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spinneryesteryear · 4 years

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DRK Headcanons

- tapping into the abyss is a skill that has manifested and been practiced by a few individuals across almost all times and cultures, but it has been most refined by Ishgardian dark knights, who paired it with a greatsword and elevated it to new heights

- as conjury resonates with the organic materials of crooks as their implements (wood, blood, etc.) and thaumaturgy resonates with the inorganic materials of rods (metal, gems, etc.), dark arts resonate with blood and iron, including the metal of the dark knight’s greatsword

- Unleash fills the air with the scent of the dark knight’s blood, maddening monsters and enemies and drawing them away from the weaker party members towards him instead

- dark knights in frequent communion with the abyss tend to have keener aetheric senses, quickly noticing any creature with blood and/or living aether in their vicinity, thus negating or diminishing the use of conventional stealth by their enemies. Dark knights are easy to outnumber but hard to ambush.

- they also have some degree of night vision. Their tapetum lucidum effect is more red than green-blue, however, no matter the species or race.

- Dark Side slowly but continuously drains the dark knight’s mana pool (i.e. aether easily liquidated and spent) even without the usage of skills or spells (the Heavensward drk mechanic); when this pool is depleted and if Dark Side is not dropped, it begins to slowly but continuously drain the dark knight’s health pool (i.e. aether liquidated and spent only with pain), similar to how darkness abilities in previous FF titles were frequently Cast From HP. This is not advised.

- a dark knight’s eyes glow red when HP is being drained in this manner

- Low Blow: dark knights are taught very early on in their initiation into the dark arts that kicking their enemies in the crotch is always a valid tactical move

- although they have no formal order or brotherhood and although they usually work and live alone, dark knights in the same geographical/sociopolitical region are aware of each other and may come to each other’s assistance if there is a grave problem in another dark knight’s ‘territory’. Tying in with the previous headcanon, dark knights can sense the presence of other dark knights’ aether over comparatively long distances and cannot mistake the flare of blood-soaked aether when another walker of the path is slain. Nearby dark knights will travel to the site of their fellow’s death to retrieve his armor, weapon, and soulstone and to give his body honorable burial, if possible. As dark knights have no formal order and are persecuted as outlaws, their arms and armor are not easily replaced and thus must be carefully repaired and preserved for new initiates.

- training in the dark arts is usually given from one master to one or two apprentices at a time; there is no formal schooling for the discipline and no formal records of the history or members of the creed. Weapons and armor are also usually passed down along the same teaching ‘lineage’, with apprentices frequently receiving the weapon and soulstone of their teacher’s late teacher.

- DRK job soulstones are very ‘alive’ in comparison to those of other jobs, as they very strongly soak up impressions of their bearers’ memories and feelings. Unused DRK job stones are cold and dark, like chunk of obsidian crudely cut into the shape of a heart. Over decades of being carried, especially by multiple knights, the job stone slowly takes on life and warmth - faint at first, like a single candle lit against the yawning void, but steadily growing. A well-worn DRK soulstone resembles a crystallized heart red with living blood, warm to the touch. Such a job stone can usually stave off the hungry abyss long enough for a novice knight bearing it to find his flame in the face of initiation into the dark arts.

- the WoL wasn’t the first novice dark knight to have an identity crisis on picking up a DRK soulstone unawares, especially one whose previous owner just died unjustly in violent combat, and won’t be the last. Actual visible manifestations of parts of the dark knight’s soul is a new one, however.

- dark knights seek no glory for themselves and frequently eschew their given names in favor of a title, by which they are usually known to the uninitiated (e.g. Deepblack, Obsidian Heart, Onyx Shade, etc.). If they have living kin, they also lessens the chances of their families being persecuted by inquisitors. Bounties out on a dark knight’s head usually only lists their title (if known), a description of their armor, and guess at their usual location of operations.

- no Ishgardian knight, nobleman, or cleric is ever admitted to have been killed by a dark knight; the shame is too great. It is always attributed to the work of heretics or to some unfortunate accident. (Of course, dark knights ARE viewed as heretics by the Ishgardian Orthodox Church, but not the usual dragon-loving sort.) The incident is promptly hushed up.

