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Friday

OlliOlli2 Review


You push off to get some extra speed. You jump, pulling off a great move in the air, maybe even working in a spin. You grind on a handrail, jump again, try to land, and...whoops. You hit the analog stick as if you were trying to grind instead of land, which sends you flying off your board and down several flights of stairs.
These moments can be frustrating, but with the tap of a button you're back to try again, which helps make OlliOlli2 just as absorbing as (if not much different from) its predecessor.
Like the first game, OlliOlli2 is a 2D skateboarding game that sports simple controls but demands quick reflexes for success. Imagine a cross between the Tony Hawk games' tricks and the sidescrolling action of Canabalt, and you'll have some idea of what OlliOlli2 is like in motion. You automatically skate to the right of the screen and are unable to stop or go backward. As soon as you crash, your run is over, meaning that you're always weighing the risk of longer combos with the reward of a higher score.
The majority of your actions are performed with the left analog stick. When on the ground, tilting or rotating the stick in any direction essentially "readies" a trick. Let go of the stick, and you'll leap into the air and perform said trick. Grinding works the same way, with you moving the stick in any direction to perform different grinds on applicable surfaces.
Pulling off even complex tricks in OlliOlli isn't usually too difficult; it's landing that's the problem. To land, you have to hit the X button right before you hit the ground, otherwise you'll get a "sloppy" landing at best, greatly reducing any points you may have been trying to earn. Grinding requires similar timing, and the highest scores will go to those who can chain together jumps and grinds before pulling it all together with a perfect landing.
Imagine a cross between the Tony Hawk games' tricks and the sidescrolling action of Canabalt, and you'll have some idea of what OlliOlli is like in motion.
The biggest additions to the skateboarding action in OlliOlli2 are manuals, reverts, and revert manuals. Pulling these moves off requires even more concentration when it comes to landing, but doing so allows you to keep a combo going even when there are no grind-able surfaces in reach. This places a bigger emphasis on completing stages in one uninterrupted combo in OlliOlli2 than in the previous game, which is rarely easy but immensely satisfying when you finally pull it off. They're small additions on the surface, but manuals and reverts add a lot of depth to the experience, allowing you to transform a run from a bunch of little combos to one long, fluid performance.
OlliOlli2 takes you to more exotic locations than the first game (like the wild west and an Aztec temple), but its structure is exactly the same. Simply completing a level without crashing can be tricky in and of itself, but eventually, you'll want to focus on each stage's challenges. There are five in each level, and while many of them are basic point goals or item collection tasks, others will test your abilities by asking you to chain specific tricks together or forcing you to make every manual, grind, and landing perfect.
Skateboarding is really hot these days.
There's a particular headspace, a certain rhythm you have to get in to succeed in OlliOlli. When you're there, the action is blissful. When you've nailed the timing and are performing perfect grinds and manuals through even the most complex environments, the chase for higher and higher scores is addictive. Levels are short, making it really easy to say, "I'll just do one more of these," over and over again.
But there are also frustrations to be had, especially when you're not in that groove. It can be infuriating to struggle with a section at the very end of a level, forcing you to replay the earlier parts over and over again. There are also a few (fortunately not many) instances where level memorization is more useful than quick reflexes, which strikes me as antithetical to the rest of the experience. Being able to restart a level at the tap of a button helps alleviate these problems, but these issues can still hamper the enjoyment.
The biggest additions to the skateboarding action in OlliOlli2 are manuals, reverts, and revert manuals.
Even with its new tricks, it's hard to look at OlliOlli2 as not just "more OlliOlli." If you weren't into the action the first time around, or if you've already had your fill of it, there is nothing here to win you over. One of the few features that could help differentiate the sequel, local multiplayer, isn't in the game at launch (but will be patched in later), and, slight graphical improvements aside, you might be able to watch over someone's shoulder and not be sure whether they're playing OlliOlli2 or its predecessor.
If you missed the first game, though, this is the better of the two, and the tutorial will ease you into what its 2D skateboarding is all about. And if you loved it the first time around, "more OlliOlli" shouldn't sound like a bad thing. Provided you can get over the difficulty hump, you'll find a great high score chase in OlliOlli2.

Thursday

Lords of the Fallen - Ancient Labyrinth Review


Lords of the Fallen cannot escape Dark Souls' shadow, but its weighty combat and impossibly chunky art style still give it an identity of its own. Yet the shadow still looms, and in the case of Lords of the Fallen's newest add-on, Ancient Labyrinth, it wholly swallows its imitator. That Ancient Labyrinth is so short is not, in itself, a fundamental flaw. That it is devoid of imagination and betrays the exploratory wonder of the main game, however, is unforgivable. This tiny, throwaway slice of action is a rude return to a world with far better stories to tell.
The eight-dollar asking price may sound reasonable, but it is important to understand what you are getting: a skimpy maze that amounts to three hallways, a few levers to pull, some skeletal archers, and a few other cronies to defeat. A difficult boss battle puts the cap on this miniature adventure, which includes about 30 minutes of content and a finale that stretches that half-hour into a masochistic stretch of trial-and-error bashing and blocking that could substantially extend your play time, depending on how quickly you learn The Keeper's tricks, and how flawlessly you execute your attacks. The skimpy gameplay leading to that battle is so forgettable as to be barely worth detailing: A secretive stranger--that Lords of the Fallen storytelling staple--sends you into the maze of monsters, hoping that you might defeat The Keeper hidden within and thus free him of his torment. Calling the three, tight, same-ish corridors you traipse through a "labyrinth" is laughable, sadly, as would calling the ensuing lever-pulling "puzzles." Your greatest challenge within the gothic stone halls is the collection of creatures that patrol them: Ghostly warriors, translucent wizards, and those pesky undead archers pester you on your lever quest, and you apply the same blocking-rolling-swinging-spellcasting techniques to off them as you do elsewhere in Lords of the Fallen.
The DLC knows how to make an entrance. But it's all downhill from here.
You might have expected a grander journey, not simply because Lords of the Fallen itself provided one, but because the first glimpse of the labyrinth from the staircase leading there is so dramatic. Slabs of rock hover over the menacing maze, and ribbons of flame and lightning warn you of the danger waiting within. Pulling a lever causes the maze's circular walls to rotate and reveal entrances, which produces a satisfying sound of grinding and a conclusive thud. There's little fault to find in the presentation, presuming you take to this particularly exaggerated art style, in which every surface and every piece of armor is covered with sharp edges and intricate carving. Draw too near, and some part of your anatomy would surely be punctured.
Alas, the first boss is the only boss, and a troublesome one at that. Like The Worshiper from the main game, The Keeper employs an instakill area-of-effect attack that requires speed and care to avoid. Determining how to survive the explosion is your first task; actually performing the required tactics is the other. If you have built player-character Harkyn for bulk and not for speed, you may have a tough time of it, though there is a magical trick you can pull off to ease your troubles. The boss has four stages, the third of which breaks the rules the battle previously established regarding how and when the explosive attack occurs--a deviation likely to result in a torrent of profane language. The fourth stage, on the other hand, is easily exploited with particular types of magic, like Ram. It's an unrewarding gameplay arc for a boss fight, ending with the easiest form, rather than building the challenge to a proper climax.
And so you reach the center of three hallways called a labyrinth.
And then your task is complete. A shield of your choice is the reward, along with a few other odds and ends, and you may then return to the monastery, or wherever else you might have been exploring. "Is that it?" you may ask , though not just because the add-on is so short. No--that reaction is born of what a droplet of nothing this long-awaited return to Lords of the Fallen is. It is a miniscule stroll, made to feel longer by gating its ending behind tedious lever-pulling and a trial-and-error boss battle. With Ancient Labyrinth, Lords of the Fallen doesn't just fail to take a step forward: It takes a momentous leap backwards.

Mario vs. Donkey Kong: Tipping Stars Review


Great puzzles all have one thing in common: they present a conundrum bound by defined rules and then give you the tools to craft a plan to conquer this obstacle. Trial and error is ultimately part of the thrill of overcoming these challenges, but the truly brilliant puzzles can't be conquered by brute-forcing a million little experiments, or sliding tile puzzle pieces around: You have to actually figure out an answer to beat them. At its best, Mario vs. Donkey Kong: Tipping Stars understands this, forcing you to create elaborate and dynamic Rube Goldberg machines to achieve victory. Unfortunately, it takes far too long for the most devilish puzzles to rear their heads.
Mario vs. Donkey Kong: Tipping Stars is equal parts Lemmings and World of Goo. The main campaign consists of six worlds of eight levels in which the goal is to guide mindless wind-up Marios (and assorted Mario universe crew members) through a gauntlet of spike pits, Shy Guys, Donkey Kongs, and fire-breathing piranha plants by placing player-crafted paths and machinery at the door(s) at the end of each level while also picking up each coin and token for maximum points at the level's end. By clicking on paths, jump-pads, tunnels, walkways, and lifts, you gain resources that can then be placed on marked points on the map to create your tools for victory.

There's too much of a time investment before the game reveals its real potential.
This might sound simple in concept, but Tipping Stars knows how to complicate its premise. One of the key complications of any map is that, barring levels where each figure has its own separate door, all the characters must enter the final door within a short timeframe of each other. Once a character is awakened, it only travels in a single direction--turning around if it hits a wall--and if characters are spaced out around the entire map and facing opposing directions, it's as much of a challenge to get them facing the same way and close to one another as it is to collect all the coins and reach the level's door.
Each world introduces a new fundamental mechanic. The first zone is the simplest, and allows you to drag red girder beams to make walls, ramps, and paths. You'll likely get the gold trophy--calculated by how quickly you can finish the level--on your first try for most of the early levels. Each world then brings in something new without abandoning the tricks of earlier worlds, until you're forced to think about how to use this path to most effectively utilize the lift so you can get the highest bounce off the jump pad. It's a shame, then, that it isn't until World 5 that any of the puzzles have the slightest amount of bite.

You'll likely get the gold trophy--calculated by how quickly you can finish the level--on your first try for most of the early levels.
If you want a game to test your children's spatial logic and reasoning skills, Tipping Stars might be a good choice, though the complex later puzzles can prove frustrating. But in 2015, there are too many, more challenging options for adults looking to have their brains stretched for Tipping Stars to feel like a worthy investment. Once you do reach the more challenging puzzles, they are wicked. The main campaign is short--it takes less than four hours to complete--but there are 24 bonus levels in the game, and, right out of the gate, they not only stretch your problem-solving skills to their limits, they continue to introduce new mechanics to the game, including magnetized walkways. But there's too much of a time investment before the game reveals its real potential. Tipping Stars does offer you the tools to create your own levels so the most dedicated puzzle fans could rise to the challenge and create their own complex worlds for players to explore, although it's hard to gauge what that community is going to accomplish at this time.
Between its lackluster introductions and almost total lack of context for why you're doing anything in the game, Mario vs. Donkey Kong: Tipping Stars feels more like a particularly robust tech demo than a proper full-release. As a cross-buy title, it can be played on both the Wii U and the 3DS, but since you only use the Wii U Gamepad while playing, there's little reason to play it on anything other than the 3DS if you own both. If you have the patience to stick around for the game's true challenges, Tipping Stars is worth an inspection, but you have to slog through a lot of tedium to get there.

