The Games We Play

My general restlessness, boredom, and dissatisfaction has momentarily found some sort of distraction in gaming. In addition to creeping through radiation and killing mutants in S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Shadow of Chernobyl, I’ve been spending a fair amount of time hanging out on Everquest and enjoying the company of friends.

Many people don’t necessarily understand the lure of online gaming, and I thought I’d provide a bit of insight. This will be fairly long, but if you’re interested in Me, I hope you read it. In many ways, EQ is a fair representation of a number of my core beliefs, which might seem surprising. It’s just a game, after all, right? Additionally, it’s old, and has been surpassed in popularity by newcomers such as World of Warcraft and Vanguard. Still, it’s the only online game to ever hold my interest, and there’s good reason for it.

No, this isn’t secretly an advertisement or testimonial.

I don’t want to get too dry and technical, so I’ll provide the basics. EQ is a game, in which you play one of fifteen different classes–most of them have classic names, like warrior, cleric, wizard, and so on. This isn’t anything new, or astonishing. The game’s run by Sony Online Entertainment, and every night hundreds of thousands of people log in to their servers (there are about 20 servers in all, each their own contained world), load up their characters, and adventure. The social aspect of online gaming is really the draw for many, including myself. I’ve played just about every game genre around, but playing by myself isn’t nearly as fun as playing cooperatively with a group of friends.

Most of the game revolves around groups of 6, with each person playing an important role as you kill mobs. MOB is a monster; it’s an archaic term that stands for Mobile Object, but the terminology has persisted, to the confusion of a number of well-educated individuals everywhere who can’t grasp that a mob is one, not many. That’s "mobs".

The basic goal is to gain more character levels (levels 1-75, plus assorted abilities), and good equipment/gear/loot. That’s it. Online games are pretty friggin’ simple. Just like any video game, the carrot is dangled before the horse, whether it’s Mario getting one level closer to rescuing the princess, or Pac-Man getting to the super secret fast level that takes you 8 screens and 3 intermissions to attain. In EQ, you want cooler stuff and more power. Rar.

However, there’s also an aspect of the game called raiding. Raiding takes the group game and multiplies it. The hardest mobs offer the most challenge and drop the best loot.

Most people raid in guilds. Guilds are groups of people that have joined together for one reason or another. Some just to hang out, but many to raid, to try and beat the best the game has to offer. Guilds are highly competitive; many are also unfortunately somewhat elitist.

If you’ve beaten X mob, you rock. If you’ve beaten W, X, Y, Z, and Sue, you’re in rare company, because perhaps only 10 guilds have done that out of the thousands that exist. That’s the carrot–to be at the "end game", atop the heap, to have the best loot from the hardest mobs, to be furthest progressed, to be able to say that you beat something that no one else (or very few) did.

Newcomers to the game often struggle. Because EQ is many years old (9 or 10? I forget. I didn’t start when it did.), it’s hard to catch up. People who want to see the end game, and get their money’s worth, have a journey of years ahead of them.

Many guilds have mandatory playtimes (like, Mon-Fri 5 hours a night). Many guilds cherrypick from lesser-progressed guilds, recruiting people by promising them free loot. Often, too, people are disloyal–they’ll stay in their guild til they get good stuff, then abandon them for one higher up on the food chain. This is called guild hopping, and I despise it, because it’s not only disloyal, but it means the guild they left has lost everything they invested. To use a bad analogy, it’s like if you, me, and 20 friends worked for weeks to help you earn enough money to buy a car, and when we did, you said, "Thanks!" and drove off, never talking to us again. Well, fuck you, too, because now we don’t only lack the car, but all the money we gave you for it.

Of course, they go to a guild that already has cars and money, so they don’t really care where the person came from; they’re just glad they have one, even if it’s not quite as good as theirs. It’s win-win for them, lose-lose for the people below them, because the people in smaller/lesser guilds have trouble progressing when their top talent leaves. This is not too different than a lot of modern corporations or athletic teams.

That’s where I come in. Raiding is what I do. Since mid-2003, I’ve been part of a public organization (called, simply, Public Raiding). We give people a chance regardless of guild affiliation. The people the uberguilds won’t touch, or don’t want. The people who want a home–but don’t want to have to guild hop to do it. The people who believe in loyalty. For example, my guild, The Keepers, has about 10 active players. You need 54 to raid. There’d be no chance for us to see the end game unless we left for a raiding guild. That would suck. Yay Public Raiding!

