Ever since the Diablo 2 1.10 patch went into beta testing, when I read through the pages and pages of patch notes, contemplating the possibilities afforded by what was more of an expansion pack than a patch, I’ve dreamed of updating this site with this sentence: The best part about the Diablo 2 1.10 patch is that this is a perfectly viable build. The word this would be a link to a screenshot of my skill tree. Perhaps the other half of the screen would display my character information, complete with attributes and the ridiculous amount of damage this build (which will remain secret) is capable of. Perhaps it would simply be my necromancer, standing calmly on the docks of Kurast. I’m pathetic. These are the kinds of things I dream about.

I’ve gone through four hardcore ladder necromancers (that I can remember) since the patch went live in September trying to achieve this mythical build. It’s fun, but it’s not easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is. That really isn’t a true statement in the least. But it’s inspiring, which I suppose is why people use it.

Today I started my fifth hardcore ladder necromancer. As of this writing he is level 18.

But this is where the focus shifts from my necromancer and my dreams of a perfect screenshot to something else entirely, though still pertaining to Diablo 2. That was a transition, folks. Just like they teach in schools!

As I was storming through the monastery barracks earlier today, laying waste to the infinite, randomized demon armies of Diablo, I came across a room with a table positioned in its center. There are many such doodads sprinkled all around the Diablo 2 gameworld to give some flavor to the game’s randomized dungeons. However, during this particular instance I stopped, for whatever reason, and looked at the table. Sure, I’d seen it before, I’ve probably seen this exact table, randomly placed somewhere on this level during one of the hundred or so times I’ve played through it. But this time, I really paid attention.

Around the table were several bodies, now little more than highly-pixilated piles of meat, which had once been distinctly human. A similar pile, though each different from the next, was draped over each chair surrounding the long, wooden table. On its surface sat silver platters lined with food, bits and pieces of what had once been human now incorporated into the cuisine. In the table’s center was a series of silver candles, each long since burned to nothing. I could see the grains in the wood. I could see the individual hunks of ragged flesh. This table, buried behind the technological limitations of a 2000 2D engine, was extraordinarily detailed. I then noticed the bricks in the walls and the cobblestone floor, and the irregular, uniform nature of it all. Some were cracked down the center. Others jutted from the ground, cast aglow by a nearby torch. I might be embellishing a little (a lot), but in any case, it was all randomized.

As I made my way through the remainder of the barracks, the jail, the inner cloister, the cathedral, and eventually the catacombs to end act 1, I noticed how ridiculously detailed the gameworld was. I’ve been playing this game for four years now and I’ve never stopped to look at the environments I’ve been running through, leaving mounds of corpses in my wake. This is probably because when the game originally shipped with a maximum resolution of 640×480, it wasn’t much to look at. By the time the expansion shipped a year later, extending the maximum resolution to a much more visually friendly 800×600, I had already passed through the game’s environments so many times that I’d stopped paying attention.

Many games - most games - don’t achieve anywhere near this much detail in their levels’ art, especially not when those levels are randomized. Ever play Phantasy Star Online? Although, that’s really not a fair comparison, as the levels themselves aren’t randomized at all. Only the starting and ending points and the locked or unlocked status of certain doors are randomized. Still, it’s the only comparison you’re going to get, and I’m abandoning it already. Even 3D games, which should force developers to construct a more detailed world, are only now beginning to become as detailed as simple old (and randomized, in case you forgot) Diablo 2. Randomized.

Blizzard has always been heralded for its excellent art direction, however, and its ability to infuse a gameworld with detail and life like no other (PC) developer. At least, Blizzard South, the Irvine-based company responsible for the ‘craft series has been, Blizzard North, creators of Diablo, has not. And there’s a perfectly good reason for this. When you play a Warcraft or Starcraft game there are moments of waiting, moments in which the player is left with no other option than to wait, despite Blizzard’s best attempts to rid their games of such moments entirely. But given the nature of real time strategy gameplay, there are always times when you’ve queued up units for producing, established a decent economy, and are currently constructing the next building in the tech tree. This is unavoidable. And in these moments, you, the player, are given a brief instant to stop and examine the gameworld. Go ahead, click on that sheep. If you do it enough, it will explode. Taught your marines and see what amusing responses they’ll recite. Look at the texture work on the ground there, the unique architecture of the scourge structures. It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?

