How Rpg’s Are Really Inspired By Childhood.

When I was a kid, during those brief periods when the UK was privileged to experience interludes of illuminating sunshine often referred to as summer, I would lay in the back garden gazing at the crystal blue sky above, imagining that I was stranded on a palatial island in the sky like Laputa and that the sky above was in fact the ocean, cresting towards some far-flung land mass with rhythmic tranquillity. Airplanes were boats skirting across the great blue surface, leaving elegant crests of rippling water streaking across its deep oceanic beauty, like delicate brush strokes on a work of art. The turquoise covered tranquillity seemed to leer down on me with contempt, gleaming with restitutitive properties that aches to be disturbed, wishing that I could dive into its crisp nurturing fluidity. Surveying its pristine expanse for minutes felt like hours, hoping that gravities enduring grasp would relinquish, allowing me to fall into its watery embrace. It’s reviting to think what imagery the young mind is capable of cunjuring. At that age you’re a visionary, with a unique perception of the world that no adult could possibly understand. Insulated against the tyrony of oppressive society that revokes the fertile musings of a child’s aspirations. We covet the obscure, the absurd and the irrational, because they can’t be rationalised. And it’s these capricious sentiments of youth that help craft Rpgs, particularly ones affiliated with fantasy.

The notion of magic, goblins, swords and sorcerers is profoundly whimsical and a distinct component of the juvenile mind. Rpg’s are an extension of that, the yearning for wondrous worlds beyond our own. You embark on imperious adventures as some spirited youth, battling indistinct foes and endeavouring to preserve the safety of some rural village, occupied by vulnerable elves that live a life of passive tolerance towards the aggressive regime of the kingdoms military. These kinds of simple affairs of good and evil evoke so many memories of being a doe eyed kid. Walks to school as a child would be considered an arduous hike by my own mature perspective, but for a kid that 30 minute walk becomes a 30 minute adventure. Suddenly your laboured pace escalates, the mundane journey is now filled with perilous danger as you battle hordes of goblins to defend the rustic village of elves. And all of this is achieved before you’ve even begun the first lesson of the day.

I believe, whether subconsciously or not, that the way we as children perceive the world around us has an abiding influence on adulthood, that nurtures the enduring affinity for spurious realities. Rpg’s embrace that infantile creativity by flaunting the ambitious rigor of dissimilation. Constructing fertile environments where make believe has an extensive mythology rooted in the profound influences we experienced growing up. Creativity is bred from the boundless imagination of youth. Inspiration is carved from the raw potential and purity of that same abstract curiosity. Without the unyielding potential of one’s creativity most fantasy inspired worlds would be tedious imitations of our own. And who wants that?

Perhaps one day gravity will relinquish its persistent grasp that confines me to the earth and send me hurtling towards the ocean above. Someday……

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Destiny 2 And How I Secretly Hope It Fails.

I shouldn’t, should I? It’s vindictive to wish failure on a person, let alone an innate product that provides such emphatic elation with mere anticipation alone. I’m an honest guy. I live a life committed to such a principle, completely unabashed by my earnest assertions that sometimes provoke the exasperated mire of others. I try not to hold grudges. They require too much endurance as well as a capacity to recall the offending incident that instigated such a grievance. But there’s something about Destiny that still irritates me. Now I know what you custodians of the mundane and enablers of negligence will persecute my contempt as being ignorant of its abundant refinements that, after years of considerable monetary expansions confute its formative complacency. That the Destiny I remember is not the same game it eventually became. That content has been added to innovate and expand it beyond its evidently specious conception. And Destiny is a profoundly more cogent experience with all the additional features garnished over a distinctly bland infrastructure. But with tortured metaphors aside I can pin point precisely when I knew there was something off about Destiny.

