Dragon Age Inquisition: Game of My Life Edition – A Deeply Personal Reflection

Beware of possible Spoilers!

Into the Breach

When I first stepped into the world of Dragon Age Inquisition, I expected dragons, magic, and the usual fantasy fare. What I didn’t expect was a journey that would have me questioning my life choices, my relationships, and my sanity – all while trying to save a world that seemed determined to implode. But here I am, months later, emerging from the depths of Thedas with a newfound appreciation for both virtual companionship and the marvels of cloud gaming. Let me take you on a journey through my personal inquisition into the Game of the Year Edition, where the lines between reality and fantasy blurred faster than a fade rift on steroids.

Let me take you on a journey through my personal inquisition into the Game of the Year Edition, where the lines between reality and fantasy blurred faster than a fade rift on steroids.

Characters Matter as Much as Choices Do

If there’s one thing Dragon Age Inquisition excels at, it’s making you care about pixels as if they were your oldest friends. I found myself more invested in Dorian‘s daddy issues than my own family drama. Iron Bull‘s internal conflicts became my late-night existential crises. And don’t even get me started on Solas – that egg-headed enigma had me googling “how to trust again” at 3 AM.

The game’s masterful character development turned what could have been a simple save-the-world narrative into a complex web of relationships, loyalties, and betrayals. I laughed, I cried, I threw my controller across the room (sorry, GeForce Now, it wasn’t you, it was me). By the end, I half-expected Varric to show up at my door with a pint and a pat on the back, ready to regale me with tales of our adventures.

The Reluctant Hero

Becoming the Inquisitor was less about saving the world and more about managing a dysfunctional family of misfits while trying to keep a straight face. One moment, I’m closing rifts and battling demons; the next, I’m playing therapist to a group of individuals with more baggage than an international airport.

The choices presented throughout the game were less “good vs. evil” and more “slightly bad vs. potentially catastrophic.” I found myself agonizing over decisions more than I do about what to have for dinner. Should I side with the mages or the templars? Well, that depends – do I want my world state to be a magical free-for-all or a lyrium-addicted police state? Decisions, decisions.

Chaos. Strategy. Accidental Fire?

Combat in Dragon Age Inquisition is like trying to choreograph a ballet while juggling chainsaws – it’s chaotic, it’s beautiful, and there’s a good chance someone’s going to lose a limb. The tactical camera view allowed me to pretend I was a strategic genius, right up until I accidentally set my own party on fire. Again.

The crafting system is so extensive that I’m pretty sure I qualify for a degree in Thedosian metallurgy now. I spent hours hunting for the perfect materials to craft the ultimate weapon, only to find an even better one in a random chest five minutes later. Thanks, RNG gods, for keeping me humble.

As for the open-world exploration, let’s just say that my Inquisitor moonlights as a professional mountain goat. If there’s an unclimbable cliff face, you bet I’m going to spend an hour trying to scale it, because who knows? There might be a cool hat at the top.

Thedas in the Clouds

Now, let’s talk about the unsung hero of my Dragon Age adventure – GeForce Now. This cloud gaming service turned the game into a dragon-slaying powerhouse. Suddenly, I could experience Thedas in all its high-resolution glory without a computer bursting into flames. It was like going from watching a play through a keyhole to having front-row seats at a 3D IMAX theater.

The streaming quality was so good that I could count every strand in Cullen‘s perfectly coiffed hair. The low latency meant that when I inevitably panic-rolled off a cliff, it was entirely my fault and not the game’s. GeForce Now made sure that my journey through Inquisition was smooth, seamless, and devoid of any excuses for my poor combat performance.

However, it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies in the cloud. Occasionally, my internet decided to take an impromptu vacation, leaving me frozen mid-dragon battle. Nothing quite matches the existential dread of watching your party slowly being roasted while you frantically reset your router. It’s in these moments that you truly appreciate the autosave function – the true MVP of modern gaming.

