Just I

I've been thinking about fairness. Those who have friends or family who've died young saying awful things to figurative entities, asking unanswerable questions like why, and in the end the outcome favors no one. Death is not just inevitable but the end to life. That is the one thing we know from a young age will happen, yet denial forms such an integral part of our lives until, when later in years, a particular maturity takes place in the brain where we begin to understand our fragility. Thinking of fairness because I don't remember a time when I didn't wish for my death.

The peril of life is endless, such as is breathing or thinking, but as with death, we give it not a moment's time to evolve until we have matured; and yet there are those who never reach the thought. The ways in which our brains evolve is so mysterious. With a world of 8 billion inhabitants (or close to it) all we can say is that there are similarities in structure and place where autonomous and guided actions begin their journey. Where does the journey of my endless depression begin? Is it simply a serotonin deficiency, or could there be some other culprit involved.

I don't care. My psychiatrist writes it all down, looks at me, asks and evaluates little, in my estimation and the result is... this I sat here to convey my sorrowful, empty, and banal state to an empty page. On the other hand, the psychologist I see, whom continues to shower me with sense and purpose, not just empty how-do-you-dos only seems to be scratching the surfaces' top layer; where any surface would have a coating or laminate, then some sort of film, under the material that holds it together, and so on.

What about my family? For one, it's easy to blame others instead of introspectively analyzing the various things that could lead to any one thing. They are okay. Since this is not about them, I will not go into detail. I am afforded my own space, they share their thoughts and feelings with me, and in turn, I do chores. So menial it all becomes, the routine to wake up and brush your teeth, or having to wash the dishes, putting the clothes to wash and dry, eat, sleep, love, engage in forms of affection, relax, detox, be cordial, behave, and so on. Day in and day out, nothing but the same.

When I meditate, there is so much within the mindlessness that also feels menial. Usually, my meditation takes place in the shower, lying on the bathtub. There is the sound of the extractor going about above me, the sound of the water running up the tube behind the wall before being released, the sound of water hitting my body, the draining whirlpool sounds as it all vanishes into darkness, and the sound of white noise as the water hits my skin... all the same, every day.

Again, I sit demurred of living in contemplation of what it means, or the chores it encompasses. To say I live free is to accept the ignorance of my intellectual state and at face value feel that the congruence of it all somehow is meant to excite and not depress. Yet, I ponder on pioneer discoveries and their suffering to obtain it. I am no pioneer, but is there some hidden purpose I haven't found? Is all this... pondering in helpless hope the preceding moment of discovery? 

My eyes aren't really open to possibility. I see things, but I dare not look further than their intended state. While I would be able to assist in things of this or that nature, nothing else feels probable presently. I decay into the madness of depression with a dunce cap and a glorious cape with the word useless on it. The barren space through which I endlessly fall, in mocking parade line to see the buffoon who fails to live, fails at dying, and ever so slowly inches toward death in a most expected of ways. Nothing new to see here folks, just an empty carcass with the ability to put some words to paper. 

What does it all mean? Nothing.

Why am I here? Two people engaged in an act of intercourse.

Where should I be? Nowhere. Here. There.

When do I know if I am right? Never.

Which thought should I harness? Depression being the strongest, that one.

Whom is to blame? Just I.

Final Repose of Sith (Master) Kivu (A non-canon Star Wars fan creation)

 

Final Repose of Sith (Master) Kivu

Yes, I killed—master—Kivu. I can still sense the blade of my purple lightsaber effortlessly cutting through strands of the force purposely guided by it through the space between us, before slashing through—my master—Kivu from his left shoulder down and out the right side of his stomach. The stench of burnt flesh taking hostage my sense of smell for hours. I didn’t plan this. Yes, like any good apprentice I had thought about bettering my master many times, never as to carry out the act. I stared at his red—Sith—skin as if expecting something to happen, as if I secretly pined for death to be more than just dying. I was so disappointed as his torn body simply fell to the ground in two chunks of meat, the seared wounds a gaping glass into his insides.

