If you’ve had your ear to the ground of gaming news recently, chances are you’ve read at least one glowing review of Frontier’s space sim Elite: Dangerous. I, dear readers, am here to tell you that they are all true. Every last glowing bit of praise, hyperbolic or otherwise, is pure authenticity tapped from Yggdrasil itself and distilled into clear, refreshing Accuracy Ale(patent pending, not suggested for use by archers). I could easily fill this article with more of the same. I could, with little effort, heap further praise on its tight controls, hail the games BY THE NAMELESS GODS OF THE VOID I FEEL LIKE I’M ACTUALLY IN THE COCKPIT sound design.
I could ramble endlessly about it’s refreshing obstinance toward player hand-holding, and how that leads to a more fulfilling experience. The victorious elation you feel when you do finally get comfortable with the ins and outs of throwing your ship full thrust, all power to engines through a space station docking bay barely taller than your ship. Just to avoid paying a fine on the 30 tons of illegal sardines you pirated off some unsuspecting hauler. But I’m not going to do that, instead, to give you a (hopefully) more engaging read (and to give me an excuse to keep spending the majority of my free time playing this game without feeling guilty about it.) I am going to begin here a dramatic chronicling of the adventures of Captain Dan, space hobo! *cue fanfare, or more technically a re-cap of some of the moments I experienced while playing that I feel will give you a better sense of just why I love this game so goddamn much.
some folks find traversing interplanetary space at multiples of light speed while constantly scanning for pirates, or juicy targets for your own pirate-y shenanigans, to be boring. Those people don’t have souls.
Before we get to that, I think it only fair that I at least make mention of some of the gripes that a player of a different mindset may have. The “: Dangerous” in Elite colon Dangerous is there for a reason. This game can be punishing, especially to a beginner. The controls have a smooth logic to them, but takes time to accustom yourself to that logic, especially if you play without a H.O.T.A.S (hand on throttle and stick) style flightstick. Although this is can be overcome, plan on spending a lot of time rolling when you meant to yaw, or engaging lateral thrusters when what you really needed was to move vertically to avoid that asteroid you forgot about while trying to nail in that last hit to an anacondas reactor bay before he manages to get his nose pointed at you.
“cockpit integrity critical” “fuckshitdamnit” laser noises “Canopy Breached” CRACK-FWOOOOOSH “fuckfuckfuckshittitsgarglespunkshitmonster” “Canopy Comprom-“”I KNOW”.
Woah, I just gotta cool off for a moment…
…Sorry, I just, I really wanted that bounty and I still get riled up thinking about it.
I’ve also heard tell that some folks find traversing interplanetary space at multiples of light-speed while constantly scanning for pirates, or juicy targets for your own pirate-y shenanigans, to be boring. Those people don’t have souls. Oh, and your ship explodes for no apparent reason when you die of asphyxiation. All gripes (read: biased anti-gripes?) aside, let’s get to the point yeah?
The Adventures of Admiral Dran, Space Vagrant! *slightly less fanfare. We find our hero(?) in a recently acquired sidewinder. How exactly First Mate Damn, Interstellar Tramp! got a new space ship is anyone guess, including his. When asked he alternately responds by either throwing bottles or giving a long-winded account of how he won it in a storytelling contest against another drifter named Baron Münchausen. One way or another it was certainly a step up from the hover-cart he previously pushed around. Through varying feats of trickery and drunken bullheadedness, Petty Officer 3rd Class Dall, Galactic Layabout! managed to get his pilot license without any of the required “training”, although it’s still unclear as to whether he actually needed a license, or if it was just the bureaucrats trying to reach into his pockets. Jokes on them, the only things in his pockets are despair and space nips.
Tiny bottles of celestial happy juice in hand our intrepid cosmic itinerant sets to the task of acclimating to the controls of his bright and shiny new space-bucket. damn there’s a lot of ’em. What in the name of the Space Pope is yaw? And where the hell is the go button? Fifteen shots of the finest (cheapest) galactic spirits and a new lexicon of ship related maledictions later the sidewinder somehow leaves the landing pad!
Next week on The Adventures of Admiral Dap, Beggar of the Void Above; How to Exit a Space Port or 10 Reasons I regret Opening Fire on a Space Port.