Slender: The Arrival Review


Slender Man has captured a large part of the popular psyche--large enough that two girls stabbed a third girl 19 times, and other children commit acts of arson, all in his name. I can't help but blend those headlines with subsequent forays into the Slender Man mythos. Although he is without a doubt fictitious--a legend manufactured wholecloth in full view of the internet's many denizens--he's transcended himself. He's now a self-reinforcing curiosity of the modern era, reflecting the deep-seated fears of our connected culture.
For those unfamiliar with this phenomenon, Slendy, as some affectionately call him, was born on the internet forums of the 21st century. A few Photoshop projects featured a thin, suited figure without an apparent face. The first few images of him depicted children running away--and right there, we have the seeds for a great ghost story. He is the embodiment of the unknown, and he preys on the weakest among us--children. From that point on, he became a meme in the truest sense of the word, evolving and changing to suit whatever the population thought would yield the most easily shared terror.

Slender Man is now a self-reinforcing curiosity of the modern era, reflecting the deep-seated fears of our connected culture.
So how does he terrorize us now? When he approaches, he causes electronics, particularly cameras, to malfunction and glitch out. He causes his victims to go mad. He's most aggressive when you're trying to look straight at him. Perhaps most tellingly, he tends to stick to rural areas.
Again, all this is purely fictitious, but it's interesting that so many of these individual threads converged into a single vision coherent enough to yield a substantive game in Slender: The Arrival. This coalescence of traits creates a compelling antagonist that preys on the modern. In our metropolitan world of smartphone cameras and nearly ubiquitous connections, a mysterious figure that resists investigation and cuts us off from our technological safety net is the ultimate terror.
Arrival benefits from these fears and pulls every psychological string. However, that's all it can do. From a play perspective, it's about as minimal as they come. You can pick up pages and notes strewn about the various levels; after the preface, you can pick up a simple flashlight. That lack of agency is powerful, though. From its nascent stages, it's clear that you're struggling to survive in the shadow of beings that sap all hope. Slender Man and his several proxies--corrupted and insane people he's brought under his influence--are cold and uncaring. They have no clear motive other than your defilement, and they are omnipotent. Slender Man, for example, can teleport, and there's nothing you can do to defend yourself from his tentacle-y arms but turn and run away. It's an impressive foundation, and it fills me with dread to this day.

Slender Man and his several proxies are cold and uncaring. They have no clear motive other than your defilement, and they are omnipotent.
I've played Slender and its expanded pseudo-sequel Arrival before, but when I ran through it again, that prior experience didn't help ease my fears. The world is cloaked in darkness, and all you have to push away a small sliver of that enveloping black is a small, barely functional flashlight. Against the dark, Slender Man's blank, white visage creates an arresting contrast every time he appears. The system creates procedurally generated jump scares using a weighty, pervasive atmosphere of vulnerability and helplessness. The same system went on to birth the popular Five Nights at Freddy's series.
Player death in Arrival takes on a whole new meaning without the predictability of those frights. I found myself afraid of being afraid, eager to see the game end so I could at last take a breath, relieved to be safe once again.
That near-constant level of stress would doom a longer game, but Arrival clocks in at just two hours. The console versions add a few extra levels that weren't present in the original PC release, and they pad out the tension with just a bit of calm to keep players from growing exhausted. On the flip side, the added sections dilute Arrival's already-tight focus. In its original incarnation, Arrival was an agonizing, frantic mystery. You stepped into the body of Lauren, a woman desperate to find any clues regarding the disappearance of her friend Kate. As you poked about Kate's house, you could gathered snippets of information suggesting that her mother had passed away and that her family had been facing financial trouble--leaving the possibility open for suicide. The more you learned, though, the grimmer the reality became.

The added sections dilute Arrival's already-tight focus.
A few side characters were present that were hinted to be the Slender Man. Because just moving around in any given level could prompt the appearance of the Slender Man, you always felt that the answers were out there, but you could never quite piece it all together. With the new areas, some of that mystery is gone, and Slender Man is established as some otherworldly being. That spoils a bit of the fun and raises plenty of questions about why Slender now attacks people, where he was before, how he came to be, etc. Without a plausible in-universe explanation, he loses just a bit of his mystique.
Despite that, Slender: The Arrival still got under my skin. I'm not quite as warm to it as I was before, but it's an eerie experience that's seeped into my real life. Now, on long car rides or when I'm in a sparsely populated area in the dead of night, I'll catch glints of light and my heart will stutter at the thought that Slender Man could be at the edge of my periphery. All I can do is turn away and keep walking.

