Dead Men Tell No Tales

No spoilers, impressions only.

Pirates of the Caribbean has been around for a while now.

The first movie, Curse of the Black Pearl, took the world by storm back in 2003. There was an ancient curse, undead pirates, swashbuckling action split between the tropics and the high seas, a pair of heroic young lovers-to-be. And it birthed one of Johnny Depp’s most famous roles: the iconic Captain Jack Sparrow.

The second and third films made an epic trilogy. The stand-alone fourth was less well-received. Now, a good six years later, the fifth instalment attempts to reinvigorate the franchise. Does it succeed?

Well, no. Not really.

It’s hard not to see Salazar’s Revenge – Dead Men Tell No Tales in North America – as a rehashing of old elements. Everything I said up top? It’s in there. Only now it all feels rather tired. Jack Sparrow used to be drunk but savvy, an unpredictable wild card. Now he’s just drunk. Mister Gibbs is still Jack’s loyal first mate, Pintel and Ragetti still the comic relief. Then there’s Barbossa. Villain, plot twist, reluctant ally, deuteragonist. Jack’s nemesis has played a lot of roles over a lot of movies. Maybe it’s the wig he’s wearing this time around, but Barbossa definitely feels old.

But let’s focus on the new faces. Salazar’s Revenge follows young Henry Turner on his quest to lift the curse of Davy Jones from his father, Will Turner. Not a spoiler, you find out within the first five minutes. Joining him is Carina Smyth, a headstrong young woman on a mission of her own. Their pairing is one of faith versus science. Henry lives and breathes myths and legends, Carina logic and rational pursuits. Henry is a generic nice guy. Carina’s condescending attitude gets old fast.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence after the last movie I saw, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 – which was excellent, I fully recommend that one. But I found it a little much that in this movie, both the hero and heroine have daddy issues.

They’re not bad, really. I just found it hard to care about them.

Captain Salazar and his merry band, on the other hand, are great. First there was Barbossa’s skeletal crew, then Davy Jones’s coral-encrusted monstrosities. This is the third set of undead pirates thus far. Yet their ghostly style feels fresh. Their ruined ship, the Silent Mary, is awesome. Salazar’s hair drifting without wind is a nice touch. The villains, at least, get points for originality.

They can’t carry the story by themselves, though.

This movie has pacing problems. The first act drags, the second fails to build momentum, and the third feels rushed as a result, as though we’ve stumbled into the climax. It was a fair ending. But despite the action, much of the first half left me bored.

The fifth instalment attempts to return to the series’ roots, while also carrying the story forwards. There are numerous throwbacks to the original trilogy. But it feels like the Pirates franchise is past its prime. Even the post-credits scene was more irritating than exciting. It’s only more of the same.

I hate to say it, but maybe it’s time the dead men stayed dead.

Salazar’s Revenge is a fair action/comedy. I’d still recommend it for pure entertainment value. Just don’t expect too much. I can’t see this being anyone’s movie of the year.

Sickened

So I’ve just finished reading Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood. It’s not for the faint of heart.

This is the story of Julie Gregory, whose childhood was dominated by her mysterious illness. At her mother’s insistence, they would see doctor after doctor, putting her through tests, dietary restrictions and even surgery. In the end, every physician concluded that there was nothing wrong with her. Julie’s mother would fume at their incompetence, bringing her to still more hospitals and specialists, telling anyone and everyone that her child was sick, dammit. They had to get to the bottom of this.

But the only sickness was in her mother’s mind.

Sickened is a story about a bizarre form of child abuse. Munchausen syndrome refers to a person feigning illness to garner attention and sympathy. Munchausen by proxy (MBP) is doing the same to someone under the perpetrator’s care – typically a spouse or a child. The author describes being told to ‘act sick’ as a child, while her mother lied to doctors about headaches, nausea, fevers, heart problems, and more.

The setting is backcountry America during the 70s and 80s. Julie’s mother is a tragic, manic figure beneath a mask of normality, herself subjected to horrible abuse in adolescence. Her father is saddled with an inferiority complex, violent when enraged and addicted to television. Her younger brother is the only normal one of them. While there are warm and even comical scenes, dysfunction abounds. On their isolated farm in Ohio, foster children and aging war veterans brought in for the government funding they represent are also subject to mistreatment and neglect.

The author’s ‘illness’ is the core of the story, however. As she grows, she is medicated, malnourished, emaciated and overworked with farm chores, all at her mother’s behest. Her schoolwork suffers, with teachers and peers eyeing her as though she could drop dead at any time. The real tragedy is that the author actually wanted to be sick, to gain her mother’s approval. The illness became her identity.

MBP is highly controversial, with good reason. It’s hard to believe a mother could do all this to her child. The first few times the author strikes up the courage to tell others the truth, she is met with scorn and flat disbelief. Only as a young adult, living free of her parents at last, does she begin the slow and painful process of growing beyond the imaginary illness that consumed her life.