All stories have a beginning, as did this one; I ponder. To point at a place in time, I could say it began in the naive and blind days of study between —my master—Kivu and I. It was a trial of passage he once told: “to enter the commune, a dark side apprentice must kill”. He had just beheaded a Trandoshan who asked for a duel, nothing to be said of his lizard skin really; then again, what is there to be said about someone who just lost their head? The cauterized neck glowing still on both ends... No one ever really tells you about the smell, I later learned that different species smell… different. Something about the area and it's many places of worship always brought about different species and deplorable folk. The temples were always plump with strife. 

If only then he knew that now I would claim his place. Did he know? This all happened decades before Darth Bane declared a most unjust and yet most sith-like decree, the rule of two, what a joke. But, I’m jumping ahead perhaps. I never truly cared for the fancies of other sith, for in doing so one negates the wonder of the power to be reaped from true desire. This, like much else, I learned through many life-lessons in which I felt a defeat. I must atone for taking the life of Kivu by never falling prey to death as he did. He was weak. I will die to the passing of time, that much I will not deny. But in life, I shall fancy dwelling within the power that resides in all around and within me, as well as that acquired through killing all who stand in the way of my pursuit.

Guileless, that’s how I was then. I believe I will never know what he saw in me that day. Having been aboard a YT-1250 most of my teenage years did not help matters, and with Ithorians! I was taught about plants, how to care for them, and how to bring life to places where it was all but extinct. It was as if Ithorians were innately in touch with the force when it came to caring for nature. Who knows about such things. They were in tune with nature as if guided by the force, their true power and purpose, the much disregarded flora surrounding us all. I just get to wondering is all, how does the force affects us as individuals, or as a member of a particular race? Aamaw used to always tell me that our thoughts must be in the task we wish to accomplish, not the current one. I listened to her. It seemed to me that everything she touched came to life almost immediately. It was her ship, well hers and her partner Triri, an old Zabrak who mostly piloted the ship and walked around angry all the time. From what I could tell Aamaw had been in space and far from home for many years and it weighed heavily on her. She did go home for a time every three years, but I don’t know what all that was about. I just know that it was a pain when the urge hit her to return, because no matter how far we were, she'd turn the ship around and to Ithor we went. One such trip we picked up two more plant-loving weirdos Shiss and Twu.I never really gave it much thought, but now that I think on it, perhaps I was able to better stand the madness in that ship because I was the only male. 

Somehow, all I could ponder in the cold nights in the solitude of the crew quarters was about where I could find a master. Every star in the horizon made me wish for exploration, to find more of the force and… I'm jumping ahead.

TheNick-nacks, all around me a this or a that with an apparent purpose indiscriminately not obvious to me. For instance, Triri kept a clear bottle with sand in it. She’d stare at it before going to sleep every night. As for the other Ithorians they were like a family in that they did mostly the same things, talked about the same issues—their plants of course, so annoying—but at least kept their side picked up. Mostly a meditating pad and a small tree, but like the sand bottle, I have no clue what the deal was and frankly never will care beyond the memory of a time and a place.

I must say that in all I hated there was a place that was just mystical to me, Felucia. To my Ithorian counterparts those days, it was just another planet, another bunch of plants, or whatever it was that they loved. I couldn’t behold such wonder without wanting to tamper with it somehow. Finally one day, as if the force was secretly planning a surprise for me, I saw my first rancor. It was glorious. Don’t get me wrong, the fear in the eyes of the Ithorian trio was creditless, although I don’t think they were as surprised as they let on. As I recall, I was sitting next to a small body of water, murky, probably from the enormous decomposed leaves, and fallen tree and plant limbs in it. While more of a shallow pond of some kind, I admit to not being on my best, I blame the Ithrorians rubbing off on me. Sitting there by the water I couldn’t help to search within the murk. I ended up admiring a tadpole or two, or whatever that was just going to and fro in the water. Ripples in the water began to show. At first I thought there was something else in there, but there wasn’t. Everything in nature responded to what was slowly making its way towards the water. Unceremoniously unaware, I sat there at first just staring at the ripples, the tadpoles didn’t seem to care. It was strangely beautiful, the ripples soft and unpronounced emanating from an invisible epicenter and then multiplying outwardly effortlessly. Slowly, the ripples began to appear a bit more notably and lasted longer. Soon thereafter came a sound and a small tremble under my feet. Seemingly fearful, at least that way I get to dream, the earth below me began to shake, my boots sifting into the wet soil as the huge plants around me began to also move to the vibrations.

