I spent my first-ever hour and four playing Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon yesterday, picking it up from my local GameStop with a half-hour bonus CD samper of its Riei Saito soundtrack. I've been wanting to try this game for what seems like forever; it's always looked so hauntingly and melancholically beautiful, and the notion of exploring a world where the most reliable companionship one has is a myriad tiny pieces of the lives of the departed... to say I was intrigued would be an understatement.
The tale started with Seto, a lonely young man who might well be the last human alive in a post-apocalyptic world, talking about burying his grandfather. A number of game systems are introduced as the tale begins to unfold, slowly; slowly is definitely the modus operandi of this title. I'm taught how to move, how to look around, how to use Grandfather's flashlight to illuminate the darkness, how the fireflies gather near items of interest. Eventually we find the old man's last letter to Seto, telling him how Seto was the only thing he cared for, and urging him to move east, towards a shining red tower... there, maybe, he might find some more of humanity.
Heeding his grandfathers words, Seto heads out, and runs into just such a specimen as soon as the opening credits conclude—a singing, silver-haired girl, the one on the game's cover, perched high atop a piece of debris overlooking a pool with beautiful glowing flowers floating on its surface. He steps on a sandal and surprises her; frightened, she falls from her perch, briefly knocking herself out. Seto comes to her side to see if she's okay, touching her cheek, feeling its warmth; that touch would drive him for the rest of my playtime last evening.
While looking for her, we found an electronic device called a Personal Frame, which serves as both guide and companion. Seto and PF talk a lot, and very slowly... almost excruciatingly slowly. But through it, we learn a bit more about the beautifully crafted dilapidated world, like how to defend against the ghost-like enemies with light and sword, how bonfires keep those enemies at bay long enough to rest, and how at those bonfires we could listen to the pieces of memories the departed left behind—in this first area, a little girl's paper crane, filled with pleasant memories of her mother who promised to return; her mother's shoe, left behind as she, filled with panic, experiences an earthquake and thoughts of making sure her daughter is safe consume her.
As my playtime came to a close, Seto met that very girl, now a ghost, playing hide-and-seek for a key he needed to seek further for the silver-haired girl. He gave her the paper crane, and she was reunited with her mother's apparent spirit before departing... a story of two people, companions once again at last, leaving Seto alone again with only the increasingly cryptic computer on his back for conversation.
And that's where I left this slow, melancholy tale last night; the key in hand, Seto is once again headed underground to what PF says was an underground shopping center, once filled with lots of people, promising lots of memories to listen to. And, maybe, he'll get one step closer to finding the silver-haired girl.
The tale started with Seto, a lonely young man who might well be the last human alive in a post-apocalyptic world, talking about burying his grandfather. A number of game systems are introduced as the tale begins to unfold, slowly; slowly is definitely the modus operandi of this title. I'm taught how to move, how to look around, how to use Grandfather's flashlight to illuminate the darkness, how the fireflies gather near items of interest. Eventually we find the old man's last letter to Seto, telling him how Seto was the only thing he cared for, and urging him to move east, towards a shining red tower... there, maybe, he might find some more of humanity.
Heeding his grandfathers words, Seto heads out, and runs into just such a specimen as soon as the opening credits conclude—a singing, silver-haired girl, the one on the game's cover, perched high atop a piece of debris overlooking a pool with beautiful glowing flowers floating on its surface. He steps on a sandal and surprises her; frightened, she falls from her perch, briefly knocking herself out. Seto comes to her side to see if she's okay, touching her cheek, feeling its warmth; that touch would drive him for the rest of my playtime last evening.
While looking for her, we found an electronic device called a Personal Frame, which serves as both guide and companion. Seto and PF talk a lot, and very slowly... almost excruciatingly slowly. But through it, we learn a bit more about the beautifully crafted dilapidated world, like how to defend against the ghost-like enemies with light and sword, how bonfires keep those enemies at bay long enough to rest, and how at those bonfires we could listen to the pieces of memories the departed left behind—in this first area, a little girl's paper crane, filled with pleasant memories of her mother who promised to return; her mother's shoe, left behind as she, filled with panic, experiences an earthquake and thoughts of making sure her daughter is safe consume her.
As my playtime came to a close, Seto met that very girl, now a ghost, playing hide-and-seek for a key he needed to seek further for the silver-haired girl. He gave her the paper crane, and she was reunited with her mother's apparent spirit before departing... a story of two people, companions once again at last, leaving Seto alone again with only the increasingly cryptic computer on his back for conversation.
And that's where I left this slow, melancholy tale last night; the key in hand, Seto is once again headed underground to what PF says was an underground shopping center, once filled with lots of people, promising lots of memories to listen to. And, maybe, he'll get one step closer to finding the silver-haired girl.