Well, after a couple of fairly light-hearted blogs it is time to turn to more serious and somewhat heart-wrenching stuff. And it’s a biggie today. I will make no excuses for this latest piece, but if you’re of the sensitive type or simply don’t feel comfortable with sampling the emotional outpourings of a grown man, then I would urge you to go and read Garfield. For this week, I will be saying farewell to a very dear friend. This latest blog is a eulogy in some ways; although I actually said my goodbyes last year, this week will see the absolute finale’ of what has been a long, passionate and, at times, difficult but always faithful relationship. I talk, of course, about Star Wars Galaxies.
Tomorrow, Sony Online Entertainment will shut down the servers for the last time, ending what has been an 8-year adventure for millions of fans in a galaxy far, far away. Gone are the days of scything our way through hundreds of Nightsisters, searching for that elusive Sith Holocron (4 of 5). No more, the heady rush of adrenalin as a fearless YT-1300 pilot, and his battle-ready passengers, barrel towards the Blackguard-controlled Imperial Star Destroyer at Ord Mantell. And never again will we hear the rising strings of John Williams’ soul-stirring symphonies as we stare across the barren Jundland Wastes, watching the binary sunset of Tatooine.
For those of you who don’t know what Galaxies is, but rather feel as though you’ve just stumbled into the review of some futuristic Mills & Boon novel, I will attempt to explain where the passion comes from. Galaxies is a massively multiplayer online game set in the Star Wars universe, where players could create a character from one of a number of species and basically embark on a never-ending (until this week) adventure. Subsequently, players could then choose from many SW-related ‘professions’ in which to train & perfect their character. The galaxy, and the worlds within it, was a completely open sandbox where this character could interact with other players’ characters & non-playable characters, in order to embark on a multitude of quests or partake in more normal day-to-day activities; Jedi could embark on crusades to learn ancient wisdom and wave big glow-sticks at people whilst doing so. Bounty hunters could chase down other players in order to earn cash rewards & prestige. Artisans could make any one of the millions of individual items of weaponry, armour or clothing needed to keep the galaxy’s mercantile wheels turning. And commandos could blow stuff up with massive guns whilst looking totally awesome. And after a hard days’ glow-stick waving, or crafting, or looking awesome, one could simply relax in the local cantina, with a glass of jawa juice and the peace of mind that there would be “No blasters!” whilst you flamed the noobs.
It truly was a masterpiece of entertainment in its time. As gaming experience, its sheer size, complexity & unlimited potential was initially overwhelming. My very first character spawned in a town called Bella Vistal, high in the mountains of Corellia (Han Solo’s home planet) without a thing to his name; nothing. No money, no weapon, no speeder bike and – more importantly – no bloody clue what was going on. I saw someone saying in the chat window that they were heading to Corellia, the planets’ main city. It was a 4 kilometre walk (the “Toggle Run” setting still hadn’t been discovered....) but upon arriving, those initial feelings of confusion & bewilderment turned into sheer amazement. An entire city populated by thousands of other players offering missions, advice, weapons, clothes...everything a very dazed & foot-sore adventurer could ask for. Traders, doctors, droids, glow-stick wavers, awesomely-resplendent commandos; they were all here to behold. The feelings of community & camaraderie I felt in those first few hours drew me in and held me captive for the duration of my playing days. All 2190 of them.
Yes, I played SWG for 6 years. That’s right – 6 YEARS. Not solely, I hasten to add, but on & off. Let’s just put that into context; that’s precisely as long as World War 2. It’s actually longer than the First World War, the first Boer War and the Falklands War, combined. And that’s a lot of war. In fact, whilst I’m doing the maths, that’s enough time to allow me to walk, slowly, around the Earths’ circumference. 8.45355 times. “Now then, scribe,” I hear you ponder “what on earth could keep you pinned to the monitor for long enough to allow you to walk around the planet almost 9 times? Surely walking past Mount Everest or the Grand Canyon almost 9 times would be a far more productive use of your time?” And I am inclined to agree with you; I could certainly have spent that time far more productively but it was that feeling of camaraderie with faceless names, the feeling of embarking on untold adventures with complete strangers, the tangible sense of uncertainty of what would be around the next corner despite the obvious intangible fiction of it all. I could literally type myself to death trying to explain these feelings to someone who has never experienced them but in summary, all I can say is, “I just really fucking liked it!”
I mean, come on; here was a game where I could play a 7-foot tall lizard, dressed in Mandalorian armour, with a gun that fired molten lava at people. Or if I got bored of that, I could change my profession to Jedi and run around scaring people with a big glow stick whilst wearing a dressing gown. Or if I fancied something completely different, I could train to build spaceships. That’s right; Build. Spaceships. BUILD. FREAKING. SPACESHIPS!!!!!!! And when I’d built my very own Millennium Falcon, I could then get in it, fly around space for a bit, blow shit up, make the calculations for the jump to light speed (which ain’t like dusting crops...), smuggle some stuff to Jabba and then hang around his palace looking at the dancing girls’....assets. Seriously, for anyone who’d ever seen Star Wars and wasn’t already dead, this was a freaking dream come true! And so it was, for 6 years.