Encountering a rancor was not uncommon, but I just had never seen one before! Sure, we heard stories in Yavin about how Dathomir witches used them as mounts and had them serve in other ways, but never actually saw one. Tall tales were never the issue, those kept the children from going where they weren’t meant to, the real stories were the problem. Details in the real stories somehow always surpassed the less-than-honest ones. Stories such as, ship-tall beasts weighing as much as a freighter that would shred ships that came too close to a rancor family resting someplace. One of my favorites, which I heard many variations of, went something like this: 

A hunter team of 3 tracked a family of rancors through the female as she dutifully herded her young from a water source back to their hunting grounds. A nearby witch camp was their destination, a camp that detained male Zabrak for labor of various kinds. A tall pyre, presumably the Witch’s dinner hour, helped them track the last of the way as the light reached the height of an AT-AT easily, lighting the path and tracks before them; the mother’s tracks deep and perfectly showing the 3-towed signature of rancors while her young left soft and hard-to-see prints. As the 3 hunters approached, they noticed a group of witches sitting in a line on the back of the fire while several others surrounded the pyre chanting. Long red cloaks covered their bodies and the air about the pyre was still, as if in reverence, while the hunters just outside of the calm were abated by harsh gusts. The ominous look about whatever they were doing was eerie yet somehow subtle. Rancor grunts nearby reminded the group of their mission. As they began to check their hunting blasters, vibro-blades, and vibro-knives, one hunter noticed the vibro motors were not engaging on any of the blades. Soon after, the hunter checking the blasters noticed the gas canisters in the blasters were beginning to destabilize. Without as much as a sound, from behind them, the hunters felt the hot breath of a rancor looming over them. Turning around, a large rancor and witch rider managed to sneak up behind them. In gasps of fear and yet stunned by the sight, they slowly began to inch back on the ground where they sat, dragging their bodies with their arms through the hard soil. The lightly-colored face, long protruding husks from the side of the mandibles, and incredibly thorny body were unmistakable signs that this was a rage rancor. Its huge hands burying its claws into the hard soil as it leaned forward for its rider to have a look at their prey. The witch motioned with her hands and suddenly one of the hunters was hovering several feet over his counterparts. His expression was one of wonder, not fear, at least not yet. As the witch’s hand continued to motion about, the hunter began to slowly approach the deadly pair, and without hesitation, once close enough, the rancor opened its mouth and the witch shoved the invalid hunter in it. The hoarse screams did not last as long as did the crunching, splintering, and snapping of bone, and the tearing of skin and organs as they were masticated by the towering monster. A small pool of blood under the still chewing mandibles kept growing with every movement of the jaw. No hunter was ever seen again. 

