Master Tactician

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When Fire Emblem: Three Houses was released, I was incredibly eager to pick it up after work. In hindsight, perhaps I should have pre-ordered the Switch game considering that Nintendo hardly ever releases such titles with a good number of copies. Or maybe Nintendo was just a bit too good at marketing the title and so every single person along with their mothers wanted the game. Whatever the cause behind the lack of stock for the game (it appears that Astral Chain has also encountered the same problem), I had to run all around the central business district of Sydney to find myself a copy. In fact, I was desperate enough to sink some money into Nintendo eShop wallet funds (because I was also trading in a couple of games) if it was all sold out.

Lady Luck, though, was on my side and I managed to nab my own personal copy. Once I arrived home, I started up my Switch and began playing in earnest.

Selecting a house proved a difficult affair. While I was drawn to the sexy eye-patch wearing Dimitri (he’s mine Erica Lindbeck Celica! Mine!), I thought to play against type. Fire Emblem Heroes proved to be no help. The only one I managed to summon was Byleth. After discussing the lords of each house, I finally settled on Claude and the Golden Deer. They seemed the most balanced of the three houses and I also thought it would be a good chance to select the lord that was depicted upside down on the box art. Forget Almyra, Claude would be the future king of memes.

Almost immediately, I began to fall in love with the students from the three different houses. Whether it was Caspar’s enthusiasm to Ingrid’s obsession with chivalry and Dorothea’s flirtatious means of survival. As a consequence, throughout the first part of the game, I tried to make everyone like me. I gifted presents, ate plenty of meals, sang with the choir and fished until everyone had been recruited to the Golden Deer. The most difficult one I had was Ferdinand. It was not until Chapter Twelve that I managed the convince the heir of House Aegir to join my noble cause.Even post time-skip, I was striving hard to eat with my students to improve their motivation and ensuring that their goals would allow them to pass their master certification exams. 

Unlike previous Fire Emblem games, units were not promoted along a set path. Instead, depending on their mastery of certain skills, a unit could jump from myrmidon to archer. Or from cavalier to fortress knight. 

For those that have played the handheld entries, the gameplay of Fire Emblem: Three Houses is very much the same. Except, of course, there is no weapon triangle. After years of learning that sword beats axe, lance beats sword, and axe beats lance, it took a while to adjust to the new abilities and combat arts (although once you reach Grade B in the three different weapons skills, units are able to learn axe breaker, sword breaker and lance breaker – a homage, perhaps, to weapon triangle that we had all become conditioned to). Other than these minor changes, every battle involved activating the danger zone and positioning units to maximise their survival. Each round, I’d have my tanks out front with the mages and archers safely out of danger. Most occasions, they would wait as I baited foes. Other times, they would use an item or trade with characters adjacent to them. Once I had unlocked the dancer class, I’d have Dorothea encourage Hilda, Lysithea or Byleth so that I could wreak havoc against the opposing force.

But let’s now return to the story. Fire Emblem: Three Houses borrows much from Genealogy of the Holy War. While I never played the title, my friend would often describe to me the similarities between the Crests and the Holy Blood or the canto ability that the mounted units had. 

Fire Emblem: Three Houses, though, is about the conflict between the three major powers in the land of Fodlan: the Adrestian Empire, the Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance. In the first part of the game, all three future leaders are in attendance at the Officer’s Academy in Garreg Mach. And while there is some healthy competition between the Houses, the students are friends. 

All of this changes when Edelgard reveals herself as the Flame Emperor. The one behind all the troubles that have been plaguing the monastery including the death of Jeralt (your father) and the kidnapping of Flayn (who is actually Saint Cethleann). Her inability to trust proves to be her downfall as she declares war near the end of the first part of the game. In fact, having played through the Verdant Wind path, it was strange to see how similar the goals of both Claude and Edelgard were. The only difference was the means of achieving their dreams. 

As for Dimitri, it saddened me to see the boar prince charge blindly towards Edelgard even though he could have allied with the Leicester Alliance. Haunted by the Tragedy of Duscur, he stubbornly refused to work together – caught up in his need for vengeance. Only by playing through the Azure Moon route can Dimitri be saved from his self-destructive tendencies. 

Consequently, Claude seemed the most balanced of all three lords. With the blood of Almyra and Fodlan running through his veins, he dreams of a world united. Though he is portrayed as a schemer, most of them are merely ploys to ensure that the least amount of blood is shed. Rather than a ‘kill every last one of them’ approach, he is open to discussion. And had Edelgard was not so caught up in her own misguided means of of unifying Fodlan, perhaps the two of them would have been a powerful force.

The ending of Verdant Wind helped prove this point. Claude’s last speech in the fight against Nemesis highlighted the need for teamwork and that only by working together, even the most difficult of obstacles can be overcome.

I’m not sure when I’ll play through the other routes of Fire Emblem: Three Houses, but I can say that the thought of heading back to Garreg Mach monastery is a tantalising thought. Unfortunately, there are a ton of other games on my radar and I am only one person with a limited amount of time. While I did have a few gripes about the game, such as its terrible mouth flaps as well as its less than stellar textures (I mean, I’ve never put much stock into having the best graphics, but seriously, even the uniforms didn’t look all that great. Not to mention the background textures. And what was with the warped tables in all the support conversations?), Fire Emblem: Three Houses kept me entertained for almost a hundred hours as I planned out battles and watched as many support conversations as I could.

Hopefully, whenever there’s some downtime between games I’ll play through both Blue Lions and Black Eagles. For now, though, I’ll remain loyal to the Deer and the memes they’ve spawned on the internet.

North Island Sight-Seeing

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

Three years ago, I went on a grand journey to the United States and Canada. I also visited Japan with my family and went on a skiing excursion with my mother. Since then, I’ve been hard at work, trying to find a bit of stability with regards to my employment. And while I’ve finished one of the fantasy stories that has taken me years to write, and several short stories to boot as well, I’ve struggled to find much meaning in the day to day humdrum of working nine to five.

Finally, I decided, this would be my time to properly let loose. Yes, I took some time out so that I could blast through Kingdom Hearts 3 when it released, but anyone could see that it was never truly a holiday.

My trip to New Zealand was the first time, in a long while, that I managed to scrounge up some annual leave and actually use it. Instead of desperately holding onto it and feeling guilty if I decided to step away from the vigorous demands of the job.

So, two days after my birthday, my mother, my stepfather and I set out to Auckland. It was meant to be a fairly early flight though we’d arrive in New Zealand mid-afternoon. After almost two hours of delays, we finally landed and set about retrieving the car we hired.

There isn’t much I can say about that first day.

Hungry, weary from the flight, we started the journey to Turangi. A four-hour drive from Auckland and about an hour’s drive to the Whakapapa ski field.

Friday saw us wake fairly early, though I was still recovering from a terrible cold that I had contracted a few days before my birthday. Determined to finally take to the snow after missing out the previous two years, I pushed myself out of bed and into the car.

Once we arrived at Whakapapa and ventured into one of the many buildings to purchase a lift ticket and acquire the equipment we would need for the day, I was a little less enthusiastic about the whole endeavour. It had been raining since the morning and I hadn’t had the foresight to pack proper boots to stomp around in the snow. My sneakers were soaked and my cough was still quite chesty.

Mum was determined, however, and before noon we headed down to Happy Valley.

It was a beginner’s area, true, but I was sick and it was snowing so heavily I could barely see more than five metres in front of me. Besides, it was a whole lot cheaper and due to the conditions, only three of the six main lifts were in operation. I thought it was a much better deal, considering.

Still, it was a good long while that we stayed on the ski field. By the time we returned the skis and boots, we were sopping wet. Our gloves all but useless. My mother was also unfortunate enough to have her supposedly waterproof pants soak through. Even down to the thermals she was wearing underneath.

Suffice it to say, our ski trip in New Zealand had been less fun than initially anticipated.

But there was no time to wait for everything to dry. Once my stepfather had picked us up, it was another long drive to Rotorua. Once there, I had my mother buy me dinner. With my shoes less than serviceable and not wanting to walk around in wet socks, I had taken a shower as soon as we arrived at our hotel. As we were staying in New Zealand for only four days, it had not seemed imperative to bring a second pair of shoes. And in fact, I had forgotten to bring a pair of slippers for myself.

Once our stomachs were full, my mother thought to enjoy herself at the Polynesian Spa. Both my stepfather and I stayed behind. As we waited for her to return, I flipped through the channels – finally settling on the Disney Channel for the evening’s entertainment.

