Checking out Pandaria on this guy, of course, required that I play through Lich King and Cataclysm as well. This dampened my enthusiasm, as I’d already played through a lot of that stuff on my death knight, and I hate repeating content. So I opted for dungeon finder, and found myself having a ball. As the ultimate non-commitment tool, dungeon finder allowed me to sail through XP and gear acquisition without having to repeat the Lich King quests I’d previously completed. And if I screwed up, it was no big deal–it wasn’t like I’d ever see any of the people I was grouped with again. The Wrath dungeons are a lot of fun, so I enjoyed myself quite a bit, and my warrior was 80 in no time.

Playing through Cataclysm was less fun. The XP curve from 80 to 85 was slower, and I found the dungeons in this expansion far less enjoyable. It’s not that they were more difficult really; it’s that the same tricks seemed to be used over and over, as I was endlessly looking for burning spots on the ground to avoid. To pad my XP gains, I ended up playing through the whole underwater zone as well, which I found abysmal (pun intended). I mean, it was fine and all, but the design of the quests felt a little uninspired. The one exception was the naga city where you enter a vision and play through the invasion that had happened there–I thought that was a cool line with a nice payoff. I was surprised how buggy the content was after all this time, though. Because Blizzard does such a nice job of polishing their work, any problem really stands out. I ran into several places where I had to abandon quests and do them over again because a trigger didn’t work right or something. Still, all things considered, it was far beyond the level of polish most MMOs attain. I hit 85 and was forced to leave, even though I would have liked to check out Deepholm. I flew around that zone and it looked fantastic.

I’m currently level 87 in Pandaria, and so far I’ve been extremely impressed. Both the solo content and the dungeons have been really well done. Cut scenes and cinematics are regularly worked into the content, and the pacing feels very nice. The WoW team has gotten a handle on using phasing to effectively tell stories and show change. I don’t want to spoil anything, but the culmination of the Jade Forest quests was extremely impressive. This zone felt like the best example of storytelling I’ve seen in any MMO to date–newer titles included.

At this point, the biggest negative I can point out is that WoW feels burdened by its aging quest mechanics. The whole paradigm of walking into a hub and loading up my quest journal feels so old and dated. I much prefer the GW2 approach of entering an area and being given objectives relevant to what I can see going on around me. Instead of being ordered to kill 10 of this and collect 8 of that, I’m urged to defend the keep, drive out the centaurs, and other goal-oriented play. It’s a distinction purely of presentation–you end up collecting X of this and killing Y of that–but one method makes the world feel much more alive than the other. The rare moments in WoW when I can forget about the quest journal and just engage with the content are by far my favorites.

Not sure what I’ll do when I hit the level cap, but for now I’m very much enjoying my return to Azeroth–monkey poop and all.

Here’s a quote:

In their book, Glued to Games: How Video Games Draw Us In and Hold Us Spellbound, Rigby and Ryan describe “self-determination theory,” a fairly well established framework that aims to describe why people pursue certain voluntary activities. In part, self-determination theory says that people are motivated to engage in activities to the extent that they satisfy three psychological needs:

• 1. Competence – progressing in skill and power.
• 2. Autonomy – being able to choose from multiple, meaningful options.
• 3. Relatedness – feeling important to others.

The article asserts that most shooters do a pretty good job of meeting these three needs, although studies indicate the games could be just as satisfying without all the blood and headshots. It’s worth a read.

It got me thinking about how MMOs come at the three needs outlined above.

Competence

One could argue that the entire DikuMUD style (which was a dominant influence on EverQuest, and therefore most of the MMOs that followed it) is built to satisfy this need: you gain levels or skills, hunt for new and better items, take on increasingly more powerful opponents, ad infinitum. And certainly if you look at early games in the genre, they allowed for the types of emergent gameplay that made players feel skilled and powerful. As an EQ monk called upon to pull in Plane of Fear, Temple of Veeshan, or for raids like the Avatar of War, I felt pride in the skills I possessed which made me better than the average player of my class.

However, one of the frequent complaints about MMOs–particularly as they age–is that they’ve been “dumbed down”, made easier for less-skilled players to succeed at. The long list of changes to WoW’s talent system is an often-cited example of this trend.

We have to admit that MMOs today get mixed marks in this category. Accessibility is a key pillar of most triple-A MMO projects so that the game has the best chance possible of recouping its extravagant budget, and in the process, player competence typically isn’t a priority target for developers–even though they often claim that it is. Accessibility is the enemy of player competence.

Autonomy

Using the article’s definition of this word, MMOs get mixed marks here as well. On the good side, MMOs tend to give players multiple types of content to choose from: leveling up a character solo, doing group dungeons, raiding, crafting, PvP, pet battles, house decorating, dungeon designing, collecting, achievements, and other forms of play are common in MMOs. That’s a nice variety not present in most other genres.

