Dragon’s Dogma: Sifting for a Golden Story
In the conversation of defending the perceived flaws of Dragon’s Dogma, perhaps the most pressing is the issue of story. Many players won’t have anything of substance to say about the story, as the gameplay is perceived to be the more important part. Others who pay more attention to the elements of story will say that the game’s story seems half-baked and boilerplate RPG-chosen-one stuff, with a random but intriguing twist at the very, very end. These two positions are the most common opinions for anybody who’s played through Dragon’s Dogma.
However, some will say that the story of Dragon’s Dogma is highly interesting and unique, and the game merely suffers from cuts to its intended scale (and thus cuts to the original scope of its story) and a lack of popular community involvement in lore interpretations and discussion.
While I will say that the game’s plot is admittedly poorly presented, Dragon’s Dogma has an oft unnoticed level of depth and quality in regards to its story and plot, and it is unjust that the flaws in its presentation result in a unique and subtle story being extensively disregarded.
Let’s start off with a brief summary of the plot of Dragon’s Dogma. The very beginning is a sort of Chekhov’s Gun during the tutorial section: you play as an Arisen named Savan, who is on the path to confront a massive dragon, and the tutorial ends after a confrontation with a chimera. Afterwards, the game fast-forwards “countless lifetimes” and begins with the player’s own character, who lives in an idyllic coastal fishing village with tangible Greek influences.
Of course, the hero’s idyllic life is interrupted by the arrival of a massive red dragon, who destroys half the village in seconds. With suicidal boldness, the player picks up a sword and attempts to take down the gargantuan dragon. Obviously, they fail, and the dragon plucks their heart from their chest while speaking in sort-of Latin.
By some miracle — or curse — the player survives, and their absent heart now resounds with the voice of the Dragon, beckoning the player to reclaim their heart by force. As soon as they begin to venture forth from their village, a mysterious humanoid falls from a rift in space, and pledges themselves to the player.
The entity is revealed to be a Pawn, and they constitute an endless Legion of a place beyond space and time called the Rift, and the Pawn Legion seeks to follow the Arisen — that which the player has become.
From there, the Arisen becomes inundated with various tasks as they seek to grow stronger and rally support to slay the Dragon. They thwart a doomsday cult known as Salvation - which sows treason and destruction across the land of Gransys - slay various monsters, and secure tentative aid from the duchy.
Eventually, the Arisen comes face-to-face with the Dragon, and the Dragon offers them a bargain. The Arisen can offer up the person they hold most dear as a sacrifice to the Dragon, and supersede the current Duke as the unaging ruler of Gransys. Or they can slay the Dragon, reclaim their heart, and save their beloved.
Should the Arisen succeed in slaying the Dragon, all is not saved — the Duke becomes withered with the return of his heart (as he had previously taken the Dragon’s bargain), half of the city of Gran Soren falls into a bottomless chasm, the skies turn dark, and dangerous monsters now prowl the land. Venturing to investigate Gran Soren and the mysterious chasm, the Arisen is bidden to collect Wakestones in order to transform the chasm into a portal.
Traveling through the portal, the Arisen comes face-to-face with a cloaked divine figure, who calls themselves the keeper of the world — the Seneschal. The Seneschal seeks to test the Arisen’s mettle so that they may determine if the Arisen is fit to succeed them. The Seneschal engages in combat with the Arisen, telling them that it is the Arisen’s own immense willpower that led them to confront the Dragon, survive the dangers of Gransys, reclaim their heart, and venture to the heart of the world itself. The Seneschal also reveals that their powers are responsible for the creation and sustenance of the world and all life within it. Just as how the Arisen calls forth Pawns into being and gives them purpose and drive, the Seneschal calls forth life and gives it volition and the will to live.
Eventually, the Seneschal offers up one final bargain to the Arisen, and states that they can return to a peaceful life, before they became an Arisen and struggled to survive, but that such a life will seem as an illusion after learning the truth of the world. Should the Arisen proceed and press forward to fulfill their duty, the Seneschal will uncloak themselves. The Seneschal is Savan, the Arisen who felled the Dragon countless lifetimes ago.
When the player defeats Savan and proves themselves worthy to become the next Seneschal, he abandons the facade of divinity and speaks bluntly to the player. Savan begs to slain, to be relieved of his exhaustive and eternal duty to sustain the endless cycle of the world and the trials of Arisen. His will has been drained, spent entirely in order to “turn the eternal wheel of the world.” As the Arisen slays him with the Godsbane blade, Savan praises the freedom he finds in death.
And so, the Arisen takes up his mantle.
Perhaps with Savan’s despair to enlighten them, the Arisen can then plunge the Godsbane blade into their own chest and slay themselves. The consequences of this are unclear, but it is revealed that the Arisen’s pawn awakens in their master’s body on the shores of their home, as their beloved rushes to their side. In this, the player’s pawn finds a freedom of their own.
Thus, the plot of Dragon’s Dogma. Of course, it seems quite trite at first — your typical fantasy Chosen One affair. But it is in the very end that it becomes something very interesting, in which the hero of the world ends up imprisoned to their duty. Such a twist seems like it comes out of nowhere. But this is not entirely the case, for it is in the details — particularly in the development of side characters — in which these thematic elements are foreshadowed strongly.
In the interest of demonstrating just how much foreshadowing exists, I’m going to list many side characters and briefly explain how their duties prevent them from achieving true freedom.