Hey, that’s just what I heard. I’m with you on that at least one hunter must have survived for the story to be told, but I’m not a critic, just the one letting on what was let on before me if you get my musings here. I digress, while rancors were dangerous on their own, I was forewarned about other goodies in Felucia, starting with the hunter rancor and including sarlacc pits! Something about rancors I could never shake was their nostrils. They are just huge, bigger than their eyes. Everything about the rancor is a bit out-of-the-ordinary if you think of it, from their arms dragging in front of them, to their overly corrugated bodies. Given the large cover some plants gave and the sheer size of mountains, it was easy to miss some of these dangers. Most of the time, looking around served no real purpose. This was a place not for humanoids in most accounts. Yes, most things in Felucia were of such sheer size that it felt uncomfortably gargantuan. I suppose growing up in Yavin had something to do with this. I saw some large vegetation, sure, some trees were massive and could serve as homes and some folk did actually live in hollowed-out trunks, but that was not the norm. Another thing, in Yavin, blueleaf was not just plentiful and about human-size, well the stalks that is, but edible and had other properties. To be honest, we did have some mysteriously grand temples, but those were built by the Massassi and were really mostly an eyesore than anything else. Yet still, there seemed to be no comparison in Felucia to these plants in Yavin, unless you counted the strange and quite out-of-place nysillin. It may be that the simple looking bulbish plant with its reddish hues and spots just looked a bit funny to me being about waist height in a world where everything was at least three-times your size. Don’t get me started on the whole relationship of Ithorians with either of those, it’s annoying and icky, and yuk… evidently I couldn’t stand it.  Fine, I was hanging out with the planting crowd because I had no credits and they were helpful when I had nothing, but I’m glad they’re dead. If you’re wondering how they died… fine, I’ll tell you. We were traveling from Ithor to Mandalore. There were some Mandalorian scientists doing studies on shriek-hawks in Ithor, trying to figure out if there was a way to raise them outside of a carnivore diet. Distinctly a lot of the birds became sick and needed transport back to Mandalore and that’s how we came in. Clearly, a plant-lover ship wasn’t prepared for the transport of predators of any type. When they inspected the ship, they weren’t at all surprised that the YT-1250 didn’t have much in the way of storage, especially with a live-in crew on board. After we (mostly me) emptied the main hold we figured a way to get the birds inside, but the cages wouldn’t fit through the boarding ramps. We had to build five cages in the main hold and 2 in the much smaller secondary hold and still had to tie the wings of the birds so that they wouldn’t get hurt in transport. Shriek after shriek at nights kept the usually quiet ship in a constant uproar of nail-on-metal scratching. As I could tell they weren’t trying to get out, but sharpening their talons, it was creepy. I thought I had gotten accustomed to the various fertilizer odors in the ship, but then those that came from the main hold became a nightmare. We had two respirator masks in the ship and Triri got them both! I had to trade her a week of rations so that she could part with the other mask; well worth it in the end; how I wished to be Ithorian those days, there were about 2 additional masks, but they were for Ithorians, I wouldn’t even know how to hold those things let alone try to use them.

Besides the grotesque smells, sleepless hours, and an account of other issues that arose, like a couple of electrical fires under panels where the cages in the secondary hold were built, which apparently wasn’t built to hold that much weight...a rogue meteor hit the rear-deflector panel on the ship. The impact must have momentarily allowed the locks to come undone during a power cycle and the rest was lunch as one of the 5 shriek-hawks in the main hold came loose and attacked the crew feasting one-at-a-time on what must have been the first real meal it ever had. You must be wondering how I survived. Well, I slept on a bed towards the hall of the ship. From the looks of it, a sheet of metal next to the bed exploded out and upward away from me, sending what felt like all the insulation in the wall up into the crew space covering everything in old and decomposing debris. The other thing the explosion did was send all the wiring in that section of the hall to come out and bury me under the heavy wires. As far as I can tell from the burns on my right arm, I must have been shocked asleep by live wires, though I cannot fathom how I survived between the possible shock and lack of breathable oxygen. 

When I came to, it was dark. Lights were flickering as far as I could see from under the debris, and the sounds of sparks on metal were apparent and sounded close, perhaps the boarding ramps suffered damage. There was a very strong burning sensation coming from my right arm, but I couldn’t quite move it. While a bit stunned, I didn’t feel much in the way of pain elsewhere. I opened my eyes slowly. My head was turned sideways with the mask I had been wearing nowhere to be seen. I was pinched under something, but whatever it was couldn’t be too heavy, as it didn’t feel crushing. I peered from between the dark of my cable prison to see worn straps over feet red in color, the feet looked humanoid, but red? The voice that greeted me was muffled, deep, and labored from fighting and not age. I tried moving but I must have been in an awkward position as moving didn’t quite exert the motions I was achieving.

Pure blood Siths were only a myth, but those that remained were proud. I remain puzzled as to what may have caused this proud Sith to take me under his tutelage. Yet, he magically lifted all which covered me and me with it, smirking all the while as if amused by my disbelief; most of me believed to have been dreaming until much later. We bonded for about a year merely traveling through outer rim territories stopping here and there to look for things I never saw. 