However, once you delve into each path in detail, it’s apparent that autonomy isn’t really present. Most paths in triple-A MMOs, be they narrative-based or achievement-focused, tend to be very linear and without a lot of choice. You might be able to pick which zone you go to at a given level range or which instance you’ll run, but once that decision is made, you’re locked in. You can’t choose how to solve a quest. You can’t choose the strategy for killing a boss. You can’t make up your own recipes for making items. You’re limited to a certain type of housing item or paint color.

MMOs are better at giving you the illusion of autonomy rather than the reality of it. Problems tend to get solved once, and then that becomes the de facto strategy for achieving the desire result (and you get yelled at if you try a different approach). While there are certainly exceptions to this trend, they are few and far between–at least among triple-A titles.

Relatedness

Importance to others is where MMOs shine. Just about every aspect of MMO gameplay is done better by other genres of games–shooters are better at fast action, single-player RPGs are better at telling cinematic stories, etc.–but at least so far, nobody beats MMOs at the social aspects. (Note: This is changing fast! Developers, plan your careers accordingly.)

Skilled players are crucial to a raiding guild. Helpful crafters are the cornerstone of any social guild. Nice people willing to help out someone in trouble allow for those priceless moments of player-to-player interaction that make these games so sticky. Players are the glue that hold MMOs together.

And yet, even MMOs don’t get a perfect mark here. WoW’s dungeon finder is the best (worst?) example I can think of. While I have fun jumping easily into content and leaving with shiny new items, all I do is select my role and get pulled into the adventure with a bunch of other players I don’t know and probably won’t say a word to unless something goes horribly, horribly wrong. WoW can get away with it because they have so many players and so much to do in the game, yet for smaller titles this would be a terribly depersonalizing experience. Automated matchmaking gets players to the content faster, but ultimately undermine relatedness. When the appeal of the content runs out, players are left with fewer social times to the game itself. This leads to churn, which most MMOs that aren’t named World of Warcraft are unlikely to overcome.

Conclusion

While current MMOs have a lot going for them, in many ways they have strayed from the early principles that actually satisfied competence, autonomy, and relatedness really well. High production values and expensive cut scenes don’t make up for these losses. The more you try to force an MMO to feel like another type of game, the less it feels like a distinct genre and the farther you get from the core experiences that made MMOs so popular.

It should be noted that most of my observations above are focused on triple-A themepark MMOs. There are certainly smaller, independent projects that are doing a better job of hitting these marks. Ultimately, it may be refocusing on these core principles that returns the MMO genre to its glory days; if not, its best features will likely be absorbed into other genres. Depending how you look at things, this has already happened and will only escalate from here.

As anyone reading this knows, 2012 was not the kindest of years to me or my family. Being out of work for one third of the year, I wasn’t in a position to buy new music for most of the second half of 2012. Though I caught up on a number of releases once I had a few paychecks behind me, there’s still a long list of music that I just haven’t been able to pick up yet. I eventually broke down and made a sizable Amazon order (some for physical copies, some digital) since I no longer have my beloved Newbury Comics to visit in person. I haven’t actually made it to a proper record store since moving to San Diego, which is fairly shameful.

So all apologies to those artists I haven’t purchased discs from yet: Amanda Palmer, Scott Walker, Best Coast, Bruno Mars, David Byrne & St. Vincent, Bob Mould, and many others. I’ll get to you as soon as I can. I hope you can live with the disappointment of not being on Steve Danuser’s year-end list.

Anyway, please consider this posting a regretfully abridged version of my true musical favorites. As usual, I use the Cold Stone Creamery rating system to divide up my selections. Perhaps I’ll make a follow-up post early in 2013 to tack on a few more titles. Until then, these are the discs I’ve been turning to time and again over 2012–a year my soul was in need of music more than ever before.

> > Like It < <

Paul Banks – Banks – When an iconic voice from a familiar band makes a solo record, there is a dangerous line to be trod; it risks coming off as a watered-down version of what the band delivers, or it feels like a desperate attempt to be different. But on Banks, the vocalist of Interpol manages to walk unique ground without, for the most part, falling back on the familiar formula of his band. If there had never been an Interpol, this would still be a really good record worth buying.

Rufus Wainwright – Out of the Game – Wainwright is undoubtedly the greatest cabaret singer of his generation… not that there are a lot of cabaret singers on the scene these days. His voice has never faltered, though I confess his last album–All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu, a tribute to his mother–didn’t resonate with me. I was glad to see Rufus return to form with a fun, sprawling record, even if it doesn’t quite reach the heights of his soaring Want One.

Tracey Thorn – Tinsel and Lights – It’s unusual for a Christmas album to make my year-end list, but Tracey Thorn’s voice is so gorgeous and enrapturing that I’d probably put a recording of her reading the phone book on my annual list. But in all seriousness, this tasteful mix of originals and covers is a wonderful collection that is playable throughout the year.

