Everything you've been fighting for up to this point is finally in front of you. The third episode of Telltale's Game of Thrones will decide whether or not you get what you want, and whether or not you need to stop thinking and just start running.
The Sword in the Darkness does an excellent job of mirroring the Game of Thrones HBO series' tendency to place a high-tension, high-energy episode smack in the middle of a season. Episode Three never lets you catch your breath; each scene features major choices with consequences that ripple out to this chapter's credits--characters will continue to harp on decisions made early in the episode--and hint at larger problems to come in following episodes.
Episode Three upset me in ways the first two episodes haven't. It made me physically anxious. As someone who has read all the books in A Song of Ice and Fire and generally knows what's coming in the television series, it's fabulously disturbing to see Telltale's characters get kicked around and have no idea how their story ends.
You will let a lot of people down in The Sword in the Darkness. Every plot-hinging choice leaves someone you love out in the cold, debating how much they can trust you. You must choose between family and best friends, mothers and sisters, the lady you've sworn to serve and the lord you've made a dubious pact with. Friendships and alliances are made at the expense of breaking others. Game of Thrones nails the sentiment that author George R. R. Martin hammers home across A Song of Ice and Fire: you can't please everyone, and the second you displease someone, you better watch your back.
You know what they say about live dragons...
The Sword in the Darkness brings plot threads that were left free-floating in Episode Two to their high points. Rodrick struggles to stand his ground against the cruel Whitehills while still treading carefully because the youngest Forrester, Ryon, remains the Whitehills' captive. Half a world away, Asher and Beskha, joined by Malcolm, chase Daenerys Targaryen across the desert, searching for an army of sellswords to bring home to Ironrath. In King's Landing, on the eve of the royal wedding, Mira must choose between waiting for Margaery Tyrell to have time to help her and seeking out her own, less favorable alliances. Gared, just as he's settling into life with the Night's Watch, is thrown a curve ball that proves he can't escape his past.
It is in this episode that you finally see the fruits of your labor bloom; every big choice you've made in Episode One and Two catches up with you. Situations you tried to clean up, like the strange incidents with Mira and the coal boy or negotiating alliances with other northern houses, are proven to be un-cleanable. Everything you've worked for can be destroyed in seconds or made worse, depending on the people you side with.
Decisions available to you, as members of House Forrester, always revolve around what is best for the family. But some family members and their allies differ in what they feel is the right course of action. Episode Three brings to the forefront the struggle to keep your family placated and safe, either by listening to them, making empty promises, or acting on your own when you don't have time to consult them. There's a moment where Rodrick has to choose between standing up to the Whitehills to defend his little sister Talia, or biting his tongue and taking the abuse because his mother worries what repercussions his actions will have on Ryon's safety. It's a powerful moment, being forced to choose between your mother and your sister, showing weakness and allowing your enemy to walk all over you in hopes the danger subsides, or standing tall and showing strength because your baby sister is counting on you. The outcome is awful no matter what, because you've let someone down either way, and you always feel horrible.
DISAPPOINTED.
There aren't many combat sections in The Sword in the Darkness, as most of the episode is focused on verbally navigating situations and choosing the heinousness of the lies you tell. There is also not much time given to exploring environments, and in each segment when you get to poke around, you're looking for something within a time limit. Twice I had to search for things--like a piece of paper or an escape route--while enemies were on the approach, leaving little room to look around. It's a bit disappointing, as it takes away from the world feeling lived-in, with objectives in straight lines rather than allowing some wiggle room.
Once again, the Forresters continue to be the most interesting characters on screen, and their plight is much more interesting than what's going on with Jon Snow or Margaery. But the way Game of Thrones' canon characters come into play in Episode Three is great. Their presence seamlessly weaves into and out of the plot, with small things like a brief comment from Cersei Lannister making Margaery question your loyalty. Tyrion, Cersei, Margaery, they're not just dangerous people to placate with conversation anymore; they are now completely in charge of your fate.
Most of this is witnessed through Mira's storyline, as she has the most direct contact with them. As of Episode Three, Mira's story is by far the most intriguing, as she's playing with fire on a level a little higher than her siblings. Her plot started off slow in the first two episodes, but her struggle is the center of Episode Three, and she's playing a game as intricate as those currently struggling for Westeros' crown.
