#oneaday Day 114: dotHack and Slash

I’ve been playing .hack//Infection for the last couple of days on PlayStation 2. I’ve had the full set of four games on my shelf for a very long time and been meaning to properly run through them all, but have somehow never gotten around to it. I have previously completed Infection a very long time ago, but I’ve never gone through all four games and seen how it all ends — nor have I been spoiled on any of it. I also own a copy of the .hack//G.U. remasters on PlayStation 4, so I’ll have to get to those at some point, too, but I wanted to knock out the PS2 games first.

For the unfamiliar, .hack was one of the first (possibly the first) “MMO gone mad, if you die in the game you die for real” series. Unusually, it was designed from the outset as a fully transmedia production: not only were there four PS2 games in the series, each of these games also came with a DVD featuring an episode of a specially made anime known as .hack//Liminality which tells a “real world” story that unfolds concurrently with the events of the game, and there was a completely separate anime series known as .hack//Sign. Since that time, there have apparently been several other anime and manga series, along with the aforementioned .hack//G.U. trilogy of games, which originated on PS2 but which were ported to PS4 in 2017.

That may all sound terribly complicated, but be at ease: you can have a satisfying .hack experience if you just play the games. .hack//Infection, the first of the original set of four games, tells the story of “you”, an 8th grader who has just signed up for the hottest new MMO, The World, at the recommendation of your friend Yasuhiko, a veteran player. You join up and in that inimitable “early 2000s MMO” sort of way, you party up with Yasuhiko, or “Orca” as he’s known in the game, who destroys absolutely everything before you can even get a hit in by virtue of him being 50 levels higher than you.

But something goes horribly wrong. After an encounter with a mysterious young girl who is seemingly being chased by a bizarre creature carrying a red wand, Orca is entrusted with a strange book and shortly afterwards, his character is “Data Drained”, leaving the real Yasuhiko comatose. You end up taking possession of the book, which manifests itself as a strange bracelet that equips you with the power to Data Drain enemies in the game, and it’s then up to you to investigate the strange happenings in The World and determine if there’s any truth to the game seemingly having an impact on the real world.

The cool thing about .hack//Infection is that the entire PS2 game is diegetic, intended to represent you using your computer to check your mail, read the news and log in to The World. You never see the actual real world yourself in the game — hence the inclusion of the Liminality DVDs — but instead all your investigation is online. This unfolds through a combination of you checking and replying to mails (with predefined responses) and browsing through the official message boards for The World, looking for clues.

Canonically, .hack//Infection is supposed to be unfolding in 2010, but obviously in 2002 developers CyberConnect2 had to make something of a best guess as to what that near-future setting might look like. They actually got a fair few things right, such as high-speed, always-on Internet access being pretty much universal and fibre-optic cables being the main means of this infrastructure being implemented — though here in the real world, fibre broadband is a little more recent than 2010.

What’s quite interesting is the design of The World itself, because it could quite plausibly work as an online RPG — though perhaps not in the way that western players understood “MMOs” at the time. For context, World of Warcraft came out in 2004, two years after .hack//Infection, so “MMO” up until that point in the west meant either EverQuest or Ultima Online.

The World is closer in execution to something like Sega’s Phantasy Star Online from 2000 in that there are small, shared communal areas (known as “Root Towns”) where you can hang out with other players, but your actual fighting and questing takes place in discrete areas that you teleport to rather than exploring a coherent world. It’s not quite the same as the “instanced” areas seen in World of Warcraft and, later, Final Fantasy XIV, as you can meet up with other players who happen to be visiting the same area, but the nature of how The World is structured means that you’re relatively unlikely to stumble across someone at random.

Anyway, let’s not get bogged down too much in details as I’ll probably want to write about this on MoeGamer once I’m finished. Suffice to say for now that .hack//Infection and its subsequent parts unfold as a combination of you just flat-out playing The World to get treasure, gear and helpful items, and gradually working your way through the core mystery at the heart of everything. At most points in the game, you can put the main plot on hold and just go dungeon-crawling to your heart’s content — and it’s probably advisable to, since you’ll need to level both your own character and the various companions you can recruit to your cause.

.hack//Infection is somewhat clunky by more recent action RPG standards, but once you get a feel for it and an understanding of its mechanics, it’s enjoyable. There’s a variety of enemies to deal with, and their different strengths and weaknesses will often require you to think about various strategies to deal with them. And, since the game is supposed to be simulating an MMO, you can pretty much concentrate on your own play; any companions you bring with you will usually do a pretty good job of fighting alongside you, though you can issue various orders to them if you need them to, say, heal or unleash their most powerful abilities. You can also micromanage their equipment to a certain degree, and since equipment has skills attached, by doing this you can try and optimise them for the challenges you’re about to face.

