I need to save the world, but I can’t be bothered about that right now. I am on a mission to adopt 27 more cats. I’m in a village, with eyes on my next prospect: a portly calico cat who is only identified in-game as “loafy cat.” I plan to name it Potato—when I catch it.
I have picked this cat up in my arms, given it some pets, and fed it many big chunks of bird meat. Then I set the cat down. It bolts down the street. I give chase, crash through a door, accidentally shoulder check a maid who staggers back and shouts, “Fuck you, you fucking fuck!”
It’s worth it. I snag the cat, give it one more pet, and then slap on a handsome hat with a feather poking out of it. Potato has panache.
In Crimson Desert, you play as Kliff, an aptly named slab of marble of a man. Again and again, you are told you are the biggest, goodest boy around, and you are here to rescue the downtrodden and save the world. You’re a big ol’ badass, sure. There is plenty of thrilling combat to be found here, crunchy as can be. Kliff can annihilate enemies with any manner of weapons, body slams, or trick shots with bow and arrow. It’s all great. But I’ve dressed him in a mask with no defense stats that makes him look like a snail or something very Adventure Time-core. My Kilff is a real softie, and this game really shines in the slower, mellower moments.
Photograph: Boone Ashworth
One of the greatest sins in video game design is when the developers put a cute animal into the game, but do not let you pet it. Crimson Desert yes-ands this desire by letting you pick up any kitten, cuddle them in your arms, and pet them as long as you like. That’s how you train them—pet them and feed them giant hunks of bird meat.
You can adopt 30 pets into your camp. I intend to catmaxx so much that it risks giving my fellow campers toxoplasmosis. (I don’t know if that is a feature in the game, but given how vast and unexpected this sandbox unveils itself to be as you play, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s possible.)
Crimson Desert feels like 16 games mixed into one—the creativity of Breath of the Wild, the gorgeousness of Red Dead Redemption, the bonkers-fun combat of Dragon’s Dogma, the visceral stabbiness of Assassin’s Creed. The DNA of all of these is genetically engineered to deliver one bizarrely competent superbaby. Somehow, it all seems to work.
