The truth is that I’m too low a level, and not good enough. It feels cheaper than other Miyazaki games, which is exactly the sort of pitiful whining I scoff at when I see it on Twitter. Bah.īy the time I reach the area with three - three! - death angels, my patience is ragged. Two things dawn on me: firstly, he’s not a sub boss - many of the enemies here are this hard and secondly, he’s guarding a dead end. The bit that slows me down, however, is a portly sub boss who attacks me with his ass – with his literal ass – when I try to stab him. The grunts at the Dreg Heap pack a meaty punch, but go down quite easily. I am, after all, Crom, King of Ash, He Who Went To Archdragon Peak Then Came Home Because It Was Hard. But then, people have completed Dark Souls using everything from racing wheels to toy trumpets, so I decide I’ll get by on brio and perseverance alone. I die immediately, and realise I’m about 30 levels too low for this area.
I meet a friendly hag at the start of my journey, who alludes to an adventurer in a suit of armour – possibly someone who intends to kill me – and I happily stride into the new area, kicking ash before me like a cheerful young buck striding through autumn leaves. It makes for an unusual, tumbling twist on the standard Dark Souls environments. A layer of soft ash covers most of the world, which means I can survive long falls. It sounds horrid, but I soon learn to love those dregs.