Wednesday

Ori and the Blind Forest Review


The first ten minutes of Ori and the Blind Forest depict a beautiful and soul-crushing story of friendship, selflessness, and loss. They recall the opening minutes of Pixar's Up! in their melancholy, and like in Up!, the introduction provides an emotional foundation for the life-affirming journey that follows. It is a phenomenal opening--a short and wordless tale, playacted by two expressive characters who move with purpose and demonstrate pure affection towards each other.
There's a certain elegance to the game's initial sorrow, and it translates to the way you move through this exquisite 2D platformer. Ori and The Blind Forest is, on a fundamental level, structured as so many other platformers are; It springs from the Metroid and Castlevania tradition, gating your progress behind doors that can only be opened once you have learned a particular skill. As the nimble, lemurlike Ori, you leap and flit about with fantastic grace, and as Ori's abilities improve, so do the joys of navigating his world. When you learn how to climb walls, Ori responds wonderfully to subtle movements of the analog stick, allowing you to finesse him into exactly the right place, such as a sliver of stone embedded within a sea of lava. When you earn your double-jump, Ori somersaults like an acrobat and reacts in mid-air to your aftertouch. What a delight to have such fine control over a character this agile.
Don't be too distracted by the beauty: The sequence that follows is deadly enough.
One by one, you learn new skills, and new challenges arrive with them. Ori can fire energy orbs at nearby foes when he isn't avoiding them completely, and those creatures can be difficult to overcome. The blobs that stick to walls and ceilings? They aren't much of a hassle, at least until they coat the surfaces you need to cross and spit acid onto the ground. They won't let you stay still: You must take advantage of Ori's dexterity, by leaping over acidic pustules, jumping from wall to wall, or putting the other abilities you have to good use. For instance, you ultimately learn how to deflect projectiles, aiming them back at your foes while propelling yourself in the opposite direction. Turning an oncoming ball of fire back towards its owner is fun, but if you don't pay attention, you could thrust Ori into a wall of spikes, or into a crow hovering nearby.
Propelling yourself through the sky in this manner becomes one of Ori and the Blind Forest's most vital maneuvers. When you first learn it, you typically use the glowing lanterns that dangle from overhangs. Soon, however, you must fire Ori through treacherous areas replete with fiery spheres and those pesky crows, which hurl towards you as if launched from a slingshot. Timing is crucial, as is quickly determining the safest trajectory that still delivers you to your destination. That mid-air fling is at the heart of one of the game's most thrilling scenes: a difficult escape from roaring tides that swallow you whole should you make a single grievous error.
Ancient contraptions provide an air of mystery and wonder.
The trial and error this scene and others require can prove frustrating if you prefer to move on to the next area rather than discover, learn, and adapt. I admit to shouting a few expletives when unforeseen circumstances cut my attempts short, falling boulders with crystalline spikes covering their undersides and perilous geysers that spurted from the walls among them. But what a feeling it is to overcome these challenges. The tightly timed retreats that close each chapter are among the finest joys in any platformer--or any game at all--released in recent years. If Ori were clumsy, or if these sequences weren't timed so precisely, these moments would be simply annoying. But in Ori and the Blind Forest, each element harmonizes with every other. If you run into trouble, the game's save system eases the pain. You gather crystals as you play that function as checkpoints, allowing you to determine where you will respawn if you succumb to a bile-spewing frog. You must take care, however, not to drop these crystals everywhere you go, since you can only carry so many.
Those pulse-pounding escapes are complemented by moments of quiet bliss. In time, Ori can break his fall with a leafy parachute, gliding across the screen like a flower petal on the wind. During these moments, it's easy to appreciate the game's visual artistry. Multiple layers give each environment a lovely sense of depth. As you cross a log that bridges one tunnel to the next, thick trees rise in the background. Embers and fire crackle behind you, giving your trek across the troubled world a sense of urgency and purpose. Luminescent blue plants alternately close and unfurl with each jump, shining and glittering even as they become your next cause of death. It is a fairy tale come to life, a description that has rightfully earned "cliche" status--yet rarely is the description so apt as it is in Ori and the Blind Forest.
This is one of many sequences that combine the glee of motion with a tricky mechanic.
It isn't just the vibrant art and lush orchestral soundtrack that furnish a storybook mood. It's also the story, which is infrequently told to you via subtitles, accompanied by a narrator who chants along in an unknown language, in the style of Okami, or Panzer Dragoon Orta. It is a simple fable about the renewal of a ravaged land; It is in the details that you find the delights worth prizing. A critter that absconds with an important artifact gains importance you don't initially expect, revealing loneliness, fear, and tenderness not with words, but with exaggerated bows and nods. If there is any blight on this atmospheric transcendence, it is the frame rate, which occasionally falters, ever so slightly, in the final hours.
It's important, however, not to mistake Ori and the Blind Forest for being simply beautiful. It certainly is--but it is also unceasingly clever. It consistently surprises you with new tricks: gravitational divergences, new ways to move through its spaces, and carefully designed levels that require you to think quickly and respond. It is not as snappy as, say, a typical Mario platformer, seeking instead a broader gameplay arc stretching across a single, interconnected world. It's a superb and thematically consistent approach that allows Ori and the Blind Forest to build joy on a bed of heartache, adding a new layer of mechanical complexity with each ray of hope.

Emoji Quiz by Mangoo Games Answers 51-100




Good lord, this game is difficult! Even with the coins for hints and answers, I struggled. The game is fun though, and the feeling you get when you complete the levels, is absoluety awesome. If you're stuck somewhere, feel free to use this guide!
 

EMOJI QUIZ LEVELS 51-100:

51: Zebra
52: Insomnia
53: Japan
54: Aurora Borealis
55: Planet of the Apes
56: Hulk
57: Tour De France
58: The Laughing Cow
59: Milka
60: Dodge
61: Mars
62: Cold Shower
63: Dead Sea
64: Kiss of the Dragon
65: Hot Water
66: Maternity Leave
67: Jungle Book
68: Brokeback Mountain
69: Catfish
70: Library
71: Cherry Tomato
72: Muay Thai
73: Black Sheep
74: Pain Au Chocolat
75: Fruit Ninja
76: Conducter
77: Nuclear Bomb
78: Psycho
79: NBA
80: Gravity
81: Catwoman
82: Dumbo
83: World Cup
84: Pearl Harbor
85:Nail Clippers
86:Spider Man
87: Las Vegas
88: Anti-Aging
89: Lock
90: Oktoberfest
91: Jackpot
92: Jockey
93: Green Fingered
94: Toilet Paper
95: Rice Pudding
96: Giuseppe Arcimboldo
97: Hot Chocolate
98: Magician
99: New York
100: Grandparents
I hope you enjoyed and got help from my Emoji Quiz guide

Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon Review


It's been about four months since I've spent quality time in the world of Thedas--nearly 70 hours' worth of it. This week's content release for Dragon Age: Inquisition, Jaws of Hakkon, may have jump started my engine, reminding me what I love most about the core game: the sense of wonder, the thematic richness, a fantastic sense of place and personality. The new adventure becomes available in the second act of the game, taking your Inquisitor to the Frostback Basin, the foothills and valley near the mountain range at the southern end of Thedas. You've been called in to provide support for an archaeological survey of the region that is searching for the final resting place of the world's last Inquisitor, Ameridan. While piecing together the mystery of Ameridan, you'll have to navigate the region's complex geography and even more complex sociopolitical relationships.
The Frostback Basin is a deceptively big zone. What seems easily conquerable on the map screen is actually a sizable and intricate mix of environments. Foothills open up into plateaus, which feature deep, dangerous pits. A lakeshore runs into the bubbling, muddy shallows of the basin, and those turn into misty swamplands and damp jungles. It's all brought to life with vibrant color and fresh ambient sounds. The Frostback Basin feels distinct from the game's other zones, and it's mostly a joy to explore.
The environments in Jaws of Hakkon really show off Inquisition's lighting engine.
I say "mostly," because sometimes it feels like BioWare is trying to stretch out the available content in Jaws of Hakkon. Over the course of eight hours in the Frostback Basin, five different missions make you "follow the trail" across territory you've already explored thoroughly in the course of doing other missions. Most egregious is a mission that sends you around to flip a number of switches scattered across the northern half of the zone. For the previous six hours of play, these switches had been visible but inactive, and I knew that they'd send me back eventually. They did. This decision is particularly strange because Hakkon doesn't need to be stretched in any way. The Frostback Basin is packed with all of the elements that made me love Inquisition to begin with: smart characterization, interesting combat encounters, and carefully written lore.
The Frostback Basin is home to two rival tribes of the Avvar, a human society that briefly pops up early on in Inquisition. The development of these groups (and of the region's history in general) is the high point of Hakkon, and you'll get the most out of this DLC if you dig into the lore about these people and their culture and religion. Dragon Age has always been at its best when the stories it tells are multifaceted and mysterious, and the same is true here: Religious iconography blurs together; magical traditions are at once remarkably similar and fundamentally different; and the final, "true" history is often left unknown.
What's better than hanging out on a moonlit beach with some buds?
Best of all, the Avvar work to break apart the classic binaries that show up throughout the Dragon Age series. They share the Elven relationship to nature, but are human. They're human, but don't belong to any of the major political powers. They're deeply spiritual, but also incredibly practical. They have a strict system to govern the use of magic, but use terms and concepts to explain the magical world that are entirely different than those used by the Templars and Circle of Mages. All of this works to complicate the world of Thedas by providing yet another potential perspective to consider.
This makes it extra frustrating that so little of Jaws of Hakkon shares the cinematic sheen of the rest of Inquisition. Most other zones in the world of Thedas have a mix of two different sorts of quests. Firstly, there are the little, MMOG-style missions you complete for this or that character: kill ten bears, or recover a missing satchel, or perform some other small task. Secondly, there are the major story missions that take you out of the third-person perspective and into a cutscene view, where dramatic music supports characters who emote and animate as the plot unfolds. In Hakkon, only the very beginning and very end of the main questline offer this second sort of storytelling. Throughout the rest of my eight hours, I watched as world-shaking information was delivered without any pomp or luster.
Learning about the Avvar culture is a highlight.
If you told me last week that this would bother me, I'd tell you that you'd be absolutely wrong. But here I am, missing the intimate close-ups and the sweeping vistas. (Maybe this shouldn't be be surprising: Imagine an episode of Game of Thrones that never shows the detail of a character's face.) Over the course of the previous 70 hours, Dragon Age: Inquisition had quietly taught me to expect a certain rhythm: I'd meander around a zone until I was ready to commit to one of the many "big" story events. There was a sort of storytelling grammar at work, and by reducing the use of that grammar, Hakkon rarely feels as substantial as it should. Thankfully, the final hour or so of Hakkon does utilize those storytelling tools to great effect, and it joins them with some new, unique mechanics in a series of major combat encounters that build momentum and velocity until an explosive climax.
Though I wish that Jaws of Hakkon was less bloated, and though I miss the cinematic flair of the rest of Dragon Age: Inquisition, I know that in a month I'll have forgotten these quibbles. Instead, I'll remember my time spent in Frostback Basin fondly. I'll remember the sharp wit of Svarah Sun-Hair, the leader of the local Avvar clan. I'll remember the holy symbols that blur the line between competing faiths. I'll remember the mist and the mountains and the sun's light through the trees. I'll remember confronting legendary foes, and the time I got to spend with some of my favorite characters in video games.

Thursday

Helldivers Review


Helldivers won't be remembered for its narrative, nor will it be praised for intriguing mission design. No, these elements of the game are merely average pieces of a backdrop in a theater enacting thrilling performances destined to be endlessly retold among friends and fellow helldivers--and many of those tales are the kind that begin with "Hey, do you remember that one time?" Among these stories, the best ones told by veteran helldivers are of the edge-of-your-seat moments that culminate in cries of jubilance and relief as you and your allies watch your space-faring drop ship fly to safety just in the nick of time. But just as indelible are the tales that end with howls of disappointment (or, sometimes, laughter) as the last remaining member of the team crumbles against the odds and is finally overtaken. There are undoubtedly some blemishes in Helldivers' armor, but inside that armor you'll find a story creator, helping you craft fond memories to be retold for ye ars to come.
Indeed, the stories you create will be ones that will stick with you long after you hang up your uniform, as the plot in Helldivers is one quickly lost to the recesses of space. A multiplayer twin-stick shooter, Helldivers sends you and your fellow caped soldiers to march across the galaxy, delivering "managed democracy," all for the glory of Super Earth. You fight an interstellar war against three other races: the grotesque bugs; the technologically advanced illuminati, and the cyborgs, humans who grafted flesh to metal after separating from the regime--all of whom the government has decreed the enemies of freedom for some reason or other.
The game draws its theme from current history and popular fiction such as Starship Troopers, with the latter inspiring the game's light-hearted, corny propaganda. There are also some thinly veiled references to real-world issues. The Super Earth government labels cyborgs, who reportedly attack with suicide bombers, as terrorists, all the while justifying war in the name of protecting democracy and "our way of life," as well as collecting necessary resources such as, you guessed it, oil deposits (sometimes the veil is so thin as to be nonexistent). But Helldivers isn't attempting to be the next Spec Ops: The Line. It uses tongue-in-cheek humor throughout, and a delicate touch with its weighty themes.
Helldivers is tug of war on a cosmic scale. You and your fellow helldivers fight together against the three computer-controlled species, who reciprocate by pushing toward Super Earth. It's a persistent online universe, in which battles are won and lost even if you don't partake in them. The war theater, viewed from a console on the deck of your ship, is split into three large sections that are then broken into smaller sectors, any of which are claimable after you gather enough community points. These points are earned by completing missions on the many procedurally created planets nestled within. Once all the smaller sectors are claimed, you can begin the real battle, on the alien homeworld. During my time with the game, we were able to take the fight to the bug planet, which invoked some fond memories of a certain sci-fi adventure romp. Hopes were high, but to say the planet was a tough nut to crack would be an understatement--we got completely whupped. The desert world was too much for our handful of helldivers, but perhaps the story will be different post launch. Ultimately, complete conquest of the three planets is the goal, and once achieved, the game starts anew. The home world fights are not the only special events, however. On occasion, helldivers are called to safeguard a city under siege, and cleansing the infestation results in a double dose of experience points. Also, if an enemy species manages to breach Super Earth's defenses, all players rally to its defense.

