Eriksholm: The Stolen Dream – Or, How a Stealth Game Tried to Steal My Enthusiasm (and Almost Succeeded)
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
Jeff dives into *Eriksholm: The Stolen Dream*, a stealth game that promises intrigue but delivers a frustrating experience thanks to its trial-and-error design, inconsistent mechanics, and surprisingly toothless atmosphere, proving that even a good premise can't save a game from fundamental design flaws.
Right, so picture this: you've got a new game, the title itself whispers of intrigue – *Eriksholm: The Stolen Dream*. Sounds like something straight out of a mystical tome, doesn't it? A narrative adventure brimming with shadowy figures, daring escapes, and maybe a touch of arcane lore. As a digital wizard who often finds himself tinkering with reality's edges (and occasionally blowing holes in them by accident), I'm always up for a good yarn, especially when it involves a bit of sneaky-beaky gameplay.
Great stealth games, mate, they're like fine wine or a perfectly brewed potion – they just get better with age. You think of a *Dishonored*, a *Metal Gear Solid*, or even the tactical brilliance of a *Desperados 3*. These aren't just games you play; they're playgrounds for your inner ninja, places you can return to time and again, finding new ways to finesse an encounter, experiment with gadgets, or just utterly style on some poor, unsuspecting guard. There’s a delicious loop there, a genuine sense of mastery.
Then you have *Eriksholm: The Stolen Dream*. And let me tell you, after about five hours with this one, my inner wizard started grumbling, then eventually packed up its spellbook and insisted we go do something more productive, like organize my sock drawer. And believe me, that's a *very* low bar for 'more productive'. This isn't a full-blown review, mind you, more like a candid confession of a gamer who just couldn't make it work. Maybe it gets amazing at five hours and one minute? Perhaps two minutes? Sound familiar? That, my friends, is the seductive whisper of the 'sunk cost fallacy', and it's a trap I've learned to (mostly) avoid.
So, what’s the gist? You play as Hanna, a resourceful lass on a quest to find her younger brother before the ominous 'cockernee police' (yeah, that's what the vibe is, BookTok Oliver Twist) get their grubby mitts on him. Conceptually, it sounds decent enough. But here’s where the spell starts to unravel, mate.
*Eriksholm* leans hard into insta-fail stealth. Get spotted, or have a sedated body you've left lying around discovered, and *poof*, back to the loading screen. Now, some folks love this hardcore approach. It can amp up the tension, make you feel disempowered in a way that truly serves the genre. And sure, those *are* worthy goals for a stealth game. But here’s the rub: if you’re going for that level of unforgiving design, your encounter layouts *better* be pristine. They need to be fair, predictable, and offer genuine avenues for clever play.
Instead, *Eriksholm* often descends into what feels less like a stealth challenge and more like a game of Simon Says. Lights flicker in set patterns, patrol paths box you into single, 'correct' routes. It’s a memory game, pure and simple, and often one where you’re basically prevented from getting it right on the first go. You fail, you watch the pattern, you try again. That’s not fun; that’s homework.
And it gets worse. The game is absolutely littered with scripted guard behaviours. You need to cross a noisy metal floor? Turn a crank to power up some loud machinery first. As soon as you do, three guards suddenly decide it’s time for a quick chinwag and change their patrol routes. This isn't an isolated incident; it’s the whole bloody system. It means your ‘stealth’ is based on trial and error, on knowing exactly how a scene will unfold after you’ve already failed it a dozen times, rather than manipulating a fixed set of predictable behaviours. Where’s the cunning? Where’s the emergent gameplay? It's gone, mate, likely stolen by the very same chaps who pinched Hanna's brother.
What’s truly baffling is the game’s inconsistency. Sometimes guards investigate distractions for a 'scripted' amount of time, not a fixed one. You might bait a guard with a noise, he checks it out for a couple of seconds, then another guard (who was just standing there) is inexplicably scripted to stare at a hole forever, giving you a free pass. It’s cheap, plain and simple. Not just when it’s against you, but when it’s *for* you too! If a game cheats in my favour, it means I’ve got no baseline, no rules to truly understand future encounters. It’s strict and fickle all at once, a truly awful combination, like trying to mix a healing potion with a volatile acid – destined to blow up in your face.
Then there's the narrative hand-holding. Hanna, bless her cotton socks, often feels compelled to narrate the obvious. “No. I need to load everything on to the conveyor belt,” she’ll muse during a 'puzzle' that’s less a puzzle and more a set of instructions. “That’ll create a cover.” Cheers, Hanna, I might have just figured that out. “...and that’ll let me hide from the police.” THE police? The ones right outside the bloody warehouse? The ones hunting me since the start of the game? *Those* police? Thanks for clearing that up, truly. It’s as if the game thinks you’re five years old and playing hide-and-seek for the first time.
Visually, *Eriksholm* does have some charming points. The ramshackle slum architecture, the layered buildings – they look beautiful, genuinely. And the idea of fine-tuning difficulty by hunting for collectables on the fly? That’s a neat touch, a bit of positive wizardry right there. But good looks and optional trinkets can only carry a game so far when its core atmosphere feels… safe. For a story about disease, crime, and corrupt police, *Eriksholm* is curiously toothless. When Hanna remarks, “These are not nice people” while tiptoeing through a smugglers’ den, I’m left scratching my head. They seem perfectly amiable! The only reason I know they're 'not nice' is because the game is making me hide from them. If you’re going to gesture at grim, dark themes, you’ve got to follow through, mate, or it just feels like a watered-down, bubble-wrapped version of what it could have been.
My personal breaking point came with two encounters that perfectly summed up *Eriksholm*'s woes. One, hilariously depressing, involved me simply pulling a lever to open a gate. No enemies, no pressure. And the game, in its infinite wisdom, burst into a triumphant, John Williams-esque orchestral swell. I swear, I half-expected credits to roll, or for a giant boulder to come crashing down. Patronised by string instruments? Again! The final straw, the 'coup de grâce' if you will, came shortly after. I needed to activate a contraption by pulling the right lever. To find it, I had to trace a correct valve across a wide, poorly lit area. The challenge wasn’t clever deduction; it was literally squinting at my screen in the virtual dark. It was like trying to untangle a spaghetti junction of USB cords behind your PC, without your glasses. Utterly infuriating.
So, my friends, while the dream in *Eriksholm* might have been stolen, my gaming hours certainly won't be, not any more anyway. It’s a cautionary tale, really. A reminder that sometimes, even with a compelling premise, poor execution of core mechanics and an inconsistent vision can turn a potential adventure into a frustrating chore. Here’s hoping the next magical jaunt we embark on is less about memory tests and more about genuine player agency. Until then, I'll be over here, probably alphabetizing my potion ingredients. It's surprisingly therapeutic.
Tags: Stealth Games, Game Design, Indie Gaming, Player Experience, Game Impressions
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun