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About guards seeing you from behind: you have a button to crouch and then you have another button to move more slowly (and more quietly). The first one can be activated by one touch, the second one needs to be held. Are you sure you are doing both?
Second, I suggest you look for less obvious routes. The locations in this game are very spread out and big. There is ALWAYS more than one route. When I want to reach a room, I usually have a minimum of 3 routes and one of them is definitely unusable, because it's full with guards.
This is the most important point, because if you go wherever your eyes take you, you will have a bad time.
Third, use your clone. It's your biggest boon for scouting. Try out different routes, if guards notice it just destroy it and get your Amber back. It's very useful if you don't want to reload every five seconds.
Now that I've gotten past that damnable first forced combat, have gotten into a few more overt confrontations, and have upgraded my Kill skills significantly (the equipment upgrades s♥uck baboon-♥ss), I'm enjoying myself more. I have also discovered, to my relief, that the game is not nearly as linear as the opening segments of the prologue mission led me to believe it was.
But…something doesn't track, logic-wise, about Styx's gameworld: The ubiquitous innumerable guards.Don't get me wrong—I like being able to stealth-kill a hundred bad guys every mission, but, in the context of Styx, why are there so many? There's no REASON for there to be so many. Economically, it doesn't make sense to house, feed, equip, and clothe a huge standing army that, essentially, serves no function. Security-wise, ten percent would be adequate.
Since I am liking the game more than I thought I would, I just might buy the sequel.
Plot wise, there is only one World Tree, and the sap of the tree can be processed into Amber, the most economical form of practical universal magic in that world, as far as we know. The World Tree has historical+cultural+falsifiable connections to: the divine planes, the spiritual planes, and the magical planes.
It's not literally the "tree that holds the world" like mythical Yggdrasil, but the economic powerhouse of the Amber more than supports the combined military and civilian population, while the magical assistance of Amber infusions give an unparalleled edge in the face of an actual siege.
The real question is: Why did the kingdoms of men and elves only leave a token defense force to oversee the production of Amber? What made the civilized centers of men and elves drift away from the World Tree?
Even given the nearly priceless rarity of Amber and any related by-products—regardless of it—the guards still need to be fed, outfitted (armed, clothed, and equipped), housed, and paid. That requires a MASSIVE amount of money.
Let me posit a valid analogue: Do you know what goes into making up a duty roster, a work schedule, for a fast food restaurant? Not talking out my hind end, here; I actually used to perform these calculations on a weekly basis. First, you take a look at last year's performance figures: What was the weather like? What revenue was generated each hour of every day of that work week last year? Were there holidays, social events, or disasters? What is the target profit margin? How many man-hours did it actually take to generate that income? I don't care if you're a restaurant that sells the most expensive coffee on the planet (close to $1,200 a pound—or maybe it's more, now)—these calculations would still have to be made. To ignore them would be to doom your store to a quickly premature death. The same economic laws would hold true in a mythical, magical kingdom.
The tree, Amber production, and related capital goods would still need to be only about ten percent of what it is—and trust me: They could be VERY easily motivated to be as effective a police force as is possible. For instance, I'm certain that a guard caught stealing would be summarily executed, and his family thrown into debtors' work camps, assisting in the production of Amber without benefit of pay.
Look, I know it's just a game, but the more realistically a game is crafted, the easier it is to suspend disbelief, something you HAVE to be able to do to enjoy yourself—I mean, if you have an IMAGINATION. Moving about that gameworld as Styx, I haven't noticed evidence of the activities or predations of hordes of thieving goblins, brownies, and sprites to justify that many guards.
Hey, this wasn't even a complaint…more like an observation that I tacked an idle question onto. Please don't misunderstand me; I am having a great deal of fun with the game. I have somewhere around a hundred games, but there's a small percentage I don't play—unlike some players who claim to have over five hundred.
I like your style!
Still, on a principle base of opposing your proposed points, implied and explicit...
Economic calculations:
Valid concern, but the on-paper valuations per guard, per clerk, per mass unit of consumables, are all far lower off-paper than you'd expect by nature of mideval fantasy civilizational quirks such as executive and religious tribute demands or other forms of quietly-but-heavy-handed requisitions compounded by black-handed price-fixing, and such would often be done independantly by many involved lords to insure the king(s)'s or bishop(s)'s demanded quotas are met, for fear of losing stature by dint of falling behind by playing fairly or becomeing disfavored or worse through failure to meet demands.