Asher and Beshka's tale continues to delight, as the two of them play beautifully off each other with their bantering and sibling-like bond. The Ironrath plot, however, is starting to get dull; Rodrick and those left behind in the North continue to beat their heads against the Whitehills to no avail. The events are repetitive: Rodrick or another Forrester stands up to the Whitehill member in charge, the Forresters get slapped around, and the Whitehill in charge is replaced with another Whitehill a little meaner than the last. Each Whitehill makes the same promise to destroy the Forresters if they don't submit to authority, but so far there's only been some light kicking and punching. As of now, the Whitehills don't feel like a threat as devastating as Ramsay Snow, but I'm unwilling to discount them just yet.
And finally, Gared and his secret about the North Grove have been given more attention and care within the narrative. What was tossed around briefly in the last two episodes is finally in the spotlight and becomes a matter of grave importance very quickly. Just like the series it's based on, Game of Thrones has taken something small and seemingly minor and ripped off the curtain to reveal it as the most important thing you know.
Standoff at Ironrath.
Game of Thrones' third episode succeeds in making you feel like the rest of the season is hinging on the decisions you make. It marks the narrative apex so far, the highest dramatic climax, with its barrage of tough choices in rapid succession. You can't help but feel bad for these characters; it looks like there's no way for them to win. If you've been playing it safe up to this point, deferring to answers that keep the characters safe and relatively benign, you're in for a rude awakening. Episode Three marks the beginning of the end for neutrality. There are tough decisions to make and no way around them, making this episode true to the Game of Thrones atmosphere at its core.
As famed gun merchant and narrator Marcus Kincaid would say, Borderlands is about stories: tales of villains and antiheroes, of weapons and treasure, and of course, of mysterious vaults safeguarding fantastic riches…or unspeakable horror. So the legends go, at least. But one tale in particular has stood among the rest. It is about a man named Jack, who rose from the position of programmer in a weapons manufacturer, to self-declared dictator of a hostile arid planet known as Pandora. It is his story that is the focus of Borderlands: The Handsome Collection, a console-only package including the series' most recent cooperative first-person releases, complete with updated graphics and enough additional content to sink Wam Bam Island.
It's a convincing package, as The Handsome Collection consists of both Borderlands 2 and Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel. The upgrade is warranted if you own a current system and only played the originals, or if you have yet to delve into the massive amount of add-ons for either game. It's too bad however, that Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel comes up short, in both mission design and presentation.
Though I find it unfortunate that the original Borderlands isn't included, it's not like The Handsome Collection is wanting for content. There is a ton to see and do here, with Borderlands 2 encompassing the lion's share of what's stamped on the disk. Together with The Pre-Sequel, the games come paired with numerous add-on packs that include side campaigns, challenge arenas, character skins, upgraded level caps, and four additional vault hunters--two for each game. The amount of extras is incredible, especially considering that both games are lengthy on their own, coming in at several dozen hours each. And that's not even counting true vault hunter mode, which allows you to replay the campaigns at a higher difficulty for a chance at rarer loot. The included season pass for Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel means that not only do you have access to content currently available, but also future add-ons, including Claptastic Voyage, the first campaign add-on for The Pre-Sequel which launches the same day as The Handsome Collection.
If you have yet to experience the side missions in either game, it's imperative to note that some of the DLC takes place canonically after the events of their main campaigns. So keep that in mind if you want to avoid any unnecessary spoilers. In addition, if you have already played either of the two games, The Handsome Collections allows you to transfer your save files from the older consoles within the same console family (Xbox 360 to Xbox One, PS3 to PS4).
Borderlands 2 does little to change the classic Borderlands formula of shooting and looting, bringing more evolution than revolution. The game reintroduces Pandora as a more engaging world, bringing in nastier enemies as well as a host of lovable characters, most of them sane enough to lend some help or provide small quests, but eccentric enough to make you wonder if their harsh lifestyles warped their minds. The writing is given a fresh kick, bringing vigor to the vault hunters and Pandora's citizens with fantastic and often hilarious dialogue, which effortlessly has you swaying from grins to belly laughs and back again. Though the characters are chattier, there is a downside: Conversations tend to bleed into each other, and you often miss what's being said. However, you usually get the gist of what's going on from updates to your mission status. The blistering combat is the one thing that remains mostly the same, and it is still tight and satisfying, with multiple enemy variants and imposing, memorable boss battles.
