The Throes of War, and The Inevitability of Collapse – The Banner Saga Review

Developer: Stoic

Publisher: Versus Evil

Release Date: January 14th, 2014 (computer and mobile) | January 12th, 2016 (console)

Platforms: Windows, OS X, Linux, iOS, Android, PlayStation 4, Xbox One (reviewed)

My caravan trekked across the Scandinavian lands in the hopes of escaping the vile Dredge, a war primed race with an infinitely, insurmountably seething hatred for humanity and a relish for killing. In the midst of our travels we were attacked by scavengers, killing our Clansmen and attempting to make off with our already rapidly diminishing supplies. In a flurry of anxiety and desperation and exasperation, I decided to kill the attackers. ”No,” I exclaimed, face contorted, axe at the ready. “You will pay for killing and stealing from our innocent, our pregnant mothers and scared children.” A battle ensued, resulting in the scavengers’ lifeless corpses amassing the fields in front of us. As we regathered our supplies and took what little they carried with them, I saw my daughter, this frantic look in her eyes, shocked by the horror she witnessed. “Dad… D-did we have to kill them?” She asked breathily, immobile, trembling. I paused for a moment, contemplating. “They were bad people. They were going to do bad things. They had to be stopped.” I replied. “But… They were human. You killed humans. Did you have to? Was it necessary?” She incredulously and fearfully posited. In the wake of the battle, I felt unsure of the decision I made as both my head and mind sank in lamentation. The Banner Saga teams with decisions that questioned my moralistic standings, and I loved discovering where my choices would lead me.

Throughout the roughly 15 hour campaign, I found myself torn during every decision presented to me. The choices lacked the binary commonly found in games: press 0 to be good, press 1 to be bad. Because of this lack of clear outcome, it was difficult to ascertain whether the choice I made was for better or for worse. Some choices presented immediate consequences, such as a loss of Clansmen, Fighters, Varl, or supplies. Other choices had delayed consequences, such as riots, betrayals, miscarriages, or divides in the caravan. As the leader of the caravan, everyone looked up to me for guidance, for preservation, for hope. And as leader, I couldn’t let them down, though the Gods knew I was afraid to take on the responsibility of guiding them to safety from the dastardly wicked Dredge. I didn’t sign up for this. I’m merely a hunter, not a leader. I don’t have that kind of mettle, that kind of resolve…

But someone had to do it.

My consciences swapped between two different traveling settlements during this warring period: one filled with Clansmen, Fighters, and Varl; the other filled with Varl and whatever remaining “noblemen” were left. One moment I inhabited a hunter named Rook traveling with the Clansmen, Fighters, and Varl, fleeing from the Dredge. The next moment I inhabited a Varl named Ubin (and later, Hakon) traveling with the Varl and the remaining “noblemen,” confronting the Dredge. This oscillation confused me at first, as I was jolted from one tale to the next with a fervent infrequency that created an odd digital whiplash sensation. However, I found myself staring at myself: Rook, Ubin, Hakon, and both settlements joined up with each other determined to end the Dredge’s merciless onslaught. The Varl are scathing, sky scraping warriors with a keen fighting spirit and tattooed horns on their foreheads. Never backing down from a fight and always ready to defend their Varl honor, these Vikingesque warriors are no-nonsense and have no sympathy for the weak and incapable humans they are forced to side with. I did my best to keep the peace between Varl and human, but grudges run deep, and some disputes cannot be contained. Many a time I lost Fighters and Varl because of fights that broke out between the two; this only decreased my numbers, and made us weaker when the Dredge inevitably crashed toward us like a black ocean. I had to think of something fast. Time was swiftly running out, and soon the only race sauntering the lands would be the Dredge.

Stoic, comprised of ex-BioWare devs (Mass Effect, Dragon Age, etc.), left the comfortability and “security” of AAA development to establish their own studio, to make a different breed of game. While The Banner Saga is nothing new in the gaming world, it is a breath of fresh air for the developers, as their background largely consists of third-person action games and RPGs and MMOs. The Banner Saga is a tactical turn-based RPG in the same vein of Final Fantasy Tactics and XCOM, where player choice and agency have actual weight and impact on the narrative.

Graphically, the game is a delight. An amalgam of Don Bluthesque visuals and Disney animations give The Banner Saga a unique and compelling cinematic feel, like watching the 1959 Sleeping Beauty film. But with Vikings and swords and massive amounts of killings and blood. The art direction is superb, with colors popping off the screen vividly. Many a time during my playthrough I thought to myself, “Huh. That would make an excellent background for my Mac or iPhone.” The game is especially immaculate during the expedition sequences, when the caravan packs up and travels across the mountainous terrain to reach the next narrative arc. During these moments, the game goes into landscape mode, as the characters trudge along the screen, with the detail of the world really being the focus. As enticing as the graphics are, however, animations do stutter during cutscenes/dialogues and battles. Additionally, animations during cutscenes/dialogues are more still image picturesque, save for the occasional arbitrary wind blowing hair or a piece of fabric, the sometimes blink of an eye, and/or the periodic movement of a hand. (Strangely, for a game that allows you to zoom in and out during travels and battles, the game gets blurrier the more you zoom in like you smeared vaseline all over your screen. I don’t know if that’s a product of the console port, a rendering issue playing on console, or if its simply in the code of the game.) The sound design is impeccable; Austin Wintory, yet again, crafts a bolstering and visceral score that only amplifies the sullenness of the game. He also understands the importance of silence, and how the quiet can make an impactful scene all the more gut punching. I will say, though, there are copious moments in the game where the sound is barren, especially during the traveling sequences. During these moments, it would have been nice to have something—anything—other than the stale, almost muffled sound of travel. (Perhaps I was just looking for some kind of tune to help me cope with a difficult choice just moments before.) Similarly to the lack of sound in some places, there is very little voice acting. And, regrettably, the voice acting that does pop up infrequently is fantastic. I say “regrettably” because there simply isn’t enough of it. Though not necessary, it would have been welcomed. (Oh, and I can’t forget about the loading screens. Every aspect of this game has loading screens; in truth, there shouldn’t be as many loadings screens as there are. There’s a loading screen to enter and exit the map. There’s a loading screen to engage and disengage in combat. There’s a loading screen to travel and set up camp. There’s a loading screen to get in and out of conversation. There’s a loading screen to level up and select your warrior. Yo dawg, I heard you like loading screens. So I put a loading screen in your loading screen so your loading screen will load a loading screen.)

