Kingdom Come: Deliverance 2 is an engine that spits out chaos and regret, but don’t worry, I mean that as some of the highest praise I can offer a game. We’re talking all sorts of consequences for my horrible, horrible decisions and Stalker-with-swords levels of weird, systems-driven mayhem.
I’ve rumbled with Cumans because I chose the wrong outfit; had my painstaking plans of attack disrupted by roving NPC caravans; gotten embroiled in fights that turned into grand, violent katamaris as more and more people joined in to help or hinder me; and lamented my lack of save-game potions more times than I can count. It’s tremendous fun, with all sorts of bizarre variables feeding into the emergent adventures I get into. With about 20 hours in the game so far, I’ve barely made a dent in the main quest, so preoccupied have I been with poking at the world and seeing what reactions it spits back.
(Image credit: Deep Silver)
Unforeseen consequences
So I can’t actually tell you much about KCD2’s plot—though no matter, Fraser has all the deets about its Kevin And Perry Go Bohemia narrative in his preview from last August—but I have such stories to share with you anyway. If you’re the kind of sicko who delights when it all spins out of control, welcome home.
Take, for instance, my aforementioned tussle with the Cumans. One of KCD2’s opening quests sees you start a bar-fight in the starting town of Trosky. About 10 hours later, once I’d accumulated a bit of money and found myself some nice, noble clothes (by absolutely battering a wandering aristo on the road) I resolved to head back and apologise to the innkeep. After all, she’d probably be more receptive now, since the difference a nice set of clothes can make in KCD is huge. People who treat you like dirt in your starting beggar’s gear will bow and scrape if you turn up in some fancy pants and nice jewellery.
(Image credit: Deep Silver)
My frilly pantaloons entailed a serious hit to my capacity for intimidation
I was right, and the innkeeper—whose voice actor speaks with the staccato emphasis of an M1 Garand—forgave me, just so long as I’d help her out and serve the table of scary Cuman mercenaries who had dropped by for dinner. It ought to have been fine, but another diner took issue with foreign soldiers eating at the inn, and my frilly pantaloons entailed a serious hit to my capacity for intimidation (really—my intimidate dice roll was in the gutter).
So I couldn’t scare him off from starting a fight, leaving a few farmers and me, in a pair of very voguish spectacles and ‘jester’s hose,’ to face off against four heavily armed and armoured Cuman badasses. It went poorly. Worse, I had ditched off what little actual armour I had some time ago: It was in poor nick and put me over my encumbrance limit. I had no time to go and find armour because the Cumans eventually stand up and leave if no one comes to serve them. I did the only thing I could do: I sided with the Cumans instead, who would be more than capable of dealing with the angry farmers themselves. Suck it, peasants.
(Image credit: Deep Silver)
I had been boxed into a certain course of action by a whole string of seemingly unconnected decisions. Ditching my armour, stealing a noble’s clothes, trying to recover some of my lost reputation in Trosky by making nice with the innkeeper, and leaving myself totally unprepared to either intimidate or defeat a hostile opponent left me with no real option but to side with an invading band of mercs over the inhabitants of a town. Material choices, ideological consequences.
Which might sound like the worst thing in the world, depending on the kind of player you are. To me and my people, though, watching on in horror as all your decisions come cascading down on you is exactly what I come to games for, and all KCD2’s bristling systems deliver it in spades.
(Image credit: Deep Silver)
It’s not all bad news, either. Sometimes it’s just plain wacky. Like my aforementioned attempt to stealthily clear a camp of bandits, only to look on slackjawed as an enormous caravan happened to roll by and absolutely smoke everyone in it. Or how about my fight with a highway bandit? It was going pretty well until a passing huntsman decided to intervene and help me. Problem was, he sucked, and promptly pelted my shins with arrows while I tried and failed to manoeuvre my opponent between me and my ‘ally’. I died and, having run out of the boozy potions you need to save your game some time prior, lost about 20 minutes of progress.
In my time with the game so far, it really can feel like some of the best parts of Stalker. My only question is how well that philosophy translates to the game’s narrative. Will Henry’s tale seem as consequence-driven and personal as the moment-to-moment adventures I’ve had so far? I can’t say just yet. Maybe in another 20 hours I’ll have stopped prodding the game’s systems long enough to find out.
