I am not good at Souls games. I managed to stumble my way through Dark Souls 3, but anything that's a gentle stroll around the block for a series veteran is like climbing Everest for me. Still, I love them, and I couldn't resist punishing myself with Elden Ring—despite having increasingly diminished patience for games where you have to die repeatedly to succeed. I was struggling at first, but last night I finally made some progress. Well, my version of progress.
While exploring Limgrave on horseback, I found the entrance to some catacombs—one of the game's many mini dungeons. I almost didn't go in, thinking there would be nothing but misery down there. But then I remembered that I was actually supposed to be playing the game, not just running around the overworld avoiding enemies. I steeled myself, held my shield firmly in front of me, and descended into the gloom, bracing for frustration.
It was fine. I killed a few stone goblins, dodged some flame traps, and killed the dungeon boss—a weird fire-spewing, sword-wielding cat—with only a handful of deaths. Player messages were a big help, warning me of ambushes and dangers lurking in the shadows ahead. I was also able to dredge up buried memories of Dark Souls 3 and second-guess FromSoft's designers a couple of times. Of course they'd throw an enemy at me there. Very predictable, guys.
Forgetting that this was an easy, entry-level dungeon in the game's starting area, I was suddenly filled with bravado. Elden Ring ain't shit! I got through those catacombs without breaking a sweat. This game's gonna be a breeze. Is that the best you've got, Miyazaki? I left the catacombs high on the victory, and returned to Merchant Kalé to spend some of the runes I'd earned. Then I saw him: a big, burly bastard on a horse clad in a suit of gleaming gold armour.
I remember catching a distant glimpse of this brute when I first arrived in Limgrave, and giving him a wide berth. At that point I was fresh out of the tutorial cave, terrified of anything that moved—even those cute lil rabbit things that bounce around in the grass. What if they're killer rabbits? This is a FromSoft game after all. (They aren't.) But now, having just completed an incredibly easy dungeon, I was sizzling with unearned confidence. Bring it!
He brought it. He trampled me with his horse, crushed me into a fleshy paste with his golden halberd, and left me lying dead in a puddle of my own hubris. At least I think it was hubris. Seems Elden Ring isn't the pushover I thought it was when I emerged from that dungeon all brave and full of myself. It was a devastatingly humbling moment, and that reflects my overall experience of Elden Ring: a shifting graph of triumph and humiliation.
But that's what keeps me playing through the pain. I'm willing to endure the frustration and endless embarrassing deaths for those brief, thrilling moments when I conquer a challenge and feel like the greatest guy who ever lived. When you suck at Souls games as badly as I do, this sensation is heightened to a massive degree. I almost feel bad for people who play these games with skill and confidence, because the highs will never be quite as high.
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