The Day Dragon Warrior Rewired My Brain

Dragon Warrior I-II was released in North America in September 2000.
For the real ones out there, Dragon Warrior = Dragon Quest.
I was 11 years old, probably still rocking a mushroom haircut. But hey, who cares.
I had a GameBoy Color, a $20 birthday bill, and an undeniable thirst for adventure.

I jumped on my bike, headed straight to MicroPlay — that sacred temple where I’d dig through the shelves in search of hidden gems or exciting new games.

That’s when I stumbled on something obscure:
Dragon Warrior I & II

None of my friends had heard of it. Me neither, honestly.
And of course, my best friend at the time dropped this genius comment:

“Oh yeah, it’s like Final Fantasy… but not as good?”

I didn’t care.
Sure, it stung a little — but he didn’t get it.
Because I was already hypnotized by the cover art.

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Back then, the internet was just getting started.
I had no idea Dragon Quest was a massive cultural phenomenon in Japan.
And I certainly didn’t know Akira Toriyama — the genius behind Dragon Ball — was the artist behind it all.

But none of that mattered.
I had spent my $20, and I was beyond excited to play.
I popped the cartridge into my GameBoy Color…

And then…

NEURAL EXPLOSION.

The music.
The colors.
The turn-based battles.
The castle’s solemn theme.
The world map, slow and nostalgic.
The lone hero’s quest against the world.
Even the dull background music had weight.

It was magic.
And without realizing it, I was getting programmed.

This game shaped me.
It infused me, drip by drip, with:

• a love for weird little creatures
• a fascination with lone heroes
• a taste for swords and magic
• a hunger for adventure and exploration
• and above all… a certain worldview.

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At 11, my brain was still molding itself — and I’m pretty sure Dragon Warrior quietly indoctrinated me into manichaeism:

1. Good guys must always win.
2. Bad guys deserve to be whacked with swords.
3. Every castle holds a mystery.
4. Every village is full of innocent people to protect.
5. And most importantly: open every chest! (Okay, maybe that’s just my curious nature — or what others call good ol’ FOMO.)

A few months later, I had finished Dragon Quest I, made some progress in II… but I’ll be honest — it was a real challenge. Between all the grinding and the complete lack of direction, I ended up abandoning my obscure practice. I sold the game.

Not at MicroPlay this time — at EB Games.
The memory’s hazy, but I think I went by car, so I must’ve been a bit older and thought I had outgrown Dragon Quest.

Never have I been so wrong.

It’s like a tiny voice inside me whispered:

“Just wait 10 years — you’ll start craving Dragon Quest again, because this series etched itself into your soul.”

And somewhere, my subconscious tried to protect me. I lied to the store clerk!
I told him I had lost the box… when in truth, I just wanted to keep the instruction manual.

The guy totally saw through me, obviously.
He gave me ten bucks for the cartridge — probably flipped it for a hundred.

So if you’re reading this, you opportunistic bastard, just know:
Today, I wish I still had that game in my collection.
Just to look at it and think, “I bought this for $20 in 2000… and now, it’s worth $300.”

But even with the bitterness, I can still be proud of one thing:
I kept the promo poster — the one that came in the box.

And it’s a theme dear enough to me that I’ve even drawn about it. That kind of universe sparks my imagination and makes me travel — it’s as simple as that.

— RIP Toriyama —

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Why am I telling you all this?

Because that dusty old cartridge from the year 2000 is probably the origin point of everything I create today.

My passion for world-building, for quests, for convoluted systems, for characters, for strange items, for exploration, for heroes — and ultimately, just being a geek or an eccentric aesthete.

A big chunk of it comes from there.

So now I ask you:
What was your first hit of pixelated heroin?