Other than the allure of gathering the best loot around, Borderlands 2 also keeps your interest high as you're challenged to create the most powerful vault hunter possible. Experience points are doled out following kills and completed missions, and with each level gained you are given a skill point to develop new or existing abilities in your vault hunter's skill tree. Some of these skills favor supporting solo or cooperative play, while others passively enhance base stats such as critical hit damage or health recharge rate. You also have several skills that improve your vault hunter's action skill, his or her signature move. Completing challenges as you move through the game awards you with badass tokens, which you spend on giving your characters--all of them at once--small attribute boosts.
More importantly, not only to the plot of Borderlands 2 but to the collection in general, the game is the first to introduce the violent and sarcastic villain--and Hyperion CEO--Handsome Jack. It's clear from the game's explosive onset: Jack is one seriously bad guy. But he also commands one of the game's most memorable roles. His mockery of the vault hunters, though incredibly amusing, is tinged with darkness. Yes, you will chuckle at his antics--one in particular related to a diamond horse he lovingly names Butt Stallion still gets me. Yet that laughter becomes a nervous chuckle as Jack details a time he pulled out a man's eyeballs with a spoon as his family watched in horror. Jack is all too obliged to flex the military arm of Hyperion, sending waves of robot attackers to take you and your fellow vault hunters down for good.
Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel's story takes place between the first two games, but builds itself on top of the groundwork laid out by Borderlands 2, yet with a fresh, gravity-defying twist. The game takes you on a brief tour of the ominous Hyperion space station before sending you to Pandora's cold, fractured moon of Elpis. The oxygen-free environments provide a different challenge to overcome. Your survival relies on Oz Kits, which provide not only a supply of precious oxygen, but act as a jet booster to lift you high into the air and allow you to return to the ground in a thunderous butt slam. The decreased gravity completely changes how you approach combat, allowing both you and your enemies to battle from both the ground and floating through the air. It requires you to remain cognizant of not only what's in front of you, but also on dangers above and below. The updated combat is enthralling; It's familiar enough to naturally dive into, while the high-flying escapades prevent it from growing stale.
With The Handsome Collection, I looked forward to the chance of experiencing The Pre-Sequel's campaign once more. After all, the game weaves the humorous tale of Jack's rise from a Hyperion programmer to its nefarious head honcho. But even though I once more savored the feeling of lazily swimming through vacuum, popping the heads of enemy scavs, I realized I wasn't enjoying my return visit to Elpis. When I reviewed The Pre-Sequel late last year, one of my critiques involved mission pacing, and how some quests became tiresome ventures. Indeed, several missions are either overly lengthy, or feature moments of too little inactivity. When compounded by a drop in speed due to the weaker gravity, the sense of urgency is damaged.
I hesitate calling the The Handsome Collection "remastered," regardless of how often the word is printed on the game box. (That number is three.) It hasn't received the sort of intense graphical overhaul as, say, Final Fantasy X/X-2 HD Remaster, and it's not as if the games required it. Borderlands 2, the older of the two games, was released in 2012, hardly long enough ago to cultivate even a modest patina to be scrubbed clean. Instead, it's far more honest to say that the games have been unshackled, released from the technological restraints of the aged Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3. In other words, what The Handsome Collection offers is nothing that hasn't been seen on a high-end PC.
But that doesn't mean the visuals are not deserving of your attention. The aesthetics for both games, The Pre-Sequel in particular, are marvelous in The Handsome Collection. Borderlands' traditional cel-shaded design is crisp, with bright colors that burst with life. You can almost feel the heat rising from one of Pandora's many deserts, and my return to the lovely tropical-flavored Wam Bam Island was made even more spectacular thanks to the sharper graphics. And I dare you not to stand in awe of Elpis' twinkling, starry canopy, or the multi-colored mists slowly rising from its ocean of ice-cold methane.
