2266: Nights of Azure: A Peculiar Game Destined for Cult Status?

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Two of my favourite games of all time are Cavia’s Nier and Ganbarion’s Pandora’s Tower. They’re both gloriously unconventional takes on the role-playing game genre, mechanically and narratively, and they’re both extremely rewarding to engage with. They were also both the recipient of mediocre to middling reviews when they were first released, and have since — at least, in Nier’s case — broken free of that critical mire and attained cult status.

I’ve only played a couple of hours of it so far, but Gust’s Nights of Azure looks like joining these two overlooked classics in “flawed masterpiece” territory, as it has a lot in common with these two ambitious titles.

Nights of Azure casts you in the role of Arnice, a half-demon woman tasked with slaying Fiends and keeping a young woman called the Saint safe so that she can perform a ritual that will seal away the evil Nightlord and prevent the world from falling into perpetual darkness. There have been numerous Saints throughout the generations, but this time around the young maiden who has been chosen happens to be one Lilysse, a woman with whom it quickly becomes very apparent that Arnice has previously had an extremely close relationship with. Like, lovers close.

The two women are polar opposites in many ways. Lilysse is carefree and demure, while Arnice is confident and serious, though she has an easily rattled side to her. Their reunion after what has seemingly been quite some time apart begins with the two displaying that characteristic awkwardness around one another that two former lovers often show, but it’s obvious that there are still feelings there — particularly once Arnice starts finding crystallised memories around the city that forms the backdrop to the story, and when she starts exploring dream sequences that give you the option of either exploring the overall lore of the setting or the relationship between Arnice and Lilysse.

The gameplay of Nights of Azure isn’t your standard action RPG. There’s a bit of Castlevania in regard to the gothic opera aesthetic; there’s a bit of Shin Megami Tensei in the demon-summoning mechanics — the majority of your damage output in combat will come from your summoned demons; Arnice is mostly there to give orders and support; there’s a bit of 3D brawler action in terms of the basic controls; and there’s even a touch of the Souls series in there with regard to one of the game’s two main currencies being “blood” which can be used either to power up Arnice or purchase things.

Combat is fairly straightforward but satisfying. Arnice has a weak and a strong attack — initially with just a sword, but later with three other weapons — and a special attack that consumes her SP bar. She also has four decks of up to four Servans each to summon, and these also cost SP to summon. When a Servan is summoned, it performs a special ability, so it’s tactically advantageous to wait for a good moment to summon them rather than getting them out right away; once they’re out, they also have access to a Burst ability as well as their skills that they use automatically. This Burst ability is strong and tied to the Servan’s role in the party, be it tank, damage dealer or healer, and is limited by the Servan’s own SP bar.

The Servan stuff is interesting because it reminds me of the good bits of Japanese collectible card games on mobile: you collect units, you level them up and upgrade them, you customise them with attachments, and you take a suitable deck into battle with you to deal with any encounters you might face. Unlike Arnice, Servans level up just by engaging in combat — no Blood required — and gain access to more abilities as they reach higher levels. Arnice can find or purchase Fetishes throughout the game, too, and these can either be “actualised” into a new Servan, or given to an existing Servan to buff them up. Servans’ skills can also be customised by giving them various items.

The structure of Nights of Azure is pretty intriguing, too. All the main action goes on at night-time, and you’re limited to bursts of 15 minutes in the action stages before you have to go back to Arnice’s home base. In practice, this never really becomes an issue because you’ll reach a checkpoint or finish an area long before the timer expires in most cases. After coming back from the evening’s adventures, Arnice does some “daytime activities” that can result in the acquisition of skill points in four different fields, which can then be spent to acquire different abilities. She’s also able to take on quests aside from the main story, which are generally either “kill [x] of [y]” or “find [z]”, but reward her with useful items and currency. There’s also a battle arena where she can take on combat challenges with specific conditions to clear, with varying rewards on offer according to what her score is when she’s completed the challenge in question.

All in all, it feels like a very, very odd game so far — though this isn’t a bad thing at all. It feels inventive and interesting rather than being same old, same old, and I’m interested to see how it develops further. The core narrative of the relationship between the two leading ladies is intriguing and compelling, and the whole narrative is dripping with initially unexplained mysteries, supported by the overall aesthetic having a wonderful otherworldly feel to it — drenched in blue mist with character models that look like flowing pencil sketches, somewhat similar to the Atelier series.

And the music. Oh gosh. How wonderful is the music? Combining Michiru Yamane-style gothic rock tracks in the action stages with some distinctly Shoji Meguro-style jazz and funk back at the hotel and some beautiful solo piano pieces during the more heartfelt moments, the soundtrack is absolutely lovely.

It’s a pity the translation is so atrocious, riddled with typos and grammatical errors — and one of the PSN trophies even refers to the protagonist by the wrong name, presumably an erroneous transliteration from the original Japanese — but ultimately even these flaws don’t detract from an immediately intriguing, compelling and downright bizarre action RPG that deserves a great deal more love and attention than I can guarantee it’s (not) going to get from the gaming community at large.

2265: Final Fantasy XV’s Going to Be Something Special

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The other night, Square Enix held a livestreamed event showing off some information about their upcoming RPG Final Fantasy XV. It was, I think, the biggest deal I’ve ever seen any company make about one single game, and as a marketing exercise, it was enormously successful — despite the rather irritating hosts (I now have even less desire to check out Kinda Funny Games than I did before, which wasn’t much) the event did a good job of teasing the game as well as uncovering some genuine surprises.

This latter aspect is no mean feat in this day and age of leaks and rumours, and it was almost ruined earlier in the day when Gamespot “accidentally” (yeah, I’m sure you hated all the traffic you got) leaked the game’s September 30th release date. Fortunately, the other surprises — and there were several — were successfully kept under wraps, and Square Enix were even able to have a bit of fun with the knowledge that the release date was already out in the wild rather than doing the usual po-faced corporate thing.

So what’s so exciting about Final Fantasy XV then? Well, for me, the most interesting and exciting thing about it is the fact that Square Enix is clearly going all-out on this one. They are taking it very seriously and obviously throwing an enormous budget at both the game and its extended universe.

Yes, I said extended universe: that was one of the biggest surprises of the presentation for me. Because Final Fantasy XV won’t just be telling its story through the game, though this will naturally be the main focus. Alongside the game we’re also getting a prequel anime series, depicting how the main character Noctis and his friends became so close, and a feature-length CG movie called Kingsglaive, which shows a parallel story to the game focusing on Noctis’ father King Regis. Not only that, but we’re also getting a mobile game that actually looks like it might be quite fun, and is actually part of the main game’s world.