Disturbing though they are, stories like this put things in perspective. Despite all my worries, I’ve got it pretty good. Other people’s lives have been far worse than my own.

Sickened is an extreme example of something that I think is, sadly, quite common: growing up convinced there’s something wrong with you. You’re too loud, quiet, fat, thin, quirky, boring. The list could go on forever.

When all along, the only thing wrong with you is the belief that there’s something wrong with you.

I’m not sure whether to recommend the book or not. It’s slim, less than 250 pages. But I don’t think this counts as light reading.

2017: The First Five Months

Well, that escalated quickly.

Technically four months, three weeks and four days. But who’s counting.

So this is just a quick post to follow up on the goals I set last time. Because what kind of person would I be if I didn’t keep my new year’s resolutions objectives for the year?

A normal person?

Don’t answer that. I need all the help I can get.

1. Better time management.

Sort of?

Okay, no. Not at all. Need to work on that.

I think the main problem here is that I’m too distracted. Too much social media. Too much scrolling, browsing, eating up my days precious minutes at a time. That’s no way to live.

And also too much overthinking. I worry too much. That takes up time and energy too. I need to relax.

The time is there. I just need to be more focused.

2. Finish Wraithblade.

Ehe. What was that about being more focused?

So I’m two more chapters in and have a bit more developed plotwise. It’s not nothing, but it’s not much either. I need motivation. Or inspiration. Or a better mindset.

Or maybe I just need to get to work?

But making stuff up is hard.

I’m starting to wonder about this dream of mine. But that’s worth a post by itself.

3. Ninety days.

And counting.

Reached this one a few days ago. The difference is subtle, but it’s there. I did it – and with less effort than I expected. I have a theory about how and why. But again, that’s worth a post by itself.

So I can cross this one off. Here’s to self-control.

Sorry. It’s still personal.

4. Saving money.

Ongoing.

Not as much as I should have by now, but not nothing, either. Save before spending, kids. You’ll be glad you did.

5. Put on weight?

I think I’ve lost some, actually.

So I’m what’s called an ectomorph. Skinny, with a bottomless stomach and a gas-fueled metabolism. Gaining weight isn’t impossible, but I would need to make some lifestyle changes. Not just eating more – a lot more – but also reducing my natural activity level. Because ectomorphs tend to be fidgety, and have trouble sitting still for long periods. Yup. That fits.  

I’d also need to embrace a weightlifting program; stick to the right kinds of foods; and apparently I’m not getting enough sleep. Six to seven hours isn’t enough? Really?

This would take effort. And money. And given how I spend most days walking around for work, I can’t help feeling the odds are against me.

Screw it. It’d be nice, but I’m putting this one on the back-burner.

6. Write shorter, more frequent blog posts.

Adding a new goal here.

I know I’ve said I would do this before. But it’s worth doing. 

Because I like blogging. I like talking about the books I’ve read, and the games I’ve played, and whatever helpful life lessons I can pass on to others. It’s easy in a way that story-writing isn’t. Blogging is fun.

At the same time, I do have the tendency to go on and on. That Dragon Age game was epic, and deserved an epic post. But did anyone actually read all of that?

I didn’t think so.

So yeah. More short posts coming soon. Yay.

Sunset Memories

                     A scattered dream that’s like a far-off memory                                                  A far-off memory that’s like a scattered dream                                                   I want to line the pieces up                                                                                  Yours and mine.

                                                                           - Kingdom Hearts II


Lately I’ve been thinking about nostalgia.

If you could go back to being a child, would you? Those carefree days of chasing chickens around your yard, or the urban equivalent. Don’t laugh. I really did chase chickens around my yard. It was fun. Though not very fun for the chickens, I suppose.

Ahem.

A lot of people would say yes. Turn back the clock. Bring on the fountain of youth. But if going back to childhood meant reliving every trauma and heartache you’ve gone through since, would you still want to?

By definition, becoming a child again means giving up everything that makes you an adult. For better or worse, my life has made me who I am. And I like who I am. The better parts, at least.

So I would say no. I have no wish to revisit my childhood.

More importantly, I don’t think the past is all it’s cracked up to be.

Nostalgia gives our memories a golden glow. We forget that our perspectives change over time. The house where you grew up is small and rundown. That dearly beloved video game has a wonky camera. That favorite book is stuffed with padding. You still love these things, sure. But now you see them through older eyes.

And it goes deeper than that. Going back in time means facing the core of who you are – whatever screw-ups and issues that have come to define you.

For example. I’ve always had a problem with guilt. My sharpest childhood memories are the ones where I was convinced that something was my fault. An adult’s reaction, a situation, a misunderstanding. This was rarely true. And even if it was, I was a kid. What did I know?

But even so. My mind would fixate on the most innocent things and tell me over and over, you shouldn’t have said that, you shouldn’t have done that, you should have done better.

You should have been better.