I can completely understand the criticisms of .hack from back in the day. It is repetitive. The dungeons are very obviously constructed from pre-built blocks with different textures put atop them, and there’s not a lot of variation to them. And yet there’s something about .hack that I’ve always found fascinating and compelling. I think it’s the oddly menacing atmosphere the whole thing has; The World, as a game, is designed to be cheerful and colourful, but it’s very obvious that there are dark things going on beneath the surface, and that the players of the game are clearly being used for some nefarious purpose.

I’m in no rush to plough through all four games, but I’ve enjoyed making a start on .hack//Infection this weekend, and as a long term project I’m looking forward to seeing how it all comes together in the end. And there will, of course, be in-depth articles on MoeGamer (and possibly videos) to go along with it.

Want to read my thoughts on various video games, visual novels and other popular culture things? Stop by MoeGamer.net, my site for all things fun where I am generally a lot more cheerful. And if you fancy watching some vids on classic games, drop by my YouTube channel.

2452: Dark Cloud, Revisited

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I first played Level-5’s Dark Cloud midway through the PlayStation 2’s lifecycle. I recall enjoying it enough to finish it, but finding it lacking in a few areas compared to some other role-playing games that were around at the time. Most of the criticisms I had of Dark Cloud were addressed by its sequel (known as Dark Chronicle here in Europe for some reason) but, regardless, I still have fond memories of the original.

Looking for something to fill the gap between now and Final Fantasy XV at the end of next month, I remembered that I’d bought several PS4 revamps of Level-5 games when they were part of a sale ages ago, but never booted them up. (Specifically, I got Dark Cloud, Dark Chronicle and Rogue Galaxy, the latter of which I’ve never played at all.) Since I played the demo of Dragon Quest Builders earlier in the week and heard it compared favourably to Dark Cloud and its sequel, I decided to fire up Dark Cloud and take another look, a good (probably) ten years or more after I played the original.

Interestingly, having played it for a couple of hours this evening, I’m finding myself liking it a lot more than when I played it the first time around. I’m not sure if it’s a matter of my tastes changing (which, although I know they have a bit, haven’t drifted that far away from what I enjoyed 10+ years ago) or if Dark Cloud has just aged very gracefully, but either way, I like it a lot.

For those who weren’t around for Dark Cloud first time around for one reason or another, here’s the gist. You play a teenage boy who looks a bit like a non-elfin Link in a poncho, who is a silent protagonist for the course of the adventure. In the opening moments of the game, your village is destroyed by a Dark Genie which, moments before, we saw had been unleashed on the world by an obviously evil gentleman in an M.Bison uniform and sporting a spectacular moustache. Somehow, you manage to survive through a windmill falling on top of you as you rescue your childhood friend and obvious love interest Paige from certain death.

Awakening to find your village nothing more than a bare patch of land, you start hearing voices. Specifically, the Fairy King decides you are his chosen one, and blesses you with the magical gem Atlamillia, which apparently will enable you to rebuild the world. Conveniently, the Fairy King explains, he managed to seal away all the people and buildings of the world in magical spheres called Atla to prevent them from certain annihilation at the hands of the Dark Genie, but unfortunately this wasn’t enough to stop them from being scattered all over the place, with most of them rather inconveniently rolling in to local dungeons.

What then unfolds is a rather unusual adventure that alternates between action-RPG dungeon crawling in randomly generated maps, and a top-down building arrangement game called the Georama. The latter is sometimes described as a “sim”, but it’s not anything like as deep as something like ActRaiser or Dragon Quest Builders — all you have to do is find the component parts of each building, plop them down on the map, talk to the residents to figure out the right part of the map to put their building in (and which direction to face, in some cases) and then your job is done. In other words, there’s no actual “management” required beyond making sure everything is in the right place, making it more of a puzzle than a simulation.

The Georama does give the dungeon crawling a unique twist, however — as well as finding treasures that your own character can use, you’re also finding people and places, and in turn these can unlock new facilities for you to make use of when you return to the surface. Once you rebuild the Odd Gaffer’s Buggy, for example, he’ll start selling you items. Rebuild Paige’s house and her father will teach you to fish. Even seemingly incidental houses will reward you with special events and items when you complete and place them correctly.

