The first and sometimes the only thing people say about Dark Souls is that it’s hard—really hard, migraine hard, ready-to-shoot-yourself challenging. The players say it (“I can’t take this!”). The people who are scared to play it, say it: “Wait, that’s the one that’s really hard, right?”
I’m as guilty as anyone of defining this game by its difficulty level, when there are actually a hundred other things I’d rather celebrate. But I want to tackle the “difficulty” thing head-on, because the difficulty is key to the experience of this game—but not in the macho, “tough it out” sense you might expect. In Dark Souls, the difficulty isn’t a club the designers bash you with, but the palette with which they paint the experience.
Let’s take an example: the section named Sen’s Fortress. (Spoiler warning: we’re going to be talking about Sen’s Fortress.) Jayson Gegner praised it on Twitter as “Dark Souls’ gameplay design & level design in microcosm,” and he’s right: almost every design decision that makes Dark Souls great can be seen in this sequence.
And you won’t even see it coming. You may look straight at Sen’s Fortress a hundred times before you learn what it’s for or even what it’s called. Dark Souls has an “open world,” although you’d be better to call it a semi-open world. It is not like Bethesda’s contemperanous Skyrim, where you can start walking in any direction and find something to do; instead, you have a handful of choices at any one time, and you have to figure out which one is best.
Your first big choice in the game is to go up, or down. Nobody points you to the trailheads: you just realize after poking around that these are your options. Which is better? Nobody tells you. There is a guy sitting nearby who tells you that your job is to ring two bells, but he doesn’t say much more. From here, you’re on your own.
Now, it won’t take long to figure out that going up is easier than down. Following the path of less resistance will bring faster progress, while going down will take you to encounters that range from painful to impossible. (You could also go across, through the graveyard, which would be a really bad idea.) Technically, you could be stubborn and ring the down bell before the easier up bell. But I’m sure that almost everybody hits them in the order the designers expect.
Why would the designers give us these options when all but one of them leads to disaster? Because if we make the decision, we own the consequences. When we talk about “open world” games, we think of words like “discovery” and “freedom,” and sometimes we conflate the terms: if we can discover the world on our own, then we must be free. But there’s no freedom in Dark Souls. The designers let us experience the place on our own, while hooking us on an invisible leash to keep us more or less on task. Yet we still feel like we’ve conquered this space, because we put it together ourselves—unlocking our own shortcuts, discovering how the levels connect, and making our mental maps of the entire world. (Here’s one simple way From Software could have ruined the whole game: by giving us an on-screen mini-map.)
So, you start with a simple goal: ring the two bells. Get that done, and you’ll open the gate to Sen’s Fortress. By now, you’ve definitely seen the place: it’s a big, imposing building at the end of a walkway leading from Undead Parish. The front gate’s open. Let’s check it out!
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The first section of Sen’s Fortress is the most challenging. It acts as a kind of overture, introducing all of the elements that will give you grief: pressure plates in the floor that trigger traps in the wall; tough, fast lizard men; snipers that shoot lightning bolts at you from the darkness; and platforming sections, that force you to thread your way across narrow catwalks between giant swinging axeblades. Fall off the catwalk and you end up in a mucky pit where your movement is restricted and demons lurk in the darkness, waiting to clock you. Get stuck there once and you’ll be even more nervous the next time you run that gauntlet, which just makes executing your moves even harder.
If you’re a so-so player like me, you may run through this opening section a dozen times before you’re comfortable with it, and you’ll still screw up every third or fourth time thereafter. So let’s stop here and ask: why is this damn game so hard? Are the designers mean people? Are they superhumanly good at videogames? Did they, at the inception of the franchise, do some market research and conclude, “Well, you know, there are already plenty of easy RPGs on the market?”
I can’t speak for the designers—truth be told, I’d be scared to be alone in a room with them. But the challenge accomplishes a few things. First and most obviously, it forces you to pay attention. Play any other recent action RPG—Fable III, say—and the dungeons fly by in a whirl of similar rooms, easy encounters, and piles of devalued loot. It’s rare to go through any piece of real estate more than once, and in Fable III, I remember running through several beautiful dungeons and fortresses and paying almost no attention along the way. By contrast, Dark Souls shoves your nose against every inch of the game.
Because you repeat each section of the game so many times, and commit it so firmly to memory, you build up certain tricks and patterns. You achieve mastery, which is satisfying, and yet you always feel like something could go wrong, which is exciting. It’s not like memorizing a tricky cadenza on piano; in Dark Souls, your timing (well, my timing) is never perfect. Take Undead Burg, in the sequence right after the first bonfire. You run across a catwalk into a room. The first skeleton will rush at you, but let’s say you’re a split-second too slow as you dash across the catwalk; he may have his shield up in time to block your swing. While you stop to deal with him, another skeleton has time to throw a firebomb at you. And because you were probably cocky going in, you were probably a little careless, and now you’re mobbed. You could get killed on your twentieth time through this room, or even your fiftieth.
