Rest Hard

Skyrim

2011-12-04T17:04:00.000-08:00

The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind is one of my all-time favorite games for many reasons. The plot's awesome, character customization is deep and varied, the sense of immersion is tangible... I could go on about how great things are with Morrowind, but this is about Skyrim and how, in so many ways, it's failed to live up to my expectations.

Good things

The Environment
It looks really great. The way the clouds obscure distant, intense-looking mountain peaks is something I haven't seen in a game before. Also, the multi-tiered flowing bodies of water are pretty sweet. It was a good idea to incorporate that flowing water into the dungeon design, you know, to get a feel for where the exits are and stuff. Compared to Oblivion and Morrowind, the dungeon and cave design in Skyrim is awesome, and compared to Oblivion in particular (while it did look nice, I thought the environmental setting was too un-fantastical) the outside environments of Skyrim are really spectacular.

Races
They're all distinctive and no longer ugly-in-a-bad-way (unlike Oblivion). Especially nice is how the elves went back to their earlier Elder Scrolls look.

Awful things

The UI
I got Skyrim for the PC, and the thing that hit me initially was how bad the UI design was. Bethesda did nothing to optimize UI navigation for PC users and instead, for whatever reason, chose to port over the same exact system from the console version.

Armor/Apparel (some skill development stuff too)
Morrowind was great in this department, the way players could stack various pieces of unique armor (Left Gauntlet, Right Gauntlet, Left Pauldron, Right Pauldron, Cuirass, et-cetera) on top of clothing and stuff, enchanting each piece of apparel with enchantments to boost stats in myriad ways. Of all the things to streamline (to put it nicely), why this? I mean, Skyrim left a lot of crap in the game that really didn't need to be in it, so who's the guy who was ultimately in charge of determining where the line would be drawn in terms of content? It's okay to implement a bunch of amateurish combat finishing animations that add absolutely nothing to the game, but when it comes to apparel customization, four main pieces of armor's the limit. And one ring, players can only equip one ring at a time. Where's the sense in that? Give me the option to at least equip two rings without having to find or make a mod!
Say what you will about balancing the gameplay mechanics and player stats, this has nothing to do with it; otherwise, Bethesda would've spent more time fleshing out how skills are developed. The player can become, for example, a master-level blacksmith by making hundreds of leather bracers over and over again. Bethesda could have at least added milestones in skill development --you know, maybe a player would have to craft some specific armor set before he/she's able to move on to a higher skill level. But no, leveling skills, if that's something you're focusing on, has the potential to feel like a simple grind. And on this note, since when can mortals craft Daedric armor and weapons? Also, the fact that the components needed to craft more complex pieces of armor and weapons is so frighteningly simplified leaves me feeling unsettled. I find it hard to believe that with three, 0.1 stone leather strips and five, 1 stone ebony ingots, one can craft an elaborate piece of 38 stone ebony armor.

Combat
Despite what Bethesda says, the only thing that's been remotely updated are the combat animations, and even those leave much to be desired (there's zero finesse when it comes to fighting in Skyrim, in terms of both look and feel). Every fight can be handled in the same way. As it is with the entire game, and when it comes to doing battle in particular, Skyrim's made it so that players don't have to think. Even fights against dragons aren't all they're cracked up to be, as all the player's got to do is wait for a dragon to land before running up to it and assaulting it with a barrage of low-brow flurries. And why bother adding V.A.T.S. style kill animations if they all end up looking awkward?
The animations themselves lack a certain finesse, though this is something more of a personal feeling. Sure, the game takes place in Skyrim, but does everyone have to look like a barbarian when they fight, tactlessly swinging their weapons about like muck-raking savages? Adding variety to animations or, if nothing else, making the different attacks more cohesive with one another would work out better. Take a page from Dark Souls --that game's got some really nice attack animations -- excellent sense of weight, good timing, finesse -- and they all fit with one another; that is to say, I believe that my character in Dark Souls is capable of performing all of these varied moves with all of these varied weapons.

Quests
While some of them have a solid set up and the potential to be engrossing, 85% of them will wind down to the player having to remorselessly kill all the inhabitants of a cave or dungeon in search of something, a cave or dungeon that always wraps around on itself and has some magical pull-switch that opens up a hidden path that'll spit you out near the door from which you entered.
Also, and this has got to be mentioned, the mage's college quest is balls-out ridiculous. Without spoiling too much, the basic story would be similar to if Harry Potter was chosen to fill the role as Headmaster of Hogwarts at the end of his first year after retrieving the Sorcerer's Stone. How unbelievable would that be?
And something else that should be mentioned that more or less falls into the realm of quest design is player-character dialog options. Why bother adding dialog options if they all end up making the player-character sound like a know-nothing loser? Bethesda should've spiced things up a bit or gotten rid of the dialog option completely, kind of like how it was done in Morrowind or Oblivion.

A few other things
Level scaling is back, and while it's a little more subtle than it was in Oblivion, it's still a huge drag. The field of view is claustrophobia-inducing; would've been nice to add an option to change that instead of needing to tweak .ini files. The seemingly blatant disregard to ensuring how different armor pieces stack with one another is unacceptable (for example, wearing a hooded robe with a mask makes my character's head disappear).
Morrowind felt like an immersive experience. Skyrim feels like a game and nothing more. As much as I'd like to explore the beautifully realized world of Skyrim, I know that underneath the nice veneer is a rotten core. I don't understand how games like Risen and Two Worlds II get metacritic scores in the 70's while Skyrim gets a 95.

The bottom line is this: For the $60 price tag and for all the hype surrounding it, I shouldn't have to settle. I should be wowed by Skyrim, and I'm not. I don't wanna have my hand held when I play a game, and I'm sick of being reminded about how lame my Skyrim experience is by its numerous quirks. Skyrim is a horrible ode to the direction in which the game industry is headed. Playing Skyrim makes me miss Morrowind.

Flame: Intro to Paladin

2011-12-01T20:46:00.002-08:00

Hatred

The man stared at me with his eyes, huge, quivering and gleaming with tears of rage. I was alone behind the house while Baynar, Jadrin and the other Paladins remained inside, still ransacking the place as they were. Neither the man nor I spoke a word to one another. I could hear clattering and thumping coming from the house. I had been rummaging through a crate before I’d heard the sounds of the man approach. He held a knife in one gnarled, calloused hand, and stood with hesitant resolve not ten feet away. Without averting my gaze, I shouted for my fellow Paladins. Immediately, the crashing and the clanging ceased and all seven of them were outside with me.