My sleep was troubled. Sharing one room, I was unable to silence the snoring from the bed next to mine. I managed to use headphones for an hour or two of rest before it was interrupted again by my uncontrollable bladder.

The next morning, I felt as if I wanted to cry. Indeed, some tears did manage to slip from the corner of my eyes, so frustrated was I.

At least, though, the weather was much better. We were blessed with sun, sun and more sun on Saturday. Although there was still quite a bit of a breeze, we could not have asked for better weather. Our first stop for the day was Te Puia. I would have rather revisited Hobbiton but the prices were a lot higher than I had anticipated and my stepfather had never been a big fan of the films.

Revisiting the geothermal valley that I had seen on my cruise almost five years ago, was still a preferable substitute. Plus, it was quite close to the hotel we were staying in so it did not take long (after driving out to a lake near the Rotorua bowling club in the centre of town) to arrive.

Our trip to Te Puia also included a tour of the Maori Arts and Crafts Academy. One where all the students were on fully paid scholarships that were paid for by all the visitors to the geysers and ever-expanding mud pools. Fun fact: they’re about ten metres deep and essentially quite close to boiling. As such, it’s not a good idea to fall inside. And if you know someone that has, better to wish them your fondest farewells rather than attempt a rescue. It’s simply not practical.

We also bore witness to a powhiri – a traditional Maori welcoming ceremony. It was a fun experience filled with songs and dance, capitalising on the selling power of learning about the traditions of one of the many different cultures of the world. Some might view such actions as selling out and pandering to the lowest common denominator, but in my opinion, it’s a great way to preserve the stories and heritage of the First Nations.

From Te Puia, we drove to Hamilton. Once we arrived, my mother and stepfather reunited with their old university classmate. We toured a little around the University of Waikato before heading to the Hamilton Gardens. I’ll admit, I was quite impressed by the various styles. Of particular note were the fantasy gardens given my predilections for the genre.

Afterwards, we checked in briefly at the motel we were staying in before having dinner at a Taiwanese restaurant. It was the first time I watched three siblings hard at work playing games on their phone, iPad and Lenova laptop. I’ve never played Roblox but there appeared to be plenty of options available for young kids to try.

Sunday involved another long drive back to Auckland. When we left the Motor Inn we were staying at, my mother was less than impressed with the fact that we had left behind two bottles of juice that she had painstakingly bought for me. After several strong words were exchanged, I sat in a sullen silence until we finally entered the city.

Once there, we met with another of my mother’s classmates. With the rest of her family, we headed into the central business district for lunch. The place was an energetic and quite popular oyster bar restaurant, Depot. Ordering for us was the son of my mother’s classmate. He seemed nice enough though we barely exchanged more than two sentences in the entirety of meeting each other. My mother had hoped for us to exchange contact details, but the opportunity never arose.

I remembered obliquely referencing his impressive Gundam collection and whistled internally when I noted all the PC store fronts on his computer. What also impressed me were the comfortable PC gaming chairs that they had. Now, if only I could have one shipped over to enjoy my frequent eight-hour gaming binges on the weekends.

Before we could learn more about each other, though, he was quickly on his way back home to watch an esports livestream. Since I have never been all that impressed with the competitive scene and he was less than open about his gaming habits, I wasn’t entirely too sure which games were on offer. Was it League of Legends? Dota 2? Overwatch?

In the end, nothing came of our brief meeting. With my mother’s classmate, we headed out to One Tree Hill (and I swear that there was an old television show of the same name) for a spin. It was another location that I had briefly visited all those years ago on my New Zealand cruise. And there were sheep aplenty on the hills, grazing away at the grass and bleating for all to hear.

After our little side adventure, we were in a rush to return the hire car and check in to our final hotel. Once we had settled, my mother’s cousin came to pick us up. We headed to a quaint Chinese restaurant, the prices a little on the exorbitant side. Her eldest son, trying to play at being the perfect host, took the honours for ordering our food.

It might not have been the best selection, but the self-loathing and the vitriol he spewed about the quality of the food was shocking. To be honest, I’ve never much liked him and he has always rubbed me the wrong way with his superiority complex. It didn’t help that he tried to ‘redeem’ himself for the meal by taking us on a little diversion from where we wanted to go.

I mean, from the first, I had said that it would be best if we returned to the hotel early as we had an early flight back to Australia. Second of all, he never asked if we wanted to head up to a nearby hill and look out on the city and its pretty lights.

He even grabbed the steering wheel briefly, so obstinate was he in taking us on this side trip.

Now, I’m no psychologist, but his behaviour proved to be quite frightening. When we finally arrived at the hotel we were staying at, I gave his mother a word of warning.

That done, it was a simple matter of heading to bed and waking up around four in the morning for our return flight.

14 Kilometres: from the Bustling High-Risers to a Must-See Tourist Attraction

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It is never fun to wake up early on a weekend. Particularly if it’s a cold and blustery day in August. Yet wake up I did, in the early hours of a Sunday morning because my mother had signed me up to run the City2Surf. It was not the best of beginnings, I’ll admit, for knowing that I had to wake early meant that my sleep was troubled at best. Perhaps I really ought to practice mindfulness and meditate for a few minutes before I head to bed each night. Who knows (I mean, really. How else am I supposed to battle my chronic insomnia and anxiety-filled thoughts?).

After downing a hearty breakfast, donning a winter jacket and slipping my feet into a set of comfortable joggers, my mother and I headed to the local strain station. Stopping, of course, briefly at a service station to fill up on a warm beverage or two. Mine was hot chocolate.

Though it was early on a Sunday morning, the carriages were chock full of other race participants. Each of them eager to begin their own fourteen kilometres run from the centre of Sydney down to Bondi Beach. I, for lack of a better word, was less than thrilled. And why wouldn’t I be, considering this was the first time in the many long years I’ve lived, to have taken a train before nine on a day that wasn’t a weekday.

Once we arrived at Martin Place Station, my mother set about looking for a toilet – only to find the queues would be a fifteen to twenty minutes long wait. Reluctantly, she decided that it would be best to meet up with the other ‘runners’ that had also been voluntarily signed up to join the fun run for Active August before dashing off to find a place to relieve her bladder. After almost an hour of waiting, most everyone had assembled and we slowly joined ourselves to the gathering crowd that would be the 9:35AM start group (the best and last one for the day). 

As the minutes slowly ticked by, the event organisers made sure to keep our blood pumping. Whether that was doing warm-up exercises just before the start, to upping the volume of cheerful uplifting songs. There was even an inflatable ball or two – neither of which I managed to bat around to my fellow runners. I blame this for my lack of enthusiasm and excitement during the morning. 

When 9:35 finally rolled around, our huge group finally began to move. Packed in like animals, it was not until five to ten minutes into the race that my mother and I were finally able to branch out and began walking in earnest. 

And what a walk it was. We barely stopped in those two hours and forty or so minutes that it took for us to finish. The one and only lengthy pit stop we made was at Edgecliff Station when we both quickly ducked inside to use the restrooms. Then it was a full tilt walk up Heartbreak Hill. Up and up and up we went, accompanied by bagpipes, a police band and some excellent songs that kept the rhythm going.

Finally, at last, our path began to slope downwards. The golden sands and the briny sea were in sight. Any other runner might have used the opportunity to add a bit of pep in their step. Not me. I just kept my own steady pace – favouring the tortoise rather than the hare. Besides, by then my feet were killing me.

Crossing that finishing line, I felt just ready to keel over. But there was food. There was looking for a means of finding our way back home.

Medal in hand, we celebrated our victory of the City2Surf with some delicious sushi and took a bus right to Bondi Junction where we could catch a direct train that would see us most of the way home. 

“Guns Don’t Kill People”

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The first weekend of August saw two mass shooting in the United States of America. In its aftermath, there was a deluge of thoughts and prayers for the victims as well as their families. But if anyone had hoped that the vents would bring a solution to the gun epidemic plaguing America, or at least open a debate about their gun laws, they were sorely disappointed. Once again, politicians and news outlets, lay the blame squarely at the feet of violent video games. And so, stores such as Walmart removed advertising of games inside their stores to stem a little of the criticism.

President Donald Trump also boasted about re-opening mental institutions because apparently everyone that decides to commit a mass shooting must be mentally ill. Or, perhaps he believes that those who are mentally ill are all going to pick up a gun.

None of it, of course, is the fault of readily available guns that any person on the street can walk in and buy. Nor is it an issue that individuals can purchase semi-automatic or military grade weapons. 