The Shins – Port of Morrow – It may sound like a backhanded compliment to say that the Shins are one of alternative music’s most reliable bands, but I don’t mean it in a negative way. When you buy one of their albums, you know you’re going to get quirky, well-crafted pop songs that you can hum along to, with the occasional hook or catchy line that flirts with brilliance. The songs become warm and familiar, if not totally memorable, but that’s okay–even without a deeper connection, it is nonetheless satisfying.

The Chieftains – Voice of Ages – This venerable Celtic group has made a ton of albums, most of which over the last decade or two have featured swarms of contemporary guest stars of various musical genres. Voice of Ages is no exception, with appearances by Bon Iver, The Civil Wars, The Decemberists, The Low Anthem, Punch Brothers, and many more. Most of the 15 tracks blend the folksy influences of the modern artists with the genuine stuff of the Chieftains. Lovely, and well worth listening to.

The Lumineers – The Lumineers – The influence of folk upon popular music has been extremely visible in recent years, to the point where a backlash may be rising among the too-hip-for-this crowd. But that doesn’t stop the Lumineers from delivering a delightful collection of songs that tip their hat to a folk influence while still feeling fresh and modern.

Norah Jones – Little Broken Hearts – Ms. Jones has always had a lovely voice, but it’s this collaboration with producer extraordinaire Danger Mouse that takes those talented pipes to another level entirely. Little Broken Hearts has a pulpy, film noire quality that comes off like vintage cool meets post-modern pop. It’s one of those records where, if you didn’t know the artist, you’d struggle to guess whether it was made today or 40 years ago. And that’s pretty damn cool if you ask me.

> > Love It < <

Dead Can Dance – Anastasis – Brooding, pretentious, and lovely, Dead Can Dance has always been greater than the sum of its two principal–and very talented–parts. After a long absence, Perry and Gerrard return with a sound that has aged well; Anastasis plugs seamlessly into the band’s esteemed catalog while still sounding like a record made in 2012. Fans didn’t hesitate to buy it, but this album deserves a fresh look from a broader audience.

Garbage – Not Your Kind of People – If you look at my CD library, you’d find that Garbage occupies a not-insignificant amount of shelf space. Having collected their many singles and rare compilations, they were one of my favorite bands of the late 90s/early 2000s. They’ve come back in 2012 without missing a step, and though others have copied the mix of confidence, sexiness, and catchy hooks, I’ll take the original any day.

Aimee Mann – Charmer – In a year when I had to be conscious of spending money, buying a new Aimee Mann record is a no-brainer. Mann’s records are deliciously crafted, blending soaring choruses with razor-sharp lyrics. Never a note or nuance wasted. Charmer is the kind of album that makes you want to become a musician while simultaneously making you realize you could never be this good.

Light Asylum – Light Asylum – If you’ve ever listened to Ministry’s mid-80s masterpiece Twitch and found yourself wondering what a true follow-up would have sounded like, then let Light Asylum answer the question for you. This is dark, aggressive dance pop with throbbing industrial undertones. It eschews slick production in favor of gritty immediacy–it feels like the kind of record a couple of musicians could make in their garage, and that’s a big part of the charm.

Beth Orton – Sugaring Season – Another old favorite returning after a lengthy absence, Orton’s voice remains warm and distinctive while adding new layers of wisdom and experience. Though I miss the electronic experiments she undertook earlier in her career, the instrumentation on this record is interesting and varied.

Beach House – Bloom – Delivering a sound that is shimmering and warm, this band is aptly named. Bloom washes over you like waves crashing against the shore–that’s not just a metaphor; if you close your eyes as you listen, you can almost feel it.

Michael Kiwanuka – Home Again – This wonderful blend of jazz, funk, folk, and soul sounds as if it could have been recorded in the 60s or 70s–that is to say, the cool parts of the 60s and 70s, not the kitchy parts. The instrumentation is great, but Kiwanuka’s voice is the real star here; he could give a young Stevie Wonder a run for his money.

> > Gotta Have It < <

Lana Del Rey – Born to Die – Just to get this out of the way, let’s be clear: Lana Del Rey is a character, a deliberately sculpted facade. This obvious fact–coupled with a shaky live performance on SNL–caused the lovely Ms. Grant to receive her share of backlash, but such theatrics fall well within the bounds of pop music tradition. I c0uld care less about the phenomenon; what wins me over about Lana Del Rey is how brilliantly constructed her music is. The catchy hooks and sharp production blend seamlessly with a Nancy Sinatra-like playfulness. On the surface the lyrics may seem obvious or even trite, but there is a brilliance to them that takes a while to fully appreciate. Del Rey juxtaposes hip-hop stereotypes with lines cribbed from Nabokov. She paints a dreamy, gloomy, disenchanted view of life, all delivered with the hint of a wry smile. Born to Die has been followed up by a series of singles and the Paradise EP, all well worth seeking out. As long as she can find new characters to play, I think Lana will be around for a long time.

