In my dreams I find myself at a desk deliberating with a nebulous associate whose features are shrouded by dimly illuminated light, aligned immediately adjacent to me. I’m attending some formal congressional hearing, goaded by gaming’s punctually elected delegates on either side of me, that seek reparations for my extensive persistence in attaining my desired objective. These vestigial attendants are obscured by the viability of their silhouetted forms clustered around me, murmuring chastising discretions. The walls are studded with appellations of various enemies. The dragons, the vultures, the sentient plants. I entreat for peace to end the persistent stagnation, so I can finally fulfil my requirements and impede the story no more. For a moment their binary eyes wavered, flitting from aggressive red to a more sensitive blue. Did I observe a glimmer of sympathy perhaps? I continue pleading to broker a deal that could obviate this hindrance. There’s a solemn look of incredulity between these amorphous beings, even a brief recognition of pity that sadly faded as quickly as it began. Rankled by my distended reproach and their fingers laced together indicating that I would receive no compromise. Suddenly their faces begin to wane on one side, listless and flaccid as there’ll skin begins to peel. The table begins to rotate. Partially filled cups begin to slosh, water braced against the side of the glass, blank sheets of paper swirl furiously through the air as if coerced by the elemental emissions of some ethereal force. The perspiration that glistens my brow begins its listless decent down my face as I finally wake up. *Warning, dramatisation may not have happened!* The crippling lability afflicting my sedentary neurosis is soon curtailed by the precipitous intrusion of consciousness. I’m finally awake and shattered. No game has ever conditioned me for such torture, and worse still, it’s not even a difficult game. I have a capacity to trivialize, but what Tales of Xillia 2 has done to me, is fear playing games. My earnest capitulation doesn’t concern difficulty or glitches, but logistical encumbrances.
I’m a completianist, with most trophies requiring protracted concessions to achieve, its easy to venerate certain trophies, instilling anxious foresight for achievements that will cause you problems down the line. This was a scenario I had arranged resolve early, mitigating latter complacency. One condition was admittedly an interference, requiring dedicated concessions to attain, but nothing that couldn’t be alleviated with minimal negotiation. Characters were in statistical proportion, perfectly balanced to defeat the enemy and more importantly subsidise attacks to extend the length of battle for successful utilisation for the specific task I wanted to perform. The title was called “Spicy Chain” that required an explicit number of hits that would ultimately culminate in an enemies demise. Oh, and it had to be successfully performed 10 times before the title would unlock. Once vanquished preparation could go into refilling special attributes and repeating the process. Several failed attempts to expedite some civility had resulted in a prolonged failure. Sutured rigidity applied to my endeavours clearly required advanced flexibility to successfully implement my desired goal. Configurations, utilities and various alternating parameters have been altered beyond all recognition. The passivity of my weapons fragmented my performance and my supporting characters have been commanded to resist intervening in any of the encounters. I’ve engaged with the recipient enemies with precise specifity, yet….I keep failing. I keep telling myself it’s a glitch, it has to be! Yet research into to this systemic malady has yielded no reciprocal reports that account for this issue. I’ve watched videos that competently defines the requisite parameters required, yet despite strategic variable deviations in the hope that one aberration might yield an alternate source of productivity. 1/10. Okay, try again. 1/10. Again. 1/10. Again! 1/10. Come on! 1/10. There’s no negotiable parity, just a difficulty spike of such steep verticality that you’ll require the assistance of a sherpa to guide you safely over. There are no definitive distinctions that clarifies the precise deference between what I’m doing and what the video’s show. I’ve evaluated the video and my performance and can can establish no discernible contradictions between our actions that are clear or even subtle.
The studious delineation of my own play-style and the facilitation of the videos every prudence was invoked to the point of obsession in an attempt to resolve a painstaking grievance. Yet what makes these failed incidents worse is that I did succeeded once, but have since been unable to replicate similar results. Several hours of organisation, coordinated attacks that would preserve the encounters longevity, granting distributive parity to our attack. Restrained, disciplined executions that imitate the videos to precise imitation still haven’t conferred the appropriate dispersal of success. It’s sanctioned stipulation to manipulate has placed me in a position of such frustrating vulnerability that I’m actively discouraged by its surreptitious presence. The encompassing retinue of anxiety is not sourced from the fear of failure any more, I’m used to that, it just feels like my eligibility to perform, to forge ahead with determined perseverance regardless of the games deflecting mandate just isn’t enough. The mental exertion has diminished any residual collusion between succeeding through strife, when the prevention of nourishing success is absent. Where’s the incentive? There’s being defeated, there’s continually being defeated, and then this. It’s like Mike Tyson entering a spelling competition. I have never been so purposely averse to a game because of such errancy. As a result of Xillia’s erstwhile hindrance my PS3 has remained dormant, a venerated disciple of obstinacy. I’ve contributed more time than I have any right to expedite, I’ve scoured the Internet for viable solutions, but it feels churlish to argue with its preserved obstructions.
Tales Of Xillia 2’s wilted prestige has imparted karmic fidelity and vindicated distraction, as I now cavort with less domestically abusive games like the Witcher 3. Its been placed back on the shelf, displayed is such a manner that demonstrates my resent, by depositing under a huge stack of less infuriating games. I still catch sight of it though, with peripheral glimpses of its inanimate enmity. I Knocked over a stack of games, only for it to come sprawling out with vitriolic derisiveness. This is sadly one tale that doesn’t have a happy ending.
What games have driven you to give up? Let me know. Cheers.