Sadly, those gorgeous lunar vistas do come with a cost. The Handsome Collection boasts a video output of 1080p running at 60 frames per second, and that holds mainly true for Borderlands 2, which mostly performs at a buttery smooth pace. But if Borderlands 2 is analogous to creamy butter, then The Pre-Sequel is more akin to the peanut variety—the chunky kind. You won't notice the frame drops so long as you're within smaller, enclosed spaces. Walking outside grants you a far clearer understanding, as if the game is softly applying brakes. In larger, detailed areas, as well as during intense battles, performance hits are common enough to become distracting, able to pull you out of the mood time and time again. The problem is exacerbated when running The Pre-Sequel in split-screen multiplayer, with slowdown occurring at nearly every interval. Normally, the game is set to run at 30 FPS for up to four screens, but I was lucky to get that on most occasions. I only ran it with the game split between two players; I'd hate to see what happens when it's doubled.
In the spirit of fairness, Borderlands 2 isn't completely in the clear, itself. Frame rate noticeably drops during moments of heavy combat; however, it isn't comparable to the turbulence found in The Pre-Sequel. It's a fleeting, almost unexpected thing, sticking around only long enough to make you think "Oh?" before vanishing completely. In my first 10 hours into Borderlands 2, the frames dipped only a few times, which did not harm my overall enjoyment to the extent that The Pre-Sequel could muster.
The Handsome Collection is still a great compilation, allowing you to witness not only Jack's tale, but play a major role in shaping the history of Pandora itself, along with its lonely moon.
The audio remains the same quality, though it's hardly lacking by any definition. Both games star extravagant weaponry, all of which can be easily distinguished by your ears alone: sniper rifles and shotguns shatter the calm Pandoran air, while laser guns pop and sizzle over Elpis' cragged lunar surface. Most of the voiceover work is fantastic, with a special nod going toward Dameon Clarke as the sassy Handsome Jack himself. The Western-inspired soundtrack of Borderlands 2, with music composed of wind flutes and the soft plucks of acoustic guitars, is as delightful as I remember. Sitting on the opposite end of the spectrum is The Pre-Sequel's album of synthesized digital tunes, which doesn't quite stand out as readily, but keeps well to the game's overall futuristic tone.
Let's be clear: You don't have to be Handsome Jack's number-one fan to appreciate Borderlands: The Handsome Collection. But even if you're not, you will still find an impressive archive, chock full of dozens upon dozens of hours of laughter and exciting combat. Even considering issues presented by Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel, The Handsome Collection is still a great compilation, allowing you to witness not only Jack's tale, but play a major role in shaping the history of Pandora itself, along with its lonely moon. And that is a story that Marcus may gladly tell again someday.
The beast appears, though you didn't expect it. You've never seen anything like this creature, a giant komondor dog with horns--and a former vicar of the church, apparently, evangelizing her faith by holding her paws together in prayer, then slamming them onto the ground and knocking you clear. The vicar is a microcosm of Bloodborne itself, a wondrous monstrosity that attacks you with vicious horror and religious overtones until you submit to it. Even should you rise above its terrors, Bloodborne answers to no master. Instead, you come to an agreement with it: You allow it to invade your brain and demand your concentration, and it allows you to wake from inevitable death, reminding you with each resurrection that life is a gift.
I know: such hyperbole! Yet this is the language of Bloodborne, a Dark Souls game in all but name, and one that introduces new themes and story motifs that cannot be overlooked. Dark Souls and its direct sequel allowed their sights, sounds, and swordplay to tell the most vital tales, relegating backstory to atmospheric tapestries that revealed their details only if you looked closely enough. Bloodborne is not short of mysteries, but its narrative beats are inescapable, and its Christian themes are undeniable. The Souls games led you through parishes and cathedrals, but never have they made such grandiose statements with their subject matter. Now, developer From Software has crafted an extravagant religious parable that mirrors its game's death-and-resurrection mechanics.
The allegory isn't subtle: This is a third-person action role-playing game (or role-playing action game, depending on your view) featuring a cleric and a vicar among its bosses. Outside of this clear theming, the developing saga comes to life through the sights and sounds of its world. One of Bloodborne's many striking images is that of a massive crucified figure surrounded by single-minded worshipers which poison you when they attack. The low, grumbling hum of their chant is as terrifying as their unwavering focus on their deity. Once I discovered a surreptitious way to view their worship from above, I would sneak in just to bathe in the bizarre beauty of the scene. Bloodborne sucks the faith, hope, and charity from religious devotion, populating its world with grotesque disciples and forcing the meek into their homes, from where they hope for the church to cleanse the world of its woes.
