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Welcome to Small Town Life in Night in the Woods

Jenna

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“All it takes is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

It’s the fall break of my sophomore year of college — early October, just before the weather starts to turn quickly south in upstate New York. It hovers in that unpredictable zone that oscillates wildly and rapidly between ‘Armpit Stains the Size of Texas’ and ‘Two Sweaters Because You Forgot to Pack a Coat’. I can still walk around outside in a tee shirt and jeans for now. (Or, as was my habit, jeans, a tee shirt, and a kheffiyeh from my unfortunate and tone-deaf stages of appropriation and political demonstration. But you live and learn when you’re a week away from being 20.)

I’d gone home that weekend for one of the last times of my undergraduate career; a lot of my liberal arts college friends were from families where they could comfortably return to their middle class lives and live in their childhood bedrooms and hang out with their friends who were also all on break from college. Or they had gone to New York City.

I was having something of an existential crisis (monthly, at the time) and, you know, I’m poor as shit. I couldn’t afford staying a few days in a place where, living there now, my rent costs more than my family’s generous allowance for that entire sophomore year combined. But I couldn’t stay on campus either. It felt like the claustrophobia of my dorm room in the woods without any of my friends to keep me company. But going home was always hard, too, because college was a million miles away from what it felt like anybody else from outside that tiny town would understand. It’s also becoming increasingly clear as I look back to who I was then that I was growing farther away from what I could understand. From what I was willingly trying to forget sometimes.

Enter Night in the Woods.

I can see myself in Mae, the main character. A little too close for comfort, in fact. Would you know, Mae is actually my middle name, and my last name is also the name of Polish immigrants who came here a century or so ago? My mother’s side of the family had lived in Pennsyltucky, too, since before this country was a westernized Nation. They were the original extorters of the native peoples. I play the bass, as well, and graduated somewhere around the middle of my high school class even though I had talent because I was just so dang bored. I, too, ended up in college by what felt like sheer luck and felt so guilty leaving my friends behind when they worked hard, too, if differently so.

God, I remember so well the feeling of being with two good friends then, that weekend, on top of a building we certainly shouldn’t have been, on what is probably the highest point in our town if and only if you consider the tops of buildings to be peaks. Later that year, I came back for spring break, for another identity crisis, and one of those good friends and I ended up in a literal cabin in the woods on top of a godforsaken actual mountain. There was a fire and other goings-on, another cabin in the woods we most certainly shouldn’t have been in, and there were syringes sticking out of the snow that still, in March, was over a foot high. I hadn’t brought a coat then, either. I ended up on top of a building then, too.

That happened a lot between the end of high school and the middle of college. I was living out my teenage years all at once, kind of like running around on power lines. But I went back that October. Mae didn’t. Mae dropped out, and don’t think I hadn’t considered it, too. She’s right, you know, about the shapes. Sometimes things are shapes, shapes with no meanings or intentions. And you need to step away and get some perspective on how they fit together.

Basically, Night in the Woods is my story. The first few hours of playing it, I kept shouting at the television “THAT IS TOO WEIRD” or “THAT IS TOO REAL” or “ARE YOU KIDDING ME” because — well, I ended up on top of buildings. The cabin in the woods. Power lines.

But most of all, Night in the Woods gets small town post-industrial Appalachia so right. Where at first I was thinking “god, this is uncanny, this game was made for me,” I found myself thinking no, this isn’t just my story, this is the story that we all know. The narrative that stories about small towns get almost universally wrong. Most media makes it seem like small towns are actually small cities, that Buffy’s Sunnydale is a “one Starbucks town” that also has a night club, space for an art gallery opening, and a huge-ass high school.

Meanwhile, our coffee shop closed down for repairs after a flood in summer 2010 and hasn’t opened its doors since. The sign was in the window until recently, a faded red Jesterman font. It was a gift shop with Adirondack chairs out front when I was last there in May 2016. It was once a railroad stop, but grass overtook the tracks long ago, before the industry even left.

There are so many of us out here with these stories but few who live in our towns ever really escape. We rarely get to make the stories that we lived, because we work blue-collar jobs to barely make ends meet in our trailers and remain not-even-blissfully ignorant of the world changing around us. My town is honestly stuck in about 1952, where new businesses get run out in under a year and the ones that thrive are the ones that have been around longer than I’ve been on this earth. (Or above it, hovering somewhere on a building, it would seem, much like Mae’s power lines.)

most of the game is power lines

I got exceptionally lucky, despite my family being in the bottom 10% of income earners, to have had opportunities to leave and lacked the strings to discard them. There is a point where you can listen in on the conversation the historical preservationists are having about a statue in Possum Springs, Night in the Woods’ setting. They’re discussing whether it should stay or go, and one of them shouts out “this is like the stoplight all over again.” My town literally has two dueling historians who alternately sabotage and refuse to acknowledge the existence of the other. Or at least, they did in 2010. One of them might have died by now.

Mae’s friends work hard at their jobs at their cash registers. Bea in particular had a light that got snuffed out, and she struggles throughout her story arc with resentment for Mae having the opportunity to what she could not: go to college, have a ‘normal life.’ Bea believes Mae squandered her chance by dropping out (though this does change as Bea learns the reasons why). Bea also thinks that she’s run herself dry and become “uncool” by Mae’s jaded collegiate standard because she works long hours in a job she hates and has the energy to do nothing but stare at the wall.

There’s no romance to living in a town a square mile large with a thousand people, where everyone lives in abject poverty and the nearest real grocery store is ten miles away. You’re all working class, blaming the government who was supposed to help you for the state you’re in, having to decide between heat or food for the winter because the railroads left and the cars broke down. (Truth be told, they should have died in the 80s.) You can’t drive an hour each way for $35,000 a year when you’re supporting sick families. Or when, as with Mae, you can’t even get a job or talk to people normally because your reputation from five or ten years ago follows you around everywhere and pokes its nasty head in sometimes.