- dark knights were once slightly more numerous in Coerthas, but Archbishop Thordan of late, unhappy memory cracked down on them once he began consorting with Ascians and planning his own godhood, as he feared they posed the greatest threat of discovering and/or wrecking his goals. Ompagne and Fray both died in this purge, which lasted several years. As Heavensward opens, Sidurgu and a tiny handful of others are the only dark knights remaining in all of Coerthas and Dravania, and Sid’s the only one of them crazy enough to remain in Ishgard itself (largely due to Rielle and opportunities to pick off temple knights). Ignorant of dark knight practices, the Ishgardian Church believes Obsidian Heart is the leader of what dark knights remain.

- they also believe he is a dragon-blooded heretic, of course

- dark knights and the knights dragoon have maintained a largely neutral relationship for centuries. (A lone dragoon can jump rooftop-to-rooftop through the Brume with no one to disturb him. Lone temple knights get dragged into dark alleys and stabbed.) The dark knights say nothing when the dragoons sneak past the church to harvest dragon scales and blood for their armor, and the dragoons rarely report dark knights they spot on patrol. However, a dark knight will interfere with dragoons on a mission on occasion, and despite their avoidance of politics dragoons may occasionally report the sight of a drk-led massacre (identifiable to trackers by the greatsword wounds and dark magic burns).

- for basic communication purposes, dark knights use aether-infused blood to trace out makeshift hobo marks or waysigns for other walkers of the path to find, e.g. simple glyphs indicating ‘danger’, ‘shelter’, ‘sympathetic residents’, etc. Some Brume residents have caught onto this and trace sigils in blood discretely on exterior walls when they need DRK intervention. Ishgardian clergy absolutely believe dragon blood is involved.

#FFXIV #drk #dark knights #ffxiv drk #Spinner plays FFXIV #headcanon accepted #ff dark knights #fray myste #sidurgu orl

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safrona-shadowsun · 6 years

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Ghosts on the Harbor

{Writing between me and @renwyck in Discord that was...a long time in coming. Thank you for reading if you do. }

The sun slipped down to the horizon on Stormwind's Harbor, ships fully stocked, most waiting to sail at first dawn with fresh cargo. The sailors second-guessed their thought about inviting Renwyck for a round, not keen on hearing about his drunken woes of the lost Sin'dorei redhead he pined over. Most groaned, didn't believe him, some were left yearning to find their own woman for the night. Some had teased that he drunkenly stumbled on a nest of Naga Sirens, and insisted he needed some help. But all left the former Watcher with his late dinner tonight, to watch the sun set in peace. ...or so he had thought.

Reality seemed to tear right in front of Renwyck as the dark form of a Void Elf stepped through, a mere silhouetted shape with points of otherworldly light fixed in its starry darkness. As the tear would close behind it, the Dark would melt away from the muted lavender of her skin tone, the deep, burgundy red of her long braid, loosely falling down to her waist. Absinthe eyes now set with glinting amethyst pupils stared unblinking on him. The Void Courier. "You know," Safrona started, wine lips faintly curved to a ghost of a smile. " it can be dangerous to speak a name so many times, especially to so many ears. You might actually get the thing to appear." The smile faded as she gazed in silence on Renwyck in the flesh now, the familiarity of those chestnut brown eyes, now barren of their light. "Hello, Wyck." The faint echo of the unnatural accompanied a now somber tone.

The human's eyes drew wide in horror as the vision appeared, Renwyck stumbling backwards only to run into a large stack of crates left on the pier. His heart fell to his stomach, each beat twisting his innards into a nauseating lump. His hands clawed at the cargo as he attempted to catch his balance for fear of falling from the wooden planks to the sea below. His face remained fixed on the image of Safrona, his hands trembling, yet he managed to stay upright. Was it truly her? Or was another late evening of whiskey getting the best of his addled mind. No... It can't be... Safrona watched like a rock as the former Watcher...well. Made a fool of himself. A part of her, voices that latched to her sadism, enjoyed the sight of him cowering. This mortal boy that had dug into the walls of her heart, forced them open like a stubborn whiskey, and then left it on the floor of her being, stabbed with lies of loss, then abandonment. ₕₑ ₛₕₒᵤₗD Bₑ ₐFᵣₐᵢD. Wₕy dₒₑₛ ₜₕₑ bₒy ₚᵢₙₑ ₙₒw? Wₑₑₑₑₐₖ. ₕₑ ₘₐdₑ yₒᵤ ₛₒ wₑₐₖ. A breath swelled in her chest, Safrona casting a gaze out to the roving ocean with her deceptive calm. ₗₒₒₖ. ₕₑ wᵢₛₕₑₛ ₜₒ fₗy ₐgₐᵢₙ. Gᵢᵥₑ ₕᵢₘ ₜₕₑ fᵣₑₑdₒₘ ₒf ₜₕₑ Dₑₚₜₕₛ. ₚₑᵣₕₐₚₛ ₕₑ wᵢₗₗ ₑₙⱼₒy ₜₕₑ wₐₜₑᵣy gᵣₐᵥₑ.