This is why the same handful of skellys by a catwalk can keep you entertained for hours, and it probably has the level designers on Fable III—and the producers who set their budgets—crying in their pints. And while I hate to boil this down to quality versus quantity, it is odd and maybe terrifying to think that so many AAA games—with teams in the hundreds and budgets in the tens of millions—are built to deliver content that the player experiences only once, if at all. That’s some “fall of the Roman Empire” stuff right there.
But more than anything, the game’s difficulty level leads to a dynamic and exciting experience. While the game is consistently difficult, it’s difficult in very different ways, and this gives each level its own challenge, its own tempo, and its own intensity.
In Sen’s Fortress, once you run the gauntlet of the first two catwalks, things start to calm down. You can take your time exploring the next rooms, and at this point, the game will even start dropping sight gags. Right after the opening section, you’ll come to a room where a lizard man is leaning against the wall, taking a snooze. After struggling with three of these guys on the way in, you’ve found one who’s stone cold asleep!
Dark Souls doesn’t get enough credit for its sense of humor, which largely falls under what Anna Anthropy calls “masocore.” For example, in Sen’s Fortress, you’ll run into an eye-popping number of treasure chests. This place is a land of plenty compared to the rest of the game, where loot of any kind is scarce. By the fourth or fifth chest, you’ll be so greedy that you’ll run right up and open it—and then suddenly, two arms spring out of the sides and pull your head inside, where a giant pair of jaws chews you up. The designers knew you were going to walk up to that chest without a care in the world, so they decided to have some fun and throw in a Mimic.
Then there are the traps. Sen’s Fortress has three types, stating with a pressure plate/lethal dart thing that that you step on just a few feet inside the entrance. (After a few tries you’ll probably notice that you can lure the lizard men out right in time to catch them in this trap, and if you do it just right, you’ll take one of them out and make the fight much easier. I pull that off about three-fourths of the time.) The flying darts appear a few more times in the Fortress, and they get easier every time: after all, you’ve got the whole map memorized, so barring a distraction or mistake, it’s pretty unlikely that you’ll fall for the same trap twice. In that way, the floor plate traps feel like a missed opportunity. It’s clever the first time, but in Dark Souls, repeatability is more important than first impressions.
The boulders are better. The first time I saw one, I was watching a lizard gurad as he turned to face me, and just as he started walking, BAM!—a giant boulder smacked him down and rolled him away. Peering carefully out the door, I found a grooved track where the boulders were rolling by, every eight or so seconds like clockwork, giving me a narrow window to run up the track and look for an exit. (Naturally, I found one.)
As you go deeper, you’ll discover there are four tracks for the boulders to roll down, and you can even find—and rotate—the mechanism that lines them up with each chute. When I discovered that I could reroute the boulders myself, I wondered if this was a puzzle—say, I would have to send the boulders down the chutes in a certain order to unlock the next path. But that wasn’t the case. While the boulders will knock through a couple of walls to open secret rooms, figuring that out is strictly optional. I’m sure it was tempting for the designers, who are smart and devious people, to gate our progress until we work through this puzzle. But they didn’t, and for a good reason: that’s not the type of game Dark Souls is.
To stick a new kind of puzzle in the middle of this game would be disruptive. Even the players who like that kind of puzzle would have to change their frame of reference and dust off a set of skills that nothing else in the game has used. See for example the inventory puzzle in the middle of Portal 2: the player has to grab a turret and drop it into a scanner in a weapons factory, in order to trick the assembly line. This puzzle is so incongruous that the voiceover almost immediately gives away the answer, to keep the player from stalling out. Portal 2 may be a puzzle game—but it’s not that kind of puzzle game.
In any case, the boulders aren’t your chief headache: the axes are. Keep climbing through the fortress and you’ll face two more catwalks defended by swinging axes. The fourth and last set swings over the narrowest catwalk, in the highest point in the fortress, with the worst angle to check out how much space you have between the blades. Strangely, I’ve never failed to get through, but I’ve always been terrified, because the thought of getting knocked off and falling down and losing all of my hard-earned progress is excruciating. It would be about as bad as dropping your ice cream cone on a summer day.
