MARCO ➞ Shadow of the Colossus, or “Oh God, WHAT HAVE I DONE?!’’ for those of you who prefer its alternate title, is one of the saddest video gaming experiences, not necessarily because of the story, but rather the actions of the player. You play as a young man who, wishing to save his slain maiden from her faith, sets off to a forbidden kingdom.

Once there, a mysterious being with the power to revive the dead makes a proposal – in exchange for resurrecting the woman, the young man has to slay the kingdom’s sole inhabitants. Said inhabitants are 16 ancient colossi. Some of them are larger than the eye can see, while others are powerful enough to turn you into a bag of flesh and bones.

Presumably muttering ‘’Sucker’’! and thinking that he struck the deal of the century, the man sets off to kill these colossi. However, there’s a catch – these colossi, as threatening as they may sound, are peaceful creatures who don’t attack unless provoked.

So it’s not so much ‘’monster-slaying’’ as it is senseless murdering, a fact that becomes pretty much evident as soon as you accept the proposal, all in the hopes that the weird-looking dude will keep his promise and resurrect your loved one. And the saddest thing about this game is that you have no choice in the matter – if you want to save your love, you have to accept this bargain.

The ‘’cause justifies the means approach’’ will make less and less sense with each slain colossi, as you’ll realize that you’re essentially killing innocent creatures for your own personal gain. Oh, and remember the ‘’sole inhabitants’’ part? Yes, you’re practically committing genocide for a girl. If that’s not tear-jerk material, I don’t know what is.

But trailers are generally designed to show the better parts of a game, right? This was not the case for GRIS. As a matter of fact, after playing the game, I found that the trailers severely underplay the brilliance of the game.

Despite its vivid facade, GRIS is one of the saddest video games I’ve played, dealing with loss and self-discovery. There is almost no text. Instead, designers used color, delicate art, universal icons, and a haunting soundtrack to convey the story of a young girl who lost herself and her voice. The color of the canvas is a manifestation of Gris’s emotions.

The world changes around her to reflect her feelings – from a barren desert to lush forests, and finally, the sky (that she overtakes). The art of the game is not static. It evolves through layers of patterns, shapes, and colors, adding more depth to the story and helping you uncover new mechanics.

“The Darkness” is also a manifestation of Gris’s depression. It begins as a harmless flock of birds but eventually transforms into a giant creature or dark ocean that threatens to swallow her whole. No design choice is random in this game. Even the statue, Gris’s image of herself, reforms as the girl gets closer to overcoming her grief.

It’s impressive that Nomada Studio was able to convey something so universal in merely 4 hours of gameplay. I believe that GRIS will remain relevant for years to come, due to its ability to explain mental anguish and depression through breathtaking art. Gris may not make you cry out loud, but it is a profound experience that will shake you to the core.

MARCO GIULIANI ➞ Zombie apocalypse media is known for many things, and subtlety is not one of them. The TV show bearing the same name is no exception, which is why it came as a total surprise (at least for me) that a product related to the Walking Dead franchise can evoke non-memable dramatic moments.

Telltale’s Walking Dead is less about smashing zombie heads to pieces and more about the human condition. It’s about making tough decisions in desperate times, decisions that aren’t easier to make even when you or your friends’ survival is at stake.

There’s a lot to say about this game, but it would be a shame spoiling even after all these years, so you haven’t had a chance to play it, make sure to get on it. There’s one thing we can say without spoiling the story: it’s a zombie-themed game, so don’t expect a happy ending. If that isn’t saddest video games material, I don’t know what is.

MARCO GIULIANI ➞ Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons is the only game that managed to not only convey story elements from gameplay mechanics but take this concept to the next level. It’s probably the only game where the mechanics and control scheme will make you, well, feel things.

Brothers puts you in control of two unnamed siblings (Little Brother and Big Brother), who leave to find a cure for their sick father. The premise is as simple as it gets, and Brothers functions so well as a deeply emotional experience thanks to its unpretentious nature. Each brother is assigned to one of the sticks, and the gameplay (which mainly consists of simple puzzle solving) is built around this concept.

