Games With Grey

Assassin’s Creed is defined by its rigidness, firmly adhering always to structure – the narrative especially is formulaic, is mostly unambitious and unengaging in nature, characterized by failure. One major failing – a further display of ambition’s absence – is observable within the secondary characters; or rather their lack. Save for the player character Altair, his poorly developed assassination targets, and a few of his associates in the Assassin’s Brotherhood, only one other named character of narrative consequence exists – Al Mualim, leader of the Brotherhood. So many open world games of the present moment emphasize multiple characters, often to spectacular effect: in lavishing attention on this character and then that, life is injected into the narrative, as is diversity. Al Mualim’s singular prioritization, then, conjures up narrative staleness. Worsening matters further still, neither Al Mualim or Altair are endearing or complex creatures – Al Mualim’s stolidness could be admired, in that he reinforces and clings to the Brotherhood’s tenets always, determined to nurture his understudies so that they might advance as individuals and assassins both; here is mutual respect, Al Mualim caring for individuals far beneath him. Altair among them. Their banter is periodically poignant, as Altair voices his swelling skepticisms, openly questioning the task presented him – kill a collective of nine men, seemingly for the good of all, for the good not only of the Brotherhood but for all the Holy Land’s dwellers. Altair, then, is a paradoxical figure. His bland voice acting and aesthetics mark him as boring and unendearing. Ultimately, though, he manages to transcend these failings – but only just. His dramatic character grow marks the narrative’s greatest – sole – strength.

Altair anchors the narrative, crucial when considering how swiftly and how totally it loses its way. By the conclusion, the focus is less on assassination and more on the bizarrely supernatural, as the mythical piece of Eden is introduced – an immense rift exists here; humanness is rejected outright, a frustrating admission. Altair, it is revealed, was subject to manipulation, duped into slaughtering men who, while vile, acted in vaguely honorable ways; vileness and nobleness coexist within these slaughtered men. Once the revelation is made, then, a very compelling guilt bubbles over – were all of these killed men undeserving of their fate? Should Altair – should the player – have stayed his hand? Questions abound, even as ambiguity does not – the narrative is far from interpretable, though simultaneously it rejects heavy-handedness. Some almost philosophic musings exist, too. Consider only the deathly speeches, Altair briefly discoursing with the various targets in their final moments. Much of their speech is cryptic in nature, and this willed crypticness is actually an asset – the words these flawed men utter are far profounder and more poignant than anything Al Mualim speaks of, Altair speaks of. These nine men scattered across three distinct cities, then, are more engaging than the two central characters. But one can’t help but think of missed opportunity here: if these targets were lessened numerically – say the player was tasked with killing six individuals – each could be better developed; their presentation would grow in richness. Instead, their inclusion only illuminates narrative failure, as they emerge, are prioritized for some fifteen minutes, and then promptly disappear again in death.   

Assassin’s Creed’s world-building is a major triumph – a certain moodiness abounds, and the game generally serves a transportive function – for some two dozen hours, the player is thrust backwards in time, is situated in the Holy Land during the Crusades, that great time of trouble, displacement, and violence. Masterfully, each city as its own distinct identity – Damascus is decidedly Arabic in tone and architecture – minarets have a very prominent presence, extending upwards towards the heavens, the towers boasting incredibly ornate geometries and decorations. Similarly bolstering the Arabic theme, meanwhile, drab browns and oranges predominate in Damascus, and it most neatly aligns with the popular imagination – it is the prototypical Arabic city. These expectations and perceptions do diminish Damascus’s novelty, though they do not dimmish the joys of exploration. If Damascus, minaret-heavy Damascus could be labeled as generic of unoriginal in construction, then the city of Acre is like the total inverse – it is swelling with creativity. Browns and oranges are not prioritized – instead blues are emphasized, this emphasizing resulting in almost melancholic sensations: Acre can be depressing indeed. Just as Damascus was surrounded by neigh inhospitable deserts, Acre is very clearly a port town, its port resulting in some degree of prosperity, or at least cultural importance. Being a port town, it follows seas would have a prominent presence. And so they do, visible always when occupying some elevated ground. At one point, Acre’s arsenal is explored, and the docked ships are intimidating in their massiveness, their presence suggesting the world’s largeness – Acre does not stand in isolation, but is one part of a larger whole. Damascus and Acre both are united by an imposing wall’s presence – both cities are completely encircled. These walls’ existence is of fair consequence, again grounding the narrative temporally – here was a time where siege warfare flourished, meaning every majestic or influential city needed a wall for protective purposes. And so walls were built, a direct illustration of man’s place, dominance.  