The best example perhaps is Aelinore, the duke’s new bride from the land of Meloire. Aelinore is mostly a trophy wife to Duke Edmun, as the duke mostly ignores her, both socially and romantically. She exists as a political connection, and in the interest of providing a heir to the throne of Gransys (of which the Duke has not obtained, even after many previous wives). Aelinore feels isolated enough that she bonds with the Arisen, as they are a change of pace from the dour and inhospitable air of Gran Soren’s castle. She even offers a midnight meeting with the Arisen in her quarters, during which the Duke interrupts unexpectedly. While the Arisen is hiding, the Duke begins choking Aelinore in a fit of madness, before the Arisen reveals themselves and interrupts the Duke’s seemingly causeless attempt at murder. In desperation, Aelinore acquits herself of any responsibility in the Arisen being present in her quarters at night, which results in the Arisen being put in chains and whipped. Aelinore expresses her regrets and says that she made the choice out of fear for her life, and gives the Arisen a key to take a secret passage out of the dungeons. Later on, the Duke sends Aelinore to his northern manse, and she fears she has been sent there to be killed in secret. The Arisen rescues the damsel in distress, but as she escapes from the manse, she is taken by guards from Meloire to escort her back to the safety of her homeland. She leaves tearfully, saying she’ll never forget the Arisen, while her guards prevent the Arisen from following. Aelinore’s story may seem like the typical damsel in distress tale — saving an innocent princess from the clutches and abuses of an evil power — but it is inverted at the end, as she is forced away from her savior and one true love because of her duties as Meloire royalty. Aelinore’s duties and responsibilities as a princess continually deny her agency and freedom, and she is forever kept from the life she wants to live.
Duke Edmun Dragonsbane, too, is shackled by his duties and actions. He was an Arisen who had taken the Dragon’s bargain, and became the ruler of all Gransys as a result. However, he is filled with guilt for sacrificing his beloved, and that is why he choked Aelinore in a fit of guilt-induced madness and why he has been through a swath of wives. Yet it is his responsibility as ruler to be wed and to produce a heir, and so he continues the cycle of abuse. The Duke fears the Dragon in that it could destroy his kingdom, but he also fears the Arisen: should the Arisen make it to the Dragon, the Duke will be doomed. If the Arisen takes the Dragon’s bargain, Edmun will lose his status as Duke. If the Arisen slays the Dragon, then Edmun will have his heart returned to him, and he will then be on the brink of dying of old age. Thus, the Duke has no interest in preserving the Arisen insofar as using them as a tool to ensure that the kingdom is not destroyed entirely, and to keep up appearances that the Duke is doing all he can to quell the threat of the Dragon. This is why the Duke sends the Arisen on dangerous missions, and was going to send them out on an expedition away from Gransys before the Dragon interfered in the Arisen’s course of action. Edmun is chained to his responsibilities as a just ruler to not be simply rid of the Arisen (who is, in truth, a greater threat to his rule than the Dragon itself), is chained to his fear of dying and loss, and is chained to the guilt of sacrificing his true love out of selfishness and weakness and fear.
Ser Mercedes, too, is restricted by her duties and prevented from achieving the life she wants to live. Ser Mercedes was sent from the neighboring land of Hearthstone, as a pact to send aid should the Dragon attack any of the countries. She gathers up Gransys locals and sellswords to form the Enlistment Corps, who are used to slay monsters and do various small tasks. After Ser Mercedes arrives at Gran Soren with the Arisen in tow, she subsequently feels useless, as she is prevented from going out to the field as a proper warrior — partly because her death would give cause for Hearthstone to go to war with Gransys, and partly because her station as a knight was belittled due to her being a woman in the medieval era. When news arrives that a northern stronghold has turned against the duchy, Mercedes leaves the castle despite the Duke’s orders in order to deal with the threat. The leader of the rebels, Lord Julien of Voldoa, reveals to Mercedes that she was sent as token aid to Gransys, with no expectations to succeed as a knight. Mercedes challenges Julien to a duel for her honor, but she cannot best him alone. After the duel’s conclusion, Mercedes is compelled to give up knighthood out of shame, but promises to the Arisen that she will remain righteous and petition her father that Gransys receive true aid. In any case, Mercedes is prevented from attaining the life she wants to live due to her political and social responsibilities as the daughter of a medieval ruler. Like Aelinore, she cannot escape the social dogma imposed upon her by the world.
Lord Julien, too, becomes twisted by his dutiful ideals as a knight. He was chivalrous, and his most essential belief was that knights did everything for the service of their people and their country. His country, Voldoa, sent him to Gransys upon the arrival of the Dragon as a form of military aid. However, his lofty ideals were challenged by his experiences. Foremost, he noticed the selfishness, weakness, and incompetence of the elites of Gransys, as many beneath the Duke — such as Fournival — were only concerned with profiting from the Dragon’s destruction. Perhaps he sees the Duke’s intentions to ensure that the Dragon lives and that he maintains his seat of power. Julien openly states that the military organization of Gransys is lacking, and that the court is hardly concerned with the threat of the Dragon. The presence of Ser Mercedes, too, brings into question of his status as a worthy knight — if his country’s contemporary saw fit to bring the minimum of aid, what did his country think of him? Seeing all of these things twists Julien’s noble ideals of serving the people into dark justifications. He becomes the Night’s Champion, colluding with the Salvation doomsday cult, and orchestrating a revolt at the Windbluff Tower. He has no interest in the cult’s beliefs, and rather only conspires with them in order to speed the downfall of Gransys. He still justifies it as serving the people: Gransys slaying a second dragon would make the country a threat to Hearthstone and Voldoa as it would attain a legendary status, and he infers that perhaps this is what his country expected of him (especially since Hearthstone may have had the same idea). Furthermore, he believes that bringing about the swift destruction of the land would be a mercy to its people, saving them from living in perpetuity under the shadow of tyrants, human or draconic. Julien’s insistence, his duty to his idealism, causes him to fall into a dark path of killing the people he swore to protect.
While Madeleine may not have a formal duty, she is also bound to her ideals. Above all, she seeks lucre, and will do anything to ensure her flow of profits. She begins as a traveling peddler, but soon sets up a shop in Gran Soren, and finds considerable success. However, she begins to peddle in contraband, and she is set back on the road when the guards shut down her store and nearly imprison her. Her insatiable greed causes her to return back to the life she loathed (though by coincidence this was for the best, as it allowed her to escape death in Gran Soren’s collapse), and her dream of living in wealth and luxury seems forever out of reach, no matter how much she swindles and exploits.
