands on hips, anger whispering through each word.  Keeping her voice low and level was something she had learned when dealing with trainers for her class when alive.  The never suspected her anger, her burning hatred for authority, and she applied it here, looking up at the winged woman.  “What did you do to me?”

                “You have been resurrected to serve Lady Slyvanas and the Forsaken.”  Lilting, soothing, the Val’kyr finally turned her attention on Kilystia, abandoning her position as sentinel for a moment.  “We need you for the Horde and you should be honored to serve.”  The Val’kyr nodded once before, pausing.

                “I am part of the All-“

                “You will report to Deathguard Darnell.  He will instruct you.”  She began to turn away, to take up her post once again.  “We expect great things of you, Kilystia.”

                Kilystia fumed, broiled, and she turned around, loath to face the guard.  I am a member of the Alliance.  I am a human.  I am not part of the Horde, and I am definitely not part of the Forsaken.  The mantra ran though her head on repeat while she picked her way along the bodies beginning to awaken to a new life, and she wanted more than anything to kill them all again so they could be spared this existence.

                “Kilystia?”  A voice growled in her ear, hovering to her left.  “Are you Kilystia?”

                “How do you know my name?” she pivoted, facing the undead man, legs planted in a stance which would allow her to hold her ground.  He was Undead, looked as though he had been Undead for awhile.  Darnell.  “You’re the one who is supposed to help me.”  No questions, no kindness.  She was a traitor to her people, her family, and she had no choice.  She doubted that she could kill herself because they would just resurrect her again, and she doubted the Alliance would even let her get close enough to talk with them.  She was not resigned though—not even close.

                “Yes.  You should follow me.  We have tasks for you before you meet with the Dark Lady.”  He hobbled forward, kicking at a risen corpse writhing on the ground.  “You need to speak with Lilian and convince her to accept her fate.  She cannot fight it.”  He grumbled under his breath constantly as she followed behind.  “She was last seen hiding in Deathknell’s village somewhere.  She shouldn’t be difficult to find.”

                “Why not just kill her like some of the others have been killed?”  Kilystia kept her gaze forward, afraid to look at others, afraid to see the pain in her fellow dead human’s eyes or the disgusting bodies of what they had become.

                “We need her.  She is strong, like you.”

                “What happens if she does not comply?”

                “It will be out of your hands,” he harrumphed.  “Just find her and then return back to me.”  He stopped, turned to face her, and ran his eyes down her body once.  “You’ll make a good Mage.  You have some skills and you will learn more.”

                “I am a War—“

                “We do not care what you were. You are what you are.  Now, go!  The Banshee Queen does not like to be kept waiting.”

                Kaliystia fumed.  A Mage, at least it isn’t that different than a Warlock.  At least I still have magic.  That should count for something.  She looked out toward the village and began walking, dragging her feet as she mother used to call it before her family had been slaughtered by Blood Elfs.  Dragging her feet.  Why did they think she would be the best candidate to convince this Lilian woman to embrace her new life?  They shouldn’t, not really, but it could be a test, and if nothing else, Kilystia loved tests.  She thrived on them.  Spotting a mindless Zombie running about without an apparent goal, she targeted him, bracing herself for the backlash of the spell and let go on her fireball, watching as it lit up the Undead, lighting him aflame.  For a moment pride washed through her before he started at her, shambling along. She braced herself again and released the spell, finishing him off quickly, a smug smile on her face.  At least she could still kill people—and that was what she wanted, was it not?  To kill people?  To release that anger of those deaths?

                After looting his corpse and finding only a measly 10 coppers, she picked up a jog, moving in and out of buildings, looking for her current target.  Lilian was nowhere—or at least seemed to be nowhere.  There were others, others like her doing mindless tasks, others like Darnell who helped point her in the right direction—even if it was a direction with which she did not agree. 

                As she entered the Inn at Deathknell, she heard the prolonged sobbing of someone deeply distraught, a sound she knew, a sound she had felt.  When her brother died at the hands of a Horde member before the last war, she had knelt at his body and keened, sobbing, body retching.  Yes, she knew this sound and she followed it up the rickety staircase to the woman kneeling before a mirror. “Lilian?”  Tentative, cautious.  She didn’t want anything sudden to happen. 

                “Look at me!”  The woman wailed, burying her face in her hands, turning away from Kilystia.  “Look what they did to me!  I’m a monster.”

