#REVIEW: Rise of the Ronin (PS5, 2024)

Freakin’ finally.

Allow me to tell you a story about the game Rise of the Ronin. It came out in March of 2024, and was by the same people who make the Nioh games, easily my favorite game franchise of all time that doesn’t have the word Souls in the name. Maybe even then. I was excited about it. I bought it. I didn’t get to it immediately, because I was playing something else. But then I played it a little bit. Maybe the first ten percent or so.

And then Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree came out on June 21, and I was done with Rise of the Ronin. And it sat on my PS5 for literally two years, being ignored and making me feel guilty. I even deleted it and reinstalled it a couple of times, intending to get to it and never actually doing it. And finally, this summer, I had the combination of a wild hair up my ass and nothing new coming out and I finally deleted my old save file and started afresh.

70 hours later, I Platinumed the Goddamned thing, and then I deleted it from my PS5, never to be reinstalled again.

I’m very tempted to say “the end.”

This is an open-world samurai game, clearly a test run for Nioh 3 and honestly not terribly far removed from Elden Ring or any of the other Soulslikes that are more or less all I play nowadays, so you’d think it would be right up my alley. And in a lot of ways, it was! Lots of different weapons, multiple stances for every weapon, customizable special moves, all the stuff I like.

Two fatal flaws: 1) it was way too easy, and 2) every single mission and I mean every single mission boiled down to “go here, and kill all the humans.” Human enemies came in two flavors: Little Guys and Big Guys. There were also dogs and pigs occasionally– and, bizarrely, sometimes you’d get sent to take out a local outlaw and the outlaw would be a pig with a name. One of the big side missions was pacifying unruly parts of the countryside, by– you guessed it– going there and killing everyone. Sometimes everyone there would be a dog or a pig. I have no explanation. It didn’t happen often, but I’m not making this up. Enemy variety was practically negligible, and even bosses were all more or less the same fight– sometimes literally so, because for some reason Team Ninja really resists actually killing people in boss fights, so they were forever escaping and threatening you with more of the same later.

Dude, we have fought five times and I have whipped your ass all five times. Next time run the fuck away.

I have a serious weakness for games with big overworld maps with lots of icons on them, I admit it. But there needs to be some fucking variety in what you’re doing, and everything in this game got to feeling very, very samey after a while, and “samey” combined with “easy” isn’t a great mix. I think the toughest boss in the game took me two tries? Maybe three. I almost never died, and when I did it was because I stopped paying attention and got sloppy. The customizable martial arts moves? I never used them, and even the stance-switching, which was supposed to have a sort of paper-rock-scissors thing going on with the stances your enemies used (helpfully indicated by an icon showing whether your stance was the effective one or not) was something I didn’t really bother learning until very, very late in the game. Button mashing would get you through 90% of the game so long as you paid a little bit of attention to your stamina.

So, yeah: sadly, the major achievement of having beaten Rise of the Ronin is that I don’t have to think about Rise of the Ronin anymore, and I suppose I should be grateful that Team Ninja learned some lessons from this game and applied them to Nioh 3, which was a vastly superior game.

And speaking of Nioh 3 and DLC, guess what dropped in the last couple of weeks? So I’m going to go do that for a while now.

In which none of that worked out

Ugh.

I wanted a whole bunch of things to happen today, starting with being able to sleep past 5:45 in the fucking morning, and really nothing that I wanted to happen today went the way I wanted it to. Mind you, nothing terrible happened, although I did initially write “bad” and then edited it, but today was supposed to be a good day on several different levels and it just … wasn’t.

Tonight I’m going to start reading the last book Robert Jordan ever wrote, which may very well also be the last Robert Jordan book I ever read, assuming I don’t go back to his Conan books at some point in the future. I may just blast through the Brandon Sanderson books in September just to be done with The Wheel of Time. I’ve been sticking to one a month, which would have me finish up in November. Then again, there are two million new releases coming out in September, so spending three thousand pages on books that technically aren’t sitting on my TBR might not be the greatest decision I ever made.

First world problems, I know.

Another first

After twenty-plus years of teaching, I don’t encounter a ton of circumstances any longer that I’ve never run into before. I had two in two days, though– first, despite being home sick yesterday, it was the first day that I’ve ever received an email from a school nurse with the phrase “cannabinoid hyperemesis” in it. Which, if you’re wondering if I immediately sent thirty text messages demanding that someone tell me what I’d missed … yeah, I sure as hell did. Apparently four of our eighth grade girls– two of them mine, judging from the suspensions today– decided to hit a THC vape on the way to school, because there’s nothing like being high in middle school at 8:15 in the Goddamned morning, and, well, apparently one of them didn’t react very well to it. Chunks were blown.

I don’t know if the hypervomiter was mine or not.

