Winter is coming

Sorscha Kratikoff, the Heart of Ice. She was the selling point for me getting into Warmachine, that amazing photo of her, Juggernaut and Destroyer standing together simply drew me in and never left me.

Did I was to play her though? No, I didn't. While I had a healthy respect for her, her ability was overwhelming and, quite frankly, easy.

Her feat combined with a spell that not only gave her a free move but improved her defence was too strong a combo to accept. I wanted the long game, to grind both our armies into nothing before gambling our lynchpins, usually ending with me failing spectacularly on bad dice rolls.

That didnt mean I disliked her. Her character was fierce, unrelenting, and remorseless. Her hammer, Frostfang, a symbol of the coming storm. Her mere presence still causes shivers down peoples spines.

It was too much power, Too easy to strike with, and I wanted little to do with it as possible, no matter the temptation.

Times change people. And so does Kommander Kratikoff, her next incarnation a polar deviation from her traditional style.

The Man-O-War steam powered armour, steel casing for khardic warriors too arrogant to fear being boiled alive, brings dread as the walking wall advances across the field; their annihilator blades cleaving enemies as they wash against their shield cannons; hammers striking warjacks into submission or destruction; grenades hailing down with their Destroyer companions.

She is the perfect soldier for the Man-O-War ranks, leading her comrades into battle with Khadors Winter at their side and their hearts.

Returning from hell never to be the same again

The Face of

The nights I've spent playing Doom have driven me into a deep, subconscious madness. Every time I hear that growl, that strange guttural snore, of the inactive Imp, my skin crawls and beads of sweat begin to form, my heart races and I'm thrown straight back to those long nights wasting ammunition and time scouring levels for that last secret area because I can't stand that little voice laughing at me, scoffing at my mistakes, mocking me and my futility.

I had simple reasons for pushing through, crawling through the labyrinthine hellscape to reach the demon at the end of the game, and prove that I am a god amongst evil.

Come my birthday and the sweats started again. I peeled off the wrapping paper and looked over the cover, those foreboding, jagged letters burning past my eyes and into my soul. The laughing was starting again.

I knew what was ahead of me, a weekend of playing with the devil again. And again I was going to enjoy every last moment of it.

From waking up in that stone sarcophagus, crushing skulls of those poor souls lost to the power of hell, to actually going to hell and ripping and tearing my way through those monsters again and again, even with no end in sight, redefining the term serpentine as their fireballs and energy waves flew past me by mere inches as I closed in with with whatever barking iron I had in hand.

Again I heard those laughs, those cthulian incantations rising in my mind to pummel me into submission. Their hymns only drove me harder to kill, until I had nothing more ahead of me.

Time came when the final demon fell and the exhilaration and adrenaline had come to a close, and I fell back in my bed and relaxed, proud of my accomplishment. But I needed more.

Doom was not the only prize I received that day.

When Final Fantasy Meets Science Fiction

Time was that I played a game called Halo, a story of a super soldier gifted with powered armour fending off aliens and viral monstrosities, and now leading into a cybernetic society hellbent killing our stalwart hero and his demigod girlfriend.

Guardians continues that story, splitting it between Master Chief and his rag tag team of Spartan allies as they chase down said demigod, and Spartan Locke who has been tasked with bringing Chief back into line, the romantic killjoy that he is.

Regardless of his intent, the game opens with a wonderful scene of badassery, freefalling out of an aircraft onto the slope of a mountain while shooting, stabbing and generally parkouring their way through Covenant and Prometheans, soldiers and vehicles alike.

Then the game begins. I make the first move and my first thought is... "Are we under water?"

These super soldiers trudged their way through snow, cement in their shoes, arthritis apparent in all joints, rust ruining the joints of their suits. I wonder to myself "Has it always been this way? Have Halo games always been this slow grind amongst firefights? Have my years of frantic commotions been seemingly immobile?"

Hell. The realisation hits me. The Demons have persisted in my mind. Their gift of agility haunts me, frustrating me as I try to defeat this handicap, all while wondering if I will have the same problem in other games, to be forced into a quagmire that doesn't exist.

These are the demons that will now forever haunt me, as I reminisce on my time returning to hell, never to be the same again.

Heh.  Cute.

Re-something or other

You know how most generations of console have a direct mascot that everyone thinks of? Sega has Sonic; Nintendo has Mario; Xbox has Master Chief. But I can't think of just one mascot for PlayStation.

Over the Generations there have been a wonderful plethora of characters that would be considered their Iconic Mascot, from Crash Bandicoot, to Jak and Daxter, to Sackboy/girl/person.

One that rips a new one into my heart is Ratchet and Clank, which is why I bought the 2016 reboot over Doom (4).

I've seen all manner of Re-descriptives over the last generation and now and I go into it with cautious skepticism since my first venture, Splinter Cell, which came out with some smooth polygonal edges and higher resolution textures, but coupled with controls that were not improved and the same FMVs from the original game, stretched out and very poor quality from even the time it came from.

A few years have passed since then and I have retained that cautious eye as I loaded the disc, thinking back fondly on the 10 playthroughs I made just to earn the R.Y.N.O.

Then I was thrown straight back into that world again, dodging enemy lasers, slamming the Omniwrench on mutant critters, firing off all manner of quirky weapons into the fray. I was having a fantastic time, until I had a sudden realisation.

It's exactly the same. Every level, every secret, every enemy, every weapon... Exactly the same, but prettier.

This was my fault. I came into this hearing the word reboot and made an arse out of me and me by assuming that meant things were going to be different, that while it would have its similarities, I would be playing different levels and a new twist would occur somewhere in the game that would have me storing away cash for the (surely) coming sequel that would give them the creative rights to make their own original sequel.

Now I exaggerate (such is my want) on that the game is exactly the same. It certainly isn't, it is a product of refinement. They took notes from all the previous games and applied what worked while keeping it simple.

Like the weapon leveling system, whereby you collect Raritanium to give your weapons increased abilities, from Ammo Capacity to higher rate of fire, all of which are laid out on a pattern made of hexagons. And if certain hexes were surrounded, you were provided with a more unique feature to the weapon, such as mini predator rockets that track more targets. Then once you have maxed out their level, it turns into a better gun with another new and unique aspect.

But small changes do not make a new game. A new character here, a new level there, it isn't enough to call it a new game but will be enough to change the future of Ratchet and Clank. Those changes do make enough for the future, but the now is where I am disappointed. Sure keep the locations the same, give the general plot a roll in the same direction, but I would have liked new maps to roam around in and explore, not the same places I visited almost 15 years ago.