See, I like them all. They’re a fascinating bunch. Even the evil bastards that I don’t agree with are interesting (I’m looking at you, Jack).

But I can’t help but think that there’s something missing.

This is not a comment on the quality of the characters themselves. I have previously said that I think Mass Effect 2 has a high quality cast and I stand by that statement, but something feels off about the assembly.

It took me a little while to put my finger on it. My moment of revelation came when I finally got my old friend Tali back in my party again. It was nice to see a familiar face.

And that’s when it struck me. I don’t feel any camaraderie here. We may be a bunch of capable individuals working toward the same goal in a broad sense, but I wouldn’t dare call us a team yet. Hell, the only people I even trust so far are the two that were with me in the last game. I guess newcomer Jacob seems like a decent guy. Cerberus goon though he may be, his head seems to be in the right place at least. Miranda, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about. And she’s not the only one.

Games are not a medium known for creating believable characters. This is somewhat perplexing considering that games have more untapped potential for this than any other medium in history. They can combine great writing, acting, and visuals with the unique element of interactivity. It is only recently that we are beginning to see games scratch the surface of what is possible.

Bioware has led the way in this area. Playing Mass Effect 2 makes it abundantly clear how far games have come. They continue to top not only most every other developer in the industry, but also themselves, in creating interesting, believable characters time and time again.

Yet, when I try to figure out exactly what makes their characterization so good, I can’t quite come to a solid conclusion. I know that they’re steadily getting better by examining my gut reactions to their characters. I enjoyed spending time with the Dragon Age cast more than most of Mass Effect’s crew. I don’t even remember Jade Empire’s characters. Mass Effect 2 seems on track to be their best effort yet.

I do not want to cast an accusing glance in Bioware’s direction if it is not justified, so I will try to reign in my nasty stares as much as possible whilst I attempt to figure out the true cause of the phenomenon, but let me just say that as a general rule I am decidedly not fond of sequels that decide they need to be more difficult just because there is a higher number in their title.

It is a remarkably common thing, and one that frustrates me to no end.

“Oh,” the developers seem to be saying, “clearly they beat the first game, so what they must want is more and harder, right? I mean, they can’t possibly just want more of what they already enjoyed but with new stuff added. Sureely they want to be incredibly frustrated along the way as well. We must assume their skills have become superhuman and throw all sorts of torturous walls of difficulty at them. That’s the ticket!”

Despite my overly sympathetic nature, few games manage to go beyond this superficial attachment and produce genuine affinity for the character.

Dragon Age, with its supremely personalized nature and ability to role play to a surprising-yet-still-limited degree, is one example. This helps explain my roller coaster of emotions toward the end of the game: I actually cared about the character I was guiding there.

It may not come as much of a surprise, then, to hear that the other example that springs readily to mind is another Bioware game: Mass Effect.

Typically after completing the average game, and especially one of such length, I am simply bursting forth with opinions ready to enslave my unwilling fingers into inscribing them onto digital paper, lest they torment me from deep, dangerous recesses of my mind.

It would be inaccurate to say that I am at a loss for words with Dragon Age. It is simply that the words I am able to find require a notable amount of effort on my part to force them from their hiding places and, once found, they form a less coherent message than my typical instinctive reactions.

It took me a lot longer than is usual to come to the conclusion that I was ultimately happy with the way my Dragon Age journey ended. This result is still under careful analysis and many of the details are yet to be solidified, but I know that when I look back on my final moments with the game, I am happy. This is enough for now.

During my introspective moments looking back upon this epic adventure, I realized that I went through many of the same emotions that my character must have during her journey to the end.

I was left uncertain as to whether the choices I had made would result in building a future that I was happy with. As I saw the sacrificial decision I was going to be forced to make looming in the disturbingly near future, I wondered whether it was going to be worth it; I didn’t want my character to die just like she, if real, wouldn’t have wanted to die herself. I selfishly wished that I wouldn’t have to make this sacrifice so that my own future could be happier. And ultimately, through a surprisingly organic series of dialog choices that set events into motion that I was not expecting, I wondered whether letting someone else take my place was the right thing to do or whether I had been cowardly.

