Why am I so excited that Square-Enix finally rolled out the North American website for Dragon Quest Swords: The Masked Queen and the Tower of Mirrors? As difficult as it is for me to admit, the time has come to be honest. Hello, my name is Anthony (a.k.a. D.J. T-wan), I'm 28-years old and I am addicted to killing Slimes.

Is Dragon Quest Swords going to win Game of the Year for 2008? No. Is it going to reshape the face of gaming as we know it? I'm leaning toward no. Is it the next evolution of motion-controlled gameplay? Not even close. It will, however, serve as a brief distraction until the release of Dragon Quest IX and, for fans of the series like myself, provide a whimsical alternative to actual exercise. Besides, what could be more fun than a hybrid rail shooter/RPG where you commit large-scale genocide against a race of perpetually joyous sentient ooze droplets? It's the next best thing to punting kittens (if you're into that sort of thing). At the very least, when I bring the game home on or about February 26th, my wife should have a good chuckle watching me dodge, parry and thrust my way to nostalgic glory (double entendre intended).

So what is it about these iconic grinning globules of gelatinous evil that, despite being the single weakest enemy in the series, intrigues me? Basically, it takes some prodigious cojones to voluntarily (and consistently) enlist as minions for a variety of evil overlords while fully cognizant of the fact that your evil mission will end the first time you have the misfortune to engage some yahoo with a makeshift weapon. This is a fictitious creature that either (a) has a severe Napoleonic complex or, at the very least, (b) possesses a delusional narcissism of suicidal proportions.

I was first introduced to the Dragon Quest series (originally released as Dragon Warrior in the United States to avoid infringing on the trademark of the pen and paper role-playing game, DragonQuest), in 1990 when, in the single greatest marketing promotion in the history of gaming, new subscribers to Nintendo Power received the game FOR FREE. Being an entrepreneurial 11-year old and, coincidentally, lacking the fiduciary means to facilitate my burgeoning video game addiction, I went straight to my parents. Following a brilliant and insightful economic presentation wherein I explained the numerous benefits to monetary sponsorship of said subscription in light of the free game being offered (a $50 value!), my parents agreed. 6-8 weeks later, my copy of Dragon Warrior arrived in the mail and my long and torrid love affair (ewww...) with the unofficial series mascot began:



17 years later and, in spite of the fact that I consider myself an intelligent adult (this article aside), I still smile at the prospect of swatting fictitious invertebrates into oblivion. Who needs deep gameplay and riveting narrative if the experience is just plain old fun?

Maybe it's nostalgia.

Maybe I bumped my head really hard this morning and I have no business writing anything for the site today.

Or, maybe Slimes are a metaphor for the unrelenting optimism inherent in the human psyche; a caricature of that burning desire to be a hero, the underdog who comes out on top against overwhelming odds. Perhaps Slimes are The Little Engine That Could of the video game generation, pressing ever forward toward a seemingly unattainable goal, their only solace coming from the singular thought, "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can."

It's also possible that I simply enjoy being the one to say, "No, you can't."