Beyond the Screen: My Own Life Unseen

As the credits rolled on my Dragon Age journey, I found myself grappling with more than just post-game blues. The themes of struggle, redemption, and perseverance resonated deeply with my own battles with Bipolar Mood Disorder. Like the Inquisitor facing impossible odds, I’ve had days where getting out of bed felt like fighting a high dragon barehanded.

The game’s exploration of relationships hit closer to home than I’d care to admit. Dorian‘s quest for acceptance mirrored my own journey of self-discovery. And then there was the romance – oh, the romance. As I navigated the delicate dance of in-game relationships, I couldn’t help but draw parallels to my own history of unrequited love. Each virtual rejection and hard-won affection echoed real-world heartaches and hopes.

The themes of struggle, redemption, and perseverance resonated deeply with my own battles with Bipolar Mood Disorder.

There were moments, during particularly dark episodes, where the world of Thedas became my refuge. On days when my mind raced with the speed of a fade rift, methodically clearing regions and solving puzzles provided a much-needed focus. During depressive lows, the camaraderie of my virtual companions offered comfort when reality felt too overwhelming.

Iron Bull‘s struggle with identity and loyalty became a metaphor for my own internal conflicts. His journey of self-acceptance gave me hope that I, too, could reconcile the different facets of myself – the highs, the lows, and everything in between.

As I guided the Inquisitor through their trials, I found myself gaining strength to face my own. The game didn’t mend my broken heart, but it provided a framework to process these experiences. It reminded me that even in the darkest times, allies can be found in unexpected places, and that every small victory is worth celebrating.

Emerging From the Fade

As I close the book on my time with Dragon Age Inquisition, I find myself forever changed. The game taught me lessons that transcended the screen, seeping into the crevices of my daily struggles with Bipolar Mood Disorder and unrequited love.

In those moments when my mind raced uncontrollably, threatening to tear open like the Breach itself, I found solace in the rhythmic click of gathering herbs in the Hinterlands. During the crushing lows, when even leaving my bed seemed as insurmountable as defeating Corypheus, I drew strength from remembering how my Inquisitor rose, time and time again, against impossible odds.

The relationships I forged in Thedas became a poignant mirror to my own longing for connection. Each time Cassandra grudgingly approved of my actions or Varric shared a heartfelt moment, it soothed the ache of real-world rejections and misunderstandings. These pixels and voice actors became a lifeline, reminding me that somewhere, somehow, there were people who could see past my diagnosis and love me for who I am.

Iron Bull‘s journey of self-acceptance became my north star. If this hulking Qunari could embrace all aspects of himself, then perhaps I too could find a way to reconcile the tempestuous parts of my being. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to love both the manic creativity and the depressive introspection that color my world.

The End

As the final credits rolled, tears streamed down my face – not just for the epic tale I’d experienced, but for the personal battles I’d fought alongside it. Dragon Age Inquisition didn’t magically solve my problems or bring me the love I yearned for. But it gave me something equally valuable: hope.

Hope that, like the Inquisitor, I can face my demons – both internal and external – with courage. Hope that even in my darkest moments, there might be companions waiting to lend their strength. Hope that my story, with all its messy chapters and plot twists, is one worth telling.

In the end, Dragon Age Inquisition was more than just a game. It was a journey of self-discovery, a testament to the power of perseverance, and a reminder that even in our most vulnerable moments, we possess an inner strength that would make any Inquisitor proud. As I reluctantly bid farewell to Thedas, I carry with me not just memories of epic battles and witty banter, but a renewed resolve to face my own rifts, armed with the wisdom of a virtual world and the beating heart of a real-world warrior.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to look in the mirror and tell that person staring back at me, “You are stronger than you know.”

There might be a cool life lesson in that.

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Renier Palland

Renier is a jack of all trades and a master of some. A published author and poet, Renier understands the art of weaving a narrative, or so the critics say. As a professional overreactor and occasional debater of existentialist philosophy, Renier thrives on games where choices actually matter, e.g. Life Is Strange, Mass Effect, and Heavy Rain. Renier often finds himself in a game of throes on GeForce NOW, sobbing like a Sicilian widow because life is definitely way too strange sometimes.

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