It might not sound like much, but the thing is, our brains are accustomed to working solo. In the first hour or so of Brothers, you’ll struggle, until that magical moment when it morphs into a seamless control scheme that makes so much sense that it will make you think how on earth nobody thought about this before.

As you learn how to control the two characters, you’ll feel the bond between the brothers grow. The relationship between the brothers and the emotional impact of the game’s story is made even stronger due to the fact that none of the characters speak a single word of a recognizable language. And no, don’t even bother to decipher it, it’s pure gibberish.

There’s nothing much else to say without spoiling the (albeit short, about three hour) experience, so if you haven’t had the chance to play it, please do so. No other game will make you cry because of a freaking button press.

One could argue that Undertale is a work of postmodernist video gaming, as it deconstructs (you’ll be hearing this word a lot here) many conventions of metagaming that we take for granted. Some examples include saving, loading, replaying and even discussing the game.

But the real hook of Undertale is how it recognizes our deeply rooted ways of thinking about violence in videogames and exploits them for maximum effect. Granted, Undertale has its fair share of jokes, meta-irony and fourth-wall-breaking moments, but the thing about it is that, unless you go through a full-asshole playthrough, most of the times you’ll cry out of sheer joy and happiness.

Like any major work of art, Undertale is both sad and bittersweet. It’s hard to talk more about it without spoiling the experience, but if you’re up for some feels, Undertale is a mandatory play.

Like any good post-apocalyptic story, The Last of Us challenges you morally and emotionally. Things are not black and white in real life, let alone in the dog-eat-dog world of the post-apocalypse.

The Last of Us makes you question whether or not murder is justified in certain conditions, or if it’s worth letting a person join your group to increase your chances of survival to the detriment of your relationship with the others.

The game throws numerous nail-biting dilemmas at the players, and no matter how much you think, there’s no ideal choice – it all comes down to surviving and learning to live with your decisions.

At some point, we’re all going to hit rock bottom – breakups, poverty, unemployment. We all know that feeling of despair when nothing seems like it’s ever going to be okay, and the ”dirty” feeling we get after making a choice we’re not necessarily part of. Adulthood is an ugly, confusing mess. And if, for some reason, you want to experience these things in-game form, Always Sometimes Monsters is the perfect place to do so.

Always Sometimes Monsters is often described as a ‘’realistic’’ take on the role-playing genre. Not realistic in the sense that swords don’t make ‘’squiiish!’’ sounds when drawn or that guns have accurate recoil, mind you. The realism comes from the fact that you’re playing an actual person (who could very easily be me and you) who’s going through some tough times.

The player assumes the role of a failed author who receives notice that the love of their life is about to get married across the country. To make matters worse, you’re broke and about to be evicted from your sleazy apartment, so good luck figuring out a way to crash your ex-girlfriend’s wedding on the other side of the country.

At the beginning of the game, players are introduced to their character through a quasi-narrative sequence during which you can decide the gender and orientation of the character. From this point forwards, players are free to tackle the objective as they wish. One of the first conundrums the player faces is deciding between paying the rent, or pocketing the money and sleeping on the streets before heading off to the West Coast.

From this point forwards, Always Sometimes Monsters turns into a rollercoaster of emotions and conflicting feelings that become harder and harder to shake off. In some parts, the game will trick you into thinking that making a dubious decision is your only way out and that the cause (in this case, crashing your ex’s wedding, which is quite selfish to begin with) justify the means. Most of your actions in this respect will leave you feeling morally bankrupt.

Actions that players take in different timelines, as the games features several flashbacks from the player character’s youth and college years, will influence the ending. Ultimately, it’s up to the players if they take the Machiavellian route to win back their love or let go.

Always Sometimes Monsters is often described as a ‘’realistic’’ take on the role-playing genre. Not realistic in the sense that swords don’t make ‘’squiiish!’’ sounds when drawn or that guns have accurate recoil, mind you. The realism comes from the fact that you’re playing an actual person (who could very easily be me and you) who’s going through some tough times.

