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Let's finish what we started. And let's start again with something quiet.
The 7th Saga is remembered by the world at large for its grind. (CW pins this on The 7th Saga exclusively, but this is true of Enix releases in the 8- and 16-bit eras in general.)
It's memorable to me, though, for its strong depiction of a solo journey. You have no real structure or direction; you're told to find seven treasures and are set loose on the world. (All right, in a practical sense, your world map provides structure, but there's no overarching end point you keep in sight throughout the whole game - you don't even know what the treasures you're seeking are supposed to do.) The sprite style is dynamic, large, and detailed in the life-or-death struggles of battle, but in the supposed havens of towns and castles, it's austere, a bit more adult than console squashed-sprite fare with its faceless villagers and towering, forebidding edifices, sharing with the overworlds a subdued palette. Your search through this world takes you through hardened fortress towns built high into the side of a mountain, lonely stone castles with a sole resident, once-inhabited archaeological ruins in the frozen depths of the earth - the far, forgotten places of the earth that only faintly (but stubbornly) recall human contact. You have six rivals in your search, preventing your quest from being an aimlessly comfortable stroll - but they're just as lost as you are, in the end.
RPG overworld themes usually announce themselves as a game's signature composition, heralding an expansive undertaking, a grand and heroic quest. The themes for 7th Saga's journey are lonely and sparse, like the game, representing not a grand charge to be fulfilled but a silent puzzle to be confronted, a still world to be wandered that offers no answers. There's no real comfort, yet no overbearing menace. This land holds its own brand of harsh beauty, but it's not going to shove itself in your face; you have to be quiet, patient, observant - and persistent. The isolated instrumentation is a nice counterpoint to the usual RPG symphonic harmony; being able to pick out the individual plucks of a guitar is a refreshing novelty.
These two're probably my favorite. I don't know from where they're getting the track names, though - to my knowledge, there was never a soundtrack released.
.
The 7th Saga is remembered by the world at large for its grind. (CW pins this on The 7th Saga exclusively, but this is true of Enix releases in the 8- and 16-bit eras in general.)
It's memorable to me, though, for its strong depiction of a solo journey. You have no real structure or direction; you're told to find seven treasures and are set loose on the world. (All right, in a practical sense, your world map provides structure, but there's no overarching end point you keep in sight throughout the whole game - you don't even know what the treasures you're seeking are supposed to do.) The sprite style is dynamic, large, and detailed in the life-or-death struggles of battle, but in the supposed havens of towns and castles, it's austere, a bit more adult than console squashed-sprite fare with its faceless villagers and towering, forebidding edifices, sharing with the overworlds a subdued palette. Your search through this world takes you through hardened fortress towns built high into the side of a mountain, lonely stone castles with a sole resident, once-inhabited archaeological ruins in the frozen depths of the earth - the far, forgotten places of the earth that only faintly (but stubbornly) recall human contact. You have six rivals in your search, preventing your quest from being an aimlessly comfortable stroll - but they're just as lost as you are, in the end.
RPG overworld themes usually announce themselves as a game's signature composition, heralding an expansive undertaking, a grand and heroic quest. The themes for 7th Saga's journey are lonely and sparse, like the game, representing not a grand charge to be fulfilled but a silent puzzle to be confronted, a still world to be wandered that offers no answers. There's no real comfort, yet no overbearing menace. This land holds its own brand of harsh beauty, but it's not going to shove itself in your face; you have to be quiet, patient, observant - and persistent. The isolated instrumentation is a nice counterpoint to the usual RPG symphonic harmony; being able to pick out the individual plucks of a guitar is a refreshing novelty.
These two're probably my favorite. I don't know from where they're getting the track names, though - to my knowledge, there was never a soundtrack released.
.
