The Engagement Is Off: Breaking Up With The Old Republic

Obok hasn't aged well under the pressure of monthly payments.

I’ve been hesitant to commit, then I rashly got engaged. I sunk hours of play into my relationship with The Old Republic [TOR], now I’m calling it off. I purchased the game, paid the monthly subscription fees, then I realized I was not happy. I was no longer satisfied being in this costly relationship. The newness of our accord quickly wore off, and all that remained was the constant grind that constantly cost me $15 a month.

The first month passed. The newness of BioWare’s, well done, story arcs dried up like a Tusken Raider corpse sitting under Tatooine’s twin suns. Each time I launched Origin, I would hover my mouse over the TOR launch icon, just to move it away. Obok Stillsky’s bounty hunter blood no longer boiled for dangerous contracts, and my thirst for the Dark Side had been satiated . The only contract I was concerned about now, was the one I had with Electronic Arts.

Blizz, I knew you the least but I will miss you the most.

I never was a Massively Multiplayer Online [MMO] fanboy but I couldn’t resist  the lure of a well funded and developed Star Wars iteration. I realize now, that I will probably never be a MMO regular. TOR had all the makings of an MMO I could enjoy, and honestly it is a well made game but its biggest problem, for me, it’s an MMO. Some of the fault lies with me and the types of games I enjoy playing, which are anything but a MMO. One issue that I take no blame for is the soon to be archaic subscription model, that less and less MMOs are using.

The pain of me leaving is too much for her to bear; she can't stand to look me in the face.

Paying for a game, then continually paying for it on a monthly basis, is and will forever be foreign to me. With great games selling for $15 to $60 (not excluding superbly priced indie games that go for cheaper) that provide 100s of hours of game play, I have trouble justifying a $60 down payment in addition to monthly fees. The subscription model for MMOs are going the way of print and my experience with TOR was my first and last venture into this dying business model.

Not even a free TOR Tauntaun pet will bring me back.

The Old Republic, License to Kill. Learning Permit, License to Thrill.

The twin suns of Tatooine hit the fins of Obok’s speeder bike and gleam in the eyes of the rabble mulling around the vendors. A Jawa, drunk on juri juice, narrowly misses being clipped by the nose of my Ubrikkian Striker. Slow to react, I hear him scream “Utini!” about 20 meters after our close encounter. Obok Stillsky is pursuing a Rodian bounty hunter who took credits, rather than fulfill his contract. In the Great Hunt, taking a bribe rather than closing your contract is punishable by death, at least in Obok’s mind.

Ubrikkian Striker Speeder

The summer prior to my sophomore year I remember walking to my soon-to-be high school to attend a week long drivers ed course. The morning sun was gentle and wouldn’t be a problem until later in the day. The course was useful, mostly because upon its completion, it lowered car insurance premiums. It was also a good way to meet other incoming sophomores from different junior highs around the area.

Obok had taken any bounty he could get his hand on, on a multitude of planets. Any side jobs made available to him, no matter how minuscule, were accepted. Obok scrimped and quested until he had reached level 25 and had 40,000 credits. In TOR, not only do you have to be level 25 to be eligible for speeder piloting training but you also need 40,000 credits to pay for it. The irony, Obok already owned a star ship (The Abort Ion). He had already piloted his way to different galaxies but until just seconds ago, Obok had never felt the hot desert wind blow through his armor while seated on a speeder bike.

There were about five cars total, running through the cone course in the parking lot of the high school. Each car had two occupants that would switch off on the task of driving. For the most part you would just idle through the course, take your time, and leave at least a two cars length distance from the car in front of you. Today’s class, however, would go a little different.

Traversing the epic landscapes of Tatooine by foot would be painstaking at the very least, deadly for most. Obok knew where ole-tentacle-eyes was enjoying his riches, thanks to a generous donation of information from a Bith staring down a blaster muzzle. A little dive cantina that had watered down drinks but great Twilek ass was the perfect place for a washed up bounty hunter to spend his negotiated credits. It would also be a great place for Obok to corner the bugged-eyed-bastard and maybe, pick up a date.

On the opposite side of the circular course I noticed a car take a turn too sharp and acquire a coned shape passenger under its front right tire. My passenger and I laughed. Instead of just stopping, the driver panicked, accelerated and wrenched the cone deep into the wheel well. My passenger and I cringed. The class instructor, also one of the high school counselors, blew the air horn signaling everyone to stop. Everyone did, except for the one toting a cone.

Getting to the Rodian’s retirement party quickly was an essential part to Obok’s plan and having a speeder made it possible. Getting the drop on a bounty hunter was an advantage for Obok but getting the drop on a drunk bounty hunter was even better. The cantina was multileveled and the VIP section was down stairs, that’s where Obok’s mark would be. Scoping the the room from the bottom of the steps, the Rodian stood out just like you would imagine a green skinned would. Drunk and throwing money away on drinks and dancers you could tell he was having fun, which made it that much more enjoyable for Obok to kill the mood. Like Moses of fiction, Obok parted the Twilek sea of dancers, “Sorry to interrupt.”

To be continued…