65 – Might and Magic, Wizardry 6, Ishar and mapping

There’s a term–I learned it from The CRPG Addict–called lawnmowing. We’re going to need a couple of shots of some Might and Magic maps to understand. Here’s the area surrounding the first town in Might and Magic Book 1:


And here’s an equivalent section in Might and Magic 4:


There’s some obvious aesthetic differences–there was something like nine months in between playing the two games, and so I’ve gotten a bit more relaxed and loose with mapping; 4 also contains an automap, and so while mapping out 1 is essential in order to complete it, hand-mapping 4 was more for the enjoyment, and so I felt freer to use bolder colors and go for look more than practicality. But what I want to draw your attention to the pencil lines all over the place in the 1 map. These are the literal walls of the game–they’re represented as mountains and trees too dense to move through. In Might and Magic, you’re ultimately able to step on every single square–every area in the game is a 16X16 square–but it takes a long time to be able to do so. The challenge lies largely in growing strong enough to fight the enemies in each area and in actually winding your way from Point A to Point B. Very late in the game you get a series of spells which allow you to bypass walls and teleport around the map, and there are some areas where you need them in order to navigate, but for the most part, when you’ve finally gotten them, you’ve probably charted most of the area anyway and they end up becoming ways of speeding up travel and creating shortcuts.

4 has no such walls. There are a lot more terrain types–in my screenshot, it’s fairly obvious what’s what: Light green is grass, dark green is forest, blue is water, brown is a dirt path, grey a road, dark brown mountains, black the edge of the world. And while you start off being unable to traverse forest, water, or mountains, you end up getting skills in order to cross them fairly quickly and cheaply. You can still step in every square, and you *should*, but since all obstacles become removed and the gameworld becomes extremely flat.

And hence the term lawnmowning: Mapping out Might and Magic games becomes a case of going down every square in one row, going to the next row and going UP every square in that, ping-ponging back and forth till you’ve revealed every square. This is, perhaps, the biggest flaw of 2-5: Exploration feels a little less immersive because of the flatness: These aren’t trees and mountains, they’re icons of trees and mountains.

Usually walls solve this problem. Here’s the first location of Wizardry 6, a game that, looking at the maps a year later, I’m shocked I beat:


I have stepped in every square of this location–a castle–but look at the layout: it’s a maze of doors and walls. Half of those doors are locked when you begin the game, and the initial stages of the game consist on going around the various rooms and floors and slowly unlocking more areas. The challenge is in mapping out these locks, in making your way through the maze, in figuring out the layout of this place and its connection to the other regions of the game–part of my love for the game is its insistence on regularity: It features five or six different locations, all of which are distinct in their layouts, all interconnected and snapped tightly and perfectly together. Think of Dark Souls’s map made in Legos and you’ve got the idea.

And so we’ve got this very simple and slightly cheesy lesson that we can learn: Restrictions make challenge and challenge brings enjoyment. And we can all walk away from this lesson nodding our heads and drawing Gordian dungeons…

…but for the fact that right now I’m playing Ishar, and this is the first area of Ishar.


Again, light green is grass, dark green is impassable trees, blue is water–and if you’re playing along at home that means that we’ve essentially got a gigantic sprawling field with only minor areas, mostly the borders, where we cannot walk.

And it is one of the more fascinating Mapping Experiences of my time! In many ways it’s a dungeon in reverse. With no automap, with no way of seeing the game from a bird’s eye view, you’re often cast in a void of grass having to count paces as you make your way to the next landmark, which is, like, a bush. It’s an agoraphobic method of getting lost.

But Ishar also avoids the lawnmowing problem partially by not hiding random goodies in every square. I’m hoping I don’t end up eating these words, but the game depicts everything onscreen with enough peripheral and distance that you can see the major things from a few squares away as long as you’re facing the general direction.

And so instead of mowing the lawn, you end up mapping by scouting the area. I’ve been filling out the edges of the map and the hedges and things by the old fashioned move one square, draw the walls, move one square, draw the walls method. But for the inner part of the land, I’m picking a general direction, walking, and coloring in squares in a way not too different from a fog of war reveal, veering off when I see something cool.

