Companies are not perfect but allowed their tech to allow actual harm to be suffered by their players isn't a minor defect or crossed wire. That is huge. No way that gets through. Only way it happens is illegal modifications.
Pain is not something people want for the most part. That kind of thing is just asking for trouble.
No there is no way at all a video game, virtual reality or not, would allow the players to feel actual pain. From both a business and a legal perspective it makes no sense at all. This is not SAO, and SAO was different because the game wasn't designed to be a game people played but a death game engineered by some crazy guy.
Also, whether you call it torturing or bullying or whatever, people aren't gonna just sit there and watch as you force them down and whittle away at their hp bar. It wouldn't create feelings of fear, just annoyance and they could just log out to avoid it.
Companies are not perfect but allowed their tech to allow actual harm to be suffered by their players isn't a minor defect or crossed wire. That is huge. No way that gets through. Only way it happens is illegal modifications.
Pain is not something people want for the most part. That kind of thing is just asking for trouble.
It is an illegal modification XD
And he is asking for pain. Hence the modification. but it's not lethal, maybe just something like toy shocks.
but yeah, well, i do get your point. i'll just make my post not refer to it too much then.
Edited by Captain Paper S., 28 August 2014 - 08:49 PM.
Well this is going to be something that needs to be clarified by Jod nonetheless. My belief is pain needs to be implemented into the system for it to be realistic at all. Your senses all have limits to trigger pain s.t. you can stop an action that you are committing before you hurt yourself too much. Truthfully, it would make sense that there is a balance like maybe there exists pain, but it has a bound to it in the game. My understanding of the game was that it worked like a dream in fooling your senses.
However, it could be that we want Call of Duty mechanics instead of pain. In Call of Duty, the screen flashes red harder in the direction you are being shot. In a similar way, the world that you are viewing could flash red in your peripherals to announce to you, "Hey Buddy, I hurt right hear." My two cents
There are ways to show damage without dumbing it down. Create a tingling sensation. That is enough. If you lose a limb then create the sensation as if that limb is asleep in your mind. If you get pierced create another sensation that draws the mind to the damage without causing them to feel pain.
Yeap. Last thing I want is for poor Teysa to be subjected to that nonsense. :I
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
That's why it's called an illegal modification to begin with, no one has to like it nor have it. There's always going to be people to mess with a game with them.
While we fade away from the bustling market where our benevolent giant resides, we spend what seems to be endless hours winding through the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Slithering through the labyrinth of darkened streets and narrow passages until in this expansive city, we reach a place where the light rarely touches. There, beneath a fickle and flickering lamp, sitting upon her throne that marks her the queen of the underworld with a cunning and seductive smile is none other than I-Am-X. Calmly observing us with a yellowed iris beset upon harrowing black, her fanged grin only grows wider as her fingertip guides the rod that stirs a tall, thin glass of suspicious looking Red Wine. Here in the Dark, we exist temporarily in her Kingdom. A place where the unsavory sorts can find sanctuary, a black market, and often the tools of death, subtlety, and subterfuge.
Sliding her sultry fingertip upon the spine of a book, the tome seems almost alive as it shudders and props open to a blank, but weathered page. Dipping a sharpened fountain pen in ink, she takes her mark upon the leathery parchment after a sip of her Bloodied delicacy. Not a moment later for us, the innocent-minded folks living upon the streets above, she describes to us her next devilish machination.
Fair enough, it's like an add on for the person who WANTS to feel pain? ._.
Me, according to a Hero:
Spoiler
Now at last we come full circle, back to the hand whose graceful motions first began these tales. Our travels have taken us through town and tower, past glade and garden, through the mists of time and to all manner of locale, but we come to their end in the modern era. Specifically, we come to a loft apartment overlooking the Champs d'Elysees in Paris, France, wherein resides Trouble herself. Some would call her temptress, others know her as charming minx, but nobody dares deny that the lady is possessed of great beauty. As she sits at her writing desk with a fine tipped pen and ink well at hand, a city breeze enters through the nearby open window. The wind causes her raven-colored hair to stir briefly in it before resuming its cascades down to her shoulders, where it briefly touches the angled straps of the midnight blue dress that adorns her well-defined form. With a gentle sip from the thin-mouthed glass of champagne that accompanies her forays onto the pages, she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the swirling words she has already put into place. Before she continues on, she checks over her work to ensure that no detail is left unknown, no letter out of its place. For in her passages, as in the mystic runes with which she channels the primordial forces of the world, each stroke is vital and no variance is tolerated. Content with what she has written, the sorceress lays down her writing instrument and makes her way to the balcony. With a breath of the evening air and a wave of her hand, the only decision that remains is what spells she shall weave this night.