“You…” the man seethed in a quaking voice, his entire body visibly shaking.

I realized with some surprise that I held my arming sword bare and unsheathed –I had no recollection of drawing it. The man slowly lurched forward, his muddied boots scarcely held together at the seams. It seemed he’d lose grip of the knife at any moment. The man himself appeared to be nothing of a threat. However, subconsciously, I’d drawn my sword; subconsciously, I knew that if things didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to, this man would die by my hand.

“That’s the scoundrel! Eliminate him!” Jadrin, the Foreman of our group barked.

I was on a stage; Jadrin was director; Baynar and the others were the audience; this man and I, we were the performers. The man didn’t cease his laborious approach. It was as if he’d been possessed by some outside force, though I know now that it was his unfocused hatred and contempt that drove him waveringly towards me. The man had barely taken a step before he was within striking distance. By this point, he was so close. I could see the individual gray, coiling hairs bristling from his face; the thickened vessels in his red, bloodshot eyes; the heavy musk of his abhorrence towards us.

“Kill him! Kill him now!” Jadrin shouted.

I hesitated.

Through all my training, all the outside influence, I couldn’t push myself to kill this man. He was within his rights to hate us. We were there to take what was his, what he’d worked all his life for. And then, in what seemed like a half-attempt, he thrust his knife at me. I backed away, parrying the attack with my sword and smacking his knife-wielding hand away in a single motion. However, to my surprise, the man pressed towards me.
The man went on the attack again. He swung without tact, a boorish flurry of ill-paced strokes, letting out labored and turbid breaths with each swing. His unpredictable offense did little more than annoy me. And abruptly, with one crude hack, the knife caught my arm as I tried to evade. This man, the one for whom I was willing to disobey orders, drew my blood with his tactless offense. It was at that moment that I’d lost touch with myself. I slipped into a horrid rage and gave into blind hatred. All reservations I’d had simply were no longer present, and suddenly, without thought, I parried the man’s last swing and riposted.

Through the handle of my sword, I felt the sludge of flesh, the snapping of sinew and the scraping of bone as the blade plunged deep into the man’s chest. As if it were my own body skewered there before me, I felt the death frenzy of his writhing mass while he continued fruitlessly swinging his knife before ultimately losing grip of it, sending it jutting into the earth beneath him. I felt the final dreadful throbs of the man’s heart as his eyes burned into my own before looking upward and into oblivion. He reeled back, tugging the sword from my hands, and fell to the ground, his corpse thudding sickeningly onto the muddied soil and letting out a final, gargled gasp.

As I tried to grasp the altogether alien fact that I had just taken the life of a human being, I came into touch with myself again. A strange feeling welled up deep from within my core. Revulsion, excitement, horror, satisfaction, utter disgust: words do no sufficient justice in portraying the degree of peculiarity that came over me, and with no other way to cope with the intense wave of emotion, I vomited.

Battlefield 3 and other games glamorizing U.S. military exploits

2011-06-30T15:22:00.000-07:00

There's this new E3 footage of Battlefield 3 gameplay:
It looks technically amazing! I mean, they've really got the lighting down, and the attention to detail is high and above anything I've seen before. I especially like the dust particulate clinging to the outsides of the view, and later on, when those freakin' Warthogs are all flying over that base and blasting their Avenger Cannons, there's a realistic delay in sound! And the cannons sound awesome.
Anyway, as good as this game looks, and as technically amazing it is, there's zero imagination behind it. You know what would be cool? If, maybe towards the end of this video: --like, those tremors were actually caused by some big-ass alien space craft touching down and invading the Earth. Yes, it's nothing new or imaginative, but the set-up would be perfect! Think about it: you're all expecting some realistic military fps and then, WHAP, you and your squade've gotta fight against a hoard of evil alien invaders. And hell, who knows, maybe you and the guys your fighting against put differences aside and you end up having to work together! It could be a game about humanity struggling against an unnatural and alien threat together; putting each-others' cultural and ideological differences to the wayside in light of a far greater and far less trivial matter!
Shit man, preaching about the frivolity of war is as futile as ranting about death! But should we really be making games like this? I mean, what's the end goal? Is it to paint a, frankly, unrealistic picture of how cool it is to be a government soldier in the young-kids-who-play-this-games' heads? Or are the developers simply making this game to be fun and to push the envelope of gaming technology, without regard to the gravity of the content? If the latter's the case, I've got an idea for a game -- a game that would be, above all else, fun!
Now, mind you, I'm in no way an anti-Semite, nor do I condone the actions of the Third Reich. However, you can't deny that a game in which you play as a SS General overseeing a concentration camp and vying for the favor of Hitler himself would be fun if the game mechanics were solid and engaging. Imagine overseeing the day-to-day functions of a concentration camp, managing the inflow of prisoners and general supplies and munition not unlike games similar to Farmville or The Sims. At any time, you could switch from an isometric view mode to a first-person mode, assuming control over the general himself and interacting with the environment first-hand. You could berate those under you to your hearts content, and, naturally, you could shoot anyone you'd like with little to no consequence. C'mon, that'd be a fun game! I mean, you liked all those other FPSs, right? And the Sims?
But what's this? The subject is too grave? Too horrible? Too real? When it comes to killing innocent non-combatants, especially when dealing with real-world situations, does some kind of line get crossed? What about games like Grand Theft Auto? You can kill whoever you like in that game, and you get away with it scot-free! In reality, these past few years, on average, around 15,000 Americans have been murdered per year! More specifically, according to the FBI, in 2008 14,180 people were murdered in America. That's pretty grave; pretty horrible; pretty real. And, back to Battlefield 3, this is a game based on a real-world event that's affecting hundreds of thousands of American families today. I'm sure it'll be fun, but will it be fun to those who've actually lived through similar experiences? The answer is maybe, I dunno. But c'mon, what has a bigger impact on the current America psycho-socio-cultural state? A game about being a Nazi, or a game about being a US combatant in the Middle-East?

Death (ranting)

2011-01-27T13:02:00.000-08:00

Death: what is it? When I’m asked this question, I urge to the questioner that death is simply a part of life, or rather the end of an organic ego’s life. Furthermore, I believe that death could be one of two things:

One: death is exactly like pre-birth. It wasn’t so bad being not born, was it? I’d imagine death is the same.

Two: death is a transitory state, in which conscious is expunged from one organic form and introduced into another or others. Buddhists and Hindis have a similar belief, known as reincarnation.