Drawing her eyes closed, she rose a moment later, smoothly moved toward the toppled crates. Leaning down near the panicking Renwyck, she put her focus to trying to set his mess right, though the crate was much too heavy for her to move alone. "Are you...quite done? Gods...Renwyck..." the sigh unraveled on her breath as she shut the 'passenger voices' in her mind back behind their door. "How," he muttered weakly, a slight waiver in the single word. All further attempts of speech caught in his throat, his breath strained by the churning of his stomach. But it was her. It was actually her. He had dreaded the moment that their paths would cross again, but the form before him turned the dread into a chilling fear. 'What have I done? What have I done?' The pained words echoed in his mind. He pried his gaze from her, a deep sense of shame not allowing him to look upon her face. He stood motionless, the broken man resigned to accept whatever fate his beloved deemed appropriate. His life was penance for how he had wronged her. It only seemed fitting that she should decide his ultimate punishment. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as the quick, shaky question of "How?" still rung in the air for her. The detail of another bump of change in the road of her multifaceted life was on the tip of her tongue, another hurdle in her twisted existence she wanted to confide in…someone. But these were explanations that he did not deserve. He had left her. Alone. In a world of fire, of of demons, of loss, and vengeance, without him. Her teeth clenched, trying to fight the tear he reopened in just seeing him. It was important to be still, not reach, not knowing if she wanted to embrace him, or drain the rest of his soul until his heart stopped against her. "I...have been watching you a while. Out here. It took me days to just--" His refusal to look at her started an ire in her heart that was burned by his silence. How did one touch something so deeply and then leave it alone with their mark?! "LOOK AT ME, Gods damn you!" Her bellow stretched out between physical reality and the Void, entrenched in a sorrow that came flying back at her, setting her breaths to quicken. She could feel the tendrils in her hair writhe, eager to strangle, to cause something pain. "You've been silent all along. You gave me NOTHING. Well, now I am here.” She shook her head slowly with a soul-scorching glare. “Don’t you DARE make me feel that I am not." His focus snapped back to her face, his features paling as her words pierced through his very soul. He drew in a quick, trembling breath in an attempt to steel his frayed nerves. His eyes silently pleading with hers, he managed to find his voice. "What do you want me to say?" He spoke timidly, though a burning rose in his chest with each syllable. "No words could justify the pain I've caused you." Safrona paused, the wave of her ire receding in the face of his admittance. He was admitting his wrong. It was a start. She knew that he could not be blamed entirely. Something had traumatized the man to give him this paleness, to give him his haggard appearance, to kill the light and life in his eyes. To lay him low here, stripped of his Watcher pride. This was a man broken, and haunted. Like so many on Argus. "...I could not find you,” she whispered, a finger stabbing into her own chest. “Me. A...courier, and...you would not let me find you. That, that is where the pain is." She lowered her tones to a tight whisper of, “Why? Tell me.” The slight shift in Safrona's demeanor seemed to ease his rolling stomach. He hadn't spoken to anyone about what happened after the fall of Darkshire. But he owed her that much. Nodding slowly, he started to speak. "I was found near death on the border of Duskwood. A field medic and his young granddaughter. They took me in... Saved my life." The three words were bitter in his mouth. "When I had enough strength to sit up, they helped me pen that letter to you. I was afraid to relay my location in fear that my..." Renwyck paused, closing his eyes to take another breath. After a moment, turned his attention back to the elf. "For fear that the Night Watch would intercept the letter and finish the job. I couldn't put the people who showed such kindness to a stranger in harm's way." With a deep sadness in his eyes, he nearly took a step toward her, but hesitated. Keeping distance between them, he shook his head. "Months dragged on before I was recovered enough to leave them. Months of being confined to a bed with the memory of what happened in