When I played Destiny my initial reaction was one of suitable contentment. The shooting was refined, saturating its environments with enemy combatants whose skulls could be vaporised with satisfying precision. It was replete in beautifully articulated environments, imagined with such detailed creativity that you’re convinced Earth’s now eradicated civilisation and subsequent alien residency is a prophetic glimpse of a legitimate future. It becomes apparent very quickly though that these alluring implements of cranial dissection will only maintain a limited appeal, especially considering the diverse architectures are deposited in rich, detailed environments that are mitigated by the exterior vacuity and finite space to explore. Perhaps my own ambitious perception of what the game was going to be subverted my judgement. Maybe I conjured some romanticized view of the game, interpreted through amalgamated information and misleading marketing. Regardless having neither been initially chided by Destiny’s glaring omissions or irked by the limited environments I persevered seeking some kind of context for my characters sudden aversion to death. You soon reach the Last City, an ornate fortitude populated by a colony of guardians who protect the last bastion of human civilisation with the aid of the traveller: a huge spherical meguffin. Essentially the Last City is the only remaining refuge for mankind, predominantly used as a place to purchase new artillery, modify existing ones and initiate impromptu dance numbers. It’s here, guided by your AI assistant Ghost, basically Wheatley from Portal if it were a fidget spinner with built-in sat-nav, voiced by the eternally catatonic Peter “I needed a new loft conversion” Dinklage that we are introduced to a man eerily referred to as the Speaker. Having searched low and high (Peter Townshend, look it up kids) you discover that the “Speaker” is of very singular expository importance with a name as that couldn’t be more ironic. A man with an extensive knowledge regarding the declination of the human race and other historically pertinent information, that could benefit you on your travels and impart a wisdom, purpose or even a point to your intergalactic exploration.

ME- “Please great Speaker. Confer your infinite wisdom so that I may better understand my purpose and aid you in the preservation of our species?”

Speaker- “I could tell you about the great War that has ravaged our people. A conflict hat has left humanity on the cusp of extinction?…..”

ME– “…… Please do. Continue.”

Speaker- “Oh, look at the time. I really have to go and so must you to…eh…Venus to recover a thing. Go on, off you pop!”

“Seriously, this is what’s supposed to get me excited? Is that a robe?!

That’s it? That’s my incentive? The reasons could be just about anything! Perhaps we borrowed some washing powder and didn’t return it! Anything would be better than some vague briefing! So with that vacant explanation my engagement was quickly rescinded, with the monotonous repetition of participating in the same missions and redacted story providing little engagement. The inflationary nature of Destiny that boasted an unparalleled experience before release, instead concealed its flaunted story behind the compliance of commerce. Stripping necessary portions that would have elevated the game beyond a glorified beta. As a consequence of extensive tampering the finished product felt moderated beyond understanding. The game, consolidated by the paid for “additional features” is far more accomplished, and personally the game it should have been on release. You’d think years of abstinence would have diminished my hostility, that such a churlish resolve would have faded and peaceful, amicable resolution found. Nope, not even slightly. I hate that it was so disappointing. I hate that people forgave it for its obvious manipulation. And I hate that it got a sequel!

All of the trailers leading up to Destiny 2’s release were so obnoxiously abhorrent . There’s a very smug, self-congratulatory quality to them, like it found a pound coin in a shopping trolley. You get a sense that the developers truly believe that Destiny was as important to the games industry as the Bible is to Christians. The trailer also features a rather irritating guardian performing a motivational speech as if he were a stand up comedian poorly imitating Deadpool. It’s so incredibly ostentatious and detestably vulgar, yet I seem to be the only one that recognises just how odious it is?! Destiny 2 could very well be the game of the year and I realise that my conservative estimation of it won’t be influenced or changed by any plaudits it receives or the magnanimous support lauded on to it by a dedicated fan base that relishes its existence, and perhaps that’s my loss. But I doubt it. If you’re one of the many adopters of this very popular franchise then you’ll feel no obligation to advocate your participation, not that I’d ever criticise anyone from enjoying a game I didn’t like. But for me the original Destiny “experience” has left such a virulently bitter taste that has remained agonizingly chronic even now. I can’t forgive its voluntary greed nor its underwhelming performance as a whole. Much like Clarke Gables famous retort to petulant southern dame Catherine O Hara in “Gone With The Wind”, when it comes to Destiny 2, quite frankly I don’t give a damn!

