Sea of Thieves
Sick-simmered fish and financial stress in SEA OF THIEVES
Launching a ship is difficult. It imposes stresses on the vessel not experienced during standard operation. It presents a significant, often dangerous engineering challenge. In 1860, after eight years of planning, two people died launching Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s SS Great Eastern. It’s so difficult, in fact, that sailors do anything they can to bless the maiden voyage, which is why we smash bottles of champagne on the hulls of new ships.
Despite this, I’d still rather launch a 32,000 ton steam ship with salad tongs and half a can of WD40 than try to fire up Sea of Thieves on the Microsoft Store again. It simply won’t load. I reinstall, switch drives, and even consider breaking a bottle of champagne against my PC. In the end, I move the whole operation over to Steam, which makes my intro about SS Great Eastern much more relevant.
It’s worth it. I enjoyed Sea of Thieves when it first came out, and back then there was nothing else to do except collect tiny pigs in wooden cages. These days it feels full of distractions, even if the NPCs are a bit static and rubbery.
After some time spent acclimatizing to the new stuff, I set out on a brigantine with two pals and a cat called Stormy Mau. Sailing still feels great. There’s an amazing sense of momentum from navigating the swelling seas, and the game gets the simple, repetitive things right: Stuff like filling your sails with wind, or the satisfying ‘kuh-chonk’ of the turning wheel. It’s also a more interactive space now. I try to make dinner for the crew, and it becomes an episode of Jackass: I catch a fish, then accidentally eat some of it raw. I try to cook what’s left, but it’s too late: I vomit in the pan before serving it to a crewmate. I’m not eating that because technically, I already have.
Our mission, too, feels more purposeful. We’re using a magic compass to piece together map fragments, which eventually leads to a mystical cave full of chests, treasure, and glittering piles of gold. It’s a greedy scramble to fill our pockets and transport the booty outside before the door slams shut. It’s agonizing; suddenly, I empathize with every entombed pirate from ’80s action movies. But what comes next is worse: An agonizing crawl back to port so we can sell our goods, surrounded by predatory ships. Sure, we could fight: But I just got cooking and eating wrong, so I don’t fancy our chances in naval combat.
HOME SAFE
We make it back unscathed, and I make more gold in one evening than I have in years. I promptly spend most of it on fabulous pirate clothes and a thick beard that’s perfect for catching sick. I gave up playing Sea of Thieves after watching three-hours worth of imprisoned pigs sink to the briny depths before dying alone in a sloop that had been struck by lightning. It might be the gold, or the beard, or the companionship that comes from sharing vomit-fish, but it feels like a different game.
We’re using a magic compass to piece together map fragments