Darkshire haunting my every minute." The void elf was quiet, eyes downturned, taking in each hard word Renwyck could manage at her demand. The silence continued to stretch from her afterward for a few paralyzing minutes, moments where it seemed she was thoroughly done, ready to turn heel, to leave him with no words as he did for the past two years. But slowly, Safrona eased down to make a rest of a nearby crate, leaning against it. The strength seemed to have left her, leaving her looking quite delicate, as opposed to the darkening ire she approached with just a moment before. "...I did not think for a moment you joined their slaughter. But...many nights I imagined you sacrificing yourself. Just trying to protect your people. Still." Her voice grew softer with her remembered lament. "...I had nightmares each night that the demons breathed my name when they cut you down. I felt for a long time I brought them to your door. I...wanted to rip out each tainted, corrupt soul that smashed into Azeroth. But..in that insanity, living off the dark grace of soulstones when I threw myself at them? I knew nothing I could do would bring you back." Eyes flitting back up to Renwyck's face, the slight sourness returned to her expression. "Even...after you sent me the letter, I mourned. I buried you in Westfall, with your cloak, your clasp, and I nailed my heart shut. Tried to move on." A deep exhale, words now unfurling on her breath as she folded her arms across her chest. "...I have never returned to Duskwood. All I can see are possible cultists, wearing your Watch's colors." With a slow nod, his gaze followed her. His entire frame wilted with her words, but he didn't dare look away. He struggled internally, his mind and heart both fighting for control in a frenzy of emotion. "You... you did right to bury me." There was so much more he longed to tell her, but nothing would right his wrongs. Instead, he continued as a few silent tears fell. "I died that day..." "No..." she whispered, tears too, welling in her eyes as she gazed on him. Tears spilling for the sad, hollow shape of a man he had become. "It is easy to die. People do it every day." "You...you have only changed. And you are here. So, you must live." He couldn't. He couldn't look on her as she cried. It rended his heart from his chest knowing that he couldn't hold her. He had given up that right years ago. Bowing his head, his eyes snapped shut in a fruitless attempt to quell his own tears. "That is my punishment," he whispered, his voice breaking with the weight of his suffering. "To live a life that I gave up long ago..." Safrona came forward, a slump of foot to foot, not knowing quite what she wished to do once she was there, standing before the broken man. She had words, but her hands did not know what to do but clench into her garments. "Life...lived as a ghost is no life worth living. Believe me, I know." Voice dropped to another whisper, tremulous. "You taught me it could be more...And...I do not hate you for that." The sound of her approach caused Renwyck to look up. His entire form trembled, fighting to hold back the flood of anguish that threatened to overtake him. "I'm sorry... I wasn't strong enough... I--" He only barely kept himself from speaking it aloud. 'I love you. I never stopped loving you. And it kills me that I can't say it. I can't live like this Saf... I just can't...' A sudden gasp of breath shuddered with a sob as the broken human buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he managed to whisper through the tears. "I'm sorry..." "....I know," she spoke with quiet reserve, though she did not know the anguish in his mind, what went unsaid. There was an acceptance here regardless, but one that had grown cold to let the grieving pass, to grow beyond it. "I...forgive you.” She admitted with her cooled wisdom. “But it won't matter if you can't be strong enough to forgive yourself." A business card was gently left on the crate she had leaned on, back turning to him, her voice taking back up its professionalism. "I am never far now in this city. We can talk more, when...if you wish to." She knew somehow she would not see him again. Something broke in him just at the sight of her. Things would never be the same. They could not be. Maybe it was a sign from the beginning, she had been no good for the sweet, easy to love Watcher Darrow. Silently, she said her goodbye, began to walk away, but her words were different, the offering of at least, a truce. "A courier is always here. And...I am glad you live, Mr. Darrow."