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What do you guys think of Destiny 2? Is it rational to hate a game you’ve never played? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.

For the past 11 or so years I’ve been gainfully employed as a printer. We predominantly manufacture labels with various designs and colours depending on the customer’s very acute specifications. They range from simple, plain rectangular labels that can be applied to sandwich packaging or something intricately decorative with multiple layers, resistant to cold temperatures. The job entails a great deal of studious concentration to ensure that plates, cutters, and slitters are aligned with perfect synchronicity. You’re required to scrutinise the quality of the products being produced to ensure a level of consistency, which is crucial to maintaining individual label standards. Efficiency is essential, necessitating diligent judicial scrutiny to minimise the risk of blemished merchandise. It only takes one smudge, one solitary indentation of a bar code for an entire supply to be rejected, costing the company thousands in reparation. The constant delegation and subsequent retention for prolonged visual observations means that I’m prone to headaches. Nothing severe, but enough to know that a dark room and solitude isn’t without is retributive benefits. Have you ever tried to focus on a moving object, one that gains perpetual momentum as you try to observe the slightest change in a text movements, that is only millimetres in size? It’s challenging, requiring significant mental exertion as opposed to the physical labour, but not overbearing when moderated. The job is largely simple once you understand the complexities. Like anything it’s about repetition and adapting to any issues that may arise. Yet the job, specifically the way the company operates as well as other bureaucratic functions has greatly diminished my interests in continuing to work in this environment.

The last couple of years has been especially challenging, with many colleagues leaving or retiring. The introduction of a new hierarchy that endeavours to run the company in their own laboured fashion has only compounded the issue. Yet the managerial shuffling and staff resignations are just symptoms of as yet undiagnosed ailment. It’s difficult to really isolate precisely what’s made my contributions so apathetic, as I’ve never really loved my job anyway, but there’s an atmosphere around the place that has drained any enthusiasm I had for this profession. It’s provided a solid if not lucrative wage and affords me the opportunity to spend additional time with my daughter as I get every other Friday off work. But it’s not really a career, more of an arcane occupation that’s eminent prestige, once yielding a substantial revenue is reserved for its more prosperous 80’s heyday. The trouble I have is that I don’t really know what else I want to do!

Most people my age have either determined a career to pursue or are actively training towards some specific project. I’m 30 years old and I’m still unsure what I want in a career. I’ve never nurtured an ambition for a prospective career and I’m envious of those who have. People that know precisely what they wish to achieve and have the conviction to go for it no matter the result. For me it isn’t just a case of searching for alternate means of employment, as I don’t simply want to walk out of one job a dislike for another equally dissatisfactory occupation, but instead establishing a direction. Ascertaining an appointment with prospects befitting of my many inert talents.

Money has never been of great value to me. It’s never something I’ve craved. It serves its purposes adequately and any surplus capital available to me once bills as sundries have been sated for another month is used sparingly but affectively. Whether that’s to purchase a new pair of shoes for my daughter, a second-hand game or something altogether less extravagant like a shower fitting. The trouble is that bills and food aren’t getting any more affordable, and the money generated by my girlfriend and I simply doesn’t stretch as far as it used to. So though I am perhaps not comfortable working for a company that equates the loss of employees and increase in business as a positive inflation of financial productivity, my motives for wanting a change are more a little more pragmatic.

There’s no certainty that a vocational adjustment will ameliorate the growing austerity that has only been perpetuated by the UK’s decision to leave the EU. But I’ve spent too long waiting for something to happen and it’s long overdue that I did something, however risky it may seem.

Uncharted: The Lost Legacy. My First Impressions.

