Mechanically, No Man's Sky isn't the greatest thing. Examining it's workings like any other game will leave you wanting, it contradicts itself, is full of menial tasks feels underdeveloped in areas. But, nonetheless, No Man's Sky is beautiful despite itself, it's own flaws often working to it's favour in strange and delightful ways.
No Man's Sky is a game where you make your own goals, but it's also one that has a glowing red ball at the start that can give you a goal, or at least the semblance of a path which you ASSUME will come to a conclusion. Everything is vague in No Man's Sky, so it stands to reason that your own goals should be vague too, lest you end up in a mind-set that will kill your enjoyment. Something like setting out to get a new ship. Nothing specific, each system only has a few designs you'll find anyway, just amass money while asking fellow space farers if they'd like to do swapsies.
Those little self-imposed tasks will drive you forward into the frontier, into new lands, and into the moments that No Man's Sky lives for. Of all the billions upon billions of stars in the galaxy, very few of the ones you encounter will be anything to write home about, which only makes the ones that are all the more wonderful. Breaking through the atmosphere of a seemingly innocuous celestial body and being treated to a glorious sight is something unlike anything else I've played. Beautiful fields of red grass lining a deep blue waterfront, punctuated by huge mountains. Spiralling natural rock formations like so many gigantic roots weaving across a yellow planet's surface. An otherwise barren, grey surface with huge chasms of colourful minerals and rock formations, an immense planetary geode.
Those are all things that I've seen on my travels. Others will almost certainly have seen things LIKE them, but none will have seen exactly what I have seen. I was the first, a literal pioneer. As the scenery and geography loads in around me, I know it's the first time any machine has ever constructed this landscape. And it's on planets like that where I'm somewhat glad for the existence of the creature log, and the reward for 100% completion on a planet. Mostly, it's a contraditctory thing. It goes against the game's philosophy of keeping you moving forward, and can seriously fuck with anyone with legitimate OCD or other similar conditions like I used to have myself. There's no way in hell you can reasonably 100% complete every planet you land on, you HAVE to move on.
And yet, as I've come to find some contentment in the sense of leaving something behind, I'm glad it exists as a way to keep me somewhere I want to be. When I find somewhere I want to stay a while, I have a reason to do so. Sure finding that elusive final species can be a pain, and having to shoot down small birds to scan them can be a pain in the arse, but it gives me a reason to keep wandering. To keep interacting with ruins and knowledge stones, learning more of the 3 species' histories, having wonderful little adventure game moments with monoliths and locals, and taking lovely pictures all the way. Screenshots this week are mine, by the way. I got pretty into it.
The contradictions in the inventory system and currency weigh the game down mechanically, with your limited inventory space discouraging hording and the existence of a currency encouraging temporary hording of valuable resources and the eternal hording of cash. But that works for me, it plays into the narrative set out by the red space ball at the beginning. Of my journey from Atlas interface to Atlas interface, and my life as space Monk on a religious pilgrimage. Living sparingly off the land, experiencing the beauty of the frontier, while pursuing a goal of enlightenment through the majesty of the Atlas and it's continued visons it gives me at it's interfaces. And yet, I am constrained by facets of society I can't quite let go of.
I can't continue my pilgrimage without money, so I have to remain part of the space capitalist machine, scanning plants and animals for pocket change, mining for resources to sell on the galactic trade network, presumably not only for other regions where they're less abundant, but unseen businessmen of my own kind, in another, more familiar galaxy. These contradictory mechanics tell a story, the struggle they force upon me one shared by the character I've found myself playing. And as my pilgrimage seemingly draws closer to some sort of climax, I've seen things that have made me question my decision to follow this path, while the Atlas itself seems to be bringing me closer and closer to Bloodborne levels of "I should not be here right now". I've allowed myself to be swallowed up by this game, and I feel wholly rewarded for it.
So yeah, No Man's Sky is a game you have to work with to enjoy. Once again the general public has allowed itself to set expectations for something before release without any desire to reset those expectations when they actually sit down to play. But everything I could say about angry gaming masses aside, No Man's Sky is a very good game for those it's for. A great one even. and certainly unlike anything else out there right now.