In any case, I’m not trying to say that violent video games don’t make people go on mass shootings. In the days that followed what happened in Dayton, Ohio, and El Paso, Texas, there were many videos and articles with plenty of statistics that demonstrated correlation does not equate to causation. Or the very tenuous link of playing a fantasy game such as World of Warcraft would inspire someone to pick up an assault rifle and start shooting up a restaurant. A lot of it has already been said.

The same goes for mental illness. We live in a society where the ignorant tend to stigmatise those that are different. And while some perpetrators may have suffered from mental illness, not all of them can so easily plead insanity.

We need to acknowledge the other factors that are part and parcel of these mass shootings. Living in a country like Australia, it’s clear that the ease of access to guns is almost definitely one of them. If someone was suffering from mental illness, why enable their violent tendencies with the ability to purchase guns from their closest Walmart? It simply doesn’t make any sense.

In fact, let’s look at a recent event in Sydney. A man, armed with a butcher’s knife, killed one woman in an apartment and then stabbed another as they were walking down on one of the many busy streets in the central business district. After he had stabbed the woman, the alleged perpetrator was stopped by civilians through the clever use of chairs, a milk crate and a crowbar.

Do you think the civilians would have been able to stop the alleged killer if he had been armed with a pistol? Even something as small as a handgun could have seen dozens of people killed and many more injured. If they were lucky, the civilians that did stop him might have been able to catch him by surprise in the midst of reloading.

Let’s look at the worsening troubles in the United Kingdom. According to news articles, there has been a sharp rise in knife crimes, particularly among the young. Now, imagine if all these teenagers had access to guns and could readily buy them from the nearest Tesco? How many more people would lose their lives to all this senseless violence?

Why don’t we also analyse the reason behind why knife crimes are on the rise? Is it because all these boys are playing violent video games? No? Oh, what’s this about the declining use of stop and search powers by the police? Social media and the availability of smart phones are allowing these gangs to antagonise each other? Social strain theory because we see pictures of others living the high life while we can barely survive, hamstrung as we are by the legal means of accruing more wealth? 

There is a reason why that when I visited America three years ago, I was terrified. I was travelling alone and in my mid 20s. What if I was shot? Held at gunpoint and mugged/ raped? All of these were possibilities that flew through my mind as I walked the streets of New York, San Francisco and Chicago.

It was the reason why I returned to my hotel room before it was dark outside.

It was also the reason why I endlessly researched the safe places in and around the major cities that I visited. And also why I nearly cried with joy at the prospect of potentially being deported back to Australia. Because, even though there is still crime in the suburbs of Sydney, the chances of being the victim of a mass shooting was much lower after John Howard implemented gun laws in 1996 following the Port Arthur massacre.

Is it any wonder that the police in America are also just as trigger happy? Why else would Australian woman Justine Damond was shot by a police officer when she approached them. They’re just as afraid that they’ll be next. With such loose gun control laws, everyone is at risk. 

Isn’t that the reason why there are metal detectors in your schools? That school children, as young as primary school, are taught how to survive a mass shooting?

There’s a culture of fear in America and the reason behind it is due to the proliferation of guns.

Looking Inward

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Not many mediums, including video games, dabble with mental illness. Even fewer are able to string together a narrative that has it front and centre. If a video game decides to play with the concept madness, it’s often used as a gameplay mechanic to heighten the tension (I’m looking at you Cthulhu!). Usually by adding a sanity gauge that will force the player to juggle between finding ways to reduce it or to slog on as the HUD changes/ control quirks are implemented when the main character is overwhelmed by all the fish people they see or the great unknowable squid face monster in the distance. Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice, however, is one of those rare gems of a game that actually explores mental illness – in particular, psychosis – in a meaningful way from both a narrative and gameplay perspective in order to tell a gripping story of loss and grief.

Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice puts players into the skin of a Pict warrior called Senua. She is on a journey into Helheim in a last desperate bid to rescue her dead love Dillion. As the game unfolds, we find out more about her life and the events leading up to her quest. Accompanying both the player and Senua on this adventure are a host of disembodied voices. Some of them are helpful, particularly in combat as they provide warnings when enemies attack. Others serve to pull Senua down, questioning her every move and action.

It was a strange experience to have these voices providing a running commentary as I made my way through the game. I will admit that I knew some of the voices intimately. They being part of my own internal dialogue.

 I know it would have better served me to strap on a pair of headphones, but I still found it fascinating to have these voices whisper from my television as I delved deeper into Senua’s story. 

One important thing I managed to grasp from the game was that our perception of the world differs. A person might think in sentences and words, yet another would do so through a visual spectrum. Synesthesia is a condition where people can see words as specific colours. Someone else could be colour-blind. Those with imagination might see more than a fluffy white cloud or faces in even the simplest of pattern configurations.

With Senua, though, her psychosis allows her to see hallucinations, to endure flashbacks and to see strange runic symbols in the world around her. But even though what she sees might be different from what someone else experiences does not discount the world she lives in or her perception of it. As gamers, particularly, we often internalise the limitations and rules of the game world in order to proceed. To open a door, we intuitively know that we need a key. That key, however, could be a set of runes. It could be a switch. Or perhaps it might be a secret incantation or pass phrase.

As such, I found Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice an empowering experience that helped challenge how I saw the world around me. All of us contain a strange set of beliefs even if it makes no sense. Take superstitions for example. Why should a black cat crossing your path constitute bad luck?

In any case, Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice immediately had me invested with its delightful anecdotes of Norse mythology. Long time readers will know that I’ve always been a fan of myths and any game featuring them have always tickled my interest. 

The combat, too, was serviceable. Strangely enough, I found that I played much more defensively than I usually did in such games as parrying proved to be quite an important facet of quickly taking down opponents. While I usually prefer dodging, the camera feels a little constrained. For those that decide to pick up the title, make sure that any any all enemies are in front of you and keep your back to the wall so that they won’t target you from behind.

I will admit, though, that it took me a while to pick up the game. For a while after it was released, I had read that the game would delete your save if you died too many times. This was made manifest by the rot travelling along Senua’s arm. As someone who has avoided difficult games such as Dark Souls, this made me hesitant to try it on until I learned that this too was a ploy by the developers. One should not always believe the things that appear before their eyes. Doubly so when it comes to video games and the way they play with expectations.

Overall, Senua’s Sacrifice was a great side morsel and one that I had my eye on for quite a while. Hopefully there are more games that come out that put a stronger focus on mental illness. Video games, in particular, are such a great medium to explore these themes because of their interactive nature. 

Vive la France!

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There were many elements behind the premise of Aviary Attorney that enticed me to buy and play this exciting four-hour distraction of a video game gem right before the much anticipated release of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. First, of course, were all the Ace Attorney connections. As an avid fan of the series, I’ve been constantly dismayed when certain titles (*cough* Dai Gyakuten Saiban and Miles Edgeworth Investigations 2 *cough* ) never made their way to the West. The investigations, the spirited defence of a client and loose interpretations of the actual legal system has always been fascinating. 

Second of all, the world of nineteenth century France is ruled by anthropomorphic animals. 

All of these culminated in a delightful side adventure for me when I saw the discounts on Steam and purchased it several years after it was initially released. I mean, it had always sat on my Steam wishlist, but this was the first time that I had seen such a steep discount for the indie title.

Aviary Attorney is best described as a much more streamlined version of the complicated crimes that encompass Ace Attorney. There were moments during the trials where I would often find it difficult to string together the logic behind the many contradictions. Not so with Aviary Attorney.

In fact, the evidence that JayJay Falcon collects to sniff out the truth feel like the bare minimum. Cross examinations for each case would only span three or four before the case was resolved. And often, once you managed to prove your point, the witness was soon replaced by another instead of having to sit through revised testimonies.

Accompanying the esteemed ‘Aviary Attorney’ is Sparrowson – a bird that is willing to bend the law in order to achieve justice. And as I delved deeper, I fell in love with many of the other side characters. From Cocorico to the resistance leader Beaumort. Even the rapscallion Renard Vulpes proved quite entertaining.

Better yet were all the references to the franchise that made me first feel like a skilled investigator. From the conversations about stepladders to the esteemed rival that now seeks the reform the legal system rather than condemning the guilty. I even loved the fact that one of the villains also had a bullet lodged in his shoulder – much like Manfred von Karma.

And because of my investigative prowess, it came as no surprise that I managed to unlock the 4B ending – Egalite. 