This isn't a high-minded reading of Bloodborne's story, which is none too nuanced. In fact, the lack of thematic nuance is what makes From Software's newly introduced storytelling spotlight as successful as it is. Bloodborne is unafraid to go big, to the extent that you may find yourself questioning if what you think is happening is really what's happening. The answer to that is, unequivocally, "yes." As Bloodborne introduces new sights and events, your suspicions become digital reality, and then the game asks you to suspend disbelief once again, rising to ridiculous heights of absurdity. That its malformed majesty works so well is Bloodborne's greatest feat. I wouldn't call its key events story twists, but rather, story detonations; Your expectations aren't subverted but heightened, by many orders of magnitude.
Priests have more fun.
Oh, how I wish I could share with you the details, or at least put some dots on the page and let you connect them. These are discoveries you should make on your own in this excellent game. I offer reassurances, however, that Bloodborne has not taken From Software's template into Elder Scrolls territory. You will not find reams of short stories to read on the game's bookshelves, and you will not be flitting from one non-player character to the next looking for quests. But there are NPCs to chat with, most of whom stay hidden behind doors and respond to your knocks with whimpers for help, maniacal laughter, or tearful pledges to stay true to the church. For that matter, there are scattered pages to find and read, most of which have a simple expository message written on them, or a smidgen of history. With Bloodborne, From Software makes a few nods to modern game design tropes, but the additions are coated with a veneer of poetic surreality.
As with the Souls games, Bloodborne doesn't typically tell you where to go and what to do when you get there. You are given a few vague, overarching goals, but the intricately interconnected regions and pathways, along with nebulous visual cues, lead you to your destination. If you get stuck, it means you are applying video game logic to a game in which that logic doesn't apply. Those scarce lines of dialogue, and those few cutscenes, are not just for atmosphere: They're nuggets of information you should file away in your head and refer to later. And if the signs point to an action that you think violates the rules of video games, you should probably follow them, even when that action previously failed. Bloodborne speaks; It is your responsibility to listen. If an enemy descends upon you from the rafters above, it only stands to reason it must have found a way up there--and it means you can find one, too. It's contextual communication at its most sophisticated.
This scythe-wielder is not a boss, but he is still one of a kind.
Thankfully, this world is one worth knowing, and knowing well. You spend the early hours in the city of Yharnam and its surrounding regions, which resemble 19th-century London more than they do the Souls games' dark medieval locales. The "werewolves in Victorian England" setting has been done, but as any Souls player might tell you, you must move deeper into the kingdom before you you can expose its true form. It's difficult not to admire Bloodborne's artistry: the baroque carvings on its stone archways and pillars, the statues depicting the locals' grief and suffering, and the gradual visual evolution of the game's hub area, which is known as Hunter's Dream.
After Bloodborne soaks you in its initial ironworks, it introduces greater graphical diversity. Dark Souls II varied its looks more often, but its regions didn't share an overarching theme: There was the lava area, and the poisonous woods, and so forth. The different places were connected by pathways, but not by a clear visual arc. Bloodborne, on the other hand, tells a story with its environments as you press onward, echoing its plot within its architecture and its enemies. You return to earlier areas to find they aren't as they once were, and the boundary between reality and nightmare becomes fuzzier with each slain boss. The way these areas join together enhance the joys of exploration. You discover a path leading from a swampy cave, which in turn guides you to a series of ladders. At the top of the final ladder, you realize where this path has taken you, and can only marvel at the brilliant way these two places, so seemingly distant from each other, are united.
An image that speaks for itself.
There is a blight on this town in the form of seriously long load times and occasional frame rate foibles, both of which are a shame, given that this is the first Souls-esque game to appear on a current-generation console--and given how performance issues are one of many commonalities these games share. The frame rate jitters aren't common when you play on your own, but become more apparent when others join you for some jolly cooperation. The loading times could have been mitigated by a system that allows you to directly move between lamps you have activated, a la Dark Souls II. Lamps are Bloodborne's save points, which stand in for the Souls games' bonfires, and allow you to transport to Hunter's Dream. You cannot directly teleport from one lamp to another, however: You must always travel to the Dream first, meaning that quick travel requires you to endure not one, but two 30-second loading screens.