The traps in Sen’s Fortress—the darts, the boulders, the axes—reinforce something you knew from the beginning of the game: the very ground you walk on is treacherous. This is something you don’t see in, say, BioWare RPGs, where the space you walk through is mainly there to pace out the encounters. In Dark Souls, you have to pay attention to the floor. You can fall off the edges of cliffs, or shimmy along a narrow ledge to a treasure. Without going as far as Prince of Persia, Sen’s Fortress makes you aware of the physical space you’re in by making it treacherous—and it’s treacherous in a different way than the cliffs up to Undead Burg, or the shaky platforms of Blighttown, or the invisible pathways of the Crystal Cave, or the tree roots of the Great Hollow (where falling can be the easiest way down). In Anor Londo, you can stroll across grand, flat, wide-open bridges, but it also forces you to shimmy up flying buttresses and sneak around narrow ledges—which tells you that this place is magnificent, and that you don’t belong here. In the same way, the traps and catwalks of Sen’s Fortress give the environment its own character, and brings a new texture to your experience.
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When you get to the roof, you’re supposed to feel nervous as hell. In fact, when you first set foot up there, you’ll see a metal giant. If you’re like me, you will stand dead still to see if he’s going to attack you—yes, he’s maybe a hundred feet away, but who knows? But he ignores you, and once you’re at ease, you can creep around the rooftop, fighting knights (who are tough but familiar), sneaking around corners, and the whole time feeling torn between two impulses: the urge to explore what’s up here, and the fear that you’ll get killed and have to start over.
The designers know that right now, you’ll be looking for a bonfire. In Dead Souls, the bonfires are your checkpoint system. When you rest at a bonfire, it becomes your homebase; if you get killed, you wake up back at your last bonfire and head out to try again. Right now, your last bonfire is all the way back outside the Fortress, which means you desparately want to know: Where’s the next one?
Bonfires usually appear out in the open, with the consistency of highway rest stops. But once in a while, the designers decide to hide a bonfire, or block it off with a gate. In Sen’s Fortress, you have to look for a gap in the wall on the rooftop that lets you drop down a few feet and land in a balcony, where you’ll find the level’s only bonfire. You might miss it at first because, for one thing, the gap is hard to see from where you’re standing, and for another, the first time you reach that part of the roof, a grenade drops right in your face and sets you on fire, making you scramble as you try to figure out where it came from and how to escape.
That’s a good joke! The first giant you see on the roof will startle you, but he won’t hurt you. But there’s a second one who makes his presence known by throwing those grenades that burn off most of your health. Once you get a handle on where he’s aiming, he becomes predictable and easy to evade—but he’s still a nuisance. You can make your way up to his tower and try to kill him, but if you haven’t found the bonfire yet, this is a dicey proposition: it usually takes two or three runs to beat a mini-boss, and if you whiff it on this one, you’ll have to take on the whole fortress before you can try again.
But like I said, find the bonfire, and the entire dynamic changes. Now you have a waypoint at the edge of the roof. You’re gotten past the hardest parts of the region. You don’t have to mess around with swinging axes or dark tunnels or lizard men. You finally have time to explore.
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Dark Souls has been praised for its backstory—or as Tom Bissell put it, for not telling you what the backstory is. To a limited extent, Dark Souls practices environmental storytelling. The game takes place in a ruined civilization—you can see that just by looking at the buildings. The few characters you can talk to are faded ghosts from a better time; that’s why they seem helpless and in fact, rarely even move around. The few bits of backstory you pick up come from quick dialogues and from the loading screens, where objects flash by with a few breadcrumbs of exposition attached. Big Hat Logan? Anor Londo? You only have a dim idea of what these mean.
Dark Souls is one of the most engrossing games I’ve ever played. No matter what I’m doing, I feel “in the moment.” I imagine this is how a feral cat feels, prowling the same neighborhood night after night, looking for fights—and like the feral cat, I don’t really spend a lot of time thinking about how it all came to be. Where most RPGs try to pile on history to give their stories weight, Dark Souls—for all the evidence of its history—keeps you focused on the here and now, rarely giving you a reason to reflect.
Dark Souls may be a hard game to play, but it’s an easy one to spectate. Big guys are tougher to fight than little ones. Heavy weapons take longer to swing than light ones. Fast, clumsy, strong, agile—we can see what these creatures are and what they can do, and the numbers floating over their heads just affirm our instincts. And the monsters aren’t just big, they’re weird. A wolf that fights by gripping a sword in its mouth? A giant bulbous demon that vomits lava? A topless woman attached to a spider? You don’t need much lore to prop up stuff like that.
Meanwhile, the guideposts through your journey have basic, humble descriptions. You have to ring the bell. You have to light the bonfires, and then kindle them. Everything is called what it is, and even the levels have short, simple names. Slapping ornate names onto everything—say, the Bell of Qualla’goggooo, the Bonfire of Shamalama—would, in trying to layer on meaning, merely slop on too much and disturb the beauty of what’s in front of you.