The Georama gameplay gives Dark Cloud an interesting sense of personality. Because you’re quite literally rebuilding these people’s lives from nothing, you get to know them quite well; far from being the random, anonymous NPCs you get wandering around towns in more conventional role-playing games, Dark Cloud’s characters all have names and personalities. Some of them get along with one another; some of them don’t (in which case you’ll need to make sure their houses are far apart!).

Meanwhile, the dungeon crawling, although action-based, has plenty of aspects to get your teeth into. Your main concern, at least early in the game, is the game of “press your luck” you play with your supplies, because not only do you have to make sure your HP don’t run out, you also have to keep yourself watered and ensure that your weapon doesn’t break. This latter aspect is of particularly key importance, because weapons can be customised and level up through use, meaning if you break one it can potentially be absolutely heartbreaking.

The weapon growth and customisation system takes the place of a traditional experience and levels system. Instead, each weapon has its own level, with most capping at 5. Once they’ve capped, however, you can turn them into a gem that can be attached to another weapon in order to transfer some of the capped weapon’s statistics and attributes. When the new weapon is upgraded, it absorbs the gem and becomes far more powerful than it would have been through just upgrading alone. Ultimately it becomes possible to construct some formidable weapons, making it all the more important that you don’t inadvertently snap the blade on a passing rock monster.

Dark Cloud is charming and enjoyable, and there are still relatively few games quite like it; even Dragon Quest Builders itself is a distinct experience, focusing more on the town-building and crafting side of things than dungeon crawling. I think I made a good choice in revisiting it, and I’m looking forward to playing some more soon.

2410: Sounds of Vana’Diel

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Talking to some of my Final Fantasy XIV friends today, I realised quite what an impact XIV’s predecessor Final Fantasy XI had on me, even though I never really got that far with it in the long term.

As with many other things throughout my life, the thing that has stayed with me for the longest ever since I played it for the first time is the music. (Incidentally, the music is, more than anything, the reason why I find I can’t stay away from Final Fantasy XIV for long, even when, as I did recently, I think I’m “over it”.)

Final Fantasy XI’s music is not as well known as many of the other soundtracks in the series, primarily because XI itself is not as well known as the other Final Fantasy games that have been released over the years. It’s not as technically accomplished as XIV’s diverse soundtrack, and it’s not the work of series veteran Nobuo Uematsu (who hasn’t been quite as involved with the series in more recent years) but it is nonetheless made up of a selection of rather lovely pieces of music.

Here are a few that make me feel suitably nostalgic every time I hear them.

This music, simply called Ronfaure after the area in which it plays, is one of my favourite pieces from Final Fantasy XIV, because it pretty much sums up the overall atmosphere of the game: vaguely melancholic and rather traditional.

Final Fantasy XI is — at least, from what I remember — one of the more traditionally-set Final Fantasy games, with an emphasis on good old swords, shields, magic, orcs and goblins. Its soundtrack reflects this, and is a contrast to XIV’s diverse track listing, which reflects the diversity of XIV’s world itself.

The first character I played in Final Fantasy XI — and the only one that ever got anywhere to date — hailed from the Federation of Windurst, and thus his starting area was Sarutabaruta, which featured this wonderfully calming piece of music to accompany your exploration.

Sarutabaruta was a land of grassy meadows and sunshine; a thoroughly pleasant place to have a stroll, were it not for the monsters wandering here and there, of course.

One of the things I liked most about Final Fantasy XI, even after I played World of Warcraft for the first time, was the fact that it had a battle theme. Well, actually it had several according to your progress and whether or not you were in a party, but this one was likely to be the first one you heard as you stepped out of the gates of your starting city for the first time and prepared to have the shit kicked out of you by a small bumblebee. (FFXI was an MMO designed in the EverQuest mould, in comparison to FFXIV’s rough adherence to the World of Warcraft formula, and consequently was brutally difficult, particularly at low levels.)

I always particularly liked that the battle theme for FFXI actually sounded like a Final Fantasy battle theme.

Final Fantasy XI’s character creator was simple compared to those that came in later years, but one of the things I always liked about it was that each of the several races you could play as in the game had their own “theme tune” and even had their own signature animations to show you what they were all about while you were deciding. The Mithra, FFXI’s take on the catgirl, were exactly how you would expect them to be from a game designed by Japanese people, and their music reflected that nicely.

Final Fantasy XI’s group content was structured rather differently to XIV. It wouldn’t be until about level 25 or so that you’d encounter your first real “boss”, marked by a “Burning Circle” that you had to enter with a party of companions you’d previously gathered — no Duty Finder for you here.