Right, next week, who knows. Genuinely. I've been playing some Endless Space still, so maybe I'll find something to write about on that front. Maybe I'll have a write about Monster Hunter and Toukiden finally, perhaps at once, as Generations hasn't gripped me like previous entries. We'll have to see.
I'm a day late because I watched the BFG. You should watch the BFG. Lovely.
Those little self-imposed tasks will drive you forward into the frontier, into new lands, and into the moments that No Man's Sky lives for. Of all the billions upon billions of stars in the galaxy, very few of the ones you encounter will be anything to write home about, which only makes the ones that are all the more wonderful. Breaking through the atmosphere of a seemingly innocuous celestial body and being treated to a glorious sight is something unlike anything else I've played. Beautiful fields of red grass lining a deep blue waterfront, punctuated by huge mountains. Spiralling natural rock formations like so many gigantic roots weaving across a yellow planet's surface. An otherwise barren, grey surface with huge chasms of colourful minerals and rock formations, an immense planetary geode.
Those are all things that I've seen on my travels. Others will almost certainly have seen things LIKE them, but none will have seen exactly what I have seen. I was the first, a literal pioneer. As the scenery and geography loads in around me, I know it's the first time any machine has ever constructed this landscape. And it's on planets like that where I'm somewhat glad for the existence of the creature log, and the reward for 100% completion on a planet. Mostly, it's a contraditctory thing. It goes against the game's philosophy of keeping you moving forward, and can seriously fuck with anyone with legitimate OCD or other similar conditions like I used to have myself. There's no way in hell you can reasonably 100% complete every planet you land on, you HAVE to move on.
And yet, as I've come to find some contentment in the sense of leaving something behind, I'm glad it exists as a way to keep me somewhere I want to be. When I find somewhere I want to stay a while, I have a reason to do so. Sure finding that elusive final species can be a pain, and having to shoot down small birds to scan them can be a pain in the arse, but it gives me a reason to keep wandering. To keep interacting with ruins and knowledge stones, learning more of the 3 species' histories, having wonderful little adventure game moments with monoliths and locals, and taking lovely pictures all the way. Screenshots this week are mine, by the way. I got pretty into it.
The contradictions in the inventory system and currency weigh the game down mechanically, with your limited inventory space discouraging hording and the existence of a currency encouraging temporary hording of valuable resources and the eternal hording of cash. But that works for me, it plays into the narrative set out by the red space ball at the beginning. Of my journey from Atlas interface to Atlas interface, and my life as space Monk on a religious pilgrimage. Living sparingly off the land, experiencing the beauty of the frontier, while pursuing a goal of enlightenment through the majesty of the Atlas and it's continued visons it gives me at it's interfaces. And yet, I am constrained by facets of society I can't quite let go of.
I can't continue my pilgrimage without money, so I have to remain part of the space capitalist machine, scanning plants and animals for pocket change, mining for resources to sell on the galactic trade network, presumably not only for other regions where they're less abundant, but unseen businessmen of my own kind, in another, more familiar galaxy. These contradictory mechanics tell a story, the struggle they force upon me one shared by the character I've found myself playing. And as my pilgrimage seemingly draws closer to some sort of climax, I've seen things that have made me question my decision to follow this path, while the Atlas itself seems to be bringing me closer and closer to Bloodborne levels of "I should not be here right now". I've allowed myself to be swallowed up by this game, and I feel wholly rewarded for it.
So yeah, No Man's Sky is a game you have to work with to enjoy. Once again the general public has allowed itself to set expectations for something before release without any desire to reset those expectations when they actually sit down to play. But everything I could say about angry gaming masses aside, No Man's Sky is a very good game for those it's for. A great one even. and certainly unlike anything else out there right now.
Right, next week, who knows. Genuinely. I've been playing some Endless Space still, so maybe I'll find something to write about on that front. Maybe I'll have a write about Monster Hunter and Toukiden finally, perhaps at once, as Generations hasn't gripped me like previous entries. We'll have to see.
I'm a day late because I watched the BFG. You should watch the BFG. Lovely.
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