The xx – Coexist – Trippy, sexy, cold, and romantic, the xx deliver a sophomore LP that lives up to all the promise of their first. The band has no fear of stretching out their grooves, filling their songs with achingly quiet moments that are every bit as captivating as the louder ones. It feels like this entire record could play out upon silken sheets in a breezy bedroom, an intimate affair that you just can’t walk away from. Shadowy yet warm, mysterious yet familiar. A really great record.

Crystal Castles – III – Of all the albums on my 2012 list, Crystal Castles delivers the most unadulterated audio assault. With a different production style, this might be nothing more than a charming, catchy dance record. But when cranked up to appropriate volume, its overwhelming distortion and pulsing grooves not only melt your eardrums, but threaten to warp reality itself. I’m not exaggerating; driving home late one night, free of any intoxicants in my bloodstream, I blasted this collection of songs and I thought the car was being bent by a black hole. A gorgeous record full of dangerous beats–listen with caution.

First Aid Kit – The Lion’s Roar – It’s hard to understand how country music evolved from Patsy Cline and Hank Williams to what gets played on the radio these days, but if popular country sounded more like First Aid Kit, I’d be wearing cowboy boots and a big ol’ belt buckle. This band captures the charm and songwriting acumen of a young Dolly Parton, delivering simple, soaring tunes that make your feet tap and your heart yearn for quieter days. To dismiss this record as retro is to miss out on something modern and beautiful. It’s a sweeping, lovely collection of well-written songs that deserves to be played on any radio station, whether you call it country, pop, or alternative.

Leonard Cohen – Old Ideas – “I love to speak with Leonard. He’s a sportsman and a shepherd. He’s a lazy bastard living in a suit.” He also happens to be a bona fide musical treasure, and Old Ideas is, in my opinion, his best album since I’m Your Man. Nothing else need be said.

Silversun Pickups – Neck of the Woods – I must admit that on first listen I missed the early Smashing Pumpkins-like wash of guitars that so dominated their last record, Swoon, but the Pickups soon won me over with the slightly different direction taken by Neck of the Woods. While experimenting with some new sounds and textures–including one track with a bassline that recalls Peter Hook of New Order–the strength of the band’s songwriting hasn’t changed. This is indie rock at its finest.

Bat For Lashes – The Haunted Man – The naked image of singer/songwriter Natasha Khan on the album cover is an apt metaphor for The Haunted Man, as well as a stark contrast to it. The picture is raw and unretouched, much like the openness and directness of the songs, yet the music is anything but black and white. Sometimes direct, sometimes swirling and ephemeral, this is a record that is obscure enough to be interesting but catchy and danceable enough to be accessible. There is a refreshing simplicity that keeps the music honest, and I’m already rabidly awaiting Khan’s next effort.

Mumford & Sons – Babel – When a band starts out small and obscure only to find themselves seemingly everywhere at once, there is a risk that their core fanbase will be alienated by mass appeal. And so it is with Mumford & Sons, whose last album began as an alterna-folk darling only to sell millions while being played in every tavern and frat house across the U.S. Their follow-up, Babel, is a rollicking collection that happens to be radio friendly in the extreme. Though the snotty former record-store clerk within me is tempted to turn my nose up at such success, the music lover in me wins out–the songs here, which range from catchy foot-stompers to introspective examinations of love and faith, are just too damn good to be a snob about. This band deserves every bit of attention and success they get.

Mark Eitzel – Don’t Be a Stranger – If the music world were fair and just, Mark Eitzel would routinely be mentioned in the same breath as Michael Stipe, and American Music Club would have made as much money as R.E.M. But life isn’t fair, and Eitzel has arguably done a much to sabotage his 0wn career as help it. His songs can be awkwardly named, prone to goofiness, and perhaps too numerous; yet they can be startlingly beautiful, deeply moving, and sharply personal. Perhaps the problem is that you never know which Eitzel you’re going to get… then again, that’s part of his charm. In any case, following a near-fatal heart attack, Mark Eitzel has delivered one of his most tightly crafted and meticulously produced solo albums of his career. This is an excellent record of great songs that deserves to be heard.

Cat Power – Sun – Early Cat Power records resonate with a ghostly sparseness that parallels the troubled personal life of their creator, Chan Marshall, whose sidewinding career has at times caused her to walk away from songwriting and performing altogether. But whatever Marshall’s current mental state, there is no trace of fragility on Sun. It is a booming, in-your-face affair that demands the attention of the listener. The songs remain firmly in the alternative camp while borrowing the lyrical cadence of hip-hop, a boldness perhaps fostered by her forays into soul music for her covers album The Greatest. After seeing Cat Power’s influence on so many artists, it’s great to have her back again, more vibrant than ever.

