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Intro 
The Level 1 challenge of the “Web and Mobile Games” quest in my class, ​E521: Current 
Trends in Technical Communication​, asked me to play a web or mobile game, then respond 
to prompts specific to areas of concern within technical communication. Games were to be 
chosen from a list approved by my instructor, ​Dr. Carly Finseth​, and more than one game 
could be played to reach the cumulative requirement of 5 hours. 
 
From the available challenge prompts, I chose to address user experience and instructional 
design. Since I’m a n00b at gaming, I believe I’m a perfect candidate for discussing these 
aspects of technical communication within gaming from a non-gamer POV. In this 
response, I’ll walk you through a short discussion of the games I tried, then break out my 
primary takeaways in each category.  
 
Star Trek Timelines (STT) 
I’ve had a crush on Spock since I was in grade 
school, and do to this day (pointy ears, logic-based 
cognition, and a half-human sense of humor? Yes, 
please!) I adore the cheesy social justice advocacy 
of the original Star Trek series (first interracial kiss? 
Another yes!), and the way the franchise has 
developed this theme through the decades. I think 
the franchise jumped the shark with Deep Space 9, 
because the Ferengi irritate me … and  
space stations can’t G​ O ​anywhere. Meeting the Borg terrified me, then 7-of-9 stole my heart 
with her blend of forthrightness and bravery. Data had a feline companion named Spot, 
and advocated for the value of all life by insisting Worf greet Spot properly; which Worf did, 
in a totally endearing way. Kirk, Jean-Luc, and Janeway lived by their ethics, and the Prime 
Directive; they are my heros. Given the chance, I’d totally go “where no (wo)man has gone 
before”, but only on the Enterprise or the Voyager. 
 
From these details you might guess how excited I was to begin the E521 challenge “web 
and mobile games in technical communication” by playing Star Trek Timelines. What you 
can’t guess— yet — is how one tiny game detail derailed my enthusiasm. Let me fill you in… 
 
I grew up in the arcade era. By this, I mean my father and I went to the arcade and played 
games on stand-up consoles when I was in grade school. Memories of our arcade outings 
are some of the happiest I own. Pac-Man? Bring it! Centipede? Hell yes! I even remember 
Asteroid. My favorite ever arcade game during my teens was Galaga. My BF and I would go 
to the SUB (back when it actually had arcade games, and allowed indoor cigarette smoking) 
and play for hours. I could make it past levels no one else could, and I loved knowing that if 
I determined enemy flight patterns and devised a responsive attack strategy (and had quick 
  
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reflexes!) I could fire to kill. Galaga was the best of worlds, logic and agility — with a fire 
button. 
 
So, why does my ancient gaming experience matter? Because STT doesn’t let the player 
actually SHOOT anything. There is no “fire photon torpedoes” (or even “full speed ahead”). 
Instead, players set up mission teams based on crew members’ predetermined skills, then 
are relegated to watching the action play out.  
 
I had been totally excited to destroy a Borg Cube, or defend the Federation from Gul Dukat 
and his Cardassian brand of evil. Sadly, that’s not what this game is about. Or rather, it is, 
but it isn’t. There are battles aplenty, but the only user input is strategy. Which would be 
fine if my trigger finger hadn’t been itching for a fire button! 
 
Usability and user experience 
I give STT high marks for usability. As a n00b, I found it 
easy to begin play. Too easy, in fact. Each time there 
was a choice to be made within the game the 
appropriate icon would highlight and blink. The 
affordance was extremely clear, and always in yellow. 
Still, the fact that there was usually only one choice to 
be made left me feeling like the designers were 
holding my hand. And not in a fun way.  
 
Like going to a restaurant with only one item on the 
menu, my hunger to defeat a Star Trek baddie was 
unsatisfied. Each decision point was similar. On the 
plus side, the battles were spectacular to behold. Yet 
they played out with no input from me. My prior 
choices were the only input asked of me, and 
unsatisfying like that single-item menu. At one point 
while playing, I thought about hopping on Amazon 
Prime and watching a few episodes of Star Trek 
Generations. 
 