Reynard, too, was bound in a cyclical duty. He is a traveling merchant, whose true purpose is to find clues about his missing father. Pages of a journal that the Arisen can collect reveal that Reynard’s father ventured out into the wilderness in search of vengeance against the hydra which killed his daughter. Reynard’s father abandoned everything to claim revenge, but in the end, he lost and earned nothing. Reynard very nearly falls victim to the perils of wandering as well, for if the Arisen does not save him from a goblin attack then he, too, is slain on a stubborn quest. Even after Reynard learns the truth of his missing father, he abandons the life of a peddler and his fate is left indeterminate. Though Reynard’s cycle of loss seems to be broken by the Arisen’s hand, he is perhaps now left purposeless.
There are many more characters that echo these themes of being confined to a duty and purpose that ultimately prevents oneself from achieving a good life. Thus, it seems apparent that Dragon’s Dogma gives a strong emphasis and base to its core concepts and philosophies.
For now, let us table any questions of why this apparent strength of narrative and theme was left invisible to the average player. Reynard’s tale, of the Arisen being the one to break his cycle, opens an interesting avenue to develop the thematic purpose of the Arisen even further — to, in my opinion, make the Arisen an incredibly nuanced interpretation of the archetypical Chosen One.
While it may seem like the Arisen is a Chosen One destined to bring peace to the world, such a destiny is not etched in stone, and it is rife with contingencies and forced self-improvement. Every Arisen has a sort of lifecycle, the details of which are kept very subtle.
It all begins by essentially chance. When a Dragon attacks, some person, at some point, will confront it despite being in the face of certain death: simply, the nascent Arisen must display an act of genuine heroism. It is implied that Arisen are not exactly determined from birth, but that a soul must temper its strength of will, drive, purpose — through countless cycles of death and rebirth. Additionally, a certain set of variables must align: it must be in the correct place, at the correct time, with somebody or something to protect, with the right resolve, and so on. Once all these criteria are met, an Arisen is chosen, and marked as such in body and soul.
Now, there is one ideal path for an Arisen. Once they are chosen by the Dragon, they venture out into the world to prove their mettle and ultimately slay the wyrm. Once the Dragon is slain, the world is plunged into darkness, forcing the Arisen’s hand to seek out the cause of this cataclysm. With the secrets of The Everfall and the Rift becoming understood, the Arisen arrives to challenge the Seneschal, an ancient Arisen who had followed the same journey and has proven their will is strong enough to nourish the world. Ultimately, the Seneschal is slain, and the new Arisen takes up the mantle as the fount of creation. As you may recall, this is the standard plot of Dragon’s Dogma.
But the Arisen is still human, immortal as they may now be. With such a condition in mind, this journey accounts for many decisions and faults that prove an impediment to the universe’s search for that which can sustain it.
It is entirely possible that the Arisen could ignore the Dragon’s call to arms, and continue living a normal life, with the free benefit of agelessness. The Dragon could perhaps force their hand by bringing destruction to the Arisen, but a possibility persists that they could find true freedom. The best example is Barroch, unconcerned with the demands the universe placed upon him, content to study the eccentricities produced in Bitterblack Isle.
“When I was made Arisen, I asked myself just what sort of role it was the world had handed me. From the very start, I’d no interest in chasing after my heart. Useless thing. If eternity was mine to pass as I saw fit, I’d pass it doing what I liked. That was my answer. And what of you? You the type to buy into talk of duty and fate and all that? I’ve stopped thinking about it, truth be told. Like as not, there is no real answer.” -Barroch
And yet, should the Arisen be eliminated before their challenge with the Seneschal, it is implied that the lesser Drakes of the world are their reincarnations. This is made obvious for a few reasons (one is that the Artbook directly mentions this fate befalling Arisen, but there’s evidence enough to draw this conclusion from the game). The first is that the classifications of Drake (Drakes of Fire and Might, Wyrms of Frost and Magic, and Wyverns of Lightning and Agility) coincide with the three types of Vocations available to Arisen: Red, Blue, and Yellow. Secondly, the physiology and abilities of Drakes are reminiscent of attributes unique to Arisen: they can demand control over Pawns like any Arisen, their heart is scarred and proves an object of vulnerability, and the only way they can be finally felled is by the Arisen themselves striking their heart. The third is that the Drakes will directly comment upon the Arisen’s destiny, claiming “You are not the vessel…” upon the Arisen’s death, in reference to the Arisen’s fate to become the vessel — the Seneschal. Lastly and most importantly, there is a unique Wyrm that is able to recall their past, and even partially recognize the Arisen. It is possible that the Dragonforged, influenced by his wisdom, became this very Wyrm upon his death. It could have also been the Witch of the Woods, Sofiah; an Arisen who had chosen a peaceful demise long ago, or otherwise paid no heed to their duties. In either case, the only thing that can be said of this Wyrm is that they were once a resident of Gransys.
“A strange trick of fate…to meet a fellow countryman. So be it, mayhap there is a new truth to be found in dragon’s form… ’Tis the will of the world… Stand against me!” -The Wyrm of The Watergod’s Altar
It thus seems evident that the Drakes encountered by the Arisen are former Arisen themselves, whose purpose now is to strengthen and refine the current Arisen who may yet succeed in their trials.
As another test of will, the Great Dragon will also offer a bargain to the Arisen. Face the Dragon, or make some form of sacrifice to defer the Dragon’s destruction. Not only does the bargain test the Arisen’s resolve to face the terror that is the Dragon, but it also seeks to test the Arisen’s desire for the mortal pleasures of wealth, sin, and undeserved power. Not only must the Arisen be in possession of fearless tenacity, but they must also unshackle themselves from diversions that do not drive them towards fulfilling their duty. They must have the resolve to achieve their destiny not out of obligation, but out of self-determination.
