Games With Grey

Assassin’s Creed II’s central narrative is ambitious in nature, chronicling multiple decades of the player character Ezio Auditore’s existence, a profound character and a singularly likable one – Ezio anchors the narrative, and even as it periodically loses its way, he is always present to instigate redirection, a return to profoundness and emotional and cerebral engagement. As character, he is wonderfully dynamic, subject to constant growth as the narrative progresses, as he is presented with repeated hardships of gradually increasing intensity. He responds to these hardships in kind; resoluteness, already lurking within him, redoubles and intensifies almost constantly. Ezio’s greatest instances of change, meanwhile, are directly connected to the narrative’s very opening. After a very brief sequence detailing Ezio’s birth, a temporal leap occurs – Ezio is an older adolescent, a plucky one at that – an endearing one. And so the player controls Ezio as he navigates his native Florence, executing tasks for his various family members, his brothers, father, mother, and even his rather brash sister. Humanness abounds here – the player is engaged, and Ubisoft directly sought this engagement to heighten the impactfulness of the prologue’s final moments, wherein Ezio’s father and two brothers both are slaughtered on the gallows, rope wrapped about their frail necks, a thick crowd of onlookers surrounding the structure. Ezio is alone. He may have a sister and mother, though still Ezio is alone. His response to the occurrence is unexpected and unconventional – rather than pushing back against his family’s slaughterers, unravelling the conspiracies surrounding the event, Ezio actually seeks retreat, promptly quitting Florence and making arrangements to flee Italy entirely – here are vague displays of fearfulness. But, again and always Ezio Auditore da Firenze is boldly dynamic. After a bit of coaxing and reassurance from his uncle Mario, Ezio adopts the mantle of Assassin, proudly dons the Assassin apparel, fashioning to his wrist the Assassin’s hidden blade, that symbolic and iconic object; Ezio embraces his legacy, and were his father alive to see this adoption, his son’s maturation, certainly he would feel an excess of strong emotion – pride, and the like. Family dead, hood donned, the narrative begins in earnest.

The narrative’s complexity is subject to constant expansion and refinement, as more and more insights are communicated to the player. The Auditore males’ slaughtering was a carefully orchestrated affair, the task largely executed out of fearfulness – Ezio’s father Giovanni was, again, an Assassin. Living at a pivotal moment and in a pivotal place, Giovanni was viewed as a threat – the antagonistic Templars sought to silence that threat, and in killing two of Giovanni’s sons, Ezio’s two brothers, they are almost delivering a message to the Florentine populace – we hold sway, if you rebel against us or intervene with our work we will retaliate unhesitatingly, brutally. We hold power – see how we can bring low the elevated. As organization, the Templars are rather multifaceted, and they are largely depicted as being the Assassin’s antithesis – a major war is being waged, and Ezio, doomed Ezio, becomes embroiled in this war, becomes a leading soldier and eventually captain. Mostly, he regards this position with zeal, comforted by his immense number of named allies, all of them diverse and introduced gradually. Firstly is Mario, Ezio’s uncle. An affable, almost playful character, one might initially associate him with weakness. Not so – Mario is a powerful individual, likely rivalling his deceased brother in talent and in strength. And then there are other minor characters of some consequence – see the leader of a Venetian thieves’ guild, a courtesan owner and manager, and even the historical figure Machiavelli. Likable all, they are an eclectic cast and excitement overflows whenever a new secondary character is introduced – what will be their disposition? Will they be stern or amenable? Questions abound, and these characters expertly complement Ezio’s narrative stance.

And so Ezio navigates the Italian peninsula, waging warfare against the conspirators, aided by his brothers and sisters within the Assassin order, brothers and sisters of surprising empathy – they feel for Ezio, even while never knowing his father or brothers – here is kindness. Empowered by this kindness, Ezio attempts his task with ample enthusiasm, and correspondingly countless conspirators die by his hand. In these assassinated characters’ final moments, protracted soliloquies emerge, the doomed men musing on their live and death, almost instructing Ezio or urging him to exercise caution, strange when considering they are antagonists. Still they speak, and the writing here is generally quite excellent and endearing, these figures showing fair depth – confliction and regret, most frequently and most intensely. Ezio receives these monologues in differing fashions, greatly changing as the narrative progresses. In the story’s opening portions, Ezio almost delights in violence, still fueled by rage. This rage prompts him to brutalize one of his first targes – Vieri de Pazzi, an old rival of Ezio in Florence, a figure directly connected to the earlier hanging. Rather than killing him and being done with it, Ezio repeatedly stabs the youth, before an enraged uncle Mario implores Ezio to stay his hand. This brashness is ultimately vanished by the narrative’s conclusion, and the respectfulness with which Ezio eventually regards his targets is compelling, indeed – he kills because he must kill, because society directly benefits from those killings, in that they preserve freedom or at least a more peaceable existence. But killing is killing – Ezio is not exactly horrified or guilt-ridden when he speaks with these doomed men, looms over their corpses, though clearly he is very affected, just as all humans would be if situated in that same scenario – relatability abounds here.  