Aviary Attorney is an impressive beast. While there were articles online that indicated that there were troubles in the development of the title, what I managed to play was a wonderful love letter to the video game series that made me fall in love with a pointy-haired lawyer and the overblown courtroom drama held within. Better yet, it even managed to puts its own unique spin on it with its talk of revolution and talking animals.

Plague, Rats and the Inquisition

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I remember when I first heard about A Plague Tale: Innocence, I was initially sceptical about the entire premise. Maybe it was a dream or an entirely different game, but I distinctly remember reading an article that said it was based from an earlier title that was known for its brutal difficulty, emphasis on survival and questionable controls. In any case, this new game from Asobo Studio had sparked my interest and I was eager to see where this story set near the end of the 14th century was going to take me.

From the very start, I fell in love with the characters. Amicia was a strong female protagonist that was not simply going to play the damsel in distress as she looked for her dashing knight. In fact, as she goes on her hunting trip with her father, Amicia made it clear that she would forge her own way through life. In the first chapter of A Plague Tale, it was easy to identify Amicia’s needs and wants and empathise with her situation. Particularly when she loses her faithful dog and returns back home.

Though A Plague Tale could be described as an extended escort mission, the bond between Amicia and Hugo, her brother, made it worthwhile. And as the story unfolded, it was a joy to watch the siblings learn to depend upon and care for each other. That journey, in particular, was quite rewarding considering how estranged they were at the beginning of the game. This was evident in how Amicia treated Hugo, fearing that he was contagious when he showed symptoms of illness (which she was swiftly berated for by their mother).

By the game’s end, Amicia and Hugo become inseparable and it was through their shared teamwork that they managed to defeat Vitalis.

That’s not to say that the other side characters didn’t also steal the show. I adored Lucas, Melie and Rodrick. Arthur also served to play a small role in a chapter or two, and there was even a hint of something more between him and Amicia, before he was guttered by Lord Nicholas close towards the climax. my favourite moment was when Amicia convinced Lucas that he needed to push a cart towards the Roman baths hidden away in the de Rune garden. Young and serving as the apprentice of an alchemist, Lucas was not a strapping lad with bulging muscles and an imposing figure of masculinity. He was a scholar, not a thug.

But when the credits rolled, I came away a little disappointed that A Plague Tale was not all that long. I attribute that to the fact that for most of the year, the games I’ve been playing have thrown twist after twist – elongating the story with sudden reveals and busy work. Still, what was there helped paint a dark, grim world and I was drawn into this re-imagining of France.

Armed with a sling, Amicia is not the best fighter to have graced my television screen. In fact, once an enemy is close enough, she’s all but cut down by the soldiers of the Inquisition. There was many a time I saw a game-over because I had not calculated how best to defeat the foes before me. And while she has the option to dodge away, A Plague’s Tale puts much more emphasis on taking down your enemies with stealth rather than through a direction confrontation.

In fact, I believe that was one of the strong parts of the game: the focus on puzzle-solving. Whether that was figuring out environment puzzles to navigate through the horde of flesh-eating rats or getting around the guards that were patrolling a specific area of town – all of it was a puzzle. I have to admit, though, that many of the solutions were quite simple. And it was made all the easier when the game provided plenty of hints and clues from the resources that lay close by to use.

A Plague Tale: Innocence was a game that hooked me with its heart-warming tale of family. There were moments when I was frustrated with Hugo. But what might seem illogical or dangerous to someone with a score of years behind them, could be seen as nothing more than a simple and straight forward solution to a five year old  desperate to return to his mother. Didn’t you forget how the Inquisition had you trapped in a cage, Hugo?

So, it makes sense that A Plague Tale: Innocence is not a perfect game. Still, I was never all that frustrated when I saw the game-over screen. And with its generous checkpoint system, I always managed to push my way through until the end, despite the flaws.

Unseen

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

I actually posted this first on my FictionPress account. It’s another short story that got a little out of hand but I thought it helped encapsulate the feeling of being overlooked in the busy lives that we lead. Even more difficult was trying to make the language more ‘Americanized’ than I was used to. Here’s hoping I succeeded.

When I was young, I discovered I had a magic power. This was just after I had entered middle school and everyone had learned about puberty. It was a strange time, sprinkled with talks from teachers about the physical changes that we were expected to go through. From unwanted hair to monthly bleeds to a sizable development in the chest area. That, coupled with hormones and the outbreak of acne, was the general ‘teenager’ experience with its mixture of angst, confusion and rebellion.

But none of that mattered to me.

I mean, why would it when I could make myself invisible?

For years, I enjoyed the freedom that this power gave me. While others began to excel academically or at sports, I was far too busy trying to concoct the latest pranks. My marks had never been the best and while I could, perhaps toss a ball around if called upon, I was not one to put my hand up for anything competitive. I had seen the injuries sported by some of my friends when they had tried out for football and baseball.

No. My mission in life was to have fun and to annoy the living hell out of those around me. And I was good at it. The best even.

Only once was I caught. Mom was called in. Frazzled from a shift at the diner, her hair still in a messy bun, she had timidly knocked at the entrance when she arrived. I was pouting, desperately trying to mount up a feasible defense that would see mom take my side.

I was fourteen. Desperate, a little, for approval. With mom being so busy and my little sister just starting school, it had been a difficult year. And while I was enjoying my newfound ability, I was also grappling with hormones and mood swings. The one advantage I had over my peers was that I could make it all go away. Whether it was directing my invincibility to only certain parts of my body. Or simply disappearing altogether and finding a quiet place to clear my head of the mountain of thoughts.

The principal, a man of many years, judging from his balding pate the crow’s feet at his eyes, had first tried to cajole my mom into enrolling me into one of those fancy boarding schools for troubled children. Over the years, I had made a name for myself as a rabble-rouser. A common disruption in class. And occasional truant.

It was also a well-known fact among the faculty that I had a hand in the mischief that had spoiled the opening night of the Christmas Play the year before. While they could not provide any concrete proof, I had put myself in their sights and any wrongdoing I did – no matter how minute – was scrutinized.

Mom was skeptical.

Of course, she had every right to be. As a single mother with two young daughters, there was hardly any money to purchase new shoes, let alone afford the fees for a private boarding school.

In the end, she chose to keep me in a public school. Though I was ‘gifted’ individual, she thought it best that I remain with my friends. Familiarity would ground me. That had been her key argument with the principal that day. In her eyes, whatever talents I possessed would flourish regardless of which institution I was in. Besides, there was no telling what I might do if in some boarding school halfway across the country. No. Better to keep me close at hand.

Knowing defeat, the principal relented and gave me a three-day suspension. Mom wasn’t pleased. The entire walk to the car was made in complete silence. Nor did she look at me. Even the drive home was heavy with disappointment. When I tried to give my side of the story, she would interrupt with a sigh.

It was the first time that I felt truly and completely alone. Unseen and unheard.

In the summer just before high school, mom met someone. He was an investment banker that wanted more beyond the small town that we lived. Beguiled, perhaps, by his honeyed words, we packed up and moved to Connecticut. By then, I had met him numerous times and he was all but incorporated himself into our family dynamics. Both my sister and mom were enamored.

Mom, because she had a new man. And my sister, because we now had a new dad. One who doted upon her every wish. Only I was a little hesitant about this stranger in our house. Still, if he made mom happy and our lives a little easier, I could live with it.

Besides, it had been a good twelve years since dad had left us for his new family and he had never bothered with child support.

Perhaps I should have seen the signs then but at the time I was starting in a new school without any of my old friends. Having grown out of being the class clown, I was a little unsure of how to ingratiate myself into this new environment where I knew no-one. My grades had never been the best and I was decidedly average when it came to P.E. Nor was I talented at the creative arts.

The only thing special about me was my power of invisibility. But entering high school, I found out that having it was more of a liability than a gift. People were less amazed and more bemused. Everyone had seen it all before. And it didn’t help that there were others who also had it attending my school.

I had to redefine who I was. Fast.

In those four years of high school, I was as like a social chameleon as I tried to befriend the numerous clichés. One week I would dye my hair black. The next, I would be trying my hand at a musical instrument. A third week and I would be in the library, desperately looking up a slew of made-up words that I had never heard of before.

Each day, I would come home exhausted. Mom was so busy that she didn’t care how late I returned. Besides, with my abilities, there was no telling if I had come home early and had simply refused to leave the bed. Invisibility was both a blessing and a curse.

I often thought that was why Artemis never tried to reach out to me. She knew that I was struggling and had thought not to burden me with all her troubles. Artemis had always been thoughtful like that. And that had been her greatest power. The kindness, patience and resilience she had brought to our dysfunctional family.