Oh, and a third feeling I have, but one that I don’t go into as often is this: I don’t know. I simply have no idea what happens to a person when he or she dies. But what is a person? It seems when speaking of death, a person is their conscious. But could a persons conscious be merely the impressions they leave in the hearts of others?

I’ve explored this topic in many of my writings and speeches just as scholars have before me, though I’m no closer to understanding the intricacies of death, or life for that matter, than I was when I was but a schoolboy.

You know, maybe that’s the problem with those who have power in not only America, but the rest of the world -- maybe they’re just afraid of being wrong. But life isn’t about being right or wrong. Life is about “it,” plain and simple. Life should be lived, not feared. And death should be but an afterthought, and a glorious and welcome conclusion to what should be considered a gift; what ought to be considered an inestimable causatum of more than just a series of chance occurrences; that is, life itself.

How to Avoid Coming Off as a Complete Tool

2011-01-23T15:30:00.000-08:00

Bombast! Poppycock! Malarky!

These three words best sum up everything that ever was, from space exploration to the Jamasp Namak (don’t bother looking it up). As an example: Charles Darwin; he had it wrong…

…or did he?

The question about Charles Darwin (specifically his study of the origin of species) is: there is no question, because what he wrote about evolution is what he wrote about the subject, plain and simple.

Don’t over-analyze things because it only makes things worse. Take “it” for what “it” is, and leave it at that, and by all means delve into “it” further; just don’t push your findings on others.

Take the title of this article for example; the main asset complete tools are lacking is this: modesty, through and through. Guys: wear a shirt! And girls: calm down! You’ll not get anywhere showing off your man-cleavage, and regardless of your outward exertions, you’ll always just be a woman, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Just like a man will always just be a man, a woman will always just be a woman – there’s a clear distinction between the two, and it’s not for better or for worse; it just is.

And when you get right down to it, that’s all human existence is about, Woman and Man attempting to make the best out of life. But what is life? Like stated before, it just “is.”

Flame: Intro to Nemesis

2011-01-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

I saw the birds first, a black conflagration of buzzards and crows against a white and dreary morning sky. What they circled from above would remain a mystery for the time being; a tall dune blocked view of what lay ahead of me. I’d made my way west towards the township of Alkesh for many days now, sufficiently pleased with the knowledge and skill I had attained in the past years. Alkesh, on the furthest outskirts of The Kingdom, would be my first stop on a road that would ultimately lead me to deliverance from a rage that burned inside of me like a heretofore insatiable and ever-spreading flame.

As I crested the dune, my path became clear. I saw ahead of me the distant structures of Alkesh and, beginning at the base of the dune I stood atop, a dirt road which lead straight into the heart of the town. Above the road circled the ravenous birds; below the avian tumult perhaps a hundred feet away lay something I couldn’t quite make out, surrounded by a frenzy of gnawing vultures as it was.

Beginning my traverse down the dune, I’d barely made headway towards the mob of vultures before the putrid fetor of decay and guts, picked up by a sandy and unpleasant wind, nearly stopped me in my tracks. I ventured on, however, quite used to the unmistakable stench, though never entirely unwary of it. The sound of buzzing flies, faint at first, became more and more prominent above the carrion noise of the vultures’ as I drew nearer. My approach did nothing to draw the vultures’ attention from their addled and stinking feast; squabbles even broke out between more than a few of the creatures when they’d inadvertently knock heads with one another – grotesque squawks belched from their hooked beaks, all bloodied, some still trailing with rank flesh, they’d lunge at each other.

I drew my cloak around my face to shield my nose as best I could from the unrelenting stench of whatever it was the birds feasted on. Looking into the raucous colony, I saw little in the way of what they were eating, though I clearly noticed a placard nailed to a post; I tried to read its message, curiously fixed at the tall pole’s midpoint, but the constant flapping of black wings and the gluttonous meandering of feathered husks made the endeavor nearly impossible. I needn’t read the message, however, to understand the scope of these particular circumstances; the mere existence of a signpost of this fashion being present at all, it seemed, could mean only one thing; and I now had a sinister notion of what the birds were feasting upon.

Grasping the fringes of my cloak and outspreading my arms so that my appearance was made larger, and shouting a deep and primal shout as loud as my lungs would allow, I rushed the crazed colony. Most of the creatures fled, either to the skies or a good distance from me, though a few remained, still blindly and boldly feasting. I kicked the one nearest me and it let out a gargling squawk in retaliation before taking flight with the rest of its kin.

The grisly remains of the vultures’ feast lay unobstructed now; half of a beheaded human torso, with its single attached arm. The placard nailed to the thick post read, ‘For the crime of High Treason against The Kingdom and God by extension, Samson Martanus has been quartered and displayed so that others may take careful wisdom from his transgressions.’ I was unable to determine whether it had been the result of an unusual quartering that the torso was in its present state, cloven vertically as it was, or if it had been the vultures that had wholly consumed the left side of the body. I was, however, able to determine that the torso had originally been skewered atop the post, and either the process of decay or the voracious birds, or both, had caused it to fall and spill out upon the dirt.

I stood and pondered for a moment, taking in the ghastly and putrescent scene, before resuming my travels; and as I departed the scene, journeying towards the distant gates that lead into Alkesh, the vultures arrived once more in my stead to finish off the flesh and entrails they’d left behind.

Prologue

2010-09-01T19:40:00.001-07:00

The world had changed drastically in the centuries since the first instance of artificial sentience. For starters, every major city on the planet’s been enclosed within domes, some small and some so large that they produce their own weather systems. Furthermore, on the subject of the dome-enfolded cities, the dome tops are comprised of a material that can go from being completely opaque to completely transparent on a whim, so natural light always plays a factor in providing a relaxing atmosphere for the populaces. With domes encapsulating much of civilization on earth, the rest of the planet has become something of a wildlife preserve. That is to say, outside of the domes and the sparse compounds built outside of them, Mother Nature has been permitted to propagate more or less unheeded by humankind.

There’s also the matter of the massive ring-structure surrounding the Earth. Hanging nearly 300 miles away from Earth’s surface, one of the two primary functions of The Ring is to act as a super-massive city - a nearly 26,000 mile stretch of city at that, and up to 5 miles across at its widest points. Its second primary function is as an all-encompassing relay for an elaborate and highly advanced global information infrastructure.

Now is an age where it’s possible to break matter down to its most fundamental subatomic form – information. From a grain of salt to a human being, anything can be disassembled, stored as information in a hyper-computer and shot off to anywhere in the world to be reassembled as though nothing detrimental had happened. In effect, teleportation isn’t only demonstrable, it’s a common occurrence. The reigning leadership system is also a result of the matter-to-information cascade.