In a somewhat tragic admission, though, the narrative gradually loses its way, in that the humanness thriving earlier is displaced by more supernatural elements, directly connecting to the fabled piece of Eden. As object, it contains untold powers, and has thus been long and fiercely sought. Templars and Assassins both strive for this object’s attainment, marking a major source of struggle. This narrative thread is ultimately resolved satisfactorily, as Ezio spars with the largest antagonist, Rodrigo Borgia, a figure in possession both of the piece of Eden and of the staff needed for its effective manipulation. Beating Rodrigo was satisfying, certainly. But this satisfaction was tempered – ruined – by the final revelation, completely nonsensical. Piece of Eden in hand, Rodrigo disarmed and pacified, Ezio discourses with the fabled Juno, member of those who came before, ancient entities. She speaks of prophesies, of the pivotal role Ezio will play, of his relationship to his distant ancestor and secondary player character, Desmond Miles. The conclusion is catastrophic, is very poor in nature, owing to its intense bizarreness. Rather than ending triumphantly, then, the conclusion ends with a whimper, as the developers pursued one thread which is foundationally less complex than the earlier pursued thread. No longer is the player dealing with gallows and slaughtered family members. Instead, they are engaging with literal gods, that connection enabled by bizarre and advanced technologies. It is baffling, and whenever Ezio as character is abandoned, terrible missteps are committed.  

Assassin’s Creed II’s presentation and world-building both are major achievements – a wonderful sense of place is captured here, and the title serves an almost transportive function, clever when considering the vast temporal gap between that world and this one: the narrative unfolds in the Renaissance era, specifically in Italy and the towns of Florence, Venice, San Gimignano, and Forli, though Mario’s homestead, the Villa Auditore, is also explorable – and upgradeable – serving as Ezio’s base of operations. Each environment has its own distinct identity, evoking differing sensations. Venice – the final environment explored – is defined by moodiness, the city and its structures bathed in shades of blue, while the manifold waterways and canals expectantly produce further blues. Architecture here is especially elaborate, even the commoner’s windows subject to great ornamentation, while beautiful marbles of dazzling shades – pinks and the like – have their prominent position; Venice is beautiful indeed, and in an interesting turn, it is the largest presented city, almost dwarfing Florence, Ezio’s homeland. But first Florence is navigated, a city of similar grace and beauty, though arising from somewhat different sources, aesthetics – whereas Venice showed a preoccupation with blues, Florence fixates on intense reds and oranges – consider only the tiled roofs situated upon essentially every city structure (save for, perhaps, some of the religious structures, which are abundant). Here, the towering Duomo and Campanile loom majestically overhead, visible always no matter the district currently explored. It is an especially immersive city, then, and the narrative absolutely opens on a high note, the opening transpiring in this beautiful city environment, an urban place, certainly, though one not entirely removed from nature – the vast Tuscan wilds are visible, too, verdant trees and grasses thriving not too distant from the hulking Florentine walls; nature and civilization coexist, and this principle is also observable in the city of Forli, situated in Romagna.

Here, the city is not warring with trees and overgrowth, but is instead warring with water – the city is surrounded by marshlands, their presence resulting in a pervasive dreariness whenever navigating this space. It somehow looks far more dated than Venice or Florence, almost suggesting a certain detachment – those two cities embody decadence and the Renaissance impulse, while Forli, dreary, water-dominated Forli still belongs to a different era with different principles. Perverse or no, it is a fine environment, largely owing to its subversive nature, its willed embracing of bleakness, rejection of opulence. This fineness and subversiveness make the city’s relative neglect painful indeed – the city is only visited a handful of times throughout the narrative, greatly overshadowed by, say, Venice or Florence. Somewhat of an imbalance is in place here, certainly, as some cities are embraced as others are neglected. San Gimignano is also subject to this neglect, even with its singular beauty. The Tuscan flourishes observable within Florence are seized upon here and exploited to maximum effect – crispness abounds, oranges, yellows, reds and all. This Tuscan vastness is slightly explorable, suggesting greater largeness, and lending San Gimignano uniqueness and heart, such heart also observable within the presented buildings: this city boats many towering constructions, primitive skyscrapers. Their presence is majestic, and the general air of austerity surrounding these buildings is compelling indeed – they are graceful even if deliberately unassuming. It is impossible to heap too much praise upon these environments collectively, the Villa Auditore being a special achievement, owing to its upgradability and highly dynamic nature. Even if the narrative were defined by flaws rather than successes; even if gameplay were dull and uninspired instead of stimulating and engaging – still the game would excel, for there is always Florence, just as there is always Venice, Forli, and San Gimignano, beautiful and diverse environments all. Clever flourishes like a dynamic day / night cycle complement these wonderful complexities.

