# Genre LLMS index: [llms.txt](/dvw/en/llms.txt) --- Another categorization that is important to newbie players but less so to designers is genre [^53]. A newbie will look at a set of virtual worlds and say that this one is medieval Fantasy, this one is Cyberpunk Science Fiction, this one is dark vampire Horror, this one is Greek Mythology, this one is asexual Japanese Anime, this one is stylized Gangsters, and so on. Again, though, from a design perspective most of the way a virtual world works is independent of genre. Sure, you’re not going to need magic in a world based on Venice in the 16 th century, and you’re not going to need firearms in a world where all the players take on the role of fishes. However, most of the basic functionality isn’t going to change a lot across genres. Sometimes, though, there are serious implications of genre. Why are there so few Wild West virtual worlds? Because it’s very hard to explain why Joe Newbie’s character can’t enter a shop, buy a loaded six-gun, and empty it into the back of a character that someone else has been playing for five years. They didn’t call those things “equalizers” for nothing [^54]! Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Horror worlds have fiction-preserving ways out of this, as do ones based another hundred years or more into the past. It’s not the only issue, though—there are plenty more. Following are some examples: - Crime fiction doesn’t work well as a genre because players don’t want to divulge clues to one another. This means they’re discouraged from communicating; most designers would prefer to encourage them. - Comedy flops as a genre. You laugh the first time something funny happens, but by the tenth time that same thing happens, it ceases to amuse you. - Romance doesn’t work for virtual worlds. Sex does, but romance doesn’t. If you start out with the former, you rapidly end up with the latter. - Lone heroes or heroines don’t translate well into virtual worlds. It doesn’t make sense to have 5,000 people running around who all act like Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, James Bond, or Dr Who. There wouldn’t be room for them in the real world, let alone a virtual one. These may look obvious to you, but they don’t to everyone [^55]. Even so, why would any business person want to fund development of an unproven (in virtual world terms) genre anyway? Surely they would go with what they know can be implemented? Well, the chief importance of genres lies in their ability to attract players. From this perspective, the choice of genre becomes a marketing issue, rather than a design issue (although designers should, perforce, understand their market). Someone behind a glass desk realizes that millions and millions of people have seen the Batman movies and that’s a good enough reason for them to press the issue—irrespective of whether Gotham City would make a good setting for a virtual world. Fortunately, most designers can avoid the perils of a bad genre. There are plenty of perils of a good genre, too, of course, examples of which will become evident throughout this book. One in particular is the issue of licensing. Licensing is a big topic in the computer games industry as a whole. The arguments are For: - People know and trust the brand, so you will get more players. - You gain the attention of the media and of your competitors. - You receive free publicity from other license-related products. - The design work for the overall concept has already been done. Against: - You have to pay an invariably large licensing fee and royalties, so your costs rise. - The free publicity could be bad, or at least not helpful. - Some accommodation may be needed by the license for gameplay purposes. These could annoy fans or (worse) license-holders. - The overall concept is what designers like doing the most. In terms of virtual worlds, the decision whether to license is generally made by someone other than the world’s would-be designers. This imposes creative constraints, because designers have to fit the franchise. Although many license owners are fairly hands-off, others are particularly precious about their worlds and will not consent to anything non-canon no matter how much this stresses the constraints of a different medium. This can pose great difficulties for a designer. Sometimes, even things that are part of the fictional world can be out of bounds, for example the license for The Lord of the Rings would not necessarily cover material mentioned only in The Hobbit, even though they’re set in the same Fantasy world. Perversely, though, licenses can also be liberating—at least insofar as virtual worlds are concerned [^56]. A sure-fire hit such as Star Wars Galaxies or The Sims Online can take risks that unlicensed games might avoid simply because if they do screw up, it’s not going to kill the game. An innovation with a 75% chance of being a success could well be tried out by a licensed graphical virtual world when it would be left alone by an unlicensed one on the grounds that “There’s a one in four chance this is going to burn a fifteen-million dollar investment? Are you nuts?!” For a competent design team, a world with a big enough license behind it isn’t going to fail unless they set out to make it fail (for the time being, at least). [^53]: I use the word to mean both the theme/setting and the content category (usually expressed in terms of suitability for children). [^54]: There’s also the problem (noted by Damion Schubert) that the enemies don’t get bigger. Aside from the real-life political problems that would arise from killing virtual natives and Mexicans, what happens when your character advances in experience? Do you kill bigger natives and Mexicans? [^55]: The only one of those mentioned above that I haven’t encountered in my capacity as a virtual world design consultant is the Comedy genre. All the rest I’ve seen people try—some, more than once. [^56]: For regular computer games, a license often amounts to a big sign saying, “Warning: Highly derivative product!”