And while in practice, that and mowing the lawn aren’t *that* different, it changes the scale of the maps. Might and Magic is exhaustive: You need to uncover and discover what might be hiding behind every single tile in the game. Wizardry 6 is almost a tangle of wires which has you focus in on every tiny detail in order to unknot. Ishar is about the big picture. About putting large islands in your grasp. The area of the gameis huge. This is why I love these games and why I get bored with roguelikes and corridor after arena after corridor level design and why I love this shit: I love the idea of kind of communicating with a level designer who I can see cackling as I try to figure out the cartography puzzle they’ve constructed. For as pretty as Columbia is, as impressively large as Skyrim is, their terrain didn’t communicate anything to me. These old-school dungeon crawlers are all about communicating things just through their layout.





61 – Planescape Torment club?, Zest update, Gothic II

So I’ve never played Planescape Torment because I’m obviously a terrible person. I didn’t play a lot of CRPGs growing up–missed Ultima entirely, played and hated Might and Magic II, didn’t play Fallout till college, have never gotten past chapter 1 in Baldur’s Gate. Weird, because I can tell you pretty much everything about every JRPG released in the states till about two years ago. Torment is one of those big holes in my gaming life: I’ve played through a chunk of it, but it’s such a big Thing in some ways that I’m nervous to approach it.

Well, I’ve reinstalled the game and I’m going to be playing it in the next couple of months, and based on some preliminary talk on Twitter, it seems like there’s a lot of people who’d be interested in some kind of Book Club thing. Now, I don’t know quite what form this should take. I don’t want to do the “okay let’s all play this much of the game this week and all discuss it”, particularly because it seems like one of those sprawling RPGs that isn’t conducive to that sort of thing. Maybe it would be enough to just encourage a ton of people to play and write about this game on their own blogs and we can link each other. Perhaps Joel Goodwin of Electron Dance could be convinced to give up some real estate in his forum for discussion.

Either way, if you’re interested–let’s say July-ish?–let me know, and if you’ve got an idea about how this thing could work, please, I’m all ears!

–In Zest news, the basic flow of the game has been outlined. The flow of the game is going to consist of  about a half dozen “time blocks”, each of which essentially has a different “deck” associated with it. The player’s stats influence a degree of randomness–we’ve actually been throwing out the tern “narrative roguelike” to describe the basic feel. My current goal is to come up with a couple dozen basic cards in all the separate categories; once that’s done, I’m handing it off to Lectronice and PaperBlurt who will respectively finish programming the card system and come up with some preliminary CSS. I’m shooting for a hundred cards int he final version–like TWEEZER, I want it to be a game that encourages many very short play sessions. We’re targeting an early July release–that’s part of the reason I’d like to do Planescape around them–so watch this space.

–Again, for a game with comparatively few verbs and stats, there’s a lot to learn in Gothic II. I keep learning new tricks for playing it–where I need to stand in order to pull certain enemies, the timing on how to chain certain attacks, what stats I need to increase to effectively kill things–and there’s plenty more. I still haven’t begun to figure out whether there’s a more efficient way to buy and sell things.

At this point I’ve done a broad survey of the bulk of the island–there’s a lot of stuff I certainly haven’t found, and I’ve only really seen the surface of most of it, but I’ve been, at some point, on every corner of the map, even if there’s only about a quarter of the game I’m able to navigate without trouble. What keeps striking me is I’m just on the first *chapter*.  There’s a lot to see and do in this game, and not all of it consists of doing quests–again, it’s the kind of game that’s rewarding just to poke around in.

–My save–which I’m going to get to as soon as I finish typing this post and will play until it’s time to go to work, I love this fucking game–has me in the middle of an area I have never been to in the middle of the night. Night is scary–or, rather, it’s more threatening than the rest of the game is, and the rest of the game is pretty threatening. While I wouldn’t say Gothic ever becomes a horror game, the sense of vulnerability never quite goes away. The game is like Dark Souls–I’m sorry, I’m sorry!–in that even beginning-of-game enemies can kill you at any point if you’re being too cocky. ANd while Dark Souls has much better creature design, there’s something hilarious about how my Gothic II character ran, panicked, from two chickens–who never fucking give up pursuing and who run fast–and accidentally pulled aggro from two boars, only to run headfirst into a lizard who killed him instantly. Props to the sound department, too: Each enemy has its own cry, and usually–there are a ton of trees–you end up hearing them long before you see them, and so it’s one of those games where the second you hear an animal howling at you, you either relax, though not completely, and maneuver into a position where you can be at the advantage, or you realize there’s two of them and you can’t take on two of them, or it’s something you’ve never heard before and you just run the fuck away.