Confronting said boss was A Big Deal, in other words, which is why I can remember it vividly: battling a dragon and his Ahriman companion, accompanied by this stirring soundtrack.

I never got far enough into the story to get properly into the expansion packs for FFXI, but I did visit some of the areas, because they were good for level-grinding.

I think, for once, YouTube comments sum up what I feel on hearing this piece of music better than anything I could say here:

“And here I am, 8 or 9 years later laying in bed listening to this music, wondering what ever happened to the people I considered my closest friends. Time is cruel, and one by one we each took a break from the game and never returned. If youre in a guild/ls/free company now, these will be the days that you someday look back on 😀 Dont let your friendships disappear, get on Facebook/Discord/Guildwork and keep in touch with them.”

“Makes me tear up… I miss my old ls. r.i.p. Saints”

“comments like these make me wanna cry ;-; chemistry like this is so hard to find now. social life is so fast now”

Quite. For all their faults, for all the assholes who play them and all the whining that inevitably goes on around them, MMOs are, at heart, about people finding and connecting with one another, then sharing unforgettable experiences together.

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.

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!

1117: Another Game with a Barely-Pronounceable Title

If you had no idea what genre a game called Ar Tonelico: Melody of Elemia fell into, it’s highly likely that you’d guess that it was a JRPG. And you’d be absolutely correct. It’s a title that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense if you know nothing about the game, though to its credit, unlike many other barely-pronounceable game names, its relevance does become apparent almost immediately. However, it’s still pretty much the exact opposite of the rather literal naming conventions adopted by social and mobile games these days, which tend to be called things like “City Wars” and “Farm Town” and “Slots”.

Strange name aside… yes, I’ve been playing the PS2 game Ar Tonelico: Melody of Elemia, hereafter referred to as Ar Tonelico to save me typing out that whole title every time. I knew literally nothing about this game prior to firing it up for the first time, but had been urged to do so by a friend over at the Squadron of Shame who has been accompanying on my journey through the oddest and quirkiest undiscovered treasures that the Japanese role-playing game genre has to offer. I promised him that the next game I played after I completed the crap out of Hyperdimension Neptunia mk2 would be Ar Tonelico, so here I am.

So what’s it all about? Well, if you live in the UK, don’t count on any help from the box or manual — the game never saw an official release in the UK despite being fully-translated into English, and instead your best bet for a copy these days is Italy, of all places. It’s rather peculiar to think of Italians playing JRPGs, but there you go.

Anyway. Ar Tonelico initially appears to be a rather straightforward JRPG with a floppy-haired, youthful protagonist wandering around the world seeking adventure on a Grand Quest to Save the World. And on the one hand, it is. On the other hand, however, it does a lot of very, very interesting things that have really made me sit up and pay attention, even only about four hours into the whole experience.

For starters, there’s a deep crafting system to explore. This is a game from Gust, developers of the Atelier series (which I am yet to try but have all the PS3 incarnations of on my shelf), and their specialism is deep crafting systems. In Ar Tonelico’s case, it takes the form of the peculiarly-named “Grathmeld” system, in which you have to find recipe cards around the world and in shops, find ingredients inside chests, shops and monsters and then fuse them all together using crystals. When you craft, you get a fun little animated sequence of your character Lyner assembling whatever item it is, then if it’s a new item he has a fun little conversation with one of the other characters about it, and a discussion often ensues about what the new item should be called. You can’t freely rename items, which is a shame, but you do get to choose between a couple of different suggestions, and the game then tracks which character named which item, which is a nice touch.

Perhaps the most bewildering aspect of the game is its battle system. For the first hour or two, it’s a very conventional turn-based “attack, magic, item” affair. But as soon as you encounter the “Reyvateil” characters, also known as Song Maidens, things start to get interesting.

Reyvateils sit in the back row of your party and don’t follow the usual turn order. Instead, they act like a mage or priest in an MMO, sitting behind the front row of fighters charging up spells (or Songs, in this case) to have various effects, while at the same time the front row is knocking seven shades of shit out of the enemy and ensuring the Reyvateil doesn’t take damage. A strong focus is placed on the party’s “harmonics” with the Reyvateil, with this represented by a bifurcated horizontal meter at the bottom of the screen. The left half of the bar fills when the front row lands successful attacks and drops when they take damage. The right half of the bar fills as the Reyvateil chants to charge up a spell. Should the two halves meet, the whole party goes up a “Harmonic level”, which means the Reyvateil’s spellcasting speeds up and the front row gain access to stronger attacks. The Harmonic level at the end of the battle also determines what rewards you receive.