Instructional design 
I have to applaud the designers for crafting an 
innovative way to merge decades of Star Trek history 
into one game. The temporal anomaly that resulted in a 
merging of timelines (and in Worf being a baddie *sad 
face*) is the only way this game would make sense. 
This rhetorical device allows for a fun mix of crews in 
situations they’d have never encountered in the linear 
series environment. This screenshot allows you see 
  
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how I could ask characters from different temporal spaces to interact. Here, I chose Spock 
to question Worf in an attempt to help Worf regain his senses. Decision points like this 
were also the few instances without a ‘yellow brick road’ to follow. Fun, but not satisfying. 
Once I learned, in my first battle, that I didn’t have to DO anything during the action, it was 
seriously easy to simply click whatever was blinking yellow, and follow the story like 
watching TV. 
 
Usability and user experience 
Overall, the instructional design is probably what interfered with my user experience. 
Gameplay was so linear, with decision sequences leading to action bits, that I felt like a 
production executive giving the yay or nay to plot points of a TV series instead of a gamer. 
 
Marvelous Miss Take (MMT) 
Miss Take seemed like it would be an easy play, sort of the game equivalent of reading 
young adult fiction. Maybe it was the fact the heroine of the story is the typical visual 
embodiment of the svelte and savvy socialite. Maybe it was the fact the graphics, from 
colors to structure, felt friendly. Whichever reason influenced my decision, it was a mistake!  
 
There were so many things I hated right away about MMT that I spent just a short time 
trying to figure out what to do, and how to do it. At the 45 minute mark my anxiety level 
was so high I realized I was grinding my teeth and clicking my track pad with excessive 
force. I also hadn’t managed to get beyond the first level while dying multiple times at the 
hands of the scary guards. 
 
While we’re on the subject of the guards, why are they all male? And why, in this age of 
domestic abuse awareness, did the game designers choose to use a broad-shouldered 
caricature of the prototypical ‘strong-man’ to ‘kill’ the much smaller female? I felt helpless as 
I ran around corners trying to avoid the guards, all the while wondering if my only defense 
was to run and hide. ‘Girl’ much?  
 
I will disclose that I’m a survivor of domestic 
abuse. I recognize this colors my meaning-making 
during game interaction. Perhaps, if I’d passed 
more levels I’d have earned the ability to defend 
myself. But dammit, I shouldn’t have to EARN that 
right! 
  
Usability and user experience 
This screenshot shows my avatar standing where 
the arrow indicated I place her. Yet, nothing is 
happening! I still have no idea what I was supposed to do to proceed. I tried hovering my 
mouse pointer over the icons on the right, hoping something would pop up that might clue 
  
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me in. No joy. I walked the red carpet path through the hallway and around the wall 
multiple times without getting any answers. Again, no joy. The guide arrows just kept 
leading back to this empty picture frame that the avatar would stand in front of while 
wiggling her hips in time to the inane music. Talk about annoying! Eventually I made it 
through a door (and no, not sure how), and into a tutorial segment. I’m still confused as to 
why a player must endure such a frustrating mini-level to get some clues about game play 
basics. 
 
Instructional design 
It was easy enough to learn how to control my character, to walk around and bump into 
stuff, but understanding what to do and how to do it was an utter failure. The intro 
narrative gives an overview: Miss Take will steal art and try to avoid detection. OK, sure. But 
how? After passing the mini-level shown in the screenshot there was a tutorial titled 
“Osborne Street”. Unfortunately, the tutorial was also my introduction to the guards, and 
where I peace’d out.  
 
My comprehensive and professional musing on MMT’s instructional design is this: “WTF?!”  
 
PolyCraft 
The game designers used the British 
spelling of ‘defence’, rather than the 
American ‘defense’. This left me looking 
for a short man yelling “​de plane, Boss, 
de plane​”. Not exactly the sort of thing 
to inspire my confidence, and totally a 
result of my cultural upbringing. I’m not 
sure where British and American 
English diverged, or who’s r​ ighter​, but 
it’s the little details that matter. Who’s 
the target audience here? (and, am I 
being USA-centric?) 
 
Aside from the cultural bobble, I was 
quite looking forward to playing. The 
introductory narrative has the user 
stranded on an a island inhabited by 
‘feral wildlings’ that must be defended 
against. I was intrigued by the use of the 
word “feral” to describe an enemy. It’s an 
unusual adjective to use, and one that 
holds positive associations for me. 
Dictonary.com defines fera​l as the state 
  
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of being “wild and untamed”. As such, I’m in. I like my yard feral, my hair feral, and my life 
feral. I’d put feral on my resume, if I could. I wonder if anyone else feels the same way? It 
seems, from the rhetorical choice of the game creators, that being feral is seen as a bad 
thing. What a shame, the world needs more feral. (And predators that hunt from above, 
but that’s another story) Still, I wanted to meet these feral wildlings, and see what they 
were about. 
 