I suspect it went further than that. For a long time growing up, I had the uneasy feeling that my life was on hold. There was a clearly defined path that adolescence was supposed to take, and my life wasn’t on it. I felt trapped. If something was my fault, that meant I could have done something about it. This, at least, was within my power to change.

See how that works? What start out as coping mechanisms eventually become ingrained in one’s psyche. I think that on some level, I blamed myself because it gave me a much-needed sense of control.

If we’re honest with ourselves, going back in time isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s facing the hard stuff, too.

But that works both ways. Don’t get me wrong. I had my sunshine, too. The good old days weren’t perfect, but they were a simpler time. A time of innocence, before growing up forced us to face difficult truths. Bad things can happen for no reason. The adults we look up to are only human. Life can be far more complicated than it seems, and no one really knows what they’re doing.

Life is a mix of day and night, sun and storms. In mine, there’s been bleakness and uncertainty, doubt and depression. Those come more often than they should.

There’s also been warmth, fun and laughter. The best times of our lives are like dreams. The kind you don’t want to wake up from. And of course we do, sooner or later. We sigh and head back to reality, still looking wistfully over our shoulders, even as the dream fades into memory. We almost wonder if it truly happened at all.

These are the times we want to relive.

We can’t live in the past, though. We’re living right now. We have to look forward to tomorrow. To new dreams, and future memories.

That doesn’t mean the ones we have can’t be cherished. Memories of blue skies, and bright sunsets, and the people we care about. It’s only natural to miss those times.

It’s only natural to feel a little bit nostalgic.

Dragon Age: Inquisition - An Elf Shall Stand For All

This post contains spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age II, and yeah, Dragon Age: Inquisition. 

This one has been a long time coming.

BioWare is one of the biggest names in video games today. The company has built a solid reputation for quality RPGs, science fiction and fantasy, and is famous for two main franchises. One is Mass Effect, a military space opera set hundreds of years in the future, where spaceflight and inter-species relations are the norm. 

The other is Dragon Age. 

First, some backstory.

In the Beginning

A few years ago, I came across Dragon Age: Origins, an epic fantasy RPG. The Grey Wardens are an ancient order dedicated to fighting the darkspawn1, subterranean monsters who swarm the surface world every few centuries in what is called a Blight. As the newest Warden, you must travel the kingdom of Ferelden uniting humans, dwarves, and elves against them, before the darkspawn destroy the world.

Yeah, kind of cliché. But the depth of its lore was impressive. And the choices the game offered surprised me. Depending on your actions, the story could develop in very different ways.

I grew up playing Japanese RPGs like Final Fantasy and Pokemon, which tend towards linear storylines. Western RPGs, however, place much more emphasis on choosing your own path. Will you be good or evil? Morally grey? Will you save those people or let them die? Et cetera. 

The option to be a bad guy was nothing new. But this was the first time a game gave my choices so much consequence. I wondered. What happens if the hero acts like a villain?

So I went on the dark side. As a warrior elf, I betrayed my own people, put a murderer on the dwarven throne, recruited the traitorous commander instead of killing him. The army I led to defeat the Fifth Blight was not made of elves, dwarves and mages, but of werewolves, golems and Templars. 

Needless to say, I had a blast.

The sequel, Dragon Age II, was more tightly focused. The entire game takes place in and around the city of Kirkwall. You are Hawke, a young refugee from the first game’s Blight. Over the course of ten years, you must rise from poverty to become Kirkwall’s Champion, the most influential person in the city. Here I took a more heroic stance. My female Hawke was a good person, though not afraid to defy the authorities for her own ends.

Kirkwall is defined by the dynamic between mages and Templars. Mages are feared for their powers, which also leave them prone to demonic possession. The Templars, knights of the Chantry – the church – guard them in fortresses called Circles. For their own safety, in theory. In practice, the relationship is one of prisoner and jailer. Corruption and abuses of power raise tensions ever higher, and things come to an explosive ending when a radicalized mage blows up the Chantry, killing hundreds. In retaliation, the Templars attempt to massacre every mage in the city. The mages rise up in rebellion against them.

If that’s not an allegory for modern-day terrorism and paranoia, I don’t know what is.

Dragon Age II was ambitious for giving such complex issues center stage. Unfortunately, the repetition of running around the same city streets, mines and hillsides over and over killed it for me. I gave up halfway. My Hawke would have sided with the mage rebellion. Alternatively, you can be an evil bastard and side with the Templars.

The reason I’m going into all this is that in the Dragon Age series, your choices are carried forward. In Kirkwall, a once-noble Warden who couldn’t stomach my actions in Origins returned as a drunkard. (Sorry, Alastair). Elves near the city commented on my Warden being one of their own. And so on.

See the appeal here?

In Dragon Age, you are constantly writing your own version of the story.

Which brings us to the third installment, the largest and most ambitious by far. Dragon Age: Inquisition is the definition of a AAA title. The game was released to critical acclaim, and was named by multiple gaming publications as 2014’s Game of the Year. 