You can hardly blame the Big Bad at the end, which solves the story, because their motives make sense. Even if the ends (some stability in a world that’s moved on, is that too much to ask?) don’t really justify the means (murder).

Mae’s family works hard to pay the mortgage, but they might lose their house because of predatory lending. They re-mortgaged the house to send her to college, and then she dropped out. Her dad works at a deli counter, and her mom works at a church. The future suddenly doesn’t have a form any longer. It’s not even shapes. Mae’s doing a lot of things without an understanding of what’s going on at home. She puts her friends in danger and makes selfish decisions, but it makes sense, you know, when you’re trying to compare two worlds that really, deeply, contrast. I want to hate her, but I see myself at 20 and just can’t.

The gameplay is repetitive, but it feels meaningfully so, whether intentional or not. When you’re whiling away the hours in your childhood home, trying to find purpose in a place that doesn’t even have cell service, you do kind of end up doing the same things over and over. There’s always the guys in the bar (who, by the way, you have fascinating relationships and are worth listening to. Their words speak volumes).

He’s right. SOMEONE always has to stand outside the bar.

You know they’ve all worked hard, in the real world or in the game. We all know the people who can’t catch breaks no matter how many knots form in their shoulders. That fall break, I was mourning the end of the honeymoon of my freshman year of college, realizing there were a lot of things that I couldn’t rationalize or make fit into the shapes of my new world when I had been so molded, against my will, by the old.

Night in the Woods tells the story of getting out of your small town but being drawn back. The story of the people with bright futures had they only been born elsewhere and in the right time at the right place, or who, by chance, ended up facing the consequences of one bad decision that mapped out everything that would come afterwards. Night in the Woods puts you into that post-industrial forever-economically-depressed-if-only-they-would-see-it rust belt, and I’ve never felt anything more real. Night in the Woods doesn’t romanticize the small town, and for that, it tells the story perfectly.


Images Courtesy of Finji

Jenna's defining characteristics are green hair that was intended to be blue and a strong tendency to speak in long string of stupid puns. They are a game designer, an internet roleplayer, and, much like Discworld's Death, thinks CATS ARE NICE.

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Analysis

Sith Inquisitor’s Journey to Freedom

Angelina

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Minor spoilers for the Sith Inquisitor class quest chain; minor spoilers for the Knights of the Fallen Empire/Eternal Throne DLCs

It is a great part of RPG experience, and even a greater part of RPG enjoyment, to like your character.  And by “RPG” I mean any RPG whatsoever, from LARP to tabletop to video game. Which is only natural, as you can’t really relate to the character you don’t like. And what is RPG if not relating to a character so that you can share its fictional experience?

Which, mind you, doesn’t mean that person should be likable. More like, they should be interesting. An interesting piece of shit, after all, has a much bigger chance to win over your emotions than a bland, shallow Stainless Hero. Like, when you watch The Thief and The Cobbler (the recobbled cut, of course, not that abomination), you sympathize with the first much more than the latter. What a perfect role model he is! But I digress.

When I first set out to play Star Wars: The Old Republic, I was highly unsure if I really wanted to do so. I’ve always had problems with video games in the sense that they don’t actually let you create your character. You get a not-so-wide variety of characters and must choose one to try to empathize with. This makes every game a hit-or-miss case for me: either it’s love at the first sight, or it’s “who are those people and why should I have anything to do with them.”

Sith Academy; a gloomy place, isn’t it?

Meeting the Sith Inquisitor

I confess, I made my initial character choice based on my desire to shoot lightning. I thought it would compensate for the lack of emotional involvement I expected. Luckily, I was mistaken!

The story was captivating right from the start because it had questions to ask. And those questions were directed to me, a player. It was me who had to answer them for myself. It was me who had to choose for myself. Because my course of action depended not on what were my plot goals and neither on my gameplay preferences. It depended on my opinion on certain problems.

Basically, you start in a very unprivileged position, that of a slave. An alien slave, if you really want to experience this story in its full power. You finish in a rather privileged position, that of a Dark Council member. On the surface this seems like a typical rags-to-riches story. However, the action/adventure story is only a minor part of the experience. The main part is the inner path—looking back to your past to create your own future and, more importantly, your future self.

In a nutshell, it is a story exploring how you deal with the trauma from past abuse: do you internalize the point of view of the abuser or the abused? As a survivor myself, I can only praise the way this narrative was given and framed in-game.

Dealing with the Trauma

So, you are a slave. You spend half your Prologue experiencing constant verbal and physical abuse from your sort-of teacher. He wants to get rid of you so that a free, Sith Pureblood candidate will win the golden ticket. But justice is served, and the ticket is finally yours. You are no more a slave, but a Sith—a person in the position of power above all non-Sith. What do you do now? And more importantly, how do you do it?

The game has a Light/Dark Side system in it. Before it was totally remade (broken, I’d rather say) it worked like Paragon/Renegade system in Mass Effect games: you choose one of two alternatives, you get certain amount of Side points, you become more attuned with a certain side of the Force. Or sometimes there is a neutral way, that’s neither. It doesn’t give you any points, but still is important in this storyline.

Your first encounter with Dark vs. Light presents a very typical kill the baby/save the baby dilemma: you can torture a witness to extract the criminal’s name, or you can talk to him and exchange help for information. A very easy choice, is it not? The next encounter is the one that gets under your skin.