Paul Buchanan – Mid Air – It’s been said that while the Velvet Underground didn’t sell a lot of records, everyone who bought one started their own band. You could likely say much the same about Scottish band the Blue Nile, with the additional footnote that those who were already in bands probably covered one of their songs. The pace at which the Blue Nile has released music is notoriously slow, and singer Paul Buchanan is as much to blame as any other factor. When it seemed that his band had finally stalled out, Buchanan released a solo album of brief, almost fragmented songs… or, some might argue, fragments of songs, with most barely reaching two minutes in length, featuring breathlessly spare arrangements relying almost exclusively on whispered vocals and soft piano. To me, this is a strength rather than a weakness. The songs on Mid Air are the perfect distillation of what makes the Blue Nile great, and the spareness allows your own mind to fill in the musical gaps. This is one of the most touching records I’ve ever heard.

The Ting Tings – Sounds from Nowheresville – It’s rare that I use the word “sassy” to describe anything, but that’s the adjective that pops into my head when I think of the Ting Tings. Everything about Nowheresville is bold and brazen; it’s loud, aggressive, incessantly catchy, and imminently likable. There’s something for everyone here, as the band dips into No Doubt-like pop ska on one number before flying into 80s synth-pop on another, only to sprinkle bits of hip-hop into the next. When I’ve needed an album to yank me out of the dumps–and that’s happened plenty of times in 2012–the Ting Tings never let me down. My record of the year.

This year, that last point was not something to be taken for granted.

I was unemployed for exactly one third of 2012–four sucky months. Four months during which I wasn’t sure how I’d feed my family, how we’d pay for insurance, what we’d do if we couldn’t sell our house and get out from under our mortgage. Stress was my constant companion, and despair regularly gave me the stinkeye from across the room.

The ironic thing is, it turns out I was lucky.

After four months, I landed a great job at a place I already loved, with people I’d missed dearly. Had to endure an expensive move from one corner of the country to the other, but after that things clicked into place.

Many of my colleagues weren’t as fortunate. Some are still trying to find work, having to compete with more and more layoff victims for fewer and fewer spots. Some had a second mortgage dumped on them for a house they assumed had already been sold. Some were left with no insurance and a baby due in a matter of weeks. Some even faced cancer. All of us still have our retirement funds frozen with nothing we can do about it.

And now, some of those who had seemed to have landed okay just found out that they got laid off. Again. Twice in the same year.

There are many contributing factors as to why 2012 has sucked for most of the gaming industry, and you’ll hear no shortage of theories. We’re at the end of the current console generation. There’s a glut of social/Facebook/mobile gaming companies and the bubble is bursting. Multiple MMO companies chasing WoW overspent and under-delivered. The learning curve of the free-to-play business model has caused many big companies to stumble. No one’s funding new IP. Investors have been scared away by the economy, turning to safer bets. The list goes on and on.

I happen to think the flood of new recruits into the gaming industry is a factor. Not only do you have folks coming in through traditional avenues (QA, CS, community, related fields), you have more and more universities churning out graduates with degrees in game design, game-specific art training, and so forth. More people looking for fewer jobs–not a recipe for happiness.

Arguably the industry is going through a period of self-correction. Maybe some who have been burned badly enough–or who never got their foot in the door in the first place–will move on to other fields. But I bet most will keep trying to stick it out, because let me tell you, when all cylinders are clicking, this is a great space to be in.

But in the meantime, I’ve got more friends to worry about, more jobs to help them find. And man, that really sucks.

I’m pleased to be able to deliver happier news: I am once again gainfully employed, at the place where my career in games began: Sony Online Entertainment. I lead the design team as Creative Director on Vanguard, which has recently been converted into a free-to-play title.

It was an unexpected turn of events that led me back. Truth be told, I’d accepted a position at another company in a different state, but an old friend called with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Though I’d been away nearly six years, the folks at SOE have made me feel very welcome–a fantastic feeling.

So, why SOE? And why Vanguard?

Though being part of an epic collapse after years spent working on a large-scale MMO tends to have a negative effect on one’s psyche, ultimately I love this genre and couldn’t bear to stay away from it. There’s simply no challenge in game development like it. And yes, it’s risky, but when it works it’s very satisfying. I loved my time at SOE and made many great friends, so being asked back was a true honor.

As for Vanguard, I have a certain personal history with the title. I was community manager on EQ2 while Vanguard was in development, and I heard from a lot of people who told me how the latter was going to stomp all over the former. But despite some initial hard feelings over that flack, I couldn’t help but root for Vanguard; as an old-school EQ fanboy, it sounded like the type of game I really wanted to play. I was genuinely disappointed at the state of the game at launch and how it dwindled soon after.

