The Banner Saga

This past week I played The Banner Saga and it's making me excited about video game storytelling in a way that I haven't felt in a while. I used to play RPGs all the time, and they always felt like they were cast with random boys who grew into invincible warriors because saving the world and killing the bad guy was their destiny and I was just along for the ride. The Banner Saga manages to make it seem like my choices -- even the small ones where I have to decide how to deal with a drunken buffoon -- mean the difference between life and death for my band of ragtag followers.

Much of TBS's Norse mythology-laced story is told through gorgeous hand-drawn cut scenes, but it's basically the semi-random, multiple-choice questions that pop up occasionally that drew me deepest into the game's story. They're like SAT questions on how to lead a flock of survivors in a dangerous world: Do you recruit warriors that want to join your band, or do you insist they stay with the townspeople who are unlikely to survive without their swords? Accepting the warriors' help could land you powerful allies, but I turned them down because I'm a big softy and the town's leader gave me a shit ton of food as a thank you.

There's never a clear-cut right answer and even seemingly benign choices can have lethal consequences. One time, travelers gave me food in return for my warning of an approaching army. At first I was like, score! But a few days later a bunch of my followers keeled over because the food was either poisoned or Taco Bell. The setup reminds me of an older game called King of Dragon Pass, but it's easier to imagine a version of The Oregon Trail filled with grueling dilemmas and half the answers lead to deadly bouts of dysentery. That's the level that The Banner Saga plays at, and I'm all up in there. I've toyed with the idea of writing a book as all bloggery types seem to, but maybe instead I should work on a text adventure filled with moral quandaries, death and Taco Bell.

On BioShock Infinite and Elizabeth

A side effect of playing BioShock Infinite a couple of weeks after everyone else was that I knew a zomg-freak-out twist was waiting for me at the end. So even without meaning to, I found myself digging through every trash can hoping to uncover a clue to the mystery, or failing that, a tasty apple. 

Major spoiler alerts, because, c’mon

It really only took one odd reference. When Booker is hacking his way through the Museum o’ Racism, Cornelius Slate rips into Comstock for lying about fighting at the Battle of Wounded Knee, while simultaneously massaging his man-crush on Booker for his heroics at that same battle. And just like that, the seed of the idea that Booker was Comstock was planted in my head. 

And yet, I didn’t mind when my suspicion was later confirmed, because I still wanted to know what would happen to Elizabeth.

Booker, eh, not so much. I had long ago resigned myself to the realization that I was playing as a bitter, violent man with an amazing appetite for trash can food and an apparently equally amazing tush.

But whenever I paused to catch my breath, I kept finding myself glancing at Elizabeth. BioShock Infinite is a fine game, but Elizabeth is some kind of evolutionary step. She looks and acts like a real person. I smiled at her dancing and the way she poked at every item in stores. She looks like a Disney princess come to life. Later, I grew worried when she’d cross her arms and glare at me after our trip to Paris was derailed. Elizabeth’s body language set the tone of the game about as much as the actual events unfolding around me. When she yelled at me, I felt ashamed. When she screamed for my help, I was terrified.

Of course that didn’t stop me from rooting through cabinets while scientists jammed dagger-like needles into her spine. And boy did I feel like a stinker. Decades of gaming strategy has turned me into a callous jerk. Maybe that’s why slipping into Booker’s role was so easy. In the end, when Elizabeth pushed me underwater, it felt right that I stay there. As long as Elizabeth could save herself, then that would be a happy ending.

Geek Unlocked: The Secret Lives of Video Game Journalists →

geekunlock:

Is there any job in the geek universe more revered than that of video game journalist? Being Neil Gaiman, perhaps. Or maybe Portal gun technician, if such a thing existed.

But as incredible as it sounds to get paid to work in an office where employees can rub game discs over their bodies…

My favorite panel of PAX East. OK, OK, it was my only one. But it was still good.