You maybe surprised to learn that I’ve been playing “Uncharted:The Lost Legacy”. As if a connoisseur of this franchise wouldn’t be engaged in another exhilarating exhibition of wilful genocide?! The provocateur of many dangerous expeditions, demolisher of precariously constructed structures, eradicator of rare mythological antiquities and hoarder of every Uncharted Platinum. It’s good to be back! Espousing the wretched deeds of a man with the sheer tenacity and fortuity to destroy every last archeological city/ruin/ship he’s ever discovered. Despite this concentrated level of callous destruction Nathan Drake remains an endearing, if accident prone rogue with all the charismatic distinction that made Nate him such an affable protagonist. Sadly with the retirement of Drake into matrimonial domesticity the Uncharted franchise has pandered to the aspirations of feminist vocation, further diminishing the influence of modern masculinity by replacing Nathan Drake with Chloe Frazer. A women. The inferior gender with none of the rugged strength, intelligence or flatulence that makes man a much more viable option for heroism. And it’s glorious!
I’ll miss Drake, of course I will but Chloe isn’t merely a replacement but a necessity. She has always been one of my favourite supporting players so to see her in a more prominent role is deeply gratifying. Her omission in “A Thief’s End” may have been necessary, but it was a glaring absence that betrayed her more illustrious presence in Uncharted 2. Here she’s as sharp as she is wryly. Focused and unyielding yet compassionate and vulnerable. The abrasive dynamic between Chloe and Nadine infuses their tentative relationship with a fluctuant chemistry never explored in the series before. They argue and bicker yet support one another to achieve their mutually independent goals. I’ve yet to finish Lost Legacy, so I’m reserving further analysis until then. But for my money, not that I have any, this could be the start of something new. Nathan Drakes tenure as Uncharted’s chief architect is over, his personal fortune found. But Uncharted itself may have discovered a whole new legacy to commence.

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What do you think of “The Lost Legacy”? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

Why Game Of Thrones Accelerated Story Is A Blessing. *Spoilers*

Chaos is a ladder. A means for the conniving Petr Baelish to ascend further up the political hierarchy. Chaos is also evidently some fans reaction to Game Of Thrones sudden manipulation of time and the accelerated travel habits of Westoros more prominent residents. Questions concerning instantaneous mobility of GOT characters has been this seasons most divisive topic. How for instance was Tyrion Lannister able to sail from Dragonstone to King’s Landing, organise a covert meeting with his brother in the bowels of the red keep, and return back to Dragonstone within one episode? It’s a fair question considering the logistical encumbrances that would prevent such a prompt voyage from occurring quite so readily. But the fault lies in our inability to comprehend the rapidity of this series and the writers deficiencies in conveying the hastening of character mobility. In previous series the individual stories would be afforded time to ferment. In this instance Tyrion would’ve spent several episodes boarding a ship, lounging on gilded cushions sipping wine, cavorting with a paid acquaintance, ruminating about his nobility, stunted growth and how his treacherous family despise him. We’ve been there, seen that and literally bought the T-shirt (Keep Calm and Demand Trial By Combat). At this stage of the story, with such a limited capacity for narrative elaboration what do you expect? Jaime & Bronn sauntering through a glade discussing the pitfalls of acquiring a castle in a time of such economical uncertainty? Jon Snow and the rest of his improvised contingent trekking North of the wall for half a season, stopping occasionally to clarify the many vernaculars of the word “Dick” in all of its colourful usage? Cersei discussing the most appropriate colour scheme for the nursery to lodge her unborn child, the consequence of an incestuous union of brother and sister? How can you not miss those carriage episodes where they talk about radishes and urine? With so much presumably left to tell there really isn’t a lot of room for elaboration.

“Tyrion, looking particularly Tyrion today.”

I’ll attest that the sudden expeditious nature of principal story threads has been dramatic and jarring, which is owed to the pedestrian velocity of season 5’s more laboured proclivities. This award-winning season (seriously Emmys, go to bed) seldom found it stride outside of the exquisite “Hardhome” episode, and slowed the momentum of the show considerably. The source material provided by author George R R Martin though immensely detailed, often compelling is where much of the inspiration is derived and is startling bereft of progression, preferring long protracted exchanges between characters that builds firm foundations to eventual conflict but no immediate relevance. Alternatively simply ignoring prominent characters entirely! So it shouldn’t come a surprise that the television adaptation doesn’t accurately adhere to the same oblique disposition. Compromise is an intrinsic part of any adaptation, particularly literature. Whether it’s embellishing specific elements or the absence of others, deviations to subsidiary plot points are inevitable as well as necessary. It simply isn’t practical to have a series of this magnitude lingering for 20 seasons just to conciliate the glacial like momentum of the characters?!