From Software is more concerned about “theming” than “storytelling,” and they are very, very good at it. Take the bonfire. In gameplay terms, this is your checkpoint, the place where you save your progress and recover your health—one of the oldest mechanics in gaming. Dark Souls represents the safety and comfort in this idea by using one of our oldest symbols of warmth and protection. You know without being told that if you sit by the bonfire, you’re safe.
Now look at the gesture a character makes when they make an offering to the bonfire. The pose is humble and pious: the character is on bended knee, hand on heart, as it reaches into the fire and makes an offering, or a pledge. The gesture isn’t cast as a “power-up” but as a kind of restoration. Your character is damaged and “hollow,” but by performing this rite, it recovers some of its humanity—reinforcing that this is a place to rest, to heal, to get back what you’ve lost. This is really, really well done.
Dark Souls‘ approach wouldn’t work for every game. “Something bad happened here” is not exactly the greatest story ever told, and what you learn about the specific characters and specific events is not as striking as the raw imagery of the fire, the undead, the sun. The NPC quest chains are brittle, and key encounters with the handful of NPCs are easy to miss. When you find someone to talk with, the overt exposition ranges from mediocre to bad. Half the exchanges end with a “ha ha ha ha” or “heh heh heh heh,” and sometimes, the dialogue doesn’t even understand the gameplay. When a character first warned me that Sen’s Fortress is a treacherous place where many have gone but none have returned, I wanted to ask: “Didn’t you tell them about the bonfire?”
Still, there is a story here, and I counted two pieces of lore in Sen’s Fortress. First is the name: Who is Sen? I have no idea. So far, I haven’t found another reference to him anywhere. (Though Reddit has some theories.) More compelling is an archer who we find on the rooftop, guarding a tower. When you approach him, he doesn’t stand out from the other knights and guards you run into up here. But if you close in and engage him, you’ll notice he has a few more tricks up his sleeves than the average bad guy: he can jump and roll, he’s tougher to kill, and his armor’s really shiny. The real tell comes when you kill him and loot the body. He’s carrying a weapon named Ricard’s Rapier, and this is how you learn his name.
Even on the Internet, I can’t find much lore about Ricard. But I’m fascinated enough by where he ended up, out here by himself, guarding some tower, with nobody but a few ghouls and lizards to keep him company. It expands the story just that little bit more: “Something bad happened here—and here’s a guy who suffered.”
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The boss fight that ends the region is, counterintuitively, the easiest thing you’ll encounter. The Iron Golem that guards the exit may look tough, and he has a few tricks: if you get too close to his hand, he might pick you up and throw you right over the side of the building. But as with most of the bosses in the game, there’s a simple way to beat him: hide behind his legs and whack at his ankles until he’s dead. Once you’ve tackled the rest of this place, the boss is just an encore.
When you beat him, you’re done. Sen’s Fortress has changed from an out-of-the-way building, to the next step in your quest, to a nigh-insurmountable challenge, to an old friend. You’ll probably still remember every nook and cranny of the map, but now you’ll have a shortcut—a prison cage that acts as an elevator—that lets you skip all the challenges in between. There may still be a few corners and secrets you haven’t checked out: the chutes at the end of a few hallways that drop you down to the bottom, or the pit where that creepy headless Titanite demon hops around. You can tackle that at your leisure.
But I’ll wrap up this runthrough with the image that to me, makes sense of the entire fortress and maybe, the entire game. I still remember the first time I walked out on the rooftop and saw that metal giant, just like the one who opened the gate in the first place.
When I caught sight of him I backed up and raised my shield: was he going to attack me? Then I noticed what he was doing: he was hard at work throwing boulders down a hole. I had seen the device that caught the boulders, the tracks they rolled down, the holes where they broke through the walls, the lizards they crushed. I knew that the tracks ran through the entire Fortress, and now I could see the giant creature that kept the boulders rolling, moving like clockwork: lift, turn, drop, lift, turn, drop. He’s the coldly beating heart of this puzzle box, the engine that drives the entire machine, the creature that just keeps dropping rocks on your head to see if you’ll quit. He’s the most obvious metaphor for a game designer you’ll ever find. Is he making your life miserable—or richer, and more exciting? That’s for you to decade.
/ / /
So you may still be wondering, “That’s great, but why is the game so difficult?” That’s a good question. It’s a question I’ve asked dozens of times, whenever the difficulty spikes—or should I say, lurches ahead of me. Because for all I can say about the wonders of this game, the difficulty is still what makes the biggest impression. And honestly, it doesn’t always work. The last stretch of the game is a slog. It grinds you through one miserable boss fight after another—some of them coming within minutes of each other—and by the time you’re done you may just feel a kind of achey relief.