While we fade away from the bustling market where our benevolent giant resides, we spend what seems to be endless hours winding through the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Slithering through the labyrinth of darkened streets and narrow passages until in this expansive city, we reach a place where the light rarely touches. There, beneath a fickle and flickering lamp, sitting upon her throne that marks her the queen of the underworld with a cunning and seductive smile is none other than I-Am-X. Calmly observing us with a yellowed iris beset upon harrowing black, her fanged grin only grows wider as her fingertip guides the rod that stirs a tall, thin glass of suspicious looking Red Wine. Here in the Dark, we exist temporarily in her Kingdom. A place where the unsavory sorts can find sanctuary, a black market, and often the tools of death, subtlety, and subterfuge.
Sliding her sultry fingertip upon the spine of a book, the tome seems almost alive as it shudders and props open to a blank, but weathered page. Dipping a sharpened fountain pen in ink, she takes her mark upon the leathery parchment after a sip of her Bloodied delicacy. Not a moment later for us, the innocent-minded folks living upon the streets above, she describes to us her next devilish machination.
While we fade away from the bustling market where our benevolent giant resides, we spend what seems to be endless hours winding through the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Slithering through the labyrinth of darkened streets and narrow passages until in this expansive city, we reach a place where the light rarely touches. There, beneath a fickle and flickering lamp, sitting upon her throne that marks her the queen of the underworld with a cunning and seductive smile is none other than I-Am-X. Calmly observing us with a yellowed iris beset upon harrowing black, her fanged grin only grows wider as her fingertip guides the rod that stirs a tall, thin glass of suspicious looking Red Wine. Here in the Dark, we exist temporarily in her Kingdom. A place where the unsavory sorts can find sanctuary, a black market, and often the tools of death, subtlety, and subterfuge.
Sliding her sultry fingertip upon the spine of a book, the tome seems almost alive as it shudders and props open to a blank, but weathered page. Dipping a sharpened fountain pen in ink, she takes her mark upon the leathery parchment after a sip of her Bloodied delicacy. Not a moment later for us, the innocent-minded folks living upon the streets above, she describes to us her next devilish machination.
The whole debate is pretty dumb, in and of itself. It's a matter of semantics and word choice that's been blown far out of proportion and gone on so many tangents that it's really done nothing but consume OOC space. I'm sure jod will take a look at something if a concern is raised, which it certainly has been, so let's all screw our heads back on and let him and Vis do their jobs.
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
If something doesn't seem right or is making people confused or something doesn't seem to make sense, then it's quite clear something is going on. Our characters are in no shape or form good Samaritans. That's been made quite obvious in our CSs
While we fade away from the bustling market where our benevolent giant resides, we spend what seems to be endless hours winding through the unfamiliar cobblestone streets. Slithering through the labyrinth of darkened streets and narrow passages until in this expansive city, we reach a place where the light rarely touches. There, beneath a fickle and flickering lamp, sitting upon her throne that marks her the queen of the underworld with a cunning and seductive smile is none other than I-Am-X. Calmly observing us with a yellowed iris beset upon harrowing black, her fanged grin only grows wider as her fingertip guides the rod that stirs a tall, thin glass of suspicious looking Red Wine. Here in the Dark, we exist temporarily in her Kingdom. A place where the unsavory sorts can find sanctuary, a black market, and often the tools of death, subtlety, and subterfuge.
Sliding her sultry fingertip upon the spine of a book, the tome seems almost alive as it shudders and props open to a blank, but weathered page. Dipping a sharpened fountain pen in ink, she takes her mark upon the leathery parchment after a sip of her Bloodied delicacy. Not a moment later for us, the innocent-minded folks living upon the streets above, she describes to us her next devilish machination.