Your patience is a price worth paying. Bloodborne is rewarding to play, impressive both in how it cribs from the Souls games as well as in how it deviates from them. Your Souls combat skills apply to Bloodborne, but only to a certain extent. If you relied on a shield to defend you in the past, you won't find the paltry plank you find to be of much use to you. The game demands mobility, not hardiness. Your first steps into the streets of Yharnam lead you to roaming squads of ravaged dogs and torch-bearing cultists, some of whom wield firearms, and whose shots not only damage you, but stagger you as well. Avoidance is imperative, lest a quartet of mutts tear your flesh apart while leaving you powerless to slash your way out of danger.
Yet slashing away is a compelling response, due to Bloodborne's health regain system. Should you take damage, you have a limited time to gain some of that lost vitality by landing hits of your own. This system may strike you as incompatible with the rhythms of typical Souls combat, but it's a wonderful fit in Bloodborne for the way it complements not just your own mobility, but that of your enemies. You see, your foes are just as agile--even the hulking gluttons that descend upon you in Boodborne's boss battles. Boss arenas are typically large, affording you plenty of room to escape the wrath of the indescribable horror staring you down--and affording that horror the same luxury. Circle-strafing can no longer be your default strategy when a massive colossus proves more limber than you.
Avoidance is imperative, lest a quartet of mutts tear your flesh apart while leaving you powerless to slash your way out of danger.
These might seem like small adjustments to the formula, but they change the way you apply fundamental skills. For instance, my former lock-on habits no longer led to consistent success--not when a trio of lithe hunters zipped about the boneyard, or when a slobbering monster impossibly leaped through the air and slid across the ground like a chimerical ice dancer. Not only does an energetic enemy make it difficult to keep control of the camera when locked on, but you do not tumble when you are locked onto your target--you only sidestep or backstep. That brute covers more ground in one step than you do in several, so you unlock the camera and rush away, putting the necessary space between you and your quarry.
Other gameplay elements further complement the athleticism. You can carry a firearm in your left hand, for starters, though it makes for a poor offensive tool, not just because it is tuned more for staggering enemies than for damaging them, but because ammunition is a finite resource--you can only carry 20 bullets with you as a rule, and some weapons fire more than one projectile at a time. There is no spell-spamming equivalent in Bloodborne, though a rifle or blunderbuss makes a fine accompaniment to whatever blade you wield in your right hand. That melee weapon, by the way, is transformable. A cleaver is great for doing close, rapid damage, but its secondary mode extends its reach at the cost of speed--and transforming during active battle delivers a third type of attack as the weapon morphs from one state to the other.
Boss fights are better with company!
There is great flexibility among the available weapons, and when I purchased a new sword from the ghoulish vendor station in Hunter's Dream, I found myself switching between the initial cleaver and the larger alternative, upgrading them both with the bloodstones I looted from certain downed enemies, and further enhancing them with blood gems, another valuable resource. In time, I disregarded firearms and relied on my sword in its two-handed form, transforming when gunmen on ledges and slithering snakes required a different approach. As expected, Bloodborne can be brutal--not as hard as Dark Souls or Demon's Souls, but a step above Dark Souls II in its level of difficulty. Mastery requires properly reacting to enemy behavior, understanding how much space you must put between you and your prey, and knowing when--and when not--to exploit health regeneration.
Bloodborne also takes the survival horror aspects of its close cousins to new heights. Some enemies aren't terrifying just because of their size or their power, but because of the hideous sounds they make, and the shocking entrances that jolt you out of your trance. Crows lurk in corners in groups of four or five, covering the ground with their black wings, and emitting heinous squawks as they thrash about. A deranged disciple breaks through a boarded doorway with a repulsive scream--and what was that figure that just dashed past the doorway ahead? For that matter, what is that monstrosity clinging to the chapel walls whose immense head follows you as you jog past? Bloodborne seeks to disturb you, a goal it succeeds at the first time you cleave a wheelchair-bound gunner.