Final Fantasy XV does have a bit of an uphill struggle ahead of it, however, for numerous reasons. Although Final Fantasy XIV built a considerable amount of goodwill for the series — particularly among lifelong Final Fantasy fans — its audience was relatively limited compared to the rest of the series thanks to its status as a massively multiplayer online game, and a subscription-based one at that. Its single-player predecessors, the three games in the Final Fantasy XIII series, however, had a somewhat peculiar reception — Final Fantasy XIII was roundly praised on its original release, but since then it has seemingly become fashionable to bash it, with complaints ranging from the protagonist Lightning being boring (she isn’t), the game systems being too simple (they aren’t) and the tutorial being 20 hours long (kind of true, but it actually keeps the early hours of the game moving along at a good pace).

Not only that, but Final Fantasy XV is a radical reinvention of how we play Final Fantasy. Or, at least, that’s what people think. In truth, Final Fantasy hasn’t been what the people complaining about XV’s systems think it is for quite some time now, and XV is simply following a pattern of the game gradually experimenting, changing and innovating with each new iteration.

The reason why people feel that XV is such a sudden shift in direction — even though it really isn’t — is because their frame of reference is still, for whatever reason, limited to Final Fantasy games up to maybe X at the latest, and X is the point where the series started getting a lot more experimental than it had been.

That’s not to say, however, that the series had rested on its laurels; on the contrary, despite the early installments in particular seeming quite similar in terms of mechanics, each did something very different. Don’t believe me? Well, all right. I’ll prove it.

Final Fantasy: First in the series. Eschewed static character classes in favour of the ability to “promote” each of the classes to a more powerful, effective version partway through the game. Established the “Jobs” that have been used in many other Final Fantasy installments since.
Final Fantasy II: Eschewed a traditional progression system in favour of an Elder Scrolls-style “level it up by doing it” system. Get more HP by getting hit. Get more MP by casting magic. Get more strength by hitting things. Took some getting used to, but was an interesting twist on the standard RPG formula, and is all the more remarkable considering it came out in 1988.
Final Fantasy III: Returned to a traditional levelling system but combined this with the ability to switch character Jobs without having to completely respec or reset levels. You could change your party makeup on the fly without having to change characters, in other words.
Final Fantasy IV: First 16-bit installment in the series. First use of the Active Time Battle system, which combined the strategy of turn-based combat with a real-time element. Stronger emphasis on story and characterisation through static, non-customisable characters.
Final Fantasy V: Revamped Final Fantasy III’s Job system and made it even more flexible with the ability to equip abilities you had learned from other Jobs, allowing you to effectively create hybrid characters. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy VI: One of the most impressive games on the Super NES, both technically and in terms of storytelling. First use of the “learning abilities from equipping things” system used in several other installments — here, abilities were learned by equipping Espers, the summonable creatures. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy VII: First 32-bit installment in the series, first CD-based installment in the series and first 3D polygonal installment in the series. A spectacular achievement of the time, both technically and in terms of storytelling. Introduced Materia, which have made an appearance in a couple of other Final Fantasy games. Used Active Time Battle, brought to life in animated 3D rather than relatively static 2D for the first time.
Final Fantasy VIII: First installment to have realistically proportioned characters. Outlandish character development system in which character level was less important than the Guardian Force (summon) you had equipped on the character, and what magic spells you had Junctioned to stats. An unpopular installment due to its initially baffling and easily gamed mechanics, but a solid story and visually very impressive for the time. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy IX: A supposed “return to the roots” of the series, featuring less realistically proportioned characters but maintaining the polygonal characters on pre-rendered backdrops aesthetic of VII and VIII. Brought back the “learn things by equipping stuff” system, this time with abilities attached to equipment. Used Active Time Battle.
Final Fantasy X: First entry on the PlayStation 2, and first entry to have full 3D polygonal environments both on the field and in battle. Also first entry to have voice-overs, which also meant the end of being able to rename your characters — except for the protagonist, whom no-one ever said the name of throughout. Did not use Active Time Battle, instead using a turn-based system with a manipulable turn order called Conditional Turn-Based Battle. Also eschewed traditional levelling in favour of the “Sphere Grid” system, which allowed either a little or a lot of control over character development depending on if you chose the original or “advanced” version at the outset of the game.
Final Fantasy X-2: First direct sequel in the series. Returned to Active Time Battle, but revamped it with variable length turn bars. Also brought back the Job system, but revamped it with the ability to change Job in mid-battle. First non-linear entry in the series, with the whole world map open from the outset and the freedom to tackle challenges in whatever order you want, level and gear permitting. Also featured multiple endings according to how much optional content you saw.
Final Fantasy XI: First massively multiplayer installment in the series. First entry since the original Final Fantasy to feature a player-created character. First entry to use a freely rotatable over-the-shoulder camera rather than fixed camera angles. First entry to feature pretty-much-kinda-sort-of-real-time combat.
Final Fantasy XII: First single-player installment to feature MMO-style pretty-much-kinda-sort-of-real-time combat. First truly open-world single-player Final Fantasy in which it was possible to run from one end of the world to the other without having to go to a separate “World Map” screen. First (and only) use of the License and Gambit systems, allowing for a considerable amount of character customisation and tweaking of party members’ AI respectively.
Final Fantasy XIII: First PlayStation 3 entry in the series. First use of Paradigm system, allowing for switching of roles in mid-battle — though these weren’t the old Jobs from past installments. Changed focus in battle from micromanaging turn-based combat to switching your party lineup (and, consequently, abilities) to respond to situations. Had a lot more tactical depth than people in the last few years gave it credit for.
Final Fantasy XIII-2: Built on XIII’s base systems and mixed things up a bit with two fixed party members and a third slot taken by recruitable, trainable, nameable monsters. Featured an absolutely baffling non-linear time-travelling storyline, showing everyone that XIII’s linearity perhaps wasn’t such a bad thing after all. First Final Fantasy to have DLC. (Oh, yay.)
Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII: First second sequel in the series. First game to focus exclusively on one character (with the arguable exception of Final Fantasy XI, though you try doing anything solo in that game). Featured a Job-like system where you could change outfit in mid-combat for access to different abilities, and each outfit had its own independent Active Time Battle-esque bar. Allowed free movement and dodging in combat. Featured a non-linear, time-limited structure designed to be replayed.
Final Fantasy XIV: Second attempt at a massively multiplayer installment in the series. Massively ambitious — too much so. Gave players a great deal of freedom but not enough direction. Had a seamless open world. Technically impressive — if you could run it — but a disastrous failure.
Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn: The most impressive “phoenix from the ashes” I’ve ever seen. A Realm Reborn ditched its predecessor’s more unconventional aspects and adopted a more traditional MMO structure with a heavy focus on matchmaking cooperative content and a Job system in which you could individually level Jobs as if they were completely different characters. The most story-heavy MMO I’ve played for some time, and a true love letter to fans of the series, with guest appearances from characters including Gilgamesh, Ultros, Shantotto, Lightning and numerous others. Expanded by Heavensward.

