Filed under: The Game Archaeologist

Whenever you get really into a new hobby, it's natural to want to blab about it to anyone who drifts into your gravitational field. That's why we all talk about MMOs, right? It's also why any friends, family members, and coworkers have had to put up with excited rambling about my discovered love for Geocaching.

Some of you probably know Geocaching, as it's been around for over a decade now. For those of you who haven't, it's a worldwide treasure hunt that involves over a million and a half "caches" of various sizes that are hidden and then marked with GPS coordinates. Players head to the official site or one of the open-source projects to get the coordinates and go hunting for them. There's a useful two-minute introduction to this hobby on YouTube if you're curious.

I noted on our Massively Speaking podcast that Geocaching has a lot in common with MMOs: Both encourage questing and exploration, both have treasure to be found, and both plug you into a community of adventurers. Listener Terrence heard this and send in an email with an interesting revelation that ties these two hobbies even closer together, as a game developer brought his online world to a real-world location.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Richard Garriott's haunted cache.

Computer RPG players in the late '80s and early '90s were surely familiar with Strategic Simulations, Inc. (SSI) and its now-infamous Gold Box series. The series, so named because of their distinctive gold packaging, ran on a solid engine that helped the company churn out over a dozen titles within a five-year span. From Dungeons & Dragons' Pool of Radiance to Buck Rogers: Countdown to Doomsday, these titles quickly became revered among the gaming community. I personally have very fond memories of playing both Buck Rogers titles, despite not having ever watched the show.

While the Gold Box series has not become as timeless or replayable as late '90s classics like Baldur's Gate and Fallout, they definitely had a huge impact on the PC scene and helped elevate the CRPG genre. Following the Gold Box engine, SSI went on to produce another engine that it used for a completely new series set in the D&D campaign setting of Dark Sun. Dark Sun: Shattered Lands (1993) and Dark Sun: Wake of the Ravager (1994) were both modest hits, and when it came time for a third game in the series, SSI decided to make the leap to the then-untested realm of online gaming.

What followed was a wild two-year experiment in MMOs that happened prior to the Ultima Online and EverQuest generation. While ultimately unsuccessful in achieving its potential or gaining a large audience, Dark Sun Online: Crimson Sands made a valiant attempt at achieving the inevitable future of gaming.

Aztecs. Chronomancers. Mounts. Halberds. Golems. Dual wielding.

These are all but a hint of what a fourth Guild Wars campaign could have been, a campaign that was under development in the mid-2000s but was scrapped by 2007. Replacing it was the expansion Guild Wars Eye of the North and the workings of a super-secret sequel to the game (which you've probably never heard of). It was the forgotten campaign, swept under a rug while it was still under the rug.

But what if, in some alternative timeline, ArenaNet had gone ahead with this campaign? What if it became an established part of the Guild Wars legacy, as familiar to us today as Nightfall and Factions?

What if Guild Wars Utopia had lived?

Maybe I'm alone in this, but my jaw just dropped when I came home this past week to see that Massively posted the news that Shadowbane is coming back to life. Granted, it's only going to happen in China, but still, that's pretty incredible. Shadowbane's been in the ground for three years now, and if I had to pick an MMO that deserved resurrection, this particular one would be farthest from my mind (no offense if you liked the game; it's just that there are so many others that are even more worthy).

But how can this not give you hope? Many of us have lost an MMO we loved or at least had a decked-out character populating the character select screen, and the thought of that game coming back against all odds is a goosebump-rising one. It may also smack of justice served, as some MMOs fail not because of faulty gameplay but because of mismanagement by the studio, complex legal wrangling, or bad marketing.

Today let's look at a few examples of dead MMOs that were brought back to life and what this may mean for the future of the industry. Zombie MMOs! Not, you know, MMOs with zombies.

"I'd play this game again if the graphics were updated."

"If they re-released this game with modern graphics, it would be way more popular."

"The Game Archaeologist is my hero, and I will name my progeny in his honor."

How many times have we heard the above statements? From my perspective as someone who tries to keep tabs on classic MMOs, I see these claims quite a lot. Such sentiments pop up in nearly every other post Massively does about older games: "This title is rock-solid except for its aging visuals. Update those, and it would recapture its former glory and then some."

This has gotten me thinking whether such logic would pan out or not. With Anarchy Online's much-hyped graphics overhaul on the way, this discussion seems to crop up more often. Is the power of a graphics conversion or overhaul strong enough to pull back in previous players and fresh blood? Or is it merely slathering on new paint over a rusting hulk?

Aaand we're back! Did you miss me? No? Not even a little bit? Aww, you know how to make me feel all kinds of appreciated!

Even though it's been quite some time since we finished up our two-part series on the Kesmai company and its incredible (and little-remembered) role in powering up the MMO genre, I wanted to return to take the topic for one last spin. A fellow blogger, Wilhelm "The Ancient Gaming Noob" Arcturus, backs his nickname up by providing memories and stories from gaming eras well before many Massively readers' time. Since he actually played several Kesmai titles back in the day and lived to tell the tale, I wanted to pick his brain before we moved on to other titles.

