Okay, let’s talk Turbine’s marketing strategy for the LOTRO Store. Up until now, I’ve been fine with the balance they’ve struck — I don’t think the store button is that glaring or an eyesore on the UI, the game itself keeps it down to a nudge now or then, and the free points for deeds takes the sting out of requests to check out the store. I mean, why shouldn’t I? I’ve got free money to spend!
But this latest update brought a host of new loading screens that are, to put it nicely, tacky as all get out. The most egregious is above — perhaps it’s tongue-in-cheek, but it’s also a subtle as an elf with a large gold pile shouting at you in all caps to CHECK OUT THE LOTRO STORE!
Particularly if we’re subscribers or lifetime members, we shouldn’t have to sit through ads. This isn’t helpful info — you can’t spend ten minutes in the game without knowing that the store exists or how to get to it — so it doesn’t need to be thrown in our faces. LOTRO isn’t about being garish, and this is garish.
Plus, elf. That isn’t a way to make me want to spend money, unless there’s an option to pay to replace all the elves in the game with gremlins. I’d be totally for that. And I’d keep feeding them after midnight.
For the three of you who seem to enjoy the adventures of Sype, the cranky LOTRO Lore-master, I’m going to try to get at least two of his stories a week out from now on. Because, hey, it’s creative writing!
Just in case you missed this, over at MMOquests.com, Stargrace is throwing her second annual Secret Santa event — and you’re invited! It’s a nifty idea where you send an anonymous present to someone in the MMO community and get a gift in return.
Today’s the last day to sign up if you’re interested, so read her post and let her know!
One of my earliest MMO memories is the day I got my City of Heroes box and spent hours before logging into the game pouring through the manual (yes, I think there was a time when I actually read manuals). It was nearly impossible — but in a good way! — to figure out what superhero I wanted to make, because I not only had to choose an archetype and powerset, but a second powerset to meld with the first. Any game that gives me a good degree of freedom in creating and building my character outside of narrow limits and an over-reliance on gear is one that has my patronage more often than not.
This is why I’m pretty fascinated with Rift’s mix-and-match class system, aka “Ascended” or “Souls” system. Basically, you’ll choose one of four basic callings (fighter, healer, rogue, mage) and then start to accumulate souls of other people who died long ago. Once you have a soul, you can invest points (which you accumulate per level) into the tree to unlock bonuses and special abilities. Straight-forward enough, sure.
It gets cooler when you realize that you can swap souls in and out almost on the fly, radically changing your abilities as the situation calls for it. Then add the fact that you’ll be able to activate three (out of an eventual eight) souls at any one time, and it’s a recipe for an obscene amount of builds and combinations. You can dump almost all of your soul points into just one soul (effectively creating a one-soul build), spread them out evenly, or come up with symbiotic bonds.
While we’re a ways off from launch and even a final list of souls, one enterprising fan has taken all of the publicly available information to create a Rift Role Builder for fans to tinker with. If you have any interest in the game, I suggest you check it out, if only to get an idea for how the system might function in game and how fun it’ll be to fiddle with character builds to make something unique (or at least, personal).
I’ve even heard rumors — perhaps dev speculation, I can’t recall — that they may also include “for fun” souls that are more geared to RP and festive events. There’s definitely possibilities for fluffy fun if cosmetic souls are included.
In any case, I’m digging the idea of this, mostly because it’ll stave off one of my major complaints of most every MMO’s end game — a fully built but mostly static character. Once you figure out the optimal build for your playstyle, there really is little reason to change.
Except that in Rift, the devs encourage you to keep experimenting, to save multiple builds for different roles, and not be pigeonholed into just one limited profession. I like that. I like you. I think we should be friends.
“Seriously, who stopped and said, “Guys, wait, hold up on the rebuilding. Someone needs to set up the picnic table. Who’s going to do it? You, Thrall? How about you, Garrosh? Won’t somebody PLEASE think of the turkey!” Thank god for druids. You know they were behind this. The probably have turkeys on tap… though chopping their heads off and stuffing the carcass doesn’t seem too “at one with nature.”
“Er… Trestlebridge, sir. On account of the big bridge and all.”
Sype squinted at the rickety span and spat into the dirt, which greedily absorbed the moisture and begged for more. “Trestlebridge, eh? Had me a bad case of trestlebridges a while back, took six different kind of salves to get rid of it.”
The dour Lore-master trudged through the town, hoping against hope that this land would be different. That, unlike all of the other places with their petty problems and general laziness, the famed North Downs would be a place of true adventure, of honest…
“Wahhhh! A nasty goblin poisoned my lunchbox! Go kill him, complete and total stranger!”
* * * * *
A week later, and Sype dearly wished he’d never heard of the North Downs. To tell the truth, he was starting to be convinced that he was in the suburbs of hell and being punished with menial chores that all the fat soccer moms and beer-swilling dads couldn’t be bothered with.
Sype drove the butt of his staff through a raven’s beak with a solid crunch. “Kill these birds, he says. Wakes him up too early, he says.”
Movement out of the corner of his eye prompted him to spin and fling a fistful of embers at a passing lynx. The cat howled as the smell of burnt hair wafted over the land. “Go slaughter sixteen of these cats and haul their carcasses back here so I can make a coat from their ragged fur and be the BELLE of the BALL. Bah!”
He paused and wiped away a forehead of sweat with the back of his hand. The Committee told him that his services were desperately needed in the region, but as far as he could tell, the real problem was the severe lack of motivation for everyone to waddle out of town and get on with their lives.
“It’s almost like…” Sype began to talk to himself out loud, then shook his head. It was a silly thought, anyway, but it kept coming to him. His life started to remind him of a story he once read, where a naive dwarf spent his whole life in a village where everyone else was an actor, and an invisible audience watched him go about the business of living without realizing that all of his trappings — even his relationships — was a sham.
No… the Committee wouldn’t do that to him, would they?
He whirled around, half-expecting to see faces peeking out behind a rock and laughing at his pointless endeavors.
Another lynx moseyed on by, stoically ignoring the smoldering remains of his third cousin. Sype stared at the cat, and then a light went on over his head.
He threw a lasso and caught the cat, who put up far less of a fight than expected. Almost as if it knew what was coming.
* * * * *
“You got my pelts?” the woman wheezed, as she struggled to her feet. “All sixteen?”
Sype doffed his hat. “Yes ma’am. They’re in excellent condition, too. I took the liberty of dropping them off at your home.”
With that, he sauntered out of town at a steady pace — fast enough to get out before trouble began, but not too quickly as to miss the screams of the owner of sixteen angry wildcats nesting in her foyer.
NEXT TIME ON THE ADVENTURES OF SYPE: Sype forms the first U.N. of Middle-earth — and does anyone think to thank him? No, of course not.