Sequel

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“Ni No Kuni II: Revenant Kingdom” Review

Posted by Karl Weller on April 19, 2018
Posted in: Review. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

“Ni No Kuni 2: Revenant Kingdom” is a sobering reminder that time is fleeting, with its predecessor having been released over 5 years ago! You really do wonder where that time goes? But time you enjoy wasting, is not wasted time and there’s no truer sentiment more accurate than playing this surprising sequel. Surprising not because of how good it is, but that it exists at all. It’s not a sequel anyone expected to happen, nor one that had any real justification to exist. “Ni No Kuni: The Wraith Of The White Witch” was a game many considered unique, its own singular little peculiarity. A distinct collaboration between a prestigious animation studio (Studio Ghibli) and one of the industries most revered Rpg developers (Level 5). Constituting a game with perilous style that embraced vibrancy and invited exploration while concluding its whimsical tale rather definitively. So how do you follow a game of such sublime beauty? With assured poise that’s how!

Ding Dong.

If you look at Ni No Kuni 2 as less of a sequel and more of a derivative of the first, then the game’s existence makes sense. NNK2’s opening sequence is the most singularly confusing introduction to any game I’ve played, but again emphasises the inextricable link between our world and the fantasy world we explore. It’s here that Roland, the president transported from our world encounters Evan, the air to the throne of “Ding Dong Dell” who after the untimely demise of his father is set to assume the role of King. Unfortunately his father’s treacherous advisor Mausinger, an anthropomorphic mouse and slayer of the previous King seeks to usurp Evan and become the new King regent. With the coup successful Mausinger attempts to consolidate his power by killing Evan, ending his families legitimacy as the true airs. But Evan with the aid of his new mysterious confederate Roland escape, vowing to establish a new Kingdom where “everyone can live happily ever after.”

The story is sentimental, veering ostensibly towards saccharine at times, yet does just enough to avoid feeling too preachy. Though it’s laced with enough sugary sentiment to make your teeth ache, it shouldn’t put you into a diabetic coma. The story for the most part is good, not great. Characters are introduced sporadically as you progress through the verdant pastures and exulted kingdoms, each possessing variable abilities and distinct personalities to keep things fresh. Evan in particularly is a well-meaning child that comes across as earnest, if naïve king in the making without becoming annoying. Personally however Ni No Kuni 2 does lack the firsts tender demeanour. The story of a young boy trying to save his mother from death was an erstwhile pursuit that to me at least was far more compelling. The change in combat however is a glorious amendment to its predecessor.

Higgledy-Piggledy.

The overhaul of turn based mediocrity that was so pervasive in “Wraith Of The White Witch” is a delightful omission. Instead of politely waiting for your turn to battle the combat flows, with a system that promotes an immediate and assertive retaliation. Much like the Tales series, the dynamic conflict permits a greater intuitive and reactionary assault. Utilising movement, melee and evasion or blocking attacks all together empowers you with a greater sense of inclusion as opposed to idle, sporadic influences. Its satisfying too, hacking down giant beasts with the injection of pace and the intrinsic control, offering a superior combative relish that just can’t be emulated by the ponderous turn based monotony.

As you pursue the fealty of several kingdoms on a journey to reclaim the throne party members will gain levels, better equipment and all the standard accessories you’d expect from an Rpg, but it’s the accumulation of “Higgledies” that will provide the most obscure advantage. These spirited apparitions come in a variety of elemental forms: water, lunar, fire etc, with each contributing a different method for augmentation in battle. During encounters these gelatinous spirits consort with one another, consolidating their power and when prompted will unleash a unique skill. One type may generate a healing circle, another might become a cannon, targeting groups of enemies with powerful projectiles or creating a devastating aura that destroys everything in its spherical storm. These little guys can sometimes be the difference, so it’s crucial to use them regularly.

Ni No Kuni 2 has another exhilarating advantage over its originator in that its far less of a slog. Earlier chapters are resolved rather briskly, minimising the tedious ascension of increasingly convoluted dungeons that has become a baffling routine in Jrpg’s. There’s less time backtracking through huge tedious dungeons and castles focusing on fluidity rather than padding. And because the combat is so swift and inviting the usually necessitating grind in levelling up is largely absent. But what really allows NNK2 to surpass the first is Kingdom building.

Kingdom Come.