“Though I called you here to me, It was ever your own feet, your own will that brought you. And now again, the choice is yours, Arisen. Offer up the life of your beloved, here and now, and you shall live as sovereign of this land. Your heart will remain ever in my safekeeping, and with it your mortality.” -The Dragon
Should the Arisen manage to best the dragon and reclaim their heart, there is still much to be done before meeting the Seneschal. The Arisen may not endeavor to explore The Everfall and the cataclysmic conditions that would have befallen their land, leaving the Arisen to simply live out their days as a mortal once more. Even should the Arisen venture to The Everfall in the interest of opening up the gateway to the Seneschal’s realm, they can still be felled by the horrors within — the pawns trapped in The Everfall will attest that this is an all too common fate. Likely, those who die here are reborn as powerful Drakes.
Even when the Arisen finally meets the Seneschal and learns the truth of their existence, they may still be unable to see their duty to its fulfillment. Like the Dragon, the Seneschal will offer the Arisen a life of peace, though now knowing the truth such a life would seem illusory. Should the Arisen fail to best the Seneschal, the Seneschal will transform them into a Dragon who will carry on the task of creating and testing new Arisen.
When accounting for each and every step in the Cycle, a powerful theme is revealed. The Arisen is bound by a duty, and in the end there is no chance that they can escape.
For Arisen who ignore their duty, their eventual death results in them coming to form the smaller test of will in the form of the lesser Drakes. Even when taking the bargains of the Dragon or the Seneschal would result in avoiding this fate, such a life is still hardly free. Sacrificing for political power results in not only the burdens of ruling, but also of guilt, and of the inescapable fear of being revealed as a fraud, and of losing one’s agelessness and prestige to the coming of the next Arisen; the duty may be broken, but such a life is hardly free. While returning to a peaceful existence may seem definitively free and unburdened, it must be pointed out that the burden here is to live an illusion — to find meaning in a world that has been demonstrated to be meaninglessly infinitesimal would be an impossibility. These endings provide no freedom, but merely an existence of despair.
Should the Arisen become twisted into a draconic being, their duty does not end. Even if they are unwilling to serve the Cycle, it appears that their instincts — a quality of their now monstrous form — force them to do battle with Arisen. This can be seen in the confused yet bloodthirsty dialogue of the unique Drake of Conqueror’s Sanctuary, and the unique Wyvern of The Bluemoon Tower.
“Arh…Ah!…Who are you? I…I must feed…slake my hunger! Your heart, give it here!” -The Drake of Conqueror’s Sanctuary
The Great Dragon, too, is partially forced into servitude. Though it is never mentioned directly in the original Dragon’s Dogma, the introduction of the Dragon provides this fact. Upon their arrival, the Dragon seems little more than a mindless beast of destruction — in their rampage in Cassardis, they say nothing at all, which is very uncharacteristic of their future appearances. Only when the Arisen lands a blow of some substance towards the Dragon, does some sense of intelligence seem to overtake them. In fact, the composition of the Dragon’s eyes change in this very moment, changing from a pale white (as if physically blinded) to a fiercely glowing red. However, like some of the Drakes, their soul is not entirely bent by this overpowering drive to serve the Cycle. The Dragon’s dialogue during the climactic battle expresses that they are almost excited to die. Both Mercedes and the Dragonforged will comment that the Dragons they witnessed bore an air of resignation, a desire to die.
“Aye, raise your weapon… Your teeth of steel, your blood-red voice… Show me your power, Arisen! Prove yourself worthy of what lies beyond my corpse! Show that you possess the strength to still my heart. The will to do it. The soul! Slay me, and with me death itself. Stay the fires of destruction!” -Grigori
In Dark Arisen, this instinct is given direct proof in the Monument of Remembrance. Grette, an Arisen who became a Great Dragon, offers her direct experience with the matter.
And now… I haven’t even the freedom of my own will. I followed the Arisen’s path, past the wyrm and to the halls of the world-steward… And there, my path ended. In defeat, I was remade a dragon. From the moment I donned a dragon’s skin, I was controlled by a single, driving, urge — To serve the Seneschal. This one thought consumed me, its pull inexorable. It was a hunger. An instinctual need. I burned for one who would defeat me. Who would succeed where I had fallen. I craved a new Arisen.
It is man’s will that animates him. Can a being devoid of will truly be said to live? Am I alive, as I am now? The will that drives this cursed form to seek the Arisen is not my own. My will, my love, and all I am is crushed beneath its weight. Its force does not allow me even the luxury of regret. I am near drunk with it, though I war against it still with every shred of what I was. In my final act as a thinking being, I chose him for my destroyer.
The question fell from my lips unbidden — What was your choice? Were it his wish, I would welcome death at his hands. Nay, I desired it. But his wavering gave voice to a new wish. That the world, its gods, and he himself be damned. My role was set. My actions bound. I existed in that moment solely to give his wishes form. And so I did. I answered his desire, his cry of despair…
And his love, my former shadow, was the price.
-Grette’s Account, Monument of Remembrance
Becoming a Dragon seems a torturous fate, to slaughter people uncontrollably and impel those like oneself down towards a doomed fate, a fate that necessitates one’s own demise to the point that self-destruction is a Dragon’s only true desire. But even should the Arisen conquer all trials and become the Seneschal, we need only hear the words of the weary Savan to know that it is perhaps the most oppressive duty of all, for it is one with no end in sight.
“Mourn me not, for I welcome the release.
At long last, I am free of eternity… Of infinity…
Free of the cruel, unending ring!” -Savan’s last words
Chosen Ones are typically portrayed as noble figures, perhaps achieving good lives, but at the very least steered towards noble ends. A Chosen One has the power to do just about anything they want, and shape the world how they will it — some Chosen Ones can even bend prophecy and destiny and shape the world how they want it. Becoming an Arisen is a choice made in dire situations, made with good intentions to achieve a noble end, but in reality nothing good comes from becoming an Arisen. Either they are doomed to die and become Drakes or Dragons, or to live in a perpetual state of fear, of isolation, of weariness. While the Seneschal may appear as a god-like being, they are little more than living engines, whose force of will powers the wheel that turns the worlds under their watch, and keeps the cycle going until they can’t do it anymore. The Arisen will always become trapped in some prison, of their own making or of the cycle itself.