We tend to fixate on challenge because it’s that’s how we cope with it: we try to measure it and gauge it, we wonder if we can handle it, and then we slowly prepare to confront it. We lower our expectations and, at the same time, raise our skills through practice, until finally the mountain that looked so high from the base seems kind of small and cozy once we’re at the top. Things are only difficult until we understand them. To people who have beaten Dark Souls, the game doesn’t really seem that hard—hence the expression, “the real Dark Souls starts here,” meaning, in the much harder New Game Plus.
In music, film, and literature, difficult works provoke the same kind of response. We talk about them in terms of whether we can deal with them: War and Peace is “too long,” Lars Von Trier’s films are “too disturbing.” Audiences may balk at a work because it’s unfamiliar, complicated, opaque, taboo, exhausting, unpleasant to the senses, and so on—but in every case, the audience often hangs back and wonders: Are we the problem? Or is the work failing us? Is it challenging because the challenge is key to the form, the message, and the experience—or is it challenging because the artist is a jerk? If the artist has a message to send us—well, to paraphrase Samuel Goldwyn, why couldn’t they just send us a telegram?
Games shed new light on this old debate, because here, challenge is understood from the get-go as being integral to the experience. All games test their players, and the players accept that they are taking a test and they will be graded. We’re also more comfortable with the idea that the difficulty is the point of the game. We accept that sometimes, you have to earn your place in the audience. Consider this letter from Randall Shown that ran in The New York Times, replying to an article about choreographer Merce Cunningham:
Without the bias of an education in dance, I came to Merce on my own. Sitting in the rafters at City Center every March, I’d watch the legions leave halfway through, unable to grasp the language of his gestures or the sounds that accompanied them. Years later when coincidence led me to share my life for some years with a dancer in the company, Merce admitted his pleasure at testing the limits of his audience, suggesting in not so many words that the ones who made it through somehow earned the pleasures he suffered, and earned, in his own art.
The primary language of Dark Souls is difficulty. The game paces and varies that difficulty with the same craft that goes into its character builds, sound effects, and environmental design, and with the same purpose: to explore distinct, exquisitely-realized variations on one unified experience. What starts as a dare is revealed to be the reward.
… And okay, sure, it also gives you something to brag about to your friends. And did I mention: I beat Sen’s Fortress! I did it! See you in Anor Londo, if you even get there suckas!!!!!!!!
[CHANGES SINCE THE ORIGINAL POST: I corrected two mistakes, first that the dude by Firelink Shrine doesn't tell you where the bells are (he does), and second, that the giant who drops the boulders is the same one who opens the fortress (he isn't). Added a link to a theory from Reddit about where the name "Sen" came from. Also tweaked some wording.]
I love how so much Dark Souls writing I read brings up at least one really smart observation about some minor thing that I hadn’t thought about. In this case (though the whole article was extremely well written) I especially enjoyed your observations on the interactions with the bonfire. I hadn’t really noticed or thought about the gesturing and such before, but I completely agree.
Great article, thanks for the read. Dark Souls has been a different and truly engaging experience for me!
I’m here because of a link Michael McWhertor put up on Twitter.
Chris, that was a fabulous article, which must have been a real labour of love to write. I agree with Junkface about the insights of your personal journey, of certain aspects i’ve not thought of, but are now very much in mind. For me, those pertained to the backstory of the characters, of what came before and what lead them to this point – ignited by the piece about the Rapier.
What I love about the storytelling is that you feel *very* small in a world that’s moving on without you, regardless. At the point midway through the game, where there are shock changes around Firelink, my jaw hit the floor – and as much as I was loving the game prior to this – that was the point where I was truly invested.
Yet there has been no moment which compared to Demon’s Souls and the incredible “Soul of the lost, withdrawn from it’s vessel” speech given by the Main In Black.
A lot is made of the difficulty in Dark Souls, but given perspective, a plan and the desire to get there, the game gives you the opportunity to be *over-powered* for a level and to push on through from there. Once attained, I found myself making much more progress thereafter, which was wonderfully satisfying, both in the immediate adrenalin rush, plus the pride of taking those steps and actually getting there.
The level that gobsmacked me in Dark Souls was The Painted World Of Ariamis. From the unexpected yank through the artwork, to the deep snowy gloom of the scenery – and the revelation that there is no retreat to perhaps try another level. one way through it, no going back, other than to the very start. Plus, a boss who turns invisible, who can only be determined by footsteps in the snow .. as well as, i’m lead to believe, actually giving you the option to leave peacefully without defeating her. I thought she was lying. Dark Souls taught me that mistrust. I believed it. The game had the last laugh again.
One of the biggest lessons I learned, which applies to the Iron Giants atop Sen’s Fortress – and helped loads in Anor Londo, is the poisoned arrow. 3 hits, a bit of patience – tall swines be downed.