It is with the evil mentor who wanted to kill you, who humiliated you, who was your abuser. You can scorn him now that you are free and a Sith in service of a Lord far above your former teacher’s station. You have every reason to hate this man, you have to wish to humiliate him in return. The first option is to threaten him, and while taking it would be extremely understandable, it is not a neutral option–it’s Dark Side. It is still playing along the rules of the system: might is right; you now have both, he has neither.

The Light Side option is to thank him, to break those unholy rules. You may not forget it, and you may be quite bitter later on about your early experience. You may never actually forgive him. Yet you refuse petty revenge, you refuse the power play. Because evil can’t mend or undo another evil.

I swear, something in my heart trembled when that rat of a man smiled to my character in return and thanked him. Because at last I saw the real Dark vs Light narrative, where Light begets more light–and Dark begets more dark.

Thus I understood that I really want to experience that story up to the end.

How can it be Dark Side? It’s fairly innocent… or is it?

Your Choices

While both versions of the Sith Inquisitor’s class story present him dealing with his trauma, I could never get myself to try the Dark one. It was really, really dark; the story of a person broken and driven to the edges of sanity, who would never let anyone have anything that person was once denied. I really couldn’t help pity the creature that person would eventually become. It’s not that this story is exactly bad, but I think it is somewhat toxic and too much in line with “being tortured makes you evil” narrative. Not exactly the trope that is in any way helpful for abuse survivors.

The Neutral path—what you tread if you don’t follow any consistent course of action—was less devastating on the personal level. It is more of a quest for identit-y than anything else. Your character does eventually give in to the darker side of their nature, but also eventually does something truly and genuinely good and selfless. In the end they receive the name Occulus, for being a mystery to everyone , including themselves. Because they really don’t know themselves. After all, the Sith Inquisitor is presumed to be very young; somewhere in their early twenties.

Sith Inquisitor

My own perfect cinnamon roll of an Inquisitor

I really loved the third option, the Light Side. It is a path of empathy, a path of true freedom. It is also the path most difficult both for your character and for you as a player, for it consciously sets you against certain old tropes and easy decisions.

Good Is Not Easy

Many games try to “convince” you to do right thing by making good choices less hard than bad ones. In general, this game is no exception; if you were to take the Dark route as a Jedi Knight, it would require more time and work from you than the opposite. But on this route it’s the other way around. Being a good person here is not—just as in real life—easy. It is hard.

I can’t describe Light!Sith Inquisitor as anything but a Suffering Empath. Having experienced much trauma in the past, this Sith Inquisitor struggles their best to shield others from the same trauma, even when it doesn’t benefit themselves. Even when it means direct harm to themselves.

For example, their power is based on that of the restless spirits they’ve bound to their soul. Letting those spirits go means the Sith Inquisitor goes back to the start, where they are fairly ordinary a Sith and no match for the truly mighty ones. It means a real threat to their life or, at the very least, their well-being. But because it is right, they fulfill their promise and let the spirits go and find peace.

In another instance, they encounter a racist, foul-mouthed, self-infatuated prick, and they don’t kill him. They choose this because that abominable creature is someone else’s loved person. and your own (both player’s and character’s) desire to punish him cannot be given a higher priority than someone else’s love and anxiety.

This route is hard, because it requires additional quests and lines of dialogue. It is hard, because sometimes you really want to teach someone the hard way, to vent your own (player’s) disgust and rage, to punish the bad guys. But as long as you remember the “two wrongs don’t make right” rule, you can really enjoy that story.

Well, “enjoy” is not exactly the right word, but you get it.

When they spoke of finally knowing true freedom (in being released to the Afterlife) I really cried from happyness

True Freedom

This story is about real freedom; that is, spiritual freedom.

One of the easiest paths to achieve your goals in Star Wars universe is by using Mind Trick. You simply make the other person do and think what you wish them to. It is often used as, well, an easy and harmless workaround. It is often marked as a Light Side option in the Jedi class stories (the Dark option being to fight).

But on this route it is never a offer as a good option—usually neutral, but sometimes even bad. Because, y’know, it’s about freedom. What is more abusive, after all, than to deny a person that person’s free will?

I cannot fathom an action more free of will, of an agency more openly expressed, than denying a whole system of oppression while being raised as a part of it. But the Sith Inquisitor does just that.

Every time they eschew their own in favor of someone else’s, they deny that system. Every time they refuse to acquire more power because it would others more dearly, they deny that system. Every time they choose to respect the free will of the others, even if it means problems for themselves, they deny that system.

 Conclusion

What I really wanted to do, right from the beginning, was to thank the author.

Rebecca Harwick created a fascinating story that works perfectly for a genre that requires deep emotional connection with your character. RPG is about living other lives, those we can never experience IRL but those still having an impact on us and our life. We all know that stories matter, and I think we need more stories like that.

And it is a highly satisfying story. You really feel it by the end, that peace and glory that come with being righteous.

Personally, it helped me deal with my own trauma and helped me sort out things and realize that some options are not really an option—that giving in to the abuser’s point of view would really keep me stuck in that trauma forever.

That, while trying to be a good person is often hard, it’s worth it.

P.S.: And Then They Ruined It…

When you experience something that great, you want more of it, do you? Well, I wanted. So I went on to playing DLCs that are supposed to cover the later life of the same hero.

Sadly, the story-line there was clearly written as a continuation of the Jedi Knight’s class story, and any difference in dialogue was purely cosmetic. This actually came out bad for many classes, but the Sith Inquisitor suffers not only plot-and-logic-wise, but also thematically and, I daresay, problematically.
You see, it is generally okay if a privileged golden boy of a Jedi, who was always treated as someone special and a Chosen One, gets a lecture from those still above him about him not being special and his real role being a mere gear in a much greater machine. It serves him right and it even has some thematic significance. I am, of course, referring to the Jedi Knight—the supposed Anakin-done-right hero, the most obviously coded as male and most irritatingly problematic in and of himself.