With these impressions in mind, I dove into game play. Unfortunately, in over 90 minutes, I 
never met a feral wildling. What I did do was run around and build infrastructure. A ​lot o ​ f 
infrastructure. More infrastructure than I knew I needed. I built wood-chopping and 
stone-grinding huts. I built fences (de fence, Boss, de fence!). I ate sparkly mushrooms that 
gave me special jewels, but didn’t know what they were for. I got lost  
more than once, and frantically ran around with a sack full of stone slung over my 
shoulder, seeking my ‘village’ and somewhere to put down my rocky burden. 1.5 hours 
later… 
 
Usability and user experience 
I can’t go fullscreen and don’t want to take any more ‘shrooms. What I want is an overview 
of where I am, what I’ve done, and what my next steps are. Sheesh! Despite selecting the 
“go fullscreen’ option, I can’t (because the control sequence doesn’t work in my browser?), 
and I’m starting to get stressed when I wander away from known landmarks. I want a map 
of the island, and some concrete guidance regarding how much I have left to build before I 
can meet a wildling.  
 
And, I’m bored, and a little PO’d. And — me being me — I refuse to look online for help. I 
also can’t find a POV similar to the first screenshot in this section. Everything in the game is 
me looking down from above, like a drone, so I’m also PO’d that the more intimate 
first-person perspective seems unavailable. I’m tired of feeling like I’m getting nowhere, so I 
quit without meeting a feral wildling. 
 
Instructional design 
Gameplay was easy to begin. Screen prompts indicate available challenges. With the 
exception of the “go fullscreen” prompt, once a challenge is accepted the steps to complete 
it are indicated by icons hovering above the thing to do or place to visit.  
 
The biggest issue I had is with the right-hand toolbar. It’s full of icons with no clear referent 
to meaning. I believe this stems from a design assumption that the player will have prior 
knowledge of what the icons do based on previous gameplay. For the n00b, this is 
problematic; users without prior knowledge are forced to click on each to determine its 
action. I intuit that part of the fun is supposed to be figuring out controls and options, but 
this user wished there was hover-text associated with the icons. 
 
  
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Arcane Legends (AL) 

After my less-than-satisfying attempts at gaming, I was discouraged. Then I saw a Slack post 
from a fellow classmate, Denise. She, like me, was a novice player and posted about the fun 
she had playing Arcane Legends. I knew I needed 2 more hours of play to complete my 
project, so Denise’s review was a little ray of hope. Still, I was skeptical (My motto? “I 
consider myself a skeptic, but I’m an optimist in soul”) so I carefully planned my gaming 
session to optimize comfort and minimize frustration. First, I put on my jammies. Then, I 
poured a glass of wine. 
 
Unlike previous attempts, this time I perused the game forums first. (I can admit when my 
stubborness might be hindering my progress!) Doing so was invaluable to give me a sense 
of what I’d be working with during the game itself. I was surprised at the amount of 
in-game knowledge available on the forum, and by how many users were communicating 
processes and information. The forums weren’t always well-written, but this user has no 
doubt they constitute a form of technical communication. I could see the forums were a 
genre, with specific formatting, jargon, and ways of making-meaning. At this point I began 
to understand how games can be a rhetorical space.  
 
It’s worth noting another benefit I realized by reading the forums. I discovered I would have 
a pet in the game. And not just any pet, but a pet who shared power and hunted alongside 
me. This was cool because from a very young age I’ve dreamt of a P ​ anthera ​companion, 
preferably black. Why? ​Because they’re badass felines who stalk their prey from above​. 
Now, I was about to fulfill my childhood dream in a way I’d never considered — gaming! 
 
Heartened by my discoveries, I began to create 
my avatar. Picking a combination of character 
attributes based on skills and physiological 
characteristics became an exercise in visual 
rhetoric. I spent a good 15 minutes deciding 
what I wanted my avatar to ‘say’ about me. The 
result? Kanijiol (Chan-ee-jewl) and her 
companion ChiSong were born.   
 