When I finally graduated and applied for college, our finances were in the black. With his income, our stepdad could afford to send us to a decent university. It might not have been Ivy League, but it was enough to give me the peace of mind to experiment and try different things. Besides, while I had participated in a range of extracurricular activities, I had never stayed long enough in any of the clubs to positively contribute and my grades were scattershot, at best.

Still, I was able to make the best of it and moved onto campus. It was a day of heartache and exhilaration. We had moved so much but this was the first time I would be ‘leaving the nest,’ so to speak.

Everything was so new and I felt like I was out of my depth when I found my dorm room and settled myself in.

My roommate was a girl named Lauren. She was only four foot eleven but she could demolish three full servings of steak and could drink a sailor under the table. Lauren, though, was one of those rare honor students. She had a plan already set out before her and woe betide anyone that stood in her way.

Work hard. Play hard.

It had been her motto since the day she was born. Or so she told me.

I liked her from the start but our conflicting schedules meant that I hardly saw her even though we shared a dorm room. On the rare occasion that we both had an afternoon or a morning together, Lauren and I would take our time to explore every nook and cranny on campus. It took a couple of months but we managed to narrow down the café that served the best coffee, as well as an excellent corner in the library where we could stream the latest television shows while we pretended to study our incredibly expensive textbooks.

All of that changed, though, when I received a call from my mum just halfway through term.

Artemis was dead. She had hanged herself yesterday, using one of the beams in the house, some hemp rope that she had bought just for that purpose and a ladder. The funeral was slated for next week. The timing was bad, she knew. What with exams and assignments piling up. Would I be able to attend?

It was an impossible request. Despite my best efforts, each and every lecturer refused to give me the time I needed to go home.

Somehow or other, though, I managed to make the funeral – albeit after all the eulogies and when her body had already been consigned to the flames of the crematorium. It had not been an easy journey. Had it not been for Lauren’s cooperation and my own special ability, I might not have been able to achieve even that.

The staff at the university knew about my unique condition. Of how I could turn invisible at the drop of a hat. Back in those early days, I had occasionally suffered bouts where I would remain unseen and unheard for at least a couple of days. For quite some time, I had not used my power and initially, I had thought that my inability to control it as a had during childhood had come from neglect. It had been an easy thing for Lauren to give them excuses and assist, on occasion with the delivery of my essays to the appropriate faculty (which I had to send to her via email even as I snuck on two Greyhound buses just so I could reach home).

I don’t remember much of what happened that day or the two days afterwards when I prepared to head back to college. All the memories in my head were like small fleeting snippets. There was a brief argument with mom. During dinner, I threw a glare towards my stepdad when he tried to offer his condolences. Me walking into her room, right before bed, and trying to picture the way she smiled and would look up at me.

But, always, my mind would go to her last moments and I would wonder what had pushed my perfect sister – the youngest and favoured daughter in our household to do what she did. Back in my old room, I slept terribly. Haunted by nightmares that I could never quite recall.

Even when I was finally back on the bus, headed back to college and the ire of my teachers, I struggled to find a rational explanation for why Artemis did what she did. The perfect world I had constructed was slowly beginning to crumble.

It was only during the start of my sophomore year that I finally came to know the reason behind Artemis’s suicide. All of it came tumbling out during the messy divorce between my mom and stepdad. Buoyed, perhaps, by having a man in the house with a stable income, mom went back to school to finish the degree that she never completed when pregnant with me. Once all that was done, she successfully landed the job of her dreams.

With all her success urging her on to better things, she was blind to what was happening at home. Her absence provided an opportunity for the predator lurking amongst us. And Artemis being Artemis…well, she kept her lips sealed. Far too terrified to reveal that he had been touching her and ashamed to admit that it had happened.

For years she had silently endured until finally, in her senior year of high school, it had been too much.

I should have been there for me. And I hated that I turned a blind eye to so many of the signs. From the bruises on her upper arm to the way the light had faded from her eyes.

At college, my grades began to fall. I started heading out to frat houses and clubs located close to campus. Just so that I could numb myself to the pain that was tearing me up inside.

It was then that I made my worst mistake. His name was Stephen.

Initially, it had been innocent enough. We met during a class we shared. I thought he was a nice enough and it didn’t hurt that he was quite pleasing on the eyes. Stephen was intelligent too and always with his head in a philosophy book or another. Descartes, Socrates, Nietzsche. He had read them all. He could even hold a conversation beyond questioning whether or not we were stuck in the Matrix.

Ever so slowly, I fell for his charm. When he invited me to a house party right after the exam period, I agreed readily.

We danced. We flirted. And then we began to kiss. Flush with alcohol, we stumbled upstairs to find a spare bedroom that was free. But when he started to touch me down there, my mind went back to Artemis. I told him to stop. Yet, he didn’t listen.

It wasn’t until I was trying to claw out his eyes that he wrestled my arms away and kept me pressed down with his weight. That was when my power triggered. Had I not been able to turn invisible and began shrieking for help, I’m not entirely sure what might have happened that night.

Days afterwards, I still felt violated. It felt as if I had lost a key part of myself.

I think that was when my problems with my power began, although I did not quite notice until halfway through my third year. The fact that my hand had turned transparent without any conscious thought on my part was terrifying. And I couldn’t bring it back. That was the worst of it. If I had known…

~

“Are you still typing?” said a voice close to my ear. It was one I knew intimately and as its owner sidled up close and kissed me sensually against my cheek, I leaned back into his warm embrace. “Won’t you come into bed? It’s late and I’m feeling a little lonely.”

“Just one more paragraph,” I said. “Please, Connor? Just one more. This is important.”

He nuzzled against me. “Come on, Persephone. Your story can wait. It isn’t going to disappear. At least, if you save it.”

I reluctantly turned away from the Word document on my laptop and looked up at Connor. He had a point. I had been at it for most of the day. The words did not come easy and it was a struggle just to get them out. Always, I’d find something to distract me after I had written a few paragraphs. Then I’d go back and delete it all before rewriting it again. For two hours, I had followed the exact same formula until I finally decided enough was enough and moved on.

Besides, the prospect of bed sounded good. And Connor was always good to me. He understood me, having suffered through the exact same thing I was now experiencing. Yet he had recovered from fading away. With each passing day, he seemed to become more whole. Whereas I had come to a standstill.

Every morning I would take a look in the mirror and be dismayed that I still appeared ethereal. It didn’t help that it was an effort just to have myself heard in my current office job.

To say that I was envious was an understatement.

“Oh, all right,” I conceded, hitting both the ctrl button and ‘s’. Just to be safe, I moved a finger along the touch pad and clicked on the floppy disc shaped icon in the top left. I shut the laptop. “There.”

“So, what were you actually writing about?” asked Connor as I stumbled around the bed and finally sidled in beside him.

“My—our story. Doctor Gibson said it was best that I put all my feelings down and see what happens. She said it might help.”

He frowned. “Do you really think a psychiatrist like her is going to help understand the intricacies of being gifted, Persephone? She’s never had to deal with what we’ve gone through.”

I reached out for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. The sharp contrast between his tanned skin and my transparency was a stark reminder that all my efforts had, as yet, been for naught. Doctor Gibson had been one of my more recent endeavors to find a solution the problem that still hung over my head. “It’s a long shot, I know. But let’s give it a month or two before calling it quits, all right?”

Connor didn’t like it. He hadn’t much liked anything I had done over the last six months to build up my confidence and independence when my condition had partially stabilized after it had nosedived earlier that year. It was as if he feared that if I got better, I would leave him. The thought, in itself, was ludicrous and I wanted to tell him that. Yet, whenever our conversation veered into dangerous waters, he would steer it back towards the safety of land.

And so, instead of agreeing, he pulled me close – enticing me with the promises he had made earlier that night. It was an effective tactic. Before too long, I was swept up by his fervor with the only thought in my head focused on how best to reach that peak again and again.

—

When I woke up, Connor was gone. His side of the bed was cold. There wasn’t even a hint of warmth to indicate that he had been beside me all night. And though I knew he always had an early shift on Mondays, that didn’t ease the pang I felt in my heart as I set about getting ready for the day.

Padding into the kitchen, I found a box of cereal on the counter top along with a carton of milk. In the sink was the bowl he had used as well as a mug stained brown with coffee. I ignored my immediate impulse to clean it all up. At the very least, I would delay it until I had my own breakfast.

