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| You have no idea. |
An imperial soldier, no, three imperial soldiers accost us as we attempt to escape the gigantic floating fortress. We’re here to rescue the princess, a key component I’m told, of the rebellion. The princess herself along with a roguish pilot and their loyal orphan sidekick draw their weapons and, without a word to one another, execute a complex battle maneuver. Their strategies are elegant and perfectly suited to nearly any situation, I know this because I programmed them. While this battle takes place and I get up and grab a coffee. They don’t need me to micromanage.
In this story, I’m not sure who I am. For a while I thought I was a war orphan making his way in the occupied capital city of his homeland. Then, it sort of seemed like I was a pirate, a touch gayer and more dashing than the star ship smuggler he’s based on. But later, it seemed like I was the princess, torn between her jingoist impulses and the people around her begging her not to unleash the WMDs to which her birthright entitles her. I’m a silent conductor. Quietly prying open the back of her skull, and, while I can’t tell her not to bomb a city full of innocent civilians (the plot steps in to stop her there) I can create an undeniable impulse to cast Cure whenever someone risking their life for her starts to lose too much HP.
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| And don't get me started on Her Majesty's Royal Magenta Pleather Mini-Skirt |
We are also treated to a nicely voiced in-universe narrator, the Marquis who the Princess calls “uncle”. He begins as the ruler of the resource-rich and conveniently apolitical citystate of Bujerba. He is first seen secretly helping the empire while insisting he’s not their puppet. As you might expect the Empire “alters the deal” and he changes sides. Did I mention the apolitical, resource-rich citystate is floating in the sky? Anyway, eventually he abdicates his position (though keeps his title) to become the de facto head of the actual Rebellion. He’s implied to be running a fairly tight ship, arranging agreements with rebel forces and their allies, managing war resources. He silently issues commands while helplessly watching the drama unfold. I think I understand how he feels.
Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age implements a combat system never seen before or since in the series (and, I’m fairly certain, never borrowed by any other game). The Gambit System was, presumably meant to be revolutionary. Allowing the player to design a hierarchical lattice of If/Then statements unique to each character that governs how they act and react in battle. If an ally falls, use a Phoenix Down to revive them. If an enemy is weak to fire, use fire magic against them. It starts simple... and remains that way for the duration of play.
I won’t deny the pleasure of winding up my tin soldiers and watching them go, but I wonder about its implications. By allowing me to automate the Turn-Based RPG battle experience aren’t you implicitly suggesting that the typical battle experience needs it? Without the Gambit System I will choose to Cure my dying characters, I will cast Fire on fire-weak enemy units, and I will buff my physical attackers. Knowing that I can simply have the computer do it for me doesn’t make me suddenly feel like an operator pushing buttons and flipping switches, it makes me realize I always was one. Meant to sit back and punch a couple commands as my band of merry archetypes journey from place to place in the whimsical world of Ivalice.
The main plot sees the tiny nation of Dalmasca geographically caught between two warring world powers, the Arcadian Empire and Galtea. Dalmasca falls to Arcadian control before the game begins and the Princess of Dalmasca, Ashe, fakes her death to join the Rebellion. Most of the game sees her hoofing it from ancient ruin to ancient ruin collecting powerful magical items, two crystals and two swords all told. The crystals are called “nethicite” which is a kind of magic stone with incredible destructive power. Fantasy nukes, basically. These are sought after by both the Empire and the Rebellion for the same reason anyone would want atomic weaponry. However, the swords are far more relevant to the themes as they can be used to create more nethicite or to destroy all of it at once and can only be used by Ashe because of her magic bloodline or something. The major tension is the choice between annihilation of disarmament, should she use her power to destroy the empire or render all the nethicite inert? The metaphor for nuclear weapons here is somewhat undercut by the notion that, if you wanted, you could just take away everyone’s nukes in a single fell swoop which sure does seem like the right choice.
I wish there was more to say about the political conflict, however, unlike the space princess Ashe is modeled on she has no control over the greater Rebellion and not much in terms of sincerely held personal convictions. It would be unfair not to point out her intensity when it comes to the Dynast-King (her ancestor and original collector of these powerful artifacts) however her fervor sometimes comes off as manic. The Princess forgets to ask certain relevant questions. Why didn’t her father ever collect these relics himself while Dalmasca was at the height of its power when the war began? Why aren’t we going straight to Galtea to ask for help immediately? Who’s in charge of Nabudis and why don’t we ever hear from them? And why the HELL isn’t Larsa part of the central cast?
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| Too bad. |
I finish my coffee just as we reach the escape pods. Unlike Ashe, I have plenty of time to consider the above questions as I watch my team easily defeat the evil Judge Ghis. After they escape and return to Bujerba I silently tweak Ashe and her compatriots programming and wonder, briefly, what the Marquis is up to.
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