The beast appears, though you didn't expect it. You've never seen anything like this creature, a giant komondor dog with horns--and a former vicar of the church, apparently, evangelizing her faith by holding her paws together in prayer, then slamming them onto the ground and knocking you clear. The vicar is a microcosm of Bloodborne itself, a wondrous monstrosity that attacks you with vicious horror and religious overtones until you submit to it. Even should you rise above its terrors, Bloodborne answers to no master. Instead, you come to an agreement with it: You allow it to invade your brain and demand your concentration, and it allows you to wake from inevitable death, reminding you with each resurrection that life is a gift.
I know: such hyperbole! Yet this is the language of Bloodborne, a Dark Souls game in all but name, and one that introduces new themes and story motifs that cannot be overlooked. Dark Souls and its direct sequel allowed their sights, sounds, and swordplay to tell the most vital tales, relegating backstory to atmospheric tapestries that revealed their details only if you looked closely enough. Bloodborne is not short of mysteries, but its narrative beats are inescapable, and its Christian themes are undeniable. The Souls games led you through parishes and cathedrals, but never have they made such grandiose statements with their subject matter. Now, developer From Software has crafted an extravagant religious parable that mirrors its game's death-and-resurrection mechanics.
The allegory isn't subtle: This is a third-person action role-playing game (or role-playing action game, depending on your view) featuring a cleric and a vicar among its bosses. Outside of this clear theming, the developing saga comes to life through the sights and sounds of its world. One of Bloodborne's many striking images is that of a massive crucified figure surrounded by single-minded worshipers which poison you when they attack. The low, grumbling hum of their chant is as terrifying as their unwavering focus on their deity. Once I discovered a surreptitious way to view their worship from above, I would sneak in just to bathe in the bizarre beauty of the scene. Bloodborne sucks the faith, hope, and charity from religious devotion, populating its world with grotesque disciples and forcing the meek into their homes, from where they hope for the church to cleanse the world of its woes.
This isn't a high-minded reading of Bloodborne's story, which is none too nuanced. In fact, the lack of thematic nuance is what makes From Software's newly introduced storytelling spotlight as successful as it is. Bloodborne is unafraid to go big, to the extent that you may find yourself questioning if what you think is happening is really what's happening. The answer to that is, unequivocally, "yes." As Bloodborne introduces new sights and events, your suspicions become digital reality, and then the game asks you to suspend disbelief once again, rising to ridiculous heights of absurdity. That its malformed majesty works so well is Bloodborne's greatest feat. I wouldn't call its key events story twists, but rather, story detonations; Your expectations aren't subverted but heightened, by many orders of magnitude.
Oh, how I wish I could share with you the details, or at least put some dots on the page and let you connect them. These are discoveries you should make on your own in this excellent game. I offer reassurances, however, that Bloodborne has not taken From Software's template into Elder Scrollsterritory. You will not find reams of short stories to read on the game's bookshelves, and you will not be flitting from one non-player character to the next looking for quests. But there are NPCs to chat with, most of whom stay hidden behind doors and respond to your knocks with whimpers for help, maniacal laughter, or tearful pledges to stay true to the church. For that matter, there are scattered pages to find and read, most of which have a simple expository message written on them, or a smidgen of history. With Bloodborne, From Software makes a few nods to modern game design tropes, but the additions are coated with a veneer of poetic surreality.
As with the Souls games, Bloodborne doesn't typically tell you where to go and what to do when you get there. You are given a few vague, overarching goals, but the intricately interconnected regions and pathways, along with nebulous visual cues, lead you to your destination. If you get stuck, it means you are applying video game logic to a game in which that logic doesn't apply. Those scarce lines of dialogue, and those few cutscenes, are not just for atmosphere: They're nuggets of information you should file away in your head and refer to later. And if the signs point to an action that you think violates the rules of video games, you should probably follow them, even when that action previously failed. Bloodborne speaks; It is your responsibility to listen. If an enemy descends upon you from the rafters above, it only stands to reason it must have found a way up there--and it means you can find one, too. It's contextual communication at its most sophisticated.
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