This kind of lecture is certainly not okay when delivered by two uber-privileged guys (a Jedi Grandmaster and a Head of the Dark Council) to a former slave. They tell this slave to be nothing more than a cogwheel, that freedom is overrated and that they need to subjugate themselves to someone or something greater. They directly say, “you are weak because you fight for your freedom, become a willing slave (to the Force, but still) and you’ll be strong.”

It is problematic, isn’t it?

It really ruined the thing for me. The narrative that was centered around freedom, around acquiring it, understanding it and using it right…it was thrown away in favor of a rather lazy “we all are slaves of the Fate” plot device. And that’s only when we talk themes and not slavery per se, and the narrative completely forgetting about it.

My only solace is, it was written by another person.


Images courtesy EA Entertainment

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Gaming

A Retrospective on the Gothic Series

Michał

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Welcome to yet another article where I reminisce about old things, dear readers. This time, it’s a German action-RPG series, Gothic, by Piranha Bytes. It still has a following in Germany, after all this time, or so I’ve heard. It certainly has a strong place in the collective memory of Polish gamers – as well as others in Eastern Europe. Why did it stick in our memory so persistently? I’ll try to dissect it. For better or worse, those games are quite special.

To start with, I’m not sure why they’ve got the name they do. They have nothing to do with Gothic art, architecture or literature. Perhaps it was a working title when the game’s concept was much different? In the end, the series became fairly typical, if dark, fantasy…at a first glance. But there’s more to it than that.

Gothic 1

The series begins with our protagonist thrown into prison. Or rather, a penal colony. The game’s intro paints a very simple picture: a generic fantasy kingdom fights against orcs, which requires a great quantity of ore to make weapons and armor. The king mines it using prisoners in the penal colony of Khorinis. To prevent escapes, he has his magicians create a magic barrier around them. However it was supposed to work, it didn’t. The barrier grew too large, capturing the mages as well, so the prisoners used the confusion to stage a riot and take over.

The king needed his ore, so he negotiated. He would trade with the prisoners, sending them goods in exchange for the metal. New prisoners would keep being sent there. The barrier allows inanimate objects to pass through back and forth, but living beings can only go in. No one ever gets out.

We meet our protagonist at the edge of the barrier, as a judge reads out his letter of condemnation. However, before he can get to our hero’s name, or the crimes he’d committed, a mage approaches. He gives the Nameless Hero a letter, saying that if he delivers it to the Magicians of Fire in the colony, they’ll reward him. He agrees, provided the judge shuts up. The mage agrees and has the soldiers toss him in. I’ll refer to the protagonist as Nameless Hero from now on, he never does get a chance to introduce himself.

The first thing the Nameless Hero sees in the colony is a fist. After he lands in the water beyond the barrier, a pack of bullies decides to haze him by means of punching. They leave after Diego arrives. An old and experienced convict, Diego explains to the Nameless Hero how the colony works, and gives him some directions. Then he leaves, telling the Hero to meet him in the Old Camp.

The Nameless Hero’s first goal is to deliver that letter, so he can claim the reward. But it’s not so easy. The Magicians of Fire reside on the upper level of the Old Camp, a settlement of convicts built around the guards’ former residence. Rank-and-file convicts have no entry there. Which sets up the game’s first challenge: join one of the three camps that arose in the colony.

The Old Camp is the oldest one, and the first one players will encounter, unless they deliberately go wandering. The people in charge are the “magnates”, which means the most powerful and influential convicts. They get the lion’s share of the goods from the outside. The most powerful among them is Gomez, and you’ll have to talk to him to join. But before you’re allowed to even see him, you need to get into the good graces of several prominent camp members, who are either Gomez’s guards or lower-ranking agents called shades.

The New Camp is a collection of people unruly even by the convicts’ standards. Although to be fair, plenty of people who end up in the colony are minor felons, people who couldn’t pay their taxes, or just unlucky folks who got on the wrong side of the law by accident.

Regardless, the New Camp has its own ore mine, but it doesn’t trade with the king. The Magicians of Water gather it to use in a ritual to blow up the barrier. Other inhabitants include mercenaries who protect the mages, a collection of scoundrels, and the dregs who mine ore and grow rice. In order to join the gang, you need to get on their boss’ good side, and there are a few options to do it. The New Camp members aren’t welcome in the Old Camp, but Magicians of Water use the scoundrels to run messages between them and the Magicians of Fire. You can convince the boss to give such a message to you.

Finally, the Swamp Camp is found in, well, a swamp on the edge of the barrier. Its inhabitants worship an entity they call the Sleeper, who will one day wake up and free them all. The power in the camp belongs to the Gurus, whose safety is ensured by temple guards. The novices, meanwhile, do the bulk of the work to keep the camp running. In order to join them, you need to become a novice. That requires the consent of at least four gurus. The problem is, outsiders can’t speak with them unless they expressly permit it, so you have to get creative.

The first Gothic is one of those games where the beginning is by far the most memorable, and the purest expression of the game’s draw. You navigate the complex politics of the penal colony, trying to get on the powerful people’s good side. Those stronger than you can and will bully you or just straight-up oppress you. You’re very much a wet-behind-the-ears newcomer, in the social and physical sense. The game pulls no punches when it comes to difficulty, and it’s very possible to run into something or someone you have no hope of defeating. NPCs will usually beat you up and take some of your money, but animals and orcs will show you no such clemency. Unlike in most RPGs, where they’re training wheels for beginning adventurers, orcs in Gothic are tough and vicious fighters.