To be an Arisen is to be cursed (just as Adaro postulates at the beginning of the game — another example of subtle foreshadowing), as it a role that demands everything from them. The Arisen find no noble ends for themselves, but the Arisen still actualizes what appears to be the good of the rest of the world. Without the Seneschal, people would lose their free will, and the world would become stagnant and experience an absolute, everlasting death. The Dragon may slaughter many people, but such a death would be temporary as opposed to a world without a Seneschal, and thus the Dragon ultimately serves a cosmic good. The very acts of heroism an Arisen performs allow individual people to struggle against their cyclical, ordered lives in the interest of achieving their own freedom — the Arisen may not have any freedom of their own, but they give all others the chance to take it for themselves. This is the truest form of responsibility.
The Arisen actualizing the freedom of others is present in virtually all character-driven side quests. Reynard and Valmiro are perhaps the best examples of growth and come to establish new lives with unforeseeable outcomes, unbound by their pasts. Though Aelinore is still restricted by her duty as a princess, it is by the Arisen’s intervention that she does not become yet another victim in the cycle of the Duke’s guilt.
And it is not just people either, but also the pawns. Pawns are born with legitimately no free will or emotion or drive, yet as they interact with their Arisen and form deep bonds, pawns gradually become more and more humanlike. Some pawns become definitively human, losing their connection to the Rift, becoming mortal, and experiencing wants and emotions and independence — oftentimes, becoming mirror images of the Arisen who created them. It is implied that these pawns come to form the next generation of humanity, and possibly the next generation of Arisen who follow in the footsteps of those who created them — it would be something that perpetuates the cycle and creates new souls when others are extinguished or forced into servitude.
Of further note on the subtleties of narrative decision, the very names of cosmic forces hold much meaning in determining their station as forced into servitude and duty. The Seneschal presents themselves as a god, and the barest definition of sensechal may corroborate the idea of them as a ruler. But there’s more nuance to the term — a seneschal is more like an administrator beneath one who holds the real power. Perhaps the best indication is that a typical medieval seneschal would oversee the servants and day-to-day domestic affairs of a medieval nobleman’s estate (just as how The Seneschal oversees the servants of the cycle that are the Arisen and the Dragon, and the domestic affairs of sustaining the everyday lives of ordinary humans). They hold power and control, but are far from kings and barons and lords. Seneschals are merely high-class servants.
Daimon, too, retains even more subtleties. On the surface, it may just look like a self-indulgent spelling of demon. It would make sense, as the character looks just like a classical hellspawn, but there is a certain nuance here. In the Platonic Myth of Er, which is an account of a Greek afterlife, daimon are far separated from any sort of modern understanding of demons. In this account, the souls of the dead go to the underworld, and after some time the souls are called on to choose their new lives. Oftentimes, the souls would choose lives that were very different from their previous ones, such as a veteran warrior choosing a peaceful existence. Once the life was chosen, the soul would be assigned a guardian spirit — a daimon — to guide the soul towards the life they had chosen, essentially making it so that the person could not change their course until they are reborn. Thus mirrors Ashe’s plight. As an Arisen, he was doomed to perpetuate the cruel cycle, and thus when given a choice he chose a different life, and instead of serving the cycle he would choose to destroy it. The Dragon gave him this power and guaranteed he would work towards this purpose, but after years of trapping and slaying burgeoning Arisen within the labyrinth of Bitterblack Isle, Ashe became weary of his station (just like the Seneschal) and wanted freedom from his chosen life as destroyer. Yet it is the Dragon, who forces Ashe to stay the course as a lord of monsters, who prevents him from choosing otherwise, who makes him commit to his chosen life until he is given the freedom of death. In connecting the Daimon of Bitterblack Isle to the daimon of the Myth of Er, Ashe’s plight and yearning for freedom is further strengthened — a freedom that the Arisen of Gransys seems to provide him.
So what can be made of all of this? It seems evident that the Arisen is one that is forced down a path of either servitude or wallowing, and though they are given choices, they cannot acquire true freedom. However, it is the Arisen that provides freedom all across their journey — to the ordinary person, to those they care about, to the Dragon, to Daimon, to the Seneschal themselves, to all future generations. This seems to make the Arisen a messianic figure, one who damns themselves for the sake of all that are and will come to be, but Dragon’s Dogma does not truly end when the player becomes the Seneschal. The true ending is achieved when the Arisen plunges the Godsbane blade through their own heart, leaving the throne of Seneschal empty. Though such an action bodes ill for the cycle and the future of Gransys, it is played off as bittersweet, for the player’s pawn possesses their master’s body and takes their place as a truly free human. The game’s valediction emphasizes this bittersweet tone:
“You feel an odd pride as you plunge the Godsbane into your chest, as if claiming a great victory. Finally, there is the end of your tale — one penned by your own hand, no less. As your consciousness fades into the black, you feel a peculiar sensation on your lips: you are smiling.
Cleansed by the surf, a body washes ashore on a deserted beach. Nameless, this soul awakens, eyes gleaming with the will to live, and for all things worth living for.” -Epilogue
It appears that, perhaps for the first time, the Arisen shrugs off the weight of their responsibility, regardless of the consequences to themselves, the cycle, and whatever would come for the future. In this is the twist that deconstructs the tragic messianic figure that is the Arisen and the Seneschal, leaving even attentive players contemplating the meaning of such a defiant act.
Perhaps the moral is that the duty to one’s companions prevails over one’s duty to the rest of the world.
Perhaps it is that all responsibilities, no matter what they serve, perpetuate the cruelty of denying a person’s agency and their yearning for a space of one’s own.
Perhaps such an act was not meant to be interpreted as moralizing, but simply offer an anodyne by offering a final reprieve. There is no moral, only the act of one who sought true freedom, who sought something better than what they were given.