There’s another consideration in that system, which is the cap on the Harmonic level. At the start of each battle, you can only level the Harmonics up to 2; to increase the cap, you have to let the Reyvateil unleash her magic and deal enough damage for a separate bar to fill and open up the next level cap. The trouble is, at least early in the game, most enemies are absolutely obliterated by the Reyvateil’s Song Magic, so you’ll sometimes find yourself deliberately pulling your punches a little in an attempt to earn some higher Harmonic levels. It’s an interesting system that will doubtless come into its own in more difficult battles later.

By far my favorite part of the game so far, however, has been the “Dive” system, where the protagonist Lyner is able to enter the subconscious of a Reyvateil and learn more about her. A Reyvateil’s subconscious is split into ten distinct levels, each of which is made up of a number of different locations. Lyner must spend “Dive Points” earned through battle — which represent the trust the Reyvateil holds in him — to trigger various events, with revelations and strange happenings often unlocking new spells for the Reyvateil to cast in the real world. These vary from simple attack magic to “green magic” spells which can be cast outside of battle, usually to solve puzzles.

In gameplay terms, it’s an elaborate means of unlocking abilities. But in story terms, it’s a way of literally doing a deep dive into a character and discovering their innermost secrets. The scenes I’ve seen already have been heartfelt, interesting and help make me interested in the character. I’m very intrigued to see how they continue as the game progresses, as it’s clear that the whole point of the “Dive” system is to help the Reyvateil come to terms with repressed memories and emotions in a vaguely similar manner to Persona 4’s “Midnight Channel” — or perhaps just to peek in on some embarrassing things they’d rather forget about.

At four hours in, that’s about all I can say so far, but I’m enjoying it a great deal. It looks super-dated — it’s in 4:3 aspect ratio running on the PS2 and it pretty much looked like a PS1 game in the first place — but none of that matters to me. It is worth noting that it has an astonishingly good soundtrack, and that the English dub appears to be handled by the entire cast of Persona 3, which is fine by me — if a little odd to hear voices I recognise playing characters I’m less familiar with. (If you’re wondering why I’m not playing with the Japanese voices, which are also included on the disc, it’s because the FMV sequences in the game use the English voices, and it would be somewhat jarring to go back and forth between the two. The game also isn’t fully-voiced, either, so it doesn’t make as much difference as it would have in, say Hyperdimension Neptunia mk2.)

I’ll be sticking with this one, then — though I may well be splitting my time between it and the Gamecube version of Fire Emblem when that eventually arrives. (The new 3DS version isn’t out here until April, and I’m told I should play the Gamecube version before the Wii version that I scored for a song when Game was in trouble a while back.)

#oneaday Day 787: Shadow Hearts: A Scoreless Review

Shadow Hearts for the PS2 is a game which seems to be almost universally adored by everyone who has played it. It’s certainly a far cry from the reaction its PS1 predecessor Koudelka got, for sure, proving that yes, sometimes developers do learn from their mistakes.

Is it worth playing in 2012, though? That’s one of the questions I set out to answer when I eschewed the latest and greatest in fancy-pants HD gaming and booted up Sacnoth’s classic for the first time. I’d never played it before, so coming to it as a 2012 gamer would be my first experience — hopefully allowing me to determine whether or not it’s still worth your time.

First impressions are striking, and not necessarily in a good way. We’re in full-on old-school JRPG mode here, with polygonal characters wandering around on top of pixelated prerendered backdrops, occasionally stopping to perform a canned animation and generally not looking overly natural in their surroundings. Couple this with that much-maligned mainstay of Japanese roleplaying games, the random battle, and you have an experience which takes a little getting used to if you’re accustomed to the ways in which the genre has grown, changed and adapted over the years.

Once you get your head into the mindset of how things work, though, all that culture shock quickly fades away. The characters may have somewhat wooden animations, but they’re detailed 3D models with plenty of personality, and they provide the party you eventually assemble over the course of the game’s 30 hours or so with a distinctive look. When combined with the good quality localisation job which has been done on the game’s dialogue, the game’s cast comes together as a loveable, memorable crew of misfits that is all the more notable for not relying on traditional JRPG archetypes.