Meanwhile he taught me all about lightsaber-fighting using form V, but he never knew that I discovered holo-recordings on a trip to Korriban which featured form VII; I used them to practice and learn for over a decade. While he ventured to and fro in every planetary stop, I used the time alone to practice and perfect my techniques. The fool. Spending every waking moment with me teaching me about the dark side, how to manipulate it, embrace it, direct it, enforce it, and overthrow its hold when necessary. Towards the end, I spent my time visiting cantinas and causing fights with gangs and droids, guards, and peacekeepers in order to prove my mettle and attenuate error and level the desire to show off with the intent to besmirch my image for the sake of feeling the ire of tenants and those who watched fueling my ever-growing hatred.

The truth, I later learned, was so much more complex than I could imagine. While I did have texts like The Rule of Two and Wild Power, from which to draw great insights into the various beliefs that surrounded the force and those who used it to their advantage or benefit, it wasn’t until through Vaapad I sensed—my master—Kivu’s fury entirely just living within every midichlorian that formed his essence, quietly lurking there living off their environment, silently plucking away at the madness that came near them… he knew, every part of his being felt me coming for him before I even knew that I wanted to kill him. Yet, when the moment came, his dormant look, his tired eyes, his presence, was cautiously positioned for the final moment. His head, lying there with the upper half of his body, held the last piece of the puzzle I didn’t yet know I had to complete… he smiled. His expression, for the only time in the lifetime we lived together, was as evil as the will that held it. Kivu’s force ghost follows me still, but it’s not just him….

He never revealed the things that became clear to him through his search. I have since slaying him begun to traverse the same systems and sanctuaries and have discovered more about the secrets of the living force than ever before. The bastard acquired the knowledge of millennia and held it tightly within him, fueling his efforts and something I am yet to comprehend… his self beyond. We traveled far, and I have too. Now at home again, I search the 4th moon for the final remnants of knowledge the Massassi may have left behind. I have studied relics, parchment fragments, sought elders and listened to their legends, and through all, I now see what—my master—Kivu saw those final moments. I now see Kivu’s force ghost, denied the final transition at will, serving as a force to fuel my anger, along with his master, his master before him, and generations of others, whose purpose I have not learned; but until we do….

I, too, will search for an apprentice.

I, too, will teach them everything.

I, too… will be killed.

I, too, will ascend!

Pensive Selves: The fallacy of the PVP argument

Pensive Selves: The fallacy of the PVP argument: A treatise on player versus player (PVP) combat by a player versus environment (PVE) gamer. What do we find in a game? Combat. Combat in gam...

The fallacy of the PVP argument

A treatise on player versus player (PVP) combat by a player versus environment (PVE) gamer.

What do we find in a game?

Combat.

Combat in games is rather simple, a weapon exists, a target exists, then somehow the weapon is employed on the target and we have combat. Whether or not the target can reprise the action matters not. It is the action that matters, the action of employing any weapon against anything in the game world. Generally, combat takes place as part of PVP or PVE. Please note that PVE  may also be referred to as artificial intelligence (A.I.) entities in the game world.

Camping.

In difference to what we’re used to, going out to a place surrounded by nature and staying the night, camping in games is a rather deplorable, yet common practice. When you camp, you basically stop other players from doing something. In spawn camping, a player or groups stand where a monster would appear, not allowing others access to it for hours or days. Another way to spawn camp is usually in PVP, there is a place where if you die, you reappear or rematerialize in. That place is called the spawn area. Sometimes other players or a team of players will go to the other team’s spawn after they have annihilated them, and wait for them to reappear and continually kill them. 

Life skills.

Life skills in games are the game equivalent of a baker or butcher, mechanic, or weaponsmith, and the like; anyone who uses things found in the gaming world for the manufacture or otherwise making of anything allowed. Some of the more prominent life skills are fishing, wood cutting, mineral gathering (various rocks, gems, crystals, etc.), and the harvest of fruits or vegetables among many others. 

Gear.

Armor and weapons in games come in a variety of forms and are acquired in a variety of ways. Mainly, a common way to acquire the best gear—as armor, weapons, jewelry, or other wearables are generally referred to—is through a process called a raid… but we will not delve too deeply into that, usually if you want the best equipment or equipment parts the game has to offer a raid is one of your options for acquiring them. Another way to get those is through something called an event. Events take place in a variety of ways from instanced events when something just appears in the world momentarily, game master or GM visits the game and rewards those present, world bosses (where a boss is an entity much stronger than its nearby counterparts) carrying rare items, or others. 

