KWAMA CHAMELEON
MORROWIND offers unparalleled Blight entertainment despite its age
Some games you finish, some you stop playing and intend to return to. For me, Morrowind falls into the latter category. I’ve been the Neverine, finished the Morag Tong and Fighter’s Guild questlines, topped house Redoran, and more. But I know there’s room to go back and find something new; to roll a new character that isn’t just another noble orc and see a different side of Vvardenfell.
I get as far as Socucius Ergalla, the Morrowind census taker, before I falter. I call my new orc Grogwell. Generally, I’m not one for stupid names in RPGs, but Grogwell is the title an orc would choose if he was trying to sound fancy. In keeping with that, I make a custom class called ‘privateer’—a swashbuckling Orsimer, sadly bereft of a ship, who gets by selling goods and swinging sabres. It’s a reminder of how malleable and deep Morrowind’s character system seems even now. I feel like I know who Grogwell is before I even set off.
I do all the standard Morrowind startup stuff: Steal everything I can see, return Fargoth’s ring, sell enough stolen junk to buy armour and that aforementioned sabre. That done, I take a stroll around the surrounding area and immerse myself in those thrilling, aimless moments at the start of every Elder Scrolls game. I’m reminded of how much cool stuff there is to find around Seyda Neen. I discover sunken grottos, a murdered tax collector, and, my personal favorite, a mage called Tarhiel falling to his death after miscalculating how his Scrolls of Icarian Flight would work.
The combat should be frustrating by today’s standards. All attacks have a to hit roll, so early fights are comically inept: a gormless dance of swinging, missing, and praying for the whack of a strike that connects. But it’s still oddly enjoyable. I’m only butchering insects and crabs to begin with, so Grogwell’s lacking skills are but a small hindrance, and I daren’t risk an actual fight. I get into a tangle with three small slaughterfish— Morrowind’s second most annoying enemy after cliff racers—and even this early on, there’s a moment where I have to splash back to the safety of the shore before three discount piranhas cut short my adventure.
A PIRATE’S LIFE FOR ME
I’m still struck by the density and freedom of it all. I deduce who murdered the tax collector by looking for the person who owed the most money. In the end I let him go because Grogwell is a pirate, and has no respect for The Man. It feels like later Elder Scrolls games wouldn’t be so confident in players to find their own path (understandably so, in some cases, since Morrowind’s map is terrible and there are no waypoints). But because of this, Morrowind is a different game—a testing, exploratory experience, with a spirit of adventure often lacking in the sequels. I feel more heroic killing a big fish ten minutes after landing in Vvardenfell than I do killing a dragon an hour into Skyrim.
A testing, exploratory experience, with a spirit of adventure
Adding Daikatana to your library is like owning a piece of history, in much the same way as keeping your lifethreatening gallstone on your mantelpiece. I was prepared for it to be gently disappointing, but Daikatana is bad in so many interesting, specific ways that its terribleness is almost compelling.
Let’s do pleasant surprises first. The voice acting isn’t wholly awful. It opens like a neo-noir Shenmue starring melted wedding cake decorations, but the setting is at least different. It’s stupid, but I like how committed everyone is—there’s a high school drama earnestness that’s rather endearing. The controls are smooth, it’s relatively well optimized and punching signs is fun. There are undoubtedly worse games.
But then the fighting starts. The enemies in the early parts of
Daikatana aren’t just bad. It’s as if the Axis of Evil sat around an orangutanupholstered table and designed the most objectionable mobs imaginable. “Poison frogs! Or maybe hidden turrets. Wait, no: Electric wasps! Everyone hates electric wasps.”
Yet despite this—and perhaps most enjoyably of all— Daikatana displays an admirable degree of audacity. When you try to turn it off, it displays a pithy, finger-guns quip about why you should keep playing. On-screen prompts are delivered with the braggadocio of an investment banker beating his son at Monopoly. If Daikatana was a person, it’d be an MLM entrepreneur and after dinner speaker who earned a six figures telling chronically depressed people to believe in the beauty of their dreams. In that respect, and in that respect alone, we can all learn from Daikatana. 38