Twenty Years of EQ

My career in games is based on a series of unplanned events. My story is hardly unique in that regard. But at the foundation of all of them all rests a single name: EverQuest. And on this twentieth anniversary of its release, it’s only right that I send it a birthday card.


Since high school, I was a diehard Ultima fan. It was the fourth installment in the franchise that changed my perspective on what video games could be, and once Ultima Online was released, I could not conceive of ever leaving it. But when my guildmates started disappearing to a newly launched rival that boasted 3D graphics, I thought I’d at least try out the game and give my new Voodoo graphics card something to do.

I never looked back.

Warrior was the first class I tried–a human, at that. Bread and butter of the fantasy RPG. But it left me a bit unsatisfied, so I bit the bullet (even earning a few levels in those days represented a major investment) and tried a Freeport monk. That was when the game truly sang to me. The name I chose was the one I’d been using since Ultima III: Moorgard.

From Freeport, the eastern of the two human cities, you could either head south towards the Desert of Ro or westward to the Commonlands. More often than not, I found myself headed west. There was a thriving economy out of the infamous tunnel. Death from above swooped down in the form of griffons. A few turn-in quests here and there allowed me to build an internal narrative that I was defending my home city while helping the Ashen Order thrive.

One day in North Freeport when I was around level 17, a level 40 monk ran up to me wearing armor more spectacular than I’d ever seen. He opened up a trade window and popped a black pearl in. I was confused, telling him he must have the wrong buyer for this exquisite treasure. This guy, who was named Splos, smiled at me and said it was a gift, that I should repay another the same kindness someday. Stunned, I accepted the trade and watched him run off. Making that black pearl into a ring was a milestone for me.

Months of leveling followed. Level 50 seemed impossibly far away. But logging in day after day, working my way deeper into the Commonlands, then Kithicor, then Highhold Pass, and finally Highkeep. Waiting in line for goblin groups, seeing one spawn that was wearing bronze armor… it felt glorious. I kept grinding and moving on to other zones until I was a monk in my upper 40s.

Povar was home. My real-life friends Marlo and Ben were regular groupmates, but advancing further in the game would require larger numbers. We landed in our first guild, called Aquilo Ferox, and made online friends. I’d learned about this thing called raiding, even finding my way into the occasional Nagafen and Vox fights. My guild was small, but we had alliances with other guilds, and we decided to try Plane of Fear. I’d built up a fairly good reputation as a monk puller in dungeons, but I was clearly out of my depth. Fortunately, there was an unguilded monk on Povar who was renowned for his PoF skills, and he offered to teach me the ropes.

That monk, of course, was Splos. I recalled him instantly, and recounted the tale of the black pearl. He didn’t remember me–it turned out he did things like that all the time for new players–but he appreciated my gratitude as he patiently taught me what buffs to ask for in what order, explaining which mobs would dispel them. He showed me where to run so as not to get hit, where to feign, where to feign again if the first one failed… on and on. Finally the raid could begin, and I went in to pull mobs away from the zone-entrance until we could get enough guildies in to start killing. We had a few minor setbacks, but we dug in our heels and began bringing down the denizens of Cazic-Thule.

Loot was dropping… loot such as I’d never seen. Of course I’d been a devoted reader of sites like EQ’lizer, so I had a list of Shiverback pieces that I was hoping to see. I won a roll on some bracers and felt like a god. Much later in the night, my mouth dropped open as a Shiverback-Hide Jerkin was called out. My heart raced. There were three monks in our raid–me, Splos, and a female monk. She rolled first, then Splos, who was higher. Everyone turned to me… but I refused to roll. After all, I had a debt to repay.

There were more raids to come, and I loved the thrill they offered. Though I loved my smaller guild, I felt like I wanted to move to a guild that raided more consistently. That was Altera Vita, and we competed against our server rivals in the new Kunark expansion. The overcrowded Povar split and we went to Xev. Those were good days.

My friends Ben and Marlo were coders, and they had the idea of building software that someone could use to host a news site. They needed a proof of concept, and since I could write a bit and we all loved EverQuest, the idea of creating our own EQ news site seemed like a no-brainer. Mobhunter.com was born.

There were already several successful EQ news sites, as well as some popular guild pages like Fires of Heaven and Afterlife (featuring famed leaders Furor and Tigole, respectively). The latter pair had cornered the market on what the community called “rant sites”, so my friends and I decided to try something different. Sure, we had issues with things in EQ, but we loved the game. Loved it. Why not show that love by writing thoughtful articles that gave the developers the benefit of the doubt instead of berating them? Don’t get me wrong–we complained too. But our articles tried to suggest solutions as well.

Somewhere along the way, we heard that the devs at SOE actually read our site… and liked it! One day after posting about monk issues, I got an email from Scott Hartman, tech director of the game. I nearly fell out of my chair. Conversations with him–and lead designer Rich Waters–gave me a peek behind the curtain at how developers actually approached problems, and it helped me grow as a player and observer.

In 2002, I was invited to a community summit on site in San Diego. Seeing the offices where the game was made, being able to talk to the team and get a peek at upcoming content… it was magical. I was told that the guy who ran the studio, Rod Humble, wanted to chat with me. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Rod was super chill and polite, telling me how he appreciated Mobhunter. He asked if I’d checked out the newly launched EverQuest Online Adventures on the PlayStation 2. I said no, because I didn’t have the console. He turned to a PR guy in the room and told him to send me one, along with an online adapter and a copy of EQOA. It felt like Zeus had blessed me with a magic sword. I couldn’t believe that companies actually did stuff like this. Rod had something else he wanted to talk to me about. We all knew by this point that EverQuest II was in development. He said the game would be needing a community manager. Was that something I’d consider?

Was it something I’d… something I’d consider??? Yes, Rod. Yes, I would.

A few months later, they brought me back for an interview. I met the new team, got to see the new game. Two days after arriving back home, they called me with a job offer. And my life changed forever.

That was 2003. The development of EQ2 could be its own series of articles, and the founding and downfall of 38 Studios could be a novel. In my return to SOE, I worked on Vanguard, Landmark, and the ill-fated EQ Next. Now I’m at Blizzard, working on the MMO that grew to be many times more successful than the game that inspired it. But none of these things, including the job I have today, would have been possible without EverQuest.

I owe so much to so many. To Marlo and Ben, for sharing our passion in EQ and turning it into the website that started it all. To Smed, who was always kind and caring for the teams that worked for him. To Rod, who literally sparked my career in games. To Scott and Rich for giving me the first glimpses into a world I’d come to love. To Blakely, Andy, Bruce, and the EQ2 team for giving me a chance and helping me to learn. And to the many coworkers I’ve been in the trenches with over the years, sharing successes and failures, elation and heartbreak. I love what I do, and never take for granted how lucky I am to do it.

Happy birthday, EverQuest. Here’s to Norrath, and to all those who have called it home.

One thought on “Twenty Years of EQ

  1. Nostalgia, chills, and perhaps a tear – all the feels as I read this through.

    So many memories. It was a simpler time.

    I’ve chased the emotions, the terror of the unknown, the constant risk of exporation, the mysterious rewards of victory in many other games since.

    It was lightning in a bottle. Happy birthday EQ. Ding 20!

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