You also have to consider that prior to the announcement of the reduced seasons, most of the cast were contractually obliged to fulfil 7 seasons not eight. Logistically HBO would’ve had to renegotiate those contracts to retain the services of the cast, at the same time likely amend their wages to reflect the commitments of individuals looking to develop their respective careers beyond Thrones. The likes of Lena Heady, Emilia Clarke and Kit Harrington don’t want to be performing the same roles for the rest of their lives, so certain logistical caveats are bound to upset the conclusion of the series. Nobody wants to see a 40-year-old Kit Harrington portraying a character half his age.

I’m not blindly accepting or encouraging plot holes; I’m actively cognizant of them. Jon and Danny’s sudden infatuation is a little forced considering their marginal interactions together, but I’m okay with that. Sure a more earnest report developing between two of Westoros most morally conscious singletons would have been great to have seen, established over several seasons. But there’s no time for courtship. Love doesn’t work to the constraints of time. We don’t have half a season to demonstrate an accurate passage of time it has taken Gendry to return to Eastwatch. I can’t say I’m overly concerned by the ravens, Westoros principal means of mail delivery service, seemingly upgraded from Royal Mail to Amazon Prime. If anything I’ve found Tyrian Lannisters gradual affinity for sobriety rather unsettling. His impish wit that made him such an enduring delight has succumbed to the pressure of being Danny’s chief consort on all things “Iron Throne” related. Such abbreviated details have been deliberately abridged to expedite the story in a more condensed, streamlined package. It’s not ideal but it’s what we’ve got.

“In a world of flaming swords, demon shadow babies, Dragons, resurrection and ice zombies, the speed of a raven is where we draw the line on logic?”

What amuses me is that people can instinctively ridicule one isolated flaw, but can ably ignore the fact that Bran now looks more like an accountant than a child? They don’t quarrel Daenerys dark eyebrows that clash with her presumed natural blonde locks? Nor Little Fingers distracting Irish cadence that suddenly materialised between seasons? The underlying issues that have inspired such fanatical ire is less to do with the narratives rhythm or longevity and more to do with the writing. Season 7 has been a demonstration of why GOT needs to finish sooner rather than later. George R R Martins writing influence during the earlier seasons, particularly when it came to dialogue was so integral to character identity. His absence since season 4 has been distinctively apparent to the scripts casual and overly basic interactions between characters. Conversations feel less like organic musings, but more necessities to detail important exposition. D&D, the chief executives have done an admirable job of adapting much of Martins Tomes into succinct entertainment. Brilliantly exacerbating moments like the wildlings attack on castle black while remitting some of Martins more laboured predilections that compromise the natural fluidity of the story. But it’s clear without Martins material to appropriate from D&D are merely interpreting the knowledge accorded by Martin’s vision for A Song Of Ice And Fires conclusion.

“Jon Snow?”

Game of thrones has always been more than just tits and wine. It’s about the people who inhabit this macabre and twisted continent. It’s about Ned Stark extolling the virtues of nobility that egregiously results in his demise. That despite Jon Snows insistence on being honourable, ultimately he will be betrayed by his closet allies. That virtue, honour and bravery though commendable merits to you or I, they don’t win battles or put Kings and Queens on the Iron Throne. But it’s deceit, greed and duplicity that supersede the intentions of what is deemed right with the effectiveness of dishonesty. The good, or a perception of good don’t prevail simply because it’s right. And it’s the proclaimed righteous that suffer. And even though season 7 has had its issues with pacing, story and creatively the principles that good will overcome evil is not something any of us should keep faith in. However quickly this story ends be prepared for the worst outcome, because as a cruel sadistic Bolton once mused “If you think this will have a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”

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What do you think of season 7? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

My Top 10 Most Influential Games….. OF ALL TIME!

