Some thoughts: Eldritch

I am compelled out of silence - for men of industry, in their ignorance, have refused to heed my warnings. It is with a profound apprehension that I recount the reasons for opposing any ventures into that infested region of what has been called 'cyberspace,' and my reluctance is magnified by the knowledge that my warning may be in vain. I cannot avoid the inclusion of all the details and the extravagant and incredible nature of their reality, even if they should cast this whole account into doubt, which I believe they surely will. Included are the images, withheld from the general public until now, of my expedition and they will strengthen the facticity of my claims; for they expose in abhorrent detail what words alone cannot. They will of course be doubted because of the deceptions effected in the past by tools such as Photoshop. The screenshots will most likely be dismissed as mere imitations of other influential, and clearly fictitious, articles; in spite of the subtle corruptions of the angular appearance which should not go unnoticed. Ultimately, I am resigned to the considerations of the reader who, on the one hand, I hope has sufficient knowledge to see this grotesque parody of the familiar for what it is; and on the other, sufficient foresight to heed my warnings, as the sanity of the general public is at stake. For within its Cyclopean corridors lurks a compelling experience that will rob you of hours of your life.

A first-person rogue-like, Eldritch drowns the cubes of Minecraft in the mythology recorded by H.P. Lovecraft. The progeny of this curious marriage is a highly addictive game that is comical as it is terrifying. Trapped within a sprawling library, with scattered books detailing key-bindings and divulging the world's furtive lore, you have to forge a means of escape. The library serves as a nexus of sorts. It houses the glowing books that are used to travel to the different dungeons, in addition to a mirror that provides a few character skins and a chest where artifacts, the game's currency, can be stored. An ominous wooden door behind three white pedestals hint at things to come.

Eldritch's game mechanics adhere to a spartan design philosophy which emphasises choice. To aid the player in his escape, random items lie scattered within the passages of the three-floored-randomly-generated dungeons within the pages of each book. Everything from fists, bottles and rocks to more deadly devices make up the arsenal with which death is dispatched, however only two weapons can be carried at a time. In addition to simply happening on items, vendors can be found who sell an assortment of useful articles. Similarly, only a single spell can be carried and caste at a time. Spells are exchanged at altars discovered through traversing the floors of each dungeon. Both the purchase of items and weapons, and the use of spells require spending artifacts. Interestingly, each corpse plundered allows the dead to rise and infest a different corner of the labyrinth - making looting corpses for ammunition, keys and artifacts a weighted affair.

It is the interplay between spells and items that defines Eldritch's dynamic gameplay. Boots, kits and gear make up the three different types of equipable items found within the game. Like spells only a single slot is available for each type of item, restricting their use to only three at a time. Purchased in shops, or found lying in a dark corner, they bestow remarkable powers to the wielder. In combination with spells, items prove indispensable. Where spells range from turning invisible to summoning blocks capable of trapping the unnameable horrors of the dungeons, items (amongst other things) allow you to move without noise or be resurrected when slain. Like all spells, artifacts are required for some of the items to function.

But of course, as is true of all roguelikes, death is a special sort of penance. Upon meeting your demise at the hands, or tentacles, of those that dwell in the deep - everything carried on your person is lost. Orbs have to be re-obtained, shrines rediscovered and everything else recollected. The only respite against your slaughter is the wooden chest found in the library and at random locations within the dungeons. Here artifacts can be stored, safe from the purging effects of death.

It is this interplay between elements - the artifacts, the randomly generated levels, the weapons, items and spells and their dependence on the currency to function, the risk-reward looting mechanic, and the almost all encompassing consequences of dying - that makes Eldritch such an addictive, nerve wrecking little exercise in the art of rinse and repeat. There is something to be said of games that weave their mechanics into the lore of their world, and in Eldritch it is executed to striking effect. And with a free expansion in the form of an additional book, shrouded in a blueish-white fog, leading to the Mountains of Madness - it would be a peculiar form of deprivation to abstain from its unspeakable delights.

Some thoughts: Bioshock Infinite

*As the topic necessitates a discussion of the plot - this article will contain some spoilers. Avert your eyes if you want to preserve your innocence. But really, you should have played this by now...

What hasn't been said of Irrational's Bioshock Infinite almost a year after release? Its gospel has been met with critical acclaim and high praise, maintaining a Metacritic score of 94 (if arbitrary numbers really matter), and the next instalment of story dlc is poised for release this month. Its an alluring yarn that spins its way back to Rapture, but one I am unwilling to follow.