So as you can hopefully see from that breakdown, Final Fantasy has consistently reinvented and updated itself with each installment. While the entries between IV and IX all used the Active Time Battle system for their battles, their core progression mechanics were very different to one another. And from X onwards, the series became considerably more experimental with both battle and progression mechanics; its only look back to the “line up in a row and take it in turns to hit things” approach was X-2, and even that did plenty of interesting things with the basic format.

Now we’ve established that Final Fantasy has been pretty consistently inventive throughout its considerable lifespan, XV’s approach doesn’t seem quite so scary a change. And it seems even less scary when you actually play either the Episode Duscae demo that came out around the time of Final Fantasy Type-0 HD — we didn’t even get into spinoffs in the list above, otherwise we’d be here all night — or the recently released Platinum Demo, which primarily acts as a showcase for the game’s engine and basic mechanics.

My friend Chris described Final Fantasy XV’s approach to combat as taking the philosophy behind turn-based combat and applying it to a real-time depiction. This is why you don’t button-mash — you hold a button down to attack. You have time to consider what you’re doing rather than hack-and-slash. You have limited resources to use for casting spells or defending. The strategy is there, it’s just in a slightly different form to what we might be used to.

And, having spent some time with both Episode Duscae and Platinum Demo, I’m convinced. The fluidity of the combat animations and how seamlessly you can switch from one weapon to another mid-combo is sure to make for some interesting battles, and once party members and more spectacular abilities start coming into play I don’t doubt we’ll be seeing some truly exciting setpieces, of which the battle with Behemoth in Episode Duscae is just a tame example.

Final Fantasy may not be what it used to be, then, but it’s never really been “what it used to be”, because it’s reinvented itself with each and every installment. Embrace and enjoy the change — XV genuinely does look like it’s going to be a real work of art when it’s finally with us at the end of September, and I for one can’t wait to get my hands on it.

Or, if you really can’t deal with Final Fantasy doing new things… well, there’s always Bravely Default, which absolutely is doing what Final Fantasy used to do, and I say that with great fondness.

2233: MegaNep’s True Ending: A Love Letter to the Dreamcast, and to the Player

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I cleared Megadimension Neptunia VII’s True Ending path this evening, after a horrible moment where I thought I hadn’t triggered it and would have to do the whole thing through again (which is actually not quite as monumental an undertaking as you might think) — and I was very impressed with one of the most satisfying finales I’ve seen in a story-based game for quite some time.

Mild spoilers ahead.

At the core of MegaNep’s overarching narrative is the story of Uzume Tennouboshi, a new character to the series who, like the series regulars, embodies a games console — in this case, Sega’s ahead-of-its-time Dreamcast. For those unfamiliar with their gaming hardware history, the Dreamcast was a 128-bit console that came out towards the tail end of the console generation that was primarily 32- and 64-bit: that of the original PlayStation and the Nintendo 64. It was astronomically powerful in comparison to its contemporaries and was home to some wonderful games, many of which are still fondly remembered today. But for one reason or another, it was regarded as a commercial failure, and both it and its games dropped out of mainstream distribution after just a couple of years, with the 128-bit era only starting in earnest once the PlayStation 2 shattered all expectations of what console gaming was all about following its launch in 2000.

Uzume’s identity and background is initially a mystery to Neptune and company, but over the source of MegaNep’s complete story, her past comes to light. Having once been a goddess to what is now Neptune’s domain of Planeptune, she was voluntarily sealed away due to the fact that she was unable to control her “illusion” power and largely forgotten about; an allegory for the Dreamcast being released onto the market too early and developers and publishers alike arguably not being sure how to make best use of this new power on offer.

The main villain of the piece is revealed very late in the story to be the darker side of Uzume, representing her irrational hatred and bitterness at feeling abandoned by her people. Through a complicated series of happenings too twisty-turny to describe in detail here, Neptune and her friends eventually manage to help Uzume come to terms with her past and realise that her memories have become tainted by hatred and regret; her people, in fact, loved her and cherished her, and it was with a heavy heart that they saw her sealed away for the protection of everyone.

There are two endings to MegaNep: one in which Uzume sacrifices herself to ensure her dark counterpart is not able to send a horde of monsters from her delusional “Heart Dimension” into Neptune’s Hyper Dimension, and another in which Neptune and her friends refuse to leave her to die, and ultimately help her to overcome her darkness. This latter one is the True ending, and it demonstrates beyond a shadow of a doubt that the team at Idea Factory and Compile Heart hold the Dreamcast in considerable esteem; the truth about Uzume’s past is described with such a wonderfully warm feeling of fondness that it’s hard not to feel extremely nostalgic if you happened to be there when it all happened in our world, and the Neptunia series’ biggest strength — characterisation and the feeling of bonds between these characters — really shines through as everyone expresses their love for Uzume and she, likewise, expresses her love for them.

What also made the ending satisfying, aside from this wonderfully genuine-feeling appreciation for the Dreamcast and its games, was the Neptunia series trademark “Thank You Corner”, where the cast completely break the fourth wall and address the player directly, thanking them for playing and showering them with praise for beating the game. This is always a lovely moment in every Neptunia game, but in the case of MegaNep it feels particularly heartfelt; it’s obvious that the words coming out of the mouths of the characters are actually those of the series’ creators, expressing their gratitude for the series having gone from strength to strength over the years, overcoming the adversity of its early installments’ poor reviews, widespread ignorance from the press and self-professed RPG “experts” that persists to this day, and ultimately becoming a genuinely rather wonderful franchise that I really don’t want to see the back of any time soon.

In many ways, it was like a “curtain call” for the game, and while previous Neptunia games have handled this in much the same way, there was something about this moment in MegaNep that made it more satisfying and touching than it’s ever been before. It’s a rare and wonderful feeling for a creative work to seem like it’s talking directly to you, but the Neptunia series has always felt that way, and never more so than with Megadimension Neptunia VII.

Onwards to the post-game, then; I have trophies to clean up and Colosseum battles to fight! (And in the meantime, I promise I’ll find something new to write about soon.)

2228: MegaNep: Thoughts After a First Playthrough

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Well, I finally finished Megadimension Neptunia VII for the first time. Took about 62 hours or so in the end; that was taking it fairly leisurely through the game and taking the time to unlock stuff here and there that I perhaps didn’t need to do on a first playthrough. Next up for me is a New Game Plus run in which I go for the “true” ending, which leads on to a post-game segment during which you can clean up any bits and pieces you didn’t finish off first time around. Or trophy hunt.

For now, though, I want to talk about my experiences with the game after a complete playthrough.