The plot, too, is interesting and unconventional, blending real-world events from the early 20th Century with pure fantasy that occasionally drifts into Lovecraftian “it came from beyond the stars” territory, though with a slightly light-hearted edge on everything. It works well, and all the more so for the fact that it doesn’t feel the need to necessarily spell things out for the player. You can tell that we’re dealing with some sort of twisted alternate history here when we see how comfortable everyone is with the use of magic, for example — there are no exaggerated “Wow, you have amazing special powers!” scenes when new characters join the party, even when protagonist Yuri reveals the ace up his sleeve: his ability to transform into slobbering death monsters.

The characters’ special abilities are what provides depth to the game’s combat system. Characters tend not to be single-minded specialists, but often have a range of skills that unlock over the course of the game which can be applied to a variety of situations. Even leading lady Alice, who is set up pretty early on to be your stock “healer” character, has some entertaining tricks which she can perform — and she’s not the only one with the ability to heal, either. Even some of Yuri’s monster forms have the ability to heal, meaning the player can stick with a party arrangement that works for them — or that is simply made up of characters they find appealing. Given Yuri and Alice’s importance to the overarching plot, however, most players will likely find themselves spending the majority of their time in the game with these two and one of the four other characters in the third slot.

Combat unfolds via a rather sedate turn-based system. There’s no time bars here, just a simple behind-the-scenes initiative calculation determining who gets to go next. There are two twists on the traditional turn-based combat formula, however: sanity, and the Judgement Ring.

Sanity points gradually drain over the course of a fight, reflecting the mental strain battling horrific eldritch monsters has on the human psyche. Running out of sanity points causes the character to go Berserk, attacking enemy and ally indiscriminately accompanied by the word “Violently” curiously emblazoned in the air over their head. In a nice nod to characterisation through statistics, different characters have varying pools of sanity points according to their own mental faculties. Alice, for example, being a bit of a scaredy-cat girly-girl at times, has a very small pool of sanity points, while Yuri, who is wandering around with a variety of monsters living in his psyche, has a very large pool which he expends any time he turns into a monster — presumably a rather traumatic experience.

Meanwhile, the Judgement Ring is the mechanic which drives the whole game. Rather than simply hammering the Attack button to get through fights as quickly as possible, the Judgement Ring is a timing-based system that requires players to accurately tap the X button on their controller in time with a predefined pattern. Said pattern varies according to what the player is trying to do — using an item only requires one tap, for example, while the characters’ later special abilities may require three or four carefully-timed taps in total. It’s a simple means of making combat feel significantly more interactive than turn-based titles otherwise can, and it’s also used outside of combat to resolve situations which would be handled by a dice-based “skill check” in a tabletop RPG — kicking down a door, negotiating for better prices in a shop, perfomring a task which requires endurance.

Whether or not you’ll find Shadow Hearts to be a palatable play experience in 2012 will depend a lot on your patience. While the random encounter rate isn’t overly high, you can expect exploration of the game’s world to be frequently interrupted by battles with enemies — and, as is common for this breed of role-playing game, you’ll see the same enemies and groups of enemies quite a lot over the course of a dungeon. Boss battles, meanwhile, are generally fairly lengthy experiences, partly to put a bit of pressure on the game’s sanity system. Later conflicts can feel like they’re dragging on a bit, particularly once you’ve managed to acquire some equipment for the party which allows them to shrug off things like status effects. The requirement to use the Judgement Ring with each ability use and attack helps keep things moving, but a few of the later bosses just go on a little bit too long to be comfortable or fun. The final boss is particularly prone to this, it has to be said, as it’s something of a damage sponge. In a game where three-figure damage is considered a strong hit, taking down something with over 10,000 hit points is a task you’d better set aside plenty of time for.

Presentation has also moved on significantly since the game’s original release back in 2001. Video sequences feature characters with that obvious sort of “rendered on the cheap” animation, and the voice acting is woefully inconsistent. Some English characters speak with an American accent, and others speak English at times and then yell something in Japanese in the middle of battle. The slightly rough edges do give the game a certain degree of charm, however, and the lengthy sequence where an old lady reads you a ghost story — complete with vocalised sound effects — is extremely memorable.

All in all, though, Shadow Hearts’ charms considerably outweigh its idiosyncracies, and the game remains fun, entertaining and engrossing today. While it’s not the most technically polished, high-budget JRPG — something which was apparent even back on its original release, especially when compared to Final Fantasy X, which came out the same year — it’s certainly one of the most memorable. And, crucially, by clocking in at around 25-30 hours, beating the game is well within the reach of even people who like to go outside sometimes. In these days of everyone seemingly being increasingly busy, the importance of brevity shouldn’t be underestimated.