You find quiet and calm in Hunter's Dream, where you stock up on supplies and speak to a living doll who assists you in leveling up while lulling you with her dulcet tones. As in the Souls games, you earn Bloodborne's primary resource by slaying enemies, though instead of gathering souls, you gather blood echoes. In exchange for echoes, the sweet-voiced doll allows you to improve basic attributes. There are fewer such attributes here than there are in Dark Souls, though each one's purpose isn't entirely clear when you begin your adventure. (Don't worry: with time comes understanding.) You can also spend blood echoes on practical items, with blood vials topping the list of necessities. These are your healing draughts, of which you can usually hold 20 at a time, and store 99 others in your stash for safekeeping. Some enemies drop vials when you slaughter them, but Hunter's Dream holds an infinite supply for purchase, so you can go farming for blood if you like, though it isn't strictly necessary.
Some enemies aren't just just terrifying because of their size or their power, but because of the hideous sounds they make, and the shocking entrances that jolt you out of your trance.
Nevertheless, repetition is on the Bloodborne menu, along with the blood of your sworn enemies. (How appropriate, given the game's Biblical subject matter: you drink their blood in remembrance of their sacrifice.) From Software continues to break the rules of video game adventuring to fantastic effect, killing you again and again, and inspiring you to venture into the same territory in hope of regaining the blood echoes that stain the ground where you lost them. You cannot always retrieve them through a stain, however: Sometimes, you must defeat the creature that previously bested you if you want your precious blood echoes returned to you. Otherwise, those echoes are lost to the digital ether--and so the story goes, forcing you to choose whether to press onward and risk losing your souls so you can see the next imposing vista, or to settle for the ones you have and return to Hunter's Dream, and allowing the game to gain the upper hand in your precarious partnership.
There are other partnerships to make. You see other Bloodborne players as spirits roaming in your own world, and can activate grave markers that play back the last few seconds of other adventurers' final moments. In both life and death, other players provide cues to upcoming dangers. Do you notice ghostly figures swinging their weapons with abandon, even when there is no apparent danger? You should reexamine your assumptions: Those apparitions are warning you of imminent attack. You can also drop spectral messages on the ground, alerting other players to traps--and how I wish someone had done so when I stepped on a pressure plate and a sturdy log swung into my face. These aspects of Bloodborne are less novel than they were when they appeared in Demon's Souls, but they are still a vital component of Bloodborne's success, giving rise to a sense of community even when you don't directly interact with other players. You are part of an expansive web of worlds, each one shining a spot of sun into the others.
What kind of death awaits on the other side of this archway?
There are direct interactions in the form of direct cooperation: Ringing the right bell in your inventory either summons a helper into your world, or signals your availability to others. Now that I have finished Bloodborne, this is how I am conquering the new-game-plus: My partner distracts the dreadful Cleric Beast so that I may bury my sword into the creature's flesh. Joining up this way also makes you vulnerable to invasion from other players, a heart-rending twist that has you glancing in multiple directions, looking for signs of the real-life hunter that joins the AI-controlled creatures that hope to end you.
These multiplayer components are also available in Bloodborne's Chalice Dungeons, which are adventuring areas--many of which are procedurally generated--that you enter by performing a ritual at one of Hunter's Dream's available headstones. Standalone dungeons are a neat idea, but you can't enjoy them without caveats. There are specific bosses in there to defeat, such as a humongous flaming watchdog, but if you don't periodically perform new chalice rituals, you can outlevel the ones available to you and breeze through them in a matter of minutes--not much fun in a game whose primary draw is the tension it creates through challenge. I also encountered numerous bugs within, getting stuck in place twice when approaching a glowing orb representing loot to pillage, and running into an issue with boss behavior.
The Old Lords need a watchdog? Do they live in the Hamptons?
The finest treasures are found within the city of Yharnam and the forests, lakes, and purgatories beyond it. Only Bloodborne would be so bold as to bury an entire factional player-versus-player mechanic within an optional region, which is in turn buried within a series of oblique steps you might miss if you aren't exploring every nook and cranny, or ignore the game's enigmatic hints. I finished Bloodborne in less time than I did Dark Souls II, yet I treasure it more in spite of its few missteps. In death there is life, and in blood, there is redemption. More hyperbole, yes, but for a game this theatrical, only hyperbole will do.
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