The player assumes the role of a failed author who receives notice that the love of their life is about to get married across the country.

At the beginning of the game, players are introduced to their character through a quasi-narrative sequence during which you can decide the gender and orientation of the character. From this point forwards, players are free to tackle the objective as they wish.

One of the first conundrums the player faces is deciding between paying the rent, or pocketing the money and sleeping on the streets before heading off to the West Coast.

From this point forwards, Always Sometimes Monsters turns into a rollercoaster of emotions and conflicting feelings that become harder and harder to shake off.

In some parts, the game will trick you into thinking that making a dubious decision is your only way out and that the cause (in this case, crashing your ex’s wedding, which is quite selfish to begin with) justify the means, only to leave you feeling morally bankrupt.

Actions that players take in different timelines, as the games features several flashbacks from the player character’s youth and college years, will influence the ending. Ultimately, it’s up to the players if they take the Machiavellian route to win back their love or let go.

Katia worked as an investigative journalist, so you want to send her out to trade with other survivors thanks to her innate haggling skills. Pavle, a former football star, is the fastest runner but has the smallest inventory. Boris is the strongest, but the slowest of the bunch due to a foot injury.

Their personalities are as varied as their backstories – while some survivors can’t stomach murdering and stealing from innocents, others are more willing to turn a blind eye to such acts or even do them if it means surviving another day.

In This War of Mine, players have to strike a balance between helping other people in need and tending to your own survival, as well as question the morality of your actions.

In essence, Life is Strange is a coming of age story, with a sci-fi twist, and a masterfully told plot. The game features themes that are relatable for most teenagers: depression, death, introversion, the need to belong, etc. Developers weren’t afraid to dive head-first into difficult issues, such as teenage suicide, drug abuse, and sexuality.

For me, the main selling points of the game were Max’s ability to rewind time and the genuine relationships between Max/Chloe. Who wouldn’t want to go back and fix their mistakes? At first, the ability seems harmless. Play longer and you will notice how all the little changes Max makes impact the game’s universe on a larger scale.

Whenever you go back in time to fix something, something worse happens. It becomes clear, early on, that Max is in over her head.

In the end, you are faced with an impossible decision, a decision that no teenager should have to make. No matter what you chose, you’re going to cry.

The gameplay consists mainly of exploring Johnny’s memories for significant objects, events and ‘’energy’’ to strengthen the memory and connect the dots between the man’s life phases. Once the player has seen all the memories, they can start manipulating them, switching characters, events and objects between them, in order to make Johnny believe that he’s accomplished his dream.

The story itself is beautifully crafted and is carried by the great writing and music, which together create some very emotional moments. It doesn’t stir the kind of artificial emotion that, say, a tear-jerking dramedy would, rather the raw type of feelings that only something deeply personal, that only you would know the significance of could.

A Steam user described it best when writing:

‘’There are odd, mismatching anecdotes in everybody’s life that would not absolutely mean a thing for anyone else beside a handful of people. Like an old, tattered soccer ball, an origami rabbit figure or an ugly platypus plushy…’’

It’s sad, happy, depressing, and at times downright enlightening. It’s a story about the things that make us human, with all of our flaws and dreams.

The doctors gave the child only four months to live, but despite developing numerous complications and the condition worsening, Joel went on to live another four years.

From a gameplay perspective, That Dragon, Cancer is played as an exploration game from both third and first-person perspective. During the story, players have to face decisions similar to the ones Ryan Greene and his wife had to face. The real emotional kick comes not necessarily from the game’s premise (which is tragic enough on its own), but from the presentation.

Ryan and his wife’s experiences oscillate between grittily realistic, to highly abstracted. The game includes some imaginative reconstructions of the moments Green experienced, like the one featuring Green taking a wagon ride through the hospital with his son.

The game is narrated either directly by Ryan, or indirectly through several real-life recordings and voicemails made by the family while spending time with Joel.