                “You are what you are.  The Dark Lady needs you,” Kilystia responded, surprised at the strength and conviction in her voice.  She hated the Horde, hated it!  But she was loyal when she had to be, and if she wanted to even entertain the thought of deserting, she had to at least be loyal—pretend to be loyal.  Kilystia grabbed Lilian’s shoulder, turning the woman around roughly and forcing her to look into the cracked mirror.  “You cannot change this and even if you did manage to get away, you would just be killed instantly.  Do you really think that your family would want you back?” 

                Lilian did not answer, did nothing but stare into the mirror as Kilystia held her head forward.  “I guess not.”  Softly, whispered.

                “You will come with me back to Darnell.” No room for disagreement.  Kilystia did not want to fail at her first task, but as Lilian ripped from her grip, she knew she would be returning to Darnell by herself.

                “No!  I will not accept this.  I will not be one of them.”  Lilian ran, flying down the stairs and out of the Inn, leaving Kilystia staring into the mirror.  Kilystia sighed, running her chocolate eyes up and down her new body.  A skeleton—that’s all she really was.  A skeleton with clothing on.  Shaking her head roughly, Kilystia turned and left the mirror, dreading what would happen when she returned to Darnell. 

                Kilystia dragged her feet all the way back to the graveyard, resisting the urge to kill Zombies and fellow Undead.  And, once she saw Darnell waiting for her, however, she drew her shoulders back and approached him with purpose.  “Sir, she would not come.  She ran off.”

                “Ah well, some people just have trouble with this life.  Unfortunately, she has no choice.  We’ll deal with it later.”  He flicked his hand, dismissing the problem as if it were nothing, as if Lilian meant little to the Horde as a whole.  It didn’t surprise her, however.  The Alliance was the same.  They made people sound important, but they weren’t.  Not really.

                “Oh.  Okay.”  Kilystia looked around, waiting patiently, even though she was not sure what she was waiting for.  “Um, what’s next?”

                “Go to the Forsaken High Command in Silverpine Forest.  There you will meet the Dark Lady.  She will give you your next command.  Your assistance is and will continue to be expected.”

                “Yes, Sir,”  Kilystia grumbled under her breathe as she turned around. She had no idea where to go, no idea at all, but it would give her time to figure out what needed to be done if she decided to try to return to the Alliance.

World of Warcraft: Nardi, Part 3

                Throughout the beginning sections of her book, Nardi focused on what World of Warcraft was—what made it a popular game, who played it, and how it worked as an aesthetic experience, but in the last part of her book, labeled “Cultural Logics of World of Warcraft,” Nardie delves into the people—not just who plays, but how they play, what matters to them, and how the WoW culture differs in America and China.

                In the first chapter of this section, Nardi deals with addiction—a term associated with WoW that most people, whether they play or not, are associated with.  We know WoW through the stories of friends, though random blogs on the internet, through popular websites such as FML.  We know the addiction stories.  Nardi, however, seeks to wrest it from it’s bad name.  She adopts the terminology of researchers Seay and Kraut, calling addiction “problematic use” instead of addiction—a term which acknowledges the complications involved with addiction.  But, addiction is used two ways, according to Nardi.  Players will often utilize the term addiction to be positive.  Nardi writes that “a gamer could claim to be an addict, deliberately choosing a strong term to connote enjoyment of the game and its separation from ordinary activities (126).”  Players will use it in slang when speaking about how dedicated they are to the game.  But, others outside of the game see this addiction as a bad thing.  Players need to self-regulate in order to break the cycle of problematic use.  For instance, players who see that their grades are falling will suspend their accounts.  This self regulation often far outreaches the individual.  Players will reach out to other members of their guilds who help support the need to step away from the game awhile before problematic use becomes an issue.

                Another large point Nardi brings us deals with the science and theory of WoW.  Stretching out past the preconceived notions of video games, WoW allows for modding and theorycrafting, two activities which require players to delve into the game and work through it to reach new outcomes—very similar to James Paul Gee’s theories on critical learning via video games.  Blizzard Entertainment provided players with very little documentation, allowing players to play through the game largely unaided.  And, as they played, they began to develop—creating add-ons and theories.  Players used science and mathematics to help figure out the best armor states for specific classes and pet damage dealt.  Players also used coding skills to develop better maps and other modifications which allow for easier game play and a healthy advantage.  These games allow for the players to engaged critically with the game.