Servers.

Game servers are commonly a place where a number of players are placed or located throughout a game session or the entirety of the game. It boils down to numbers, where if too many players are in one same area, often doing similar things, it gets cramped; but where gaming is concerned too many players usually means to have a sluggish everything else.  Placing players in different servers is done in order to keep things in the game world from falling apart via game lag (a slowing of the game to where players can hardly move or do anything), rubberbanding (when the game avatar/character moves and is moved back to a previous location over and over as if being pulled by a rubber band), and for the sake of game spawns (spawns are generally a quest animal, creature, entity, or thing that reappears after a certain time has passed), and etc. The server allows a manageable number of players to coexist and do their business (PVP, PVE, life skilling) without being troubled by issues.

eSports.

Electronic sports, or eSports for short, is something that seemingly took the world by storm. In a nutshell, a person or group of individuals (often called a club, guild, clan, clique, association, etc.) meet against one another in a publicized medium and compete for a prize (think chess, but not just chess, any electronic endeavor that pits 2 or more against one another). The prices range from non fungible tokens to millions of dollars.

Gamers.

Players or gamers in games exist today in many different forms. There are players who only PVE, others who only PVP, a variety of others who only life skill, and the rest who fall somewhere in between them all (that is not to say there aren’t more). Usually, a player who only does one of those 3 things only delves deeply into the one thing. While they may own a plot, a home, or a place for mass storage of ingame collectibles, there are innumerable ways to play a game. Yet, a PVPer will generally only do other things in the game in order to prepare for PVP. Though there are games that make you go through a number of things -like raids- in order to gear up, there are other games that are built around only PVP. The same goes for the other types of gaming types expressed (PVE and life skills).

Gaming.

Gaming is repetitive. Usually in order to achieve anything you have to repeatedly progress through similar scenarios or usually through the same area over and over. There is something almost romantic about the affair of gaming. You must try and fail or try and succeed repeatedly in order to obtain that which you want most. Whether you are going out to the same field to collect the same flowers with which to craft a potion, or fighting the same monster waiting for that rare drop you dream of, repetition is at the vanguard of it all.

The overall picture.

As with any other sport, the eSports scene is filled with all types of people. I have learned that there are people who like playing football and others that do not. Comparatively, there are those who do not like playing football, but enjoy watching it.  I believe this happens with eSports as well, where there are those who can enjoy watching a match of their favorite teams or guilds battling, or merely tune in to a game they particularly enjoy the way that it looks.

Many games nowadays have servers that are PVP-only, PVE-only, or rather oriented more towards a particular playstyle. This allows gamers of all types to join their cohorts in a variety of ways. I am more likely to join a PVE server than any other and have skipped many games that did not provide a PVE-only server.

It is common to join groups for any of the allowed playstyles and often there are a number of bands or guilds that are formed for like minded individuals to partake from the company of others while enjoying their particular joys.

The PVP argument.

While there are variations of the argument, I will only discuss a few:

1. Players are more intelligent, or more capable of combat than A.I.

2. Players need to be put in their place from time to time.

Players are more intelligent, or more capable of combat than A.I.

This seems like a given. It is almost common sense to think this to be so. The truth is more manageable with a bit of observational examples in my experience. There are many ways in which games come these days, from 2D to photorealistic, and playable from 1st person to virtual reality, and much in between. 

From a 2D perspective, we have a player moving left or right on a screen. If there was PVP in this 2D game, a player can only come from the left or the right and only in a variety of ways. For instance they could be standing there in plain view, they could jump into view, they can walk or run into you, or even hide using the environment based on the color of their attire. If you think of it, regardless of their modus operandi eventually you will learn the hiding spots, the method they most like to use, and if they play long enough, the timing they use.

