The Legend of Dragon Quest: Creation - universe - decryption

PREFACE

SIMPLICITY has almost ceased to exist and attempting to explain soon becomes a nightmare. We lose ourselves in metaphors and synonyms when everything is there, before our eyes, even in video games. So let’s begin with the fragrance of nostalgia, because that is what I like and that is the very heart of Dragon Quest.

It was a summer’s day in 2000 in Japan. Regulars say that summer is not the best season for visiting because of the heat. And they are right. Everyone is trying to get out of the city, which has become a furnace. We are nothing more than pools of sweat, wandering from one air-conditioned shop to another. But back then, I had a very good reason for being in Tokyo. To be precise, it is August 26, in Akihabara, and the queues are growing longer in the video games district. Reservations are not commonplace in the kombini, Amazon is not the huge international distributor that we now know, so it is still worth waiting outside. Pre-3G and smartphone Japan was a totally different country.

Seikimatsu. A feeling often experienced by regular visitors to Japan. It describes the impression of the end of an era. A nation condemned to perpetual reconstruction by nature itself. And in this odd moment, there is a sense that this is also the last major release of a video game, an event capable of bringing so many people together. A few months previously, for PlayStation 2, helicopters were hovering over the district. The queues wind around buildings, into the park behind the department stores. Incidentally, the park with its basketball court no longer exists, because things always have to change. Soon, people won’t even have to leave their homes. So this August 26, 2000 is a celebration: the arrival of Dragon Quest VII for PlayStation. On the sidewalk, a camera moves towards me, delighted to find a gaijin. Dragon Quest is still an all-Japanese phenomenon, enjoying only a tiny speck of success in the West, dating back to the NES era. When PlayStation 2 came out, foreigners flooded into Akihabara to buy their many consoles, but by August, they had vanished, as if they had melted in the sun. The huge camera turns its lens towards me and asks why I’m here and what I think of Dragon Quest. Totally alone and not yet used to TV, in a language I do not yet master, I mumble out some kind of vapid answer. I think I said something like Because it’s brilliant. Wow, well done.

That evening, in the little business hotel where I was staying that time, in a minute and not particularly comfortable room, I switched on the TV. Young tourists may not realize this but then, almost all hotels charged for use of the TV. Every set had a coin slot. A hundred yen for one hour. An evening in front of the TV for the price of ramen, roughly. That night, I came across the release of Dragon Quest VII in Akihabara. Much more interesting than me and my shy punchlines, the smiling, short-haired girl interviewed after me hesitated, thought for a moment, before saying: "Dragon Quest is actually very simple... fundamental even," as if she had drawn from her own memories, her own nostalgia, to answer the journalist. She was quite right, Dragon Quest, a simple video game, connects primarily with the eternal child that resides inside us.

While I was writing this book, a close friend sent me the new advert for the release of Dragon Quest XI. He added a cheeky: The campaign for your book’s not bad. The advert states: And so we became heroes. There are Dragon Quest players of all ages, using all kinds of consoles. The ad starts with the same familiar fanfare found in all the episodes. All players, children, teens, adults, are represented from the salaryman rushing home to finish his session to the kid dreaming of teleportation, from the guy waiting in the rain for a new episode to be released to the girl studying, with a handwritten note pinned to the wall: "No Dragon Quest until exams are over," from school kids reading the guide-book during recess to mom demanding that the console be switched off for dinner. This advert is accurate in so many ways, even down to the accidental unplugging that we have probably all experienced! This series, more than any other, invites nostalgia. These two minutes remind us of who we are at a specific moment, where we come from and what brings us together.