The first thing to say about the game is that, as I’ve mentioned before, this is Compile Heart’s finest work to date. There are no significant technical issues beyond a couple of very minor frame drops in a few places; the script and translation is excellent (although there are a few more typos than there should be); and the gameplay is satisfying, enjoyable and well-balanced.

The first and last points there address two of the biggest criticisms the Neptunia series has had since its inception. From the original PS3 game onwards, the series — and Compile Heart’s work in general — had been plagued with technical issues, most notably atrocious framerates that weren’t really justifiable given the relative simplicity of the graphics compared to bigger-budget titles that ran a whole lot better. And, again, from the original game onwards, game balance has been an off-and-on problem: the original game (and the total overhaul Re;Birth1) was inconsistent in its difficulty, erring on the side of “suddenly way too hard” without warning; sequel mk2 and its Re;Birth counterpart was much too easy (and rather short, although it does still have the widest variety of endings in the series); Victory and Re;Birth3, meanwhile, got the closest to nailing the formula, but still had a few elements that could be a bit of a pain, most notably the heavily RNG-based Scout system.

So how does MegaNep counter these original problems? Well, in the case of the technical issues, it seems that Compile Heart is significantly more comfortable developing for PS4 than PS3. MegaNep runs at a pretty consistent 60fps pretty much all of the time; the only time it drops is in particularly busy scenes such as the “sakura”-style dungeons with cherry blossoms everywhere. MegaNep is even an improvement over the company’s last game Omega Quintet, which ran very nicely in battle scenes, but which juddered a little bit in the (admirably large and sprawling) field areas. It’s not going to win any awards for looking amazing, of course, but the graphics are perfectly acceptable and, as is the norm for the series, the character models and animations are very nice indeed.

As for the gameplay balancing, Compile Heart really feel like they’ve nailed it this time around. At no point did I feel like the game was too easy or too difficult, and progression was paced well. It’s not a game that you need to grind to level 99 to be able to beat the last boss, either; my clear party consisted of characters between levels 40-60 (Nepgear being the highest at 60, not that I show her any favouritism, nosirree) and they dispatched the last boss without any difficulty. In other words, it’s a game that you can stumble your way through from start to finish without running into too much trouble, but if you go a little off the beaten track from the linear storyline, there are plenty of ways to challenge yourself — and plenty of things to do in New Game Plus, too.

The game systems, having been significantly revamped from the Victory/Re;Birth formula, work extremely well. Skills don’t feel over- or under-powered, and the basic combo attacks each character can perform are actually useful for things other than building up the EXE Drive meter now, too. Each character feels unique, too, with a variety of different skills, weapon types, combo arrangements and multi-person formation attacks to play with; there are a clearly number of “optimal” party setups that provide you with the most flexibility in terms of formation and partner moves in particular, but the systems are balanced well enough that you can take pretty much any combination you like into battle and have a good time. Oh, and while there are a few recycled dungeons from past games — it’s series tradition by this point — there’s also a ton of brand new, original content, including the wonderfully inventive (and infuriating) Neplunker dungeons as well as the mapless Senmuu Labyrinth.

Now, narrative and characterisation has never really been an issue for the Neptunia series, though my one criticism has been that it tends to have slightly weedy finales, particularly the final boss fights, which have previously been quite underwhelming at times. Pleasingly, MegaNep’s finale (at least in the ending I got) is spectacular, dramatic and even emotional; it really tugs on the heartstrings as you see what these characters — characters who many players have spent many hours with — are going through to resolve the latest crisis.

The story in general is very good; split into three distinct acts, each with their own focus and expanding scale, it’s interesting, enjoyable, varied and clever. It’s not a rehash of the previous games’ stories at all and it has worthwhile things to say, but it’s never forgotten the series’ roots in satire and parody. It’s laugh-out-loud funny in places, tearjerkingly emotional in others. It’s the best script the Neptunia characters have ever had to work with, and, like so much else about this game, feels like such a magnificent step up from the previous games that it’s a delight to see. I’ll talk more about this after I’ve seen the “true” ending and how it resolves things in an alternative manner.

In other words, it’s not just a great Neptunia game, it’s a great RPG, period. The only thing that saddens me is the fact that so many people will write it off without even giving it a shot for themselves; still, I guess that makes it all the more special for those of us in the know who can enjoy and appreciate it, both on its own merits and as, to date, the absolute pinnacle of the series.

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2225: People Asking for “Literal” Translations of Games Aren’t Looking for Google Translate

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There’s been a lot of discussion over this topic on Twitter recently, thanks in part to the recent release of Fire Emblem Fates and its somewhat controversial localisation by Nintendo of America. There’s a lot of noise and ill-informed opinion being thrown around by both “sides” of the debate, so I thought it would be a good time to stick my own oar in and muddy the waters still further.

There are basically two sides to the argument over Fire Emblem specifically. It’s actually a little more complicated than that, but for the sake of simplicity we’ll look at two core beliefs.

On one side, you have people who are arguing that they want a literal, authentic recreation of the Japanese original, only in the English language. They want character names to stay the same; they want conversations to unfold in the same way; they want all the same content that the Japanese players had in the game.

On the other, you have people who are arguing that during the localisation process, changes are both necessary and inevitable in order to fit the needs of the new market. The exact definition of these needs varies according to who you speak to — some suggest it’s to do with a corporation (Nintendo of America in this case) wanting to continue curating a very specific brand image, while others suggest it’s a cultural thing: things that are acceptable, palatable or recognisable to the original Japanese audience may mean nothing to an English-speaking demographic.

Both sides have their points. I’ve enjoyed localised games that err very much on one side or the other. Slice-of-life visual novels, for example, very much benefit from remaining true to the original Japanese as much as possible: interpersonal relationships in particular unfold in very different ways in Japan, and maintaining things like the honorifics in a text help to reflect the different ways people defer to one another according to perceived social hierarchy. Along the same lines, role-playing games that are very much steeped in Japanese culture — the Persona series is a good example — also benefit from remaining as true as possible to the original Japanese script as much as possible, since, like visual novels, the relationships between characters are often dependent on Japanese societal norms rather than Western ones.

On the other side of the fence, some more drastic localisations have been very good, too. Few people would argue that the Ace Attorney series is extraordinarily well written in its English incarnation, but it’s very different to its Japanese counterpart, largely because a lot of the puns and jokes in the original Japanese simply wouldn’t make sense in English. Same with the Neptunia series, whose original translation by NIS America is the source of some ire for more die-hard fans, but which has also remained the standard by which the series continues to be localised today. And the same with Final Fantasy XIV, whose floridly Shakespearean script was so good in English a lot of the changes actually ended up backported into Japanese.