It’s kind of a big deal.

But is all this praise deserved? 

After nine months and almost 120 hours within the game, I can say yes. Yes, it is. And not just for sheer entertainment value. Dragon Age: Inquisition is ambitious in more ways than one.

This is a story about religion.

An Elf Will Stand For All

At the start of Inquisition, events in Kirkwall have become a flashpoint for a full-blown war. Mages throughout Thedas2 have fled the Circles in open rebellion. The Templar Order has seceded from the Chantry in order to hunt them down. Divine Justinia V, the female pope, has called for peace talks. Mages, Templars and the Chantry elite converge in a conclave – and are ripped apart in a massive explosion that tears a rift in the sky itself.

They call it the Breach.

You are the only survivor.

Witnesses say you fell out of that rift. That a glowing woman saved you from above. You remember nothing, but your hand now glows with emerald energy. You alone have been granted the power to close the demonic rifts now opening across Thedas. They say you were chosen by Andraste herself, the equivalent of Jesus Christ, sent to save the world in her stead.

The Chantry leadership is in shambles. Mages and Templars are still at war. Demons are emerging from hundreds of rifts, and the unknown enemy who opened them is still at large. A movement forms amidst the chaos, aimed at destroying the demons, restoring order and discovering the truth behind the rifts. An Inquisition.

And who better than you to lead them? The one with the power to close the rifts. The one they call the Herald of Andraste.

The Inquisitor.

In Dragon Age: Inquisition, you are the Second Coming. A beacon of hope amidst the chaos. When people say they have faith in you, it’s not a figure of speech. They believe you will save the world.

So what kind of saviour are you?

This is my Inquisitor.

Tallen Lavellan.

Handsome, no?

He’d better be. I spent an hour making him. Lest that seem excessive, remember, this is the face you’ll be looking at for the entire game.

The character creation system is quite robust, with multiple options for every facial feature you could think of. Tattoos and makeup are included. There are even two different voices to choose from for each gender. Considering the amount of spoken dialogue here, that’s downright indulgent. Though weirdly, the default lip gloss setting is not zero. Thanks, but my guy doesn’t need to look fabulous.

So many options.

I was quite happy with how he turned out. I like elves. Always have, always will.

DA:I lets you play as a human, dwarf, elf, or as the hulking, horned Qunari. Humans are too bland. The Qunari are too alien. And I’ve never been a fan of dwarves. They’re short and stocky, practical folk who enjoy gold, caves, and machinery. We have nothing in common.

Whereas elves are skinny, long-limbed, have a thing for magic and wonder, and like trees. You can see where I’m coming from.

Your mysterious salvation is called into question from the start. The Chantry brands your fledgling Inquisition heretical, the people’s faith in you blasphemy. The theme recurs as the game goes on. How do you respond? 

This is the question Inquisition asks you, over and over: What do you think about religion? Are you a believer, a skeptic, an atheist? Was it truly divine providence that saved you? Pure coincidence? Something more sinister?

It’s complicated enough as a human. Other races have their own beliefs. The elves pray to their own pantheon of nature gods. The dwarves practice ancestor worship and a rigid caste system. The Qunari follow a strict, self-sacrificing ideology called the Qun. How would you reconcile becoming the saviour of a foreign faith?

I’d be skeptical. Wouldn’t you?

My Inquisitor took every chance he got to remind people that he believed in elven gods, not the Maker. He took a doubtful view towards Andraste, the Chantry and his purportedly blessed nature – while also being merciful, compassionate and going out of his way to help people. 

I wouldn't either.

I suppose I wanted to make the point that you don’t have to be religious to be a good person.

That said, my own beliefs made less difference than I expected. No howls of protest or anything. Even Cassandra, one of my most devout human companions, simply asked whether, with all my gods, I didn’t have room for one more.

And this makes sense, really. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter what you think. The people, your power and your miraculous survival have conspired together. Whether you believe or not, you’re still the Inquisitor.

The opening tutorial is quite linear. But the game soon sends you out to wander the world of Thedas, where you’ll be confronted by one of its defining features: this world is vast.

A Whole New World

Open worlds are the trend now in video games. It’s nothing new, games like the Elder Scrolls series have been doing it since the dawn of time. Successes like Skyrim popularized the genre, however. Today it’s become the norm for big-budget games to feature massive sandbox-style areas to run around in.

By any standard, Inquisition’s world is huge. The game is split into multiple zones which you can travel between at will. When the game was first released, players attempting to clear everything straight away complained about burnout, when they were really spending way too much time in the most generic zone. 

Get out of the Hinterlands.

It’s understandable. Those first farms and woodlands are larger than all of Dragon Age: Origins. In the first act alone, there are three such areas. By the second act, there are ten.

I did mention the game is big, didn’t I?