This is where I come from. My first Dragon Quest was V. I still remember its crushed cardboard box. The logo caught my eye in the aisles of a second-hand game store in République, the video games district in Paris, especially in the 1990s. At the time, France was all about Dragon Ball Z. Fans everywhere were seeking out even the most trivial representation of Son Gokû and his family. The Internet as we know it did not exist. We were alert for news. We would try to piece together bits of the coming story with the first shitajiki¹ or a simple picture from a magazine, and let our imaginations run wild. The cover of the fifth volume represented so much: an invitation to travel, a long quest and a love story. The torn clothes and walking stick of the main character suggest a complicated journey. The cape recalls the post-apocalyptic costumes of Fist of the Northstar, while the hat, a kind of wound turban, is a direct reference to Son Gokû’s clothes when he comes back as an adult from a long training session. The unique style of Toriyama is most obvious in the faces of the two heroes, gazing out towards the horizon, haircuts very reminiscent of Yamcha and Bulma. The sabretooth, which we assume to be both aggressive and loyal, reminds us of Cringer, the fighting companion of He-Man in Masters of the Universe. The little dragon makes me think of Lockheed, Kitty Pryde’s pet in X-Men and, let’s be honest here, who doesn’t like baby dragon mascots? The range of colors reflects the good taste of Toriyama’s beautiful drawings from those years. The balance between the sabretooth’s black spots and the white of the hero’s tunic is sublime, enhancing the other colors. The composition is also perfect. At the foot of the main character, Slime, the legendary monster of the series, adds a comical aspect to the illustration. I would realize only later that this was the first time that the "Pikachu of Dragon Quest" was depicted on the cover of a game of the series. Akira Toriyama took care to allow certain elements to extend slightly beyond his frame. The picture makes perfect use of the vertical format of Super Famicom cartridges, which were original at a time when most were horizontal. Even today, I still think that it is one of the most beautiful video game illustrations ever.

And so, I purchased a game for its cover. It was an impulse buy, a bit like choosing games for the screenshots on the back of the box. Of course, back then, with less information available and less experienced sales staff, that was what we often did. I could go on with the illustration of the instructions, which shows the same hero as on the cover, but younger, in the company of a mustached, square-built chap who, at first glance, appears to be his father.

As soon as I got home, I slid the cartridge into my console. And then, fantasy became reality. In 1992, Dragon Quest V was an RPG that was somewhat dull to watch. As was often said, It arrived a generation too late. The graphics were not that different from those of the old NES. A lot of imagination was required to see the little splotches of pixels as the brave traveler depicted on the game cover. But in spite of the not-so-exciting first impression, I persisted. What made me persevere at first was the prospect of a story that covered several generations. Phantasy Star III: Generations of Doom was already available on Megadrive, proposing the exhilaration of an epic poem, relayed over several decades. The Dragon Quest V adventure relates a long family saga covering more than half a century. I did not know then that the Dragon Quest series was based on the traditional pattern of the elected hero, like Avatar, the main character of Ultima.

I then bought the guide books from a Japanese bookshop in downtown Paris, partly for the same reason as I had bought the game: beautiful illustrations. These proved vital considering the laborious and complicated nature of certain passages. My Japanese was very rudimentary then, but I had faith: only a short time before, I had managed to finish Breath of Fire in Japanese. Even so, you had to be keen to get through Dragon Quest V. Paradoxically, with today’s enthusiasm for retro-gaming, it would go down quite well.

Even with only limited knowledge of Japanese and somewhat difficult technical conditions, the story was very well told. This was perhaps what surprised players most. Dragon Quest V is a large family cycle of emotions, as transparent as an epic tale by Alexandre Dumas, the author of famous works such as The Three Musketeers. In the end, I was lucky that my first taste of the series was this excellent episode, since VI was far more extravagant, with its tales of parallel universes and heroes traveling on flying beds. A slightly puzzling game, but not without levity nor offbeat humor. One of the most emotional moments of Dragon Quest V is when we end up going back in time to change the past, thus saving the future. The time travel theme has been so often used in science fiction, particularly during the 1980s, that it should have left me impassive. It was not even the first time I had experienced it in a video game. But this adventure, with its simple graphics and persistent melodies, glanced lightly upon feelings that leave no one unmoved. What would I have done differently if I could have changed things is a very common concept used in fiction, from A Distant Neighborhood by Jirô Taniguchi to the Quantum Leap series. Well-told, it is so simple and so effective that it affects each and every one of us.

It was also around about then that my father would come into my room to see what I was up to. I was always playing Dragon Quest. He laughed at me, at my game and its characters who were following each other around. It even led to him coming up with a silly nickname for RPGs. As a true descendant of the Russian intelligentsia, he hated video games. Totally unyielding. I never managed to explain what I got from those hours spent glued to my screen. Since then, I have wanted to share the things I love. In my work, I try to understand why a work can create an emotion, convey something. And so, I will not fail you.

