From the dark, they came…
Some people played Dark Souls and were blown away. Others, like me, were not. I first played the game when it was released for the Nintendo Switch and, upon completing the game, felt like I was missing something. Isn’t this just a fantasy 3D metroidvania game with RPG leveling? What’s the big deal? On top of that, the subpar level design of late-game areas like Demon’s Ruins and the Tomb of the Giants made the game feel like a slog at times.
If there was one thing I liked about the experience, it was the plot and its presentation. As a die-hard Metroid fan, I love picking up narrative nuggets in the form of item descriptions and found accounts of the deceased. The environmental storytelling in Dark Souls was top-notch and its story was hauntingly beautiful.
I finished the game feeling kind of hollow (*wink*) and, though I was glad I played it, I didn’t see myself ever going back. Maybe the internet’s hype had soured me or maybe the game just wasn’t for me, it’s tough to say. Only one thing was for certain: I was not a Dark Souls fan.
A year or so later, however, I picked up Bloodborne. Reviews had promised a more completed world and friends assured me that the learning curve wasn’t quite so steep. I took their word for it, and played the game over the summer. Fast-paced combat, refined controls, and a world dripping with atmospheric horror converted me. I’m not sure when exactly it clicked for me, maybe as early as Father Gascoigne, but Bloodborne sunk its hooks into me and never let go. Now I understood.
By the early days of quarantine, I had fully reckoned with my feelings. Since my love of Bloodborne clearly outweighed my “meh” of Dark Souls, perhaps it was time for me to revisit FromSoft’s offerings. I purchased both Dark Souls II and Dark Souls III, played through both, and realized that, somewhere along the way, I figured these games out. I even replayed Dark Souls again to confirm.
Why, yes, I do love this series after all.
But online discourse is, well, what it is. I had preconceived notions about both Dark Souls sequels before playing either one of them. Odds are if you’re reading this, you know how the internet collectively ranks these games too. When I finished the two sequels, it became clear that each one of them took a hardline stance on the themes and ideas of the original, and those stances manifested themselves in surprising ways.
A scholar of sin…
The opening cinematic Dark Souls is a brief history of Lordran. In a span of minutes, we learn about Gwyn, his followers, the first flame, and its effects on the kingdom he built. Once the game begins, we find ourselves in a jail cell with no other information. How did we get there? And in what way does the preceding history lesson relate to humble undeads like ourselves? The quest ahead of us is a search for answers, about both ourselves and world around us.
Dark Souls II takes a decidedly different approach. Very little time is spent discussing Drangleic or its people. Instead, the focus is almost entirely devoted to the player character. As this poor soul stands lost in the woods, slowly losing their grasp on reality, the expedition to Drangleic is an intensely personal one. This adventure is not one seeking to right cosmic imbalances or imperial injustices. This is a mission to restore humanity.
These stark dissimilarities continue as the game advances. Upon completing their tutorial in Dark Souls, players find themselves in Firelink Shrine, greeted by grey skies, crestfallen knights, and a somber violin tune that seeks to remind us of the defeated world we inhabit. By contrast, Dark Souls II welcomes us to Majula, a small coastal village, drenched in the warm glow of sunset, and treated to a subtle melody that almost sounds…hopeful? Perhaps this journey isn’t in vain.
There is an almost universally accepted path upon which the player embarks in Dark Souls. From Firelink Shrine, head through the Undead Burg, into the Parish, fight the Bell Gargoyles, ring the bell, head down through the Depths, into Blighttown, take care of Quelaag, ring that one, go through Sen’s Fortress, and head up to Anor Londo. There are a few extra areas one can explore early on, but the world doesn’t really open up until after players obtain the Lordvessel.
This structure is almost completely reversed in Dark Souls II. While most players will naturally gravitate towards the Forest of Fallen Giants, it’s entirely possible to begin your journey at Heides Tower of Flame. Even then, the player isn’t forced to see this path to its end. There are four Great Souls needed to enter Drangleic Castle, and they can be gathered in practically any order. It’s only once these are collected that the focus of your quest tapers.
From a narrative standpoint, this inversion exists for one purpose: to sow doubt. Dark Souls tells us early on that the Age of Fire brought about disparity; there is clear divide between heat and cold, life and death, light and dark. As this fire fades, so do the distinctions between each of these poles. These lines blur and our quest is given a clear goal. We’re given instructions by man and monster alike, told repeatedly what we need to do: link the fire. We must “fix” the world.