Gameplay meets with similar successes, primarily divided into three distinct pillars – exploration, combat, and stealth. Even here, imbalances exist; stealth is absolutely overshadowed by the other two branches. While improvements over Assassin’s Creed are readily observable, stealth still is characterized by lack; a crouch feature is absent, for instance, and a sharp overreliance upon line of sight exists, this overreliance directly diminishing the importance of sound production, which has some influence, certainly, though its implementation is rather halfhearted. Gimmicks are included, too, in that the player can sit upon benches while seeking evasion, a return to anonymity. Or, the player can conceal Ezio in abundant hay barrels, can hide in wells, or even mingle amongst crowds of citizen NPCs, this mingling, if executed effectively, potentially distracting a pursuer. While stealth is overshadowed by the other two gameplay branches, it must absolutely be stated that stealth is in no ways abysmal. It is simply unrefined, and a wonderful blueprint has been established which would be built upon in subsequent titles. Actually employing stealth deliberately, using it to ghost through a mission or even a basic engagement, is rewarding and cathartic indeed, even as such success is oftentimes achieved only with fair difficulty, as the player must grapple the system’s basicness, the system’s unwieldiness. The combat systems, though, are the complete inverse of unwieldy, being very intuitive and empowering in nature – the systems are profoundly engaging and effective, even as the developers committed the same mistake Assassin’s Creed, did, the mistake countless other games in this same series would commit – in combat, the player character is essentially godlike, capable of enduring blow after blow without so much as flinching; challenge generally is absent here.

This absence does not equate to boredom – combat can be engaging, and its excessively visceral nature only contributes to its impactfulness and memorability; seeing Ezio plunge dagger or sword through an enemy’s breast is affecting indeed. But here with combat, trivial though it often is, Ubisoft did not totally neglect to stimulate the player cerebrally. Instead, they sought this stimulation by including various enemy types or subclasses. Common grunts, present from the first have their place, of course, being easily vanquished. But as the narrative progresses, as Ezio’s notoriety increases, newer, more powerful enemy classes emerge – consider a hulking axe wielding individual completely incased in armor. Consider also a pike-wielding figure prone to deflecting the player’s blows, striking at Ezion from fair range. See also one subtype which darts about agilely, avoiding Ezio’s blows outright, poised to instantly execute a counter attack. On and on go the subclasses – on and on go the complexities. Foundationally, then, combat is an admixture of simplicity and complexity, primarily revolving around dodges and counter kills, actions which instantly slaughter certain enemy classes, provided the player acts with perfect timing. The combat generally is slower, too, greatly rejecting a more button-mashy approach which thrives elsewhere. This slowness only makes the visceralness more striking, and the graceful combat animations, as Ezio dashes about the environments, striking at this foe, blocking the strike of another, dodging another blow outright – these animations are excellent across the board, and their excellence greatly reflects the immense attention to detail.   