If you move from the 2D perspective to a 3D perspective, you now have a whole other means to come at your prey in PVP. Any object can be a hiding spot, any sound could potentially be used against you. Yet, that’s not what happens. Games take place in a rapidly evolving environment. While sound may have a bit to do with this or that from time to time, it is more the environment that will affect the encounter(s). Yet, the same applies as in the 2D environment. There are only so many buildings you can hide in, only so many spots where you are aware something of value is in, a place where hiding is best, or even where the vehicles are parked. The location of these things are learned the same way in 3D as they are in 2D, there are just more to remember. What’s more, all new players will see the same spots or shiny objects and as an experienced player you know (mainly because you were new once) exactly where they may be headed. As experience kicks in, you understand that a spot is better than another for hiding, for using a sniper rifle, for close hand combat, to run someone over, or anything else your heart desires. This learned behavior, spots, mannerisms, tactics, and more, are no different than those in a game of chess or football. Once you know the move, all you do is repeat it or look for it and the same person or team will use what they know against you. Thus, learned behavior becomes the tell that allows you to almost telegraph the competition.

A.I. is programmed to move in a certain pattern, to go to the same place(s), to act or react in a specific way, and to do a repeated task in some sort of pattern. The more advanced the A.I. the more advanced the pattern. That is to say, eventually you learn the pattern of the A.I. in the same way you learn those of the players depending on their level of expertise. The difference? Based on the given example, I fear there is no difference. At the end of it all it is only a matter of learning the behaviors and routines of the two. The best example of this is a raid. Usually in a raid, a boss will have something called stages or phases in which the attacks they do change in type, severity, or some other meaningful way. While raids often take a long time to finish, what is important to know is that this very difficult (often impossible at first) boss eventually reveals all of its hiding spots, all of its mechanics or tricks, and players can then just easily defeat them (easily because they know what to expect).

In today’s gaming scene the A.I. of a particular upcoming game will rival that of its predecessors and with time it will be as complex as that of the average gamer. It is my opinion, based on years of gaming while observing the various forms of PVP and PVE that exist and have come and gone, that the difference between PVP and PVE is merely people arguing about there being a difference.

Players need to be put in their place from time to time.

I hate to argue for the troll (a person who generally lives by making others upset one way or another while they enjoy the whole affair), but someone has to. We live in an age where massively multiplayer online gaming (MMO) is widespread. It has evolved to a place where not only is talking to other players common, but it has become a part of the game(s). That is to say, you need only have a microphone and you can interact with other players without the need to be in a group. You can literally stand in the town square and… rant about, or hear someone else doing so. 

No, games are not immune to discrimination and other forms of derogatory human interactions. Yet, if you are to game in today's MMO scene, you have to understand, expect, and oftentimes put up with the town crier or worse the lunatic running around without armor or clothes yelling obscenities for the sake of just that. This argument is more about peace of mind -for any one individual- than anything else. A person or group, upset at the lunatic, wish to run them from town by killing them. In this way, it will take them some time to run back to repeat the endeavor, thus granting everyone a bit of peace. Worse, a player is trying to fish in peace while listening to the soothing fishing music the game provides and there comes angry player so-and-so to tell them this and that and expressing just how this person who is fishing should otherwise cease to exist because they are ruining the game for them. At such times it would be prudent to put an end to the rude person for the sake of the fisher person via PVP.

The problem with that argument is that everyone in the game is there having fun the way they know how to. Preventing a player from having their fun in whatever way they want to is akin to doing the same to anyone else for PVPing, PVEing, life skilling, or otherwise. Oftentimes in life a thing is created for a purpose and yet, many other purposes are found for that thing, not all of them being kind or benign. 

Conclusion.

While the argument exists -as many other arguments do in these times- it appears that stepping back for a moment from the anger of a moment found; due perhaps to something not going the way you wanted, planned, or otherwise envisioned, may result in seeing more than we believe exists. Yes, a lot of players do something for fun, yet others do it for their own means and purposes. In a time where there are so many games, varieties of games, styles of gameplay, and much more, it would be prudent to say that if something in a game stops you from enjoying it, then perhaps it is time to look for another game to bring the joy back. As humans we cannot like everything nor can we like something perpetually. Change is, unlike the repetitive nature of gaming as a whole, part of the human experience (although we could argue that individuality, like gaming, also has its repetitiveness built in).