{ Goodbye, Safwyck. I loved writing this coupling, but things change, or do not last forever, painful as it might be. Wyckers, you are one of my favorite Rp partners I have ever had. I know this does not mean this will be the end of writing for us, however, and I look forward to what we can write in the future. Thank you for giving me these wonderful stories though. Though it hurts now, your character has been such a positive experience on mine, and that is such a rarity for Saf. I love your character to pieces, and I hope he finds his happy one day. Renwyck Darrow deserves the dream. <3. }

#Warcraft #Alliance #Safrona Shadowsun #Renwyck Darrow #IC #Canon #What has been broken #What can never be the same...#Safwyck #ilu #still my favorite otp

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alas-ward · 5 years

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Soul Searching: Something in a Dream

Every time Alice kissed Quin, she poured all of herself into the gesture. She kissed him like it could be their last, because even if neither of them said it aloud, it could be.

It was just an occupational hazard.

That night, before she left, she almost didn’t. She started kissing him and before she knew it, she had him cornered and he spun her world until she was the one pressed firmly against the wall. Theirs was a hunger insatiable, a desire that ran too deep and touched the divine. It was a wonder that he wasn’t also mad.

But maybe he was.

Alice managed slip free of the spell they were under and opened the wormhole to the north. She didn’t want to leave Quin behind, but she also didn’t want to add more stress to Tristan. So, with one last wave, she vanished with the promise to return before dawn.

Even with the added burden of his soul, Tristan required very little rest to remain functional. Sleep was something reserved for repairing damage and as Spectre was biting and goring him less these days, he found he had more time to spend studying his various interests. Tonight, he was dedicating a few hours to bonding with the temperamental Shadowrunner.

However, his grooming came to a steady stall as the air around him became permeated with a familiar scent. A pleasant shiver slithered up his spine, disrupting the hair on his neck. His pulse quickened, and his pupils contracted and dilated again as he reached out to identify the object of his desire. Spectre shuddered and shied as the demon prepared to intercept the intruder, giving them only a breath of warning before Tristan shifted through the shadows. His large, rough hands caught Alice around the throat and he shoved her back hard against the far wall, pinning her there with the full length of his mortal form.

“You really don’t learn, do you?” He purred, leaning in to nuzzle her along her jawline. “It is foolish to try to sneak up on a demon. Even one as well behaved as me.”

The smell of her was intoxicating, the lingering lust of the goodbyes she shared with Quin less than an hour before blended with the adrenaline coursing through her as he trapped her. A dark wave of memories flooded his senses, her taste and the sounds she made tempting him to push the boundaries of his bond.

“Where’s your lover?” He rumbled, pulling back to meet her golden stare.

“At home. I didn’t want to stress you out,” Alice snickered.

Tristan sneered, tightening his grip a little as if to silently convey that she did a poor job. He forced her head back and leaned in to brush the tip of his nose down her windpipe and then back up along the warmth cast from her jugular.

“I can’t feed from him,” he whispered against her pulse.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t think about it,” Alice replied. “Besides, we don’t really need a chaperone, do we? I mean, I doubt we are totally alone. I didn’t exactly sneak through the woods to get here. I bet there is at least one of your adoptive brothers waiting in the wings to see how this pans out.”

Tristan pulled back to look at Alice with a touch of defeat on his features before he finally let go of her. He took three steps back and regulated his breathing and pulse to calm the anticipation and excitement.

“What do you want?”

Alice brushed her backside off and moved to lift herself onto the edge of the tack bench. She crossed her legs casually, saying nothing as she situated herself. When she looked up again, her features were drawn in a grave, hard stare.

“I need to retrieve Olivia’s soulstone and I can’t gain entrance into the place you put it without your help.”

Tirstan looked up and nodded subtly. Although he had fulfilled his part of the bargain, he told Alice where the object was, he suspected she lacked the power to actually obtain it. It was a crack in the contract, words cleverly twisted with the intention of keeping the upper hand. However, he didn’t need the deception. He was on a new path now, and while it would never cleanse him of his truest nature, there were grander hills to die upon than the possession of his former mistress’ soul.

“It’s locked in a dream. One of my own. Well…it was constructed by the creature I once was. It isn’t out of reach, but I understand you are struggling with your shadows yet. I could help you get there, even act as a guide, if Miss will allow it.”

The somber expression lifted with surprise as Alice registered his surrender. She had arrived expecting an argument. She figured she would eventually have to call upon Alle to negotiate the matter. It was a true and pleasant shock that the Sayaad was so willingly turning over the information.

“What do I need to do to prepare?”

“Well, we need a safe place to sleep and people to watch over us. I will talk to Stig. He is…versed in this sort of magic. I believe he can help keep you safe. Having Quin there will help, too. He can break the connection if something goes wrong. You will be influenced by magic to sleep, so I advise being rested. Going in exhausted can effect the environment beyond my control.”

“So, it’s a dream?”

“A nightmare, more accurately. It is…Silver Dawn Hospital as I remember it. We have to get the object from the Olivia that dwells there…so…steel yourself. She was not well.”

Alice sighed and nodded. She thought about it for a moment longer before pushing off of the bench.

“I will prepare and wait for word from you all. I have a feeling something bad is going to happen to her, so please hurry, alright?”

