I have just butchered my first iguana in Crimson Desert and now I feel sick. It could always be worse, I tell myself, as I grill the creature's meat. I could be out following the game's main questline and pointlessly trying to glean something resembling a plot from its disparate parts.
Alas, that is not the life I choose. Not for me, and not for my sweet Kliff. He's just out here in the Kingdom of Hernand trying to do a little good, and if he happens to feast upon a cockroach or two in the process, that is between him and his Lord. Because let's face it, folks: if there's a story to be enjoyed in Crimson Desert, it's one you'll have to make up for yourself.
Unsticking the landing
Try though Pearl Abyss did to deliver an ambitious open-world action-RPG, it got about one of those things right. Playing through the game's first two chapters is a confusing blur; the best RPGs of our generation boast compelling heroes, colorful NPCs, and rich universes to explore, each woven through with weighty stories that breathe life, warmth, and drama into the world to keep us hooked for hours. And Crimson Desert has, uh, at least it has a huge open world.
But between the fact that Kliff dies and is resurrected without any explanation, the inexplicable powers granted to him by magic sewer women and little witch children, and the fact that he can glide around on black crow wings after playing on some big boulders in the sky, I couldn't tell you what the actual narrative beats in this video game are if you paid me.
I don't know if Pearl Abyss has the foggiest notion itself or if it employed a Martian to design everything from the game's systems to its storyline, characters, and mindboggling controls.
What Crimson Desert lacks in narrative chops, suspense, tension, and stakes, it makes up for by delivering a damn fun playground to run amok in. Capturing the broad sense of survival and adventure delivered by The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, I find that the RPG is best approached as a cozy medieval life sim where you can simply hunt, gather, craft, and stab your way towards a peaceful little life.
Why ask around about missing sheep for the supposed "main quest" line when I could be mining ore, killing bandits, and looting myself a sweet new bow in one of the many menial tasks I stumble upon in the open world?
NPC duties
I pet the screen with a grateful finger. Goodnight, son. You are so stupid.
But it's best to start small. My first taste of medieval life sim joy came when I encountered Kliff's cooking for the first time. Watching him empty his ingredients into a cauldron, take a messy swig of the concoction from a ladle he'd produced from nowhere, and proudly display the greenish mess to the camera like a contestant on Master Chef, a choking flood of maternal adoration swelled in my chest. Kliff had made himself a lovely "mystery stew", worth 20 whole health points, and I could not be prouder of my stupid little rat boy.
Disgusted and delighted in equal measure, I instructed him to make something else. Fourteen sweet potatoes, whacked into a pack and dubbed "fortifying vegetables". He proffered the charred veg with glee and I damn nearly wept. Another, I demanded! Meat and veg porridge this time, a delicacy of only the finest fleshy scraps collected from one of the many iguanas he'd skinned paired with some mouldering grains found in a neighbor's house. The result was adorably provincial; a true NPC dining extravaganza.
Suddenly, everything I'd heard about parents making excuses for their children's failed endeavors became violently true. I knew with certainty that I had just mentally adopted this bumbling fool as my very own man-baby, my large son, my big tiny child-human, and I would let no harm befall him (yet).
Cheffing is not all my lad is good for. Looking into Kliff's inventory, I find mainly bugs. Bugs, flies, butterflies, and iguanas, all of which he'd simply known as "???" before picking them up and pocketing them while out frolicking in the world. There's an infuriating charm to the fact that this adult man has never seen a butterfly in his damn life, and it somehow endears me to his pointless calling as a… Greymane, was it?
Who cares? My Kliff spends more time mining rock ores for the smithy, causing mass deforestation in the nearby wood, picking pumpkins by a nobleman's house, and playing Rock Paper Scissors with the village children before balancing around on ropes to complete challenges (I like to think of this in-game system as a bunch of make believe games Kliff conjures up himself). When he does take up his sword, it's only to hack up one or two wandering packs of bandits, and only because they were mean to him first. I'm raising my son proper, thank you very much.
Most of the time, his preferred way of dealing with bad 'uns is to simply truss them up like a Christmas turkey and trundle them off to the bounty hunter for a few bits of silver. On the way home, he sometimes buys himself a little tankard of beer from the tavern. He says hello to everyone who speaks to him and has a lovely relationship with the blacksmith, the tanner, the dyer… you name it, he's probably brought them countless weird little gifts like a local stray cat, and they're simply too polite to turn him down.
When he lays down in bed after another day of being helpful and pleasant to everyone, I pet the screen with a grateful finger. Goodnight, son. You are so stupid.
Kliff was meant to be the silent, stoic, and mysterious type, much like Assassin's Creed Valhalla's Eivor or The Witcher 3's Geralt of Rivia. But he is my forever dumb-dumb in the strange mundane life sim that is Crimson Desert; an inexplicably obedient bug-snatching, lizard-skinning, arm wrestling oaf who drifts about town with a boot on his head, often chewing peonies and beetle legs and blinding people with his lantern whenever he wishes to speak with them. And you know what? This game is infinitely better for it.
Explore the slew of upcoming PS5 games coming in 2026 if you're still hunting for your next great adventure.