One of the real pleasures of the game is that everyone’s journey is different. Some enemies were a piece of cake, others more troublesome. I took a while to down the boss of Sen’s, I must admit – but have gone through most of the bosses rather quickly. None has made me gnaw my knuckles more than Capra, which took ages to take down. Likewise with the Belltower Gargoyles, funnily enough. My favourite weapon at present is one the internet tells me is rubbish.
Yet Dark Souls hadn’t gotten under my skin like Demon’s Souls did – and truly unsettled me. World 3 and the *tiiiing* of the Octopus Men terrified the life out of me .. typified when the same sound was a stock text message noise on a friend of mine’s iPhone, and every time they got a text I would jump!
World 5 and the tight wooden alleyways, a river of blood flowing from the ceiling and giants that looked further away than they were … [*shiver*]
Two great games that have turned my world around. No other games have made me obsess like this; on my mind all the time – I’ve even dreamed about them!
Hence, i hoper you don’t mind me sharing a little of my own adventures with you here – and thank you once again for a wonderful piece of journalism
No way, thanks for sharing! And I agree with you about the Painted World. Going through Sen’s Fortress, Anor Londo, and then the Painted World all in a row was an incredible experience. And it’s kind of a shame, because the last stretch of the game didn’t live up to the middle for me. (I’m at the end – I just need to kill the last boss right now, but I keep goofing off and ascending boss weapons to kill time before I try him again.)
I’m torn on which one I like better, Demon’s Souls or Dark Souls. I’ve had more frustrations and more bad stretches in Dark Souls, but the highs have been higher, and there are certain things – like having an Estus Flask instead of collecting grasses – that I wouldn’t want to give up.
Oh and yeah, the shakeup in the Firelink Shrine was incredible. It drove me nuts when it happened – but I just took care of the situation, and it was worth all the hassle.
I’m daring myself to go back into Tomb Of The Giants.
Before then, levelling up mahoosively and trying to get a ridiculous energy bar with which to venture back there again and try to progress and not freak out.
Within momentous happenings, when the change happens in New Londo Ruins .. *wow*.
I’ve recommended your post via Twitter and Tumblr, so hopefully a few more folks will see your great piece above
You just made me realise the boulder rolling giant in Sen’s Fortress is a homage to Donkey Kong.
Your name is awesome, and so is that insight. Thanks!
“I still remember the first time I walked out on the rooftop and saw that metal giant, the one who opens the gate in the first place. When I caught sight of him I backed up and raised my shield: was he going to attack me? Then I noticed what he was doing: he was hard at work throwing boulders down a hole.”
Just an FYI, that is not the same giant that opened the gate to Sen’s. The giant who opened the gate is available, but he is hidden near the beginning of the fortress behind an illusionary wall.
Argh, thanks for the correction.
I’m still not sure why the undead world feels so alive to me (no pun intended), but when I found poor Solaire, hollowed and homicidal, it actually depressed me (and then I killed him). I had become attached to him even though the game hadn’t offered much of a reason to be attached.
Maybe the game world works – maybe the world feels deep – precisely because they don’t offer up a lot of history. They don’t force it on you like every other RPG ever. It’s there, and there are place and things that explain some of the world, some of what’s going on, but for the most part, it remains a mystery and you are left with your own imagination to fill in the blanks.
Random question: my understanding is that Demon’s Souls basically didn’t allow the player to pause the game. Is that correct and, if so, did Dark Souls make the same decision? Because it was the one thing that put me off of the game: on a philosophical level, it’s so actively disrespectful of the player, and on a practical level, I don’t live in a world where I can devote hours of guaranteed uninterrupted time to a game…
The game doesn’t have a pause button – but does give you plenty of opportunities to walk away from the game and be okay once a group of enemies is cleared.
If you’re looking for an instantaneous ‘walk away at any time’, that’s not available, no.
It’s true it doesn’t let you pause, but it compromises by letting you quit the game at pretty much any time and preserving the state of the world very closely. Aside from taking several seconds to load again, it is effectively as good as pausing.
Ah, cool, thanks to both of you for your responses. It does sound like my fears on that score were overblown, then.
This was a great read.
I just want to point out one thing though. You implied that the mechanism that lets you change the direction the balls go in serves little purpose. But it actually has a couple of uses.
First, it is a part of Siegmeyer of Catarina’s storyline. He is stuck next to the first path the boulders are falling down and needs the balls to stop rolling down in order to get through Sen’s Fortress. So by changing the direction in any direction apart from the current one allows you to meet him in Anor Londo. Leave it alone and you’ve ended his storyline for this play-through.
Second, one of the other directions leads to the Covetous Gold Serpent Ring. But you must let three balls fly down in order to access the place it is in. Two balls fill the big hole in front of the wall while the third breaks down the wall in front as it now has level grounding to smash through it. Then you can proceed to get the ring.
