Movement

Movement in virtual worlds is, strictly speaking, merely a specific form of object state transition. Because it’s the tool that players use to construct their cognitive map of the environment, however, it has enhanced significance—at least in the minds of players (which is what designers are designing for). The geography of virtual worlds must account for how players will build it in their heads, which depends not only on what they see but also on how they see it. Because virtual world geographies are too big to experience in a single event, movement heavily influences both.

So, let’s take a brief look at the various ways to move through virtual worlds, and consider the geographical ¹ implications.

Basic movement occurs between contiguous locations. These locations will either be nodes or points. To transfer from one location to another, players must issue a movement command (or, in rare instances, fail to issue a cease-movement command). There are four main ways to do this, none of which are mutually exclusive (that is, you can have them all if you want):

• Absolute directions. These are the classic ones that use the points of the compass. North, northeast, east, and so on.

• Relative directions. These treat the character as the point of origin, and align with their line of sight. Left, right, forward, and so on.

• Contextual directions. Commands have different meanings depending on the context. In, out, back, and so on.

• Landmark directions. These move you toward a location that contains a major feature. Swamp, tower, shop, and so on.

Most textual and 2D graphical worlds favor absolute directions. Most 3D graphical worlds favor relative directions.

Absolute directions are preferred in textual worlds for three reasons:

• Room descriptions don’t have to take into account the point of view of each character. Note that if this is why you want absolute directions, you can’t simultaneously have relative directions.

• Absolute directions are much easier for players to map with than relative directions. Players prefer them, when given a free choice of which to use.

• In English, the four main compass points have unique, single-letter abbreviations; the four intermediate points have unique, double-letter abbreviations. None of these clash with other abbreviations for common commands. Abbreviations for relative directions are clunkier (“sl” for “slide left”) and they do clash with other common commands (“l” could be either “left” or “look”).

2D virtual worlds use absolute directions because they present a fixed view of the virtual world. They may allow 90-degree rotation, but it’s always clear which way is north. 3D virtual worlds present the player with a character’s eye view of the environment, therefore all movement is relative to the character’s line of sight. Absolute direction may be determined from a second, “radar scan” panel, but then again this could use relative directions too.

It’s possible to track absolute directions from relative ones, of course, but it’s tedious. Given that most players prefer absolute directions so that mapping (real and cognitive) is easier, absolute directions should usually be provided as a convenience ². Yes, relative directions are the more realistic (no one has a compass stapled to their nose), but if you insist on having them then expect players to get lost.

Getting lost is the main issue that virtual geography must address. Although occasionally losing your way isn’t necessarily a bad thing (especially if you’re exploring), if it happens often it means that players haven’t been able to build a working model in their heads of how the virtual world is laid out. Such confusion causes frustration (which is bad enough) and further it suggests to newbies that the whole system is confusing (which is worse). If a virtual world is so badly designed that you can’t even walk from A to B without getting lost, what chance is there you’ll be able to figure out spells or combat or the manufacture of horseshoes?

In order not to get lost, a player needs to measure two things: distance and orientation. In nodal worlds, distance is a problem because it’s measured in rooms, not in unit lengths. It’s possible to go north, east, south, and arrive at the same location as if you’d gone east five times. Worse, you could go northeast and southwest and not end up where you started. For this reason, contextual and landmark commands are used, so that players can get back to somewhere they know relatively easily. Most landmark commands are hardwired into the virtual world, but actually there’s no reason why players shouldn’t be able to create their own. Route-finding algorithms are fast and efficient, and as long as they don’t check things a player couldn’t know (such as whether an intervening door is open or locked shut) it should be fine to allow potentially any static geographical feature to be used as a landmark.

Graphical worlds satisfy the distance criterion for not getting lost, but they don’t deal with the direction one very well. Furthermore, they don’t normally have the interface to allow explicit lost-busting contextual or landmark commands, relying as they do on mouse and arrow keys ³. If they want such commands, they have to provide them implicitly in the environment. Players go “into” a room because there’s a single door. The tower is a “landmark” because it’s the tallest structure for miles around.

Landmarks are important because players use them as reference points ⁴. Not all reference points are landmarks in the “being highly visible” sense, though. Inns, underground caves, shrines, sunken oases—people may well regard these as points of reference, but not see them until they’re close up. In this event, graphical virtual worlds should provide players pointers to show directions: Roads, rivers, and (of course) signposts can help in this regard.

Some environments are more likely to get players lost than others. The main culprits are:

• Featureless landscapes, such as deserts.

• Landscapes packed with similar features, such as forests.

• Landscapes that frequently change. “The hills are alive!”

• Deliberately disorienting “crazy angle” vistas designed to convey alienness.

• Landscapes you have to traverse at speed with sudden, arbitrary direction changes. “Velociraptors! Run for your life!”

• Twisting, turning, irregular passageways. Mazes you can’t steer clear of are not fun.

If you don’t want people to get lost, avoid these. If you can’t, then be sure that entering them is optional.

So far, I’ve only discussed contiguous movement. Characters also regularly travel using discontiguous movement—that is, teleporting. This is like moving using landmark directions, except movement to the landmark is instantaneous. Teleportation has implications for several aspects of virtual worlds (particularly the economy), but we’ll just look at the geographical ones for now.

One of MUD1’s most influential early players, Mark Longley, used to go to London by train fairly regularly. On arrival, he’d take the underground to the stop nearest whatever museum, exhibition hall, or Science Fiction bookshop he was visiting, walk the short distance to his destination, then return the same way. He once explained to me that his geographical knowledge of surface London consisted only of disconnected small areas within a short radius of underground stations, and it was quite a surprise when he looked at a map and discovered just how close some of the stations were in real life.

Virtual worlds with teleports are like Mark’s version of London. They may be huge and packed with interesting things, but if people can use portals, then they’ll never see anything any distance from one. The fact that most virtual worlds (unlike London) rarely have anything worth seeing on the walk between portals only compounds the problem. It’s not so much a virtual world as a collection of virtual sub-worlds.

This may be okay with some designers. Content can gravitate toward portals in the same way that burger restaurants gravitate toward road intersections. It does, however, mean that much cohesion is lost, and it can greatly reduce the sense of awe that players experience on visiting a place for the first time. Atmosphere relies as much on anticipation as it does delivery; enchantment is enhanced by surprise, not by guide books.

These problems can be alleviated to some extent (at least in graphical worlds) by the use of better fiction that makes travel faster but not immediate. If characters can increase their speed by riding on a horse or taking a boat ride, they get to see the local terrain and will arrive at their destination with a better idea of where it is. Failing that, travel could proceed while the player is offline: Tramping across salt flats is boring, but if your character does it while you’re asleep in the real world, what’s it to you? Travel this way doesn’t have to be dangerous—it effectively works by “slow portals”—but at least it gives an idea of how far you’ve traveled (if not exactly where to).

So, when designing your virtual world’s geography, remember that people will have to experience it. Give them landmarks, give them maps, give them co-ordinates if you must—just make sure, however you do it, that they know where they are. Then, they can decide where to go.