The different zones do an excellent job of providing variety. There are rainswept coastlines, sunlit steppes, and gloomy marshes. One story chapter takes place in a tropical jungle. There is no day and night system, but there are day and night areas. One desert region has glaring sunlight, another moonlit dunes.

It’s all very pretty.

Thedas is filled with sights like this.

It isn’t just looks, either. Every region comes with its own history. Take the Emerald Graves, a tragically beautiful forest. Once the heart of elven civilization, it’s said that every tree grows for an elven knight who died in the defense against humanity. 

The Emerald Graves.

Today the elves are a fragment of what they once were, reduced to second-class citizens in human cities and nomadic, tattooed clans who cling to traditions that are more myth than legend.

There’ve been other conflicts. The dwarves and the darkspawn. The Tevinter Imperium and the Qunari. History, alas, is often bloody.

Thedas is dotted with ruins, relics, and crumbling statues. Codex entries tell you local folktales, scholarly records and firsthand accounts of life from this time, in that culture. Even weapons and armor come with their own backgrounds. There’s a lot of reading here, but rest assured: it’s good writing.

Long-forgotten ruins are abundant.

Taken together, a remarkably detailed picture forms. Thedas feels ancient, lived-in. It feels alive.

All that space can be intimidating. Good thing you’ll have friends along to back you up.

You’ll Never Walk Alone

BioWare RPGs always feature a cast of well-written, three-dimensional characters. Charming assassins, devout spies, conflicted knights. It’s kind of their thing. Inquisition is no exception, with a diverse set of new faces, along with older characters returning in supporting roles.

Unlike Skyrim’s lonely freedom, Dragon Age is built around party-based gameplay, with three non-player allies accompanying you on your adventures. I mean, you can run off on your own if you want. But doing so would mean denying yourself a core element of the Dragon Age experience. 

It would also be suicide. But that’s beside the point.

See, a major part of the morality system is how your allies react to you. Characters will approve or disapprove of your actions. Your friendship with them will improve or worsen as a result. There are consequences either way, and in any given situation, it’s impossible to please everyone. By the end of Origins, every good and noble character had either turned against me or abandoned me in disgust. The evil and morally grey characters loved me – literally, in one case.

Morrigan is one of several returning characters.

Inquisition doesn’t make things quite so black and white. Every character here is a flawed individual, struggling towards their better nature. No one is evil, but everyone has their own quirks and prejudices which you may agree with, tolerate, or flat out oppose.

For example, the elven outlaw Sera genuinely cared for the common folk. Her desire to protect them from uncaring nobles was admirable. But her puerile sense of humour and contempt for pride of any kind – including in our shared elven heritage – got on my nerves. We never got along. Eventually, I kicked her out.3

The Grey Warden Blackwall, meanwhile, soon became one of my favorite characters. At first glance, Blackwall is gruff and straightforward, a simple soldier. He believes in honor and duty. He says little about the past but hints at regrets, a misspent youth. He approved of taking time to lay flowers on an old woman’s grave.

Blackwall’s past, however, turns out to be far darker than you’d expect. The man is a traitor, a murderer; children died under his command. He’s not even a real Warden, having impersonated a dead one for years.

But he has fought valiantly by your side. When you first encounter him, he’s teaching farmboys to defend themselves against bandits. The truth is only revealed when he turns himself in, rather than let another man be executed in his place.

Blackwall’s crimes are terrible, the kind it would take a lifetime to atone for. But he’s trying.

You see? Three-dimensional characters.

And they act like it. Your companions speak up on your adventures, commenting on new discoveries, the sights you’re seeing4. They talk amongst themselves, which is where a lot of character development comes from. Some will clash, while others get along surprisingly well.

It’s not just the world that feels dynamic. Your friends do as well.

They’re handy in a fight, too.

Fog of War, Storm of Battle

Dragon Age is built on the Western trinity of warriors, rogues, and mages. Warriors thrive in the thick of it, all armor and heavy weapons. Rogues are flankers, deadly but fragile. Mages are the weakest physically, but lethal from a distance. Put them together, and combat in Inquisition is gloriously chaotic. It’s frenzied, flashy, and fun.

Now, I love magic. Arcane explosions are awesome. But getting up close and personal is just more satisfying. (Probably got the feeling from Kingdom Hearts.) I was a warrior in the first two games. This time around, I went rogue.

Working as a team is key here, with all three classes supporting the others. Though you don’t have to stick to the formula. By all means, bring three mages and rain fire on your enemies.

Each class has various skillsets to invest in as you level up. For a modest fee, these can be reassigned at any time. Tired of dual daggers? Switch to bows. Later you can specialize and gain powerful abilities built around a certain type of gameplay. Knight-Enchanters and Necromancers are both mages, but favor very different playstyles.

I’m not a big fan of stealth, but it was pretty fun turning invisible at will and backstabbing enemies. Later I focused on poisoned weapons, then gave archery a shot (pun intended), before finally settling on the Tempest, a high-risk, high-reward specialization with elemental abilities. Because magic. 

