I am an enormous murder mystery fan and I have a particular fondness for Agatha Christie. To date, I’ve read about ten of her books and across the whole selection I’ve found her a tireless innovator, always tinkering with the formula of the murder mystery. Novels like The Murder of Roger Ackroyd are famous for this, but even Murder on the Orient Express, likely her best known work, defies the usual routine of a murder followed by a systematic investigation, a dramatic confrontation and a satisfactory conclusion. In both of those novels, too, relatively archetypical characters are more vivacious and compelling than they have any right to be as mere mystery puzzle pieces. So I was excited to read Sparkling Cyanide, a novel I picked up for the price of a coffee.
I love the idea of government types in Stellaris. Encountering an empire which describes itself as a ‘Science Directorate’ is extremely evocative of the kind of society you’re dealing with. They add immensely Stellaris’ randomly generated AI opponents, ensuring you won’t face exactly the same threat twice. For the player, though, the choice is a neat way to give your empire a bit of identity, but the differences in government structure are too minor and governments in the same group too similar to really make you switch up your playstyle. In this post, I’ve gone through each government type and suggested ways they could be made more distinctive. I haven’t added or subtracted from the existing set, and I haven’t addressed the ‘effects’ of government types (for instance +20% naval capacity and -5% ship upkeep for military dictatorships) because I haven’t played enough of the game to venture to rebalance these. Some government types work as well as they can without major changes to the game: I’ve noted their name and given their in-game description nonetheless, but left them without comment.
Lorian & Lothric are bound to be Dark Souls III’s most controversial boss. You’ll call Lorian’s teleportation ‘cheap’ or ‘impossible to beat’ and die to it without really understanding it. You’ll hurl a controller across the room when you find out that you need to go back through phase one of Lorian’s fight to activate Lothric, even if you’ve beaten it before. And then, just when you think you’ve dodged the beam from Lorian’s sword you’ll be hit by Lothric’s magic homing arrow and keel over a few yards from victory. By the time you beat the boss, though, you’ll hopefully have an appreciation for its fantastic, fascinating design. The best Dark Souls bosses are those which at first appear impossible but, gradually, retry by retry, reveal weaknesses and openings and predictable patterns to exploit. Lorian & Lothric are Dark Souls III’s finest boss, and among the best bosses of the whole series.
Dark Souls III is the first From Software game I’ve played at launch. I’ve yet to play Dark Souls II, and in the case of both Dark Souls and Bloodborne I played them long after they released. In the tutorial area, there were fifty bloodstains leading up to the optional crystal monster fight which, like the message telling players to turn back, only enticed me to fight it (and die six times). Playing a Souls game with a procession of players fighting and dying in the same areas as me has been a delight. After four hours, I want to discuss how playing a Souls game changes at launch and share some initial impressions.
This post contains gameplay spoilers for the final sections of Dark Souls and Bloodborne. If you haven’t played either, I highly recommend doing so and reading this after.
I submit the soul of one of Dark Souls’ final few bosses, the Four Kings, to the Lord Vessel. That opens the game’s last area, a long path to the final boss, Lord Gwyn. Dark Souls has a reputation for being difficult which can sometimes be overstated, but I was understandably nervous about the climactic battle in a game packed full of really tough boss fights. From Software even emphasise the magnitude of the fight through level design here, since the whole area slopes towards Gwyn’s chamber which is visible from minutes away. When I arrive at Gwyn though, I’m disappointed. Visually he looks great, the boss arena is wonderful, and his moves are suitably intimidating. He isn’t a badly designed boss like the Bed of Chaos or the Capra Demon, both of which will almost always kill the player once. Instead, my problem is that he’s easy. When Gwyn swings his sword, I can absorb the blow and attack through, literally trading hits with him. I take a more substantial chunk of damage than him, of course, but I also have the ability to heal which Gwyn lacks. Moreover, I’m wearing Havel’s armour, the heaviest in the game so I can afford to take multiple hits before I even think about retreating to heal. He doesn’t even harass me as I drink my Estus, like the giant duo Ornstein & Smough. I’m thrilled when he’s dead initially. I’ve beaten an extremely tough game and concluded one of my best experiences in videogames overall. When I’m watching the credits, though, I’m left to wonder: did I play Dark Souls wrong?