Whatever the case may be, the purpose of this analysis was to establish that the story of Dragon’s Dogma contains deep complexities and nuance beneath a familiar surface. The question is then: why did such a wonderful core go unnoticed? While such an analysis may entail that Dragon’s Dogma crafts its story well, the truth is that the presentation is the story’s critical flaw.
— -
While the core may be quite deep, the surface is quite shallow. Dragon’s Dogma presents its story like many other games in the RPG genre: with much of the base plot delivered through cutscenes, rising tension through progressive gameplay difficulty, and side characters with individual arcs of development.
Almost every side character of considerable importance generally has a three-act development arc: an introductory task, a secondary request or development, and then a closing event in which the character exits the stage, so to speak. This can be applied to the vast majority of side characters. Mercedes is introduced at the Hydra’s attack, given the secondary task of the oxcart escort (and to a lesser extent, the Griffin hunt), and concludes her story at the Windbluff Tower where she returns to her homeland. Quina’s first quest involves delving into the Witchwood, her second is to give her flower to a leader of the Faith, and her third is to secure an amulet as a parting gift. Madeleine is escorted to the Encampment, then she opens her shop after the Arisen witnesses her dealings with Julien, and then she is ran out of town for dealing in contraband. Reynard is saved from goblins, then requests small and random items as a test of reliability, then confides in the Arisen to seek out signs of father — he leaves upon receiving them. Aelinore meets the Arisen when they first come to court, then asks them for the midnight meeting, then requests to be saved from the Duke so she may return to her homeland.
All of these are associated with side quests (or rarely, the main quest) and feature cutscenes to further emphasize important moments in the character’s development (especially at the conclusion of their story). Therefore, it seems like a typical and largely inconsequential affair, and one in which the pattern is easily recognized. This sense of inconsequence is further emphasized by some choices not being heavily reflected in the world. Being involved with Aelinore bodes no comment from the Duke or the rest of the court, and the quest chain is almost as isolated as can be. Sure, some small side areas may be locked off or some unnecessary (but valuable) items may be missed, but there isn’t really a chain of events that tangibly impact one another.
Or is there?
While the side characters that have arcs of character development and proper cutscenes are somewhat sequestered from affecting each other, there are smaller characters which contribute to a chain of events.
Steffen is one such character, who asks the Arisen to retrieve a magical tome of power for them. Should the Arisen do this, Steffen will repay the favor by arriving at the Arisen’s showdown with the griffin at The Bluemoon Tower, and rain fire down upon the beast. This is a wonderful little event that happens, but it doesn’t end there. The Arisen can also opt to instead give Steffen a forgery of the magic grimoire, in which he will still arrive at The Bluemoon Tower, but will be astonished to see that the spellbook does nothing. There is a chain of events here that is humorous and memorable.
A greedy nobleman named Fournival will eventually come under trial during the events of the main story, and he is involved in numerous previous quests in which his wrongdoings are revealed. For example, if his request to evict a family from his real estate property is fulfilled by the Arisen, that same family will offer testimony for his guilt — if they remain on the property, they offer no such thing. Similarly, if a man wrongfully convicted by Fournival is freed from prison, he can be escorted to the capital and will stand as a powerful witness in condemning him. These small acts with small characters continue into the larger overall story in ways that are subtle yet highly appreciated when noticed.
Perhaps one of the greatest commitments to continuity and character development comes from a very unexpected source: Symone, the daughter of the avaricious Fournival.
Fournival states that he is a self-made noble, earning his way to the top through effort and not by inheritance. The Arisen is made well aware of his greed, as he repetitiously states that he will purchase any rarities the Arisen may be willing to part with upon any conversation — unlike what one would expect, he does actually pay extra for certain rare items sold to him. Besides this, he is also guilty of forced evictions, wrongfully imprisoning a gardener who overheard his shady dealings, and funding a conspiracy against the duchy: all for personal profit. And yet, he correctly hinges his bets on the Arisen succeeding over the ailing Duke, and he shows strong commitment to his daughter Symone, who is as strong-willed as her father.
Typically, Symone’s time in the spotlight is during the quest “Escort Duty” in which the Arisen must accompany Symone on a walk about the city of Gran Soren. However, there is one particular stipulation: if the player is not timely enough, or does not barely let her win the footrace, or even bumps into her in the slightest, it could deny the exclusive Gold Idol, of which provides easy access to vastly more powerful equipment if given to a merchant in Gran Soren. As one would expect, Symone is one of the most hated characters in Dragon’s Dogma, as she is plainly an entitled brat made exceptionally evident during the events of her quest. She seems to be the archetypal spoiled nobleman’s daughter and nothing more.
And yet, this hellion is host to one of the most interesting character developments I have ever seen in a minor character.
If Escort Duty is completed and Symone develops a friendship with the Arisen, she will lighten her abrasive tone. She will even make small jokes with the Arisen, instead of outright insulting them.
The turning point of her development is the trial of her father, Fournival. When asked about it (and provided “Escort Duty” was completed) she will express worry about her father’s future. Indeed, she seems to cast off any selfish consideration for her potential future as an orphaned child to an imprisoned criminal, and even expresses that Fournival’s kindness to her is enough to make her completely disregard the accusations against him. She even drafts a petition in the effort of providing a claim to the good character of her father, so that he may be seen as innocent.
From here, the Arisen has the choice to pursue evidence condemning Fournival, or cherry-pick evidence so that he may be acquitted (alternatively, if nothing is done by the Arisen’s hands, Fournival is generally given a guilty verdict).
If Fournival is seen as innocent, Symone will have her worries alleviated, and be ever more confident. Indeed, even when Gran Soren falls to ruin, she maintains her assertive and strong-spirited nature.
However, if Fournival is condemned as guilty, Symone’s story consequently changes to adjust to her father’s drastic circumstances. Immediately, it seems as though the duchy repossessed Fournival Manor, leaving Symone to live in the sewer slums. If approached by the Arisen, she will angrily plead for them to fix her situation. She asks for a rather hefty 100,000 Gold to allow her to apparently repurchase Fournival Manor, moving her out of the slums.
