![]() Among old stone temples and mystical ruins, machines incorporate living parts, and a screaming torso wearing antlers serves as a signal for boats. The worlds unveiled in Drowned God draw from a well of hallucinatory imagery and body horror. Most notably, it co-opts Tarot cards, both as foreboding symbols of alien activity and as a sort of supernatural currency. The game sneaks hints of the extraterrestrial across all manner of history and mythology, from Mesoamerican religion to the Knights of the Round Table. With each solution, you inch closer to the Drowned God’s secrets everything you interact with reveals a piece of lore (a drawing, a journal, a sculpture, or what-have-you) suggesting, perhaps, aliens at the root of this. Within each of these “realms,” you have to solve the puzzles left behind at the ancient sites as safeguards for the relics. Soon you pass through the Cryptowheel – a Kaballah-invoking time machine – and visit mythological settings, each holding a relic and inevitably touched by the legacy of whoever the Drowned God is. Their envoys send you on a journey to recover historical relics that may unlock more about the Drowned God. What form that secret might take remains a total mystery as you enter the rooms of two dueling messengers, one fashioned after the Renaissance and the other resembling a modern boardroom. ![]() Gaze upon NOAH of the Biblical ark, one of many unsightly reinterpretations of myth “Trust too deeply,” the voice warns, “and you will know the wickedness in men’s hearts. It ushers you onto a journey in search of… well, it leaves that unclear. A voice rings out, claiming you have returned here from previous lives. You begin Drowned God in the Bequest Globe, a strange, ornate chamber gifted to you by an unknown benefactor. It tricks you into believing in conspiracy, placing paranoia above reason, and celebrating the discovery of grand unifying knowledge that exists because it has to. This only works if you accept that the game has some sensible interpretation of its ideas in mind, and if you want assurance in Drowned God‘s barrage of recurring signs and allusions, you have no choice. Then it provides its own solutions, attempting to prove how its assemblage can explain all our questions about life and spirituality. ![]() The game fashions a grab-bag version of historical truth, raising nonsensical questions thrown together from tidbits from every religion and every corner of the world. Drowned God: Conspiracy of the Ages knows this urge and uses it against you. Yet we crave resolution, and if we can find meaningful rationale for a confusing series of events, we’ll take it.
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