I think I reeeeeally wanted to get out of playing Wizardry 7 for some reason. Look. I loved, loved, loved Wizardry 6. If it isn’t quite one of my favorite games, it’s certainly one of the five most important games I’ve ever played. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say that I started playing Wizardry 6 around a point in my life where the only other viable option was “commit suicide”, and that I could write an amazing Personal Essay about how crawling through the Bane Castle and the surrounding dungeons represented the dark, sludgy, smokey, fly-infested basement where I played the game and how my ending decision to take the Cosmic Forge represented my decision to become a writer of Twines and all of that Chicken Soup for the Dark Souls crap.

But, I mean, my darling, my darling, my life and my groom is Might and Magic. I love mapping, and it was Wizardry 6 which made me realize that fact. The moment that I fell hard for Wizardry 6 was the moment that I realized that the entire map was artfully and perfectly arranged to scale. Oh, let’s not compare everything to Dark Souls, but it’s got a similar enough structure. There’s a central area which connects to a bunch of side dungeons, and you’re constantly discovering new shortcuts and connections between the areas. I mean, at that point I had regularly been using the phrase “It’s not a world, it’s a series of videogame levels”. As primitive even for its time as Wizardry 6 was, as much as it was a maze full of questionably-designed monsters–there are a number of naked lady enemies with large bosoms, so you have to have a veeeeeeeeeeeery healthy sense of camp–it was a world. You could build the thing–if I ever get a larger apartment and go completely insane I’m going to build a model of Wizardry 6 entirely out of Lego(s).

But Might and Magic’s mathematical regularity just happens to be more aesthetically appealing to me–certainly it’s easier for me to get that game in my head than Wizardry 6’s sprawl. Might and Magic consists of 55 interconnected maps, each of which is 16 X 16 squares. It is organized in a regular fashion as well: The overworld is four rows of five columns–each designated by a letter and number. Coordinates are very important in the game, and you learn the system very quickly. They’re even referred to in-game. The effect this has on notetaking is astounding–a lot of Might and Magic is focused around knowing the precise location of a lot of stuff. For example, at E4 8,5 is a fountain which temporarily increases your Might by 20–a VERY helpful gameplay bonus. And of course I made plenty of notes on my Wizardry 6 map itself–noting locations of locked doors, unsolved puzzles, etc.

But while Might and Magic 3-5’s level design discourages graph paper mapping–their levels are larger and more sprawling, not tightly curled in on themselves like 1 and 2’s were but given the freedom to sprawl out a bit and–my experience with 3 so far–be a little less interesting–while Might and Magic 3-5’s level design discourages graph paper mapping, every square still has a coordinate. Notes are so easy.

I have a smaller apartment this year, and I don’t really have the space to graph out a gigantic map–from what I know about W7’s structure, it’s a lot larger. Having played for a couple days now, it appears to be a large interconnected forest type area with cities and dungeons peppered throughout–in other words, a Might and Magic-style structure without Might and Magic’s regularity. Wizardry 7 has an automap, and it’s actually one of the more interesting automaps I’ve seen–the quality of the map increases as you increase the character’s map skill at levelups, so it starts off shitty and useless without even walls drawn in, just a blob of floor tiles, and gradually fills in walls and, I assume, doors and probably hidden shit.

The issue is it’s still not fantastic yet–and there’s so much the automap can’t do. There’s, you know, locked doors and puzzles I have to return to, and I need to know the relationship of certain locations to each other, and that the automap just can’t do. I probably should buy the largest pad of graph paper I can find, because that’s probably going to be the only way around this. Yeah, fuck, I’m going to have to end up mapping Wizardry 7. I’ll go to Staples.