So join me in welcoming Wilhelm and his magical clockwork nostalgia retrieval system!

Man oh man, why couldn't I just take a month or so off of this column without getting sucked back into it? Why must classic MMOs be so compelling and newsworthy these days?

I planned to take some time off of TGA while I went through Dark Age of Camelot in Choose My Adventure (which you're all reading, yes?), but there was so much to talk about regarding older MMOs that I couldn't sit back and stay mum. Ergo, I've dashed off this special "break" column devoted to commenting on recent news about classic games. Hopefully this will help tide you over until I get back into the full swing of things in April.

On the docket for today's discussion is Vanguard's forthcoming F2P change, EverQuest's recent conversion, Anarchy Online's stunning graphic engine video, and more!

Most studios would be overjoyed to have pioneered one significant advancement in video game history, but then again, most studios aren't Kesmai. While it's not a household name today, it's reasonable to say that without the heavy lifting and backbreaking coding that this company shouldered in the '80s and '90s, the MMO genre would've turned out very different indeed.

Last week we met two enterprising designers, Kelton Flinn and John Taylor, who recognized that multiplayer was the name of the future and put their careers on the line to see an idea through to completion. That idea was Island of Kesmai, an ancestor of the modern MMO that used crude ASCII graphics and CompuServe's network to provide an interactive, cooperative online roleplaying experience. It wasn't the first MMO, but it was the first one published commercially, and sometimes that makes all the difference.

Flinn and Taylor's Kesmai didn't stop with being the first to bring MMOs to the big time, however. Flush with cash and success, Kesmai turned its attention to the next big multiplayer challenge: 3-D graphics and real-time combat. Unlike the fantasy land of Island of Kesmai, this title would take to the skies in aerial dogfighting and prove even more popular than the team's previous project.

It was the mid-'80s, and I was just a kid in love with his family's IBM PC. Not having a wealth of capital at the time, I relied on hand-me-down copies of software that rolled in from friends and family and probably the Cyber-Mafia. Practically none of the disks came with instructions (or even labels, sometimes), and as such I felt like an explorer uncovering hidden gems as I shoved in 5 1/4" floppy after 5 1/4" floppy. Some titles were great fun, some were so obtuse I couldn't get into them, and some were obviously meant for those older and wiser than I.

One game that fell into the latter category was a brutally difficult RPG that smelt of Dungeons & Dragons -- a forbidden experience for me at the time. It was just a field of ASCII characters, jumbled statistics, and instant death awaiting me around every corner. I gave it a few tries but could never progress past the first level, especially when I'd keep running out of arrows, so I gave up.

Unbeknownst to me, I had my first brush with Rogue, an enormously popular dungeon crawler that straddled the line between the description-heavy RPGs and arcade titles like Gauntlet. Rogue defined the genre when it came out in 1980, spawning dozens of "Roguelikes" that sought to cash in on the craze. Not five years after its release, Rogue got a worthy successor that decided it could bring this addicting style of gameplay to the larva form of the Internet. It was called Island of Kesmai, but you may call it "Sir, yes sir!"

I can hear you right now: "What, another week on EverQuest Mac? There's, like, six people who play that! Move on to Neocron already!" Oh, be patient my lovelies. I know that the whole EQMac termination/salvation thing is so yesterday's news, particularly with SOE embroiled in a completely different community fiasco last week, but I had one last thing to share with you.

You see, a month ago when I heard that EQMac was going to be shut down, I put out some feelers for any players who might want to share their side of the story. Apparently, this small community is downright fanatical about this game and deluged my inbox with stories and pleas. While it seems like the crisis has passed for these players, I still want to share some of these testimonies with you because that's what this column is about.

So indulge me with one last week of EQMac discussion before we shift our attention elsewhere. If you're curious why players in 2012 would deliberately choose to game on an archaic server with extremely old-school rules, then the answer awaits you after the jump. And if you'd like to try out this completely free version of EverQuest, then head over to the EQMac.com forums for step-by-step instructions.

A week ago I sat here writing up what I thought was going to be the epitaph for EverQuest's odd foray into an Apple-only product, EverQuest Macintosh. The word came down from on high that with the coming of free-to-play, EQMac's diminutive server population would be ushered out the doors as Al'Kabor got sent to the retirement home.

That was a week ago. Boy, what a difference a week makes, right?

Since the writing of that article, we received word that not only did Sony Online Entertainment reverse its decision to kill EQMac but that it will be making the server completely free for its community for the indefinite future. I learned that while under the influence of a 102-degree fever, so I initially thought it was just my brain cooking in my skull. But no, it was the truth. So what happened in the span of that week? Why did SOE do a 180 and keep alive an ancient relic of its flagship MMO?