                The other interesting thing Nardi focuses on the boys club of WoW, positing the game somewhere between a boys club and a girl’s club.  The game is not a feminist space, as it could be argued, but rather it is still masculine with a separate space for a female population.  The game’s environment is almost decidedly feminine with rich color palettes and pets and music and tasks.  Traditionally female tasks such as mending, tailoring, and cooking are rampant throughout the game, and often women are seen accomplishing  tasks which are often traditionally masculine. And, aside from the environment being predominantly feminine, the language is often mostly masculine. When not surrounded by women, the men of the game will often engage in homophobic and crude language.  However, when women are present, they will often tone down their word choices and women will often not participate in it at all.  The idea of masculine and feminine spaces within WoW is definitely interesting, even though Nardi does not spend a long time on it other than to say that it is still a boy’s world, which could have something to do with the fact that women make up less than half of the players on WoW.

                Nardi also focuses on players in China who play very communally as compared to players in the United States.  They play with others in Internet cafés, or Wang ba, sitting next to each other, meeting with their guilds, and making friends—a true communal activity.  This, however, may have a lot to do with limited space and poor hardware in their own homes or dorms and by going to an Internet café, players are able to player in more room with better equipment.  It also has something to do with the social aspects of the game.  Here, players are able to connect with one another in a way they cannot when playing in their homes.

Questions:

1) Couldn’t it be said that Nardi, while putting together this book, was working, and thus her play experience was not the same as someone who picked up the game for fun.

2) Do you think online gaming and console gaming should be separated into separate categories when speaking of gaming in general—especially in a scholarly sense?

3) Why China?  How come Nardi did not focus on Korea or any other local?  Would that have made it better?  Or, was focusing on China in this book extraneous? 

Magic Circles vs. the aggros

In the second portion of Nadri’s book, she couches World of Warcraft as a “magic circle.”  This circle encases the players of WoW, drawing them in and holding them captive and occupies a place removed from work.  The polar opposites of work and play, opposites we are all familiar with, are blurred, however, in the game.  We cannot fully separate WoW from work, nor should we necessarily want to, according to Nardi.  Instead, she argues that WoW is interconnected to work in many ways.

                But first, Nardi explores the idea of WoW as a game, or rather, as an active aesthetic experience.  Unlike watching a movie, where viewers are passively accepting a story, passively appreciating the work of art, active aesthetic experience (a combination term developed by Dewey) in WoW allows the player to appreciate but also engage with the item which they are appreciating.  In WoW players can walk around the world they are in, taking in the scenery (which in many areas is quite stunning), admiring the constructions of the game, but they are also playing.  They have goals within this elaborate world—quests, raids, and farming.         

                Not at all dissimilar to James Paul Gee’s principles on video games and learning, Dewey’s theory of active aesthetic experience mandates that players become a part of the experience.  They are active and by becoming active they then can delve into a deeper sort of experience, a more critical learning sphere.  To fully understand the game, to understand the experience, we must do it.

                With that in mind—that WoW is a learning, doing, active experience, we can turn to Nardi’s arguments about work and play within WoW.  Games take us away from work, they allow us to escape into a world where we can be release from our routines of work (housework, homework, workwork).  She makes an important distinction about play, saying that it is a choice, unlike work, and so the acquisition of any work like actions within the play space are okay; they are freely taken.

                But, work and play can cross paths, as Nardi mentions.  There are those in Korea who play the game to become professional gamers and there are those in China who do gold farming (an activity Nardi says is not play even though it takes place in the play world).  People have taken the idea of the Talent Trees and turned them into workplace strategies, mining (so to speak) the game for tidbits which may strengthen the workplace or make it more enjoyable.  Teachers have done the same thing with classes, having students “level up” instead of using the typical A,B,C,D scale.

                Another tidbit Nardi touches upon in the work and play theory is farming within WoW.  Farming happens for those who seek a profession—be it mining, fishing, herbalism, or others.  Players spend countless hours farming these items in order to make better equipment for raids or to make in game gold.  These tasks are very similar to work in “real-life” according to Nardi, but players never seem to complain about such tiresome tasks.  Instead, they continue this work without complaint.  Nardi suggests nebulously that this “work” allows players some heightened reward such as armor that will protect against a certain mob or some extra gold to purchase more items whereas in the “real-world” work often rewards enough to play bills and maybe, if lucky, a promotion.  “Leveling up” in the out of game world is difficult.

                The magic circle of WoW “entails a feeling of being ‘apart together’; it creates its own collective social order—one from which nonplayers are excluded” (116).  Players are often “alone together” because they seem, to outsiders, to be staring into a computer screen and clicking buttons frantically.  Outsiders cannot understand their commitment to the game and players end up dealing with aggros in their real lives—significant others, parents, friends.  But, their world in-game allows them to be connected and working towards some goal with others.  They are together, definitely, but they are situated outside of their out of game settings.