As I bring this preface to its conclusion, I am celebrating twenty years as a journalist and twice that in years. It just so happens that Dragon Quest is also celebrating its thirtieth anniversary. So many reasons to celebrate with a book.

If you are reading this today, I would like to thank you for your confidence. I am also counting on you, assuming that you know what an RPG is. And that you have heard of Akira Toriyama. The purpose of this book is not to review all the Dragon Quest games. I have no intention of summarizing the sometimes bizarre adventures that players can encounter, or of reviewing the characters of every episode. Do not expect a full alphabetical list of all the monsters either—that would bore the both of us. The same applies to details of sales and versions, listed line by line on Wikipedia. This book is not an almanac — there are plenty of perfectly good official Japanese publications for that. I cannot illustrate my ideas either, which makes the job somewhat tricky.

What has always interested me in video game journalism is not How many levels, How many weapons or How many characters can you play. The real question is why. This book looks at "Why Dragon Quest?" My goal is to describe the creation and development of a series, a legend, a commercial success, a sociological phenomenon, and my private passion. In short, I aim to get you interested and entertain you.

Simplicity, as Bruce Lee said, is the key to brilliance. In the simplest manner possible, I therefore invite you to join me in the imaginary world of Dragon Quest.

1 Literally under-sheets, these document holders were made of plastic whose flexibility and transparency varied according to the versions. Rarely used in offices, they are generally sought out by collectors for their illustrations and the series from which they are taken.

INTRODUCTION

WHAT IS DRAGON QUEST?

"Forget what you are escaping from. Reserve your anxiety

for what you are escaping to."

Michael Chabon,

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

THIS is a story that begins, quite literally, with a fanfare. The opening of the very first Dragon Quest begins with synthetic horns. Precisely ten seconds of 8-bit instruments. A brief pause, then it begins. The main melody sets in, far more imposing and grandiloquent, accompanied by a screen that tirelessly invites you to begin the adventure: press Start. These arrangements vary over time and with each episode, the horns become trumpets and synthesizers become orchestras, but the intention remains the same. For generations of Japanese players, these emblematic melodies are the signature of Japan’s greatest ever role play series. Just a few notes let you know that you are setting out on a long journey. The theme reminds us that even the longest voyage begins with a single step, and that it is up to the player to face the dangers.

One thing that was very rare at the time is that not one, but three names are associated with the creation of this video game. It became customary to see their names displayed at the start of every session, in a deferential silence, before the sounds of the brass burst in. Yûji Horii, Akira Toriyama, Kôichi Sugiyama. In that order. This trio of artists represent the soul of Dragon Quest, the foundation stone of Japanese RPGs, the series that created the clichés of a style and even coined expressions that are now in popular use. Their work can be summed up by three modest concepts: adventure, simplicity, love.

Dragon Quest is not the oldest Japanese role-playing game, but it was almost certainly the spearhead and the first massive cultural phenomenon of its kind in Japan. Thirty years on, this name, which has since become a style and a trademark, is revered by players, for whom it means the promise of an epic adventure with a taste of nostalgia. It is, of course, also a label symbolizing a colossal commercial empire. Three decades have seen around ten canonical episodes and as many spin-offs on all generations of games consoles. In Japan alone, more than sixty million copies of Dragon Quest have been sold, all versions.

DRAGON QUEST: A HARD-HITTING NAME

Yûji Horii came up with the sober but forceful title. He explains¹ that he chose this name because it combines the word Dragon, which is meaningful to everyone, with Quest, an enigmatic word with multiple meanings. When choosing the name, Yûji Horii recalled a lesson from his time at Gekigasonjuku school, founded by Kazuo Koike². His mentor and friend told him one day that it was wise to associate one word that was easy to remember with another more complicated word. He also claimed that titles starting with the sounds T and D are much easier to remember for Japanese people. Young Horii remembered this advice when creating his major production.