I am the storm.

But you aren’t just limited to your Inquisitor. At any time in the field, you can shift control to any one of your chosen party members. Feel like calling down meteors as the elven mage Solas? You can.

Another favorite character, incidentally.

Alternatively, you can pull the camera back in Tactical View, enabling you to pause and play time while issuing orders like in a strategy game. This is a nod to old-school fans of Origins, which had a much greater emphasis on tactical control. The feature was useful for tougher fights like boss battles. Most of the time, though, I just didn’t have the patience for it.

Combat is thrilling. But sooner or later, you’ll want to take a breather.

Time to head to your stronghold.

Where the Sky Was Held Back

For the first time in the series, you’re not just the leader of a roving band of heroes, but the head of an entire organization. It starts small. Watching your Inquisition grow from a ragtag movement holed up in the mountains to a highly influential military and political force is very satisfying.

Well, you’re still holed up in the mountains. But you’ll have moved from a rundown village to a vast, majestic castle. Hogwarts, eat your heart out.

Skyhold, home of the Inquisition.

The fortress is in considerable disrepair when you first find it. Renovations are tied to the story, with more rubble cleared and sections unlocked as chapters are completed. Decorations like thrones and banners can be found or purchased, allowing you to change up the décor whenever you want. Now you too can be a medieval interior decorator. 

Appropriately elven windows.

Skyhold is your base area, where you return from your adventures. It’s worth a good hour or three of exploration by itself. The tavern is a highlight. Here a bard sings everything from playful ditties to sombre ballads. This was a pleasant surprise, and yet another sign of the game’s quality. Inspired by Skyrim, maybe.

Seriously. Some songs gave me goosebumps.

Your stronghold is where you can talk at length with your companions (once you’ve hunted them down, they’re all over the place). Most will have something interesting to say after every story development. In the process, you’ll learn more about them and (hopefully) gain their friendship.

Or, you know. If you want to be a jerk to everyone, you can do that too. There were one or two I neglected, but I stayed on good terms with most. Play your cards right, and you can even start a romance.

Romances are another BioWare staple, with several characters carrying the possibility of a relationship. Assuming you go about pursuing them the right way (which varies) your interactions will grow increasingly intimate. Things eventually culminate in a consummation.

All right, all right. A sex scene.

That’s not definitive, at least one relationship starts with casual sex and progresses to emotional attachment. There is nudity, but based on the earlier games, I doubt things get that racy. I didn’t even get any. My romance wouldn’t have been out of place in a Disney movie. Apparently, I just happened to choose the most innocent of all lovers. Imagine that.

So romantic.

That said, my romance also had a happy ending. Just like in real life, you can screw them up. You’ve been warned.

BioWare is quite progressive on this front. Bisexual characters have been around since Origins. Now, for the first time, there are exclusively gay and lesbian romance options. A trans character plays a supporting role. It’s up to you what to make of this. I disliked Sera for other reasons, and got along fine with the wry, flamboyant Dorian.

Then there’s the crafting system. Thedas is covered in herbs and ore deposits. Slain enemies will drop cloth and leather. Collecting all this junk is pure busywork.

Back at Skyhold, though, the herbs can be mixed into single-use potions, poisons, and grenades. The metals, cloth, and leather are used to forge your own weapons and armor, though you’ll need to find the right schematics before you can make anything. Except for the obvious wisdom of upgrading healing potions, I rarely bothered with the herbs. Whereas I spent hours crafting new equipment for almost everyone. With the right materials and designs, these can rival anything you find in the field.

In a nice little touch, you can even name your creations. What other Inquisitor has flaming blades called the Phoenix Talon and the Dragon’s Shadow?

Crafting is fun.

Armor and outfits, meanwhile, can be tinted, whatever color scheme you want from a wide selection. I loved this. Forget interior decorating. Now you too can be a medieval fashion designer.

Thedas' next top model.

Above all, your stronghold is where you exercise the might of the Inquisition. From your inquisitorial throne, you pass judgment over captured enemies, weighing the seriousness of their crimes against the political impact of your decisions.

I was merciful...most of the time.

You’ll also preside over the War Table, an interactive map around which you and your advisors gather to discuss the Inquisition’s movements. The Table is studded with missions for you to resolve with diplomacy, subterfuge or military force. Interactive stories, you might say. These play out in real-time, with the most basic missions lasting fifteen minutes and the most complex taking twenty-four hours. Responding appropriately will get you better rewards, and often unlocks further missions.

It’s all rather abstract, but it does give you a sense of the Inquisition’s power and influence.

More tangible actions, meanwhile, require actual Power and Influence.

You Underestimate My Power

In Inquisition, completing quests grants you Power, a resource that unlocks new regions and story missions, as well as enabling your forces to operate within those regions. 

Always satisfying.

