My first day in EQ was in 2000, right after the Ruins of Kunark expansion was released. It's an experience I'll never forget, clumsily roaming the streets of Freeport, frantically trying to digest everything flashing across my screen. When I finally got the hang of things I sent a /tell to a friend who introduced me to the game.
"This world is friggin' HUGE!" I said excitedly. He paused and replied, "Um, you haven't even left the city."
He was right. I had no concept of the enormity of the game. When I finally made it to the West Freeport gate, two things happened which blew my mind: an atmospheric tune began to play and a thunderstorm rolled in. At that precise moment I knew EverQuest was something to behold.
Let the hunting begin
My skin was tingling by the time I wandered deeper into East Commonlands. I had no map or reliable sense of direction, so I kept myself tethered to the paths leading back to Freeport. Eventually I strayed far enough to find the first orc camp; that was my first lesson on the need for groups. It was clear that dying had true consequences.
The fun of hunting in EQ wasn't about defeating enemies or even gaining experience. It was the interaction with the environment that made everything feel so alive, so real. Clouds would lazily roll along the sky until sunset gave way to dusk. Nocturnal creatures ushered in the night and the atmosphere changed all over again. Norrath was quickly becoming a home away from home.
The Early EQ Community
In the process of hunting asps and bears I stumbled across the East Commonlands Tunnel. Dozens of other players were hanging out at the entrance, practicing spells and trading various goods. The spam in the chat channels suddenly made sense. I was standing in the designated auction zone.
This is where the game went from surreal to something deeper. Trolls, gnomes, elves, ogres, humans, halflings, and dwarves were all mingling in the tunnel. That visual, combined with the ongoing banter in various chat channels, would form the dimension of EverQuest that set it apart from anything I'd ever seen before. There was a vibrant, jovial community sharing their experiences in a wondrous land.
I asked questions in the channels and was genuinely surprised at the number of helpful answers. I witnessed countless acts of random kindness, including several occasions where a passerby saved me from certain death. Players made an effort to drink in the scenery, to socialize with their peers, to augment the experience with creative gestures and dialogue.
There was no place like home
Creating an EQ character meant selecting a race and thus choosing a starting city. These homelands were distinct in atmosphere and tradition, and you truly got the sense your particular race had a long, rich history worth researching. The dwarves buried their way into the mountains of Butcherblock, the Ogres mucked around in fetid swamps, the Dark Elves lurked in the shadows of Neriak. As you risked life and limb to cross oceans and landscapes, it became quite clear that Norrath was a masterpiece in design and function.
This all translated to a sense of attachment between player, character, and homeland. If I embarked from West Freeport and joined a group at Mistmoore Castle, that was a pretty full day. With any luck I'd return with some loot to sell at the EC tunnel. I'd cap off the night by stopping in at Freeport and upgrading skills or spells. And it felt great to be home again.
A surge of adrenalin
I can't say this about many games, but EQ often sent adrenalin coursing through my veins. Many players had quests converging at Mistmoore Castle, a gothic hideaway in the darkest regions of Lesser Faydark. I spent hours in the courtyard there, waiting to join groups brave enough to venture further in. And it never failed... whenever I reached the castle's inner chambers my pulse quickened and my eyes widened. I'd lose all sense of time until the crawl was complete.
My crowning achievement was reaching the Mistmoore kitchen, where elusive components dropped for the Armor of Ro quests. When my paladin finished the quest and donned his shiny new Breastplate of Ro, the moment was strangely bittersweet. The long, challenging journey for that prize was now behind me.
Familiarity breeds contempt
The Scars of Velious expansion followed, and the EQ magic was still mostly intact. It wasn't until The Shadows of Luclin was released that things began to change. The novelty was wearing off and the mood was shifting dramatically within the community. There was a surge in complaints about long boat rides, inconvenient travel paths, harsh death penalties, class imbalances, quest difficulty, you name it. The new Bazaar allowed trading with no interaction required between players.
The Planes of Power expansion took it a step further, implementing clickable books that zoomed players between continents. Instant gratification was now the official priority. With each subsequent expansion, conveniences were added, penalties and challenges were further reduced, and atmosphere continued to erode. Now the game isn't even a shadow of its former self — it's a faint whisper caught in the distant winds of nostalgia.