Personally speaking, my priority for the most part is getting to play games that I wouldn’t otherwise have the chance to play. I don’t like content being cut and I don’t like feeling that the experience I’m having is noticeably inferior to the Japanese original, but if it’s a game I want to play and the changes are relatively unobtrusive — Dungeon Travelers 2 is a good example, since this is technically “censored” in places through the modification of a few images, but the changes are minor at best, and the game probably wouldn’t have seen release if they hadn’t been made — then I’ll happily support the efforts of companies who attempt to bring games over as unscathed as possible.

I can’t say I feel massively strongly about Fire Emblem Fates in particular because I have no real attachment to the series, but there are a number of issues with the localisation that I really don’t like. One is the removal of content that wasn’t offensive in the first place — the “head-patting” minigame, which is a reflection of the Japanese tendency to use head-pats as a sign of affection — not necessarily attraction or lust — between characters. Another is the outright butchering of the script that has taken place in a number of parts, most notably the support conversation between two characters which was an in-depth discussion of finding common ground, honour among thieves and whatnot in Japanese, but which has been replaced with four screens of them going “…” to each other in English. That is not, in any way, acceptable localisation, because it’s completely changing the original intent of the scene.

Now onto the point I wanted to make with the title of this post: the “localisation means changes” brigade have a couple of favourite arguments. Let’s take them in turn.

You want a literal translation? Run the script through Google Translate and see how you like it.

This is by far the most common, and it’s based on a flawed assumption: the fact that people asking for a “literal” translation are literally asking for a literal translation, when they’re not. In a way, it’s their own fault for using the word “literal” perhaps incorrectly; “authentic” or “true to the original” might be a better description, but “literal” is the term that people tend to prefer to use, so let’s stick with that for now.

No, as I discussed above, the people who want a “literal” translation are not asking for the text to be run through Google Translate, because, among other reasons, the differences in grammar between languages butchers the original intent of the scene beyond all recognition. What they are asking for is the scene to be correctly translated into its closest possible English equivalent, without any changes based on perceived appropriateness according to Western cultural norms. What they are also asking for is the maintaining of the text’s “Japaneseness” as much as possible: that means maintaining the use of honorifics and concepts with no direct translation such as senpai and the use of onii-san/onee-san to people who aren’t your brother/sister.

That’s not a particularly unreasonable ask, is it? Doesn’t that show a degree of respect to the original creators, an awareness of your audience and also has the added benefit of potentially teaching people about another culture? Some games actually run with this concept; visual novel Steins;Gate, for example, features an interactive hyperlinked glossary of Japanese terminology used in the game, including Japanese Internet memes and slang as well as more widespread cultural concepts.

So no. People asking for a “literal” translation aren’t asking for the script to be fed through the mangler that is Google Translate. So stop responding to arguments they aren’t making.

You want the authentic experience? Just learn Japanese. Oh, I forgot, learning a language is more difficult than complaining.

The whole point of localisation is so that new audiences have access to works from other cultures. Through a culture’s art, we can learn about them, understand them, appreciate them — or, in some cases, be happy with what we’ve got ourselves! By mangling the cultural authenticity of a text, be it by inserting random Internet memes — which not only spoil the character of the piece in most cases, they also date it horribly — or by stripping out elements that made it authentically “Japanese” in the first place, you’re doing a disservice to the original work, and to the audience who wants to know more about another culture that they find fascinating.

Moreover, a lot of people who argue in favour of drastic localisation changes are the same people who are constantly bleating on about buzzword of the moment “diversity” — used here to mean “celebrating anything that isn’t by a white man”. Isn’t stomping all over the text of another culture using Western sensibilities the very antithesis of the “diversity” that seems to be the Holy Grail among progressive types at the moment?

Anyway. Asking people to learn Japanese isn’t a terrible argument: not only does it let you play the original versions of localised games, it also gives you access to a huge library of titles that never make it across the ocean. But it’s also not a particularly practical option for a lot of people. Japanese is a complicated language that takes a long time to learn, and some people simply don’t have the right kind of mindset to effectively study a new language, particularly if they’re a little older and their brain finds it more difficult to take in entirely new language-related information. Should people who are unable to study Japanese for whatever reason be denied access to authentic experiences? No, of course not.

I’ve seen both sides of this argument unfolding recently and it’s frankly getting rather tiresome — mostly because many of the arguments, as we’ve seen above, are based on mistaken assumptions. This has been a worryingly growing trend over the last few years, and it’s this, in part, that has led to the overwhelmingly negative atmosphere a lot of online interactions carry over their heads these days; everyone is afraid to offend everyone else.

In this instance, I would be inclined to defer to the opinions of people who passionately consume Japanese games and other media, and who want an authentic experience from their localised material. It’s not as if we’re short of Western experiences for people who find heavily Japanese titles “too Japanese” or otherwise inaccessible for some reason, and ultimately keeping things as true to their original form as possible helps everyone to understand each other that little bit better, which is surely the best possible outcome to all this.

But I’m sure this argument will keep raging and no-one will pay any attention to what I’ve said here, so what do I know…

1174: The Second Tower

I beat Ar Tonelico II: Melody of Metafalica this evening. Or, more accurately, I saw one of its four endings. Two of the other endings won’t be particularly difficult to obtain with the tactical saves I made on the way to the finale, but the last remaining one will require playing about 80% of the game again, albeit with a completely different second “phase”. I’ll probably take care of that last ending alongside a new game, which will either be Hyperdimension Neptunia Victory or the third Ar Tonelico game, both of which I anticipate I will be enthusing about considerably on these pages in the very near future if previous instalments in their respective franchises are anything to go by.

Anyway, Ar Tonelico II. It’s… well, fantastic. I must confess to having not been as immediately smitten with it as I was the first game, as the conflicting art styles between the field and battle sprites (and between the field sprites of the first game and the second game) were initially a little jarring. (Seriously, everyone has really, really big hands and massive feet on the field maps and it’s very disconcerting to begin with.) But after not very long at all, I found myself looking past this rather superficial consideration and immersing myself in what turned out to be a very pleasingly deep and meaningful story packed with good characterisation and questionable translation from the original Japanese. (On that note, though, the translation was at least understandable despite a few errors, and certainly no worse than some visual novels I’ve played.)

Spoilarz Ahead

Ar Tonelico II stands on its own, but also fits into the current “trilogy” as the sort of “dark middle episode”. Whereas the first Ar Tonelico was rather bright and breezy most of the way through, the land of Ar Tonelico II is a bit bleaker. The people are struggling, there isn’t enough land for everyone and everyone is clinging to the seemingly hopeless desire that the land’s Holy Maiden will be able to create “Metafalica” — a verdant green land summoned through the use of Reyvateil Song Magic. Plenty of political machinations and backstabbings threaten to fuck everything up completely (and pretty much do on several occasions over the course of the entire narrative) but, this being a JRPG, our plucky band of heroes are there to wander the lands, right wrongs and eventually figure out how in the world they are going to help everyone find hope for the future.