So should you check it out in 2012 if you’ve never played it? Sure, but do be prepared for that initial culture shock as you adjust to the Way We Did Things over ten years ago. Times have changed, for sure.

#oneaday Day 783: Prepare for Moxibustion: Shadow Hearts First Impressions

[I am not at all sorry for the above image.]

I recently acquired copies of Shadow Hearts and Shadow Hearts: Covenant for PlayStation 2. My good friend and podcasting buddy Mark has been extolling the virtues of this series (well, its first two entries anyway) for a considerable amount of time now, and given my current aversion to recently-released triple-A titles, I figured it was about time to give it a shot.

For those unfamiliar with this particular little gem, Shadow Hearts is a Japanese roleplaying game from 2001 developed by a company known as Sacnoth (later Nautilus) and published by Midway in Europe. It’s the sequel to an unusual PlayStation 1 roleplaying game called Koudelka, which blended survival horror and tactical RPG elements to create a game that had a rather mixed reception upon its original release. Shadow Hearts, unlike its predecessor, is a much more traditional Japanese roleplaying game, with a great deal in common with the PS1-era Final Fantasy games. Players control a 3D character on a flat, prerendered backdrop and are thrown regularly into random battles against enemies which are otherwise invisible on the field.

Aside from these basic mechanical and technical similarities, however, Shadow Hearts is a very different beast to Square Enix’s franchise, for a wide variety of reasons.

Mechanically, an innovative feature in the game was the “Judgement Ring” system, whereby any action which would be resolved in a tabletop roleplaying game by a throw of the dice is instead left up to the player’s reflexes and sense of timing. The titular Ring appears on screen with markers placed on it to show where the player needs to press the button. An indicator sweeps round it, and the player must tap the button as the indicator passes through the various areas. There are variations on the theme, but this is used throughout the game whenever there is an element of chance — both in and out of combat. For example, the Judgement Ring is seen when attacking an enemy, attempting to cast a spell or use an item in combat (outside combat, magic and item use automatically succeeds, thankfully) or attempting to haggle for a better price in shops. It’s a simple system that through its inclusion lends a much greater feeling of interactivity and involvement to a genre known for making the player sit back and tap the X button 300 times before getting to do anything. Its timing-based nature means that combat can’t simply be resolved by strapping a rubber band to the X button and walking away — the player must learn the various characters’ “rhythms” for their attacks and stay on their toes to tap the button appropriately.

It’s not just in mechanics that Shadow Hearts differs somewhat from the norm, however. In a typical Japanese RPG, the party tends to be made up of a group of idealistic teenagers (with optional “old man” character who is actually simply in his late 20s), at least two of whom will be childhood friends; at least two of whom will fall in love with one another; at least one of whom will be a moody bastard who grows to understand human kindness and friendship by the end of the story; and at least one of whom will be a demure, shy girl while another will be a borderline-inappropriately sexy girl in a teeny-tiny skirt. This kind of ensemble works well, which is why we see it so often, particularly in popular franchises such as Final Fantasy.

Not so in Shadow Hearts. In Yuri, we have a moody protagonist, sure, but he’s angsty because he can turn into monsters. Also he’s half Russian, which explains why he hails from Japan but has a name which is commonly used to refer to lesbian-themed content in Japanese. (His name also means “lily” in Japanese, which might explain why he’s so upset and surly. Although if we take “Yuri” to be the Russian half of his name, then that means “farmer”, which is a bit more manly.) Then in Alice we have the shy, demure girl, but she’s clad in what can only be described as an incredibly impractical outfit which precludes her from ever volunteering to bend over and pick anything up ever. She’s also English. I’ve never met any English girls who dress like that. But then I wasn’t alive in 1913, either.

Aside: not only does Shadow Hearts take place in the “real world” (albeit a real world with magic and demons and vampires and whatnot), it also takes place in recognisably “recent” (relatively) history, meaning we get a pleasing blend of low-tech fantasy-style stuff with the trenchcoats and Mauser pistols of the World War I-ish era.

But back to the cast. We also have a crotchety old Chinese oracle who calls people “son of a bitch” all the time and a friendly vampire called Keith (Keith?) who woke up from a 200 year slumber only to find himself bored stiff with nothing to do in his monster-infested castle. There may be more, but I haven’t got that far yet. Already it’s a memorable, bizarre cast, though the game nails the whole “suspension of disbelief” thing so well that it seems perfectly natural for this oddball group to be hanging out together while discussing the movements of the Japanese army.