Combat is the trite tactical turn-based battle system you’ve likely seen in games like XCOM, Total War, Final Fantasy Tactics, Invisible, Inc., and the like. However, what makes this combat system a little more interesting is the added element of strategy. Now, tactical RPGs are already strategic—it’s part of the game’s formula—but The Banner Saga adds even more strategy and tactics to the strategic and tactical nature of the game. Each character has two kinds of hit points: blue for armor, red for health and strength. Yes, health and strength—meaning if you’re character has one health, she’s only going to do one damage. Do you attack the armor in the hopes of doing more damage later, or do you go straight for the head with a chance of either doing little damage or the attack being deflected? It’s these choices and agency that add the strategy and tactics to the game, as the enemy can be crafty and do the same to you as you would do to them. (I will admit, though, this game seems interestingly misogynistic: whenever I had a female on the field, the enemies would bypass all of the male warriors just to kill the female first. Every single time.) Sometimes it makes sense to wipe out as many enemies as possible so there is little to deal with; other times it makes sense to weaken as many enemies as possible so they don’t do devastating amounts of damage early on. Upon a killing blow that leaves your enemy collapsed at your feet, you gain renown. Renown is the game’s currency used to purchase equippable items and supplies for the coming arduous travels, as well as leveling up your characters. Do you purchase supplies so your followers don’t die of starvation during travel, or do you level up your combatants so they are better prepared for the more challenging fights ahead? Again, these choices and agency add strategy and tactics to the game, as you have to make decisions that, regardless of what you do, will result in some sort of negative outcome.

I must confess: when I first started the game, I was bored. Nothing exciting was happening to keep me attached, and I thought this was going to be one of those games I had to slog through just to finish so I can write about it afterward. I’m not a big tactical games fan. I’m not a big turn-based games fan. Apart from the engrossing art style—and Austin Wintory composing—there was nothing captivating about the game. However, after a few hours of the game, and dissipating my lack of interest in the games’ genre, I began to find ardor for the title. I’m a sucker for narrative driven games. I’m a sucker for actual player choice and agency in games. I’m a sucker for dialogue options and branching dialogue trees in games. I’m a sucker for consequences and knowing I screwed up or killed someone in games. (Call me sadistic, I suppose; I thrive off schadenfreude.) And, perhaps to my detriment, The Banner Saga has all of that—and more. The Banner Saga tells the tale of the Dredge flooding the Scandinavian fantastical lands the humans and Varl reside upon. These inexorable, bloodthirsty destroyers plod from town to town, killing everyone and everything in their wake. The seemingly immortal Varl have fought many “Great Wars” against the Dredge, but this time is… Different. More powerful than ever before, the Dredge descend upon the land, mindlessly hoping to end all existence. Escape is, unfortunately, futile: the Dredge are everywhere, and, when you kill one, three more show up in its place. This leads to many suspenseful moments, as people in the caravan grow incredulous of your leadership; many of them will plot against you, betray you, leave the caravan to survive (and die) on their own. The Banner Saga is a tale of survival, a tale of loss, a tale of hope, and, ultimately, a tale of knowing you can’t save everyone, even if you want to.

During my travels I came across many wanderers and drifters. Some were looking for a place to call home. Some were fleeing the place they called home. Some were bartering for supplies to survive. Some were killing others to take their supplies to survive. While on the road, a man attacked my caravan. After defeating him, he surrendered and tried to convince me to take him as a prisoner. Thinking I was better, more humane than he, I allowed him to freely roam the caravan. There were some parameters: he couldn’t directly interact with the other travelers, and he was to always be watched by the Fighters and Varl in our caravan. No more than a week later, when the situation turned dire, and everyone was on the precipice of insanity, this same man asked to speak to me alone. Agreeing suspiciously, the man and I stepped to the side and had our “private chat.” “You see, we need to part ways. For good,” he said, with a breathy sigh, like he was releasing all of the energy in his bones. He hurled his sword into my chest. My vision grew blurry and I collapsed on the floor, a pool of blood swallowing me whole. We killed him. He and his little group of pathetic, wretched followers. Unbeknownst to me, the man had intentions of killing me all along. And though I made it out alive, I can’t help but wonder if I made the right choice. The Banner Saga will leave you wondering the same thing. More importantly, The Banner Saga will cripple you, leaving you utterly abject and defeated, but it is an experience you will probably never forget. (At least, not immediately.)