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The fell moons rise, and in their cold glare emerges a parcel from the dirt. Bloat and gangrene, crimped as if by tourniquet. A dark promise wriggles within. Grip the fibrous handles, feel its jagged soul imprint upon your palm. Now pull! Rend the sinew, tear muscle from bone, hatch their fetid gift! The yoke draws near! Take up the slip and read the words upon its face.
Time to enjoy your lovely joke!
Q: Why was the grave robber disappointed when he broke into Ubisoft’s tomb?
My selection box isn’t really a selection box. It’s a tray of barely-nibbled leftovers, hastily lifted from my Steam backlog. One of the disadvantages of being news editor, you see, is that I have developed a goldfish-grade attention span. In my hectic pursuit of the next scoop, or the next Elden Ring update changelog, I snatch and cast aside game demos like a pickpocket speedrunning the checkout line at Harvey Nichols. I’m dimly aware that some of these cast-aside games are Very Good. A few might even deserve to be played for longer than 30 minutes. I feel immensely guilty about that. Perhaps a little… existential, too. I have measured out my life in tutorial levels.
So! Rather than digging out three of the games I’ve actually completed this year, such as The Crush House, Death Of A Wish and Mask Quest, I’m going to gamble on recommending a few I’ve barely scratched, but which sure feel excellent and have attracted a positive critical consensus. If I am false in this assessment, may Horace the Endless Bear bite my head off for my impudence. Let’s begin.
The fell moons rise, and in their cold glare emerges a parcel from the dirt. Bloat and gangrene, crimped as if by tourniquet. A dark promise wriggles within. Grip the fibrous handles, feel its jagged soul imprint upon your palm. Now pull! Rend the sinew, tear muscle from bone, hatch their fetid gift! The yoke draws near! Take up the slip and read the words upon its face.
Time to enjoy your lovely joke!
Q: What’s an etiquette teacher’s favourite medieval sim?
Here we are, the final voyage of 2024. This is the last advent calendar entry of PC gaming website Rock Paper Shotgun. Days elapsed: 24. Writers employed: 8.
I hope this hurts.
The fell moons rise, and in their cold glare emerges a parcel from the dirt. Bloat and gangrene, crimped as if by tourniquet. A dark promise wriggles within. Grip the fibrous handles, feel its jagged soul imprint upon your palm. Now pull! Rend the sinew, tear muscle from bone, hatch their fetid gift! The yoke draws near! Take up the slip and read the words upon its face.
Time to enjoy your lovely joke!
Q: How can you tell a soulslike fan has fallen in love with a giant ape?
An ancient tale, often re-told – and that’s just the story of the development studio that made it.
The fell moons rise, and in their cold glare emerges a parcel from the dirt. Bloat and gangrene, crimped as if by tourniquet. A dark promise wriggles within. Grip the fibrous handles, feel its jagged soul imprint upon your palm. Now pull! Rend the sinew, tear muscle from bone, hatch their fetid gift! The yoke draws near! Take up the slip and read the words upon its face.
Time to enjoy your lovely joke!
Q: Why do oil rig workers only drink sparkling water?
It was a rainy day when she walked into my office, hard rain, like stray stones from a truck on the highway hitting your car bonnet. I lit my cyber-cigarette and put my feet on my desk, I don’t know why, I thought it would make me look nonchalant to this strange woman. She wasn’t impressed. “Detective,” she said, glaring at me with eyes like gorgeous tennis balls, “I want to open today’s advent calendar door.” I was confused. “Whaddya wanna do that for, missy?” She sat back, relaxed, and pulled a gun from her purse. “I need to stuff a body into it.”
There’s a slight breeze and a comforting glow coming from the crack’s in today’s calendar door, the sound of merriment and many accents from all over the world. Better join in the campfire revelry, because whoever’s there won’t be staying for long.