Shadow Hearts is a slow burn that takes a while to get going. If you’ve been playing more recent Japanese roleplaying games that tend to be a bit pacier or have battle systems that veer a little closer to “action” (see: Final Fantasy XIII and its sequel, The Last Story and Xenoblade Chronicles to a certain extent) then there’s a bit of an adjustment period to get back into random battles and completely turn-based combat. It’s also a bit of a culture shock to go back to a game where the dialogue is pretty much all text — though this rekindles the once-common love for renaming your characters; a joy which the age of voice acting has rendered obsolete.

I’m guessing I’m about halfway through at the moment. Further thoughts to follow when I’ve beaten it.

#oneaday, Day 35: In Praise of Last Gen

An oft-had discussion in gaming is what constitutes the “golden age” of gaming, or indeed if there has even been one.

For some, it’s the age of the arcade, when games were designed for pure fun and nothing else—besides emptying your pocket of quarters/local equivalents, of course. For others, it’s the home consoles of the NES era; others still, the 16-bit wonderment of the SNES and Genesis/Mega Drive. For yet others… You get where this is going, I’m sure.

For me, the golden age will forever be the PS2 era. I didn’t always think this was going to be the case; I remember playing PS2 games for the first time and thinking they were graphically impressive, but somehow lacking the “magic” of my favourite PS1-era games, particularly when it came to JRPGs. It took time, but the PS2 gradually proved itself as a force to be reckoned with, with a gigantic library of excellent titles (and an even bigger library of fucking awful ones) and the kind of backing from the public that Microsoft and Nintendo could only have dreamed of in those days. Funny how things change.

The thing is, being unemployed and skint as I am at the moment, I’m finally getting around to attempting to beat some of the PS2 titles that have sat, under-loved, on my shelf for years now. Final Fantasy XII is my current project: I’m now over 60 hours into it and still loving every minute. It’s struck me while playing FFXII that it seems to be a much more infrequent occurrence that a current-gen (360, PS3 or Wii) game will grab me in quite the same way as numerous titles from the PS2 era did… and indeed still are.

I wonder how much of this is down to graphics. Naughty Dog aren’t far from the truth with their jokey “next-gen filter” option in Uncharted; an increasing number of games in the current generation are looking increasingly interchangeable, with “gritty”, “realistic” graphics often winning out over vibrant colours. There are exceptions, of course, and I discussed a number of these the other day.

I don’t think it’s just visual character, though; I think the way games are designed and consumed has changed considerably since the PS2 days, too. Look at the number of people who Achievement-whore these days. More often than not, this takes place not through a desire to see everything the game has to offer, but instead to line up their shiny virtual trophies on their virtual shelf and brag to their friends. The social side of gaming is cool, sure, but what happened to gaming just purely for the sake of fun?

There’s no reason for these people to want to 100% Final Fantasy XII, for example. There’s no public way of recognising your achievement besides actually telling people. But I think that’s kind of a good thing, personally—if you want to be a hardcore insane idiot and complete every insanely difficult hunt, clear out every unnecessarily difficult area just for the satisfaction of knowing you have, that’s great. But there’s no feeling of “obligation” to do so—the person who storms straight through FFXII‘s main quest without exploring the side content is getting their money’s worth just as much as the hardcore insane idiot.

But in games with Achievements these days, many people feel that they haven’t got their money’s worth unless they 1000G/Platinum Trophy the game. And in many cases, some of those Achievements and Trophies are enormously tedious collectathons (Assassin’s Creed), forced replays of lengthy games (Mass Effect, Dragon Age) or encouragement to completely remove any “meaning” and sense of consequence from moral choices in games (any game that has separate Achievements for completing quests/levels in multiple different ways, thereby encouraging saving before “important” bits, then reloading and replaying just to get said Achievements).

Screw that; I’m just as guilty as the next man or woman of Achievement-whoring at times. But spending such a protracted period of time in the company of a last-gen game without all that bollocks to think about is giving me pause for thought. Are things really moving in the right direction?

It makes me a little sad to think that there’s a generation of gamers now who have no idea what gaming life pre-Achievements was like—and with Sony’s ditching of PS2 support on the PS3 and Microsoft’s woeful “backward compatibility” (I use the term loosely) on the Xbox 360, it’s becoming more and more unlikely that newer gamers will have the opportunity to explore that side of gaming—and then even if they do, they’ll probably be put off by “ugly” SD graphics. Look at how much snobbery people have towards the Wii’s graphics now.

Do I have rose-tinted specs when it comes to looking at last-gen gaming? Perhaps. But I’m more than happy to live in the past, if so.