Old Dogs

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss

Hey! What is the oldest game you’ve ever played?

My generation grew up straddling eras of technology, witnessing the decline of arcades and the rise of app store empires.

The very definition of “gaming” and “video games” has come into question as the market moved from a niche to a mainstream hobby. But whether it’s quarters into the machine or microtransactions on your phone, there are always new ways to swindle the swine.

As with all overly generous examinations into one’s past, these thoughts are clearly biased by my own nostalgia.

That’s no accident as it pertains to my current work on Significatorius. I’ve been searching for a different flavor of the past and struggling to digest what exactly it was I needed.

Making an honest effort to deviate from some of my past work, while not fully losing my voice, has left me a little stunlocked this past week. Writer’s block, lack of inspiration, overhwelmed by lore, it started to feel like the words on the page weren’t my own anymore.

So, in an effort to course correct and find that special sauce, this week is about a very specific example of nostalgic indulgence that was hitherto an unknown experience to me.

After all, I won’t get fooled again.

Past Threshold

My journey has taken the form of exploring an old game that sits solidly between the extremes of ancient arcades and modern mobile devices. One of the only Final Fantasy titles I’ve never dared explore: XI.

This is an online game that came out on in 2002 on PlayStation 2 before interest in the internet was omnipresent. Square, the company behind the game, didn’t care, and jumped into the cutting edge genre of Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games with their flagship franchise and world famous brand.

There was a steep barrier to entry. In order to play the game you needed:

• A PlayStation 2

• A copy of Final Fantasy XI

• A stable internet connection

• A monthly subscription

As someone who had none of those, I ignored FF11. It would take 20 more years until I found any interest at all in MMORPGs. In fact, it is exactly my recent interest in the genre that piqued my curiosity for this old game.

Somewhat to my surprise, Final Fantasy XI still exists, still gets updated, and still has a monthly subscription tied to it.

A game that came out on the PS2 still has a critical mass playing it every single day.

Something about this old game has people either constantly coming back or never wanting to leave. Either way, that hidden world started to intrigue me more and more.

However, the bits and pieces I did hear about FF11 were much more discouraging than encouraging.

Grit and Grime

As I took on more research and started learning how to actually play the game, skirting the edge of committing to even just taking a peak, I found an intriguing conversation circling in the community.

The current version of the game is seen as “too easy” to some — or perhaps more generously said “too different” — and as a remedy to that malady, fans have begun hosting private servers that attempt to recreate the past.

There’s a lot of morally grey matter in where exactly this stands on the spectrum, but the way these endeavors are forced to be non-monetized meant I could jump into this adventure a little more risk-free — without any buyer’s remorse.

I also enjoyed the idea of witnessing a portal through time. Among the players who care, there are endless debates about how “true” and “accurate” these private servers are to what really existed in the past.

For my purposes, a rose-tinted version of reality that attempts to approximate how everything felt rather than how it actually was sounded perfect. A living, breathing embodiment of very specific nostalgia.

And so I jumped in, not really knowing what to expect.

Even with my tempered expectations, I was not prepared for just how opaque Final Fantasy XI truly is. I would call it actively hostile. It honestly feels like the game doesn’t want you to play it.

• The UI is unintuitive and difficult to navigate

• There is zero indication of what you need to do or where you need to go

• If you try to explore too far you will instantly die

• Death comes with the added penalty of leveling down

I managed to move around a bit in the starting town, but got so lost and frustrated I gave up again after a few minutes.

But that didn’t quite sit right with me.

I wanted to at least attempt to experience the story. The Final Fantasy franchise is one of my biggest influences and was a huge spark to my young imagination as a child.

I felt compelled to give the game another shot.

As I learned, the proper way to play Final Fantasy XI is to open up pages and pages of wiki tutorials just to figure out where to go and what to do.

Once you get into the groove, every moment of the game is, at best, obtuse and archaic.

It truly is a through the snow, uphill both ways kind of experience.

However, once settled in, I was surprised.

I was actually being pulled along by the story. The gameplay itself remained unrelenting and frustrating, but it started to feel like it was worth the effort — or perhaps that the effort was paying off in a somewhat satisfying way.

Satisfaction

There is something to grinding through convoluted tasks that makes the reward in and of itself feel more rewarding.

Clearly, that was a part of an older design where playtime was artificially inflated. I can hear the conversation in the corporate headquarters about how great it is that people need to stay subscribed for longer periods of time to reach their increasingly difficult goals.

Even if the boardroom was just eating a different flavor of greed-filled pie, slow-paced gaming is kind of refreshing in the era of constant instant gratification.

We can now have any desire fulfilled — all our wishes are just a swipe or a tap away — but that dulls the feeling of doing anything at all.

Our current conveniences are also not so different. Modern mobile games almost always have barriers to progress in the form of monetized timegates. I.e. you will reach an impassable wall that either requires:

• Waiting increasingly long periods of time

• Continuously grinding monotonous tasks

• Spending money to pass the timegate instantly

The artificial inflation is still there, the suits have just added more aggressive monetization that is unpredictable and prone to in-the-moment indulgence. Not unlike the tricks and tools of the trade found in every casino on the planet.

I don’t think I could last very long in a world as abrasive as Final Fantasy XI, but I do appreciate the perspective it has given me on early internet online gaming.

I’m likely reaching the limits of what I am able to bear in my attempt to run through the story, but I’m finding myself feeling grateful for the experience all the same.

And if you’d like to take on this challenge and are equally hesitant to sign up for a subscription, I can’t recommend CatsEye XI enough as a great, noob-friendly way to get your feet wet.

Refocused Revision

This detour into an ancient MMORPG was more than just a distraction from my writing. I ended up funneling my frustration regarding the early drafts of my new book into the journey.

I actually finished writing a good chunk of Significatorius and then realized I didn’t like where it was going and how it was sounding.

I knew I needed to restart — a near complete rewrite from the beginning.

And that’s okay.

Especially with a clearer idea of where I’m now headed.

A more difficult journey, to be sure, but one that should be more rewarding.

Until next time.

—JMB