Acre and Damascus both are masterfully depicted – they are, clearly, passionately portrayed, and the historical accuracy and attention to detail are impressive indeed. Oddly, the third explorable city is least compelling. Oddly in the sense that it is far and away the most well-known of the cities – Jerusalem. Tragically, this city makes little creative overtures – it is a stale and lifeless construction, even while imposing structures like the Dome of the Rock have their own unique situation in the cityscape. This lifelessness and lessened creativity do not result in enjoyability’s diminishment. Indeed, Jerusalem’s inclusion serves a vital function – it staves off gameplay repetition, prompts continued freshness. The player can explore the three cities at will, and this freedom means overfamiliarity is averted, as the player darts about from location to location. It is difficult to overpraise these environments, which remain beautiful even with their age – Damascus, arid Damascus, is arrestingly sunbaked, featuring impressive lighting effects. Draw distance is excellent, too, and whenever the high ground is occupied – a common occurrence – the player is immediately reminded of environmental largeness. The player may be incapable of leaving the city walls, or of straying very loosely away from them, though still Ubisoft sought to convey the illusion of largeness, grounding the cities geographically, too. The tree species thriving here are suggestive the Holy Land’s detachment from encroaching Europe, though a location like Acre, with very heavy European influences in architecture and city design, also suggests how intertwined these two lands actually are. A connecting region – known as the Kingdom, serves to link city with city, and its scarcely populated nature, or the vast distribution of population, directly contrasts with the profound population densities thriving in the cities proper. This region could just as easily been excluded, though it also grounds the narrative spatially. The cities are not autonomous constructions, but each informs the other – they are linked indeed. Finally, the quaint Masyaf is also explorable. Home to the Brotherhood’s headquarters, architecturally it is nondescript, the only structure of note being a towering Citadel. And noteworthy it is – the structure is incredibly beautiful, towering in height, pointing towards the Brotherhood’s strength – the building is a direct manifestation of their influence, their existence’s longstanding nature.  

Assassin’s Creed gameplay is engaging indeed, is defined by many liberating and exhilarating attributes. Greatest displays of liberation are observable within the traversal systems – Altair is a singularly lithe individual, capable of scaling towering structures with speed and grace. With his highly acrobatic nature, much time is spent on the rooftops, and here gameplay and world-design are linked. Planks spanning alleyways and the like have a prominent presence, permitting traversal where it would otherwise be inhibited. Ladders have their place, too, permitting a rapid ascension if stranded on the streets below. Crucially, the animation quality for these actions is superb indeed, whether climbing upwards or plunging downwards into a roll from great heights. Relative believability is clung to, as well – Altair’s ascension speed is not as accelerated as in more recent titles, where Ubisoft altered the mechanics, making movement hastier, presumably to appease increasingly impatient playerbases. Still, navigating the environments prompts considerable delight, even if that navigation is undirected, if no objective is being sought – moving about simply for the sake of moving about is rewarding indeed. Crucially, though, the side content inherent to exploration is lacking in Assassin’s Creed, whether speaking in terms of quantity or quality. Much side “content” revolves around citizen liberation. In the simple act of exploration, Altair will in time be greeted with pained wails or protestations, as a citizen weakly rebels against the corrupt city guard unjustly oppressing them. Altair can swoop down from above, silencing the oppressors and permitting the citizen’s salvations. A fine construction, it loses that fineness as the narrative progresses, as that exact same course of action is repeated and repeated for a ridiculous number of times, never featuring any deviation. This boringness destroys these sequence’s allure, and after a fair number have been completed it is fair – understandable – to ignore them outright, especially when considering how paltry the rewards are. Liberation missions like this may be drab and unengaging indeed, though movement must again be considered. While generally intuitive, somewhat of a learning curve exists, and after a few hours of experimentation, player empowerment fast shows itself, as the player can execute many deft maneuvers, executing back ejects, as they are called, or seizing upon architectural fixtures to avoid devastating fall damage. When further regarding believability of navigation, comparisons must be made here. Many open-world games of the present moment emphasize movement, and with this emphasization comes reality’s destruction – players can fall many hundreds of feet unscathed – consider only more recent titles of this precise series, like Odyssey. Similarly, in these modern titles the player character can move about with absurd, unbelievable haste, can leap for dramatic and exaggerated distances. Assassin’s Creed’s traversal is characteristically liberating and exhilarating, though careful pains are taken to capture Altair’s humanity – these principles of overempowerment are rejected outright. In capturing his humanity, the developers endear player to player character. Altair’s attributes and likability may be lacking, but the humanness of his maneuvers, the vulnerabilities he displays, are engaging.     