It’s hard to describe it in an article, but the atmosphere at the start of the game is intensely thick and immersive. I don’t use the word “immersion” lightly, but Gothic merits it. Several factors contribute to building it. The first is the difficulty that I’ve mentioned before, along with a technically-open world. You can theoretically go anywhere within the colony, but until you’re strong enough, you will likely die if you stray from the roads between camps. The content doesn’t scale with the player’s level, although new creatures may appear as they progress through the plot.

This creates an illusion of a world that’s much bigger than it actually is. The colony is, in fact, very small. But gating parts of it behind the Hero’s strength skilfully conceals its true size. The game generally tells you where to go, so you’re not as likely to wander off and die as it might sound.

The other factor that builds the immersion is a lot of work that went into ambient actions. The NPCs sit, walk, eat, drink, repair their huts, cook. Even though they perform them entirely at random, according to their scripts, it does create a remarkably believable illusion of life. Not just that, the Hero can perform those verysame actions. They’re context-sensitive, so you need to approach the right object, such as a chair, a loose plank in a wall, etc. It’s all entirely pointless, but immersive.

Adding to this is ambient dialogue, which is to say, NPCs talking among themselves. In most RPGs, it means you will hear the same dialogue over, and over, and over again. Like when running through Whiterun in Skyrim, and hearing the same riveting discussion about buying food. Or being told that I don’t go to the upper part of the town once. Even though I’m a thane. Or hearing the same two racist humans discuss the finer points of exterminating elves in the first Witcher.

Gothic does something completely different. When not otherwise busy, NPCs will pair together and talk. They do so by exchanging context-less bits of sentences. It won’t be long before you’ve heard them all, of course, the pool isn’t that big. But, once again, it creates an illusion. Especially in your first playthrough, it gives you the impression of catching bits and pieces of a conversation as you walk by or do something else.This might sound a little ridiculous, but somehow it works.

Finally, the immersion is built simply by the writing, dialogue, plot and gameplay. By making the Nameless Hero a weak rookie and surrounding him with people who are pretty rough around the edges at best, the game creates an atmosphere of being on the bottom of the totem pole in a harsh environment. You have to suck up to those in power and pick your battles to get ahead. You could also keep your head down and just mine the ore, but then we wouldn’t have a game.

Unfortunately, this atmosphere grows less thick as the game goes on. The Hero eventually becomes strong enough to challenge many of the tougher convicts and beasts. After you join a camp and deliver the letter, the previously branching plot merges together. No matter which camp you’re in, you will receive orders to help the Swamp Camp with their preparations for awakening the Sleeper. From that point onwards, Gothic gradually loses a little bit of what makes it unique.

What about the game’s technical side? Well, this is the less-good part. Gothic was a buggy mess when it came out, and it’s unlikely to get better on modern computers. The game’s engine is as rough and coarse as the colony and the people that inhabit it, but it doesn’t exactly add to the atmosphere.

Some bugs lead to hilarious exploits. For instance, when you fall off a great height, eventually the hero will assume a horizontal position and start flailing his arms; this signals that the fall will be fatal. However, if you press the button to sidestep mid-fall… the animation is cancelled and the hero falls to the ground safely. Even if he jumped from the highest ledge in the colony. The number of different things that don’t quite work would be too long, so I’ll just say the game could have used extra polish.

Now, the mechanics of character progression. They are dirt simple, but do some things uniquely. To start with, you gain experience and levels as usual. However, a level gets you only an increase in health and some skill points. To make any sort of use of those skill points, you must find a trainer. For some skills, it’s not hard. You can advance your basic attributes and combat skills easily enough. Other abilities are gated behind faction membership and status therein.

The basic attributes are strength, dexterity and mana, and the choice generally boils down to being a warrior or a mage, with Swamp Camp giving you the option to play a warrior who dabbles in magic. If you don’t follow the path of a mage, you’ll eventually master two-handed weapons and either bows or crossbows. But the requirement for trainers does effectively create classes in a system without them, in a more organic manner. You can theoretically learn anything, but you need to find someone who will teach it to you first.

Gothic 2 and Night of the Raven

Well, that’s enough about the first game. What about Gothic 2? It starts a few weeks after the first game. After triumphing over a major demon that had threatened everyone within the barrier, it turns that the whole temple fell apart on top of him. Only his magic armor kept him alive, until the necromancer Xardas (whom we had met in Gothic 1) brought him back. The ordeal weakened him considerably and he lost all his equipmen, thus explaining why he’s once again a wimp and not the high-and-mighty badass that he’d become.

Xardas brings our hero up to speed. The demon’s dying cry summoned many creatures of darkness, including dragons, which are now amassing in the mining valley. Our hero must go to the order of paladins and requisition a magic amulet known as the Eye of Innos.

If it sounds trite, well, it is. That was a major disappointment to many, when Gothic 2 came out. The first game had a fairly original premise, even if it became a more typical fantasy RPG plot later on. Gothic 2 began with an army of darkness and a magic amulet we need to find to fight it. It’s not nearly as simple in practice, obviously, but it makes for a vastly different start.

This game lets us explore the land beyond the confines of the penal colony. Which turns out to have been on an island all along, to keep the available space manageable. To be fair, the penal colony did include a sea coast.

As we try to talk to the order of paladins and ask for the Eye, we run into a very similar problem. Namely, they don’t want to talk to a random nobody. In fact, even getting into the island’s major port city is going to be problematic. The war with orcs has everyone on edge, and now some jackass went and freed all the convicts from the colony. Even if you get through, entering the upper city is reserved for citizens. Even if you do become a citizen by apprenticing to a craft, the paladins still won’t talk to you without a good reason.