But things change. After surviving with almost no development support for years, the conversion to free-to-play has breathed new life into the game–enough that SOE has made a serious commitment to it. Thus the hiring of folks like me, as well as bringing back some others who’ve worked on Vanguard in the past. It’s a lean, dedicated team made up of people who love the game and want to see it live up to its potential. Especially after the events of recent months, that’s the kind of redemption story I can really get behind.

Working on a live game again feels good, and making my way back to the forums is exciting too. I’ve even got FanFaire–er, SOE Live this week!

So here’s to homecomings… and happier days.

The first video shows off Jottunhessen, seat of power of the Amaranthine. It was built upon the ruins of the Kollossae floating city of Pelios, which was brought down through the combined efforts of the Dokkalfar, Jottun, and Tyrgash about a hundred years before the start of the MMO. This event would cause the collapse of the Hyperian Empire and usher in the Age of Heroes. The city retains elements of Kollossae architecture, but was deliberately perverted as a way to remind the haughty giants that they were brought low thanks to the manipulation of the dark elves. (How’s that for a lorebomb?)

The first video shows the city as it was originally built, but we found that it exceeded our performance budgets and made the client engineers’ heads explode. An optimization pass had to be made, which is what the second video captures. This kind of rework is a reality of game design, especially when your engine is still being optimized along with the art. The lessons learned here saved us a lot of time on subsequent cities, such as Valiance.

I wanted to call out one of our philosophies in world design: if you could see a point of interest in the distance, we wanted you to be able to get to it. If you notice the huge spire hanging over Jottunhessen, that was the ruling seat of the dark elves and you could make your way up into that tower for an awesome view of not just the city, but of surrounding zones. You could jump out a window in the spire, and if you lined up your jump correctly, land in the Well of Souls that was positioned below. That was a ton of fun to do!

Again, please understand that these are artist-created milestone review videos intended only for the team, and should not be thought of as trailers or something that was meant to show off to an outside audience.

One of our composers has also posted some samples of the excellent music he wrote for the project. We had some great music written for the game, and this is just a taste of what had been recorded over the years. We believed that music and sound effects were every bit as important for storytelling as art or design, and I was always delighted by how seriously our audio team took that philosophy to heart. They really sought to understand the story and world we were crafting, and were regularly running their work past me and others to make sure that what they put together matched the tone of the zones and the races who inhabited them.

I hope you enjoy these bits of beauty as much as I do.

Curt’s “atom bomb” comment was referring to how we planned to market the title. We would have revealed the game, teased its ongoing storyline and world-changing events, demonstrated cool gameplay, and shown off its gorgeous world, characters, and best-in-class animation. Then, when the audience saw how vast and fun the game was, we’d reveal that there was no cost to play it.

It wasn’t going to be crippled. You weren’t going to be kept from certain parts of the world if you didn’t pay. The transactions were intended to enhance your experience, to give you more options (like buying vanity appearances, stuff for your house, pets and mounts, etc.), but would not limit your play of the core game. And there would be a premium membership option, much like a subscription, that gave you perks and currency so you wouldn’t need to fiddle with microtransactions if you didn’t want to.

Here is an environmental fly-through made by the head of our city building crew for our May milestone presentation to the team–an event that never happened because the studio went under. It was shot in engine with population turned off; again, this was built as an internal asset to show off art, not as a game trailer. It does an incredible job of demonstrating how gorgeous the world of Amalur was.

There’s a lot more I’d like to tell you about the game, such as how our fully planned four-year story arc was driven by player participation. How the theme of choice and consequence permeated our systems, content, and world design. How the choices players made during our chapter-based story arc would cause permanent and lasting changes to each server–changes that could be different from other servers. How expansions to the game world had already been mapped out and were tied into that chapter storyline, so the world would grow in a very organic and logical way rather than feeling like expansions were tacked onto the core game by a new team that was bored with the work that had been done before. How our storyline had a real conclusion–because you can’t tell a great story without an ending.

But I should probably keep my mouth shut. The glorious state of Rhode Island now owns the assets and code that would have been our game, and some company might come along and buy it… though anyone who does won’t be releasing the same product we had planned to put out–only a pale imitation of it.

I wish you could know what we were shooting for during the years we labored to build Copernicus… a game that was loving crafted, that was starting to show how fun it would be, and that absolutely did have members of the dev team playing it, no matter what anyone else might tell you.

But sadly, we’ll never really know what could have been.