A farewell to Norrath and The Golden Era
It's difficult if not impossible to find that early EQ magic in MMOs these days. Forget any sense of exploration, navigation is now guided at every turn with mini-radars, maps galore, and plenty of instant-travel options. For whatever reason, developers and players have forgotten that risks, penalties, and adrenalin are linked for a reason. If there aren't consequences to dying, there's no fear. Stripping away fear is stripping away atmosphere, and at that point you've killed the soul of the game.
Oh, and those distinct racial cities? Ghost towns these days. Even when an MMO features starting cities you can bet they'll be obsolete by the next expansion. Developers are still clueless to the fact that towns need tangible benefits and incentives to return. Distinct cultures and traditions are great, but more importantly, good things happen when players converge in a common area. No game mechanics can replace the unpredictable magic of human interaction.
Today's MMOs offer mind-blowing graphics but the experiences are hollow. Game companies continue to accommodate the impatient majority while the critical qualities of early EQ — teamwork, social interaction, and interdependence — become distant memories. Depressing as that may be, I borrow wisdom from a popular cliché. I don't lament that it's over, I smile because it happened.
Comments
josh
6/12/2010 6:08:49 AM
Great article. I'm so glad I too, was there. =)
Anonymous
12/10/2010 7:07:59 AM
I began playing EQ at the same time, just after Kunark went live. I started as a human in Freeport. I must say I shared nearly every experience you had there. The same feelings of fear of dying in combat, the wonder as I surveyed the landscape, and the sense of ownership over my homeland. I truly miss those early days, for they are long gone as of now I must agree.
Rich
1/26/2011 9:41:11 AM
I also started playing EQ right before Velious came out. I was in 3rd grade, my cousin had told me about it and I had my dad buy it for me. I started out as a Dwarf warrior. I still remember Kaladim, and running around trying not to die by those foul goblins. I remember the time when there were no books to instantly teleport you, and even before the Nexus came out with Luclin. I remember going into the EC tunnel and the lag would just bog you down to a jolty walk. It was great seeing hundreds of people in that one small area trading, talking, practicing spells all of that. It was a comfy feeling of community. Then a couple years after that when the Bazaar took that away, I was pissed beyond belief. Corpse runs, although usually long and annoying at times, I missed that like crazy. There was real challenge in the game. No question marks for quests and bullshit like that. You actually had to find quests, and search for things, no maps, no easy radar bullshit. Games these days only wish they could be as great as EQ used to be! While they are "pop culture" and have great reviews, its because the lazy asses that play them dont find a challenge fun. You put them in the old EQ world, and they would quit in 2 hours. So let the people who don't know anything play their world of warcraft and what not. We have memories of a much greater game and much greater time in MMORPG's. And the few of us that experienced it will remember it for a lifetime.
My skin was tingling by the time I wandered deeper into East Commonlands. I had no map or reliable sense of direction, so I kept myself tethered to the paths leading back to Freeport. Eventually I strayed far enough to find the first orc camp; that was my first lesson on the need for groups. It was clear that dying had true consequences.
Creating an EQ character meant selecting a race and thus choosing a starting city. These homelands were distinct in atmosphere and tradition, and you truly got the sense your particular race had a long, rich history worth researching. The dwarves buried their way into the mountains of Butcherblock, the Ogres mucked around in fetid swamps, the Dark Elves lurked in the shadows of Neriak. As you risked life and limb to cross oceans and landscapes, it became quite clear that Norrath was a masterpiece in design and function.
The Scars of Velious expansion followed, and the EQ magic was still mostly intact. It wasn't until The Shadows of Luclin was released that things began to change. The novelty was wearing off and the mood was shifting dramatically within the community. There was a surge in complaints about long boat rides, inconvenient travel paths, harsh death penalties, class imbalances, quest difficulty, you name it. The new Bazaar allowed trading with no interaction required between players.
It's difficult if not impossible to find that early EQ magic in MMOs these days. Forget any sense of exploration, navigation is now guided at every turn with mini-radars, maps galore, and plenty of instant-travel options. For whatever reason, developers and players have forgotten that risks, penalties, and adrenalin are linked for a reason. If there aren't consequences to dying, there's no fear. Stripping away fear is stripping away atmosphere, and at that point you've killed the soul of the game.