Altair’s prowess in combat, however, is decidedly unbelievable – combat becomes a simple power fantasy. Most frequently, a counter kill maneuver will be relied upon; correctly time a response to an enemy’s attack, and that enemy will be slaughtered on the instant. It is certainly an oversimplification to state that all of combat revolves around counter kills, though undeniably they are central to the entire affair. This emphasizing, though, results in considerable uniqueness, in that in its combat Assassin’s Creed totally rejects a more button mashy approach. It is not exactly cerebral, but it is somewhat slower paced. And so the player executes not only counter kills, but also leaps about the combat environments – positioning is of considerable importance – or executes a flurry of blows. If these blows are timed correctly, then the enemy also expires hastily and violently, the combat generally being very visceral in nature. Progression systems matter, too. Altair’s brashness in the early narrative understandably wrought punishment – he was stripped of his gear and his weapons. In the earlier instances of his redemption, he has access to sword and hidden blade alone, meaning opportunities and flexibilities in combat are somewhat lacking. As the narrative progresses, though, more and more armaments are returned to him – in time, he gains access to a dagger, to throwing knives, while also being rewarded abilities and objects which improve locomotion and general exploration. In this regard, the Altair of the early game is quite detached from the late game’s Altair, the throwing knives being especially devastating, capable of dispatching the rooftop archers who have a constantly swelling presence. The progression broadly is masterful, then, and it is constantly as though Altair is working towards something, some object or other.  

Still, in many respects combat is a trivialized affair, one which grows further trivialized as more and more weapons are made accessible. Some enemies are highly problematic, admittedly. Most threatening are the formal templars sparsely distributed throughout the Kingdom and the three central environments. Intimidating opponents, they are immune to counter kills, resistant also to Altair’s combos. In this precise instance, the hidden blade is valuable indeed, in that a perfect counter kill with that weapon kills all of its victims, templar or no. The timing for this maneuver’s execution is very precise, meaning a successful strike is rewarding and cathartic indeed. Most enemies, though, fall to sword or dagger, or to throwing knife, barely posing a threat, existing to be slaughtered. Altair is an almost godlike figure in combat, and this general sense of elevation only increases as the narrative progresses. As it continues ever onwards, Altair’s health values see constant expansion, meaning that at the late game he can endure strike after strike without succumbing to the blows – power fantasies again reemerge. One can’t help but yearn for additional challenge in combat, for the introduction of new and diverse enemy classes, each of which would necessitate different tactics for success. Instead, essentially one enemy class is fought in all engagements, and diversity’s absence damages the overall experience. Plunging blade through chest after chest is inherently rewarding, but plunging blade through an especially resistant breast is even more rewarding. Assassin’s Creed, crucially, does not realize this fact – excessive empowerment exists.

Assassin’s Creed is defined by many scattershot failings, many directly revolving around the stealth, basic and unrefined in implementation. One source of basicness is connected to sound production, its completely irrelevant nature – cautiously walk up to a guard’s flank or full-on sprint towards them and the reaction will be precisely the same. More useful – though still basic – are the various hiding zones, objects like benches, bales of hay, or rooftop gardens which, when occupied, throw off the scent of pursuing guards. Fair enough. But whenever desirous of executing especially elaborate stealth sequences, the mechanics essentially collapse. The player might draft up elaborate maneuvers, determined to assassinate a central target with grace and ease, but the barebones stealth system make this essentially an impossibility. The end result, then, is chaos, as the target is often fought in open combat, or is frightened into a retreat. Stealth is fundamentally unrewarding, is never a consistently viable approach to any given situation. Ultimately, combat is prioritized, and while it can be enjoyable to gradually weaken the opposition, moving about stealthily and removing target after target, the flawed mechanics ensure this approach cannot be exclusively used – sword clashing sword is inevitable, even as roving scholars open up somewhat unmolested progression through heavily patrolled areas.

