The Flame In The Flood Is Like Oregon Trail, Except Mean
By Dr. Eleanor Vance | Published on January 01, 0001
New Steam game The Flame in the Flood just gave me one of my most brutal video game deaths ever. The Flame in the Flood is a new survival “roguelite” with a long-term travel (think Oregon Trail) twist, born of an intriguing Kickstarter by a bunch of ex-BioShock developers Here’s the setup: It’s the apocalypse or something (probably), and water has swallowed up the majority of civilization. Ramshackle remnants that haven’t drowned have been reclaimed by nature. You raft your way down a procedurally generated river while coping with hunger, thirst, exhaustion, the elements, your feelings about the American South, and goddamn fucking cancerous eyesore devil wolves. It seems a little overwhelming at first, but it’s actually a pretty straightforward game of rafting, crafting, and something that rhymes with those first two words but means “not dying.” It all looks so nice, too—like a Pixar movie tried to have an edgy teenage phase but never really lost its heart of gold. It is, however, devilishly difficult. To demonstrate, I will tell you the tale of one of my first deaths. Things began well enough. I picked some dandelions and cattails (they’re not a great source of food, but they’re something) and hopped on my raft, loyal dog companion in tow. Birds were chirping, the wind was humming, and sunlight slow-danced with calm dawn waters. Everything was so pretty, so hopeful: So deceitful After making my way down the river and narrowly dodging a handful of rocks and trees, I spotted a landmass I could land on. So I did. After partaking of the local flora (a couple saplings; good for building snare traps), I found an abandoned old house with a tire swing out front. The tire swing, the game mournfully informed me, hadn’t been used in a looooooong time. Night came swiftly, and—after a whole day of adventuring—my character was starting to get fairly hungry and thirsty, a little tired, and a lot cold. I found some kindling, crafted some flint, and made myself a nice warm fire. It was at this point that I noticed my dog was barking. Previously, y1 com I’d kinda just ignored him, because he barks at everything (supplies I can pick up, rabbits, epiphanies), but this time I noticed what he was barking at. Something was skulking around in the shadows, just outside the perimeter of my fire. It was a goddamn wolf, now the subject of my slightly rewritten Queen cover, “Dick on four legs.” At the time, I didn’t know that a) wolves won’t attack you if you’re close to a fire and b) their attacks will fuck your shit. I bolted, and the wolf clawed a chunk out of me. My inventory screen helpfully informed me that I suffered a laceration, and unfortunately I didn’t have the materials to craft a bandage and clean it up. Hobbling desperately, I made it back to my raft and practically cannon-balled onto it. “Stupid wolf island,” I thought to myself, still panicked. “I hope it gets run over by a flame and a flood and a truck.” Once again soaring down the river, I noticed that things looked dark. Extra dark. The kind of dark that menacingly growls, “You have made a mistake.” It began storming, and the waters churned. To make matters worse, I hit a patch of rapids, causing my raft to barrel through the waters at torpedo-like speeds. I did my best to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, but both of those creatures suck at all things water-related, so I went careening into a patch of rocky islands and—SNAP, CRACKLE, POP—broke my leg. Freezing cold, soaking wet, and grievously wounded, I needed to find land, stat. I aimed my craft for the nearest patch of eroding civilization I could see and, thankfully, didn’t ram into any more rocks on the way. As I hobbled ashore, the sun rose, giving me a chance to take a breather and regroup—or so I thought. Briefly, I stood in the shadow of a disheveled church. I hoped its congregation got their joyous rapture, but I feared otherwise. After eating everything I could find—just enough to keep myself from starving—I took a nap in the immobile carcass of a bus. When I came to, I realized
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