And it is with the aforementioned massive reptile that a large & very fond part of my heart will always remain. During my first few weeks, I created a few characters, but none I was really happy with; and then came Vossk. That’s right – my online alter-ego derives directly from my online alter-ego. Vossk was born out of one particular sleep-deprived, dawn-hours Galaxies session where I was frustrated with my existing character, and I stuck with him for the rest of my playing days. Whenever I was ill, he was still upright & hard as nails. Whenever I was penniless, he was out looting & spending. When I was basking in the tranquil British summer, he was wading through hoards of Rebel troops in the icy wastes of Hoth. And when I was at work, he had some time off to do...well, whatever it is a bloody great lizard does when he’s not wading through hoards of rebel troops. I played him as a bounty hunter, medic, dark Jedi, smuggler, marksman but most predominantly as a commando. I had an alternative character, a trader called Uppya Transom (think about it…), but he was really just Vossk’s fence, a means to trade spare loot in order to make money to buy bigger guns or shinier armour. I put Vossk into the loyal service of the Emperor and embarked on missions for Darth Vader himself. I crossed entire start systems whilst engaged in life-or-death dogfighters with clouds of enemy ships. And, yes, I stood at the Lars homestead and watched that binary sunset, just like Luke Skywalker. And this is the crux of the matter, I believe. This is where I – and I assume many other players – fell through the looking glass; the true escapism that games like this, and their avatars, allow people.
Whilst my 6 year period in-game was generally a happy time, it spanned the most tumultuous period of my real life, especially between 2004 & 2008. I mean, literally, rollercoaster stuff; new job, redundancy, daughter born, friend killed, buying an apartment, losing the apartment, meeting women, losing women, earning shit-loads, filing for insolvency. I sampled pretty much every dish at the cherry pie & shit sandwich picnic that life serves up. And through all this, through all the bright lights & grey days, that little digital lizard and his online peers kept me ticking. Now, I don’t want to seem like some kind of mental e-preacher, and I am certainly taking nothing away from my family and specifically my closest friend, who stopped me going down the pan in more than one way (/bmoc). But, when I needed to get away from it all, when I wanted to hide from the dickheads I dealt with at work or wanted to tell someone about my daughters’ latest trick, I could always turn to Galaxies. Even your closest mates don’t appreciate phone calls at 4am to tell them that Junior has just farted so loudly she scared herself, but good ole’ Zingbot Wibblesword over in Denver, where it’s only 9pm, will absolutely piss himself when you tell him in guildchat.
And it’s in this sort of interaction that such a game should be measured. Yes, there’s a considerable amount of time & money that players should be prepared to commit, but that’s not the intrinsic value. You admire a friends’ digital home because you understand how difficult it was for them to amass that dazzling array of rare collectables. You feel for your comrades as they fall in virtual battle, because you’ve been ganked by that Dark Jedi Master too. In real terms, they may only be a Bothan on the screen, but somewhere in this galaxy, that Bothan has just become a mother. Or has just passed their driving test. Or has just filed for divorce. Behind the pixels & plasma bolts they’re real people, dealing with the same stuff life throws at us all, and just looking to share a brief period of respite with other like-minded souls. And there is the connection that makes the physical investment so emotionally rewarding. That we can, as players, bask in each other’s glow on the good days or provide emotional crutches during each other’s low points.
I won’t pretend I’m some sort of MMO Yoda, ready to cure all the worlds’ ills with a quick round of Heroics Instances, nor am I really sure that I could ever adequately communicate the personal benefit that such a game has provided me over the years. However, there is genuine value in having such a social avenue, especially for people who live on their own or are restricted, for whatever reason, in their social interactions. Indeed, I enjoyed many evenings when I had my daughter over simply chatting to my friends online, whilst not even playing the game. Any avenue for human interaction should be welcomed, regardless of how virtual or intangible it is, and from personal experience, when the creds are down, a problem shared is a problem halved. Even if it is with a midget Mon Calamari.
At this point, I find it interesting to note that Galaxies’ own existence was a topsy-turvy affair, with very high points & also very dark days (NGE, anyone?) but it weathered the storms of falling subscriptions, unfavourable reviews and out-of-date game engines to see out a very notable lifespan in terms of software in general, and games specifically. As a comparison, playing Galaxies on its’ last day of existence would be equivalent to booting up your computer with Windows XP. And then using Lycos to search the web. Regardless of your interest in online gaming, you should doff your cap in recognition of this feat – simply still being around when the Microsoft Help paperclip is rusting in an MSOffice waste basket, and the Lycos labrador is propping up the digital daisies at the bottom of the Search Engine garden, is a herculean effort of no small undertaking.
And on that high note, I shall bid adieu to you, Star Wars Galaxies. I never achieved everything I wanted to but you gave me more than I could have ever hoped. I pulled you from the back of a dusty bottom shelf in a supermarket in Colorado and, in return, you transported me to the star-strewn nebulae of the Core Worlds and beyond. It was a journey I am proud to have taken, and that you demanded the investment of so many hours was a small price to pay. I would like to say a big thank you to the following people for their time, efforts, support & general bloody-good-naturedness through the years; Nubius, Ziso, Fargo, Aidlywo, Ri-om, Ozakk, Iahise, Saer’, Surge, Tertius & Daiwa. And of course, Mack Shackalack – best friend, closest ally & always ready with a White Russian & a smoke when needed ;-) You will always be missed.
But most importantly, I want to thank Vossk. For all the adventures, for all the laughs, for all the narrow scrapes, for all the 3am “One more quest...” sessions; thank you.
And to all those other characters in that galaxy far, far away; the Force will be with you. Always.