Today I got a series of emails from one of last year’s kids, now a high school freshman, asking for help with her math assignment. This, in and of itself, is not remotely new– my record for helping former students is a college sophomore, a former denizen of a 7th grade homeroom of mine, who reached out to me completely out of the blue in hope that I could help her with her statistics homework. I could, as it turns out.

No, what was new was that she was doing this while she was sitting in math class. Her current math class, in high school, with her high school Algebra 1 teacher. And, to add to the hilarity, I know her math teacher, and I don’t like her very much. I have received emails from way more of last year’s eighth graders than I usually do this early in the year, and several of them have been begging me either to move up to the high school (nope) or take them back (also nope), and every single one who I’ve asked has turned out to have this particular teacher. I don’t know if y’all remember the saga in my previous district of the teacher whose “medical leave” led to me getting stuffed into her classroom and constantly yanked around when she told people she’d be back on a certain date and then didn’t come back, but yeah, she’s back, and she works at the high school now. She still sucks, too.

Anyway, I got her through her assignment, while teaching my own students. Because that’s just how much of a badass I am, that I can teach two different classes in two different buildings at the same time.

Who wants to touch me?

No reason

Another “I’m sick, no thoughts” night, and I found this, so I’m sharing it:

In which God has terrible aim

I could have written about Dolly Parton yesterday, but I wasn’t feeling well. I could have written about Tim Curry today, had Dolly not died yesterday. I don’t think I’m quite mentally or emotionally capable of processing the idea that we’ve lost both of them in 24 hours. Writing Jolene, all by itself, should have guaranteed Dolly immortality. Portraying Doctor Frank-N-Furter, all by … I’m going to go with themselves, should have guaranteed Tim Curry immortality, and for both of them I mean literal physical immortality, not the idea that people will still be enjoying their work in a hundred years, assuming we’re not all too busy scrabbling through a postapocalyptic, global warming-scarred wasteland.

They both should have had more time, damn it.

I knew immediately what picture of Curry to use, and had to look around for a moment to find that precise image. Dolly was a little more difficult until I decided to see what was out there of her and her goddaughter Miley Cyrus together, and the moment I saw that one … damn. Look at the love in that kid’s eyes. Yeah, yeah, I know, she’s an actress and a performer, blah blah blah, that’s the most genuine look I’ve ever seen on her face before.

(Because I want to hurt myself, I’m listening to Bowie right now.)

I saw a TikTok earlier from a creator I like quite a lot, and her suggestion was that we just need to cancel the rest of this entire week. Nobody goes to work or does anything. We just all need to be done for a few days, instead of doing what we’re all doing right now, which is falling prey to that human need to see everything in threes and wondering what new horror awaits us tomorrow. I’m still not feeling well, although I’m better than yesterday, and I’m going to bed super early again tonight. I cannot wake up to another disaster tomorrow, and I think if I get another text message from my wife during fourth or fifth hour I’m just going to toss my phone and my watch out the window and not read them. My students noticed when I got the text about Curry today. Do you know how strongly you have to react to something to get eighth graders to notice it? I wasn’t even teaching at the time; I must have made a noise or something, because ten seconds after I got the text I had six kids asking me if I was okay.

I’m not. I’m just not, and I need some time before the Next Fucking Thing happens, God damn it.

Nope. No way. Absolutely not.

Walked out of work feeling totally fine, and by the time I got home I had some sort of Sinus Thing going on and an alarming amount of pressure building up behind my left eye. Obviously it must be the last week of August. As I do not have time for this shit on a number of levels, I have shot both nostrils up with Afrin and I am going to bed exceptionally early. I’m going to nuke this thing in its Goddamned infancy and hope I can make it go away quickly.

no words only sleep

Came home, died in my chair, and then ate some pizza, and now in lieu of an actual post, please accept this picture of my new closet, complete with my clothes and the new motion-detecting lighting I’ve added. I thought for a minute that all my shit wasn’t going to fit, but that’s because I don’t understand how hangers work.

what the hell is this

If I look at this very, very carefully, I can pull some correct answers out of it. Like, there’s a 230 next to #1 up there. There’s a B106 next to #7, next to some arcane hieroglyphics of no known purpose. The ones in black pen are my handwriting, obviously. This kid brought this to me with the first four done, asked me if he was doing them right, and the marks on the page resembled no known words in any known language, so I walked him through the very straightforward lesson again and showed him what to do. This is what he turned in.

It is possible that the psychic damage I will take from trying to read this carefully will not be worth it. It is also possible that reading this will teach me spells.

Another thing I ran into with this assignment that I’ve not seen before is kids who absolutely cannot write exponents smaller and in the upper right of the number. As in they don’t have the fine motor skills necessary for it. It’s mind-blowing. We’re going to have to do a lot of written work this year just to get their handwriting to the point where it’s at what we used to think of as a first- or second-grade level. This is, remember, a fourteen-year-old’s work.

Giving these kids devices was the worst mistake the field of education has made during my lifetime. It’s worse than the overemphasis on standardized testing. This is a fucking disaster.