That Dragon, Cancer is one of those games that is very hard to describe due to its personal nature. Taken at face value, it’s a game that chronicles the family’s and Joel’s story. However, it’s so much more than that – it’s about helping people cope and open up with others with the loss of loved ones.

Despite its Wes Andersoneque premise, Valiant Hearts doesn’t shy away from portraying the misery and brutality of war.

And believe it or not, it captures the nightmare that was World War I without graphic depictions of blood, gore and violence, focusing instead on the implications and the human element rather than the obvious elements. It’s a deep and very touching story coming from the last place you would imagine.

Gone Home is essentially an interactive story that is unfolded as you go through the family’s objects. There’s no actual gameplay to speak off other than pressing X to interact with a random object, so the only thing left to carry the game is the narrative.

And oh, boy, what a narrative – you would never expect the history of a seemingly average middle-class American family to be so interesting. The family members are mundane and interesting enough to seem like people you would know in real life, whether neighbors or relatives.

In some ways, it’s quite similar to Night in the Woods in the way that it captures a certain moment in time or an idea.

The house itself is a treasure trove of 90’s memorabilia. If you’re old enough to remember that era – not the 90’s as a whole, but that specific time in the middle of the decade when we were at the confluence between analog and high-speed communication technology – the effort the developers put into the details becomes even more admirable.

This game reminds me of the Disney animations I loved so much as a child (I cry at those too btw). I guess it also makes me feel like a child again. The emotions are so simple and pure that it’s impossible to sit straight-faced through the experience.

“Let us remember the night. When I lit the skies ablaze. I called out to Ori. Yet hope never came.”

Right from the start, Ori’s entire world implodes on itself. She is left alone, once more, in an uncaring world.

“… An orphan once more. With no reason to stay.”

As you begin the adventure, you can feel Ori’s sadness from the way that you control her movement. She is slow, unsure, and afraid. Barely a few seconds into the actual gameplay, and Ori falls asleep, exhausted from grief. The perfect soundtrack kicks in again and, before you know it, you’re crying.

Congratulations, you’ve made it through the prologue.

But what about the rest of the game? I don’t want to say that the entire gameplay was as emotional as the first few minutes. Let’s be honest, it’s hard to top-off that prologue. There is a change in pace, but the game is gorgeous, challenging, and fun overall.

And the last few scenes will probably have you bawling a bit.

Oh, and if you’re looking for more reasons to cry, you’ll be happy to know that Ori and the Will of the Wisps will be released next year. We’ll see if that one wins a spot in our list of the saddest video games.

The story follows Red, a famous singer in a city called Cloudbank, who is attacked by the Process, a robotic force commanded by a shady group known as Camerata. After barely managing to escape, she comes into possession of the Transistor, a mechanical sword which was meant to bring her death.

The sword seems to have absorbed the voice and consciousness of its last victim, along with Red’s voice, who now is physically incapable of speaking. Through it, the man is able to speak to Red, and also serves as the game’s narrator.

Similar to Bastion, the emotional component isn’t conveyed through traditional means, rather through Red’s struggle to save the city from the Process and regain her most precious possession – her lost voice. Transistor, through its aesthetic and visual style, oozes a sort of urban melancholy (think about Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, only Sci-Fi) that feels eerily familiar, despite its far-future Sci-Fi setting.

From start to finish, Transistor is a beautifully crafted game with a great story that will make you go through the whole spectrum of emotions. It doesn’t overstay its welcome – clocking in at about eight hours, it’s a short and sweet exercise of masterful video-gaming that will satisfy those who are looking for an intense experience.

Despite its colorful color palette – which certainly adds a layer of charm to the game – Last Day of June launches some pretty tough dilemmas – what would you do to save the one you love? Where do you draw the line between saving and protecting your loved one and hurting others? Is saving your loved one to the detriment of others a noble pursuit which demonstrates unwavering loyalty and strength of character, or is it a purely selfish act?