You know, I’d created a new party for Wizardry 8, and i started that, and it’s awesome so far–but Ben Chandler and a very sincere “thank you” addressed to players who imported their characters through the whole trilogy in the Wizardry 8 manual guilted me. It’s actually a little hard to go back. 7 is pretty much a facelift and a restructuring of 6, but in terms of interface and mechanics it’s the same as 6. 8 revamps everything–refines the skill system into a much less punishing and esoteric one, automates so much of the repetitive nature of turn-based games and takes away a ton of micromanagement–and, well, yeah, 7 is a step back. So I don’t know. 7 is very good. It’s a beautiful-looking game, particularly in the monster designs, but there are problems.

Like, it feels a lot more narrative based, and yet there are large and strange gaps in the game that make me feel like I missed something vital. From what I know from reading the manual and stuff about the game online, the game is structured like a giant free-for-all treasure hunt. You and a bunch of other factions are all on the same planet hunting for the pieces of a map that’s going to lead to an ultimate treasure. As you move through the game, you can find out rumors about where the pieces of the map are and if any of the factions have them. So from what I can gather, you’re supposed to be able to align with different groups, and certain ones can obtain pieces of the map and then you have to get it back from them.

I’m a little unclear so far as to how this works in practice, largely because I haven’t gotten that far and because I’m not sure how advanced this game was in ’92. I can see that being impressive and really difficult and really cool if it has a bit of proceduralness to it. I’m having the usual difficulty I have with keyword conversation systems…and I’m not sure how much this is integral to the plot or if it’s mostly window dressing. Is talking to people going to provide clues to where to go, or do I just need to bum around and explore and that’s how I’ll get most of it done? So far no one’s been able to tell me anything that seems that crucial–it’s all nice bits of worldbuilding and stuff, and there are a few recurring characters that are starting to appear–but I don’t know if I’m just not asking the right questions. One of the factions has given me a couple of quests in a chain–I’m on some sort of a spiritual journey and I’m learning little bits of a poem–so far I’ve got “Slay not he that cannot hear/Be thankful ye that hath an ear” which should give you an idea of the atmosphere of the game–but I don’t know if that means that I’m aligned with the faction or not.

You know, the general view of designer DW Bradley is kind of an ass, that his writing is a little purple–but also that it kinda works. Wizardry 6 had a decent amount of flavor text throughout–descriptions of rooms, evocative enough to supplement the minimal graphics–but it’s all over the place in 7, and yeah, there’s a really odd feeling that comes through. We are on a decaying planet, and an end of world prophecy is going around, and different alien factions are going to war over the planet’s great secret, and there is a feeling of faded glory throughout; it’s very Shelley’s “Ozymandius”. Every shop I’ve gone into has a couple of lines about how everything is broken down and cobweb-filled and how you see a strange shopkeeper who’s desperately selling his few items. The empty cities are actually abandoned cities. Ugh, let’s go back to Dark Souls again–Wizardry 7 is about abandoned glory where Dark Souls is about decaying glory, but the lands you’re exploring in both have been long since dead. You think this is cool now? You shoulda seen it in the gold old days. They’re elegies for places that were never quite appreciated in their time, and there’s no going back. The past is the past.


Anvil of Dawn ended for me, alas, not with a bang but with an invisible maze that I just couldn’t goddamn figure out. There’s some kind of connection between pressure plates and the walls and for whatever reason I just can’t get my head around the exact nature of it–even with a walkthrough I’m stumped. It’s pretty much the last puzzle in the game–I’m at the end of it, but I just can’t get through and I’m not sure it matters enough.

I’m not sure if this diminishes how much I enjoyed playing the game–certainly there’s a bit of frustration in something which you just can’t beat. I’m thinking as much of Knock-Knock, which I owe Robb Sherwin a review of (guess that’s what I’m doing when I’m commuting today) and Eric Brasure’s tribulations with Dark Souls–he all but breezed through the game only to find the final boss impossible.

In the case of Anvil–in the case of all three games I’ve mentioned, come to think about it–there’s some thematic irony in leaving it unfinished. While Anvil isn’t going to go down in history as one of the great unsung game narratives of all time, the writing staff actually understands a little bit about Theme, and there’s a strong undercurrent of determination in the face of the evil–okay, sure, not the most original theme ever, but the game handles it well. Your land is on its last legs, essentially–you’re on the mission in a desperate attempt to stop the Evil Dude on an all-but-hopeless mission, and every encounter is a response to this, with your character often having to convince everyone else that the cause is not hopeless.

