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The Discworld was formed, drifting onwards through space atop four elephants on the shell of the giant turtle, Great A'Tuin.

Possibly, as it moves, it gets tangled like a blind man in a cobwebbed house in those highly specialized little space-time strands that try to breed in every history they encounter, stretching them and breaking them and tugging them into new shapes.

Or possibly not, of course. The philosopher Didactylos has summed up an alternative hypothesis as 'Things just happen. What the hell.'

—Hogfather (1996)

Welcome to Discworld MUD

Discworld MUD is a multiplayer, text-based, online game (a MUD, or text MMORPG) based on the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett. On Discworld you will meet many of the characters from those books. Terry's books are humorous fantasy and the game retains the comical, fun feel of the books.

We are a fully-featured and well-established MUD with many possibilities for player interaction: diverse areas totalling over a million rooms, the opportunity to become a member of one of seven guilds, a citizen of one of the many city-states on the Disc, run your own shop, own your own house, write for the local newspaper, and much more!

Start Playing

There is no cost to play Discworld MUD, it is developed and maintained entirely by volunteers. You can login and create a character with any javascript/flash-capable web browser simply by clicking on the 'play now' link to the left (an option which uses websockets instead of flash is also available).

The 'playing' menu has links to a number of pages to help you get orientated.

Latest News and Recent Developments

You can also check out our complete recent developments blog for a longer list of recent game changes, and our mud commentary blog for more general developments.

Game Status: Driver rebooted about 7 days ago, 74 people logged in.

Quote of the Moment

It was done far more often than the audiences ever realized — when singers
had a sore throat, or had completely dried, or had turned up so drunk they
could barely stand, or, in one notorious instance many years previously,
had died in the interval and subsequently sung their famous aria by means
of a broom-handle stuck up their back and their jaw operated with a piece
of string.
— (Terry Pratchett, Maskerade)