Informationists, as they’re called, are the individuals responsible for the management of everyday aspects of modern life. The Informationists are the ruling government that both controls and administers public policy over the entire planet. It’s almost impossible to tell how many individuals comprise the Informationist régime, though it’s clear that many of the Informationists have been in the collective government for well over three-hundred years – not too long before the first instance of artificial sentience.

But how is this possible? How can a person live more than 300 years? Well, with technical intricacies and ethical issues aside, it’s quite simple given the matter-to-information cascade. Every member of the Informationist régime had at one point been a regular person, whether or not they were a member of government, before they’d broken themselves down into a state of information and stored within the global information infrastructure. In a sense, the Informationists are as close to a state of pure consciousness as someone can physically get, and one of their first questions to all the societies of Earth was, “Who would you rather have looking out for your wellbeing: representatives with earthly wants and needs – desires of the flesh – or a collective consciousness which exists outside of its corporeal form and functions only to maintain compassionate communal order for the entire planet?”

Now is a time when humanity is generally at peace with itself – while maintaining some degree of respective heritage, people are also quite capable of integrating into a global culture. That’s not to say that everything’s all fine and dandy. In fact, some people are of the mind that humanity no longer has a place on the Earth’s surface, instead looking to The Ring, the moon Luna, and even Mars for residence. Nevertheless, most folk, aren’t so quick to turn elsewhere for a place to call home. In the past, humankind had overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and this time would be no different; humankind would prevail over the ubiquitous threat of the Vedghol.

This leads us the first instance of artificial sentience.

Beyond sentience though, computers became sapient. In other words, if a blind man were to speak with a sapient computer and a scholarly, humanistic individual, he’d be unable to make the distinction between human and machine. This occurrence didn’t happen overnight, however; it was a gradual shift that spanned decades starting with highly-efficient and ultra-powerful photon-based computer systems capable of calculating trillions upon trillions of processes per second and ultimately ending at units the size of a grapefruit housed within the cranial compartments of androids that could reason and act and feel like humans.

Many people were open to the inevitable societal amalgamation of humans and androids while many others despised the idea – thought it to be some kind of soceo-ethical bastardization. Anti-robot militias became an unfortunate commonality. Both violence towards and wanton slaughter of androids was a daily occurrence. This drove a number of androids to take their own extreme measures, eventually leading to a fringe-movement of androids turning anti-human – the emergence of the Vedghol.

The Vedghol would take on the form of utterly grotesque, absolutely monstrous, and altogether unnatural things in the attempt to rid themselves of any semblance they may have had to the human form. They’d terrorize human populations and destroy civil infrastructure at any chance and by myriad means. Not only that, but it seemed any android, no matter its disposition, was capable of turning to the Vedghol – Vedgholism seemed to propagate like a virus if not as an ideal.

Humanity was forced to make a grave decision.

The VSF (Vedghol Strike Force) was established and tasked with eliminating the Vedghol threat. Preventative measures also needed to be taken, and among them, given the fact that any android was capable of becoming a Vedghol, what some had come to see as nothing short of genocide took place. The methodical and mass-killing of androids was one of the undertakings of the VSF.

With the dismantling of the last known sapient android having taken place almost 200 years ago, and with limitations being set on the manufacture of new androids so that they’d never be capable of becoming Vedghol, the VSF need only focus on the Vedghol themselves. However, overcoming the threat of the Vedghol would ultimately become, even 200 years later, an arduous and seemingly insurmountable obstacle.

Infidel

2010-08-24T19:26:00.000-07:00

So there I was… well, I didn’t actually know where I was, but I was there in any case, surrounded by impossible darkness. I held a lantern in my left hand that did little in helping me distinguish my surroundings, unawares as I was if I was inside or out. Impregnable darkness lurked all around me while the air was cold and stagnant; the silence unsettling to say the least. How did I find myself here?

I reached into my waistcoat pocket with my right hand, producing from it my brass pocketwatch. I lifted the face cover. To my surprise the hands had stopped at Twelve thirty-four. Is this a dream? Had I fallen asleep? I thought. Conscious as I was, however, it seemed unlikely that I was dreaming. It was troubling, though, as I had no recollection of how I’d gotten to where I was, amidst the darkness and silence.

“Hello?” I called out. My voice drifted off into the blackness – there was no reverberation. I pocketed my pocketwatch and pulled my overcoat about my chest as the air around me quickly cooled. The flame in my lantern began flickering as if about to go out.

I thrust my lantern forward in an attempt to gain some understanding of the environment ahead. What little I saw, and though I couldn’t discern its material, the floor was brown and hard like stone, level and evidently clear of grit and grain. I was unable to determine anything else – no walls or ceiling, furniture or rubble.

I began slowly pacing forward. In short time I heard a rushing, like that of the ocean lapping against the shore, though distant it was. With each cautious step, the rushing grew louder.

And louder.

Until finally it reached a degree so overwhelming that I thought it prudent to cover my ears, though a difficult endeavor that would be so long as I held my lantern. Suddenly, the rushing became distinguished as it became a thunderous and bellowing voice. I was unable to comprehend what it was saying, though it was unmistakably arabesque in sound.

The bellowing voice subdued, giving way to another from above.

“Kafir, it welcomes you to Jahannam!”

Oh, who is this who descends from the darkness above on glowing wings – a sparsely dressed figure made of pure light and wielding a large war hammer! As he nears, I back away but am able to discern the intricacies of the massive two-headed mallet the figure holds at his nave; intricacies etched into the things head utterly unachievable by any earthly metal worker. The glowing figures knotted arms hanged powerfully from his broad, atlean shoulders, and then I was struck by his gaze.

“You’ve offenses against our kingdom – by my hammer, you will repent!” the figure bellows as he raises the weighty looking weapon effortlessly over his head.

“For the false lively representations you’ve fabricated by joining chisel to stone, I strike you thirty-six times, once for each offense!”

And he brings the hammer down with such ferocity as to smash me down to a most baseless bloodied and broken form. However, while the strike exerts a pain upon my body more unimaginably excruciating than I’d ever dread, I am seemingly unaffected physically by the hammer’s thump.

Again he strikes me, and again, and again; each time the indescribable pain mounts, though as hard as I try, I cannot free myself of the agony, neither through death or otherwise.

After a seemingly endless barrage of hammer blows, I find a brief solace on the strange, cold ground. I look up to the figure and plead, though my struggled moans fall on deaf ears.