This genuine roller coaster of real emotions I felt as I worked my way toward the conclusion of the game is itself indicative of just how powerful this game was for me. Sure my concerns were for my ultimate enjoyment of my game experience and my satisfaction with the story I had helped weave for myself, not my own life or the fate of the land, but, intentionally or no, Dragon Age had tricked me into a set of emotions that fit almost perfectly with my story experience.

Fortunately I was able to accept this organic progression and be happy with the experience I ended up with. In fact, those points where my regard for the game may have fallen to their lowest points due to my concern about where things were heading ended up making the high points all the more impressive.

Dragon Age is a game far too long to sum up in one measly post. I can already feel the familiar torrent of words building up in my brain, begging to be released. It is taking a lot of my willpower to keep them at bay, but regardless of whether I can ever congeal my detailed thoughts into a coherent argument, it is not those details which are truly important.

This was absolutely not a game without fault. Clearly if it were I would not be having these troubles analyzing it. It is, however, a game that overcomes troublesome little details to provide an “experience”, something that is far grander than the little building blocks used to put it together. It is when you start looking too carefully at the blueprints that things start to get messy.

If you can pull yourself back a bit and examine it on an emotional level rather than a technical one, the real level on which stories ought to be examined but a luxury games are rarely afforded, you’ll find a game that weaves a compelling tale highly personalized to the individual that played it while managing to tie up nearly all of the loose ends that matter in a satisfying manner (with one distressingly major exception that I will refrain from discussing here for fear of diving into those pesky details I said I would avoid).

Few games manage to accomplish so much and I am glad that Dragon Age was able to prove itself worthy despite the heavy doubt I was throwing its way in my final hours with it.

As to whether Mass Effect is better or not, well... that’s an entirely different can of worms. Seeing as how I’ll soon have finished both Mass Effect 1 and 2 within a few months of each other, I’m sure I’ll be opening it soon enough.

I can’t wait.

Yes, one Mr. Peter Molyneux has again emerged with more of his words of self-aggrandizement, attempting to stun the gaming community with the powerful force of his sheer arrogance. 

This is a man who has uttered language in the past such that it is rather surprising that he has not yet been crowned King of All Game Creators. How can someone who so clearly brings so much unadulterated innovation into an industry desperately calling out for his divine touch not be hoisted onto the highest podium available for all to worship?

The answer, it seems, lies in the fact that The Great Molyneux seems to have what might be described as a tenuous grasp on that thing which we call reality.

Chapter Twelve (continued)

Beware of dryer lint: “‘I promise to try to be safe,’ I recited. ‘I'll do the laundry tonight — that ought to be fraught with peril.’”

Obviously she hasn’t looked in her laundry hamper in a long time. Yeesh. She’s in for a rougher time than she thinks.

Dirty, dirty girl.

Skeleton fetish: “He reached across the table to touch my face, lightly brushing along my cheekbone again.”

Is it just me, or does Steph have a penchant for unsettlingly creepy descriptions of what should be tender moments? 

You stroke someone’s cheek, not their cheekbone. If you’re stroking a cheekbone it’s more likely you’re worried about their eating disorder than trying to cuddle with them.

Please let me know what you think of it. I'd be quite grateful.

Now Rob Zombie is back and he has the audacity to title his next work as a sequel to his most well-known album (if not his best, a title that belongs to The Sinister Urge). 

So is slapping a 2 on the end of Hellbilly Deluxe a blasphemous move or does it manage to channel the dreadlocked Zombie of old?

Grand Theft Auto IV: The Lost and Damned (DLC)

The Lost and Damned wasn’t a bad game. From all accounts it was a well-constructed addition to the GTA IV universe, with an interesting storyline, new gameplay, and all that other jazz.

None of that is why the add-on made the List of Shame.

It was through playing The Lost and Damned that I realized I don’t have any desire whatsoever to play GTA IV anymore, and this made me sad.