And there’s some unexpectedly dark shit: You pick your character out of a party of five possible adventurers, intending to set off as a group, but another character conspires to delay you for a few hours, the old “distract the enemy force with a small army and let one guy slip through unnoticed” trick. As the game progresses, you come upon the other adventurers, and they all pretty much die in front of you. You come upon one–a character that I’d picked in my first attempt–tortured and hanging on a St Andrew’s cross for fuck’s sake. It’s horrible.

And that horror leads to a very dramatic effect, an interesting one: While you also come across a few NPCs who’ve been brutalized by the enemy forces, you had the opportunity to play–maybe even did play if it’s your second or third time through–one of these other characters, and there’s a palpable feeling of there but for the grace of God go I. It also adds a not unwelcome note of fear to the proceedings: The character on the cross, for example, was caught and tortured in and is warning you away from the very next dungeon that you have to go through in order to continue your quest–and yes, it’s a fucking tough one. Without being overwhelmingly difficult–except for the final bit, it’s somewhere around Lands of Lore level–it manages to create a very brutal, very oppressive, very desperate atmosphere.

Yeah, I really liked Anvil of Dawn and I’m sad I couldn’t manage to beat it.


Wizardry 6 continues to be wonderful, if extremely claustrophobic. It’s part and parcel of the greyness–a beach looks like a mountain looks like a tomb and all of them are stone walls closing you in. I’ve gotten to the River Styx, which features blue water tiles instead of grey floor tiles, and it’s almost a completely different game. As I’ve said: The game exists not as software but as a combination of itself, the maps I’m drawing, and my imagination, and it’s interested in being brutal, which I’m loving–it respects the fuck out of me as a player. CF something like Skyward Sword which is Very Proud Of You For Figuring Out How To Open A Chest And Gives You Fanfare Every Time. I think it’s quite possible that Nintendo thinks its audience is mentally disabled. CF Dark Souls which doesn’t give a fuck whether you beat it or not and which is considered one of the finest games of this generation. Makes you think.

But brutality, lovely as it is, needs to be tempered every so often, and solely to give myself a break for an evening after a particularly tough bit of maze, I broke open that Might and Magic pack I bought from GOG. There are, I believe, 9 separate games in the pack–M&M 1-9, the fangame Swords of Xeen, and something called Crusaders of Might and Magic which I have been told is a bit of a letdown.

I’d played one of the M&M games years ago as a kid–it came with our new computer–and I remember playing it but not getting very far, mostly because I was 10 and I was too lazy for it. I was attempting to get through it without mapping, which worked hilariously, and I wasn’t used to such an open game as it was. Breaking open the seal on the six-pack–games 1-6 are sold together on GOG with the rest separately outside of bundle sales–I played the first, found it too punishingly old school for my mood–it’s not very different from what I’m dealing with with Wizardry. I’ll get to it later. Might and Magic 2 turns out to be the game I’d played all those years ago–I remembered it immediately from the title screen–but again, very old-school, and the draw distance is a little annoying.

I’d really been interested in World of Xeen (M&M 4&5), but I played 3 and it immediately hooked me.

Well…not immediately. It took a little while to figure out how to fight and how to explore, but boy howdy!

There is precious little in the way of setup. In the intro, the series antagonist appears and babbles some threats at you, and then the next thing you know you’re in a town and given pretty free reign. Opening your journal, you’ll get some notes about Moose Rats attacking the town, and dealing with that will probably be the first major quest that you do, but beyond that, the game doesn’t really care. Eventually a set of goals appear–the bulk of the game appears to be collecting a series of macguffins for three kings representing the various alignments, and then you get to pick which one you think is the best–but the structure of the game is plain and simple adventuring. You dick around towns, buying stuff and finding quests; you dick around the map, finding secrets and fighting monsters; you dick around dungeons, finding treasure and navigating mazes. Some of these get you closer to the endgame; the rest just give you treasure or fun little experiences.