A detail of importance is the choice of the western word Dragon. He could have used the regular Japanese word, Ryû. He had the choice. The word ryû has its own share of implications, and can be written with two different kanjis: Illustration and Illustration . The first implies a degree of animality, like a large lizard³, while the second, the traditional version, is more complex, incorporating a sacred, even divine dimension⁴. Paradoxically, dragons are not really the issue in Dragon Quest, at least, not to begin with. As we will see, the Japanese public would soon latch on. And, like everything that becomes popular, it was given a nickname. People started talking about DraQue ( Illustration ), following the tradition of taking the first two syllables of a compound name. A smart, effective and unique abbreviation. No risk of confusing DraQue with another game.

THE HERO FIGURE IN 1986

Dragon Quest, the first Japanese RPG for the general public, defined the codes of a whole genre and an entire industry, at least in terms of the hero. As in the first Zelda no Densetsu, released a few months before the first Dragon Quest, the protagonist does not speak. His contribution to conversation is limited to the choice between yes or no. This could be considered, if not as a sign of laziness, at least as an economical solution. However, the approach remains the same: the hero is at the heart of the adventure. Generally speaking, I think that a protagonist who speaks ends up distancing the player. He plays as if the character is an extension of himself. In this case, why would the avatar suddenly start speaking? explains Yûji Horii, in a joint interview with Shigeru Miyamoto, legendary creator of Mario and Zelda⁵. Horii develops his idea: [The player] is playing as though the character is an extension of himself, so why is his avatar suddenly speaking of its own accord? He’ll be struck with the realization that the character he’s been thinking of as himself up until now is actually someone else entirely.

For the thirtieth anniversary of Dragon Quest, its publisher, Square Enix, organized a get-together for fans, with an exhibition on the series⁶. Ten life-sized portraits of the heroes of the saga were gathered together in a huge room at the entrance. Ironically, a single Roman numeral was marked above the heads of the protagonists, all lined up in the hall in decreasing order. On the publisher’s official communication documents, the only indication is Shûjinkô⁷, which simply means hero. Yûji Horii’s original idea was to place the player at the heart of the game, rather like those books in which the reader is the hero. In another room, dioramas showed major scenes of the various games. A fat tradesman being pursued by a wild waterfall, a traveler giving a ribbon to a killer sabretooth and, of course, some of the majestic fights against demons. The message is that the important thing is to experience the adventure.

A UNIQUE SUCCESS

On May 27, 1986, more than five hundred thousand copies of the first episode of the series were put on sale in Japan. By the end of the year, Enix had sold a million, reports Yukinobu Chida⁸, producer of the series since it began. Although Dragon Quest caused a shock-wave in Japan, the western world had to wait to discover these fantastic adventures.

The first episodes were released in the US, but under the name Dragon Warrior due to legal issues⁹. In 1980, there was already a traditional Medieval fantasy role-playing game called DragonQuest, published by Simulation Publication. This situation lasted until 2003, when Square Enix finally succeeded in registering its name for the North American market.

Although France was much more open to mangas and animes, Dragon Quest was only really known because of the fame of its artist, Akira Toriyama. Fans saw it as the author’s other success, marginal alongside Dragon Ball. The first work related to DraQue to reach France was the cartoon Fly, or Daino Daibôken, its original title, based on a manga published by Shûeisha¹⁰. Ironically, in this modest initial contact with the French public, the manga never mentions the games series on which it was based, and its link with Toriyama is not cited once. It is not even a canonical episode that starts the ball rolling in Europe, but a spin-off on Game Boy Color, Dragon Warrior Monsters, released on January 25, 1999¹¹. It was some time before the public made the logical connection between Dragon, Quest, Toriyama and RPG.

PRINCIPLE

In time, what ultimately best defines Dragon Quest is the almost rustic simplicity of the games. A way of producing what I call the ligne claire of RPG, in reference to the graphic style of the Belgian school of comic drawings. This style describes a desire to get directly to the point, with limited resources and few special effects. What is essential here, marking an obvious similarity with these comics, is not only the simple line, but its legibility. Choices are precise and strict, even for details that could be considered as unimportant. Dragon Quest, as we will often see in this book, represents the incarnation of this ligne claire in the world of RPG.

The industry as a whole pushes the games towards sensationalism, with major productions becoming more like movies in their narrative approach. Yûji Horii, throughout his career, wanted to tell stories, making do with what he had, almost in opposition to the techniques of his era. It is not by chance that the sound effects have remained almost unchanged over the years either. From