She started to move towards the door, but Tristan caught her, staring anxiously.

“What do you mean? What’s going on?”

She forced a smile, reaching up to place a hand over his. Her masks were not as well disciplined as Olivia’s so she couldn’t lull him into a false sense of assurance.

“I don’t know. Quin and I plan to see her soon, to truly assess the situation, but I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. It is best to prepare for the worst even as we hope for the best, right? We do this, and she will at least be that much safer.”

The incubus found no comfort in Alice’s words but released her all the same. He felt as if a fist was clutching around his guts and he was helpless.

“Yea. Alright. I will talk to the others and reach out as soon as I can.”

Alice smiled again and nodded before disappearing into the night, as quiet as when she arrived. Tristan stood in her wake for only a moment, swallowing the numb panic before heading for the house to seek out his Mistress and Stig.

[Mentions: @subjectragnar @tristan-forester @olivia-lovecraft @allebeithloch @sayaadoftheforest ]

#soul searching #Olivia's storyline

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recentanimenews · 5 years

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ONINAKI Lets You Confront Grief in a Unique Way

In all my years of playing video games, I’ve found that the games I enjoy the most fall into one of three categories. First, of course, are the big budget AAA games―the attention grabbing titles forged from having millions and millions of dollars funnelled into their development (and marketing). It comes as no surprise when these games are good after months and months worth of footage and impressions have already circulated. Next are the beautiful disasters. These are the games so erroneously awful that they somehow loop back around and become outrageously entertaining. A rare breed of game for sure, but a fun one nonetheless.

The types of games that make up the third category, though, are the ones nearest and dearest to my heart. These games release with little fanfare and acclaim. Their graphics and gameplay are rarely anything to write home about and their fan bases are quite small. The fans they do have, though, are passionate ones. Whatever they might lack in polish and development funds, to their fans they more than make up for it with their ambitious ideas and unique stories. These games are the raw gemstones of the video game industry. Underneath all the rough, jagged edges a captivating game can be found. ONINAKI―the latest game from Square Enix and Tokyo RPG Factory on Steam, Switch, and PS4―is one of these games.

Death is held in high regard in the world of ONINAKI, such so that grief is strictly forbidden. Grief shackles the spirits of the dead to the world of the living. Unable to reincarnate, these spirits are known as the Lost. Should the Lost continue to wander in this form, they’ll eventually transform into monsters known as the Fallen. Rare individuals who can travel between the worlds of the living and the dead are known as Watchers. These Watchers aide in the cycle of reincarnation by eliminating the Fallen and ushering the Lost onto their next lives. It’s in this world that ONINAKI sets its sights on Kagachi―a stoic Watcher well-acquainted with grief. A chance encounter with an ageless girl named Linne and the vengeful spirit pursuing her sets Kagachi off on a bloody journey to discover the truth about reincarnation.

From the outset there are noticeable conflicts happening within ONINAKI. The first is between the game’s art style and its actual content. The game is presented in a beautiful 3D quasi-chibi style not unlike Bravely Default. It’s textures can look rather flat and its environments angular, but there’s a certain quality to the lighting that gives it a realistic sense of depth. This combination gives its world and characters an overall cute, toy-like appearance. Imagine my surprise, then, when the game’s tutorial chapter concluded with me executing a pair of grief-stricken parents who were mourning the death of their son.

ONINAKI is a game that’s infatuated with death, and as such treads in some rather dark territory. The Watchers’ order exists less to protect the citizens of the realm than it does to uphold the tenets of reincarnation. This can mean anything from stopping “unsanctioned killings” at the hands of monsters and serial killers to euthanizing the sick and assisting the hopeless in committing suicide. The game never clearly attempts to comment on these controversial topics or the debates being held over them around the world. It instead simply presents them as the natural result of a religious order that worships death.

Death and reincarnation as objects of worship are central to the other major conflict within ONINAKI. Though there are specific, named enemies Kagachi finds himself in conflict with throughout the game’s story, the ultimate conflict Kagachi faces is between himself and his faith in reincarnation. That much is fairly obvious from the beginning, but the twists and turns that take place throughout the story and the conclusions he’s ultimately led to are best left experienced by oneself.