Ar Tonelico II’s story is nice in that it isn’t quite the clichéd “Big Bad wants to destroy the world” business. Sure, there’s world-threatening stuff going on and the eventual aim of the game is to save the world from an unpleasant fate, but it’s not quite what you might expect. For starters, you spend most of the game not being quite sure who the “good” and “bad” guys are. There’s no sign of a single easily-identifiable antagonist who is fucking shit up and needs a good Omnislash to the face; no white-haired pretty boy accompanied by tubular bells and organ music every time he appears. In fact, over the course of the narrative, none of these characters are presented as one-dimensional — most of them go through some sort of change and/or growth as the story progresses.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about Ar Tonelico II in this regard is the fact that the final boss “Mir” from the first game is actually a party member in the second — though you don’t know this when you first meet her, and in fact it’s entirely possible to go through pretty much the whole game without noticing this or figuring it out, depending on the choices you make and the optional events you witness. Not having played the first game won’t affect your enjoyment of the second, but if you have played the first game, the moment where you find yourself going “Wait… OH. Mir?!” is a “big reveal” on a par with Darth Revan in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic or SHODAN’s first appearance in System Shock 2.

Herein lies one of the interesting things about the first two Ar Tonelico games in general: “good” and “evil” aren’t absolute. In Ar Tonelico, we get some insight into why Mir is the way she is and why she is so angry about everything — and it’s easy to find yourself sympathising with her rather than just wanting to kick her ass. In Ar Tonelico II, by spending some time with her as a (relatively) normal person, we get to find out a whole lot more about her — what happened to her in the distant past, what led her to her actions in the first game, and how she feels about what has happened to her then and since. If you follow her “route” through to its complete conclusion in Ar Tonelico II, it’s a really wonderful story arc for one of the most interesting, troubled characters I’ve encountered in a very long time. I don’t yet know if she shows up in Ar Tonelico Qoga, the third game, but I’ll be very happy to see her again if she does.

The overriding theme of the Ar Tonelico series is that of bonds between people, and this is particularly apparent in the second game. The main theme of Ar Tonelico II’s story is that the more intense a relationship between two or more people, the more painful it is. The more people you surround yourself with, the more “alive” you feel from being part of something bigger than yourself, but the more pain you suffer when you lose those precious people. The world-ending chaos at the end of Ar Tonelico II is not brought about by a desire for dominance or a display of power, but instead out of a simple desire to not feel that sharp pain of loss any longer. If everyone was able to abandon their physical bodies and live on purely as an individual spiritual entity, the primary antagonist’s theory goes, no-one would have any need for other people, no-one would feel the pain of loss, and everyone would be happy in their complete and total individuality. But, responds the protagonist, no-one would be truly alive then. Life would not have meaning drawn from the people around you and the hardships you work together to overcome. You’d be little more than data.

It’s an interesting and somewhat bittersweet message, but it works hugely well in the context of both the overarching plot and the smaller, individual character-led stories that unfold over the course of the whole game. I’m all for exploring deep and thought-provoking themes through interactive entertainment, and Ar Tonelico II successfully achieves that without sacrificing the “spectacular” side of its overall experience. It’s still recognisably a JRPG with all the over-the-top pyrotechnics and anime-style special attacks that entails, but at the same time it’s a complex and emotional tale far beyond the “Evil Guy Is Over There, Go Stab Him” trope that people (largely incorrectly) assume still characterises the genre.

In other words, just go play it, all right?

1145: Metafalica

I’ve been continuing to play Ar Tonelico II and it’s really rather good. One thing I’ve found particularly endearing about it is the fact that just when you think you’ve got a handle on the way it does things, it goes and does something else interesting just to throw you off a bit. And yet even despite all these mechanics that get added over time, it still feels like a coherent experience as a whole.

Let’s take the stage I’ve got up to now — “Phase 2” in game terms. In the first Ar Tonelico, the change from Phase 1 to Phase 2 marked the point where you were out of the “exposition” chapter and into the plot proper. Phase 2 was also the point where you had to choose between the two heroines, and then had two completely separate (but related) storylines to follow along with. The paths then reconverged towards the end of Phase 2 and remained together for the (completely optional) Phase 3, which offered the “true” ending of the game.

Phase 2 in Ar Tonelico II is a bit different. Rather than, like the first one, being set in the same locations and simply branching off in two different directions, Phase 2 of Ar Tonelico II takes place in a completely different area that works completely differently to the environment you’ve spent the previous 12 hours in. The early part of the game is, aside from its many and varied peculiar gameplay systems, relatively conventional — you visit towns and do stuff in them, then you go to dungeons. Then you go back to towns. And so on. The linear plotline is broken up by an optional “hunting” sidequest in which you can track down various “I.P.D.”-infected Reyvateils to add to your “Girl Power” arsenal (I’m not even going to get started explaining that, I’ll be here all day) but for the most part, you’re doing the usual JRPG business.

Phase 2, meanwhile, takes place in an environment that changes according to your choices. Early in the Phase, you’re introduced to a new mechanic known as the Infelsphere. This virtual world works in a similar way to the “cosmospheres” found inside the heroines’ minds, but rather than reflecting their inner turmoil and anxieties, the Infelsphere represents the relationship between the two heroines and how they understand each other. Events unfold in the Infelsphere in which you have to make choices as to how to respond, and the choices you make in the Infelsphere subsequently affect what parts of the “real world” open and close to you. Your eventual goal is to get to a specific location by navigating your way through a maze of these pathways that open and close according to how the Infelsphere events unfold, with each point on the path containing some sort of “trial” to overcome. This might be as simple as defeating a monster, or it might be a challenge such as successfully smuggling biscuits past the penguin-like “Pippen” creatures.

Thematically, in each of these trials, you’re “proving your love” to one of the heroines, which subsequently provides you with keys to unlock new events in the Infelsphere, and so it continues. It’s a really peculiar, really interesting structure that not only offers some unconventional JRPG gameplay in the “real world” sections, but also provides some intriguing insights into the characters and the way they respond to various situations in the Infelsphere component.

You’ll notice I haven’t really mentioned the plot in this description, and that’s deliberate, as discussing the plot surrounding all this would be a massive spoiler, so I’ll spare you that — for now, anyway. What I am finding particularly pleasing about Ar Tonelico II as a whole, though, is that even if it didn’t have a compelling plot and awesome characters — which it does — it would still have rock-solid gameplay with an absolute bucketload of things to do. It is just one of the many, many examples out there that prove JRPGs are far more than the “ATTACK, MAGIC, ITEM”-fests that ill-informed detractors of the genre assume these games still are.

