EverQuest was a great way to be with people without being with people. Being a lonely, socially awkward kid, it was, for the most part, a pretty awesome experience. Goblins and griffons, swords and magic pants: for some people, their introduction to fantasy role playing was Dungeons & Dragons. But that hit its peak a bit before my time.


EverQuest was my introduction to a great many of ubiquitous elements in games, like WASD controls, and first person action. I can vividly recall the grunts of Orcs when they were struck, and that maniacal cackle encountered while hunting skeletons for bone chips.

But, as I would find out, you can’t kill lowbie skeletons all day and expect to level up (Ding!). And it’s interesting how you come to find these sorts of things out.


Hint: It had nothing to do with Google or hand holding tutorials.

It’s all about the people you’re playing with! Chat with the players in the immediate vicinity around you was integral to learning the ropes of the game, especially if you’re a ten year old and have no interest in manuals or guides. After a couple hours of exploring how the game worked, and killing rats, snakes, and fire beetles, I asked a player standing in the gates of Freeport what I should be doing next. He directed me to follow the gates straight out into the wilderness.


The view of Freeport gates, looking in towards the city.

At this point, I was a bit lost, and I couldn’t find anyone to ask for help. I had no idea of what I should be doing, just that I should be East Commonlands. So off I went.



I followed the road until I met another player. I asked him what I should be doing, and he directed me to use the zone-wide chat, /ooc, to see if there were any players slaying orcs. I did as he said, and talked with players not just immediately around me, but throughout the entire area.



East Commonlands had a tunnel that was a prime spot for trading goods, so there was a lot of talk of players buying and selling items. Hides and bone chips, items I’d never heard of, and sometimes players requesting (tele-)port services to other areas.



None of that, though, was why I headed into the area in the first place. I wanted to kill things! And get loot, of course.


A player responded that yes, they were indeed killing orcs, and I quickly found myself in a party. Along the side of my screen now was a list of a few names, with health and mana bars accompanying them. It was all new stuff to me back then.



But I was still lost. I must’ve said something like, “Hey, I’ve never been here before. Where do I go?” and was then lead to an open area, with a few tents, and dead orcs strewn about. Naturally, I joined in the fun.


Unsuspecting orcs enjoying their final moments around a fire.

And that’s pretty much a summary of EverQuest, and every new area I went into: getting lost, asking for help, joining a party, and progressing through Norrath. It’d take me on twenty minute boat rides across the sea, daring dashes across dangerous lands, and perilous adventures.



But it’s important to realize that the game told me none of this: it was all the players around me who facilitated every action in the game. From finding vendors to slaying orcs, everything was directed to me by those players around me. Not by menus, or pop up tutorials, or by Google; just by the players themselves.



The game completely depended on those players for it to function, and it was all completely forced. With no computerized hand to guide you, you’re left to those fellow players inhabiting the same virtual world.



And that’s really where the power of the game came from. That’s why I remember it after all these years. If it was, what one can call, a “solo” MMO, like the ever popular games of the modern day, I would have few memories of it. Think of it this way: how much of questing alone in World of Warcraft do you remember? I’ll answer that for you: practically none of it.



And some critics have the gall to decry forced social interaction! Well, they’re not completely wrong. But it’s not the forced social interaction that’s a problem: it’s a systemic issue with the kind of games that are being played, and how they’re presented.



Pop up tutorials, disembodied voices, and Google all play a part in introducing players to massively online worlds. And the games are designed for that, and around that, and are in essence, about holding the hand of the player and leading them through the world.



So here we are, with World of Warcraft still the king of MMOs. We’ve all played it for hundreds of hours, and can hardly remember any of those. Meanwhile, EverQuest, played around 1999 and the early 2000s, is mostly forgotten, yet strikes me as one of the most memorable games I’ve ever played.



EverQuest had it right: let the guiding hand be that of the players around you, and let it drive the experience forward through a world designed to force players to work together. And so it was.