My feelings on the story by the end were honestly pretty mixed. ONINAKI’s premise is novel and intrigued me instantly. The game’s gradual worldbuilding felt like a breadcrumb trail made up of bits and pieces of truth about the world that led all the way to the story’s final big reveal. It was a rewarding experience that had me constantly on the hook for the next morsel of information. It unfortunately fumbles, though, when it comes to writing Kagachi. He’s a bland and boring character in a game that lacks a party of lively personalities to make up for his lack of one. It’s hard to ever understand what he’s thinking, so his eventual moments of “character growth” come across less as believable actions and more things he has to do because he’s the hero. That combined with some pacing issues in the game’s second half are the biggest issues in an otherwise pretty good story.

Still, though, a good story on its own probably isn’t enough to recommend. Luckily, it doesn’t have to be, because ONINAKI is actually pretty fun to play too! When not experiencing the story, players will be running around 3D areas battling hordes of Fallen with spiritual weapons called Daemons. Daemons are rare beings who were unable to reincarnate yet too strong-willed to become Fallen. Only elite Watchers are able to possess and wield a Daemon. You start off with one sword-wielding Daemon in ONINAKI, but as you explore and progress through the story you’ll find many more each with their own unique weapons and combat styles. Up to four Daemons can be equipped at a time and can be cycled through as you please during battle.

Every Daemon starts off with a basic attack and one special skill that can be triggered on a cooldown. As you continue to fight with that Daemon defeated enemies have a chance of dropping upgrade items called Soulstones unique to the Daemon you’re using. Each Daemon has a unique skill tree where these Soulstones can be exchanged for new skills, passive buffs, and even memories from that Daemon’s past life. Each Daemon has their own set of stats separate from Kagachi’s increasing stat levels and Soulstone drops are rather generous, so upgrading a newly acquired Daemon to the level of your very first is a fairly easy task.

The Daemons are easily one of ONINAKI’s best features. Unlocking new Daemons adds a lot of variety to the game’s combat. In the interest of time I mainly stuck to two Daemons―one for fighting normal enemies and another for boss battles―but had I more time I would have tried to grind out the skill trees of the rest as well. While grinding out these skill trees is nowhere near a herculean task, it isn’t a very fun one. A few of the passive skills locked away in every Daemon’s skill trees are features that simply make combat less fun to be without. The simple ability to cancel out of skills, attacks, and a Daemon’s unique mobility option is essential to a satisfying combat flow, so it’s rather frustrating to have that feature locked away behind multiple upgrades. I’d say it takes about a full level of forcing yourself to use the Daemon you want to use to be able to upgrade them to a point where they’re actually fun to use. Stick with it, though, and they can become absolute wrecking balls.

The various Daemons found throughout the game are also, surprisingly, the game’s best characters. Not only are their designs all quite captivating, but also their individual stories are some of the best writing in the entire game. Each Daemon was once a living soul within the world of ONINAKI, and as you go through their skill trees you’ll receive pieces of their backstory and find out how each one of them died. In addition to being well-written side stories in their own right, they tie in to the central narrative and themes of ONINAKI as well. At a certain point, I found myself wanting to upgrade my Daemons less for the combat benefits and more so I could learn more about them. In fact, once I finish this review I plan on going back and doing just that. Given how much time was put into fleshing them out as characters, it’s an honest shock that Daemons never factor into the story as anything other than a weapon.

Looking back on my time with ONINAKI, I think it can be best summed up as a game that’s more than the sum of its parts. It’s an odd patchwork of concepts and ideas―weird, ambitious ideas that don’t always make a lot of sense or even feel like finished thoughts. It’s a conflicting game that strikes conflicting tones, a decision reflective of the many dualities presented in the narrative. There are two sides to this story, two worlds to jump between, two names for our heroes, two choices to make at the very end, and two moments I’ll remember most from my time with ONINAKI. The first was a moment of loss; the other an inconsequential choice. ONINAKI may not be my favorite game, but it is my favorite type of game, one I’ll be recommending for years to come.

REVIEW ROUNDUP

+ Beautiful soundtrack

+ Good character designs and well-realized art style

+ Daemon side stories contain some of the best writing in the game

+/- Novel premise and strong ideas that mostly carry on to a satisfying conclusion

+/- Gameplay is varied and interesting, though some boss encounters are altogether frustrating

- Essential quality of life combat features are locked behind upgrades

- Kagachi is a really dull protagonist

How does ONINAKI compare to your favorite Square Enix RPGs? Let us know in the comments below!

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Danni Wilmoth is a Features writer for Crunchyroll and co-host of the video game podcast Indiecent. You can find more words from her on Twitter @NanamisEgg.

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