So, despite the much more typical setting, we engage in some very similar activities. We suck up to the important people, gather favors, and slowly become stronger. Our options are the city guard, the Magicians of Fire, or mercenaries. The last group features many people from the New Camp of the first game; this time, they serve a wealthy landowner who decided to rebel against the crown. Magicians of Water are absent until the expansion.

 

Gothic 2 is a good example of a sequel that improves on the original in many technical aspects, but loses something unique in the process. The choice of faction remains relevant, like I said, but the story itself is much more generic. The atmosphere is still there, as are all the tricks that make us think the game’s world is much bigger than it is. But it’s just not the same. Not to mention that the Hero is no longer the rookie he was. Even if all his skills are arbitrarily removed.

Character progression is also more varied, but the game’s variety comes at a price of deep imbalance. Properly utilizing the mechanics can remove many challenges. The biggest offenders are alchemy and crossbows. Alchemy lets you brew potions that permanently enhance your attributes, elevating them to great heights at a low cost in skill points. Crossbows deal lethal damage at range, while having minimal attribute requirements. Combining them is deadly.

The game’s expansion, Night of the Raven, strives to fix this, among other things. It adds a new storyline and an entirely new part of the island, but both run parallel to the original story. This…isn’t as seamless as one might hope. New NPCs and quests stick out rather visibly. You have to leave the original plot behind for a long time as you deal with the other potentially world-threatening thing. And then you get back to the old areas and never mention it again. Mind you, the vanilla areas need to be beefier to deal with your newfound strength and gear.

The expansion’s attempt at balance comes in the form of driving up skill point costs for higher attribute values. Once you advance past a certain point, every new point costs two skill points. Then three and four. It then adds the double whammy of racking up attribute requirements for items. This is brutal, and results in an even harsher early game experience than the game’s convention dictates. More importantly, it encourages using alchemy to crank up your attributes and scrounging up every possible way to raise them without spending skill points. The original game already rewarded meticulous planning; in the expansion, it’s almost a requirement if you don’t want to die horribly.

Gothic 2 might be more generic and have balance problems, but it was still a success among the game’s niche of fans. The greater variety of story and options, more land to explore and being able to revisit a much-altered former penal colony all appealed to players. The recurring NPCs were now a familiar staple that players had formed a bond with.

In the first game, we eventually run into four other convicts who help the Hero in some way; Diego, who greets us, is one. The others are Milten, a young fire magician, Gorn the mercenary and Lester the novice. The four turn out to share a friendship and alliance, which the Nameless Hero joins. Thus, he knows he can rely on them in the second game. It’s fairly well-developed.

You’ll notice that these are all men. And…well, the women really don’t get any sort of representation in those games, to put it bluntly. In the first game, the only women we ever see are servants of the most important people in the colony. We can’t talk to them, while every peon gets some generic dialogue otherwise. In the second game, there’s more of them, and we can interact with them, but they’re almost universally housewives. That’s progress I guess?

These games are old, but not that old, so there’s really no excuse. The third game is somewhat better in that it reaches the general industry standard for gender parity, but that isn’t exactly a ringing achievement.

Gothic 3 and Beyond

So, the third game. It’s controversial, and for once I think there’s a good reason. It begins where the second one ended, with our hero and his friends sailing to the mainland after defeating the undead dragon and abandoning the island of Khorinis to the rampaging orc horde.

After reaching the mainland, it turns out orcs had won, and the kingdom of Myrtana is now under their occupation. King Rhobar locked himself in his castle and had his mages create a magic barrier around it. On purpose, this time. Resistance against orcs continues, but some people decided to work with the occupiers instead.

The orcs, I should mention, are not like the brutes who attacked us on sight in Khorinis. They look different and don’t act much different from your usual occupying army. They still look very similar to one another, and their culture seems fixated on honor in battle to the exclusion of anything else. But as one-note as they are, they’re now in the territory of the “honorable warrior race” archetype, rather than dumb and ugly cannon fodder. The sudden change is supposedly due to the orcs of Khorinis being a degenerate, demon-worshipping bloodline. Or something.

After we arrive and liberate a seaside village from orcs, we’re informed that Xardas (the necromancer from Gothic 1 and 2) nullified rune magic, which made paladins and mages easy pickings from orcs. He then disappeared. We have to look for him, and that’s basically all the direction we get.

Thus we run into the game’s first, biggest problem. The first two games had open worlds, but small ones that also had careful directions and natural barriers. The third Gothic is a more classical open world, in the vein of the Elder Scrolls games. And it’s clear that the writers couldn’t handle it.

There are many roads we can take from the starting location, but precious few directions. All we have to go on is that if we resolve the situation between orcs and rebels, someone might tell us where to find Xardas. So we have to defeat the orcs for the rebels, or vice versa. If we’d rather not get involved, we get nothing. And siding with one of the groups has us fight a whole settlement by ourselves, or maybe with some minor NPC help.

Trying to explore on our own can get us killed in short order, as there’s still no level scaling, but also no clear warnings about dangerous areas. And besides, the basic wolves and boars can do a perfectly good job murdering us in the starting area.

That’s right, the combat system is also pretty wonky, as are various other mechanics. The combat tries to be more elaborate, which results in animals stagger-locking and murdering us. Instead of the simple but crisp animations of the first games, everyone swings their weapons as if they weighed ten kilograms, telegraphing their attacks like crazy. Needless to say, two-handed weapons have it the worst.