I grabbed a bagel from the pantry and cut it in half. The two sides were soon quickly smothered in cream and jelly. I delicately placed them on a spare plate and took it with me to the living room. If Connor had been home, he would have disapproved. Though I never quite understood why, he liked to keep each activity relegated to their ‘appropriate area.’ Food was meant to remain in the kitchen or eaten in the dining room. The living room was meant to entertain guests. To bring a chicken wing, lathered heavily in barbeque sauce would have been blasphemy. Even a biscuit would see his gaze fixed upon each and every crumb that dropped.

“How are you going to remove the stains? Do you know how much it would cost? For God’s sake, Persephone, are you even listening to me?”

Without him hovering over my shoulder, I settled down on the sofa and turned on the television. I ate my breakfast with Good Morning America for company.

Some might say it was a little lonely but with no plans for the day, I savored it. Besides, today was my day off. I didn’t think it was necessary but Connor encouraged me to do it when my condition had worsened. He said it would be of benefit to my own mental health and I reluctantly conceded the point when I started vanishing before the eyes of my co-workers during an important stakeholder meeting.

I gratefully accepted. By that stage, I was hanging on by a thread and having variable hours meant I could see a specialist without feeling the guilt associated with using up all my sick leave. Still, it had stung to be relegated to part-time work and at first, I floundered with all the additional time I had on my hands. Taking up a hobby that I enjoyed helped alleviate some of that tension and also helped push me back on the path of recovery.

It was nine when I padded back to the kitchen and put my plate into the sink. It would only take me a couple of minutes to wash all the dishes but I decided to put it off until I had finished my daily ablutions. I retreated to the bathroom, picked up my toothbrush and squeezed some paste onto it.

Brushing your teeth while being almost ethereal in appearance was a difficult endeavor. When I was younger, I’d often imagine myself as a vampire. Back then, it was a game. Nowadays, I could barely look at my reflection in the mirror. Today, fortunately, was a good day. But there had been times when my features were so indistinct that I forgot what I even looked like. Was my hair long or short? What color was it? Were my eyes brown or did they border on hazel? Maybe they were blue and I had been deceiving myself for my entire life.

Without being able to see what I looked like it was easy to allow the doubts to creep in. To feel that the most essentials parts that contributed to who I was were being stripped away.

Fuck. When did life become so hard? Why couldn’t I get through a single day without feeling as if life would be better if I simply faded away.

I set my brush down and took in several deep breaths. What did Doctor Gibson always say at our sessions? To trust in myself? To give myself purpose and screw what other people thought? No. That didn’t seem right. She had always been one to preach about checking my self-doubt at the door. To reinforce all my positive attributes rather than dwelling on my regrets and the bad things. Positivity rather than negativity.

She had said I should try turn the way I thought upside down. There were no tries. I simply had to do.

Yes. That was it.

I could do this. I had to do this. Steadying myself against the porcelain, I stared at my reflection and willed color back to my cheeks. Invisibility was my power and I controlled how much I wanted to use.

Once I was satisfied that I would not be vanishing any time soon, I washed my face and headed back to the kitchen where I cleaned the dishes. Knowing that all my immediate chores had been completed, I finally returned to the bedroom where my laptop sat on top of a low waist-high cabinet.

Prying it back open, I stared at where I had left off the night before – rereading the last few paragraphs before I resumed typing out the last few years before I had met Connor.

So enthralled in my little project, I did not notice time pass until the bedroom door opened and Connor stood standing in the entrance, the expression on his face a mixture of outrage and annoyance.

“Did you not hear me come in, Persephone?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “How about when I called for you the last thirty goddamn times?”

I shrank back, glancing briefly at the time displayed in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. 6:30PM. Shit. Where had the time gone? “I’m sorry C-Connor,” I stuttered. Though he had never once struck me before I could see that he was trembling. “I-I-I was writing. I had some music playing. Jesus, y-you know how I lost track of things when I’m e-engrossed with something. B-but give me thirty minutes. Please. I’ll have dinner ready and waiting.”

“That’s not good enough!” Each word was punctuated with an increase in volume. I couldn’t help it. I shied away. Instead of calming it down, my fear only made him angrier. He stalked towards me. “When I come home, I expect my girlfriend to greet me at the door. I would have preferred if you had called out. Instead of having to look for you and wondering if you had abandoned me. Funny thing is, I should have known you would be in here. Tip tap typing away on your stupid laptop. Thinking that just by writing down a few words, it’ll make you feel better and maybe stop you from becoming unseen.”

His words were like daggers, cutting at all my vulnerabilities. “Stop it,” I pleaded.

“Well, news flash Persephone: it doesn’t! Guess the jokes on you.”

There were tears in my eyes and I was finding it hard to breathe. The months I had spent trying to reconstruct my fragile psyche were swept away and I was once more cast adrift. I covered my ears with my hands – hoping to drown out the vitriol.

I knew Connor loved me. Today had simply not been a good day for him. I should have known that. I should have been the dutiful girlfriend. God. What was wrong with me?

“Stop Connor. Please stop.”

“No Persephone. I don’t think I will. We need to talk about us. We need to talk about how you never give a damn about me. Even when I’ve slaved all day trying to put bread on the table! You’re an ungrateful bitch, freeloading off my love and devotion to you. What’s wrong with you, Persephone? Why can’t you even do the simplest thing?”

“I-I don’t…” Misery and fear threatened to overwhelm me. I felt so small, so insignificant. That nothing I did would ever amount to anything. Connor was right. He was always right. And I should have been grateful for everything he had done for me.

But it was all too much. For the first time, my thoughts went into a dark scary place that I’m sure Artemis had frequented all throughout high school.

It happened so quick. I only realized what I had done when Connor’s eyes widened and he immediately backed towards the exit. His eyes darted around the room. “Persephone! This isn’t funny. You turn visible right now, you hear me?”

I said not a word. I couldn’t. My voice was gone as well and I could only sit morosely at my desk – ashamed and afraid of what would happen next.

“Persephone, I’m going to count to five. If you don’t turn visible, I swear to God I’m walking out the door and throwing away the key. You’ll be nothing to me, Persephone. Just like how you’re nothing to your mom. You know that, right? She never loved you as much as Artemis. The only person who loves you is me but I’ll take it back if you keep this on any further.”

Why did he always have to reveal my secrets and use them against me? Connor knew which buttons to press and exactly how much he ought to prod. Even though I loved him, I also hated how he always held these things over my head.

Sadness turned to anger. Why was I always the enemy? I had proved time and time again my loyalty to Connor and our relationship. Yet without my voice, without even the ability to be seen, I knew that this could not be easily communicated. I wanted to scream and shout. Fight tooth and nail as I railed against my fate as one of the Unseen. But if I wanted to regain my appearance, I needed time to think. To calm down and be rational. Connor would only use my outbursts against me.

I glanced towards the bathroom door. There was only one way I would be able to find the solace I sought.

In the end, it was easier than I had thought.

As Connor was on the cusp of making it to five, I hopped over the bed and ran towards the bathroom. I slammed the door and ducked to the side as Connor raced towards me – thinking that I had sequestered myself inside. He banged futilely – never thinking to simply turn the knob – and demanded that I let him in. To console, to berate. God only knows what went through his mind.

Free for the first time, I slipped from the bedroom and out the front door. Stopping only briefly to pick up my laptop and a change of underwear before I left the apartment.

Somehow or other, I found myself outside Doctor Gibson’s office close to nine. The lights were still on so I made my way up the stairs. As I stepped up to the door, ready to knock, I thought I could hear voices. Daunted by meeting another of her patients, I went back to the stairwell and made myself comfortable a flight down where I could see who might have had a such a late-night session with the good psychiatrist.

A couple minutes passed and the door creaked open. Out stepped a mess of a man. His cheeks were sunken and it seemed as if he had not shaved in weeks. There were dark bags under his eyes and when he walked past my hiding spot, I caught a whiff of stale whiskey on his breath.

“David! For God’s sake David, you can’t run from this.”

I looked up in time to see Doctor Gibson slipping on a coat as she hurried out the door. The man ignored her, his pace quickening as he took the steps two at a time. Seeing my opportunity, I clambered to my feet and caught the door before it closed.

In her haste, she had left the light on.

I navigated my way down the hallway to the familiar couch where I had spent a couple hours each week trying to find the answers to my condition. The cushions were strewn on the floor and a blanket lay crumpled at one end. Atop the coffee table were water stains, clearly visible on the glass. Maybe David had been staying here. Or perhaps it had been the leftovers from another session with the good Doctor Gibson.