I have never done anything like this before. To be totally honest it’s never even occurred to me to catalogue an extensive assortment of properties with any succinct definition. To deliberately enunciate something as having a greater significance in your life over something else to me is a little foolish, a specious logic that can be interchanged or adapted to complement an opinion expressed one minute, that has the potential to change substantially by the time you wake up. To accurately determine this list with any significant structure is almost impossible and is one of the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted to literate. Trying to comprise such an extensive list of such redolent content, intimately personal to me required weeks of research to amiably facilitate and is a list that even now continues to change.

I’ll be honest with you now: I don’t want to mess this up. Gaming has been such a huge contributor in my life, especially as a kid. It provided a reliable stability at a time that my parents separated when I was about 8. Games nourished my soul when school or any academic study sought to broach my already fragmented teenage mind. However stressful work became I knew a good game could sooth and engage me in a way no other recreational activity could. They never criticised, tormented or berated me, they merely entertained, remaining a resilient and reliable source of comfort no matter how much life trolled you. So it’s with some anxious trepidation that I try and collate some of my favourite games into a definitive list.

Now I decided that “Inspirational” was a far more accurate expression than “Best” to describe the content listed. Though Best is a correlative term it doesn’t quite elegantly denote the spiritual stature that these 10 games represent. Best certainly doesn’t adequately define the intimate effect they’ve had on my upbringing nor their continued casual evocation in my later life. As such many of these games have some personal associations attributed to them, integrated somehow into childhood adolescents in some form making this an intimate list and not necessarily indicative of a games quality. I’m intending to post each of the games over separate articles through the next few months, time permitting of course. Like I’ve said these games are particularly important to me, each requiring their own dedicated space for me to competently articulate their significance in relation to my life. But before I delve into my top 10 I thought I take a moment to append a few other titles that didn’t quite make the cut. It was tough not including them and they all deserve recognition despite their absence from my definitive inventory. So in no particular order here are the titles that only just missed out:

The Last Of Us.

Mario Kart Double Dash.

Ratchet & Clank.

Micro Machines.

Onimusha 2.

World Of Illusion Starring Mickey Mouse And Donald Duck.

Donkey Kong Country.

NBA Jam.

Tetris.

Bucky O Hare.

Bug.

Daytona USA.

Virtua Cop.

Pro Evoloution 3.

Road Rash.

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What games have inspire you most? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Almost Dead By Daylight.

It’s been another challenging week as a Dead By Daylight survivor, as my ascendancy through the ranks has been thwarted by the exquisite proficiency of the clandestine pursuers that possess a natural affinity for tracking my teenage hide like a creepy Geography teacher. Having been embroiled in a number of close matches I still quickly scaled from a lowly level 20 prestige up to a respectable 13. Yet despite repeated attempts to reach the coveted top 10 I have been consistently intercepted by the tenacious provocation of a number of ruthless killers. Flirting with stints of successful evasion, through a dedicated regime of cautious discretion and concealment I have rigorously surmounted a steady increase towards level 12 prestige. Only to have my progress mitigated by one foolish manoeuvre or adept killer. In fact at one point I suffered 5 back to back loses to the same killer (Hillbilly), all in similar humiliating circumstances. Namely my inert capacity to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though I’ve since clawed some redeeming dignity back with a couple of adeptly executed strategies, suggestive of a team that knows what they are doing, success has largely fluctuated. Consolidating this position of stifling mediocrity has severely stunted my expectations, leading to an enforced break on my part as my attempts to sustain this current prestige has just been too exhausting. And with the ranking system just days away from a statutory reset I think I’m just going to take a break from survivor, regroup by participating in the sedation of murdering these meddling kids and come back determined to improve.

 
Before I depart in favour of my nefarious endeavours I thought I’d show you just how close the margins can be, as well as how survival and death are merely two sides of the same machete. Here is a demonstration of how vital determination, patience, a suitable distraction and enough luck to win the lottery are to surviving. And how death by daylight isn’t necessarily a formality. It usually is though.