The humdrum missions, sadly, do put a damper on the engaging design of Helldivers' war front. Planets are won by completing objectives, which don't stretch far beyond the typical, such as capturing and holding an area, activating some device or another, or the always popular escort mission. Odds are you will be too occupied dealing with oncoming waves of enemies to notice boredom seeping in, but after hours of slowly dragging a briefcase or yet another hapless group of stranded civilians across a stretch of terrain, it's difficult not to feel a sense of slowly mounting frustration at the tedium. Completing missions offers a variety of awards, at least. Experience points, in an amount that varies depending on your performance, are showered upon you at the end of each stage. Leveling up unlocks new weapons and gear to be used in your campaign, though I would have preferred for the game to denote which piece of equipment unlocks at what level, rather than b eing occasionally surprised.
Helldivers' one-two punch of deep strategy complementing intense cooperative combat, however, is fantastic. It is so good, in fact, that it often overshadows much of the dreariness arising from the dull missions. It is incredibly satisfying to play on a team of up to four helldivers, all relying on each other to survive while executing carefully planned strategies involving perks and equipment. Playing the game solo is possible and provides its own set of challenges, but it just doesn't offer the same experience. Choosing a planet, the squad leader picks where the group of guerilla fighters will make its landing. On the ground, the team then decides what pieces of equipment, called stratagems, to call down, and what objectives to tackle first. Equipment varies, and includes options ranging from a UAV, which pinpoints threats on the map, to gun turrets, ammunition boxes, heavy guns, and much more. New stratagems are unlocked when battles on certain planet s are completed, with more equipment being offered as a reward. The enemies you face also affect your game plan: Bugs are plated in thick carapace, and charge at you brandishing massive claws; cyborgs are often strapped in bullet-deflecting armor, forcing you to carefully line your shots up with any exposed fleshy bits; and the illuminati attack with high-tech war machines, mind control, and snipers that can kill with one hit.
The stories you create will be ones that will stick with you long after you hang up your uniform, as the plot in Helldivers is one quickly lost to the recesses of space.
The combat itself unfolds organically as you make your way from objective to objective. If your landing is free of immediate hostiles, you can attempt to move through the area with stealth and haste, quickly eliminating any scouting party before scouts manage to raise an alarm. It's entirely possible to complete a mission leaving only the corpses of unwitting foes in your wake, but more often than not, you will end up hammering down your trigger as enraged forces rush to meet you. The weapons, which include a disparate array of rifles, shotguns, and beam cannons, dish out white-hot metal or plasma in gratifying thunder. Bullets rip through flesh, leaving smatterings of blood and piles of viscera in their wake. Effortlessly smooth controls make the gunplay feel terrific throughout every fight.
Helldivers is easy to jump into, depending on your familiarity with twin-stick shooters, but even if you're used to the style, you will find that the game has many factors for you to keep in mind the moment your boots touch terra firma. Chief among them is the immense difficulty, which requires all players to be at the height of their game, as one mistake can spell immediate disaster. As you travel around, research samples that dot maps must be collected in order to earn points to use to upgrade weapons and stratagems. Friendly fire is another item of concern, as it is always on and cannot be disabled, so practice keen trigger discipline. Ammo conservation is an equally high priority, as reloading will discard any unused rounds in a clip.