• This teaser video was a work in progress, from the illustrations to the game footage to the audio. It was a rough cut to get the pacing right; pretty much every asset would have been reworked or replaced by the time it went final. In fact, there were some tweaks to the script that had been made, but we never got around to recording the updated read-through.
• The finished teaser was intended to be released at the time of the MMO’s announcement. It likely would have been accompanied by a video of gameplay footage, or possibly with a live hands-on demo depending on when and where it was first revealed.
• The logo at the end was based upon the ouroboros, an ancient symbol of the cyclical nature of the universe. This symbol has great significance to the story of Amalur, a world trapped in an unending cycle of creation and destruction. And yes, we had this symbol before the Elder Scrolls Online announced using a similar logo (that’s what you get for basing your IP on classic themes).
• The illustrated style showcased in the teaser was something you would have seen throughout the game. Our cinematics team was packed with amazing illustrators, and we were using animation like this to introduce our races and tell little bits of history you’d encounter as you traveled through Amalur.

Seeing this video posted online gives me a mix of emotions. On the one hand, I love this teaser and am very proud of the work it represents. On the other hand, it makes me sad to be faced once more by what could have been.

Anyway, I wanted to get these points across because it would be unfair to the cinematics or audio teams for anyone seeing this to think it represented a final version of a trailer. Even though it’s really cool, it would have been spectacular by the time we were done with it. I wish you could see it with the same context we did on the inside of the studio, through the eyes of a passionate team that wanted to make something really special.

I still miss that world something fierce.

I’ve had reporters and others ask me about how this situation has affected my feelings toward Curt. That’s an intensely personal question, but today’s events have moved me to answer it in broad terms–and I’d rather do it on my own blog than in someone else’s story.

First, a bit of perspective. Since the early days of the company, I’ve considered Curt a friend. Not a “Hey, come over and hang out this weekend” type of friend–rich people exist in an entirely different realm of everyday life than you or me. But he and I have spent an awful lot of time together discussing both work matters and some very personal topics, and he has confided in me on many occasions during our time together. He’s been generous and kind to my family, and as I mentioned in my previous post, he was beside me through some really tough times, helping out in direct and tangible ways. I’ll never truly be able to repay him for those kindnesses.

That said, Curt has a flaw so classically Shakespearean that it’s possible only an old English major like myself can fully appreciate it: For better or for worse, he won’t quit until the last out is played. He has absolute confidence in his ability to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, and doubting that belief, even for an instant, would mean quitting in his eyes–and as he’s told us many times, the only way to fail is if you quit.

To be fair, this attitude has served him well in the past. It fits the athlete’s mentality perfectly: no matter what the score, no matter how strong the opposing team, if a group of athletes come together and really push through, they can do astonishing things. The Red Sox’s 2004 World Series win is proof of that. And when you work for a guy who has done things in his life that are–literally–almost statistically impossible, you begin to believe that you can do anything too, especially when you’re surrounded by talented and passionate people.

The problem is, that same never-quit attitude just doesn’t work in the business world. Unlike the ball field, which has a finite set of variables, the business world has many factors that are out of your control. No matter how hard the team worked or how well we did our jobs, there were issues–business climate, investor trends, competition in the market, etc.–that we were helpless to affect.

(That’s not to say everything was perfect with the development of the MMO. There were many reasons Copernicus wasn’t finished, and though the natural inclination is to intertwine the game’s demise with that of the studio, each merits its own autopsy.)

38 Studios didn’t die on May 14 or May 24. It was dead when we were down to our final millions some weeks earlier. It was at that point that our company officers and board members should have ended things in a responsible way–laying off most or all of the employees, extending our health benefits for a reasonable time, and giving everyone the chance to bow out gracefully. But that Shakespearean flaw of Curt’s wouldn’t let him see this. I think that, to him, closing down with money in the bank was quitting. He believed that something good would happen at the last minute to make it all work out, as had happened on other occasions in the past. Well, this time it didn’t, and now all of us are paying the price.

Let me clarify something else: it’s not all Curt’s fault. Despite his insistence on sticking it out, the company officers and board members should have overruled him and given employees the humane closure they deserved. I have no idea why this didn’t happen, and I think that’s the biggest piece of the puzzle I’d still like to understand.

(Note that I’m not using the all-inclusive term “executives” here. Those at the VP level were largely kept in the dark about this stuff, and they are just as frustrated as the rest of us by what happened. So please, remember that not everyone with a big title next to their names had the same degree of culpability.)

Maybe all of this helps you understand how I can say that, despite it all, I still love Curt like a brother. Can you hate Hamlet for his flaws, or Othello, or Macbeth? No, their flaws are part of who they are, so you take the bad along with the good. As hard as this current situation is–trust me, it’s scary as hell–I know I’ll be okay eventually. But Curt will bear the scars of this for a lot longer. To make another reference to the Bard: “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interréd with their bones.” I would be heartbroken if Curt’s legacy is that of a failed businessman whose hubris devastated a great team and impacted the taxpayers of an entire state. It’s my hope that he overcomes all this and finds happiness and success again.