I’ve just described Skyrim, essentially. Skyrim, like Final Fantasy VII before it, is such a product of its era, so representative of The State Of Gaming At The Time that it can be used as representative example of What Gaming Was Like in 2011. Skyrim is a more elaborate Dickaround Game, featuring many many more quests and many many more square miles and many many more enemies–

Well, no, because this is one of the first reasons I disliked Skyrim–there’s no fucking monsters. There’s a couple of ones, but for the most part you’re fighting wild animals and generic bandits. By Hour 10, you’ve pretty much seen all of the basics of what the game has to offer, in monster design and environment design and character design and puzzle design. Skyrim is less fast food and less a buffet and more a gigantic tub of gruel that you’re allowed to eat as much or as little as you want. The more you play Skyrim, the blander it gets.

I think there’s a point of diminishing returns, especially when you’ve got such a big budget game like Skyrim that’s so desperately terrified that someone’s not going to like it. Skyrim is made not for the person who is going to drop hundreds and hundreds of hours on it but for someone who’s going to spend maybe 20 on it. The philosophy seems to work like this: That 20 hours can be picked up pretty much anywhere in the game and will be fairly representative of what the game has to offer. If you drop a hundred hours on it, you’ve seen those 20 hours five separate times. Dwemer Ruins may be interesting the first few times, and if you’ve only seen a couple you’ll probably enjoy it; by the time you’ve hit the dozenth, well, everything kind of blurs. Spread this over the towns. Over the overworld. Over the battles. Over the spells. After a distressingly short period of time, Skyrim forgets to include new content, and you’ve got 80-100 hours left to go.

For a game named after its location, Skyrim itself isn’t the kind of place you’re ever going to navigate by memory because it’s simply too big. The map is good for giving you an idea of what direction you need to go in–although the arrow, taking the place of the guy who owns the game who’s watching you play, makes a need for orienteering almost COMPLETELY nonexistent–but it’s not going to help you remember where anything is beyond a few landmarks. There was that meh article going around a little while ago about whether or not Skyrim is “impressionistic”–which is a concept I can’t necessarily disagree with. I don’t really remember explicit Events or Dungeons or anything from the game–I remember mountains, and giant spiders, and cheevos popping up.

By contrast, Might and Magic 3, colorful, vibrant Might and Magic 3, where all the enemy designs are goofy and cool and I’ve seen more so far than in Oblivion and Skyrim put together, although I may be exaggerating, gives you a lot more in the way of engagement for the world you’re saving. It’s a lot smaller, for one. I’ve mapped out the first island already, although I certainly haven’t done all of its secrets–and based on a map I glimpsed at, there’s maybe five or six major ones. With the automap skill–which you can learn within the first few minutes of play–mapping islands becomes a fairly easy experience, monsters aside. Finding all of the Stuff in Skyrim is impossible and absolutely unrewarding. Each secret you discover in M&M is a larger percentage of the whole. Some more initial direction and focus might not be a bad thing–apparently World of Xeen addresses that as well–but given the game’s focus on random questing over an intricate storyline, that’s not a problem. You’ll figure out quickly enough if monsters are too strong for you, and if there’s a riddle you can’t solve, well, enough of the game is optional and there’s enough stuff to do that you can always come back to it later.

Coming back to it later: Are there any dungeons in Skyrim that are too difficult for the moment you find them that you have to put them aside? I never found one. The game is constant progress, constant conquering, and it’s absolutely lame.

Now, particularly when the dungeons are concerned–M&M is in first-person although it’s constructed like a classic RPG with squares representing entrances to towns and dungeons–there is a notion of Completed. You finish a dungeon, you’re done with it; you never need to come back. Once you’ve solved a town’s dungeon–there’s usually only one–the towns are only good for supplies and leveling up. As far as supplies go, you sell a LOT more than you buy–there are enough good treasures in the dungeons that I don’t spend much money in the stores. Leveling up is done by trainers, and that each town has a different level cap for how high they can train you is one of the main reasons to spend time in any other town. In ANY case, each town has a portal that, once you’ve discovered the password, allows you to quick travel between them.

Contrast this to Wizardry 6, one huge dungeon, which is crossed and recrossed, sometimes because you missed something but other times because you’ve found a key to unlock a door. The game, like Dark Souls, is a complete whole–my maps are becoming multi-page for each floor and every single one lines up EXACTLY with the floors above and below–and the better you know it, the more shortcuts you’ll discover. Keeping the game in your head is practically a survival tactic. Because I’m making my own maps, keeping the game in my head is extremely easy; I have a very strong working knowledge of that first continent in M&M3, but beyond that I need to look at the automap a lot. (And the automap cannot scroll; I hope THAT is something they fix in the fourth game as well but I’ll find out soon enough.)