Dedication, kindness, and heartfelt warmth we have all experienced at one point or another defines her. Yet I could imagine she holds herself quite well. With a glass of an aged white wine, her first renditions of posts are created upon the quill of an eagle with fine indian inks and coarse paper. Her environment is one to aspire to, with the exquisite architecture of a noble lady's victorian home. Wafting through the fine oak and redwood structure is that of a record player from another age, still resiliently etching through it's nonchalant tune as the hours glide past. Sangre herself is naturally with her home a lady of high standing. With her hair always done concisely with the standards of high society, and her nose crossed with the bridge of a pair of slender reading glasses. I could imagine, with a curl of a lip shaded in violently red lipstick, she watches us all with great amusement as both a friend and a overwatching guardian from time to time.
Thou might dance if thou desire.
Thou might abandon thy compatriots beyond you.
For thine compatriots elect not to dance, and should they elect to not dance,
Then they be no acquaintances of mine.
Myself, as told by a Hawk;
Spoiler
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
I got a question to the demon bros after reading the posts. What do you guys mean by torture...cause' like you guys realize it's a game right? No one feels pain.
Well NPCs apparently do. Cause that's the whole premise of getting information out of them through torture. At the end of the day, it is all a code but not all are coders and thus peeps will play or will like to play with situations like they do in real world i.e by threatening, flattery and other means.
Right, ignoring the fact that getting pain modifiers for a game is stupid as hell, it would only mean they could torture weirdos who enjoy pain, and not like...99.99% of the player base.
It is just a annoyance to the other players. Not as a real physical torture. Tied down a place and have your health whittled and equipment looted leaves a bad taste in the mouth. You are bound to keep coming at the offender again and again under the pretense of vengeance and that is a cycle that a character who is evil or twisted will employ to have a steady supply of sheep.
SAO is the exact reason why that wouldn't be good. That isn't what it was designed to do. That was an abuse of the system. Future models I believe made it impossible for that kind of thing to happen. Jod might have a different ruling but going by logic I think that a smart company wouldn't let that happen.
Lowering someones health and making them lose time and exp doesn't induce fear. It makes them annoyed. Angry. Pissed off. That isn't torture. Players that have that effect on other people get enemies. They would call up their guilds and rotate shifts just to camp you. Bounties placed on you. Things of that nature. Fear would not come into the equation unless you are like...messing with kids. Which is wrong and you should feel bad.
That's why this is all still at a low level, hun. Bounties and other shenanigans take money (in game and RL), the fact that they are low level serves as a safety that real big fish won't get involved. Afterall, peeps are just like frogs in a pan of hot water. They delay things until they are seriously affected by it.
Plus, I mentioned in my post that my character has lost a few levels from the backlash, that's the risk of enjoying yourself I think. xD As for feeling bad for mistreating kids, I think they'll be playing as adults in the game and if they are big enough to wipe their backsides, they are big enough to wipe the dirt of the sidewalk. It's good to be bad.
As for the whole pain bit. I thought of LMS and Ark when I looked at Codex, so yeah there is pain involved but only to an annoyance level. The experiences you feel seem real in your head even if they aren't actually happening to you. I think that's the minimum level that this VMMO is attempting at.
As for any troubles that you have with posts, I guess Jod will need to clarify a few things to put this to rest.
Edited by Diabolical Rhapsody, 29 August 2014 - 03:53 AM.
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.
For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
Why? it is better to straighten things out in OOC than bear grudges IC. If it's a problem that needs addressing, it should be addressed.
If you have the time:
Spoiler
Through the vast entity that is the Internet, we now find ourselves in an unfamiliar place. A place of new faces, new personalities, and new adventurers alike. This place is the new home of our motley crew, and it is called Batoto. Here, as we meander through bustling streets and cobblestone draped markets, we find the first new person we will meet this day. Diabolical Rhapsody. What is so curious and is immediately the most noticeable thing about this shy soul is his height. Towering over eight feet high and sporting a two-handed mace that weighs more than some men, one would expect this scraggly bearded giant to be a savage barbarian. Yet those who dare try to scratch the surface a touch soon find a kind soul who so earnestly aims to please. Accompanying the vodka that he drinks and sings softly to is a pen quill made of the finest eagle's feather. His tools of imagination and creation, the studious giant fervently writes his passages for us all to see.