Gotcha. I was arguing that it’s optional, not trivial – but I can see how it might’ve sounded like I was dismissing it.
The ring in that secret room was a great get. The encounter with Siegmeyer seems to be optional though – I missed him in Sen’s Fortress, but I still saw him later in the game (and then broke his quest line near the end, so I had to go to YouTube to see how it wrapped up).
i have no idea when im going to finish this game ,i love it so much much due to my work and other obligations i can play it over the weekends or for one hr a day which is not enough time to go from one place to another ,
im really attached to this game , the best part is the decisions that you make during the game will decide its level of difficulty and how its going to end .
This was an extremely well written article, and I’m probably one of the few people here who hasn’t played the game yet. I’ve been attracted to this game for a long while, and hope some day to get hold of it. I do wish it was on PC though, so that I wouldn’t have to dust off my 360.
I was linked here from Terry Cavanagh’s Twitter, which I was checking out having just completed VVVVVV. I particularly like your paragraph about the symbolism of the rock-moving golem.
This is a wonderful article. Thanks
Thing about the increasing number of gushy articles about the Souls series that kind of ticks me off is that the root of these games existed a decade ago in a niche series called King’s Field. KF was much slower paced, but the world-building in each Souls game so far comes straight from the same well. I, for one, liked the slower pace, the much heavier emphasis on lonely exploration. I lament the tremendous possibility there’ll never be a truer successor to King’s Field than the Souls series–though, to be honest, this lament is far from a complaint. Five years ago, it looked pretty clear FROM had moved on from the King’s Field formula completely. Another KF game would likely alienate many of the newcomers that have found comfort in the ways Demon’s and Dark Souls changed the format.
I would love to play the King’s Field games and see what you’re talking about. SnakeLinkSonic at Twitter has also been talking up their very different game Ninja Blade, which is available on Steam; I may have to pick that up soon.
The PS1 titles are extremely ‘ugly’ by modern standards, the controls are a special kind of clunky, and, besides the PS2 King’s Field IV: The Ancient City the level designs sometimes seem a little too disconnected and haphazard, but I strongly believe all of them succeed with what you say in this article about environmental storytelling–something very, very few other games have ever done well.
Thank you for this wonderful article.
However, I must disagree on one thing. A lot of people are convinced that Dark Soul’s is a difficult game and is all about difficulty.
It’s not. One of the things that compose difficulty is to learn things or understand the patterns. In Dark Soul’s, once you get that… it becomes a piece of cake and the execution doesn’t matter that much.
But by saying it’s a piece of cake, I’m exaggerated slightly. The game still offer a decent difficulty, but the player mostly end up repeating the same patterns for a very long period of time and so much that I’m forced to say that the game is more about learning and endurance, than pure difficulty.
Ninja Gaiden by example, would be a perfect example to illustrate a game that is really difficult on most angles.
You’ve got a good point, although at my skill level, I would never call it a “piece of cake.” Half the frustration comes from the surprises it springs on you (like curses, or unexpected setbacks like the one Jason McIntosh writes about here: http://gameshelf.jmac.org/2012/01/when-dark-souls-broke-its-contract-1/). But even when you memorize the maps and learn the tricks, it’s not exactly easy to execute. I’m halfway through my New Game Plus now and I know the game pretty well, but I still get tripped up in difficult boss fights.
But I agree with you re: Ninja Gaiden. Even as a mediocre player, I knew I could finish Dark Souls by being persistent and paying attention, and sweating through a few tough fights (all of which got easier with practice). I don’t know if I could beat Ninja Gaiden.
I love the game so much. I think it’s the level design that makes this game so great, It’s that and the fact that From software kept the simple combat system intact. Its the only contemporary game that leaves you to die and lose all your points, making sure that players are playing on their toes.
Congratulations on getting the article featured at Kotaku.
Richly deserved, Sir ^-^
Great article. One of the things that surprised me was how much I actually started kinda caring for the characters and thirsted for more lore. I went out of my way to get the Witch’s Ring just so I could listen to Quelaag’s Sister’s sad voice. And if you didn’t catch the sunlight maggot in time, what happens to Solaire can be disturbing (does everyone trying to help you go insane?!). I agree that the last part of the game turned into a slog–I also found it the most depressing and lonely.
One thing that I’m still conflicted on is how much I relied on the wikis to get me through the later parts. There’s so many interesting things you miss if they aren’t pointed out to you through the messages or use of a wiki.
Thanks for an interesting read, Chris. I particularly liked your point about DkS tapping into primal images (bonfires, warmth, the sun) for its impact. I’ve just rung the second bell, so I expect soon I’ll have the chance to check out Sen’s Fortress for myself.
(or should that be :O ?)