Interestingly, this decides Symone’s fate. If she is left in the squalor of the sewers, it appears as if she dies in the collapse of Gran Soren.
However, if she is allowed to return to Fournival Manor, her life is saved. But it is not all’s well that ends well. After Gran Soren’s destruction, she will appear entirely distraught, calling out in vain to her lost father. This logically makes total sense — her father was imprisoned and likely executed, her life was saved by the same person who was partially responsible for her father’s downfall, and now the world is evidently ending and she is still nothing more than an orphaned child of former fortune.
This is one of the most tragic situations I have ever witnessed, and it is almost entirely of the Arisen’s making.
In summary, the spoiled daughter of a nobleman is given small aid by a hero, who then assists in imprisoning her father and removing her from all she had known. This same hero provides her with a small fortune so that she may leave the slums and return to her home. When Gran Soren collapses, she is alone in dealing with what seems like the apocalypse, rumored to be caused by the very hero who had now saved her from the fate of falling into the bottomless pit of The Everfall.
How could anybody react to that hero with anything more than utter flabbergast? How could a child have any hope after the sheer whiplash of events she has persisted? And what will she do after she has survived the end of the world?
I’m already deeply interested in what could happen next in her tragic tale after the Arisen’s departure, as her situation is both absurd and compelling enough to be surprisingly entertaining and deep. One could legitimately make Symone’s tale a fascinating narrative if it was told entirely from her perspective. And yet, she is only a minor character in the story of Dragon’s Dogma, whose potential devastation seems to be entirely unknown to nearly every player, even to this day.
The potential fates of Symone also show a great deal of consideration by the developers of Dragon’s Dogma. Not only are her changing circumstances completely accounted for and represented, but they show a logical progression and dedication to this character, despite the fact that they are entirely insignificant to the overall plot of the main story. Even though she is often consigned to just one line of dialogue to prove how her character has changed, those single lines are still written and delivered well enough to be substantial in creating significance.
It is this significance found in small side stories, small acts, and small changes in which Dragon’s Dogma establishes the strongest parts of its story.
Though these elements are effective, they are at the fringes of what is presented to the player. The player will focus on the cutscenes, the main quest, and give some regard to the sidequests without fully paying attention to the scope and purpose of these tasks. There is no error in a player interpreting the story through these methods: this is how many games of that time handled and presented stories to their players.
But these cutscenes can have strange disjunction between them and the rest of the game. For example, when meeting Rook the Pawn, no words are exchanged, and the whole interaction seems rather abstract and interpretive. Immediately after the cutscene, however, Chief Adaro will engage in conversation and explain everything he knows about pawns, and even claim that you were speaking with Rook despite no words being exchanged. This is an example of a sort of desync between the cutscenes and the game itself. It is as if the cutscenes and the dialogue were made by different teams without proper communication of what was happening in them. This is one example, but there are many others that contribute to a feeling of desynchronicity. Some of this may be due to much of the game being scaled back during development — it would make more sense for the character’s side stories if they returned at some point in the later story, and the player could directly witness the results of their actions on a character’s life. More time could have been given to make the Duke’s treachery a little more obvious (though there is plenty of detail there, if one bothers to look).
Dragon’s Dogma had a solid foundation for its story and much nuance to build off of it, but the presentation is ill-constructed. It is like a house, built sturdy and with every amenity provided, but without any paint on the walls.
But does this truly make a bad story? I would disagree, but I cannot deny that presentation is one of the most important factors of a compelling story. And when it comes to presentation, the essential aspect is what the audience expects of the proceedings. The best parts of Dragon’s Dogma are in its nuances, its small NPCs that bear little to no relevance to the main plot, the subtle ways in which its plot, its world, and its themes are made strong and resonant. But that is not how it seems to present itself. It aligns with the typical expectations a player would have had for such a game, as it provides cutscenes, main quest, side quest, and so on. Talking with random NPCs is mostly inconsequential in other RPGs (and some still are in Dragon’s Dogma), but in Dragon’s Dogma much can be gleaned from them and much attention was put into making them react to the world — the citizens of Cassardis have their own daily schedules, and will change their dialogues as the main story progresses and make comments on the current events of Gransys at large. Dragon’s Dogma presents itself as the typical RPG, and the typical RPG has NPCs of little consequence, and thus the player anticipates nothing from the NPCs of Dragon’s Dogma.
If Dragon’s Dogma emphasized what actually provided the most value to its narrative so that the player’s attention wasn’t automatically directed towards the lesser aspects, then perhaps its story would have been better received.
One final question remains: how should Dragon’s Dogma have constructed its story?
In many modern story-based games, the story is fed to the player as if it were a three-course meal. As long as they sit at the table, they will be presented an orderly fare. Some games, especially in many modern RPGs, the story is presented at different intervals and with different progression, but it is ultimately true that there is very little needed to be done on the player’s part to access the most central aspects of the story — games like Skyrim or Oblivion are like a buffet, with plenty of side content, but with the most well-developed and central story-based content (such as the main story, the guilds, the civil war) being inescapable in how often the player is directed towards those avenues.
To get the most out of Dragon’s Dogma, on the other hand, one must engage in something like hunting. Not the passive kind, where one sits in a tree and waits for their quarry, but rather the active kind, where one finds a trail, remains patient and watchful, even engaging in an immersed state of mind, and at some point the journey culminates in finding the great beast. In this case, the quarry is a hidden linchpin of the plot, which excites the player for having uncovered a truth of the game’s world. This isn’t an entirely unfamiliar presentation — Soulslike games are notorious for having plot elements and theories being scrabbled together from the tiniest of details, like item descriptions, hidden NPCs, and subtleties in level design. Yet Dragon’s Dogma receives general criticism, while Soulslikes receive general praise. The methodology is largely the same, and yet the critical appraisals are essentially opposite. Why so?