Obviously, there can’t ever be a right answer to these questions, so the least we can do is acknowledge the full extent of your actions and live with the consequences. In this respect, Last Day of June does a marvelous job of exploring, debating these dilemmas and even offer a few solutions, without sounding overly preachy or cynical.

During his undercover sting in one of New York’s crime families, Max is unwillingly drawn into a shadowy conspiracy and framed for the murder of a fellow cop. From this point forward, with nothing to hold him back, Max goes on a rampage, hoping to bring down the people responsible for his family’s death.

On the surface level, the premise of Max Payne is as basic as it can get. However, what separates Max Payne from other action games (and noir works, as a matter of fact) is the manner in which the story is presented. The destruction and hundreds of bodies that Max leaves behind are mere background noises compared to the inner struggles that he goes through.

The game itself is a comprehensive exploration of Max’s psyche, and the thing that I found most interesting is the fact that at no point does he attempt to justify his actions. Max is simply a man who has nothing to live for anymore, so he might just as well try to unravel the conspiracy before going out with a bang.

What made Max Payne unique at the time is the presentation. The game uses a comic-book panel format instead of cutscenes, which is not only a brilliant stylistic choice that perfectly conveys the mood of the story and Max’s psychological torment but a clever workaround to the studio’s then-limited financial resources.

With Max’s quest for revenge completed and all people responsible for the death of his family dead, one might wonder what comes next for a man like Max. Technically, Max has no reason not to throw his guns in the first ditch and settle in a place as far away from New York as possible. Realistically speaking, there’s no chance a man that went through Max’s experiences could ever heal, as Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne aptly demonstrates.

The sequel takes places two years after the events of the first game. Max is back with the NYPD as a detective, and apart from shooting the odd crook from time to time, it seems like he got his life back on track. But life’s not so rosy for the troubled detective.

The theme of this story is revealed from the title itself – if the first game was about a man’s (albeit homicidal) attempt to face his demons, the sequel is about succumbing to said demons.
In terms of narration and emotional impact, Max Payne 2 is superior in every respect to its predecessors. Even though some time has passed since the events of the first game, Max’s wounds are far from being healed.

In fact, you could argue that he’s in a worse state than before, as a two-year-break from the chaos and rampage that provided a slight degree of mental relief for Max is enough time for him to think back to what he’s lost. As proof, it doesn’t take much for Max to fall back into the same destructive habits.

The major difference now is that while his actions in the first game were purely reactive, this time around, there’s really no reason for him to do what he’s doing. This is because, up until a certain point, there’s no shadowy conspiracy to be unwillingly pulled into to speak of.

If Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice is the only game that has managed to accurately portray the intricacies of mental illness, the first two Max Payne titles (and the third one, but that one is focused more on addiction) managed to portray the vicious nature of grief, pain and depression and wrap them into an intriguing story in a way that makes sense from a thematic perspective.

Hellblade’s gameplay is molded around the dark and incredibly profound journey of a young woman (Senua) through her personal hell.

I’ve had the pleasure to play Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice two times. The culmination of the first playthrough left me completely broken. You know a game is godly when it triggers the ugly cry and you start leaking fluids from every opening on your face. Even a few days after completing my initial playthrough, I would still find myself thinking about Senua’s journey.

To be honest, I didn’t get the story completely. Not at first, at least. A lot of people don’t. That’s because it is formatted in a very unusual way.

It is less a journey through the real world, and more a journey of the mind. The hardest battles are fought in the mind – this is a theme that permeates through the entire game.

Understanding what actually happened in the game’s reality is almost impossible due to Senua’s mental psychosis. But that’s not the point, anyway. The point of the game is to tell an engrossing story of love and loss. And it achieves this beautifully, not only through its superb narrative but also by stripping down all unnecessary game mechanics.

There are no tutorials. No HUDs. No maps. No tips when you get stuck. Only the voices. Those haunting voices that sound too real to be coming from a game.

