Reader, I died. I died not in epic battle with nameless gods who threatened the very fabric of reality. I died not freeing an innocent from the curse which consumed her life. I didn’t even die fighting a bloody haunted suit of armour or a mad necromancer or something. I died opening a door. I died picking a wrench off the floor. I died from fright at something I saw in the mirror.
I died, died, died, died. Rarely heroic, always embarrassing – that is the dark fate of anyone who treads the treacherous hallways of Solium Infernum & Armageddon Empires creator Cryptic Comet’s roguelikelike-boardgame hybrid The Occult Chronicles. It is the most fiendish of videogames. It is unfair to a level that incites fury, outrage, hilarity, glum resignation and ultimately, steely determination to carry on, to try to beat the unbeatable. Even when said unbeatable is merely a locked door or a fat bloke in a chair.
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