They haven’t been that way for a long time, people. So if you haven’t played a JRPG since Final Fantasy VII I strongly recommend you check out what the genre has done since then — you might just be very pleasantly surprised by what you find.

1138: Song Magic

Been playing some more Ar Tonelico 2 this evening, and I’m liking it a great deal. Like its predecessor, it has a very pleasing system of “feature creep” whereby it starts out feeling rather straightforward but gradually, over the course of the early stages of the game, introduces more and more new and interesting mechanics until you have something that is very, very distinctive.

In the original Ar Tonelico, we were introduced to the basic combat system; then the way it worked when you have the magic-using Reyvateil characters in your party; the Dive system, in which you could explore the inner recesses of the heroine’s mental “cosmosphere” worlds; the “bedtime conversations” system whereby the protagonist and the heroines could get to know each other a bit better (and subsequently unlock deeper levels in the cosmosphere); the “Grathmeld” crafting system, whereby you could take all the junk you’d acquired from the hundreds of NYO?!s you’d killed and turn them into various items, then enjoy some amusing scenes as the heroines try and convince you to let them name the item something ridiculous; and the “Install” system, whereby you’re able to insert crystals into the heroines (and yes, they relish the opportunity for innuendo inherent in this process) to power up their various abilities and customise the effect of their spells.

In Ar Tonelico 2, meanwhile, we’re first of all introduced to a new and rather odd combat system in which the two sides in the combat alternate attacking and defending for a set period of time — when attacking, you have to press buttons corresponding to the party member you’d like to attack and combine it with a directional button to do a specific move; when defending, you have to time button presses carefully to protect the back-line Reyvateil “mages” from attack, if they’re present. The way the Reyvateils work is then introduced — a weird meter in the corner of the screen reflects what they want the front line to do, and fulfilling their demands provides bonuses, helping them to cast more effective spells more quickly. Then, once again, we have the Dive system, which works largely as it did before, albeit with a lot more multiple-choice bits where you have to say the right thing to proceed. Then we have the “I.P.D.” system, whereby part of the plot dictates that you have to subdue and capture Reyvateils that are infected with I.P.D., which hasn’t been explained yet. Then we have a slightly different crafting system, whereby certain items can only be crafted in certain places (you can only make food in a restaurant kitchen, for example), and the same recipe has different outcomes depending on which heroine you get to help.

Then things get a little odd. “Dualstalling” replaces the “Install” system from the previous game, and is the only way of levelling up Reyvateils, who no longer gain experience normally. Instead, at regular opportunities, you have to let them take a bath in water infused with crystals you’ve collected or purchased. During the bath (which looks rather large and luxurious, I must say), they wander around a bit, and if they pass over one of the crystals they dropped in, they gain a temporary special effect until the next time they bathe. And if you drop in toys (bath toys, you pervert) and scented oils, different effects might emerge. Oh, and if both heroines are bathing together, they’ll often chat about things, too, which helps improve their “sync” value, which in turn helps them fight more effectively together in combat.

Then we have the “Dive Therapy” system, which I was introduced to in tonight’s session. Now the subdued I.P.D.-infected Reyvateils have a purpose — they can be “cured” by one of the characters, who is a Dive therapist. Indulging in Dive Therapy involves talking to the Reyvateil and attempting to manipulate her mood to its ideal level on a meter at the top of the screen. Administering various treatments can affect the rate at which this meter changes with each response you give to their statements. Some responses increase the meter, others drop it, and each infected Reyvateil has a “sweet spot” where the meter needs to be in order to be cured.

That’s not all you can do with them, though. The cured Reyvateils then bugger off and scatter themselves around the world to form a fan club for one of the heroines, and their affection for her increases as they see her doing cool stuff. When their affection maxes out, they will help out — exactly how, I’m not sure yet, but we’ll see.

Oh, and also through the “Girl Power” system you can “equip” rescued Reyvateils to help the protagonist out in various ways. They then level up and improve their abilities and… waah, my head hurts.

All these weird and wonderful mechanics may sound overwhelming, but they’re introduced at just the right rate. You’re shown a new concept, then given a period of time in which to explore it in practical terms. Then another one comes along, and you can explore that. And so it continues. The nice thing is that only a few of these mechanics are “spoiled” in the game’s manual, meaning the existence of things like the Dive Therapy system and various other bits and pieces are a nice surprise when you come across them for the first time. (Unless you’ve read this post first, of course.)

On the one hand, it’s nice to be ready for all the game’s mechanics and be able to refer back to a manual when you need to. But on the other, it’s quite interesting (and oddly liberating) to play a game that trusts you to experiment a bit and figure out what on Earth (Metafalss?) is going on. Take the Dualstalling system, for example — while the help menu in the game explains roughly how it works, it’s only by fiddling around with various arrangements of bathtime goodies that you’ll figure out the most effective means of letting your mage-ladies wash their stinky bits and level up.

Basically, Ar Tonelico 2’s more esoteric features are something you’ll either be on board with or not. As you’ve probably gathered, I love them — and besides, are they really any more weird than summoning giant chariot-riding penis demons by fusing cards together, or sucking the magic out of monsters to somehow attach to your own strength? No. No they’re not. So shush.

1135: Melody of… The Other Place

As I noted yesterday, I completed Ar Tonelico: Melody of Elemia. So naturally, having discovered a new RPG series that I like very much, what’s a boy to do but to make an immediate start on the sequel, much to the delight of my Ar Tonelico-adoring friend who convinced me to play the damn things in the first place?

Ar Tonelico 2: Melody of Metafalica is a surprisingly different beast to its predecessor in many ways. Its Japanese incarnation came out in the same year as the first Ar Tonelico hit Western shores, but it wouldn’t be until 2009 that North American and European players would get their hands on it. That actually makes it a surprisingly recent game, released in the twilight of the PS2 era. This might explain why I never really paid it much mind first time around (besides being unfamiliar with the prequel, obviously) — everyone (including me) was already well and truly enraptured by “next gen” by that point, though games like Persona 4 (which also came out in 2009 in Europe) had shown me that the previous generation still had plenty to offer.

The whole Ar Tonelico experience has had a complete overhaul in Ar Tonelico 2. Gone are the distinctly PS1-ish isometric-perspective graphics (though I actually sort of miss them now), replaced with hand-drawn backdrops in towns and a pleasing combination of polygons, flat objects and fixed camera angles to create “3D” dungeons. The sprites, too, have had a bit of a change in aesthetic — they have peculiar, stylised proportions now, which frankly has taken a little adjusting to, but the improved amount of emotive animation on them makes up for the fact that everyone has really, really distractingly massive hands.