I love Lovecraft. His prose, concepts, plots and horror creep me out more than any other writer’s. ‘The Whisperer in the Dark,’ ‘The Call of Cthulhu,’ ‘The Festival’ and ‘The Shadow over Innsmouth’ are all among my favourite short stories. Lovecraft’s writing is mystifying and alien, he excels at describing the weird and the set-ups to his plots are always exciting, even when the conclusion is anticlimactic. In spite of my fondness for Lovecraft, though, I’ve never watched films his work has inspired. This series will look at direct and indirect adaptions of Lovecraft, one by one, reviewing them on their own terms and comparing them to Lovecraft’s stories. Today: In the Mouth of Madness.
Roguelight is a fun little game you should get for as little as you like. You play an archer descending through a randomly generated 2D dungeon, guided by the light from your limited quiver of arrows. As you go deeper, the environmental lights become fewer, the flaming tips of your arrows extinguish more quickly and enemies and traps become more frequent. It’s a simple, challenging premise very similar to Spelunky’s excellent dark levels, held together by a well-designed bow with thoughtful environments surrounding it.
I’m a postgraduate history student. Due to an overload of work on that front, I’ve been inactive here lately. I have written a few things in the past months for my university paper, though, and I’ve rounded them up here with a short description.
Students are Organised and Angry in the UK. What Can we Learn? – An opinion piece looking across from Ireland toward the UK to see how their student movement has gained momentum in recent months in opposing further cuts and fee increases and arguing the focus of that movement (direct action, large demonstrations, strikes) should be emulated by the Irish movement.
Film Review: Kill Your Friends – A review of a recent comedy-drama about the record industry which has similar themes and formal elements to American Psycho, even if it doesn’t quite live up to that film in practice.
Film Review: The Good Dinosaur – A review of the newest Pixar film, which provided a surprising reversal of the usual Disney dynamic of a human child and their animal pet. It also features a few exceptionally funny scenes with guest appearances.
Spare Hour: The Douglas Hyde Gallery – My entry into a series of articles about how a student/visitor to Trinity College, Dublin could spend a spare hour on campus, this time dealing with the contemporary art gallery on campus. The exhibitions I discuss in the article have since changed.
The harshest criticism of Fallout 4 has been from people who feel the game is insufficiently different from Fallout 3 or Skyrim. For anyone who plays singleplayer RPGs with a view to roleplay, though, it is the significant changes which have sabotaged the game. I should define what I mean by ‘roleplay’ since it’s a broad term, and it’s been broadened still further by being used as a descriptor for games like Fallout 4 and Mass Effect which traditionally have little in common with the genre. For me, at least, the defining characteristic of a roleplaying game is the ability to create a unique character who has particular skills and codes of conduct. Then, the game has to allow you within reason to play the character you’ve created, making the decisions they would make. If you want to play as a deranged wastelander in Fallout: New Vegas who thinks she’s a samurai, you can acquire a machete, wear makeshift armour and pick and choose which quests to undertake and which areas to investigate according to your imagined character’s feelings. In Morrowind, you might play an academically-inclined mage by selecting magic skills, joining the Mage’s Guild and choosing disdainful dialogue options with grubby warriors and thieves. These are relatively extreme examples, and merely playing a character who believes the world should be organised in a particular way qualifies (and is equally difficult to do in Fallout 4). For me and others who love to play this way, Fallout 4 is a disappointment. It rigorously circumscribes your role in the post-nuclear wasteland and allows very little player expression in building your character, talking to strangers or exploring the world.
Episode five of Life Is Strange is a culmination of what I love about the game and also the grievances I’ve had with its later episodes. The best things about Life Is Strange, its focus on one friendship, the characters of Max and Chloe, the strange dialogue steeped in pop culture and the seriousness with which it regards violence are all present or even more pronounced here. Unfortunately, so are the game’s frustrating digressions and its overreliance on exposition via dialogue (made worse since it’s the villain explaining his evil plan). This episode ends unsatisfactorily after a few unfocused sections which often appear to be padding out length.