For the whole, unadulterated truth, I called up SOE President John Smedley to get the full scoop on the wild rollercoaster he's taken this loyal community on these past few weeks. Finding out what he said will only cost you one click. It's worth it, trust me.

In 2003, Sony Online Entertainment tried an experiment to reach out to the (then) small-but-growing community of Mac users. The company released EverQuest Macintosh Edition -- quickly abbreviated to EQMac -- which incorporated the core game and the first four expansions of EverQuest: The Ruins of Kunark, The Scars of Velious, The Shadows of Luclin, and The Planes of Power. Because EQMac was a separate version of the game, SOE segregated Apple players on their own server called Al'Kabor and then, for all intents and purposes, abandoned them as the "real" EverQuest continued to expand and advance.

While the population didn't exactly explode, especially as the progression of time rendered EQMac stuck in a type of video game amber, a singular community of dedicated, helpful players formed, and they became proud of their hardcore home. According to many of them, EQMac was the way EverQuest was always meant to be played, frozen in time at the release of one of the game's best expansions. It was a mark of pride to say that you played on Al'Kabor, especially now as massive AAA MMOs dwarf the original EQ -- to say nothing of this odd EQ spinoff.

Yet, as SOE posted, "all good things must end," and with the news that EverQuest is being prepped for free-to-play, EQMac players learned that they would not be joining the rest. Unless higher powers intervene, on March 29th, Al'Kabor will be turned off for good. As such, I felt this was a good time to look briefly at the history of this unique title and the testimonies of its passionate fans.

After last week's foray into the colorful world of Phantasy Star Online, I knew I had to step it up for a great follow-through. That's why I got in touch with three excellent MMO bloggers who have long histories with PSO and were more than eager to share their perspective on this unique game world!

The Game Archaeologist: Who the heck are you and how did you first get into Phantasy Star Online? What class and race did you play?

David: I'm David Lambert, but many people know me better as Branick, host and producer of the LOTRO Academy podcast. I first got into Phantasy Star Online with the original Dreamcast release, which I picked up only about two weeks after it came out. I actually had eight different characters (I bought six VMUs in addition to the two I already had specifically for this purpose), but I definitely favored the HUcast. I wasn't big on using techniques, and the HUcast had the highest attack power in the game.

The Dreamcast was a brief but shining aberration in the gaming world. Coming along years after Sega had fallen out of its position as a top-runner in the console market, it represented the company's big attempt to reclaim its former glory. While it failed to succeed in that respect and ultimately closed up shop in 2001 (ending Sega's interest in the console market), the Dreamcast became a gaming cult favorite responsible for some of the most innovative titles ever made. Games like Jet Grind Radio, Space Channel 5, and Shenmue have remained fan favorites long after the Dreamcast's demise, which shows the legacy that these dev teams left behind.

But perhaps the Dreamcast's greatest gift to the gaming world wasn't crazy taxis or space dancing but a surprisingly forward-looking approach to online gaming. In 2000, the Dreamcast took the first steps to bringing an online console RPG to market, and while it wasn't a true MMO, it certainly paved the way for titles like EverQuest Online Adventures and Final Fantasy XI.

It was bold, it was addictive, and it was gosh-darned gorgeous. Ladies and gentlemen: Phantasy Star Online.

As you may well know by now, I wasn't an early adopter of the MMO scene apart from a brief exposure to BBSes in the '90s and Anarchy Online and Final Fantasy XI in the early 2000s. To be honest, I found that MMOs were as intimidating -- and fascinating -- to me as pen-and-paper RPGs. You see, in high school I started buying RPG manuals and devouring them cover-to-cover, but I could never find friends or like-minded people with whom to play. The genre was a spectator sport for me; I was looking in from the sidelines and imagining what would happen if I actually got to be part of a D&D session.

Likewise, MMORPGs in their earlier forms appeared as user-friendly to me as that house on the block with overgrown shrubs, a rusty iron fence, and a mangy, ever-barking mutt in front of it. Maybe it was really cool inside, or maybe it was a death trap from whence there was no escape, but I never had the courage to find out. Let me put it this way: I purchased and read the entire Star Wars Galaxies Prima Guide three times over without once signing up for the game.

I'm sharing this with you because I always want to remember that what we take for granted today -- that MMOs are friendly, fun, engaging, and a downright natural part of many of our gaming lives -- isn't always true for those curious lookey-loos who feel intimidated by the scope, busy UIs, subscription fees, or the often bizarre attitudes that long-term MMO players exhibit. For me, it took one game that tore those barriers down to extend a welcoming hand to me, guiding me into these awesome games.

Of course, that was World of Warcraft. And even though my geek cred would be so much higher if it were something earlier or, well, not so mainstream, that wouldn't be the truth. So today I'm going to share my story of how I got into MMOs and why the early days of WoW were some of my most treasured gaming memories.