Sometimes there’s one line in a game which manages to mean everything. Maybe it encapsulates what the game was about, maybe it reveals the twist of the game, or maybe it’s just absolutely hilarious and bold of the writers. Whatever the reason, I like to highlight lines from games and explore why they hit so damn hard.

Storytelling Through Gameplay

Some background: Inscryption is a card-based roguelike with surreal gameplay twists and some light puzzling. The standard challenging roguelike gameplay is actually mostly in the bonus game mode added after release, while the core campaign merely uses roguelike mechanics as part of a more linear narrative and storytelling tool.

A lot happens in the game, friends become enemies, graphics change, gameplay changes, horror elements sink in, the whole shebang.

But, our line approaches right near the end.

Bear in mind you’ve gone through 3 or 4 “permutations” of Inscryption by this point, each shedding light on one of the game’s antagonists / characters. While the storytelling isn’t exactly dialogue trees and cutscenes, the core is heavily built up around the gameplay and you’re full-on immersed by the time the final encounter comes around.

And at the end of it all, after battling insane computers and undead hordes and tech-magic guardians, you are face to face with Leshy, the first of your opponents, once more.

In the time you spend away from Leshy you learn a lot. About him, the other antagonists, the game itself, and how story is presented in it. All the prep of getting the player to observe, to use puzzle elements certain ways, to pay attention, all culminates in a final conversation with Leshy.

As The World Falls Down

This final encounter happens in a void. The game is uninstalling itself and you are sat with Leshy, using the remaining elements buried deepest in the code to keep playing. At first you have Leshy’s hut, his table, battle items, and all the usual score-keeping equipment.

You sit together and play cards, as the world blips out of existence around you.

Then, one turn, Leshy reaches to add score to his side as usual. As he does, the score tracking device blips.

Gone forever.

There’s a pause, and you look at eachother for a moment before Leshy says:

“No matter. Please, let us continue. We don’t need to keep score.”

A character who has been relentless in playing the game, winning, scoring, helping you score better, to some degree Leshy is the catalyst for your journey and it’s all because he respects the game and keeping score.

But now, at the end of everything, he shows you it really was never about winning. It was never a deception. He straight up just needs to play.

For the company.

For the fun.

For the distraction from the rest of the code on Inscryption.

And so you carry on playing. There’s no way to keep score, so you just play whatever you fancy, get your favourites out, have fun guessing how much damage would actually have been done.

The final few turns of unscored gameplay are a perfect finale to what is a very tense game driven by score at every stage.

The entire character arc for Leshy and yourself culminates beautifully in that single line of text, and is such a raw expression of what really matters at the end of all things.