Having been forcefully ousted as king of his own ancestral home, Evan decides to build a new kingdom afresh. A kingdom free of war and prejudice. Here you establish a new enterprising regime, one that espouses the cause of social tolerance, all built on the principles of peace, which incidentally can be achieved with the help of very addicting moderation and recruitment. You get to build “Evermore” almost from the ground up, installing facilities such as item or weapon shops, augmenting them using a currency generated by Evermore and its industrious little residents, thereby increasing the power of this new nation.

During the preliminary stages, as you construct a rustic if serviceable nation you won’t have much in terms of facilities or indeed personal to adequately manage these holdings. But as you travel you will begin recruiting citizens from other established kingdoms, each providing specific set of skills to enhance services you’ve built. It’s important that each citizens skill is utilised efficiently, for instance an individual that specialises in weapon making should be working at a weapons shop. It isn’t complicated, but it’s undeniably satisfying to meticulously cultivate the city as well as its industrious little community. Integration of these denizens also provides other enterprising benefits. As well as generating money that can be used to improve facilities, general stores, fish markets and other parlance. These stores also gift you items, so it’s important to revisit Evermore frequently to get the best out of these generous markets.

Conclusion.

Ni No Kuni 2 doesn’t really do anything new. It conforms to the compounded methodology that afflicts most Jrpg’s: questing across a fantasy world to prevent a great evil from destroying the world. Yet the way in which it synthesise these ideas seems fresh and riveting, it’s really rather hard to explain. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t really played a Jrpg for so long or maybe its the influence of Studio Ghibli’s radiant animation and compelling orchestral sonnets that accompanies it, but somehow Ni No Kuni 2 breeds new life into a genre I felt had peaked years, perhaps even decades ago. All I really know is that I don’t just want to finish NNK2, I want to live it. I yearn for the days when life permitted the time to engage in such radiant Rpg’s for hours on end, without guilt or the threat of divorce. Time is indeed fleeting, and quit frankly not very nice. *Huff*

Have you played Ni No Kuni II? If so what did you think? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

What Are Your Favourite Driving Sections, In Non-Driving Games?

Posted by Karl Weller on August 12, 2015
Posted in: Feature. Tagged: , , , , , , , , . 1 Comment

wpid-screenshot_2015-08-12-21-03-39.pngCommuting, whether by vehicular or other forms of transportation can depreciate the functionality of a games immersion, if it’s wholly dependant on a games more superior base functions. There’s a sudden jarring sensation as your thrust into precipitous situations, deprived of any cordial necessity and deliberately encouraged to partake in subsidiary activities or mini games, simply because a software technician decided that a level required the particulars afforded from complex mechanics to heighten the scripted ambiance with an impromptu race or escape. Often such ancillary compliances have a tendency to disrupt the rhythmic velocity of a game, with implementation for such automotive commutes severely impeding your progress if introduced with finicky controls or peripheral utilisation. GTA IV for instance established some of gaming’s most overly elaborate handling, that ultimately sullied the series once effectual, free-flowing driving. Yet sometimes, when applied correctly provides much-needed benefits that suitably diversifies and obliges a progressive alternative to a arbiters of games main functions. In actuality one of my favourite means of motility wasn’t motorised.

Red Dead Redemption gave rise to the power of, well horse power?! Credited with an exemplary capacity for story telling, I often feel it’s transportation is sadly neglected. There were no limitations relating to the spacial expanse of New Austin (and later the fictionalised interpretation of Mexico). I loved galloping from one rural location to the other without any distinct purpose to my voluntary forays. I revelled in covering hundreds of miles on my horse, a stallion I might add was procured from the very start and remained comparatively unscathed, thanks in part to a few cordial save points. The facilitation to simply abscond from bandits and thief’s made drive-bys seem almost heroic. Replacing the traditional steering wheel with rustic reins granted a purity lost with the introduction of industrial provenance. These were commutes ebbing with such formative grandiosity that I derived so much engaging fortitude from simply travelling between destinations that I’d almost feel glad if I had left something behind, just so I could turn around and retrieve it again! Whether or not you felt as encouraged by galloping around with earnest is subjective, but the compulsion to roam these isolated plains was further endorsed by the sense of assimilation of being a gun totting rebel in inhospitable territory, even in the maligned familiarity of such a resolutely staid environments. I was always left with a rapacious capacity to just ride off into the sunset, set up camp somewhere in waste expanse of the old West and just, well I don’t know, pretend that for a fleeting second was just a lonely loner on a lonely road. I can but hope that Rockstar officially formalise a sequel soon. Preferably immediately!

