Maplestory: The Good Ol’ Days

Ah, yes. We all remember it like it was yesterday. Before Chaos. Before Big Bang. Before Masteria and New Leaf City. Before fourth job. Before even third job.

Back in those days. The days of Henesys Hunting Grounds I, Pig Park (and iron hog slaughtering), Somebody Else’s House. When there were little else than Zakum, Papulatus, and Crimson Balrog as our primary threats.

People of today are so naive and arrogant to these memories. They are maligned to their capitalistic, Lutheran routines, so mundane and monotonous only gold farmers would have the mind to stomach such nonsense. They do not see Maplestory as a game; they see it only as numbers, as statistics, oh how loathing and pitiless are their criticisms. Perhaps indicative of a scrooge-like manner, I have no idea what (and indeed, where) LHC is, for I care not about these number mosh pits, bottomless in its abyss. Nae, I’d rather train in the Temple of Time, Leafre, and Henesys Ruins, should I have been of that level.

They say, “how was old Maplestory better? Leveling was a bore, a chore, now it’s so easy!” “Look at all the awesome items, all the great buffs, they we have now, that we didn’t have in your old stinkin’ days.”

But to what avail? Where are all of these youngsters heading to? Level 200? An arbitrary number to which no one would care for anymore once they hit the fabled level?

Are they socializing? I would certainly doubt their authenticity. In the days of yore, people went to party quests, quarreled at the guild quest, lingered in El Nath and chatted in HHG. They were real breeding grounds for social connections, simple ones, just informal chit-chat between fellow players, strangers.

Now, they are mechanized to the third job, as if nothing of that seventy levels had but a matter in them. Yes, people swarm to such locales as “jesters” and LHC, but those areas are not social; rather, they’re more anti-social in the word than were the kill-stealing wars of coolie zombies. So automatic: they find a party, one that is not full, of a map most optimized for experience, and then they would kill. Mindless, robotic, droning. Not a word between fellow members, for that would destroy the efficiency benefitted by this map. And should another party disrupt their chore, they would either drive their foes away with the utmost urgency, lest they lose their precious, empty experience, or else move to another map or channel in hopes of avoiding that loss altogether. And through this all, not an audible word was heard, nothing but “ccs plz” and “no KS.”

Indeed, I would threaten to state that the only socialization in this wretched game are done through clans, guilds, organizations, alliances, however they should be called. They provide the solace from the humdrum of everyday gaming, in the same vein as gaming does for everyday life. Some are meaningless: people band together not for commonalities, but for business practices or training. These, while perhaps helpful in their cause, can be void of opinions should their goals be singular. The greatest guilds, and I uphold this statement, are those who persisted from the time of guilds, and those that were born from true friendships, and those that were built not on the basis of levels, or jobs, or skill, but of togetherness.

What place do we have to socialize? The free market? While the space is convenient for intercontinental meetings, the site is bland, organized so discreetly, and as its name suggests, is more intended on capitalistic purposes.

There were the days of traveling between Ellinia and Orbis, where some happy-go-lucky fellow might brave him or her self to challenge the Crimson Balrogs that uncommonly besieged the ship, while the passengers below clucked their beaks on non-sequiturs, perhaps playing a drop game or two, or prancing around like some half-wit.

There were the times of hanging out at the Henesys Hunting Grounds. It did not matter what level you were; whether you were in your first job or third, a warrior or a mage, a scavenger or a killer, you were invited to this tiered map. There was great contest in every channel: the weaklings who fought for snails and shrooms, the greater foes aiming for slimes and mushrooms. Those who avoided the entire, eternal battle sat on the makeshift shed, or the bales of hay, or the floating platforms to the left. Aye, it was peace and war: the best of times and the worst of times.

What of Pig Park? This notorious spot was tucked away at the three-way intersection of Kerning City, Lith Harbor and Henesys. Its name may suggest a map purely of pigs, but on the top road were a few snails that dotted the landscape. Every here and there a pig donned in full metal would burst onto the scene, and those under second job would screech in horror as this mighty oaf rammed the weaklings like a bull in a rodeo.

El Nath was the sight of many a great war. Four maps and twenty channels could simply not satiate the need for experience, and conflicts perpetuated these unholy grounds. They were so optimal: the clerics could heal these foes, while all others were free to rip the zombies asunder, fearing neither of stun nor of poison. To say that these were the darkest days of past pales in the face of the paralyzing horrors of current socializing patterns.

Alas, those days would never return. Some have fled to quiet abodes, where a land was replicated to represent the unchanged past, but so many lands were made, and so few went to them. Others have carried on, persisting through what time and change has thrown at them, adapting to the new, discarding the old. Still more have simply dropped their swords and wands altogether, seeking a greater spire of entertainment and refuge.

Yea, those were the good ol’ days.

P.S. I can’t really post many personal pictures into my blog because the mechanics uses URLs. I’ll leave those shenanigans to Cheeze and Nass.