“The game embraces simplicity, stripping away many of the ancillary systems that modern gamers have come to rely on more and more, and showing that, when it comes to telling an engrossing story and keeping players engaged with tense combat scenarios, sometimes less is indeed more.” – GameCrate

As a Dark Souls fan, I resonated with the combat style. It never felt overwhelmingly difficult or unfair. While satisfying, the combat is also extremely simple. Very little is explained to you, but with every death, the tremendous feeling of angst intensifies.

Too many mistakes and Senua will fall to the darkness.

Permanently.

For me, this was one of the main reasons for being glued to my chair for the entirety of the playthrough. I felt like I was fighting for my own life. As you get deeper into the story, you learn more about the protagonist’s past, her deep suffering, and her reason to keep going.

I don’t want to spoil the game too much, but the ending resonated so deeply with me. It answered many questions that I ask myself about life, death, and mental health.

Senua isn’t a game. It’s a journey.

The small, crumbling town of Possum Springs serves as the perfect backdrop for the themes explored by the game’s story. The game approaches difficult subjects such as depression, anxiety, loneliness, mental illness, the economic perils of the lower and middle classes and, more broadly, the death of small-town America.

As serious as the subject matter is, Night in the Woods treats them in a slightly lighter tone – think of it as a combination between Bojack Horseman, Scott Pilgrim vs the World, and Aziz Ansari’s Netflix original Master of None.

The emotional punch comes not through dramatic scenes, but through the implication. The characters are light, quirky sarcastic and a joy to hang out with, but you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to them that they let on. In fact, this is the main hook of the game – exploring the town, talking to its colorful inhabitants and doing silly stuff with your friends.

However, the greatest thing about this game is probably the town itself. Once a booming mining town, Possum Springs is succumbing to a slow death and to make matters worse, some of its inhabitants (including an old friend of Mae) have been disappearing one by one into the woods. Mae meets up with her old friends and spends time with them, noting that they’ve all changed and matured during her absence. For old time’s sake, they decide to work together to unravel the mystery.

While the mystery surrounding the disappearances occupies a good chunk of the story, the game’s main focus is exploring the themes mentioned above. Possum Springs shows the vestiges of a formerly active town turned into a mere shadow of its former self due to changing economic tides. The developers managed to nail that small post-industrial town feel to such a degree that at times I felt like I was taking a stroll through my own home town.

Though it’s the place Mae spent most of her life in, she can’t help but feel alienated from the town and its inhabitants. It’s an experience that most people who have left their home towns in search of better opportunities (whether for college and work) can relate to.

Night in the Woods is not necessarily a game that will make you cry uncontrollably, but the sheer emotion expressed by its well-written characters and the town itself will get to you eventually. It’s not sad, but melancholic.

While Stardew Valley is surely not devoid of humor and silliness – with the quirky small-town setting contributing to that – one can’t help but notice an underlying sadness that isn’t so obvious from the start. Though at the start of the game, your primary objective seems to be bringing your grandfather’s farm back to its former glory, after a while, you realize that it’s more about aiding the community indirectly through your entrepreneurial efforts.

You assistance can be as tangential as buying naturally grown, but overpriced seeds from the local store instead of in bulk from the supermarket, or as important as helping the mayor restore the town’s decrepit community center. Or, you can instead side with the JoJa corporation, who wants to turn the town in yet another nondescript town lacking any personality and local flavor.

Your neighbors surely need your help, as the town’s economic stagnation has left them with no options. Their real, biting stories – the alcoholic mother who became unemployed after the town’s bus service was shut down, the army vet with PTSD, the teenage boy who dreams of becoming a rockstar but can’t escape the town, the old couple who nostalgically reminisce of the ‘’good old times’’ – makes Stardew Valley so much more than a mere farming sim.

It’s about a group of people who, despite their happy-go-lucky attitude, need something to look up to, and as the newcomer with the huge farm, you can be the strong figure that these lost people desperately needed.

Should I say that it is one of my favorite games of all time? That I watched almost all the lore videos on YouTube, read all the item descriptions multiple times, cross-referenced them, and formulated my own theories on the game? No, this list is about the saddest video games out there that will make you cry. I believe that Dark Souls, and Dark Souls 1 in particular, is a game that will definitely make you cry.

