The Death of Star Wars Galaxies

Another death. This time it’s Star Wars Galaxies.

Here’s an interview with Smedley.

And a few words from Raph Koster.

And Sony’s apparently having a bit of market difficulty these days too. Maybe all those combined bad vibes from NGE discontents so many years ago worked their way through the ectoplasm plane and laid down a severe case of dark side of the force on their doorstep. Or maybe it’s the inevitable result of a bad strategic decision which drove us gamers nuts, sort of like watching a blackjack player draw to nineteen when he’s betting the money he owes you.

Smedley’s right though. It was THE sandbox game. And it makes me sad to think that all the virtual spaces I frequented will soon no longer exist. The pink fields of Dantooine, the creepy overcast peaks of Dathomir, the sandy expanses of Tattooine, the tropical beaches of Yavin. As well as my billion credits, nightsister armband, rare lightsaber crystals and art collection. And the romantic café where my avatar spent hours cuddling with my last ex’s avatar, between the move and the breakup.

It’s a different era than nearly a decade ago, when I had a rabbit bouncing around inspiring my gamer handles and MMOs were something daring and weird that teenagers and hardcore nerds played which would probably turn them all into fat serial killers. The technoluddites are still around, posting comments about how oh dear, computers will destroy our children and give us all herpes, on the internet, but these days nobody pays attention to them and the New York Times has a video game page where it reviews games.

Games themselves, meanwhile, are still sort of stuck. Having learned there is big money in games, corporate types seem to be focusing on one summer blockbuster at a time rather than five hundred B movies that will all find their niche. The main sellers are leaning more in a narrative, theme park direction than the sandboxy-type stuff I personally cherish. Everyone (including me) is sitting on the edge of their chair waiting for SWTOR.

It was crazy back then in the wild wild west, though. You could tool around in pink spaceships playing in a band. I did that. I’ve still got some of those songs in my head today, and I hope someone preserved it all on youtube somewhere in case I feel nostalgic.

And unfortunately (or fortunately in some cases) I’ve sailed in different directions than every single person I connected with in SWG, although I made a good try at continuing the relationship – except Lifa. I’m looking forward to seeing ya in SWTOR one of these days, Lifa. I have fond memories of the time you and I were both up at dawn doing jedi quests. And our first server first.

I might have some screenshots somewhere, if they weren’t all on the computer with the hard drive that assploded. And if I close my eyes, I can see the inside of the little café my Ithorian chick set up to do her banking and selling, wearing her tight 70’s-ish bellbottoms. There was a front room with couches for waiting customers and a glass case full of pies. There was a tiny bar covered with lightsaber crystals and bottles, where I did esoteric things with holograms to give it moody blue lighting. And there was the restaurant itself, with waitress and busboy and chef vendors all reciting their lines, and a row of tables, each carefully set by me, with me-fabricated food bearing custom sarcastic names.

All soon to perish in a great unplugging. I feel a vast disturbance in the force.