So Infinite is a game guided by an ambitious vision, one that feels curtailed by poor design and missed opportunities. I love the fact that a collection of seemingly crazy ideas involving a floating city riddled with skylines, a naive girl with reality bending powers, time / alternate universe travel, and all the rest, could manage to find their way into a single project with a studio of about two hundred employees crafting them into reality over the course of five years. Not surprising with the success of the initial Bioshock, I would imagine. A shame then that what initially seemed like a compelling prospect, Columbia - a city in the sky, turned out to be a such an unsatisfying ride. Yet for all its flaws the game still seems to capture the imagination of those whom walk the streets of its compartmentalised districts. No one can deny the splendour of Irrational's painstakingly crafted floating utopia (although I have read complaints regarding low-res textures and the like).

It is interesting to follow the game's development from the initial glimpses the trailers provide. The emphasis on immersion, which the first Bioshock excelled at to a surprising degree, seemed intact. The society of Columbia, the scripted scenes and the general atmosphere of the game hinted at a vibrant and enthralling world. Infinite's lore, like its predecessor, had been meticulously crafted and every inch of the city appeared to be saturated with symbolism, the streets of Columbia tracing the narrative of its grand history. Yet, when playing through the corridors of this lavishly detailed island amidst the clouds it is striking to find how lifeless it all feels. Instead of a bustling city, heaving under the pressures of an impending revolution, Columbia's corridors are either littered with mostly stationary npcs, glaring at you in their fixed positions, or simply abandoned. And every now and then you would happen on a scene, telling its own little story, reminiscent of those you found in Rapture. Yet here some seemed out of place. Where Rapture's decadence and fall into psychotic hysteria could justify what you found throughout its underwater labyrinth, I found myself continually questioning the characters' motivations in Columbia.

At the centre of Columbia's torpid existence one of Infinite's crowning achievements can be found. Elizabeth exudes a curious influence on the experience of the game. A considerable amount of time and effort had gone into developing a companion character who not only felt alive, but proved more than capable throughout the game. A stellar performance by Courtney Draper, some smoke and mirrors implemented in the handling of the AI and respawns, and a detailed model with a repertoire of animations, proved to create just that. The interactions between Booker and Elizabeth is what carries the game into its terminal state. Yet with the dynamic range encompassed by Elizabeth, the rest of Columbia seems mechanical and uninspired. A natural effect when the contrast is considered. Npcs across the game share the same 'skins,' have limited lines and often enjoy each other's company in an astounding awkward silence. Here the pragmatics involved in game production begin to show. Even the more distinctive characters in Columbia are almost exclusively encountered through voxophones and none seem as interesting or well developed when considered within the scope of the series. It is however with the use of tears that the game's narrative and each character's distinctiveness becomes further diluted.

Tears are scattered across Columbia and are described as windows into other worlds. Elizabeth has the ability to manipulate tears and by the end of Infinite Booker has been transported through four of these portals, consequently entering alternate worlds (or timelines), under the guidance of the Lutece twins. While Elizabeth and Booker make the realisation that travelling in this manner may result in unpredictable consequences, they never the less persist and do not retain this insight, perusing the redundant objective of getting Daisy Fitzroy her weapons. The voxophones are also scattered across these alternate worlds and insights gleamed from one recording may not prove true for the alternate versions of these characters. The rules governing Infinite's universe are also somewhat vague. Booker gains memories from an alternate version of himself when seeing a poster, but does not recall that he is in fact Comstock when confronted by the bearded man. Tears thus make for a convoluted plot and fractured characters, which terminates in an emotive but deeply unsatisfying conclusion.

Indeed, when considering the design and core game mechanics, Irrational committed to a few substantial risks. I was never sold on the skyline-roller-coaster-experience and the ridiculous story of kids being the early adopters of skyhooks, and how this verticality influenced combat. The absence of the deeper progression systems, which formed one of the cornerstones of the previous titles in the series, were also sorely missed. Plasmids were re-skinned as Vigors and feel out of place, the ability to only carry two weapons makes for a deeply perplexing weapon upgrade system (as you would pay a meagre few pennies to seemingly upgrade all the weapon types you encounter in the world), gear is hopelessly unbalanced, and all around choice seems to matter less. The ability to rummage through trash cans however has made a curious return. In combat, the implementation of tears felt unimaginative and bordered on useless - when considering the endless possibilities that could have been explored.

Bioshock Infinite never excels at what it is described to be, a first-person shooter. Instead it proves merely competent at best, but tedious most of the time - a splicing between the Bioshock of the past and popular shooters of the present.