You will cry as you die to a boss that is just one hit away from defeat (other symptoms may include controller smashing). Cry at the tragic story of heroic characters. Cry after defeating a boss that you died to 100 times. Cry as the futility of your own quest is revealed.

Cry as you watch Vaati’s, fittingly called, “Prepare to Cry Trailer”.

And finally, weep gently as you realize you have just finished playing Dark Souls for the first time ever… and you will never be able to experience “the first time” again.

Dark Souls has challenged the RPG genre through its compelling and hazy narrative. Its story isn’t shared through unskippable cutscenes, but through thoughtful one-off touches that are so easily missed. Developers want you to pay attention to the items, the world’s architecture, loot placement, sparse NPC dialogue, and hundreds of other subtle touches.

If you’re not paying attention, you might sleep-walk through the entire game without comprehending your role in the story. Chances are you’ll light the first flame and go to bed content for what you have achieved as the Chosen Undead. What a fitting end to your typical fantasy story.

Only Dark Souls isn’t your typical fantasy story, and the myth of the Chosen Undead is nothing more than a lie perpetuated by those who want more fuel for the first flame. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there. But if you have the insight and resilience to go beyond the surface of things and try to understand the true meaning of the world, Dark Souls will make you cry in the most fulfilling way.

Lore-hunting in Souls game is a noble pursuit and not everything can be explained through facts. Most of the game’s universe is based on myths. By choosing to construct its world with myths handed down through history, where even the concept of time is convoluted, Dark Souls’ story becomes a reflection of a culture’s agenda.

A great example in this sense is the tragic story of Artorias, who is portrayed as a legend, despite having fallen to the corruption of the Abyss. Ingward doesn’t lie to you when he says:

“… but the Abyss is no place for ordinary mortals. Although long ago, the knight Artorias traverse the Abyss. If you can find him, and learn from him, the Abyss may prove surmountable”.

He genuinely thinks that Artorias succeeded in his quest and survived. Your role in the story is obscured from history. Your victory becomes his victory. In essence, this is how myths are perpetuated – mere fragments of the story survive and the conclusions become inexact.

This means that the player takes an active role in collecting, analyzing, and theorizing the story – and when this happens, the game becomes much more personal. The characters are no longer pixels on the screen, but your cherished companions.

What really struck me at the end, was coming to terms with the ever so gently foreshadowed futility of my quest. There are two choices you can take before everything ends: become fuel to the flame, as so many before you have, or if you’ve pushed hard enough, simply walk away and let the fire fade. The choice is yours.

Awakening on NG+ was eye-opening. The souls that I found on my way were no longer simple currency, they were the essence of every other Dark Souls player that came before, failed, gave up, or died, simply to wake again and repeat the never-ending cycle. Every line of dialogue became a precious nugget of information and every character quest-line failed, especially those of Solaire and Onion Bro, pained me more than I can say. My perspective on the game changed completely.

One night, when Susan is on the verge of commiting suicide, she is taken to an eerie place similar to limbo where a being called the Queen of Maggots grants her immortality. The catch? She has to kill five psychopaths.

From a genre perspective, The Cat Lady is a psychological horror title with lots of disturbing moments. At its core, though, it’s much more than that, as the developers found a way to take depression and loneliness and translate it into game-form flawlessly.

The Cat Lady serves both as an intriguing horror story aided by a great art style and a coping mechanism for those who suffer from depression, as the main character is portrayed in a relatable (and most times sympathetic) fashion.

BAABUSKA ➞ Witcher 3 is an exhilarating role-playing experience, considered by most the best fantasy RPG of all time. While it may not be my number one, it’s really high-up on the list. The game does everything right. Through its memorable characters, inspiring soundtrack choices, and carefully crafted dialogues, Witcher 3 will have you crying when you least expect it.