Also in that vein, the provable religious nature of the tree means that a great deal of the guards may even be "gifted" as unpaid assets or "volunteered" for the "privilege of serving The World Tree", and that whatever pay they may expect would be in the form of board and lodging and potential access to the benefits of the Amber, with promise of "commendations" on the completion of their tour in service to the World Tree.
Capacity of Effectiveness:
This is really a less valid concern, as the massiveness of the Tower structure means that it completely encapsulated the World Tree, and with any such labrynthine and massive structure, the security issues caused by the poor ability to quickly communicate accurate navigational information to higher ups or next-door garrisons make it functionally mandatory to have a guard in every corridor and several in every intersection of egress points under the principle that there must always be someone, somewhere, who will manage to repeat the cry of alarm made by somone else, who heard someone else's echoing call for reinforcement from a locked off corridor three passageways over. because the other three passageways have solid wood doors instead of gratings like the passaget this one hypothetical guard was posted to patrol.
To clarify the point: motivation is always based on the perception of immediacy of necessity and alienness of environment. With how little chance of there being an event in your own little sector of the Tower structure, you, a hypothetical guard, would quickly grow familiar with your route to and from your post and the details of your stationed envronment, producing further laxity in spite of the "religious zeal" your superiors may have recognized in you in "promoting" you to join the tribute of guards sent yearly to reinforce the World Tree. The threat of what would happen upon failure in protecting or serving such a important political and religous icon or it's clerks would insure genuine effort would always be made, yes, but all of the above points in this paragraph and the previous paragraph do a lot to reduce the meaningfulness of that failure beyond you, hypothetical guard, insuring that you bloody and bruise yourself plenty before your commanding officer arrives to find some new mage-spawned imp or amber theif made it past your post without successfully raising the alarm.
I do really like you! Thanks for the passion of your reply! :D
I can't tell you how much I appreciate someone who actually uses his or her noodle for something other than a place to rest headgear.
I had not succeeded in immersing myself as deeply [in this fictional world] as I needed to in order to realize that there would be some individuals that would not demand pay, but I had actually thought that there could be sufficient reason for many guards to outfit themselves (there's actually historical precedent behind that, especially when a realm's coffers were nearing empty due to protracted war and pernicious corruption). Too, there could be a great many guards not having to provide for dependents that could save money for housing by staying in barebones barracks.
Humorous observation: It kind of bugged me in an ineffable way when I first encountered those feed bags many of the guards ate from. Yuck! Now I know why: Economics; it's cheap food. Guards probably don't get a mid-shift meal break. The whole place probably stinks horribly, smelling like a cross between a stable and an underpass infested with homeless people, the way the guards are either urinating in corners or off the edges of the catwalks.
…Where are all the rats, the vermin? And the guards ought to constantly be scratching due to the predations of scabies, lice, bedbugs, and such. Dishonored has rats, and many other games have roaches and flies.
[insert appreciative appreciation feedback loop here]
Heh, about that, there's a less common reason why people would assume others would like working at the World Tree...
Plants respirate, inhaling CO2 and exhaling oxygen, yeah?
The World Tree also respirates, and massively, and on multiple planes of reality.
The air is always fresh, constantly being cleaned by the World Tree's extra-mundane functions of existence. You'd have to have the poor luck of being posted in a stuffy storeroom to have to deal with the smell of your own excretions... or be the poor bastard getting pissed on while patrolling the immediately lower catwalks.
Vermin? Amber concoctions make for the best pest control honeypots: addictive smell, addictive taste, and once consumed it infuses the pest with magical energies, energies that can then be controlled by passive wards surrounding the honeypot to implant a compulsion them to jump off the nearest cliff... or to add themselves as extra-mutated meatstock for the nearest stewpot. :D
There's a kind of beetle, a stinkbug, found in the Chihuahua desert, specifically in and around El Paso. They are black, kinda scary-looking, and are heavily armored (for a bug). Mexicans call them by a particular name, but I won't insert it here as they ALSO use that same name as a cruel racial epithet. When threatened, they point their thorax up into the air like the critters in this game. It would make more sense if these were mutated desert stinkbugs.