And then your base is flooded with zerglings, breaking your moment of peace.

“Kekekekeke,” types DARKBLOOD29.

But the point is, you saw it, even for but an instant. And when you played through the campaign, the epic narrative and interesting characters only served to give you an even greater opportunity to focus on the gameworld.

But when you play Diablo 2 there is no moment of rest. It’s all hacking, slashing, spell casting, and potion guzzling. The only respite comes after hopping through a town portal, but even then you’ve come to town for a reason, be it to sell off your loot, repair your items, or restock on potions. Then it’s back to the frontlines of the war between heaven and hell. And if you should play the hardcore game mode, in which but a single death means the permanent end of your character, and which I can personally attest to being more rewarding than your standard softcore mode, this sense of speed and survival is heightened as your focus narrows even further upon the action.

Mere moments ago, my brother and I finished an hour and half-long play session in which we did not leave the game’s first town. It started simply enough, I was logged on as my newly created hardcore ladder mule and needed to “play” the two hours required to extend the character’s expiration date from ten days to ninety. My brother joined the game (which was titled Russian Doing) for no other reason than he was online. And at first we ran outside of town, punching the air and noticing the details in our characters’ animations from all sixteen angles. Then he picked up a knife from a downed zombie and we watched in amusement as the Paladin struck at the ground with his weapon, his arm high above his head, while he continually jutted his butt into the air. Paladins should not use knives.

Then we spent a great deal of time observing the cows in town, picking on the subtleties of their animation. Cows can only face eight directions. They also have horns and utters, which leads me to believe that they’re not merely cows, but fantasy cows, some distant relative of the hell bovine, happily tapping their hooves and wagging their tails to pass the hours of the day.

Then we wandered around town, watching each NPC as they aimlessly strolled about and visiting corners and hideaways we’d never bothered to visit before. Warriv warms himself by the fire. There are visible health and mana potions in Akara’s tent. Charsi’s hut begs to be examined, filled with weapons and tools all painted with light and shadow.

During our stay other people joined us, sitting and watching the cows with us, or determining that yes, the barbarian does look a lot like the Quake Guy. One necromancer left us, killed Andarial, and then returned with an army of skeletons so they all could watch the cows. This gave us a terrific chance to examine the skeletons warriors, skeleton mages of all flavors, and the clay golem. The clay golem is scary beast when you get right down to it. Then he left. His account name was russian_savage, which is probably why he joined the game in the first place.

And yet, all this graphical detail makes perfect sense. It should be there. While every Diablo review, be it for the original or its sequel, mocks the game’s storyline as “standard heaven-hell fare,” I’ve always found the game’s narrative especially interesting. There’s an entire unique mythology to it which combines a fantasy tradition with the war between heaven and hell. It’s incredibly complicated stuff when you get right down to it, filled with plot twists and foreshadowing of events in Diablo 2 way back in the Diablo instruction manual. Personally, I find the whole thing much more interesting than the Warcraft narrative at large, which everyone seems to feel rocks the hair off a blue jay.

But despite my interest in the world, and the characters who populated it, I had never before stopped to look at it. Having done so, I’m now hopelessly exited about playing through the remaining four acts and noticing the tiny graphical details which have been waiting for me for four years, directly under my nose.

So, let’s conclude this mess for everyone who just scrolled down here to see if there were any comments. I’m a Blizzard fanboy. I love Blizzard’s games like I love no one else’s, and I just spent the last 1700 words reaffirming that fact in front of you, utilizing plenty of blatant lies, half-truths, and absolute truths in equal ratio. I’m sure I could have used the above update as a jumping point for some larger argument, but at this point, would you really want to read it?

Tomorrow: Something much, much shorter. And not video game related.