What frustrated me the most, though, was that even though I was now here in the sanctity of Doctor Gibson’s abode, I could not make myself visible. Try as I might, I was able to be seen.

The best I could do was blur the edges and give myself a faint outline. Was this it? Was this how I faded into obscurity? Forgotten? Unloved?

I don’t know how long I stood there, waiting for Doctor Gibson to return. Trapped in that spiral, it could have easily been thirty minutes or a day. All I could focus on was the rising panic and the all-encompassing fear that came with it. I was only pulled from my thoughts when the door slammed shut and I heard a strangled sob of frustration behind me.

Perhaps she had a sixth sense or maybe she heard me as I whirled around but almost immediately, I saw Doctor Gibson transform from weary and vulnerable to guarded and wary. “Who’s there?” she called out. “I know someone’s here. And if you’re an Unseen trying to bugle me, well, there’ not much you can take.”

When I tried to speak, to reassure Doctor Gibson that I meant no harm, silence emerged from my lips. Caught between a mixture of dismay and fear, I clutched at my throat as I stumbled forward. Maybe she could feel me. Surely, she would notice if I made physical contact.

I still existed. I was still rooted in the world. Only my appearance and voice had been taken from me. Right?

She fell backwards when I wrapped my arms around her in a hug – desperate to feel wanted and loved and here. In my haste to save her, I banged my leg against the edge of the coffee table. “Damnit,” I swore, trying to assess if I had suffered any damage. It didn’t seem like I’d hurt myself but it was hard when even your own blood was invisible.

“Is that you, Persephone? I know that you told me that your powers were unstable,” she said after a lengthy silence, “but I would never have guessed that it was this bad. Talk to me, Persephone. I’m here.”

A smile threatened to tear my face in two. She had recognized my voice. She knew who I was. Perhaps it was this thought that broke through the barrier preventing me from becoming visible. It was only when Doctor Gibson began to stroke my back and dabbed at my tears that I realized that I must have returned. Or had, at the very least, resumed a faded outline or appearance.

My suspicions were confirmed when she took me into the restroom and I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Much of my color was missing but no-one could overlook the faint fuzziness that indicated my presence in the world.

It was nearly midnight when we settled back on the couch. Doctor Gibson looked worn out and weary as she handed me a cup of chamomile tea. We didn’t talk much that night. She needed to head back home, but I was welcome to stay the night at the office to collect my bearings and make some decisions. When I handed over my laptop, with my story sequestered in a 30kb word document, Doctor Gibson slipped it into her bag and promised to read it when she had the chance.

We parted at one in the morning. I walked her down to the street before retreating back to her office where I had made a comfortable bed on the couch. Sleep eluded me as I ran through everything that had happened that day. Memories and thoughts would flash through my mind – demanding my attention.

I must have fallen asleep sometime between three or four, because when I next opened my eyes, Doctor Gibson was seated in her armchair, pouring over what I had written over the past week as per the assignment she gave me. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with rheum, it took me a while to understand where exactly I was.

I’m ashamed to admit that panic was my first instinct and I immediately tried calling out for Connor, confused at waking up in an unfamiliar environment.

Doctor Gibson, patient and understanding, was quick to allay any fears I had. Within the half hour, I had recollected myself and was gorging myself on a bagel slathered with cream cheese. She had also brewed up a batch of coffee. And though it was black, the first sip tasted a little like heaven as I was returned to the land of the living.

“This may be a little forward of me to ask, Persephone, but in all our talks together you never mentioned you had a sister,” said Doctor Gibson when I had finished breakfast and had just returned from the kitchen. “In fact, it seems as if a lot of your present issues with your gift seems to stem from a place of guilt.”

“Well, shouldn’t I have been a little more aware? If I had known…if I had stopped it, perhaps Artemis would still be here,” I replied warily, saying the first things that came to mind. Talking about what had happened in those frantic months at college had always been difficult. Particularly when mom had slowly begun to withdraw from our interactions. I had always known she loved my younger sister best.

She nodded. “That’s an understandable emotion to feel.”

“What are you getting at?” I asked, unsure where this conversation might be headed towards. All I knew was that there was tingling down my spine and not the good kind.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Doctor Gibson said gently. From her tone, it was not a simple request. “This is a bit earlier than our weekly sessions, but considering the circumstances that brought you to my door last night, I warrant that there are things we need to discuss.”

I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. A part of me was scared. It wanted to turn invisible and run away. But a stronger part, the one that was sick and tired of feeling trapped stopped me from giving in. It was this part that sat me down opposite Doctor Gibson and look her dead in the eye as I waited for the guillotine to fall.

“From what I’ve read so far, I can see that you feel responsible for what happened to Artemis. In the years since, you’ve pushed everyone away. And all the failed relationships you’ve been in, the men you’ve dated – all of it is some twisted sort of penance. You want to punish yourself, Persephone.”

Laughter burst through my lips. “Really, Doc? Is that the best you got? I’ll admit that I haven’t made the wisest choices but that was because my power made it impossible. One day I’d be me and then the next, I was gone. Faded from sight. As if I didn’t exist. As if I never existed. Do you know how that feels like? To have all your efforts gone unacknowledged by those around you. To be ignored and treated as little more than the air someone else breathes?

“Connor was the one that helped stabilize me. He saw me. Because he knew what it meant to be unseen. To be cursed with this ability and not know how to control it.”

“Yet, here you are. With me,” observed Doctor Gibson. “Why is that, Persephone? If Connor sees you, where is he now? What happened last night?”

“I—we…we had a fight,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s always been there for me.”

Doctor Gibson leaned in close. “What did you fight about, Persephone? Was it the fact you were distracted? Or did you forget to have everything just the way he liked it? After all our sessions together, we’ve hardly even broached the topic about your relationship. Whenever we do, you’re quick to change the subject. Is it because he frightens you? Or is he one of the underlying reasons behind why you can’t control your powers?”

Each question was a direct blow against the fragile wall I had constructed around my psyche. For months I had tried to play pretend. For months, I had written off Connor’s behavior and given him excuses.

If I was going to be honest with myself, though, I needed to realize that being with Connor did not make me happy. I hated how he always treated me as if I was made of porcelain. Or that I was incredibly naive.

In fact, so many of his actions only served to undermine my individuality and my autonomy. Ever since we had met, he had tried to strip away my self-confidence to boost his own ego. And I, feeling that this was what I deserved after what had happened with Artemis, had allowed it to happen. I had been the accomplice to my own downfall.

Hot tears prickled at the corner of my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but it was useless to stem the tide of emotion that crashed through. Doctor Gibson watched on, a silent witness, her face an impassive mask. I did not know if she considered this a breakthrough or if she was aghast that she had destroyed the very fabric of my tenuous world.

~

Rebuilding my fractured relationships was a lot easier than I had initially thought. It was still a long and drawn out process with many missteps. For a while, I despaired whether or not any of it would be worth it. But, little by little, I made inroads. They say that a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And that was exactly what happened.

Doctor Gibson continued to help and support me during my momentary lapses. Of course, always with a fee attached. With my new role and growing mastery of my abilities, however, it was a small price to pay.

What I struggled the most with, though, was letting go of my feelings of inadequacy and the guilt that had plagued me for so many years. It didn’t help that for several weeks, I still tried to make it work with Connor. He had a way with pushing my buttons to make me feel worse. In the end, there was simply no way for the both of us to be together. Or even live in the same apartment. Not after everything that had happened.

I moved out and continued to work on both my physical fitness and my mental health.

Whether or not it was the right thing to do, I can’t say. There were moments when I wondered if I even deserved something better but Doctor Gibson was quick to pull the ‘could have, should have, would have’ card. There was no telling what might have been and there was little sense on dwelling on the possibilities. What was done was done. The past was immutable and could not be changed.

The future, though, that was unwritten. And I had it within me to chart a different course. To seek atonement rather than wallowing in self-pity.

When I think about everything, though, I know I’m not quite there. Yet I know now that such things take time. There’s no instant solution. With my new roommates and Doctor Gibson and quite a few supportive colleagues from work, I felt as if I was finally starting to see the light at the end of a long dark tunnel.

People saw me. Even in my darkest moments. Perhaps I should have reached out earlier. Sought help when I could.

Despite shame and embarrassment holding me back, I still managed to cling onto that last shred of hope. And it was the very thing I needed to claw my way out of an impossible situation.

I write this now for the people that come after. For those that are held back by fear and anxiety.

I see you.

And if I can make it then you can do it too.