Power is a brilliant idea in that it ties everything to the bigger picture. A perennial problem with open-world games is how your activities are often divorced from the plot. The world is in grave danger, but let me just go pick some flowers first.

While that’s still true here, Power makes a difference. Exploring, fighting demons and helping villagers aren’t just distractions; these activities build the Inquisition’s reputation and capabilities. You can then spend Power to overcome larger obstacles. Bandit problem in the Hinterlands? Have watchtowers built. Collapsed bridge in the Exalted Plains? Order it repaired. You won’t be leading armies outside of the main storyline, but it does make you feel, ahem, powerful.

That said, the game is quite generous with the stuff. Purely from doing whatever I wanted, I always had more than enough. I suppose the need to unlock new story chapters could chafe on someone wanting to rush ahead without any detours. If that’s the case, all I can say is, this is not the game for you.

You’ll also earn Influence, a secondary resource that unlocks perks like a larger inventory and new dialogue options.

And there are a lot of dialogue options. You can usually be noble, humorous, or forceful – the nice guy, the wise guy, or the jerk. You can often be shocked, stoic, angry or sad. Different races have special choices, as do mages. Influence unlocks things like court manners, historical knowledge, etc. Speaking the elven tongue with other elves went a long way towards making my Inquisitor feel unique.

But there are far more important choices to be made.

Change the World

Just like in earlier games, you’ll be called upon to make decisions that impact the world in serious, tangible ways. These situations are rarely black and white.

For example. At one point, you learn an empress is about to be assassinated.

The Empire of Orlais is embroiled in civil war. The Empress Celene is holding negotiations as part of a lavish gala at her manor. You attend, alternating between courtly pretense and hunting for clues. 

The Winter Palace.

There are three powers at play here. Celene, diplomatic and manipulative, struggling to defend her throne. Grand Duke Gaspard, driving force of the civil war and the man behind the assassination attempt. And the elven spymistress Briala, quietly playing both sides against the other, who also happens to be Celene’s former lover.

Celene favors diplomacy, but once had an elven village burned to keep her secrets. Gaspard is a bully who employs brute force and military might. Briala has been having negotiators killed to prolong the conflict.

No innocents here. You must resolve the civil war, one way or another. But how?

I allowed Celene to be assassinated. 

Though unpredictable, Briala supported elven welfare. Our interests were aligned. Gaspard became Emperor, but only after I blackmailed him into accepting Briala as the true power behind the throne. The politically savvy among my companions approved. The honorable and compassionate did not.

In the aftermath, Blackwall never mentioned the Empress' death. But he told me a story about how, as a boy, he’d seen some bullies tormenting a dog. He could have intervened. Instead he’d stood back, and done nothing.

No, Blackwall did not approve of my actions.

Later I learned there were other solutions. I could have saved Celene, then had her and Briala reconcile, giving Briala similar influence. Better yet, I could have forced all three of them to bend the knee to the Inquisition and work together, resolving the conflict without any bloodshed at all.

But no. In my story, Briala rules in all but name. Outraged nobles whisper of rebellion, even as the lot of elves improves throughout the Empire.

For better or worse, I’ve changed the world.

The End of All Things

At last, I defeated my adversary, closed the Breach and saved Thedas. Technically, I finished the game. But it’s not truly finished. When the credits rolled, only four of ten regions were near full completion. Two were fully unexplored. There are still places to see, dragons to hunt, songs and schematics to find.

The optional dragon battles are a highlight of the game.

A few criticisms. The ending is underwhelming, just the final battle and a brief celebration back at Skyhold. Actual closure is reserved for a DLC epilogue you have to buy and download separately. Maybe someday I’ll get it, maybe not.

The villain is one-dimensional, yet another ancient evil back to terrorize the world once more. Ho-hum. The post-credits reveal of the next instalment’s villain was much more satisfying.

What Pride hath wrought.

The post-game is disturbingly broken. You can still run around questing even after the story is completed, but I found that some characters would no longer speak to me. Crafting was inaccessible. I left Skyhold and returned to find all of my customized décor had vanished. Not that a big deal, I just reloaded a pre-ending save and kept playing. It was jarring, though.

I’ll try a second playthrough as a human female mage, for the different powers and perspective. There are alternate paths to take. My elf was a sceptic; I’ll make her a believer. My elven Inquisitor sided with the mages. What happens if a mage Inquisitor sides with the Templars?

I say try because fun though it was, there’s no way I’m doing every single thing all over again.

Dragon Age: Inquisition is a fantasy game, whatever that means to you. An escape; a creative outlet; a triumph of imagination; a waste of time. Perhaps all of the above. But fantasy is always defined by reality.

The allegories here aren’t subtle. The Chantry is Christianity. Mages and Templars are liberals and conservatives. The history between humans and elves is sadly reminiscent of Europeans and Native Americans.

Morrigan has a point.

Inquisition asks tough questions of players. At first glance, its answers are vague and unsatisfying. Then I understood: that’s the point. The writing here is more insightful than I realized, delving into the heart of humanity’s never-ending search for meaning.