Shields finally appear in the game, as does dual-wielding, which is as graceless as the other methods of combat. The character creation is more expanded, and skills aren’t otherwise locked behind factions anymore, although different trainers might require you to do something before they teach you. And then they cost exorbitant amounts of money to learn. It’s all really… sloppy. There’s no rhyme, reason or pacing to it. It wouldn’t be so bad on its own, I imagine, but combined with the plot, it contributes to the general feeling of aimlessness. What am I supposed to be doing? Where am I going? What do I want to learn?

That really sums up my experience playing Gothic 3 for the first time. I wanted to like it, but I spent my time wandering, trying to keep up with the plot somehow and learn magic. The game insisted on throwing me in the midst of massive battles by myself, with maybe one NPC to help. The second time, I tried to play a warrior, but was worn down by the intensely inconsistent difficulty, the same sense of aimlessness and the poor combat animations.

There is, I should note, a fan-made patch for Gothic 3. It is sprawling in scope, rebalancing the gameplay and even adding content. Some say it makes for a great game. More power to them. I tried it, but still couldn’t stomach Gothic 3.

It’s sad, really. It could have been great. It has the making of a good game. There are a few small innovations I like. Health no longer automatically grows with level, for instance, so you don’t out-level challenges just by virtue of having too much health. All healing items restore a percentage of health or mana, so they’re as useful early on as they are later. In the previous two games, you started out healing with food and herbs, then moved to progressively stronger potions. The new attributes and skills might have been a good combination of the training model with more flexible growth, if they hadn’t been such a mess.

Unfortunately, the designers just couldn’t handle a more open world and story. It’s really a pretty good example of an open world gone wrong, where you have no idea where to go, what to do, or how to play. The first two games directed us in a way that felt natural and organic; the third one just throws us into the world.

That wasn’t the end of the franchise, but further titles were created by a different team. Forsaken Gods is an expansion that I haven’t played, but everyone consistently reviles it. Arcania: Gothic Tale continues where the third game left off, but does so by abandoning most everything that made the previous titles what they were. It’s linear, character progression resembles just about every other RPG; the protagonist is an incredibly typical Chosen One, living in a small village with his girlfriend until (spoiler alert) the village gets torched and the girlfriend dies. Riveting.

So that’s that, for the Gothic series. Through some issues with copyright, some of the people responsible for the original series moved on to create Risen, which is very similar to Gothic. In fact, the setting is basically the Gothic-verse with serial numbers filed off. The backstory is eerily similar to one of the three possible endings of Gothic 3. Piranha Bytes now owns the rights to the series again, but no one knows if they plan to do anything with them.

Well, I hope you enjoyed my thorough dissection of this old, but unique game series. For all their foibles and flaws, I think Gothic games offer a unique experience that no other game has replicated. For better or worse, they’re their own special thing. I encourage you to try them, even though it’s not going to be easy. But if you endure the obscurity, bugs and difficulty, you’ll find something valuable.


Images courtesy of Piranha Bytes

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The Final Decay of Half-Life 2

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Ten years have passed since the release of Half-Life 2: Episode 2. Ten years since Alyx Vance’s hoarse voice ended on a massive cliffhanger fans never received resolution for. Over these long years the wait for another entry in the series has become little more than a meme. Hell, so many years have passed that “Half-Life 3 confirmed” became old, stale, and nowhere to be seen. Many have moved on to the many other great games series out there.

Some of us faithful have held on to increasingly slim hopes Valve would give us more Half-Life despite the loss of much of the development team responsible. With the release of Marc Laidlaw’s Episode 3 “script,” however, the time has likely come to let go. Half-Life 2 and its episodes will never see closure. Alyx’s grief-stricken whispers will remain the last memory of the series.

For those unaware, Marc Laidlaw was a writer and designer for the Half-Life series. He left Valve in January 2016, a clear sign on its own of the chance for further sequels. On August 25, 2017, he posted an entry on his site named “Epistle 3” that was, for all intents and purposes, a story summary for Episode 3. The names were changed, but the subject matter clear.

Since this post was made, Laidlaw has claimed the post was not a leak, but his own version of the continuing story. Whether this version was leak or “fan fic” ultimately does not matter. The fact Laidlaw would release this at all speaks to the ugly truth about Half-Life, or at least Half-Life 2 and its episodes.

This is it. This is all we well get for closure. All that’s left is one question; is this enough?

half-life guards

A common speculation for the delay has always been the iconic, influential status of the series. The original Half-Life was one of the single largest influences behind the rise of story-driven First-Person Shooters. The second game redefined the genre and featured physics-based gameplay of such quality that even modern games struggle to equal it. A common hope for the future of the series was always this history of innovation. We hoped Valve’s delay was out of desire to make another jump forward in gaming such as the first two games accomplished.

However, that’s not what many fans wanted. If the series had ended on the base Half-Life 2 game alone, this outcry wouldn’t exist. While certainly something of a cliffhanger, the game ended in a way that did not demand more. Valve would have been free to take their time and make something entirely different and transformative, much like the sequel was to the original Half-Life. Maybe we even would have gotten more Half-Life by now.

Everything changed with the Episodes. Valve decided to continue the story and left it in a place demanding more. For many years that was all fans wanted; another episode to give us closure on the story. I don’t exaggerate when I say more than a few fans claimed they would accept even this little bit. Of course we wanted to play more of the series, but follow-up to Episode 2’s cliffhanger was just as important as more gameplay.

We won’t get any official closure now, but Laidlaw’s post delivers it in a way. This is the man who wrote the series. At the very least his fan fic was a concept considered for the game. It’s more likely that this really was Episode 3’s story, as much of the leaked models and concept art match it too well to be coincidence. And it’s really freaking good. This summary would have made for an excellent conclusion to the story of Gordon Freeman while also setting up more Half-Life with Alyx Vance as the lead. The setting was tremendous, the description of the Borealis was everything you could have hoped for, and the ending itself a logical twist set up outstandingly throughout Half-Life 2 and both preceding episodes.