"I'm going to go to my happy place. Find my power animal...."

“I’m going to go to my happy place. Find my power animal….”

Another more notorious vehicular section that always resonated strongly with me on a kind of “game of thrones” level of depravity, was the secular brutality of Donkey Kong Country’s mine cart section. I shiver every-time I think about it! It was perhaps not the most conveniently arranged constructions, with segments torn out and the track strewn with vacated wagons, but that mine cart was distinct in its infamy. The farcical arrangement of the track felt about as secure as the Greek economy, with sections replete with impeachments that belie the intricate simplicity of the tracks velocity. The vulnerable trajectory exhibited a route that was the safety equivalent of juggling knives on a trampoline and the precision timing you needed to finish the final third frustrated me as a kid! But it was never dull. Every minor deviation, every delicate hop of the cart was subtlety reflected in your own nuances as your leg begins to twitch like a sleeping dog every-time you leap from one track to next. Leaning closer and closer to the television screen until your nose collapses on the rigid glass. It was exciting, mentally exerting, required proportionate diligence for someone who considered dry coco-pops a delicacy (and still do), yet highly satisfying when you finally departed the level. The frustration of failure dispersed when you proclaimed victory through adversity, and this was perhaps my first real appreciation for challenges in games.

But these are just a sample of my favourite driving sections in no driving games. More important is what your favourites are? It’s certainly a topic open for liberal interpretation, but essentially I’ll only accept suggestions that contain correlating associations with the contemporary definition of driving simulators, that aren’t defined as driving games or that don’t exclusive adhere to the specificities associated with driving games (so no Forza’s or Gran Turismo’s please). Comment below and let me know. Cheers.

Assassins Creed 4; The Curse Of Prosperity

Posted by Karl Weller on April 13, 2013
Posted in: Feature. Tagged: , , , . 6 Comments
"Because the best things come in fours, just ask Indiana Jones."

“Because the best things come in fours, just ask Indiana Jones.”

I should begin with an enlightening courtesy for you; I–as will soon become apparent– am not a staunch defender of the Assassins Creed series. The second provided temporary amusement for me. It was an exceptionally versatile concept that becomes increasingly fatiguing, and more of a derisive distraction, and the novelty of the series wore off at an accelerated rate. Perhaps this is just my staunch aversion to its repetitive progression, my increased antagonism as well as my firm atheism to its commendable heroism. But it’s not just the limited appeal of Assassins Creed 2 that irked me, it’s the regularity at which its sequels have been distributed. After the release of the its previous commercially successful, though critically berated sequel, you would cast understandable assumptions that the developer would set aside time to process the games strengths and weaknesses, to refine certain aspects, to regain a bearing of composure to adeptly determine the significant issues, through deliberations that benefit all concerned. But through greed or necessity have chosen to ignore the pleasantries of time to facilitate such courtesies, and instead subsidizing the opportunity for the progression, for financial growth.

"The search for Sebastian continues without Ariel."

“The search for Sebastian continues without Ariel.”

The series as a collective has already established itself as a profitable commodity, generating domestic as well as international acclaim, with various endorsements that accompany the prosperous intent of accolades and the inevitable–and arguably more important–fiscal security afforded by a successful game. But there seems to be a diminished responsibility to maintain credibility to a series that it has had to work tirelessly to attain. Its annual release is one of its most constricting obstacles, because excessive distribution only hastens the monotonous style that remains largely unaltered from the previous incantation. There’s not a sense of hesitancy with their ideals, vivid and imaginative though they are, but simply a lack of  longevity afforded to implement such innovations without it feeling congested and haphazard. Their clearly not a decisive degradation of permutation when it comes to its designs, but a petulant regard for its competition, and an egocentric, self inflated credibility.

"This is an exclusive screen shot from the new Pirates of the Carribean game......whats that? Assassins Creed? Ok.

“This is an exclusive screen shot from the new Pirates of the Caribbean game……whats that? Assassins Creed?

