Of Orcs and Men (2012, Windows) Review

FANTASY STEINBECK

At the heart of Of Orcs and Men is the dynamic duo featured on the game's cover. The orc Arkail looks like he's one insult away from roaring, "Hulk smash!", while the goblin Styx seems one gold ring away from hissing, "My precious!" Together, they do everything they can to breathe life into an incredibly narrow and repetitive experience—a strange hybrid that somehow combines the worst aspects of RPGs and corridor shooters.

They fight their way through a story of rebellion against slavery and racial persecution. The humans—known as "khwarsan" in the orc tongue—have invaded the orcs' homeland in a campaign to exterminate every "greenskin" and colonize their territory. Those who aren't slaughtered are forced into the mines as slaves or made to fight one another in gladiatorial arenas.

The premise evokes Spartacus, and it's genuinely engaging. The dialogue is well written, and the two protagonists bring a contagious sense of conviction to their roles, despite stiffly animated cutscenes and occasionally questionable voice acting.

Cyanide's fantasy world of Iseria isn't fully fleshed out, but there are seeds of something compelling here. Goblins are treated more like vermin than intelligent beings—Styx is, in fact, the only one capable of speech and reason. Orcs aren't portrayed as inherently evil, while humans come across as easily corrupted chauvinists. Individuals from different races unite politically in a rebellion against a tyrannical empire.

The foundations are there for a rich, nuanced universe in the vein of The Witcher.

Unfortunately, the gameplay doesn't fare nearly as well.

Barely an hour into the roughly fifteen-hour campaign, fatigue starts to set in. Corridor after corridor filled with combat. Fight after fight after fight, and none of it offers any meaningful variety—at least not on Normal difficulty—no matter how hard I try to spice things up by experimenting with different abilities.

This hybrid of real-time and pause-and-command combat manages to bring out the worst of both systems. Every encounter boils down to a battle of health bars—yours versus the enemy's—while you mostly sit back and watch. There's no meaningful movement, no dodging, no parrying—virtually no demand for player skill whatsoever. Your only real task is to find ways to deplete the enemy's health faster than they deplete yours.

Arkail—the infamous Bloodjaw orc—is built like a brick wall. He charges headlong into battle, soaks up damage, and swings his axe with reckless abandon. His rage builds toward a full berserker frenzy, where he loses all self-control. At that point, he'll even turn on Styx.

The diminutive goblin, meanwhile, prefers to stay in the shadows, throwing knives or slipping behind enemies for deadly backstabs. His signature ability lets him become nearly invisible and carry out stealth assassinations. In certain scenarios, you can thin out enemy forces before combat begins, but the mechanic is so clumsy and unreliable that you're often spotted anyway and immediately surrounded.

There isn't much more to it than that. On Normal difficulty, most battles practically play themselves. You queue up commands and then watch your characters attempt to carry them out, governed by hidden dice rolls. At best, you might reposition your party or taunt an enemy into attacking the tougher character while your companion is in trouble. Otherwise, combat feels almost entirely non-interactive.

The dual-protagonist setup should have been perfect for teamwork, yet there are surprisingly few opportunities for meaningful cooperation. The only legitimate offensive combo is Arkail hurling Styx straight into the enemy with bone-crushing force. Beyond that, your cooperative options are mostly limited to modest healing and reviving one another.

In other words, the two characters fight side by side, but rarely together. A rudimentary RPG system with attributes, abilities, and upgradable equipment tries to freshen things up with new options, but very few of them make much of a difference.

The only moments that offer any real challenge are those where the story forces one of the protagonists to fend for themselves. Unfortunately, that challenge often stems from poor design rather than thoughtful difficulty - situations the game never properly prepares you for. The worst example comes at the end of Chapter Four, when Styx is thrown into a hopeless two-on-one encounter - the game's equivalent of Dark Souls' Ornstein and Smough. I died over and over again, each attempt forcing me to impatiently click through the same lengthy dialogue before I could try again.

The level design is even worse—it borders on shockingly linear. You spend the entire game squeezing your way through narrow ravines, oppressive catacombs, and cramped city streets. There's virtually nothing to explore. A few short detours lead to treasure chests containing equipment that's largely worthless—at least until you're eventually able to upgrade it.

Why are we even controlling the characters in the first place? It's little more than running down one corridor after another. The environments feel lifeless, like static backdrops rather than living worlds. Everything is made of stone, wood, and dirt, buried beneath dreary shades of dark grey and muddy brown. Even when the story is compelling—and it often is—the uninspired environmental design hangs over the experience like a wet blanket. Things improve somewhat toward the end, with a handful of sweeping vistas overlooking snow-capped mountains, but it's too little, too late.

Even so, I got a great deal of enjoyment out of the characters and their chemistry—especially Styx. I laughed out loud more than once at his cynical wit, particularly during one bizarre conversation he has with the corpse of one of his victims. He resembles the Joker from DC Comics, albeit with a poorly concealed compassionate streak; beneath the biting sarcasm, his principles continually shine through.

So yes, there are things to like here. Unfortunately, the stiff, repetitive gameplay ultimately outweighs those strengths, dragging the entire experience down into overwhelming monotony.

At times, the game feels unfinished, as though certain mechanics were cut due to time constraints. It's not particularly stable, either. Time and again, the companion I wasn't controlling would fall behind. I'd run back only to discover they'd become stuck on the environment, requiring my help to break free. And yes, with a little assistance, they always could.

The game itself, however, never escapes its own claustrophobic simplicity. The story and characters carried me all the way to the ending. But nothing could make the actual gameplay—or rather, its complete lack of meaningful interactivity—fun.