So now we know what happens, or at least read an ending worthy of the story written by the series’ writer. This was  exactly the “just tell us” moment the fanbase was ready to settle on.

Will we? It’s hard to say.

Look, at this point I’m a veteran of long waits for the things I love. As a Song of Ice and Fire fan I experienced the wait for A Dance with Dragons and I’m currently going through the wait for The Winds of Winter. I wait for new Tool albums. Over a decade has passed since Kingdom Hearts 2 came out, and the third game has yet to arrive. Waiting never really gets easier. The point always arrives where you question whether you’ll get anything new. Whether you know something’s in development or know nothing at all makes little difference. Waiting sucks either way.

While disappointing, there’s a freedom in knowing something expected will never come. With so many amazing shows, games, books, comics, and so forth out there, it can be great to simply move on from something else. And if you can get something like Laidlaw gave Half-Life fans, even better! For all intents and purposes, we know how the series ends. I’ll take a written summary of an ending over nothing at all.

I won’t deny this is a bitter pill to swallow, though. Yes, we’re not “owed” anything. No one is a bitch to the fans. That doesn’t change the expectation inherent to the creation of an ongoing story like Half-Life 2 and the episodes.  When you create a property with the promise of future content succeeding the current release, how can you possibly blame fans for struggling to accept never receiving the next chapter? Of course we’re going to have a hard time with it. Even knowing how Episode 3 likely would have gone, and as happy as I am to read it, I can’t help but feel anger I will never play through the time-twisting, space-bending confines of the Borealis as described by Laidlaw.

Neither does it help that the Half-Life 2 episodes were created specifically to avoid this scenario. Valve President Gabe Newell claimed the episodes were thought up to avoid another wait like the six years spent waiting for the sequel to the original Half-Life. We were meant to see more consistent releases for the series so fans could play more Half-Life. Instead, well…here we are. Ten years later and almost certain to never see Episode 3.

Making all this even worse is the decline of Valve in general. While we can’t be sure, there’s a logical progression of events explaining Valve’s inability to put out another Half-Life game. Plain and simple, Steam happened. The PC distribution giant has become a crucial part of any PC gamer’s life and a money-printing machine for Valve. They make millions more off Steam than they ever would from making any game and without half the effort or risk. For fans of Grand Theft Auto 5, it’s the same reason they scrapped whatever plans they had for single-player expansions. Why put in the intense work and cost for profit dwarfing what easy online content pays?

Us fans are left to suffer for this decision.

It’s an easy correlation between Steam’s rise and Valve’s disappearance from game development. They haven’t released a major single-player title since Portal 2 in 2011. They haven’t released a major title since Dota 2 in 2013. Unfortunately that doesn’t seem ready to change anytime soon. Newell has bluntly said Half-Life 3 isn’t a thing. Valve has no current intention of giving us the ending they all but promised when they released Half-Life 2 all those years ago.

Fans of A Song of Ice and Fire can understand and sympathize with George R.R. Martin taking a long time to write Winds of Winter, because we know he is at least trying. Fans can’t forgive simply giving up the way Valve has. Time has dulled the once sharp sourness of gamers towards Valve, but the company will never again manage the nearly untarnished respect and trust they once had. Whatever Valve does moving forward, gamers will hold it against them for not completing Half-Life 2.

Now every fan has to choose whether to move on or not. This is how one of the greatest videogame series of all time ends, with an anticlimactic post by a former employee in place of another game. Perhaps it’s for the best. Any Half-Life game Valve released at this point would probably end up a bitter, half-hearted attempt satisfying no one. Even an amazing game would face unfair criticism just because of the wait. I suppose it’s always possible inspiration will strike Valve one day. They may decide to just move forward in the series with an entirely fresh idea revitalizing the series.

The story of Gordon Freeman and Alyx Vance’s fight against the Combine, though, has passed. Their time has come and gone. For many gamers like myself, this is more than just the end of another videogame series. Half-Life carried prestige very few series in gaming history can claim. It revolutionized and inspired an entire genre. It went a long way in putting the largest PC distribution network on the map.

If you were a gamer in the late-1990s to mid-2000s, you know Half-Life’s name. If you own a PC, you’ve probably played it at some point. And now it’s over.

half-life strider

Speaking only for myself, I’m ready to move on. Laidlaw’s post has freed me. Within a day of reading it I installed each part of the Half-Life 2 series and beat them all within two weeks. For the first time I was able to listen to Alyx’s hoarsely whispered grief and not feel like I tortured myself yet again with Episode 2’s cliffhanger. I know what happens next. I love what happens next and feel closure.

Does some bitterness still linger? Definitely. I’m no different from all the others who feel Valve betrayed the trust of their fans. That betrayal won’t ever fully vanish unless they stun us all and release an Episode 3 on par with the first two. However, I’m ready to move on from the series.

Others won’t be able to let go. The Laidlaw post will probably make moving on harder for some fans. Now we know exactly what we missed out on. Knowing it did exist at one point, that combined with leaked concepts we know Episode 3 was in development, it makes it harder to accept nothing coming out over the past ten years, and nothing ever coming out. Some fans will continue to hold out hope, thinking these various elements mean Valve plans to do something at some point. Others will feel increased anger that nothing was done with those elements.

It’s a crying shame this is what became of the series. However, there’s no denying the truth staring us in the face at this point. Half-Life has completed its decay, and now every fan is left to decide whether they can leave it behind.


Images Courtesy of Valve Software

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