It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.

Now there’s something I never thought I’d see — thanks, perhaps, to my one ill-fated former experience in the Ahn’Qiraj region, with a pick-up group so mythically inept that it instilled a deep terror of that whole place in my mind, a group so thoroughly uncoordinated and inexperienced that I’m surprised they could even unsheathe their own swords without falling upon them. In retrospect, part of me wishes they had, but I digress.

While being somewhat of a self-indulgent segue and not entirely relevant to the point at hand, given Ahn’Qiraj was designed back in the days when level 60 was the highest rung on the ladder, it does seem like the game is changing — evolving, some may say — into something which is, to put it bluntly, easier. With a mass appeal that already extends across the globe to people who would never normally play an MMORPG, it makes perfect sense for Blizzard to cater to their biggest paying audience, that being the oft-derided casual gamers. As someone who has played WoW on-and-off since launch, and seen the ‘hard mode’ of things before the way became paved for the newer players, I can understand and even relate to the bitterness some feel, with newer players having their hands held through content that the older players had to slog through. We also had to walk to work uphill both ways in the snow, and all that.

In the years since launch, the world (of Warcraft) has changed around us in numerous subtle — and not-so-subtle — ways. With the upcoming expansion Cataclysm promising to rend the world into something new and unfamiliar, sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of the smaller changes that happened ‘under the hood’, so to speak. Once upon a time owning an epic mount was something of a badge of honour, an achievement in its own right, yet now we see freshly-rolled characters charging mounts through the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale with wild abandon, tearing up the roads as early as level 40 on cheaper-than-ever epic mounts, and even soaring through the skies of Outland shortly after their arrival.

Speaking of flying mounts, Hellfire Peninsula has certainly become a lot less of a headache-inducing nightmare compared to previous visits as older characters, and I’m sure Squick — my venerable shaman — has only the happiest Tauren feelings about the whole thing. Stranglethorn Vale and Desolace, once the banes of re-rollers everywhere, are now almost enjoyable. Heirloom gear with bonuses to experience provide a smoother run. City reputation is no longer the stuff of tears and misery. Even the classes are easier to play than ever — I for one am immensely grateful that, not only do shamans have abilities to provide a built-in totem bar, but we also have fewer, more general-use totems instead of a million and one to cover all the minutiae.

In a way, patches 2.0 and 3.0 were more than mere patches — it’s as if we’re playing World of Warcraft 2 and World of Warcraft 3 already, with changes and improvements to the game system happening fluidly and almost inconceivably around us, a perspective driven further home by Cataclysm’s promises to reshape the now rather dusty old-world, which is shoddy and outdated compared to Blizzard’s more recent offerings. Rather than other games — such as EverQuest, which attempted to re-make itself from scratch with a newer engine and modernized gameplay in EverQuest II — it seems as though Blizzard consider World of Warcraft a work-in-progress, a piece of art which is constantly being changed and improved, with the old, ugly parts cut out and replaced as seamlessly as possible to follow the game’s constant, organic evolution.

I can’t help but miss the old days, though. Sure, they were the days when only the best of the best could even hope to acquire any kind of good gear, back when trying to find a group was a case of standing in the middle of Orgrimmar yelling, “LF4M UBRS, NEED TANK!” But no matter how clumsy, how shoddy (at least, compared to Wrath and future promised offerings), how brutally unfair and obnoxiously limiting the old-world was, it’ll still always hold some small place in my heart — a very, very small place. In a crazy sort of way, some part of me will be a little sad to see it gone, when the world is broken and reshaped forever — or, at least, until the next expansion.

So here I am, sick as a dog, coughing up the spawn of Nurgle and wishing doom upon whatever foul miscreant carried this plague to fruition before carelessly spreading the filth in their general vicinity, like the meatspace version of an AoE. My frame of mind is snide, my love for the human race is at an all-time low — sounds to me like the ideal time for a rant. The topic today, dear readers, is that of loopholes in game design, and how far is too far?

I always tended to favour the tank builds. This probably says a lot about my mentality.

Let me take you back to a lesser-known Xbox 360 game, Chromehounds, a spiritual successor to the Armored Core series of mech simulators. Chromehounds was at least fairly original in that it allowed the players a great deal of freedom when constructing their own mechs — while it was still a Lego-like experience of fitting pieces together, there were various add-on blocks that served no purpose other than as hubs to connect pieces together in unusual directions. The gear available was moderately varied, with everything from the slow, steady quad-legs base (intended for artillery and other weapons of massive scope), all the way through bipedal, caterpillar tracks, and even the fast-yet-frail wheeled approach.

A great idea in theory, but sadly, poor planning and some issues which could simply not have been forseen came into play, and the game degenerated into what I can only describe as a festival of bullshit. Three core builds emerged, each crowning themselves the king of Chromehounds — the Gator, which used connector blocks in such a way to obscure the cockpit with guns, something that was never intended; the Quad Cannon (more commonly known as QC), perhaps the least cheap of the trio but still annoying in its own right, and the game-breaking Double Double (DD build), which abused the quality of reverse-joint bipedal legs — sniper legs, meant to support the high-recoil sniper cannons — to field not one, but two battleship-sized double cannons, providing enough firepower in four barrels to annihilate almost any other HOUND in a single attack. What was intended to be mounted alone on a slow, unwieldy four-legged beast was now being used deux fois on lighter, faster, more mobile machines, and the quality of the online experience swiftly dropped with it.

