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Some players will love the complexity of this unforgiving system (supposedly one particular character can die in 7 separate locations across the game) and the brutal, Game of Thrones-esque storytelling, but it can seem downright unfair. Characters that the player relies on in combat or spent hours training can die, disappear or run away at the drop of a hat, and for usually inexplicable reasons. The moral dilemmas are well-written and often charming – like all of the written text – but where they fall short is in the maddening nature of their consequences. These range from intervening in a squabble between families, to accepting the help of a group of strangers, to shoring up a town’s defences, and so on. The moral decisions – At frequent points in the story the player is forced to make decisions about their group of survivors, their viewpoint-character and the world around them. Focusing more on a smaller selection of characters would ease this confusion, especially since even the main cast in TBS would have benefited from more characterisation. At multiple points in the adventure players switch perspective to different groups and characters move between caravans, so by the end of the game I had a collection of minor fighters – nearly half the party – who I didn’t remember anything about. It’s hard to mourn someone who had all of two lines of backstory, and the story’s emotional moments suffer as a result.

Many characters who join the party (and who are usable in combat) can be introduced then killed off by a quest decision in the space of five minutes, and there’s often barely time to register their name – let alone who they are or what they’re doing – before they disappear forever. The characters – The Banner Saga’s main characters are quite well-fleshed out, and the game does a decent job of letting us get to know them through text-only conversations, but I had mixed feelings about the rest of the cast. The inclusion of actual Icelandic-language singing brings a soulful, dirge-like quality to many of the tracks, which wonderfully heightens the sense of dread and mourning for a world on the brink of a terrifying apocalypse. The soundtrack – Austin Wintory of Journey fame handles the music here, which plays a large role as a companion to the game’s various sections – swelling and triumphant in the middle of combat, contemplative as the caravan flees across snowy wastes, and tense as the player is forced to make decisions about the future of their group. Some genres tropes are nicely subverted (horned giants are the good guys, here) and part of the appeal of this setting is the confidence with which everything is presented – the world feels gritty, plausible and expansive. The Saga does a good job of immersing the player into the (rather deep) lore while never making things uninvitingly complex. The world – The small team at Stoic designed the universe of The Banner Saga from scratch, and though it’s inspired by Norse mythology with a touch of Viking visual flair, the game feels distinct and memorable. This is an impressive, frequently charming example of art that perfectly fits the setting. There’s a lovely cinematic quality to the game as your caravan of soldiers and villagers grows ever-larger and crosses the world with its banner streaming behind it, and every piece of art feels tenderly hand-crafted.

Characters are distinct and detailed, but it’s the landscapes that invoke a real sense of beauty and wonder. The art – The Banner Saga uses hand-drawn animation inspired by classic Disney movies like Sleeping Beauty, and the results are nothing short of spectacular.