If combat is liberating and empowering, then exploration is even more liberating and empowering – the player here is endowed with total freedom, and in many ways world design is directly – deliberately – connected to gameplay. It is natural to cling to the rooftops with this title, to spurn the ground and its ample antagonists outright. An enemy presence is to be found upon the rooftops, to be sure – archers have their place, willing to raise bow, to notch arrow, and then to promptly shoot that arrow towards Ezio, who typically endures the impact with little reaction, little pain. But the rooftops are alluring, and a general sense of verticality is expertly achieved. Occupying an especially elevated space – see, for instance Florence’s massive Campanile or a litany of various towers in Venice – and then promptly looking downwards, or scanning the vast horizons – executing these actions, these glimpses, only results in exhilarating sensations. In order to better vacillate this exhilaration, the world has been manipulated, carefully crafted. Thick planking has its place, spanning particularly wide avenues which could not be bounded by a conventional leap. Consider the abundance of ladders, which permit a particularly swift ascension. Ascension generally is easily obtained, too, even away from ladders – Ezio can scale essentially all obstacles with ease, grace, and haste, his capabilities opening up new gameplay opportunities and flexibilities. And just as combat featured excellent animation, locomotion is executed in a similarly impressive fashion. Here, with his heightened agility Ezio is vaguely detached from the common individual. Vaguely in the sense that effortlessly scaling some cathedral is not necessarily a completely inhuman act; even as Ezio scales this object or that, still he is asserting his humanity. This cannot be said of combat, of course, Ezio’s feats therein distinguishing him from common man. Still, exploration is a vital component of the entire experience. It could be conceded, though, that the movement systems present in Assassin’s Creed II are functionally identical to those present in the first title. Some animations have been changed slightly, while new animations have been absolutely been added. Similarly and reflecting further advancements (iterations?) the overall climbing speed has been increased dramatically, while now the player can swim, a vital skill when considering Venice’s canal-heavy design. But despite these alterations, in movement little has changed, and so while exploration is excellent, it is not treated as ambitiously as was combat and to a lesser extent stealth.

It is no hyperbole to state that Assassin’s Creed II is the perfect sequel, executing constant refinements major and minor in turn. Most striking are the narrative alterations, improvements. In the first title, narrative was not entirely deemphasized, but what was presented was unsound and unenjoyable in nature, the entire affair let down by the personalitylessness Altair, like the complete antithesis to this title’s Ezio Auditore. That game revolved around an unlikable character; this one revolves a singularly likeable one who shows persistent and fierce character growth as the narrative progresses – he embodies innovation, while his odyssey, his voyages throughout the peninsula, frequently strike emotional and resonant chords – consider only the opening, where three innocent individuals are hanged owing to the machinations of a handful of corrupt, self-serving men. Narrative discussions of Ezio, of the piece of Eden, of the enigmatic and supposedly demented and lost Subject 16, and of those who came before, are all discussions steeped in failure – their inclusion is a negative, even Desmond Miles, the deuteragonist, showing shallowness, his speech and behavior almost suggesting obnoxiousness; he is completely overshadowed by compelling Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Narrative fragmentation exists, then, and while some may delight in the modern day sequences, for me they were abysmal, damaging to the whole – they represent the title’s weakest attributes. Renaissance Italy, so carefully and lovingly crafted, is far more intriguing than this world. Games ideally serve an escapists function, and Desmond’s narrative, unfolding is the present time, is not escapist. Terribly flawed, these sequences are fortunately infrequent – they are fortunately unintrusive.

A few scattershot complaints could also be levelled here, the economy systems being especially flawed. As Ezio navigates Italy, his pocket pouch is forever overflowing with gleaming Florins. Fair enough. Simultaneously, many vendors are distributed throughout the region, each with a distinct function – doctors sell medicines, blacksmiths armors and weapons, while tailors offer dyes and increased item carrying capacities, for instance. These vendors’ inclusion was welcome, absolutely, though the failures arise when considering money’s ubiquitousness – after about the ten hour mark, the player essentially need never consider currency, in that the reserves are abundant indeed, forever increasing. Ultimately, this deemphasizes the decision-making process – if an object is desired, it can oftentimes be purchased on the instant. If the player invests considerable resources into the Villa Auditore, meanwhile, money comes in passively, and at a great rate. Many of the purchased objects are pointless, too. Manifold swords and daggers are buyable, as are armor sets, though the player can succeed in combat even with the starting weapon, can even proceed through much of the narrative armorless. In this regard, the economy system is crudely implemented, appreciated certainly but very basic. This is of course a minor complaint awash in a sea of greatness, the game abounding in memorable moments, both in gameplay and in narrative. Consider some of the optional challenge tombs, which often transpire in majestic interior spaces, tasking the player with more involved platforming. The level design of these sequences is unduplicatable in its greatness – they are exhilarating and rewarding indeed, their linear attributes serving to break up the more protracted exploration sequences – Assassin’s Creed II is an open-world game, after all, adopting the expectations attached to that genre. One such expectation relates to side content – the best titles of that genre, so the thought goes, feature ample and robust secondary content, rewarding and engaging both. If this is the case, then this title stumbles somewhat – secondary content has its presence, though it is typically unexciting and prone to repletion – kill this target or that; race through this checkpoint; deliver this letter – that is the side content, very mundane in nature. Simultaneously, however, open-world bloatedness is rejected outright – a sharp sense of focus exists in Assassin’s Creed II, a profound and lasting experience, transportive and magical.