We allow anyone to raid with us that isn’t a detriment because of attitude. Willing to try? Put forth a good effort? There ya go. That’s the requirements. We take the idiots. We take the rejects, the losers. However, we also have a strong core of dedicated and talented players who train them and compensate for them. We have some of the top players on the server, people who have spent years of their life honing their craft.

We want EVERYONE to be able to experience the game of EQ. I have literally helped thousands of people get to places they never would have seen otherwise, in the last four years. That’s not an exaggeration.
Got a family life, and can only play one or two days a week? Come to us.
Can only raid for a couple of hours at a time? Come to us.
What, have to take three months off to focus on work? Cool, can’t wait to see you when you get back, chief.

For a long time, Public was looked down upon. And yes, we struggled at times. Imagine the chagrin of the uberguilds when we were able to accomplish what they did, with worse gear, and worse players. We were the bottom; we’re now at the near-top on our server. We’ll never be the best overall, out of all of the servers–we have too many people and too many challenges–but essentially, what we’ve done is nothing short of amazing. People never thought we could do what we’ve done.

In the last four years, we’ve fought and scratched and clawed our way up. Defeating mobs is basically a function of equipment, discipline, and strategy. Equipment takes time to attain. If it takes six months to gear up a regular guild of 60 people, it takes us twice as long. At least. And some of those people come and go, as is our nature, because of real life. 

Hrendra is a Shadow Knight. I, as Hren (pronounced "wren", but with a slightly harder R, now you see a correlation), am part of public leadership. Raiding requires coordination, and discipline. You’re trying to get 54+ people to do their jobs properly each night–and if they mess up, you’ve wasted not a few minutes, but hours. You didn’t just waste your time–you wasted the time of Every Other Person on the raid. There have been times, yes, where we’ve spent 6 hours working at something that One Person kept messing up. Yet we kept at it, and eventually, we succeeded. Maybe not that night, maybe not that week, but we have striven and worked our asses off to get to where we are. We’ve yelled, we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, together.

Because raids are normally limited to 54, and we have about 100 active at any given time, we have a lot of egos to manage, a lot of people sitting out so others can enjoy things; likewise, from night to night we don’t know what we’re going to get. We may lack one critical class or another, or have to get creative in order to hammer a strat into place that will work for the people that showed up.

Leadership sets rules, and policies.  Although equating any game to an actual army is ludicrous, that’s what it’s most analogous to. I’m in charge of the knights; I provide information, I keep people loose. I keep them in line. I yell at them when they mess up, I encourage them when they do well, I give them advice on their characters. I manage and assuage egos, I type up pages of strategic assistance to people who aren’t motivated enough or intelligent enough to figure out how to use Google. I’m a vocal, recognized, respected leader of Public Raiding.

Of course, I thrive on this, but it’s also very trying at times. If I have a shitty day, I log on and still have to lead. They expect it of me, and I don’t disappoint. I lead by words, and by example–I am not a hypocrite, so you’d best be sure I don’t make mistakes, or criticize people unfairly. My knights expect me to know every strategy inside and out–so I do. Some of the events we participate in have very complex scripts/dynamics. Some may take 5 minutes; some take over an hour of attention and dedication and persistence. I explain every strat to every new person for every event, I remind the veterans of key information, and I often have to shout out adjustments on the fly on new ones.

For a long time, I was the nightly MA, which means Main Assist. It’s essentially the conductor to the orchestra, the focal point through which all of our power flows. It requires the ability to keep track of not only where all the mobs are, but the raiders as well, plus the location you’re in. In that way it’s very like a sport; knowing where every player on the field is, being able to keep a 360-degree radar in your head and smoothly transitioning throughout the entire event. I eventually pushed to NOT do this every night, because I felt it wasn’t good for our raid force to have only one person capable of doing everything. I’m pleased to say that now MA is rotated among many people who have grown nicely into the position.

I’m proud that some have called me the best SK they’ve ever played with, and also the best MA. I’m proud that some people have dubbed me the "moral compass" of public, keeping our collective sight on the team, the organization, trying always to encourage people away from selfish behavior and desires.  I like that when I talk, people listen. I like that when other leaders are being stupid assholes, I can shout them down and be listened to, because people trust me. I like that I’m sometimes an asshole, but never stupid, or without reason, and people realize that.