By the way, have you written anything similar for Ico/Shadow of the Colossus? I’d be interested in seeing your take on those two games, with their similarly minimalistic approach to storytelling. (Personally, while I prefer the Souls titles’ gameplay to that of Ico, I like Ico/SOTC’s themes — friendship, loyalty, and what happens when they go too far — better than those of DeS/DkS. As you pointed out, ‘something horrible happened’ isn’t the greatest story ever.)
A well-done article for a well-done game. I haven’t played Dark Souls, but I hope it ends up coming to PC just so I can see how it is.
Thank you for writting this. Dark Souls is a beautifully designed game. I dare say, the best experience I’ve had this generation. Praise the sun!
I don’t know if anyone ever pointed this out to you but I’m sure you’ll be getting more hits now that Dark Souls for PC was announced. The sleeping lizard man is actually a clue for you. If you direct the boulders towards him you’ll wake him up with a boulder in the face and break through the wall behind him, allowing you to rescue Big Hat Logan who starts a quest chain that ends up with giving you the best sorceries in the game. Basically, every direction you turn the boulder trap towards has a purpose.
That makes sense. I found Big Hat Logan, but I got in by letting the lizard break the wall when he came swinging at me.
There’s only one direction for the boulder that I still don’t understand: the path that sends it to the back of the Fortress and outside. But I realize that I still don’t know every corner of Sen’s Fortress – for example, I still haven’t run into the giant who opens the gate!
Loved the article. Great job articulating what makes Dark Souls so compelling- and what it makes it so impenetrable for people who don’t like getting kicked in the balls repeatedly.
I loved your observation about Ricard. That he was possibly a dude possibly trying to traverse the fortress and he became stuck there, now relegated to fighting off newcomers.
After writing a way to long reply, I decided to write my own blogpost. Thanks for the inspiration!
Fantastic article. Insight I never would have guessed: the fact that a map would “ruin” the game. And you’re completely fucking right.
I remember growing quite attached to the silt striders (fast-travel creatures) in Morrowind, as did a lot of people — and the reason is pretty telling. They didn’t all go everywhere. Learning which went where was equivalent to learning how to get about the world quickly; was equivalent to MASTERING TRAVEL.
Dark Souls, for not having a map, forces you to think about the way the geometry interacts. You’ll often stop and go, “Okay, I need to get back to Firelink. So I’ll go to X, and then to Y, and take that door I unlocked, go through that shortcut I found, ride the elevator, and then I’m there.” You’re literally visualizing the spaces in your head like you do in real life.
Of course by now Skyrim has become the “compared to Dark Souls” punching bag — but compare this to Skyrim. You get a quest. It’s at a fort on the overworld. If you’re lazy, you fast-travel to a cave two meters away, and then walk up to the fort. If you’re like me, then you hop on your horse and sort of ride in a straight line toward the quest marker on the compass, casually working your way over sheer cliffs and towering mountain peaks.
Darks Souls forces you to a gain a mastery over the world map. In the process, you come to personalize it, and even develop a queer kind of affection for it. It makes me think of my dad, the trucker, in the age before GPS; he knew pretty much every major east-coast highway like the back of his hand, and watching him quick-fire directions to someone, you could sense a kind of rugged, hard-won pride.
I find a lot of the time when I kill a particularly hard enemy in Dark Souls, I go, “FUCK you, you’re in MY house.”
That’s telling.
To clarify the Skyrim point:
Skyrim’s world is beautiful, but when I try to visualize the space, all I get is a murky sense of there being lots of mountains.
By comparison, I can close my eyes and visualize almost every area I’ve played through in Dark Souls — in the same way I can remember certain stages from old Mario and Megaman games.
I mentioned today that I’d beaten Sen’s Fortress, and after having done so, realised how perfect the level design in this game was. A friend sent me the link to this article, which says the same thing, and so much more, way better than I could have.
I am currently playing Dark Souls – Prepare to die – and I love this game! Never i played a game which fascinated me like Dark Souls. The game is hard, but if u find out how the game mechanics work and u have the right equipment it is never unfair (maybe bloody Ornstein and Smough are an exception, Jesus how i hated these two buggers, I think i died like at least 30 before i finally got them, totally nerve-wracked, sweaty and screaming like a nutter). Anyway great article! Best game ever!
I think (you want to know what I think) that the difficulty is a by-product of the general indifference the game appears to have for the player. Of course, the developers were making it with the player in mind, but done in such a way that it feels the game wasn’t made for your entertainment. Rather than feeling like a game made just for you, it feels real.
Whereas most games make your character shoot down a chopper in a QTE cut-scene, then pat you on the head and say “Woah, how did you do that?!?” like a father pretending his 5 year old son can beat him up, Dark Souls feels like the board game in Jumanji: a malevolent force you’re not meant to trifle with.