The biggest change is in the battle system, however. I liked Ar Tonelico’s battle system, as it combined conventional JRPG turn-based battling with an interesting magic system that encouraged you to find creative ways to finish battles “well” rather than quickly. It was a bit repetitive by the end, however, and it was consistently way too easy pretty much all the way through the entire game.

Ar Tonelico 2’s battle system, meanwhile, is a completely different beast. It’s still sort of turn-based, but not in the same way as its predecessor. Instead, the two sides in the conflict each take turns to attack and defend. When it’s your turn to attack, you have a limited amount of time to use your two “vanguard” (front line) characters to attack; when it’s your turn to defend you have to carefully time button presses to protect the back line Reyvateils from taking damage. The Reyvateils make demands on you during battle, too, requesting that you perform specific attack moves by pressing the button for the corresponding front line character and a particular direction. Fulfilling these demands gives you various bonuses that make the battle turn in your favour. It’s interesting, as it means you have to really concentrate on every battle rather than just mashing the “attack” button, but I’m yet to have a significantly challenging battle to show its full potential just yet.

The “Dive” system makes a return, and is almost identical to its predecessor. You get to know the game’s heroines in the real world by talking to them at campsites and inns, then “dive” into their mental “Cosmosphere” world to find out more about their various inner struggles and problems. Overcoming these problems helps them craft new Song Magic which you can then use in battle — plus these are entertaining mini-stories in their own right. Diving is mostly the same, though there are a lot more situations where you’re given a choice of responses to a particular situation and must pick the correct one rather than simply following it through.

In “new, weird gameplay mechanics” news we have the new Dualstall system, which replaces the “Install” mechanic from the previous game (which allowed you to boost a Reyvateil’s abilities by plugging various crystals into her… spells in a rather suggestive manner). Dualstalling essentially means flinging the game’s two heroines into a bath infused with magic crystals, nice-smelling bath oils and bath toys and letting the attached abilities, uh, be absorbed. The heroines will also have a good chat in the bath, so this is a good way of building up their “Sync” gauge, which helps them work together better in battle.

So far I’m about four hours into the new game and enjoying it a lot so far. The change in aesthetic and gameplay style gave me a bit of “culture shock” initially but that thankfully soon faded, and I’m now enjoying the story and characters just as before. It’s interesting to note that the game still feels recognisable as an Ar Tonelico game, yet has a different setting (albeit in the same overall world), different characters and different gameplay mechanics. I’m assuming that the third game (which is where the series made the jump to PS3) will be “similarly different”, too, judging by a quick flick through the manual.

Further reports as events warrant.

1134: Melody of Elemia

I completed Ar Tonelico: Melody of Elemia this evening. What a fine, fine game that was. I’ll be writing somewhat more “professionally” for want of a better word about it this Wednesday over on Games Are Evil, but for now I just wanted to enthuse a little about the great experience that was that game. There may be some spoilers ahead; be forewarned.

The most immediately striking thing about Ar Tonelico for a new player coming to it for the first time in 2013 is that it looks old. It’s also worth noting that it came out in 2007, so it actually looked pretty old when it first came out. That said, after a few hours of play, the low-resolution isometric-perspective sprite-based graphics cease to matter on a technical level, and the amount of character and personality in them starts to shine through. A friend of mine just noted that the visual style is actually something of a successor to stuff like Secret of Mana and the like and that’s a great comparision — I’m kicking myself for not figuring that out sooner.

Outside of the in-game graphics, Ar Tonelico has some absolutely lovely character designs. Lyner may look fairly “generic JRPG hero” in his stylings, but at least he has some personality about him. The two heroines Aurica and Misha are both attractive and appealing in completely different ways, and a plot twist I won’t go into here sees you interacting with Misha in both her “spunky young girl” and “equally spunky young woman” forms. The third Reyvateil introduced later in the game also proves herself to be an interesting character in her own right, again with her own unique visual style and “appeal elements”.

One of the most interesting things about the game to me — and the thing I’m intending to write about this Wednesday — is the game’s multi-route, multi-ending structure. Now, this could very easily be a recipe for disaster, as multiple endings in lengthy RPGs are often a good method to ensure your players won’t see all of the awesome story content you made. That’s not necessarily a bad thing — it’s kind of cool when you can discuss a game with a friend and discover they had a completely different experience to you — but it’s also frustrating to some people who like to know they’ve got everything they can out of a game before moving on.

Ar Tonelico’s multiple endings and routes are handled in a rather peculiar manner. There are three “phases” to the game, each of which is a complete story arc in and of itself, complete with final boss confrontation at the end of each. Early in the second “phase”, you have the opportunity to go with one of the two heroines and experience their story. Aurica’s story gives you an overall view of what is going on in the overarching plot of the game, while Misha’s story gives you a more personal view of what is going on with her and how she is relevant to everything. If you play Misha’s route first, there are a number of scenes you see completely without context that don’t really make sense. If you play Aurica’s route, however, you play an important part in these scenes. The two paths then converge towards the end of the second phase, and the game then apparently ends — the credits roll and everything.

There’s a twist, though. In a post-credits sequence, you get to run around and do all the usual JRPG “our party’s splitting up, say goodbye” business, but once you’ve done all that, you’re presented with another choice: live a happy life with [insert girl you chose here], or refuse to accept that as “the end” and move on. If the latter option is chosen, you find yourself entering a completely optional third phase that is about 20 hours by itself, and which leads to the “true” ending.

Except in that third phase, there are four possible endings, three of which relate to one of the three heroine characters — the latter of whom only becomes a major player in this third phase. The third phase is pretty much identical regardless of which girl you picked earlier, but the very end — if you fulfilled some very precise conditions — allows you to pick between the girl you chose earlier and the new addition. There’s also a “bad” ending relatively early in the third phase that basically says “I can’t be bothered with all this sidequesting, let’s just get this over with”.

So that’s a total of… hang on… (counts) six endings? Fortunately, there’s absolutely no need to play through the game six times to see all of them — instead, you can play through once, save before the “big decision” in phase 2, play one route to either the end of phase 2 or to complete completion in phase 3, then go back and do the other route, stopping wherever you didn’t stop first time around. In my case, I played Aurica’s route through to total completion, then played Misha’s route to the natural end at the conclusion of phase 2. I don’t feel like I missed out on anything, and it only required me to play less than 10 hours over and above what I’d already played anyway. And I feel rewarded for having done so — I have a deeper understanding of the story as a whole, and particularly the characters.

So that’s Ar Tonelico — a really, really excellent JRPG and surprisingly thought-provoking if you can look past the notorious innuendo (of which there isn’t anywhere near as much as people make out). It’s also in possession of I think the best soundtrack I think I’ve ever heard in a JRPG… though I’m about to start Ar Tonelico 2 as I type this, so I may well be revising that statement in the near future!