                But, Nardi attempts to break down the barrier between work and play.  She does not try to eradicate it, but rather she attempts to show that they are related and that they cannot be fully separated.  The magic circle is there separating players from nonplayers, but it can cross into their out-of-game lives and out-of-game lives can cross into their in-game lives.   As Nardi puts it, “We enter a smaller, more perfect universe in which satisfaction is not guaranteed, but we gain a pretty good chance of achieving moments of limited perfection” (120).

Questions:

1. Nardi speaks in the chapter entitled “A New Medium” about the change in raids drastically altered the communities.  The idea of the community seems then, very tenuous, especially as we consider some guilds such as Scarlet Raven which had very strong communities.  Does the need for mastery outweigh the need for community?  In your playing, would you be willing to help others if that means your scores and stats would be a bit lower?

2. Do you, as a player, find leveling rewarding?  We are not in guilds, so we might not have the chorus of “Great job!” when we level, so as a personal, almost private experience, do you find it motivating/exciting/rewarding?

3. Nardi talks about the in-game lives and out-of-game lives and when she does so she talks about the players vs. nonplayers.  The players often express their aggro spouses, girlfriends, etc.  What should the balance between in-game and out-of-game lives be?  You make a commitment to your guild members, but you also make a commitment to friends, family, spouses.  

Animated Fairytale- WoW as a storybook

Bonnie A. Nardi opens her book, My Life as a Night Elf Priest: An Anthropological Account of World of Warcraft, with a general overview of the makeup of the game and her investigative procedure with which to guide the reader through her book.  She makes a claim for her argument, asserting that WoW is “a new visual-performance medium” (7) (a claim which she will unfold throughout the book no doubt).

                Describing WoW as an “animated fairy tale” (8), Nardi provides us with a rundown of the game, the basic races, the fact that it is a virtual world that is still a game (unlike Second Life), and how guilds work.  Guilds are almost a necessity for players, as many monsters cannot be defeated alone and high-end loot cannot be obtained without other skills and other people, but most players do not begin to join guilds until they are at least level 20.  Guilds, according to Nardi, are controlled by officers and there are various levels of guilds—casual player guilds which are often filled with those who may have children, are busy with traveling, or have other obligations which would require them to step AFK and more hardcore guilds, where raiding is deadly serious and there is no excuse for missing it.

                Nardi then broaches an interesting topic, one which we are all probably very familiar with—the WoW stereotype.  Nardi acknowledges the stereotype of an overweight unemployed man living in his mother’s basement, but she then promptly dismisses it, speaking strongly about the varied groups of people playing WoW, the students, professionals, parents, and others.  She seems to try too hard to break this stereotype, and it’s commendable.

                Perhaps the most interesting thing Nardi does in this first section of her book is to discuss the ways in which she is conducting her research.  As the title suggests, Nardi approaches WoW from an anthropological standpoint, conducting an ethnography of the WoW world.  Her interest is in the ways in which people interact in these online worlds, and to do so she engages in “participant-observation” (30), with this particular project being more participatory than observant.  Nardi goes in undercover, so to speak, developing her character Innikka.  She participated in the culture, joining several guilds before settling on Scarlet Raven (not it’s real name), and throughout the two years in Scarlet Raven, Nardi raided with them and partied with them.  However, she never met any of them face to face.

                Aside from just participating, Nadi conducted face to face interviews, some online interviews, and attended Blizzard Entertainment’s BizzCon—their annual convention for their empire of online games.  She met with people who had met their significant others on the game, with those who play with family members and now have much better relationships with those members of their family.

                Most of Nardi’s research took place in America, within the game, on a computer that sat on her dining room table (as she mentions a few times within the book).  Drastically different from other ethnographic studies, she did not have to live in uncomfortable locations, struggle to speak a language, or stand out like a sore thumb.  She was able to completely assimilate into the culture of WoW.  However, she did do some research in China, where the players seem to be the most hardcore and they congregate in Internet Cafes together.

                Nardi’s prose is easy to read, fluid, and she peppers the chapters with the exact words of other players—offering up their experiences and their thoughts on WoW and other games.  Nardi’s ethnography is similar to Pearce’s which we read over the summer, though Pearce focused on Second Life, a supposedly very different game—more of a world.  Nardi, in this book, does not want to stand out as a research, whereas Pearce did within her world.  She grew attached to the Uru people in Second Life, but she was “researcher” which caused problems throughout her study.  Her friends/other players would get angry with her, upset that she had made them sound certain ways.  Nardi, however, does not single herself out, rather, she focuses more on the participation rather than setting herself apart as a researched.  It seems as though that this creates a much more involved ethnography than perhaps Pearce’s study.