“Thus with those former hammer-falls, you’ve repented for but a fraction of your crimes. For the false lively representations you’ve fabricated by joining ink to paper, I strike you one thousand seventy-seven times, once for each offense!”

If ever there was a time I wished to die, this was that time! However, the magic of my environment somehow staved off death, though left all the pain and more, for, even to this day, I feel I’ll never rightly be able to discern into words the caliber of anguish I felt that day… or was it that night… well, I didn’t know; in any case, the misery was excessive and tremendous.

By the time the figure had ceased his seemingly endless volley of assaults against me for mounting “offenses” on my part, my lantern had gone out, though the light the figure emitted revealed more of the sparse environment than my lantern ever did. I lay there on the floor mentally broken down when the figure said to me, “You’ve repented for all but half of your offenses. You will now spend the next millennia within the deep fires of Jahannam. Only after this will you be absolved of your evils and welcomed into paradise eternal.”

And with that, the figure disappeared and I plummeted through the ground. The sensation was peculiar, to say the least – a far cry from the pummeling I’d received until, finally, I reached an expansive chamber under lit by an intense ocean of flame. I plummeted until finally I fell into the fires where my flesh was seared from my bones only to be replaced with more flesh to be seared. This cycle continued for an inconceivable length of time – eons and eons seemed to pass, lifetimes unimaginable by any mortal – until that day came: the day of absolution!

I was lifted from the flames and lovingly caressed by unseen hands. I was blinded by light, and a sense greater than vision and smell and everything else infixed itself within me – I could “see” everything for what it was.

What splendors followed cannot be rightly described, suffice to say it is well worth the beatings and burnings.

Patient No. 9

2010-08-20T12:44:00.001-07:00

Hey,

Do you wanna read my smash-hit novella, Patient No. 9?

Alright, click on this link: http://numbody.net/patientNo9.pdf.

You can also, you know, right click on it and Save link as...

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Peace!

Words to the Barista

2010-08-18T17:28:00.001-07:00

There’s nothing therapeutic in doing things in themselves, like walking on the beach or taking a bath or eating a tub of ice cream. The thing is, if we look deep within ourselves, we’ll find therapy for any ailment that afflicts us without the aid of an outside source. However, never be afraid to ask for help if you need it! I know, we live in America, the lone-wolf capitol of the world, but seriously, you’ve got to seek out help if you need it.

Oh, and on what I said about being able to treat any aliment we’ve been afflicted with by looking within ourselves: I’m not talking exclusively about mental issues, like depression and whatnot – I’m speaking also of physical ailments. I mean, by no means should one bite off more than they can chew, but if you’re in an enlightened frame of mind, you could easily will yourself out of any sickness and, on the extreme end, even stave off death until you’re ready for it! There are historical accounts of men and women living to be 900 years of age, and it’s all contributable to willpower. You’ve just got to get yourself in the right frame of mind so that you can conquer anything.

The really big thing is, if you’re willpower is great enough, it won’t just end with you being able to affect you – it’ll go on to the extent where you’ll be able to affect the environment around you! But I’m getting a little ahead of myself here, as I don’t really have any evidence to back up these claims, just hunches based on nebulous evidences I’ve accumulated throughout the years.

In any case, wouldn’t it be great if the aging process were reversed. In other words, if we were born into old bodies and we matured into young bodies, it’d be fantastic. Imagine a world where the young were crippled by arthritis whilst they acclimated to their growing minds while the elderly, with years of experience and mental-development, were free from the pains of physical age. Though, it must be reiterated that, if one is in the right mindset, he or she can overcome such physical pains.

Yes, I am a man who loves his coffee… I’ll take a twenty ounce, no room, thank you.

Fake

2010-08-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

Horrid sirens blare throughout the city, one positioned at every corner of every block, turning the sleepy streets into seas of unsettling reverberation. Red lights strobe below each high-placed siren as if the throbbing noise itself isn’t alarming enough. The sirens are only a piece of an elaborate system which was set up nearly ten years ago in the wake of an utterly unnatural threat that was said to have originated somewhere in central Asia, though to this day its origins have remained largely unknown.

Franks hurriedly makes his way back towards his office building, having just chowed down a bagel before being completely thrown off guard by the sirens. He thought they’d never be used – thought they were nothing more than a waste of tax-payer’s dollars. Even still, he’s thinking that this may just be a drill, though he quickly makes his way to the grand double-doors leading into the lobby of the building in any case. Better safe than sorry.

He’s not the only one who’s making his way into the building – so are a few other folks he’s familiar with but doesn’t know on a first-name basis. They’re all ushered into the lobby by a couple of armed guards who seem to have come from out of nowhere, and they’re leading Franks and his familiar co-workers through a series of full-body scanners, another piece to the elaborate tax-payer funded system.

“Is this for real?” Franks shouts over the sirens at the guard closest to him named Nelson, as evidenced by his nametag.

“This is definitely for real.” Nelson confirms with a look of sheer terror, a look which unnerves Franks to say the least.

Franks walks through the scanners without a hitch and he proceeds through to the administrative area of the building towards the stairs. He and his co-workers have to move up the building as far away from ground level as possible, and as shutting down the elevators is standard procedure in this circumstance, the stairs are the only means of accessing higher floors.

Followed closely by the two guards, Franks and his co-workers pass through a heavy steel doorway and into the stark-lit stairwell. The guards shut and bolt the door behind them, almost completely drowning out the droning wail of the sirens outside. They all make their way up. With the closing of the door, Franks instantly begins regretting not being back at home. He’d been stuck at his cubicle doing backed-up bookkeeping and it was nearly 10:00pm last he’d checked.

An unintelligible burst of radio chatter fills the stairwell before Brody, the other of the two guards, relays to Nelson what the voice had said.

“The whole International District’s friggen’ wiped out, man!” Brody huffs while laboring up the metal stairs.

Everyone is either too panicked or too winded to come up with any kind of verbal response to the assessment.

After many flights of stairs they all arrive at the fifth floor and the next security measure – a remote automatic shotgun which has dropped from a hatch in the ceiling underneath which is another scanner accompanied by an armed guard at each side.

“It’s been confirmed by the guys up on Broadway. Rakshis are heading this way – a whole lot of them,” one of the guards at the scanner says to Brody. “You secure everything downstairs?”

“We sure did,” Brody answers, tossing a ring of keys over to the guard. The other guard at the scanner motions for Franks and his co-workers to pass through before going on through the doorway leading into the commons area of the fifth floor.

