I finally beat the ultimate boss of Etrian Odyssey today, meaning I’ve finished the Monstrous Codex and just have the Item Compendium remaining… but, that’s not the point of this post.

I’ve been slowly working more people down and getting them to play the game, and in doing so I’m reminded of what makes it such a great game. I think that some time in the past, I’d said that “the game hates you", and time has led me to reconsider that statement.

The game respects you.

Sure, maybe an aspect of it (primarily the narration, for me) is a bit steeped in nostalgia, but the game knows what you want (or what it thinks you deserve) and presents it to you as clearly and easily as it can — it leaves you with a dungeon and a myriad of options for tackling it. But, practically every step of the way, you’re in control of the progression — how fast you advance, how gut-wrenching you make the FOE battles, how much focus you put on your favorite party members and how rounded your guild becomes. It sets the stage and lets you be the players, without latching itself onto your experience by burdening you with high fantasy plot and saving the world for love. Other RPGs can and do provide you that; Etrian Odyssey is around to relieve you of it. It is pure, as only RPG-fundamental water can be.

For its respect, it demands the same in kind. Having spent countless hours on the game, I’ve come to see my guild as a living thing — something I have grown and nurtured from its nascent stage to its present near-god state, the characters’ skills and names (my retired characters were replaced with those of the same class and name, with a “II” suffix) acting as personalizing scars and records, a sort of living history of thirty levels of dungeon exploration. It’s fun for me to watch other people start their journey.

And how it encourages exploration. The first task, even, is to map the first floor to an acceptable degree, and it sets you up for what the game expects of you — to make something with the blank slate it has presented you. Learn the way that is right for you to map, to equip your party, to set your expectations for the venture into the Labyrinth. There are completion benchmarks, of course, but Etrian Odyssey is wonderfully content to refuse to rope you along in plot or in archetype, to the point that the former is bare and the latter is entirely up to you. Create a traveling party of Medics (a challenge I would expect is only slightly less hardcore than the Final Fantasy four white mage challenge — but primarily so because Etrian Odyssey gives its Medics more options) if you so choose. Ignore the sidequests for a while? Fine. Arm yourself to the teeth by creating a party of farmers to compliment your adventurers? Great!

As my time in Etrian Odyssey comes to close with the last dozen or so items left to discover, I’m looking forward to the sequel. Not because there are unanswered plot points in the first, or a new earth-shattering game mechanic or killer class, but because, absent being able to bottle the experience of progressing through Etrian Odyssey for the first time unaided, I want to relive those first timid steps into a dungeon adventure that, if nothing else, became mine as I was given the freedom to write its story by my actions.

I really believe this is a singular experience, and that console or computer, eastern or western, this is one of the best RPGs I’ve ever played.