Is it a game? Sure. But it’s also an investment of time, every night, of 60-90 people at any given time. Some people may roll their eyes, but I’d challenge them to claim that, say, their intramural soccer team was inherently more worthy than online play. =p We have people who are in their 60’s playing with us. We have kids who are 15-16. There is a tremendous cross-section of personalities, age, intellect, interests, sexuality, culture; we have people playing with us for whom English isn’t even their first language. Nowhere else have I experienced such variety of people–for both good and ill, of course. Some of these people drive me insane. Some I just straight out dislike.

But some of these people, I count among my closest friends. I’ve been working alongside them night after night for years. EQ is where I met my ex, and as she was a well known/popular figure, our breakup was quite a shock to the community. My pal Adam and I have never met, yet he’s my best male friend.  Go figure.

What I appreciate most is, at the end of the day, feeling like I accomplished something. One day recently, another SK told me randomly how appreciative he was at how much I’d taught him over the last couple of years, and how glad he was that I was class leader. You know? That makes me feel *good*. I never did any of this for the fame, or the prestige, though I certainly have no lack of either currently. I did it because it’s what I believe in: helping people overcome obstacles, working together, giving everyone a chance to win, leading and fighting and nagging and urging and empowering and trying trying trying, again and again, to get to where we are. I did it because I wanted to contribute; I wanted to have information, I wanted to ensure I was giving more than I was taking, I never wanted to be That Guy who was ill prepared, or irresponsible, or lazy.

And here I am, years later. Good ol’ Hren.

And I point at the knights, particularly the SKs, and say, yup, those are my guys. I’ve made my mark on them. We’re the best trained, the best informed, the most consistent performers, the smartest equipped. I can’t even express how glad I am to have these guys at my side, and how fortunate I feel to have had a role in guiding them.

And it’s the simplest thing–like being told "thank you for what you’ve taught me"–that make it all worthwhile.

Maybe you, dear reader, still don’t grasp it, and will always see it as a cheesy online game. Hobbies are important. We invest a lot in our pastimes. We work to live, but we live to engage in those activities that reward us the most. Where our heart and soul lies. And much of mine lies with Public.

It’s kinda funny–all this leadership/managerial experience, and I can’t put it on a resume. EQ really helped hone those skills. In some ways, it’s where I really grew into my own. It’s helped me in the "real world" as well–I’m so much more comfortable in that position of leadership than I would have been before Public Raiding. I see it regularly. People listen, they acknowledge, they respect, they trust. And yeah, sometimes they think I’m a bit of an asshole, but that’s because my sarcasm and frankness can be a bit rough on the uninitiated. It’s the price you pay for speaking up, for being in front, putting it out there. I sometimes rub people the wrong way because I’m willing to do that, where earlier in my life I wouldn’t have been, too afraid of their reactions, too concerned with being liked to speak my mind. Every now and then, I’m still astonished when someone speaks to me deferentially, or asks me what to do, or compliments me, that small part of me that’s like "Me? Really? Wow. That’s so cool. No, thank YOU."

Sometimes, I might ask at work how someone’s weekend went, and they might say they went to see a movie, or had a few friends over. That’s great for them; I love movies and friends, too.

At the same time, I think, "Well, this weekend me and 70 of my closest friends and acquaintances put in twelve hours of work on the Mayong event, which is the culmination of six months of nightly effort to even be able to access it, to attempt it in the first place. No, we didn’t win, in fact, we didn’t really do much for those twelve hours but fail a lot and try, try again, but we got a lot of good info and look forward to giving it another shot."

And I think about trying to express the joy I feel in seeing some guy who started with us four months ago turning into a valuable veteran.

Or, I think about how hilarious our conversations in the knight channel are.

Or, I think about how glad I am that we managed to get all of the beastlords working together instead of bitching at one another for a change.

Or, I think about how frustrated I am that leadership is split over a new rule/policy that’s going to affect things one way or another, and how if they’d only listen to ME…. =p

Or, I think about how satisfying it is to successfully MA an event to perfection, without a single mistake, even though the event took 90 minutes without pause.

Or, I think about how to explain what it’s like to fail an event THIRTY SEVEN CONSECUTIVE TIMES OVER THREE MONTHS before finally beating it, and how it feels when you finally DO win, when you look around at your fellow raiders and their pixellated avatars and say, holy shit, man. I can’t believe we finally won after that long. Great fuckin job.

And sometimes, I just think, "That just made my entire week." Like this:

Well, I have the adoration of hundreds of people, and at least one person that looks at others and says, "he’s no Hrendra." 

Now, I just need to find a woman who feels the same way.