Rakshis: Franks knows what they are – that is to say, he knows what they’re not. Since the years they’d decimated parts of the East Coast, warning systems and countermeasures had been set up all across the country, but they were hardly effective against a threat that struck like the Rakshis did. Since they’re able to assume the form of virtually anything, the only way to assuredly detect their presence is after things go horribly wrong, i.e. a staggering number of people suddenly going missing for good.

Franks and his associates make their way over to a series of tables in the dimly-lit commons, and they all sit at the one nearest the stairwell leading further up. Shutters have come down, closing off view of the outside while all the exits from the commons to various hallways have been gated off.

One of Franks’ associates, a funny-looking portly fellow, keeps looking at him.

“You’re Franks, right - from financial?” he asks at lengh.

“Yeah, that’s me…”

“Hi, I’m Adam. You know, I’ve seen you around with that Blazers cap on.”

The small chat’s unnerving Franks more than anything, he feels, but he goes on with it, saying, “Yeah? Well, uh…”

“You a fan?”

Franks laughs reluctantly, “Eh, I wouldn’t really go so far as to say I’m a fan or anything, but…”

“What’s wrong with the Blazers?” Another co-worker wearing a salmon dress shirt asks with a mustached smirk.

Why are these guys acting like nothing’s going on – as if Rakshis attacks are an everyday occurrence?

“Do you realize what’s going on right now?” Franks asks the table.

“I’m trying to wrap my head around it.” The last co-worker says, almost sulking at the end of the table “My apartment’s right there in the International District.”

No one else says anything, and the entire commons falls nearly silent except for the muffled sirens and occasional burst of radio chatter.

More guards have come into the commons area, and a few begin setting up a makeshift surveillance area not far from the table where Franks is sitting, consisting of two laptops and some kind of relay among other things. Once the guards have everything set up, Franks decides to get up and assess the situation himself.

“Hey,” Franks says, rising from the table and approaching the three guards, “is there anything I can do to maybe help?”

“You can go ahead and take a seat – we’ll take care of everything.” One of the guards says, motioning for Franks to sit back down without turning to look away from the laptop monitor.

In disregard of what the guard suggested and approaching the group of them, Franks can make out a black and white video image of the lobby on one of the monitors. There’s a sudden smear of black that arches and twists across the display as if some indistinctly formed being is rapidly making its way from the front doors and off screen in the direction of administration.

“There’s one,” A guard says, viciously tapping at the monitor where the black form had been.
“How the hell’d they bypass security?” another guard asks.

“I dunno. That’s how it went down in Columbus though. I mean, they had that place locked down, and these fuckers still found a way in.”

“We better move up,” the first guard says.

Every guard in the room turns towards the table at which Franks’ co-workers sit and in front of which Franks himself is standing.

“Alright guys, we’re moving up – follow me.” Nelson says to the four associates before opening the door to the stairwell leading further up the building.

Everyone is hurriedly making his way up the stairs at this point. Feet bang against the metal stairs while the equipment slung at the waists of the guards clatters – a mélange of heavy noise resounds within the stairwell.

Before long, everyone makes their way to the tenth floor and the next checkpoint – much like the one found on the fifth floor – when it happens.

Thumping gunfire is heard further down the flight of stairs. The automatic shotgun rips off round after round.

“They breached the perimeter.” One of the guards from behind shouts up at the two watching the tenth floor checkpoint.

“Right - hurry up” a checkpoint guard says, emphatically motioning for the group of a dozen or so through the scanners.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” the other guard pants, clearly agitated by the proximity of the encroaching threat.

Five guards followed by Franks and his co-workers followed by the remaining team of guards pours through the scanner and into the tight halls of the tenth floor. The guard trailing the group unholsters his handgun and begins firing off rounds in the stairwell before the door’s shut and bolted. Almost immediately the murky scent of gunpowder fills the confines of the hallway, a smell Franks is altogether unfamiliar with.

“Okay guys, keep moving down.” A guard shouts over the commotion, indicating that Franks and his co-workers need to keep up with the contingent. They make their way through twisting hallways before running into another series of scanners and mounted remote-operated automatic shotguns. There’s a heavy door past the checkpoint through which is a small room barely able to contain the number of people present.

As everyone fills the room and the door is secured behind them, one of the guards proceeds to slide open a false wall, greatly expanding the once tiny room. On the far end is an open doorway leading to a series of stairs which disappears up.

“We should be fine here until everything blows over,” a guard says, getting a feel for the room. As if on cue, however, an almost deafening bang jolts the room. Something’s hitting the heavy door shutting this room off from the rest of the building with such force as to warp the material it’s made of.

“Oh, shit!” one of the guards exclaims.

“Get up those stairs,” another guard shouts to Franks and his co-workers. They all run for it, pushing past the team of guards who’ve already drawn their weapons and pointed them at the door.

Another bang shakes everyone as Franks and the others dash into the stairwell and make their way up. The group of workers clear perhaps two floors before the stairwell ends. The only exit is an unassuming black door. Without thought, Franks jerks the thing open and all the workers explode into a short hallway at the end of which is another door. They’re followed by a couple members of the team of guards, the rest of who wait downstairs to possibly repel whatever’s trying to make its way into the last secure section of building.

“Go on through that door,” one of the two guards tells Franks and his associates. Shortly after, gunfire erupts from downstairs followed by strange and horrifyingly unnatural sounds.

Franks dosen’t look back, wrenching the door open and sprinting into the dark room. Unbeknownst to him, the power’s been knocked out while backup generators were engaged, supplying the building with sparse and hardly accommodating red light.

Staggering into the room, Franks turns to see none of his co-workers. It’s strange – they were with him only a moment ago. The only people heading his way now are the two guards who’d accompanied them.

The guards enter the room and shut the door behind them.

Based on the news reports and press releases, Franks knows that the Rakshis are bestial killing machines. They assume the forms of house pets, farm animals and sometimes even vegetation, but there’s no way they could emulate the complexities of the human form…

Is there?

Franks’ mind starts racing – could these guards be fake? Could they really be Rakshis? Franks has never seen one in real-life – would he be able to tell a Rakshis from anything else unassuming?

The terrifyingly unnatural sounds are coming up the stairway, and they’re in the hallway just past the shut door. All the while the two guards stand in place at either side of the door.

“Do you want to see?” one of the guards asks Franks. The guard approaches the doorknob with his hand.

“No,” Franks wails, collapsing into the corner of the room “Please don’t open the door!”

“It’ll be fine,” the guard affirms, “It’s really just a matter of perspective.”

“What?” Franks breaths in horrified exhaustion.

The noise is clamoring on the other side of the door. Franks can feel the dread and panic at his core. His body begins shutting down.