I don’t excuse what happened. I’m still hurt and angry. But even so, “He was my friend, faithful and just to me.” And yeah, he still is.

Whether that makes me a good friend, an idealist, or a fool, I leave to you to decide.

So this is what I’ve come up with.

It has been nearly a month since all of this began. Try to picture that; a month ago, everything seemed fine. Over the past 30 days, so many rugs have been pulled out from under me and my colleagues that I’ve lost count of the threads. We’ve lost our income, our insurance, our camaraderie. It’s been one slap in the face after another, and 38′s bankruptcy keeps finding new ways to hurt us all; just yesterday, we found out that our 401K funds are frozen for an indeterminate amount of time. I have no doubt that things will get more painful before they get better.

Emotions? Had ‘em all. Screaming rage, blinding tears, pity for myself, pity for others, defiance, numbness, fear. To an outsider, I can see how some of this might seem silly. It’s just a video game, right? People lose their jobs all the time–suck it up and find another one.

But it’s just not that simple. I’ve spent nearly six years of my life building this company and working on this game. I’ve forged some very deep, personal bonds with the people I’ve worked with. Over this time, my life has changed in profound ways. I’ve seen my child come into this world. I nearly lost her and my wife in a fatal car crash. I’ve held my mother in my arms as she lay dying. And through all those things, I’ve been helped and comforted by Curt Schilling and my teammates at 38.

Work was tough and the pressure relentless, but so, so joyous as well. I got to work hands-on with R. A. Salvatore, taking the framework of a world he created and building it into something huge, ambitious, and wonderful. I watched amazing artists undertake the most startling transformation of concept paintings into game assets that I’ve ever seen. Stories born as mere fragments of ideas were coming to life all around me in a studio full of people who embraced their role as storytellers.  It was immensely gratifying.

And then it was gone. The poultice ripped away, a mortal wound left to fester. The grief is very real; this may sound melodramatic to those of you on the outside, but this experience feels much like the death of a dear friend. I’ve said before that shipping a game after years of work makes you feel like you’ve been through a war, and the people you fought alongside are the only ones who really know what you’ve been through. In this case, to work six years on a dream and have it almost come to life, only to lose it suddenly, is a very real psychological trauma. Despite the dozens of articles written on the demise of 38, the only people who really understand are the ones who make up this now fractured fraternity that was once a great team.

It’s been hard to find the time necessary to process it all. As soon as the downward spiral began, we were plunged into a frantic period of resume building, job fairs, phone calls, and unemployment filings. The week of E3 was the first stretch where things got quiet–disturbingly quiet. For me, not yet having secured a new job, that’s when the anxiety really took hold.

Even after growing numb to the headlines and news broadcasts, little stings come along with clever ways to hurt me. I still find myself looking at my phone for new email. It used to be that pretty much any hour of the day or night, there was something to read: a bug report, a piece of art to approve, some copy to review, a silly thread on our miscellaneous list, or a NSFW link from a cohort. The absence of that 38 mailbox aches like a phantom limb.

I’m still angry about lots of things (did I mention being screwed out of thousands of dollars?), and I still get so very sad when I think of all that could have been. But mostly I’ve reached acceptance. Not an acceptance of being at peace–I don’t think I can ever be at peace with what happened–but more an acceptance of resignation, the realization that things are so utterly fucked up as to be completely beyond my control. There’s simply nothing I can do to save the company, to save the story of Amalur, to recover anything that I’ve lost. All I can do at this point is to look out for my brothers and sisters, the comrades I’ve been in the trenches with for all these years. I can try to help them however I can, even as I scramble to find my own landing place. Because if there’s one truth I’ve learned over all my years of work, across the many careers I’ve undertaken, it’s that the connections you make with good people end up being the greatest treasure.

I have lost something that I deeply loved. I’m constantly surrounded by reminders of that loss, both in the abstract sense, in stories online and in the media, and by the literal presence of boxes surrounding the desk where I write this post, boxes filled with the books, toys, and bric-a-brac that used to decorate my office at One Empire Plaza. The body doesn’t feel cold yet, but I have to bury it and move on.

And that’s what I must do. I have to let go. That doesn’t mean the emotions won’t be there–those demons will swirl around inside me for a long, long time. But I have to look forward, to restore belief in my talents and abilities, to focus on building a new future. To be sure, it won’t be the future I planned six years ago–that dream is gone. But it will be something good, something new to love, something new to believe in. Because I’ve learned a private truth, a truth I probably tried to deny for a long time: I’m a person who needs to believe in something bigger than myself.

Despite all the pain, this lesson is a positive I can carry with me for the rest of my days. And that’s a tangible blessing, a gift to help me smile through the tears.

Goodbye, 38. Goodbye, Amalur. I have loved you more dearly than I can ever say. And I will let you go.