Let’s dive into a fundamental argument: it remains exceptionally captivating. Six Ages, with its intriguing choices like “seek counsel from a deity” or “defer the issue for now,” contrasts with the advice provided by your noble advisors, who base their suggestions on their knowledge, favored gods, and personalities. Some may point fingers at rival clans or delve into vaguely relevant myths rather than admitting uncertainty. The heart of the game lies in weighing their counsel, your circumstances, and your people’s potential interpretations before making decisions about various events. Leadership is tested as a measure of wisdom, not a mere calculation of figures or raw power fantasies.
You embody the collective will of seven nobles, a meritocratic rather than aristocratic group, leading a clan in the fantastical realm of Glorantha. Unlike the majority of fantasy games that replicate tired racial archetypes and predictable good-versus-evil narratives, Glorantha stands apart due to its focus on anthropology. Horses, kite flying, legal debates, and the occasional border skirmish for cattle theft define your people’s pursuits. Yet, a looming crisis persists: the gods are deceased, and the world’s end is inevitable. Though you can’t prevent it, exceptional performance might allow your distant descendants to rebuild.
The narrative takes its time to elucidate the true path, potentially alienating some players but amplifying the concept’s depth. It unfolds as a series of tales chronicling your possibly ill-fated clans and their triumphs and tribulations. Even prosperous clans contend with streaks of misfortune or the cumulative impact of minor poor choices. The game urges adaptability in the face of challenges, embracing the messiness and fickleness of human nature. Sometimes, even the right decision leads to unfortunate outcomes, resulting in a mix of frustration and sorrow. Yet, within these narratives, unexpected gems emerge. After my initial clan disbanded due to multiple afflictions, the epilogue recounted how my war chief single-handedly eliminated the rival leadership. Perhaps we were merely a backdrop to her legend.
Characters undergo an intriguing transformation in Lights Going Out. While Ruler of the Realms ruffled feathers by pinning the clan’s future on one preset noble, the sequel introduces both random and bespoke nobles, each with their subplots. Notably, the king’s authority sparks significant questions. Factions rally behind certain nobles, advocating for their inclusion in the ring of leadership or their ascension to chiefdom. Although recurrent characters are present in most games, their subplots’ prevalence and outcomes diverge based on your decisions and event results. Certain characters become favorites. One’s judgment becomes an unwavering compass, while another’s mixed opinions occasionally result in statements like “Send me. Alone.” followed by outrageous actions. Interactions between characters intensify, politics takes a personal turn, and your clan becomes a microcosm of the series’ overarching theme: cultures adapt to the world, even if gods and monsters roamed freely.
While Lights Going Out inherits some flaws like aging ring members only at year-end, leading to inconvenient magical deprivation, it excels at presenting information. However, certain screens could benefit from improvement. Much like its predecessor, it remains challenging and overwhelming to newcomers, demanding a plethora of upfront decisions in a more dire context. The one-action-per-‘turn’ system feels harsh when you must appeal to dozens of spirits and gods, and the repetitive food maintenance tasks overshadow more engaging ventures (even after 2.5 clans, I’ve yet to host a single feast). Yet, it’s also an exploration of themes and an organic societal pressure cooker, unlike other games’ simplistic “empire unites against evil” conclusions. Familiar yet evolving, the series thrives through well-crafted, amusing narratives and possibilities.