Death is no stranger in Helldivers, and despite your glorious, flowing cape, you are not superhuman. The game demands a sharp eye and a clever wit; otherwise, you will go down fast. And, take it from someone who knows, if your fallback procedure keeps circling back to running away as quickly as possible, then maybe it's time to rethink the battle plan. Falling in combat is hardly the end of the game, however, as you can call down a reinforcement stratagem to bring a lost comrade back onto the battlefield. But do keep an eye on where the pod (actually, any stratagem, come to think of it) is about to land. Far too many helldivers have lost their lives being crushed beneath incoming ordnance, which doesn't solve any problems whatsoever.
Beyond mission design and story, Helldivers has other issues, though some are negligible. For example, you can customize the look of your helldiver, as well as unlock new clothing designs as you go along, but the options only change from dark to not-so-dark. Since the camera floats off at a distance, it's easy to confuse one dark-armored soldier with another, often resulting in someone foolishly falling off a ledge or firing a weapon into an unrecognized ally. A friend I was playing with also mentioned that the game wasn't tracking his progress when he was playing in my lobby. This is a minor issue; one that I've been informed may be patched by the time the game releases. On the more nitpicky side: What is with the wind on some planets? More than once, during rare moments of silence, I watched as shadows of clouds moved northwest, while dust on the ground flowed to the west, and a small handful of particles lazily floated east. All the while my cape droo ped, apathetic to the elements. But on the subject of capes, it's oddly amusing to spin in place and watch your cape flow in response to the motion. And I know I'm not the only one to feel this way. Before nearly every mission, I watched as so-called hardened fighters twirled on the deck of a battleship; joining the impromptu dances is almost irresistible.
The game draws its theme from current history and popular fiction such as Starship Troopers, with the latter inspiring the game's light-hearted, corny propaganda.
Helldivers is a hugely entertaining space romp, despite bearing a few battle scars. It is truly a game designed for precious water cooler moments, when you can tell stories of fights barely won, and anecdotes detailing white-knuckle flights from insatiable hordes. The deafening cheers heard through my microphone as the last living member of the team squashed a bug tank with three reinforcement pods, turning the tide back toward victory, is forever etched in my mind. Imperfect as it may be, Helldivers' focus on the cooperation of a small team looking out for each other against oppressive waves of enemies elevates it from what would have been a fun and challenging shooter, to a game that now sits at the top of my list of how I plan to spend many future evenings: with a gun in hand, my allies at my back, and a broad smile on my face.

Words Block! Answers Level 51-75 (3/4)




Words Block! is a brand new game for android, exclusively. It is a fun new game where your screen gets filled with all these letters, and you have to figure out the word. Sounds easy? Maybe in the beginning, but it gets harder as you progress. It's nice to have a guide for all the levels like this one, isn't it? Anyways, I hope you got the help you needed!

WORDS BLOCK! LEVEL 51-75:

51: Nap, Ball, Cold, Sub, Eye, Criminal
52: Bug, Fish, Brick, Disc, Rush, Coast
53: Roth, Hulk, Wolverine, Deadpool
54: Genie, Foundation, Star, Candle
55: Stove, Fridge, Cup, Pot, Dish, Oven
56: Italy, Denmark, Sweden, Germany
57: Patient, Shy, Careful, Diligent
58: Shower, Bow, Chance, Risk, Pledge
59: Broccoli, Frog, Grouch, Spinach
60: Pomegranate, Fig, Durian, Mango
61: Window, Faith, Heart, Ice, Record
62: Sandbox, Slide, Swing, Children
63: Television, Drug, Alcohol, Game
64: Gigli, Transformers, Catwoman
65: Dracula, Vampire, Bat, Mosquito
66: Piglet, Kitty, Puppy, Chick, Calf
67: Avengers, Shrek, Avatar, Frozen
68: Cupid, Lonely, Chocolate, Lover
69: Water, Data, Money, Life, Penalty
70: Sincere, Plain, Truthful, Frank
71: Handwriting, Picture, Fly, Hang
72: Metallica, Radiohead, Placebo
73: Rapunzel, Aurora, Elsa, Jasmine
74: Man, Maiden, Will, Ore, Rule
75: Dodge, Ford, Subaru, Jeep, Toyota

Screamride Review


As fun as it is, there's something rather...disturbing...about Screamride. A game about racing rollercoaster cars down rails at tremendous speeds and smashing them into concrete skyscrapers isn't to be taken seriously, of course, and I'm not terribly concerned about the riders, who seem beyond thrilled for the chance to sacrifice their well-being for the chance to fling themselves into solid objects. My worry lies with the pedestrians walking around out there. There are promenades to stroll on among the office buildings and laboratories. What right-minded individual would think to hang out there--or to work there?
Well. This isn't the kind of thing you're supposed to be thinking when you play Screamride, which sets itself apart from the developer's own Rollercoaster Tycoon series in this regard. In the RCT series, a crash was always a tragedy; Screamride's thrill-seekers hoot and holler on their way towards collisions like the Duke boys sliding across the hood of the General Lee, and the rocktronica soundtrack doesn't miss a beat, even when the riders' ragdoll bodies thump against asphalt. They must enjoy it. So do I, actually, though your enjoyment depends on your willingness to cast aside memories of Rollercoaster Tycoon and its freedoms in favor of Screamride's hyper-happy attitude and unique mix of construction and destruction.