Usability and user experience 
Creating my avatar was fun, but playing proved 
somewhat difficult. I struggled to navigate using 
the keyboard pointer arrows with my left hand 
while using my right hand on the mouse to initiate actions. At one point I was prompted to 
use the “WASD” keys to move, but I overthought and assumed WASD was esoteric 
gamer-geek-speak. I had to Google the acronym to understand it literally referenced the 
corresponding keyboard keys. Once I understood the ‘ask’ of the prompt, I realized my 
awkwardness in the game came from having my left hand crossed over my body which 
  
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created control input issues. I have a feeling this is ‘one of those things’ n00bs commonly 
do, so the prompt was appreciated.  
 
I was pleasantly surprised to realize I was 
having fun! I didn’t feel like I was relegated 
to simply watching action unfold, and I 
wasn’t wondering what the point was (or 
how to find out). The game designers 
incorporate just the right amount of 
affordance to give direction, yet retain a 
sense of fun exploration. The play screen 
offered a lot of information to parse, from 
small overlays which inform the user of 
where the baddies are, to comprehensive 
details on health, assets, and available 
challenges. Even so, the game felt 
supportive of my learning curve.  
 
Instructional design 
From the log-in screen, AL engages the player with a tongue-in-cheek wit. As the game 
loads a narrative sets the stage for play. Load-screen comments include “Flexing muscle, 
carving bolts, drinking ale, sharpening swords” and other appropriately medieval tasks. If 
the promise of a companion panther hadn’t already hooked me, this would have done the 
trick. L
​ ike a Monty Python intro​, AL’s opening ‘credits’ set the stage. Bravo, S
​ pactetime 
Studios​, bravo! 
 
During play, I found tasks like switching weapons, accepting challenges, or deploying 
ChiSong’s battle ability intuitive to preform. It was also clear when we picked up currency, 
potions, or weapons during battle, and how to utilize our loot. I do wonder if these actions 
would be as intuitive on a mobile platform, given the smaller screen area, as it was largely 
the icon ecosystem alerts that let me know what my options were. I also appreciate that 
gameplay stops if the user decides to investigate an icon rabbit-hole of information as 
these can be complex and time-consuming, yet are vital to understanding (and surviving!) 
in the game. 
 
Overall, I give Arcane Legends two-thumbs-up and 5 stars. This is the game I’ll keep on 
playing! 
 
Conclusion 
To me, it feels like many online games assume a basic understanding of the gaming 
ecosystem - some mysterious and already agreed upon consensus reality - that I have no 
clue about. Game tasks like understanding how to use skills, or available assets, are often 
  
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assumed as the result of a user’s prior experience and understanding of the gaming 
ecosystem through visual affordances. I see now how difficult it must be to make this 
information available in what is, realistically, a limited design arena. Writing paragraphs 
which describe game how-to’s feels easy (if tedious) but designing interaction to encourage 
visual understanding during play feels infinitely harder. 
 
Reviewing my assumptions prior to beginning this challenge, I thought the ‘easier’ games to 
play would be the ones with less “clutter”. Marvelous Miss Take and Polycraft are two I 
thought would be easy based on the limited amount of visual rhetoric. I was wrong. The 
lack of a rich ecosystem made them harder, and the “rhetorical space” (including in-game 
communication) was filled with childlike commentary and meaningless jibber-jabber.  
 
Contrasting my experience in MMT and Polycraft to my ease of use in Arcane Legends and 
Star Trek Timelines, I see now that the richer the ecosystem, the easier the play. Not to 
mention, AL users seem to embody a more mature communication style. 
 
Possibly the most important understanding I gained form this challenge is of gaming as a 
rhetorical space. Rhetorical in the many ways; not just in communicating narrative, or play 
instructions, but also as a rhetorical device to channel oneself into an online community. It 
is exactly this community that drives a successful game. Considering my experience in this 
class challenge, I’ve concluded a successful game addresses not only content, but context. 
It’s not enough to simply ‘write instructions’ that guide the player through playing. To be 
successful for a broad range of users, a game has to create an inclusive culture anchored in 
context. To do so, this means not only offering a game-play narrative, but supporting the 
game’s ecosystem through well-developed forums, in-game communication strategies, and 
(to my surprise) a rich set of game-screen information.