But given the self-contained nature of the dungeons and towns, keeping the entire game in your head isn’t necessary, and frankly it’s nice. Might and Magic 3 is certainly more difficult and sophisticated than Skyrim–heh, think about that, Skyrim as an unsophisticated game, and you know what, it is–but compared to Wizardry 6 it’s a fun romp.

Okay, fun romp over, time to break out the graph paper again.


Treasure Adventure Game is not without its flaws–the developer is remaking it and has promised to address many of them. It’s a shame that its introductory sequence is one of them because it goes on for a very, very long time. There was a while where the length of the introductory cartoon was a point of pride, where long cutscenes meant a game was a Good Solid Game, and that’s an attitude which has taken a long time to fade. TAG is a lot more longwinded than it ought to be. There’s an opening narration talking about the evil wizard and the cataclysm and the twelve treasures and all of that. And that’s revealed to be backstory to an adventure undertaken by two friends and the young son of one of them to find the legendary twelve treasures. And that’s skipped over in the opening credits–which feature a sort of slide presentation about the trio’s adventures–as backstory for the climax of their journey, when they bring all twelve treasures to the final temple. And that turns out to be a flashback nightmare that you wake up from–finally you get control of your main character. And you dick around a few islands for a while until you finally get your mission, which is to find all twelve treasures and Set Right What Went Wrong or whatever.

Like I said, it takes a while.

But once the game opens up, it opens the fuck up. After you find the first treasure, the game basically tells you, okay, what you just did you’ve got to do eleven more times and that’s the flow of the game: Find a treasure, bring it to the temple, get an item, use the item to find a map, use the map to find the next treasure, bring it to the temple, repeat until there’s nothing more to do. In no way does the game grab your next and drag you to the next checkpoint, but after its opening, it expects you’ve been paying attention and know how to play a videogame. You get a parrot friend who acts as a companion/hint system, but while it gives you guidance for the first few quests and can give you vague pointers towards specific puzzles, for the most part it’s just there to keep you company. Right now, all it’s telling me is that I’ve got all I need to go on my journey and I’ve got to find where the next treasure is. The map points to the coordinates, but it gives you no instructions how to get there. If you need an item, or need to go into a specific dungeon, well, you’re an adventurer. Go adventure. It’s trendy to compare things to Dark Souls when you just mean “it’s hard”, but in terms of dumping you in a world and expecting you’ll figure it out, it’s a distant cousin.

The issues I’m finding with the game–occasionally it’s slightly more aimless than it ought to be, the movement is a little too slow, the issues with the introduction–are all fairly easy to ignore in light of the raw quality of the rest of the game. It’s very simple pixel art, but the color scheme is lovely–it’s bright and beautiful and pleasant.

What I adore about TAG is how utterly unpretentious it is. Its grandness and epic scope is less because it wants to be an Important, Canonical Work and more because it delights in its own existence. It’s a happy labor of love.

Fez is the work of a genius who’s happy that he’s sold as many copies as he has because ha ha, you motherfuckers, I’ve finally shown you all: Gomez’s adventure is important to him because it sets him apart, marks him as special, gives him abilities no one else has, lets him see things no one else can see, lets him understand the world the deepest of everybody. Yes, yes, Gomez is essentially cleaning up his own mess but let’s forget about that: HE IS SAVING THE WORLD. And the world *is* an illusion: Its art style ensures that we only get *glimpses* of its true nature, ideas of what it “really” looks like. Treasure Adventure Game wants you to appreciate its world, wants you to enjoy it, and allows you to love it.

It’s a love letter to the games of Orlando’s youth: What Treasure Adventure Game reminds me, most of all, is being a kid and talking to my friends about the Nintendo games we’d make when we grew up–all of the notebooks of elaborate dungeons and traps and puzzles, of the hardest dungeons ever, of the coolest bosses. Stephen Orlando is one of those rare people who actually grew up to make that game.