Without a word the guard yanks the door open.

And then you wake up. It was a dream! God, don't you hate that, a whole little story you get all invested in and then WHAM! a thoroughly shoddy and uninspired ending.

Oh well, at least it was free...

Fallout: New Vegas - First Impressions

2010-07-24T17:28:00.000-07:00

I'm so passionately against this game almost purely because of the fact that Bethesda and Obsidian will be making bank off of the poor saps who just seem to need a good Fallout 3 fix. They're marketing this thing like it's a completely new game in the series, but it's far from that. There's nothing in this quasi-sequel that hasn't already been provided free of charge in some form or another to the masses via user mods. Furthermore, judging by the screenshots, well over half of the in-game assets are blatantly reused from the original Fallout 3 (let me not fail to mention the horridly clichéd and bland pre-rendered opening for New Vegas - it's the same song and dance as the opening for Fallout 3 with nothing more than a change in scenery - not unlike the game itself). One other thing: granted the nebulous hints at dialog option and game-play tweaks, there's zero change to the game mechanics, which in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but when a game is being developed and marketed as a stand-alone non-expansion, it wouldn't hurt to at least change the HUD (instead of coping out and simply changing the default color).
Oh yeah, and don't even get me started on the retailer-specific pre-order exclusives - that's just balls-out asinine!
I won't get into all the specifics about the allegedly "new" content in New Vegas, suffice to say it isn't new. I will discuss the fact that this weapon modding system they're adding to New Vegas, aside from sounding overly condemnatory to the player, is a feature that's already been seen in fallout 3, and it wouldn't have cost you anything to experience because it's a user-created mod. Look, here's a section from the Fallout Wiki about just that:

"As it has been mentioned by Chris Avellone directly, Obsidian implemented this feature as a direct response to the popularity of the Weapon Mod Kits mod for Fallout 3."

Additionally, in terms of visuals, from the environments to the characters, nothing's been remotely changed from what had come out two years ago. New Vegas has got the same ugly lighting that's seen in Fallout 3, and that lighting was seen in Oblivion, a game that came out over four years ago! I mean, it may have looked alright then, but now, with games like Crysis and Metro 2033 out featuring all the niceties of volumetric lighting and pixel shaders and stuff, there's really no reason why the folks of Obsidian could have at least added some current-gen flare and maybe toned down the blown-out bloom effects.
Now I know that some of the original folks who made Fallout I and II are working on New Vegas, but what they're doing with this seems little more than a glorified expansion pack. The only thing that'd make me feel remotely alright about New Vegas is if it were sold for $10.00 to $20.00 USD (you know, like the Fallout 3 DLC). However, as it is, New Vegas is nothing short of an immoral money-making scheme designed by Bethesda to look like fan service.

---UPDATE---

I played the game and now I wish New Vegas had come out before Fallout 3. The scope of the story's easier to digest and as such more natural and believable, and the nuances are nicer.

PERTURBATION - Patient No. 9 - Chapter 6

2010-07-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

Matchner’s vision is compromised for a time; he’s barley able to make out the forms in front of his face from the piercing whiteness. At first, he feels tired, and then comes the disorientation. He can’t tell where his body is. This isn’t right.

He smacks his lips. They tingle – there’s no moisture – he can feel them cracking. His throat feels dry – he tries to swallow. He sloshes his tongue around in his mouth – it feels like sandpaper. He begins coughing.

It isn’t a cough that comes out, however. Instead of the expected phlegmy gargling yips, Matchner hears what could best be described as a series of failed dial-up connections – digitized 8 bit sounds made to resemble a natural cough.

As he takes in breath, he vaguely feels his ribs expanding, but only slightly before slashing pain arches up and down his torso; he vividly imagines it as though he’s been split like a banana. Matchner quickly voids his lungs of air and he looks back to his basic training. He paces his breathing the same as if he were in the gas chamber at boot camp. Then, his mind begins racing as his breaths calm.

Where am I? He thinks back. That was his last remembrance, his arrival at the Alamo Research Facility. The heavy metal doors opened. What came after?

Only fragments of information are left. He can’t figure out where he is. As his vision returns, he sees lights glowing in front of him – he must be lying down. The lights are the same kind used during operations. What the fuck happened?

Matchner’s heart begins to race. A digital pulse sounds in synchronization with each of his heart beats. Random scuffling – sounds of others – flood the small space.

“Why is he awake?” a voice questions, muffled by a static hiss.

“Um, I’m not sure. The anesthesiologist must have made a mistake… but the readings are all-“

“He should be out! That’s enough to put a bear under!”

“Our estimations must have been incorrect. In any case, the Synectic Processor is operational. Sync him in.”

“Confirm.”

A doctor, an older man with a blue lab coat comes in. He hovers over Matchner for a time, pulling up a digital reader attached to a cable. Matchner does his best to turn his gaze over enough to see that the cable stretches out of sight below him, and then comes back up within sight – he determines that the thing is connected to his own head.

“Heart rate is escalating,” A voice confirms.

“He must be conscious.”

There are two others in the closed-off area, a man and woman, both younger than the man with the digital reader in hand.

“Go ahead.”

With the press of a button, Matchner’s consciousness explodes. An altogether unpleasant sensation of falling rushes over him. The top of his head feels like it explodes as thoughts that aren’t his own flood his mind. While his eyes tell his brain what’s around him, others’ eyes relay their own signals to his brain. A complex rush of emotions parade through Matchner’s skull, and through it all a mounting sensation of fear escalates, higher and higher, threatening to overtake the rest. But before it happens, Matchner blocks the sensations; the expanding consciousness; the alien urges and feelings; the myriad emotions.

Matchner struggles with maintaining his sense of self. It’s as though a bug is attempting to force its way into his brain. His mental wall – his sheer willpower – is able to keep the bug at bay.

At length, the man in the lab coat says, “He’s not syncing up.”

“Explain.”

“The progress just halted. Everything was going fine, but we hit a wall.”

“What of the others?”

“They’re still connected…”

“What have you done differently with this one?”

“Nothing; nothing at all. Everyone else has synced up fine.”

“Abort the process and try again.”

Matchner feels the bug cease its attempts at boring inside his brain, but shortly thereafter it tries again. The same rush of feelings and senses overcomes Matchner. This time however, he’s able to stop it without much effort, though it’s unsettling nonetheless.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” a harsh, digital voice demands. To Matchner’s surprise, it’s his own intended words, though his lips don’t shape them. He feels them rise from his throat, the sound emitting from within his neck and mouth, gargled and digitized.