Dark Souls II undermines the foundation upon which Dark Souls was built. The Emerald Herald speaks of our purpose, yet Aldia gives us pause. Nashandra confides in us the King’s failures, yet Vendrick’s memories reveal there is missing context. There is no objectivity here, no clearly defined rules. The history of Drangliec is murky and subjective, pieced together by the stories of unreliable narrators.
The original game does not, literally, tell you which ending is the “good” one, though the series does operate under the assumption that players, like Gwyn, will link the fire and sacrifice themselves at the Kiln of the First Flame. This selfless act will prolong the Age of Fire and start the cycle anew, allowing humanity to continue their lives in the ways to which they’ve grown accustomed.
Aldia, scholar of the First Sin, offers a harsh reproach. His theory is a simple one: the sacrifice at the Kiln of the First Flame was an unnatural one, extensions to the Age of Fire are artificial attempts for leaders to hold on to the kingdoms they’ve built, and the “curse” that plagues man is merely the next step in our evolution. In our hubris, we’ve forgotten our past and, as a result, have imperiled our own future.
But is he right? It’s a tough call. After all, everyone in Drangliec has an opinion. Who can say? Maybe this tangled web in which we find ourselves is beyond our understanding. If only we had some clues.
For this, we can look to the level design. While the original game emphasized a tightly-knit, cohesive world of grand castles and catacombs, Dark Souls II abandons this thematically unified and interconnected approach. Our journey here takes us to far-flung corners of this imaginative empire.
From pirate coves to poisonous mines, the world of Drangleic is one of both possibility and consequence. These are not just impressive buildings to explore and absorb, but stories in and of themselves. We see not only what man has accomplished, but the harm he has done. Brume Tower, from a distance, is an imposing skyscraper that serves as a foundry for iron. When we enter the giant structure, examine its moving pieces, and turn our eyes outward we realize that this contraption has desolated the land around it. Billowing smoke pollutes the air and mountains of ash coat the land below. This monument of vanity has upset the natural balance of the world it occupies.
Perhaps Gwyn did the same thing. Perhaps man was never meant to keep the cycle going. Perhaps our futures have been jeopardized by the very act meant to ensure their safety. Perhaps this shortsighted act of arrogance was a Sin.
What makes Dark Souls II such an interesting sequel is that it does not attempt to simply “do it all again.” Instead, it acts as a meditation on what comes before. Dark Souls was a landmark work of art, but how many works of art have follow-ups that feel so misguided? It’s all too common for successors to repeat the same old beats with different visuals and a new soundtrack. Dark Souls II understands Dark Souls. It has contemplated Dark Souls. It challenges the player by asking a simple question: What if Dark Souls was wrong?
Like its predecessor, it presents its morality in as few words as possible. If players want, they can slay monsters and knights and never wonder about right or wrong. But behind all the fighting and violence is a word of warning and a glimmer of hope. It doesn’t have to continue. If we study our history and truly understand it, we can learn from our mistakes. It might be scary to confront the unknown, but clinging to the past will only perpetuate the cycles of war and misery that got us here in the first place.
The truth of the old words…
Thousands of years pass, perhaps tens of thousands, before we return to a familiar setting. Empires rise and fall, societies expand and crumble, and the Age of Fire has continued as a result of sacrifice after sacrifice. Dark Souls III welcomes the player to a new kingdom, though familiar landmarks abound. Lothric, it would seem, is well-trodden territory.
The resultant story is one of duty and responsibility. Upon learning how to maintain the Age of Fire, the powers that be establish a ritual to ensure the First Flame remains ablaze. Great Lords are selected to rekindle the fire when it begins to fade, however Prince Lothric has abandoned his post and, as expected, the dwindling fire has again blurred the lines between life and death. It is the player’s duty, as an Unkindled, is to seek out the Prince and return him to Firelink Shrine. Along the way, the player must gather the derelict souls of former Lords of Cinder and bring them to the shrine as well.
This tale, of course, can only exist if one assumes that the fires were rekindled in previous games. There are no considerations or footnotes paid to those who chose to let the Age of Fire come to an end. It is here that Dark Souls’s morality is affirmed: those who kindle are heroes, those who don’t are villains. Prince Lothric, by absconding, is acting in a manner that is selfish and shortsighted. Prince Lothric is wrong, Aldia was wrong, and Gwyn was right.
Even before embarking, we learn of the herculean effort put forth by the citizens of Lothric. Champions are tested to ensure their duties fulfilled while Fire Keepers wait at their posts to tend bonfires and aid Ashen Knights. Entire societies are built to prolong the Age of Fire; to renounce one’s role in such a process would be tantamount to treason.