Compounding these failings is the generally repetitive nature of mission design. Before the grander assassination sequences can be tackled, the player must engage in reconnaissance missions, gathering together intel on the desired target. Fair enough. Problems arise, however, in that these research-gathering missions are constantly repeated, and with almost nonexistent variation. Pursue one target undetected, then promptly steal a crucial document from that target; sit on a bench and eavesdrop on a conversation, obtaining valuable information in the process; beat up a knowledgeable informant, extracting information from him in the process of combat; these sequences are constantly repeated, and their repetition only prompts tedium – and boredom. An imbalance exists, too. One mission type is defined by its basicness – sit on a bench and listen to a fifteen second conversation. It is terribly mundane. Other missions are more involved, though – see flag gathering missions, where the player is on a timer, or see assassination missions, where the player must exercise caution while dispatching predetermined foes. Some threads – such as these – are engaging, vaguely rewarding; others are the opposite of engaging, and these threads ultimately predominate. It is only natural to desire an expansion of these more elaborate mission threads. Instead, the player is constantly presented with great trivialities. Even the set piece assassination sequences are suspect to failure, in that they essentially play out in the same fashion – kill the target and flee from the scene, frustrated and violent soldiers in pursuit. These set piece sequences are again prioritized, and a bit of diversity would go a long way. Instead, the player feels less like an assassin and more like some barbarous unprofessional, attempting a stealthy approach though often – swiftly – meeting with failure.   

Assassin’s Creed is a flawed experience, certainly, suffering from heavy repetition and a narrative devoid of any heft or any real intrigue; it is the gameplay and the world-building both which prompt and preserve player engagement, world-building especially marking a triumph – Acre, Jerusalem, Damascus, the Kingdom, and even Masyaf: all are beautiful, all possess a distinct identity and evoke distinct sensations in the simple act of exploration. And exploration is profoundly engaging – consider only the flawless and liberating parkour systems. Indeed, the title could be defined by that central term – liberating. So intent were Ubisoft on developing this point, they essentially overstepped, in that combat is excessively liberating, the player endowed with far too much power. This swelling power prompts a more relaxed experience, as greater, lasting challenge is completely absent here. Easiness’s dominance does not necessarily equate to boredom, and the gameplay generally excels even with its easiness. But some complaints of genre must be advanced here. Assassin’s Creed is unabashedly an open-world experience, as the player can navigate the three central cities and the connecting region at will. Open-world games like this dominate the industry now. But Assassin’s Creed – released in distant 2007 – shows repeated departures from contemporary game design, as is expected. One break revolves around repetition – and length. This title lasts some twenty or twenty five hours. Alright. Assassin’s Creed Odyssey’s narrative, meanwhile, might span some hundred hours. Fair enough. But with that far larger play time, repetition is expected and thus more easily accepted. But for a relatively scant twenty hour game, repetition like that which thrives here is a major, unacceptable failure – a briefer experience only lends itself towards fresher experiences, the complete rejection of repetition. Assassin’s Creed does not reject this repetition, and repetition’s existence and thriving directly damage the overall experience, which is damaged further still by a flawed narrative which grows increasingly nonsensical as it progresses. Flawed, unlikable Altair does not remedy these failures, though his character arc is at least somewhat compelling, while Al Mualim’s affectionate embracing of villainhood is also stirring, dull and one-dimensional as he is. Again, though, gameplay and world-building successes temper narrative failures. The modern-day subplot, meanwhile, which focuses on the secondary protagonist Desmond Miles’s struggle, further shows narrative failure, in that Desmond follows in Altair’s path, similarly adopting dullness and unlikability. His warring with Lucy Stillman and the templar Warren Vidic shows some periodic intrigue, though such displays are fleeting. Still, as experience Assassin’s Creed meets with repeated successes, and enjoyability is overflowing, mundane and repetitive narrative and gameplay or no.