“He’s conscious. The sync failed even faster this time.”

“How is this possible?”

“Everything was done by the books. There seems to be no reason for its failure.”

“WHAT IS THIS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Matchner repeats.

“Try not to struggle,” the man in the lab coat says, “We’re not trying to hurt you.”

“IT HURTS,” is all Matchner is able to think, and the words come out, again, strange and augmented.

“Put him under again.”

“But we’re all out of benzodiazepines.”

“You shouldn’t need any more. Besides, it may have an adverse affect on synectic convergence. I’ll radio the anesthesiologist, in any case.”

“TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Matchner demands a third time.

“Please, don’t worry,” the man in the lab coat says. He’s put the digital reader down out of sight and he now has a syringe.

Matchner tries to move his arm, but it’s being held at the wrist. He flexes – hears the sound of leather being stretched. The smell of burning fibers fills his nose and SNAP! His right arm is free. Matchner grabs the arm of the man about to inject something into a tube connected to Matchner’s left arm. He sees both of his arms aren’t his arms. They look organic and mechanical at the same time. There’s no skin, just what looks like black rubber flexing around a form-fitting external chrome skeletal framing.

Matchner feels the man’s arm go rubbery in his grip. He effortlessly and accidentally snaps the man’s wrist. The man screams and drops the syringe. At that instant, however, Matchner feels the bug undermine his willpower. He focuses again, able to stop it’s intrusion, and then turns his attention past the man, now rolling around on the floor, onto the digital reader.

Everything’s happened so fast that it’s only now that the other two in the room, a younger man and woman, realize what’s taken place.

“Oh my god!” the man exclaims, wide mouthed and looking down at the broken-wristed man.

“I’ll get security,” the woman says, rushing out of the room.

“The anesthesiologist will be in shortly. Rischell, get Sing off the floor – the restraints will keep the patient down,” the radio voice orders. “Too bad the remote infusion is off line at the moment. Otherwise, this whole thing could have been avoided!” it says sardonically. The voice is no doubt that of Vasylenko’s, made evident by the Balkanite accent.

Contrary to what Vasylenko says, however, Matchner is able to quite effortlessly break out of his remaining restraints. He looks down at his body. His body isn’t his body, however. It matches his arms that aren’t his arms – it looks like he’s been outfitted in a black rubber unitard with a conforming chrome exoskeletal frame. He feels floaty, now sitting up on the evidential operating table.

The man in the lab coat named Sing is still screaming on the floor and clutching his arm. He’s kicked to the corner after Matchner lowers himself onto the ground, where he stops screaming – stops moving. The man, Rischell, who’d gotten up to assist Sing now stares wide-eyed and frightened at Matchner.

“You’re a monster!” Rischell asserts in a panic.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT HIM. I ONLY WANTED TO STOP HIM. HE WOULDN’T REASON WITH ME.” Matchner says, looking down at the frightened man.

Matchner raises his arms to look at what they’ve become, and as he does he hears servos whirring at every joint. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BODY?”

“W-we were trying to make you better,” Rischell tells Matchner hesitantly. “I’m not sure what went wrong, though! Please, just let me get out of here.”

“NO; YOU HAVE TO HELP ME.”

Outside of the small room, Matchner hears the rapid footfalls of a small group coming nearer and nearer.

Rischell looks up at Matchner. “That’s the security team. If you don’t lie down now, they won’t give you a second chance.”

God of War III Review

2010-07-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

I went into God of War III with big expectations, and in terms of environmental scale and overall level design, I wasn’t let down. However, when it came to the game play experience, God of War III is lacking in more respects than folks aren’t not giving it.

God of War III concludes Kratos’ vindictive escapades, and while it’s amusing to see all the different characters of Greek mythology uniquely brought to life in the game (Kevin Sorbo does the voice work for Hercules!), the overall story is pretty simple: Kratos is on a quest to kill Zeus, and he’ll end up ruining everything and killing everyone on the way to seeing his goal through. I found that, after the first couple of hours, the only thing that really kept me playing was me wanting to see how Kratos would kill the next boss character. This says much for the ultra-linear and in some instances ill-paced game play of the rest of the game.

The only depth in God of War III comes from upgrading Kratos’ equipment, and even that’s watered down when compared to other games in the action/adventure genre. All of Kratos’ weapons are more or less the same and his move list, even once all the weapons are acquired and maxed out, gets real boring real fast. As entertaining as it is to see Kratos utterly destroy bad guys, I didn’t have as much fun killing enemies in this game as I’ve had in others, and on more than a few occasions I found myself loathing certain points in the game when having to kill off a bunch of bad guys, especially in and around the Labyrinth area. Also, in terms of puzzles this game could have done better, especially given the fact that it’s Kratos we’re dealing with – it seems that, as a personality, Kratos is above much of what he was dealing with, especially when it came to that horribly implemented musical rhythm-based button pressing foray (it totally took me out of the experience, and I couldn’t have thought of a more out-of-place device).

With all the travesties of game play out of the way, much of the environments and level design of God of War III was top-notch. The sense of scale in the architecture and gigantic enemy characters (like Chronos) is something to behold, and the environments, while oftentimes lacking in atmosphere usually due to the pulled-out camera angles are nevertheless spectacular. The character animations are also very good. From Kratos’ moves to the cinematics, all of its nearly on par with movie industry CG stuff. The games presentation is ultra high-end and pretty much flawless in every respect – nothing ever really stood out as being awkward or quirky. All in all, the graphics for God of War III are good, but graphics and presentation aren’t everything when it comes to video games.

Finally, in terms of audio, God of War III puts on a pretty good show. The voice acting is generally spot on (I already mention that Kevin Sorbo does the voice for Hercules!) and there’s nothing wrong with the sound effects. The music for the game is as grand in tone as the environments, though at times it was overshadowed by the hecticness of the combat.

The bottom line is this: God of War III was clearly a big budget game, and it’s presentation was splendid. However, the game play was ultimately boring and not nearly as deep or strategically varied as it could have been, and when you’re talking about video games, how the player interacts with the unfurling of the experience is at the very least as important to the game as everything else (i.e. graphics, sound, story). To this end, God of War III would have made a better movie than game. It would have been just as much fun simply watching Helios have his head ripped off instead of, you know, having to successfully mash the shoulder buttons to achieve the same result.

Hey there!

2010-07-21T14:16:00.000-07:00

Thanks for checking out my blog - things will begin showing up very soon...

Anyway, look around, keep checking back, and feel free to hit me up!