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NotM: Ultima Underworld-The Plot Unfolds
By Corvus | February 6, 2008
We turn our attention now to the plot of Ultima Underworld: The Stygian Abyss (UW) and how the ludic and textual elements work together to compel the player to explore deeper and deeper into the ruined corridors of one man’s failed dream.
A ghostly visitor appears to you in a dream, warning that Britannia is in grave danger. You allows yourself to be summoned to Britannia, just in time to take the fall for kidnapping Baron Almric’s daughter. Baron Almric isn’t convinced that you’re the Avatar and tosses you into the Stygian Abyss, saying that if you return with his daughter you’ll have proven yourself and can go free. It’s not going to be so simple, of course–there’s that whole ‘Britannia is in danger’ issue to worry about as well.
The Stygian Abyss is a failed experiment. Sir Cabirus brought together all the races of Britannia in hopes of building a gated community based upon the Eight Virtues. Despite his foresight in fashioning an artifact of power for each virtue, for inspiration of course, his plans failed and the Abyss settled into a microcosmic example of the surface world’s politics and struggles. Distraught over the world’s refusal to conform to his vision, Cabirus did what any crackpot social architect would do–took his own life by drinking a virulent poison (I’m reading between the lines there). Life in the Abyss has only gone downhill since then, the levels falling into disrepair and each race violently segregating itself from the others. This is the stage upon which your upcoming adventure is set.
What I find most compelling about UW is that most everyone you meet is completely disinterested in you and your goal. They’ll mention useful information in passing, but like the vain Goblin King Vernix they are far too wrapped up in their own struggles to worry much about yours. This gives you the impression that this world was not built specifically for you and your quest, but would exist even if you weren’t wandering its corridors (albeit for a short time, given the encroaching danger). It also serves, like so many of the game’s ludic components, to draw you deeper into the storyworld. In order to reach your goals you need to pay attention to these people and their struggles. It’s only by helping them and upholding the eight virtues (something you’re not constantly hit over the head with as in other Ultima games, but it’s certainly there) will you acquire the information you need to save the Baron’s daughter and all of Britannia.
But at no time are you forced into dialog with any of these characters. There are no cut scenes to steal control away from your play.* Until you sleep. When you sleep, that ghostly apparition that summoned you in the first place urges you to talk to people, to explore, to make your way ever deeper into the Abyss. Ultimately, this ghost is the only person deeply invested in your quest. Even the villain of the game isn’t aware of you until the penultimate conflict. Neither are there artificial environmental barriers that can only be opened by progressing through the plot. No impervious doors, no mysteriously disappearing rock slides. Rather than force the plot to unfold in a linear manner, you’re allowed to pick and choose whom you speak to, and when. You can even make your way to the lower levels of the Abyss and if you survive, talk to everyone in reverse order if you wish. If you’ve already played the game and taken good notes, don’t talk to anyone if you don’t wish to. Your spectral dream friend is the only character that you must have a conversation with in order to complete the game.
The game environment is structured to support the impression that you’re in a real environment as well. Musical instruments can be played using the number keys on the keyboard. Spikes can be used to jam the locks of doors, although you’re never required to do this within the game. Useless debris and bones, all of which can be collected, clutter the halls. Discarded weapons, broken wands and lost runes can be found near faded blood stains–testifying to the dangers which befell previous explorers. Your armor and weapons degrade with use and can be repaired if you find an anvil (with a chance of botching the job and destroying the item). Throughout the game you will find more gold coins and gems than you’ll ever need within the game, speaking to an economy much greater than this small community. As you descend level by level the signs of decay increase until entire hallways are collapsing on themselves, floors uneven and barely traversable. Most importantly is the freedom to explore that I mentioned previously. There are no artificial barriers in place, no sudden activation of features. Burning incense before sleeping has an effect, whether you’ve learned about the effect of burning incense or not. Drinking too much causes your vision to blur and the poisonous mushrooms turn the world psychedelic when consumed.
It is clear that great attention was paid to every detail of UW. Rather than build an environment to present a story, like so many RPGs do (Fable, Jade Empire, Neverwinter Nights), an environment was built and a plot set within it. This approach allows the player to control their story, to gatekeep their own plot progress. Alert players are rewarded for their efforts, as items found on the first level are needed much later in the game. Conversely, players used to the shallow stories of today’s games may be frustrated and find themselves wandering about, completely at a loss as to what needs doing next. In many ways, it seems a perfect metaphor for navigating the labyrinthine corridors of academia or the corporate world.
I feel that this post glosses over a lot of information and that a proper analysis of UW’s use of ludic components to communicate story would require a full and rigidly structured text. Hopefully, however, it has shown the underlying themes of the game’s design well enough to convey that UW is truly a unique and powerful attempt at participatory storytelling.
*This ‘rule’ is broken once when you defeat the villain…
Next Up: The Good, The Bad & The Nitpicks!
Tagged:ludic components, NotM, plot, storytelling, ultima underworld. | 3 Comments »
February 7th, 2008 at 4:24 pm
Actually, I believe there are a few plot doors and mandentory conversations if memory serves, although it’s been a long time since I played the game.
As I recall: To finish, you need to get into the old codex chamber. To get into that chamber, you need the 3-part key to open a plot door. To get the 3-part key, you need to get through 3 doors holding prisoners. These doors will only open to a key held by the main villain, requiring you to kill him first. You also have to talk to people to get the key; I remember needing to make an old woman cry to get the love part.
Though to be fair, there was refreshingly little of this, and just near the end. Were you able to get around that?
February 7th, 2008 at 9:34 pm
I thought there was a required encounter with a goblin that needs you to make rotworm stew too…
But yes, that’s beside the point. It definitely is not one of those “gate and channel” plots that forces you to do things in a specified order.
February 8th, 2008 at 5:28 am
Yeah, “don’t talk to anyone” is a bit of an exaggeration, but (and maybe I should try this), you can skip a great number of the exchanges just by knowing where things are and how to get them.
You’re both right that in order to achieve certain things within the game, you must have specific conversations. The old mage who drops a key component when you bring her the picture of Tom, Lanugo who gives you the stew recipe, etc. But if you wanted to mostly ignore the plot and just explore the abyss? No conversations are needed. Additionally, there’s no need to do any of those things in a linear fashion, so they don’t count as plot gates, really.
That’s more what I was trying to get at, I think. Each level isn’t kept locked behind some impossibly strong door (I didn’t even mention in these posts that you can bash down most doors) with a lock that can’t be picked until you meet some imposed criteria.