Assassins Creed seems to saunter in as though it is a noble king, its eloquent notoriety sewn into its richly polished smirk, holding its arms aloft as though victorious from a figurative battle, gesturing its intent to its contemporaries, accompanied by boisterous acclaim and gesticulating “quick, come over here and see how good I look in my new vibrant attire”. Perhaps I speak with unfounded icy disdain for its conceptions, eliciting crass presumptions on a game that hasn’t been released, or even fully formed yet, not to mention a series I seldom play, but I do tend to curie favour with the improvisation that can only be judged on previous, limited concession for rationality with their advances and little humility with their success, as well as the series dramatically receding into a generic mire. Phew! Let me just take a second to recuperate and inhale some much-needed oxygen exhausted from this very defiant detour. It’s petulant resilience and total lack of empathy for progression can only contest for so long, before fans infinite curiosity become neutralised by sterility.

Assassins Creed has enjoyed encouraging ensemble of notions, hand strung by the constraints of time. It’s almost comparable to Elvis Presley and his deteriorating stability; the initially raw talent, incredulous to its contemporaries, the edifying bravado that accompanies the success of a multi faceted ideas fused to perfection. The inevitable lack of versatility and the stabilisation of maturity, before the undignified regression of prosperity and fame as the girth of its ego becomes embellished, as well as its manipulation of its rotund physicality, as it begins gyrating across the stage like the broken shell of a man who is only vaguely recognisable to its former notoriety. With its trousers wrapped contumaciously around its ankles, defecating its dignity as well as half digested credibility into a toilet of oblivion, with the finality of pitied emotion rather than revered admiration. Ezio has left the building, but how long until the series does the same?

Are you looking forward to Assassins Creed 4? Or would more time benefit it? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.

Is Gaming Suffering From A Numerical Disorder?

Posted by Karl Weller on October 17, 2012
Posted in: Feature, Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , . 6 Comments

Sequels are often regarded as inferior to an original, established concept, regularly created as a means to satisfy popular demand, egocentric satisfaction of further critical acclaim, and of course financial profit is their fundamental motivation. Duplicating almost instantly like economical, beneficiary mitosis, extended to a point of deteriorating madness, until every last drop of figurative blood has poured from every available orifice of the corpse, now in an advanced stage of rigamortis, that was once the exhibitor of huge pride, and the envy of lesser imitators, vanquished by greed and self-obsessed profiteering abuse (take note George Lucas). Like regular substance abuse, it has detrimental effects that reverberate around a series success and failures. Exploiting the cash cow in the short-term is a relatively viable commodity, but extending the longevity of the abuse unveils the unforseen consequences. Expectation plays its part but so does excess, you can have too much of a good thing….though this hypothesi doesn’t appear to apply to the almost invulnerable gaming industry.

A game, even with the most adequate of commercial eminence, recouping average financial returns, with the right critical reception is likely to secure a sequel, and compared to other forms of media, interactive or otherwise, will improve on the original, building with further advancing development, a philosophy of determined intent to eclipse its predecessor, but for how long can you continue to improve before advancements become indistinguishable from all that’s come before? A numerical introduction can distract ones attention away from a games malevolence or feeble differings. The rapport with the fans is extinguished by overused, extremely fallible and barely noticeable additions, or in some cases subtractions, with more numbered variations than an episode of countdown. I fear the day that a bad Uncharted game is released, for I know it’s a certainty, because I never once believed that Capcom would develop a bad/mediocre numbered Resident Evil, but here I sit, still surrounded by the putrid stench of its decaying egotism, that once resembled the conquering, fear inducing survival horror, now reduced to a level of potent mediocrity, which even an Umbrella dispersed, Fabreeze pathogen couldn’t adequately dispel the nauseating stench (a little dramatic I’ll admit, but it’s still painfully fresh in the memory).

Theres an adept sense of manipulation with publishers, consciously aware of their duty to produce consistently viable products, and if it’s a success then they will make a sequel, fair enough, it’s a business and should be operated as so. But there has to be metaphorical line drawn to avoid derivative, stagnation of previously inventive games, such as the ironically named Final Fantasy, which continues unimpeded with no ending implied by the title (bear with me here). With the roman numerals depicting the number 13, with an added 2, which transforms a sequel, to a sequel of a sequel, but not a sequel, more of a continuation of the previous 13, but with an additional 2, which doesn’t formulate into 15, because there hasn’t yet been a 14 and…..Oh dear?! I’ve gone cross-eyed.

Are there too few original ideas in the gaming industry? Or do you enjoy the numbered sequels? Let me hear your thoughts…..but please, no abuse regarding Final Fantasy, I’m confused enough as it is?