The problem has two parts. The first is one already mentioned: unlike most Soulslikes, Dragon’s Dogma has a similar feature suite to standard RPGs. It has cutscenes and optional sidequests which progress the plot and character development. It is absolutely filled with NPCs — although some have intriguing information and serve as foreshadowing, others have completely generic dialogue. When considering something like Skyrim, there’s generally very little foreshadowing or uniquely informative NPCs, outside of breadcrumbs that are intended to direct players to quests and potentially interesting small stories on the side. “Blood on the Ice” is a good example of a quest with little room for adaptation — it is possible for the player to take Calixto’s journal before the quest is complete, detailing his motive and twisted methods, though if obtained early this heavily incriminating evidence is completely ignored by the game. Dragon’s Dogma outwardly appears to have this type of primarily linear story, causing players to expect and interpret it as such, which results in its nuance and detail being entirely lost.
The second and perhaps the strangest part is that Dragon’s Dogma doesn’t have video lore explicators, unlike those which are prominent in Soulslikes and other video game franchises. If the nuances of Dragon’s Dogma were brought to light (perhaps as I am doing now), then perhaps the general critical response would be open to interpreting and actively hunting for the game’s story as it is for others. Many of the original reviews for Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls either didn’t mention “story” at all (instead emphasizing environment design and “carving your own path”), but when Elden Ring came around a fair number of these reviews mentioned the supposed grandness of its plot without actually elaborating on it (and some even directly mentioned the lore video essays). Thus, it’s inarguable that popular internet explicators have had a profound impact on how the general public perceives the overall story of Soulslikes.
Interestingly, perhaps Soulslikes helped others to no longer perceive an RPG which lacks a directly presented story an as an inherent flaw on the level of an FPS game which lacks good gunplay. If so, it would provide a reasonable explanation for why Dragon’s Dogma was perceived better after the advent of Soulslikes in popular gaming culture. But the unfortunate fact remains that this did not result in the story being better appreciated, just that the bare trappings that are directly presented to the player were easier to cast off. This is much the same way as the typical Soulslike player feels no need to work out the intricacies of the story for themselves, and instead casts off that responsibility and relegates it to a select few members of the community to present it to them, directly.
I hope the irony is not lost here.
Thus, when considering the landscape in general and how the presentation Dragon’s Dogma used would be criticized as dated by today’s standards, perhaps a style bereft of story-based cutscenes and concise plot direction (like a Soulslike) in exchange for flourishing subtlety and depth would be achievable and well-received.
With Dragon’s Dogma 2 releasing in just a few days, it is worthwhile to note where the story is likely to be taken after all of this analysis, and how it is likely to be received by the gaming community. (Pre-release spoilers will ensue, so stop reading now if you wish to avoid them.)
Dragon’s Dogma 2, if anything, seems to be doubling down on nuanced and subtle interactions, and committing itself to letting the player feel the consequences of their actions. For example, all NPCs that die will be taken to a morgue and subsequently buried, and the Arisen can still use Wakestones on their bodies to resurrect them, so long as they arrive in time. This is somewhat unlike the original, where NPCs that die from non-story events will respawn after a few ingame days. NPCs that are kidnapped will die if not rescued in time, and naturally there are social repercussions failing to accomplish one’s task. Even emergent events have their own social consequences, as it seems that even bringing monsters into town will cause people to start disliking the Arisen. But don’t worry, if you buy a round of drinks at the tavern, they might forgive you for it.
Furthermore, the smaller NPCs are likely to continue the detailed existences they led in Dragon’s Dogma, and be enhanced in how they affect the player with a reworked affinity system. One example given of this is that if the Arisen engages in romantic relations with two different NPCs, they may show up to the Arisen’s home (yes, purchasable homes) and begin fighting over them.
There are also indications that the player can fail even more important tasks — one such important quest involves an important political figure being assassinated. The Arisen may prevent it, but if they fail, that figure (who almost certainly has a role of importance in the story) will die, and the citizens will judge the Arisen accordingly. Gone are the days of the Arisen being welcomed back in the Duke’s court after their affair with Aelinore, as the game no longer shies away from presenting the consequences of an action, even in situations where these consequences would be highly inconvenient for the player.
This is a double-edged sword. While many praised Dragon’s Dogma for having novel solutions to quests, such as the forgery system in general, many also criticized it for being obtuse and causing the player to miss out on important quest content (particularly, the Witchwood). As I stated in my first article, the capability to be locked out of important content was immensely frustrating to the point that I quit on the spot when I made the realization I had missed something of value.
Thus, the solution to this ultimately comes down to immersion. Will the player be immersed enough that they’ll be aware that their actions have dire consequences? Should something happen that the player does not want, is the alternative still enough of a rewarding experience that the player is satisfied with it? For example, instead of being simply denied access to valuable side content, what if the player is instead directed to novel and intriguing new experiences opened up by their failures? Reloading previous saves in order to enact a particularly desirable story-based consequence is a common gameplay choice for RPG players (especially in Disco Elysium and Baldur’s Gate 3), and a game that would make players feel comfortable with their failures would be exceptionally bold. Dragon’s Dogma 2 has only one save file expressly to close off this option in order to make consequences all the more dire (there could be checkpoint saves, but the original made a point to create a checkpoint saves after any major quest was completed). For better or worse, the player will be forced to reckon with the choices they make, even if they acted in error.
Personally, I am not sure how this will be received. I do not think that it will be accepted without any sort of growing pains, or that the vision will be readily realized.
If the gambit fails, then I have no doubt that this design choice will harm the game’s appraisal more than any other.
But should it succeed, then I believe it could very well shift the paradigm for how branching stories are considered and designed within videogames at large.
There is much to anticipate and discover in Dragon’s Dogma 2. For myself, I plan on being immersed, cognizant that my choices will have lasting consequences, and to experience whatever happens as a result of my journeys. I believe that this will align me with the creative intent behind both games, and will result in the best experience and a story told well and uniquely. I would implore others to do the same.