I wish I could say this was an isolated incident, but unfortunately such behaviour is troublingly prevalent in the sphere of online gaming. Penny Arcade recently ran a strip expressing the distaste that I think many of us feel about the recent abuses on Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, where players take a specific set of “perks” (character customization options, to allow for different gameplay styles) to become literal ninjas, rushing about the battlefield armed with nothing but a combat knife — or the double shotgun build, which while somewhat more plausible, is still squarely in the same ball-park. In a game based around — as the name would imply — modern warfare, there’s something almost mildly insulting about seeing assassin-wannabes rushing hither and dither with nothing more than sharpened metal sticks, doubly so when their iniquitous endeavours succeed.

I could throw out a dozen more examples, but I think my point stands: At what point does manipulating game mechanics — to the extent that, while not “cheating” per se, players are using tools clearly in an unfair way that they were not intended — stop becoming “tactical”, and start bordering on the grim badlands of the harrowed exploit? Where, indeed, do we draw the line, if one is to be drawn at all?

The combat is pretty much the same as in the original, with a few minor improvements.

It’s 2007, and gripped in my sweaty palms is a rare treasure indeed: Assassin’s Creed, a game that promised so much and — despite its flaws and the abysmal press it received from some of its more staunch critics — I felt delivered superbly, if one is willing to be a tad lenient and forgive some of its bumbling flaws. From the stunning visuals to the thrill of the hunt through dark alleyways and across sprawling rooftops, to the re-imagining of the fast, silent and deadly ninja archetype into Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad, an eminently likable character if only because his disposition reminded me, in a way, of myself. He was brash, arrogant, over-confident, and could climb up the side of a building in seconds. In short, I was enthralled. Garrett has nothing on this guy.

Cut forward to 2009 and, late on the ball as always, I finally pick up a copy of the long-awaited sequel. It turns out to be somewhat of a mixed bag: On the one hand, Altaïr is lamentably gone and replaced by Ezio Auditore da Firenze, a noble/assassin/asshole exploring the beautifully-detailed world of Renaissance-era Italy. On the other hand, he now sports two of the iconic hidden blade weapons that redefined neck-stabbing as an entertaining and rewarding pastime, and I think this fact alone redeems any viable complaint one could have about the game. While any could enjoy the gorgeously-rendered vistas and cityscapes, the refined and highly enjoyable gameplay, and the surprisingly decent storyline which both carries on from and expands the original game’s universe, the most joy is gained from the fact that you can stab two people at the same time.

What of the rest of the game? Well, I wish I could say all of the original’s flaws have been fixed, but unfortunately that’s not the case — and the sequel comes with a host of new issues of its own. Allow me to pause and mention that, overall, I adore both games and consider them both superb pieces of work, but one would be a fool to not accept their shortcomings. The issue of repetitiveness that plagued the original — something that did not trouble me greatly, but vexed many a gamer — as well as the obnoxious hunt for flags have both been fixed, in a way. The flag-hunting is replaced by equally abhorrent feathers hidden about the world (one would be forgiven for wondering how they don’t simply blow away), and while there are dozens of treasure chests hidden in each area, they become almost tediously easy to track down after buying a treasure map from a local merchant, which costs about the same as the contents of a single box.

Unlike his predecessor, Ezio can actually swim. This adds little to the gameplay, but avoids frustration from unfair deaths.

Moreover, the fluid agility of the free-running element that so defines the series has been pushed a little too far; there are many cases where it’s starkly obvious that the designers created certain buildings (usually view-point areas, used to gain a view of the surrounding land) as agility puzzles of a sort, requiring a fair amount of tedium while one figures out the exact route intended to scale said building, with usually almost no variant allowed in the ascent. Worse, the assassins’ tombs dotted about the world, which are necessary for reasons I will refrain from spoiling, are simply large, highly annoying Prince of Persia wannabes which involve — again — a fixed route through a series of increasingly difficult jumping and agility puzzles, while Ezio ascends towards his goal. A far cry from the free-form nature of its predecessor, these sequences feel stiff, forced, and largely unfulfilling.
With that said, the rest of the game is fairly polished and highly enjoyable; the world is painted beautifully in a much-improved graphics engine, the gameplay is (mostly) as slick and fluid as one would expect, and what Ezio lacks in the iconic nature of his forerunner, he makes up for with style — which is further flexible, as his appearance changes depending on the weapons and armour purchased and equipped, as well as a fairly wide variety of clothing dyes which provide further customization. There are dozens of other things I could mention, but alas, would take too much space: The ‘upgradeable’ stronghold town, the variety of weapons and ability to even use a foe’s dropped blade against his allies, the much-improved notoriety system (merely running down the street will no longer necessarily attract cries of, “Assassin! Keel heem!”), and so many more.

Overall, I’d say Assassin’s Creed II is a worthy successor to the original, though likely something I’d only recommend for fans. If you liked the first game, then despite its flaws, you’ll enjoy stalking and murdering through the streets of Venice, but given that it carries on where the original left off and barely explains the events of the former game, I’d suggest first-time players look in the bargain bin for a copy of the original before considering this sequel.