Dark Souls III rebukes the rebuke of Dark Souls II. The Age of Dark is a terrifying eventuality, but not an inevitability. The Lords of Cinder who sacrifice themselves to kindle the fire are saviors, and should be remembered as such. Your quest to return Prince Lothric does not make you a mercenary or kidnapper, but a herald of light who is guaranteeing a future for the kingdom.
But wait, there’s more! Amidst the chaos of Prince Lothric’s abandonment, a sorcerer from a foreign world enters the picture and declares himself ruler over Irithyll and Anor Londo. This enemy, Pontiff Sulyvahn, serves as a thinly-veiled metaphor for Dark Souls II’s directors. After all, Hidetaka Miyazaki created the world of Dark Souls, but did not direct the first sequel due to his commitment to Bloodborne. As new managers stepped in and soundly declared the world and morality of Dark Souls to be “wrong,” it would certainly appear commensurate to a false king proclaiming his control over the land. It’s no accident that Pontiff Sulyvahn is found near Anor Londo, the most iconic location in the original game.
You know what to do: purge the kingdom of its profaned usurpers, return the absent personnel to their rightful posts, and ensure that the vision of the kingdom is properly implemented. This mission, it would seem, is cut-and-dried. Make sure that Dark Souls is Dark Souls.
The path that unfurls before you is, as a result, incredibly straightforward. It is perhaps more linear than any Souls game to date. You must descend from the high walls of Lothric Castle to the caverns and structures below. The world you explore herein is surprisingly narrow in scope; dark and twisted caverns stitch together grand cathedrals and strongholds. The unorthodox bastions of Dark Souls II are gone and, in their place, are more expansive versions of what we’ve come to expect from the series. Familiar faces and recognizable locations even pop up now and again.
In a way, this comes across as if the series is playing the hits. From the iconic buttresses of Anor Londo to the misadventures of Catarinan warriors, Dark Souls III capitalizes on the memorable moments of games past. Once Prince Lothric is dead and it’s clear to the player that it’s up them to link the fire, one final boss stands in our way: the amalgamation of every Lord of Cinder from ages past. Yes, that includes Gwyn and, yes, that includes your character from the very first Dark Souls. It’s up to you, once again, to meet your destiny and light the fire.
Dark Souls III asks you to ensure that obligations are met, knowing full well the enormous weight these obligations carry. The consequences of failure are too dire for this mission to be taken lightly. In a way, isn’t that true of the game itself?
We sure do love trilogies, and as the third and potentially final game in the Dark Souls series, this finale had a lot of expectations riding on its shoulders. It’s not every day that your passion project turns into an international touchstone for an entire generation, so coming up with a satisfying conclusion is a challenge that very few people have ever needed to consider, let alone perform. It’s no surprise that themes of duty and commitment saturate the world of Dark Souls III. The creation of the game itself was a monumental task.
For this reason, the game can feel both stale and a return to form. On its surface, yeah, the game is just running through the motions. You want a big fancy church? You got it. Wanna explore some dusty old catacombs? Sure thing. Looking for enemies that are goopy and craggily and vomiting up acid? We got you covered. The world of Dark Souls III does not seek to upend its tropes, but rather reinforce them. This is the place you fell in love with, so how about one last hurrah?
When the fire fades…
It’s been said that, when writing a trilogy, your second installment is where you take the risks and the third is when you bring it home. The Empire Strikes Back sought to challenge that cozy optimism of Star Wars, and Return of the Jedi built upon these revelations to deliver a satisfying conclusion to Luke Skywalker’s story. In contrast, The Temple of Doom defied the norms of its predecessor and was worse for wear, which is why The Last Crusade sought to recapture the themes and tone of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Dark Souls made a statement when it was released in 2011. Dark Souls II was unrelated to its forerunner on a surface level, but engaged with its ideas in bold and interesting ways. It challenged its themes, probed its morals, and dared the player to question their own actions. Dark Souls III reaffirmed the core of Dark Souls by building a narrative around legacy and responsibility, delivering a metatextual experience in the process. It sought not to undermine, but to uphold.
In a way, both sequels are resounding successes. They both achieved their goals, disparate though they may be. The tonal differences between each may, at first, depict a trilogy in disarray, but in reality each game engages with the core themes of the series. The Dark Souls trilogy is something to behold. The stories are rich, the ideas plentiful, and the worlds magical. I see why people love these games, and I’m glad I finally understand why.
Also, fighting giant monsters is fun as hell.
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