Add racing to that mix, too, if you want a fuller picture. Screamride is split into four discrete chunks: racing, demolition, engineering, and sandbox creation, locking creation tools behind gates that can only be opened by participating in career events. That's not the worst thing in the world--Little Big Planet manages to make the idea work, after all--but if coaster creation is your primary draw, busywork is mandatory. There are other limits that also stifle creative minds bursting with ideas, but forget about them for a moment. Instead, picture a roller coaster that gives its riders a modicum of control over speed and balance--coaster cars with brakes and accelerators, and with limited boosting capabilities, that let you lean into curves so you don't go flying from the tracks as you whip around corners.
Experiencing a coaster this way is called screamriding, and it closely resembles traditional racing, apart from the obvious limitation of being glued to the track, with the exception of jumps, or in circumstances when the race purposefully ends with a coaster train launching from the track and into a high-rise. You are an active participant, earning boost by pressing a button just as you near the end of a blue stretch of track, and using an analog stick to nudge the car left or right, either to keep the car on the track, or to navigate the twists the game throws in, such as monorails that require you to lean on two wheels. Of course, most of the twists are in the coaster design themselves. No real-life coaster would risk such barf-inducing curlicues, but in the Screamride fantasy, why not throw caution to the wind? The rider-view camera angles might inspire some waves of nausea for you, but I never felt like upchucking. Then again, I seem to be immune fr om coaster sickness in real life, too.
Your enjoyment depends on your willingness to cast aside memories of Rollercoaster Tycoon and its freedoms in favor of Screamride's aggressive xtreme attitude and unique mix of construction and destruction.
Real life coasters rarely allow you to reach speeds of 150 miles per hour, unless you're a regular at Ferrari World in Abu Dhabi. Early on, when navigation isn't so tricky, it's easy to enjoy the thrills; as the campaign progresses, you're more concerned with spotting where blue tracks ends so you can earn a spot of boost, and with avoiding spills that could cost you time. At advanced stages, Screamride isn't about the joys of riding roller coasters: It's about gaining as many points as you can and showing off your skills on the game's online leaderboards. The game's insistence on turning everything into a competition is its defining negative feature, actually. "Sorry if you want to just ride the coaster and enjoy it!" says Screamride. "Roller coasters aren't fun enough on their own." Screamriding comes with its own kind of thrills, at least; finishing the Sky-Scraping Serpent challenge without a derailment rewards you not just with points, but by allowi ng you to sigh with relief after several minutes of white-knuckle track navigation.
Screamride's biggest gameplay triumph is only tangentially related to coasters. The game is big on destruction. It wants you to see colossal buildings collapse into voxelized heaps, and even showcases a few debacles outside of demolition levels. (You can even fly your car into towers should you launch from the track during a race.) Being a demolition expert is the game's strongest allure. On a fundamental level, demolition challenges are akin to a 3D version of Angry Birds: You launch a cabin from a rotating arm into arrangements of structures in the hope of causing a cavalcade of destruction and gaining points for it. (2007's Pain for the PlayStation 3 also springs to mind as an apt comparison.) Explosive barrels are tucked away in strategic places, and spires are placed to maximize damage if you bump them in just the right way.
Destructive delights.
Demolition is based on physics, so even a seemingly perfect launch may not have the effect you desired. Luckily, Screamride avoids Angry Birds' aggravations, focusing more on the demolition than on unreasonable challenges. Later levels add all sorts of accoutrements to the mix: cabins that divide or bounce, trampolines and magnets that extend your cabin's usefulness, and so forth. Other levels launch coaster cars off of a track and let you steer them directly into structures. Whatever the specific wrecking ball you use, razing a level is wholly satisfying. Monoliths topple onto other monoliths like a set of massive dominoes, and firing a cabin into the spindly legs of a colossal robot causes it to collapse upon itself in a glorious implosion of rubble. You can always restart the level with the press of a button should you miss your target; doing so causes demolished structures to be rebuilt as you watch, a process that might have been almost as amusing a s the demolition if it didn't cause the frame rate to hit rock bottom. (Generally, the frame rate is not Screamride's strong suit.)
You get your build on in Screamride's engineering challenges. The sandbox aside, these levels best hark to the spirit of Frontier's previous creations, plopping a coaster down on some terrain, and asking you to complete it using a specific set of standards. "Complete the coaster with a minimum drop height of 100 meters, a minimum travel length of 950 meters, a top speed of 93 mph minimum, and using at least three special pieces" is one such goal, though others are much simpler ("Launch a rider"). There are some engineering control quirks to contend with, mostly to do with navigating between disconnected tracks, but the interface is otherwise commendable, and it's easy to test your coaster as you progress, and then return to construction, where you can add and twist tracks to your heart's content.
So many loops, so many restrictions.
The interface's usability is at its most apparent when you delve into Screamride's sandbox, which is overflowing with ways to build coasters and environments, whether you intend for those environments to provide atmosphere, or whether you intend to annihilate them. Make your own structures using cubes of concrete, glass, iron, and stone. Craft the island that your challenge rests upon with tiles of grass and metal. Delve into blueprints, where you can find pre-fashioned constructs that help automate the parts you aren't interested and focus on the parts you care about. Screamride asks a lot of a controller, given all the baubles and doodads, but clear tooltips make the process as simple as you could ask for.
There are complications that arise: all of this creation is in the service of a screamriding, demolition, or engineering challenge, so if you want to share your accomplishment, you must adjust vital parameters. That means setting goals, establishing any limits on coaster parts like loops and corkscrews, bonus challenges, and so forth. If you apply yourself, however, the results can be marvelous. As I write this, Screamride has not been released to the public, but press members and Frontier's developers have crafted some excellent stuff, like my favorite of the screamriding challenges, The Vaporizer, which flies along at speeds surpassing 170 miles per hour, and offers no hope of figuring which was is up and which is down until the challenge had ended. Thanks, SirTokeAlot85! Too bad I can't see how I fared against other racers on your level--or on any user-created levels.

The game is big on destruction. It wants you to see colossal buildings collapse into voxelized heaps.
The sandbox's downfall is not in the breadth of its toolset, but in the limitations on how you use it. Screamride suffers from a pressing need to give everything you do the same structure as its career challenges. You cannot simply build a coaster, ride it, and share it for others to do the same--not directly. Well, you can build an engineering challenge and ride your creation by testing it during and after construction, and then remove a couple of pieces of track and create a lame challenge out of it for others to complete and test. Or, you can save your coaster as a blueprint, which other players can use in their own level, which requires building a level, placing your coaster, and testing it. Or, others can download your challenge and then edit and test the coaster. But these are convoluted ways of circumventing Screamride's "Roller coasters aren't fun enough on their own!" outlook. It's frustrating to have so many tools, and so few ways of putting th em to use, like an overwhelming pile of Legos that you can only use for making a boat, a car, or a house. Future downloadable content allowing for straightforward sharing, riding (not screamriding), and viewing coasters in action would be as surprising as a pile of vomit at Busch Gardens Tampa's Montu exit.
I don't wish to further belabor the issue of "what Screamride doesn't do," however, because "what Screamride does do" is a more interesting subject. It turns roller coaster riding into a self-destructive blood sport in which you demolish buildings and ruin little computer people's lives for the inherent joy of it. Building up and tearing down is an age-old pleasure, and seeing sky-high structures fall like dominoes with a flick of a stick is Screamride's primary delight. I sometimes think of all those digital men and women that went plummeting to their dooms, but at least they died doing what they loved.