It’s not just a matter of religion.

It’s a matter of faith.

In the end, you learn there was a rational explanation for what happened to you. The Mark on your hand, the glowing woman, all of it. History will name you the Herald of Andraste for what was only simple chance.

But look at everything your Inquisition has achieved. All the lives you’ve saved, the good you’ve accomplished. Look how far you’ve come.

Can you really say you weren’t saved for a reason?

That’s a question you’ll have to answer for yourself.


1 They spawn in the dark. What are the odds.

2 Fun fact: developers of Origins started off calling the world The Dragon Age Setting. The acronym stuck.

3 Funny story there. Sera is the only companion with a dedicated option to get rid of her. It’s almost as though the developers knew she’d be their most divisive character.

4 While sneaking through the Winter Palace, I’ll never forget Varric asking, in tones of hilarity, if we were really going digging through the Empress’ underwear.

The Cage of Blame

                           And we're all to blame,

                             We've gone too far,

                                From pride to shame,

                                  We're trying too hard,

                                    And dying in vain,

                                      We're hopelessly blissful and blind,

                                         To all we are,

                                           We want it all.

                                                      - 'We're All To Blame', Sum 41      

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I was a teenager…

Oh, sorry. Wrong opening. 

It does feel like a long time ago, though. And sometimes like almost no time at all. Time is funny that way.

Anyway. Several years ago, I’d gotten out of the house for once. We went to the city for the day. It should have been fun. Instead, I grew depressed and hurt as the day went on, because someone was only paying attention to someone else – and not to me.

That night, I raised the subject. They – the first someone – were taken aback, and tried to be understanding. And what they said then has stuck with me to this day:

“I know you felt left out. But why didn’t you join in?”

Because I hadn’t. I’d moped around waiting for the other person to act the way I wanted – and blaming them when they didn’t – with no thought for my own behavior.

Really. The thought never crossed my mind. The situation wasn’t my fault. It was theirs.

Today I’m talking about the victim mindset.

I’ve told that story before, but it’s a good example. By definition, a victim is someone who has suffered injury or injustice at the hands of others. Or simple circumstance. Or both. It’s a natural reaction when bad things have happened. We blame those responsible, bemoaning our fate. This is the victim mentality: it’s all their fault.

I don’t mean to sound glib here. Traumatic experiences, e.g. physical and emotional abuse, leave serious scars. It is a natural reaction. I daresay this kind of thinking is always born from some painful personal problem. It was for me. Growing up, I spent a lot of time alone. I had no idea how to act around people. I didn’t have healthy boundaries, and it showed.

That was then. I’d like to think I’m a better person now. The tendency to blame others for my problems is still there, but I’m growing out of it.

Some people never grow out of it. They spend their lives feeling hard-done-by, thinking the world is against them, using their pain as an excuse for their actions. There are signs. Narcissism and selfishness. An inability to empathize. Constant defensiveness. Lashing out, like a wounded animal, when provoked. Any of these sound familiar?

Most importantly, the victim mindset is a means of avoiding responsibility. It’s all their fault, remember. They are wrong, and I am blameless. I can’t be blamed if my life is outside my control.

This is not a good way to see the world.

The truth is that we always have control over events. Even if only in how we react to them. Heck, the only thing we can control in life is ourselves. Blame is useless. It solves nothing.

So how about some self-awareness. Sometimes the toxic person pointing fingers is me. Sometimes it's you. Sometimes it's all of us.  

When bad things happen, it's easy to feel trapped by others, by the world, by fate itself. When all along, the prison is your own mind. 

Don’t be a victim. Free yourself.

Deep Thoughts

Like random thoughts, only deeper.

This is just going to be a quick post – really, I mean it. Mainly because the essay(s) I’m citing are long enough already.

I’ve been reading Mark Manson lately. This guy is my new favorite blogger. He writes about relationships, psychology and personal development. He’s refreshingly straightforward, talking about how much of what we’re taught by popular culture/society/our own misconceptions is not necessarily true. Why we act the way we do, and how we can do better. This sort of thing fascinates me, when done well.

Plus, he swears a lot. That’s always fun.

One post featured a speech by David Foster Wallace, a postmodern American author you may or may not have heard of. I read The Pale King a few years back and came away with mixed feelings. That’s not the case here.

Maybe it’s because I can relate to the day in, day out, and how easy it is to let my mind default to negativity. Maybe it’s because when I read it, I’d been assuming the worst about something unrelated, and the content seemed suspiciously well-timed.

Maybe it’s just a really good piece of writing.

This is an excellent, eloquent explanation of how our perceptions shape reality, and how the way we see the world is always a matter of choice. Without further ado –

This is Water.

David Foster Wallace killed himself in 2008. Parts of his speech seem hauntingly prophetic. In the end, he couldn’t master his own mind.

Go on.

Read it.