I’ve had a love/hate relationship with RPGs for as long as I can remember. One game would have a strong narrative but was plagued with a rather lackluster supporting cast, and another would have well written secondary characters, yet a story that felt like it was nothing more than events insensibly strung together. At worst, the story itself began to feel like the same cycle, repeating itself over and over. Nothing about a story should ever feel rote, least of all the characters within.
When I played Dragon Age: Origins for the first time I felt like I was rediscovering The Lord of the Rings all over again. There was myth and might and doom on every horizon. Hope was small and fragile, and in the Dragon Age universe it manifested itself as two Grey Wardens: unlikely survivors of the darkspawn assault on Ostagar. There was a whole world out there to save now, and without the help of a strong fellowship, it would have seemed like an impossible task.
And this is where, I feel, BioWare truly delivered. Each character served a precise purpose, clothed in the flesh of someone relatable, even likable; but almost always with their moments of frustration. Even creatures of a different species were not discounted in the lessons they could teach the player.
As soon as I met the Mabari war hound, I knew that he would remain a constant in my party. I saved his life, and in turn he chose to follow me. When I finally embarked on the ‘Great Quest’ to recruit the help of the disarrayed peoples of Thedas, I had my dog, Sigwulf, at my side. In the tumultuous times within which my character found herself, Sigwulf offered a single reality which both she and I could rely on: loyalty. There was disapproval, no guilt over some hard choice I might have had to make. And then I met Alistair.
There are two words that best describe him: infuriatingly moral. Raised by the simple truths of the Chantry, Alistair saw the world largely as black and white. Joining the Grey Wardens fundamentally shifted his sense
of what was right and wrong, but did not ultimately challenge it. The big evil was the darkspawn, and there was little moral issue in gutting something before it could gut you first. But his rather immature sense of morality was reliable, and if nothing else, charming. Do the good thing because it’s the good thing to do, not for the sake (or hope) of reward. But his moral footing becomes less certain when the real challenges arise: betray the Dalish to their deaths, because of the hate their leader cannot let go, or take him down, thus effectively crippling the Dalish?
And when things start looking like they might just be manageable, what with strong senses of loyalty and morality lighting the way, Morrigan comes along. The archetypal femme fatale interwoven with elements of the trickster and the shape-shifter, she constantly keeps one guessing. She introduces the selfish aspect of morality: what do I gain from helping these people? To her, ‘for the greater good’ is not a valid reason for doing something. Survival first, and if it so
happens to correlate with your plans, then her aid will be yours. She keeps her desires and motives close to her chest, which forces the player to look at themselves. Why should I want to unite the people that are all of a sudden out to kill me, based on one man’s word?
Leliana, in her passive, compassionate brand of religious fervor, brings to light a new concept: that the polarities that Alistair and Morrigan represent might be brought to peaceful coexistence in one person. With her history as a bard from Orlais and the political games she took part in for ‘fun’, paired with her transition into Chantry life, does she successfully produce a tried and tested sense of morality. Not all of the decisions we make will be easy, in the game or in the real world, but we must follow what we know in our hearts to be right. You must do the ‘good thing’ because you believe
in it, rather than it being for some abstract concept like ‘the greater good’.
And then there was Shale. Much like Morrigan in her sense of pragmatism, but beholden to no one for whatever she has done or has not done. Shale is a juggernaut of neutrality. ‘I am here, and as I am. No man may judge me.’ She only joins you based on the feeling of debt, and with a lack of anything else better to do.
Leliana: “You aren’t all stone, Shale. There is a person inside of you.”
Shale: “If so, it is because I ate him.”