Freaky Deaky

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

The third post-apocalyptic game that I decided to play in the year 2019 was not Rage 2. Having never played the original, the latest title from both id Software and Avalanche Studios was never much on my radar. Rather, it was another PlayStation exclusive that had caught my eye – absorbing me for hours on end until I had nabbed the Platinum and had seen all of the interconnected story lines to 100%. Known for the Syphon Filter series as well as the handheld Uncharted adventure on the PlayStation Vita, this time Bend Studios decided to cut their teeth on something a little different. 

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Days Gone is an open-world game set in a world where humans have been infected with a virus that turns them all but feral, the protagonist, Deacon St John, tries to navigate the ins and outs of survivor camps as he tries to eke out a living in the Oregon wilderness. A member of a motorcycle club, there’s much more to the gruff drifter that first meets the eye. And it was these story hooks: playing as an outlaw bikie who was married to a botanical research scientist that kept me going through what felt like two to three seasons of a television show. 

I’ll admit, there were moments that I found tedious. Particularly in the first and second act when they were trying to introduce the world. It also seemed as if they were trying to cram in a little too much world building within the actual story lines rather than focusing on Deacon’s immediate wants and needs. This was further exacerbated by my completionist style of play where I would continue to strive and complete all the side quests before moving on with the story.

Because of that, I rode quite a bit through back roads of Oregon instead of fast travelling. It helped that the bike controls handle well, although each subsequent upgrade made it a little less manoeuvrable with its increased focus on speed. Still, that’s what DRIFT is for. And I’d find myself zipping through the mountains and forests with ease.

The one quibble I have with the game is that there’s no way to run and gun. R2 is both melee attack as well as shoot when paired with L2. With the focus on running from huge hordes of freakers, it felt a little counter-intuitive that I could not simply turn around, spray the enemy with bullets and then keep on running. Or have Deacon shoot over his shoulder. Instead, he would slow down simply to aim. It slowed down quite a bit of the action and caused quite a few deaths in my first few attempts at tackling a horde.

Speaking of the zombie-esque enemies in Days Gone, none of them are actually undead. Much like in the Last of Us, these foes are quite alive but infected with a particular virulent virus strain that decimated any children under the age of 12 as well as the elderly. Those that survived became the Freakers – mindless zombie-like creatures that practice cannibalism and act incredibly aggressive to those that are not one of them. 

One of the major things that proved a little confusing in how the virus worked was that none of the survivors camped in what remained of Oregon state seemed worried about infection – even though when the initial outbreak happened, millions of people died or became freakers. Initially, I thought that like rabies, it was passed through saliva (or being bitten). Yet when you uncover when the virus first spread, it seemed much more plausible that it was airborne.

Perhaps after the initial infection, the so-called freakers that the virus created could no longer spread it? For a while, I pored over reddit threads to see if anyone else had a better explanation for why Deacon and many of the other survivors were so cavalier about the entire experience. 

This, too, was a sticking point for me with regards to the game but didn’t quite detract me from going along for the ride.

I also wondered a little about Sarah’s tattoos. Based on the trailers, I had thought she got them after meeting Deacon but she already had them along her arms at their first meeting. Perhaps it was an act of defiance against her parents. I, for one, would have preferred if there had been a bit more backstory for the characters.

As for the overall narrative to Days Gone, all I can say that it takes one for a spin. And even when it could have neatly ended in the second act, it still brought the focus back towards Deacon’s quest to find his wife. Though it seemed to be about Deacon’s death wish and struggle with grief, within two thirds of the game he is rewarded with news that everything he had believed was wrong. Rather than focusing on loss, the developers decided to reward Deacon with a happy ending. 

Like an article I read, it makes Deacon’s arc feel a little cheap. They try to prop him up as finally settling down and taking part in a community of survivors, but it still felt as if he hasn’t truly changed throughout the course of the game.

Overall, I have to say that I enjoyed Days Gone. After looking through a couple of reviews, I will admit that I was worried that the game would not entice me as much as it did. Perhaps because I played it a month after release, many of the bugs that had plagued early adopters never bothered me. There was no audio issues besides one time when it didn’t load for a cutscene (which was easily rectified by loading it up again from before it happened) and a few freezes along with texture pop-ins. The promise of a government conspiracy, though, has made me eager for more adventures in this world. 

And perhaps, Sarah might just find a cure for the aggressive virus that has now evolved to a point where it allows those infected to retain their intelligence and reason. Here’s to uncovering more about NERO’s activities and stopping their insidious plans for good!

The Adventure Begins…

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

My last post about heading to Supanova was a curated beast. There were many things I left out. Some included being snared by a group of indie board game enthusiasts (Halfling Caravan Games) that talked my ear off about their Kickstarter projects and a little cyberpunk game they had created called Beta Maxx. I was also tempted by BattleCry, a local LARP group that was located in the heart of suburban Sydney. Maybe one of these days I’ll actively join one of these events and destroy all those that would oppose me. Please insert maniacal laughter right about…here.

But the real reason I thought it imperative to make a separate post from the entirety of Supanova came about when I was at a stall selling dice. Regulars of my blog will know that I once bought a set of dice and embarked on a grand Pathfinder adventure. That, of course, ended quite abruptly.

It, however, did not stop the itch that came from enjoying a role playing game with friends. And over the last few years, I bought many a Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition rulebooks and bestiaries – hoping one day to be the Dungeon Master of my own little game.

Anyways, I was chatting to one of the store sellers – caught between the urge to lay down more than a hundred dollars and to save it for some other nebulous purpose in the future – when I mentioned that it was exciting to see so many people cosplaying as characters from a live-streamed Dungeons and Dragons game starring a nerdy bunch of voice actors. If you didn’t understand that reference, well, I’m excited to proselytise the wonders of Critical Role.

Now, I can’t remember exactly when I stumbled upon this gem but for quite a long while I had followed the YouTube channel: Geek and Sundry. From its roots with Felicia Day (who I randomly decided to google after discovering she was the voice of Zojja in Guild Wars 2 and falling down the rabbit hole that was The Guild) to such classics as Tabletop (sparking my own interest into elusive board games, which I cannot play because none of my friends live close by and I have no siblings to speak of, and my mother and grandmother are both migrants that struggle with English). 

As a prolific gamer, though, I had also heard of Laura Bailey, Travis Willingham, Liam O’Brien and Ashley Johnson. By then, I think I also knew Matthew Mercer as the one voice actor that sounded quite similar to Troy Baker (having mistaken the two when I booted up Tales of Xillia and first heard Alvin speak). 

When they had first announced Critical Role, I had been sceptical at first. Yet, as I continued to watch (or listen) to the adventures of Vox Machina unfold, I could not help but be drawn into this magnificent world.

Inspired by the storytelling of Matthew Mercer, I was disappointed that my own Pathfinder game did not place such a high focus on story. Almost always, we were thrown into conflict scenarios and my attempts at roleplaying downtime or characters interactions were dismissed. So sorry for trying to play a paladin when my natural inclinations always fall towards rogues and rangers. Still, that did not dampen my spirit in wanting to create my own campaign and have a group of friends explore the world that I had in my head (much like they did when I was in Years 5 and 6. It wasn’t Dungeons and Dragons, true, but it was quite similar). 

How does any of this relate to Supanova? 

Well, let me tell you that I was beyond excited when I recognised people cosplaying as Jester, Caleb, Nott, Yasha, Beauregard, Caduceus and Mollymauk. The only one I did not see that day was Fjord. Everyone’s favourite half-orc Warlock of the legendary Mighty Nein. It was the first time I had seen people dressed up as these characters and demonstrated how much Critical Role had penetrated the mainstream of nerd culture. 

Perhaps I should not have been surprised. The Kickstarter for the Critical Role animated series smashed expectations. Articles were being written about these prolific voice actors and the rise of Dungeons and Dragons all around the world.

I suppose it just came as a surprise as most people tend to cosplay from television shows, blockbuster films, video games and anime. There is the occasional person that would dress up in steam punk or a character from a novel but these are few and far between. Most tend to go for those that are almost immediately recognisable. And I will admit that I saw plenty of D.Vas running amok. 

Still, I have to say that while seeing such intricate costumes of the Mighty Nein swelled my little heart, I was a tad disappointed that Vox Machina had been forgotten. Where was Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan? Grog and Pike? Percy and Keyleth and Scanlan and Tiberius? And most important of all: why no Trinket?

In any case, here’s hoping that I can get the ball rolling for my own Dungeons and Dragons campaign…

https://halfling-caravan-games.itch.io/

http://www.battlecrylarp.com.au/home