Ironically, it was the side-quests that made me feel so strongly about the main story. After 200+ of game-time, I have come to the conclusion that the secondary missions breathe life to the game. They paint the picture of land ravaged by war and the struggles of people who’ve lost hope. One such quest is “Of Swords & Dumplings”, which clarifies the disturbing political and racial agendas that are at work across the land.

Despite the fact that the outcome of these quests will not impact the end-game in a very big way, your decisions can change the world around you, much more than other RPGs I’ve experienced. CD Projekt Red managed to create a fantastic, grim world using characters that feel incredibly human. Most side-quests aren’t just annoying “fetch that” or “kill that” BS and playing them reminded me of the old Gothic quests.

Some quests, like “Return to Crookback Bog” will offer you much-needed closure, while others (e.g. “The Last Wish”) will help you deepen your relationship with important characters.
Even the seemingly unimportant quests, like boat traveling with Lambert, hunting with Eskel, sharing a drink in Kaer Morhen, getting utterly smashed, and trying on Yen’s clothes become an emotional roller-coaster because you know you can never go back to them.

Eventually, everyone moves on – Kaer Morhen’s soundtrack has a great way of reminding you that. Ultimately, it’s the main quests that tie everything together and make us feel all those warm, mushy things inside.

SPOILER: For me, the most emotional mission was the one where Geralt finally finds Ciri. There may be no dialogue, but the hesitation, the facial animations, and the heartbreaking soundtrack turned this scene into one of the most powerful moments in gaming I’ve ever experienced.

I would love to ramble on about all the moments that made me shed a tear in Witcher, but there are too many. As I said before, I am a sucker for emotional stories and it’s rare for a game to have me as invested as Witcher did. For those of you who haven’t played it yet, it’s an absolute must. For those that have, fire-up that NG+ or read Andrzej Sapkowksi’s books -CD Projekt Red learned a thing or two from his emotional storytelling.

If you felt weird crying at things far removed from you, then oh man, wait until you play Thomas Was Alone. In this game, the player controls one or more simple rectangles representing artificial intelligence beings. The story takes place within a computer mainframe, where some unknown event caused several A.I. routines to go rogue and become self-aware.

Each rectangle has its own pros, cons, with their colorful personalities (after all these years, it still sounds weird) being conveyed by the narrator’s vivid descriptions. As the game progresses, the narrator reveals each shape’s thoughts, dreams and inner struggles, which are reflected in the way they fit into the environment.

For example, one shape is short, stocky and unable to jump to great heights, but it can serve as a makeshift staircase to aid other shapes. Other shapes are placed horizontally by design, so they can help other shapes access unreachable places. As the shapes progress through the story, more information is revealed about them, and they even form relationships.

As abstract as it might look, Thomas Was Alone is a sweet and endearing game made even better by the narration and great writing. And if conveying freaking shapes with quirks and very distinct personalities doesn’t constitute as great writing and saddest video games material, I really don’t know what does.

The Beginner’s Guide is an interactive storytelling video game narrated by Wreden himself. The scope of the game is trying to understand the nature of a person by exploring files and documents on their computer, without being provided with any context. The player is aided by Wreden’s narration, who comments on the player’s findings and provides various tips to help them advance over difficult parts of the game.

On a surface level, The Beginner’s Guide is an exploration of the struggles (both emotional and intellectual) that art creators in general, and game developers in particular, go through. Similar to Stanley Parable, it also serves as a sort of meta-commentary on the contrast between viewing them as art or entertainment.

On a deeper level, the game may be a deconstruction of Wreden’s psyche prior and after releasing The Stanley Parable, the title that propelled him to the position of industry legend overnight.

There’s no set interpretation, but if we were to pinpoint a central theme of the game, that would be the reasons why we create art in the first place.

Do we make art out of a need for social validation? Out of a desire to leave behind a legacy? Do we make art just for the sake of leaving something beautiful behind?

These are some of the questions that The Beginner’s Guide tries to answer. It’s a deeply emotional experience that all creators, regardless of field, can relate to.