Questions:

1) Nardi mentions on page 20, that “the presence of female players mitigated rough masculine discourse down.”  Is political correctness (especially in the cases of “profanity, homophobic discourse, and sexist comments”) more of a female thing?  Or do men feel as though women are “delicate flowers” so to speak?

2) Nardi does a very strong job of trying to fight against the stereotype of WoW players.  Is she successful?  Does she take too much of one side without acknowledging that the other side might also be true?

3) Are you excited to start playing WoW with this new information and with knowing that Nardi started with no experience either?

Confessionals: When typing doesn't quite cut it

The second half of Turkle’s book moves us out of the land of robot toys and into that of devices, the every ready cellular telephones and instant messengers.  We are constantly connected, constantly able to reach one another, be they friends or strangers.  We have become busier because we feel we need to do more.  The things which could have saved us from over expending ourselves have turned out to be the very things which keep us from one another.

                As in the previous part of her book, Turkle inundates the reader with examples, providing first hand accounts to support her claims that we wire in more and keep our walls up almost constantly.  We become “masters of the universe” (169) because we have the ability to talk to loved ones, maintain long distance relationships, answer emails, make plans with friends, and accomplish business tasks.  We have the whole world at our fingertips with our little black boxes, and we retreat further and further into ourselves.

                I was primarily interested in the section Turkle writes about confessional sites.  Confessional sites, such as PostSecret and Six Billion Secrets allow people’s ‘real life’ avatars (or themselves) to express themselves, to vent, confess, and let go of their secrets.  Confessional sites serve as a mirror, as Turkle puts it, allowing us to see the “complex times” (230) in which we live.  But, the problem with these websites is three-fold (at the least).  People dash off their secrets, either on postcards or anonymous posts, and release them into the internet for all to read, but it ends there.  Even though individuals can read the posts and sometimes respond, these are faceless people posting to another faceless person—a person who may or may not be telling the truth.  The conversation needed to take place for healing and recovery to happen stalls.  Healing cannot take place.  While Turkle admits that such an action may be cathartic, it is not healing. 

                Turkle goes on to assert that aside from the fact that these sites do not allow us to cope with our problems, they can serve to be the exact opposite of what we need.  Because we create impressions of ourselves over the internet, we are, in essence, playing a character, which can lead us to be cruel.  So, according to Turkle, when we put these confessions up online, we invite cruelty, and indeed people can be cruel.  We transfer our own feelings about ourselves to other people and lash out at them via comments on their confessions.  Turkle gives the example of Jonas, a man who lashed out at a woman confessing that she may have messed up her relationship with her son.  He said cruel things, letting her know that she is to blame if he were to die over in Iraw, but in reality, he transfers his own worries about his own estrangement to his son and places it firmly on another human, someone who is as vulnerable as he is.

                The third problem that confessional websites presents is that of responsibility.  Turkle asks us to consider our responsibility to these people online.  We will often feel responsible when we see a post dealing with suicidal thoughts, anorexia, abuse.  But should we really?  And, if we do, what can we do about it?  Not much, because, as Turkle mentions, we cannot know for sure if we are reading a performance or reality.  The internet allows us to construct ourselves the way we want to be seen and in doing so we can write out for attention, for fun, as an experiment.  But, even if those confessions are truthful, we cannot do anything other than sit and worry.  We can stay up for hours talking to someone over the internet trying to help them through whatever it is they going through, but in the end, we cannot know for sure if they threw up their food, cut their wrists, or suffered more abuse. 

                The other interesting aspect Turkle talks about in this second half of her book is human connection, an idea which permeates her entire book.  We have this desire to telephone people, to hear their voice, develop a relationship, but it is easier to do it online or over text message.  We do not want to take the time for those relationships to develop because we need more time to do the things we now need to do—a ‘to do’ list that was only created because of our new use of the internet and smart phones.  We feel our relationships deteriorating and we watch it happen, but we don’t have the time to fix it.  We don’t want to be tied down to an hour phone call.  We want to read our information in snippets, in bytes, on blogs, and on postcard size/140 character limit posts. 

                Turkle’s argument that we are alone, together, is, indeed, compelling.

Questions:

1) Do you read any confessional websites such as PostSecret?  Do you ever feel a sense of responsibility towards those people?

2) Are there ways in which confessional websites could be repurposed for a more useful use?  Can we make them work, so that people can begin to consider their problems in new lights?

3) When you construct profiles and avatars online, do you consciously attempt to make yourself someone you're not?  Or rather, do you try to bring out specific aspects of yourself that would otherwise be hidden in other situations?