Herdling: Mastering the Art of Blob-Herding in an Apocalyptic Postcard
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
Okomotive, the wizards behind *Far: Lone Sails*, are back with *Herdling* – a curiously charming, blob-herding adventure where you guide robotic 'Calicorns' through a post-apocalyptic postcard, all while a brilliant soundtrack gently questions your role as a digital shepherd.
Right, so I’ve been tinkering with this one all morning, and bloody hell, it’s got me thinking about digital livestock in ways I didn't expect. We’re talking about *Herdling* here, the latest from Okomotive – those Swiss wizards who brought us the hauntingly beautiful *Far: Lone Sails* and its sequel. Remember those games? You’re trundling along in a massive, beast-like landship, navigating desolation towards... well, *something*. A new beginning, perhaps? Or maybe just a really good cuppa at the end of the world.
Now, with *Herdling*, they’ve done a bit of a magical flip-flop. Instead of driving a monstrous machine, you're *herding* a veritable blob of... wait for it... 'Calicorns.' Yeah, you heard me. Robotic, intriguingly hairy beasts. And your goal? To usher these adorable, sometimes-annoying digital critters to a promised land beyond some rather picturesque peaks. It’s like a post-apocalyptic shepherd simulator, but with more beeps and boops.
So, what *is* a herd, according to *Herdling*? Forget all your real-world notions of cows politely following. Here, it’s a single, squishy shape. A blob, really. It stretches into a wedge when it’s moving, then congeals into a rough oval when it’s chilling. And you, my friend, are the faceless kid in red (another Okomotive staple, bless 'em), armed with a sorcerous shepherd’s staff.
Waving that staff sends a conduit of flowers through the blob’s heart, pointing it in a direction. Scramble around the outside, wave again, and it’s off on a new trajectory. Want it slower? Hold a button. Need to smash through dense undergrowth? Slash away. Double-tap to stop, hammer and hold to resist gale-force winds. Fair dinkum, it’s surprisingly intuitive once you get the hang of commanding a living, breathing, digital amoeba.
Now, here’s where my curious wizard brain started sparking: you don’t do this in first-person. Oh no. You’ve got a third-person camera, a sort of subtle, benevolent drone that pulls back into panorama when there’s something epic on the horizon. And honestly, it’s a brilliant piece of design. You just take it for granted. But what if it *wasn't* there? What if you were *in* the blob, down there in the digital stink and heave of bovine musculature, trying to scry routes? Reckon it would be a much harder, maybe even more intriguing experience. A proper challenge, rather than a picturesque journey.
Your Calicorns themselves come in primary colours – blue, yellow, red – and these hues are plastered all over the world, highlighting those sparse collectibles. Blue flowers? They fill a gauge that lets you channel the wind for a stampede. Pure glee, or maybe to get up a slippery glacier. Red flowers are basically *Mario Kart* speed pads for your herd. Instant, prolonged stampede. And yellow flowers? They’re the pollinator bits, letting you vent painterly energy to restore old murals. These murals, by the way, unlock backstory dream visions of primordial Calicorns and their ancient shepherds. It’s all very cyclical, like the geography itself is a Calicorn hide. Clever, that.
Beyond the initial urban sprawl, you’ll rescue more Calicorns – up to a dozen! The 'taming' process is, shall we say, streamlined. Maybe fetch a fruit, but mostly it’s a quick QTE. Pop! You’ve got a new friend. And then you get to *name* them. Now, this is where the original reviewer, bless 'em, went full 'office HR manager' and named them after colleagues. Which, I must admit, is a stroke of genius until you run out of colleagues and have to start digging into the historical archives of your workplace. Bet that got awkward.
These Calicorns? They’re a diverse bunch. Some bobble like Yorkshire terriers, others are stately like emperor penguins. Some even come with 'traits' – 'Brave,' 'Rascal.' You can pet them, pull twigs from their hides, adorn them with baubles. But honestly? These actions don’t seem to do much beyond expressing affection. No functional impact. Which brings us to the elephant (or perhaps, the Calicorn) in the room. The game *tries* to sell you on the individuality of these beasts. You name them, they have traits, you can play fetch at campfires. But in practice, you’re still wrestling with the 'blob.' And here’s the kicker: the more Calicorns you add, the *harder* the blob becomes to wield. They bumble, they snag, they even fall off cliffs! I can picture the reviewer, deep in the woods, dodging demon owls, regretting the addition of 'Affectionate Ollie' to their carefully curated herd. It's a proper magical mishap when your spell works *too* well and your creations are more hindrance than help.
This tension – the game wanting you to bond with individuals, while gameplay forces you to treat them as a collective unit – is fascinating. And honestly, it feels like Okomotive could’ve pushed this lever *so much further*. What if 'Brave' Calicorns actually led the charge? What if 'Rascal' ones tried to break away? Imagine the chaos! The potential for emergent gameplay there is just *chef's kiss*.
Speaking of those demon owls, their ivory masks glimmering in the mists? They’re your antagonists, predators who’ve driven the Calicorns from their stomping grounds. But if you’re reading the digital tea leaves, like any good wizard should, they're probably just stand-ins for the *real* villains: us, mate. All those bloody humans who built the awful urban junk you’re desperately journeying away from.
And yet, here’s the paradox: you’re a human. You’re presiding over these nonhuman animal lives, using them to push boulders, serve as platforms (no jump button for you, by the way!), and solve simple terrain puzzles. *Herdling* explores this complex desire to be intimate with other creatures while also, well, *using* them. It’s a beautifully subtle, sometimes uncomfortable mirror.
As for the 'getting back to nature' story? The reviewer reckoned it falls a bit flat, less sophisticated than *Lone Sails*. More straightforwardly utopian. And I get that. Sometimes simplicity can feel like a missed opportunity for deeper narrative. But as a study of human/animal relations, performed through game design? That’s where it gets engrossing.
The game’s true shepherd, though? That’s got to be Joel Schoch’s score. Another surging collection of heart-inflating orchestral tracks. Like in *Far: Lone Sails*, this is as much an album as it is a game. The invisible orchestra is another kind of 'herd' mirroring your own – scattering when your beasts are dispersed, gathering furiously when the Calicorns stampede. It's an audible model of a disorderly group in motion, and a constant reminder of your power, and the limits of your digital flock's autonomy.
Clocking in at about four hours, *Herdling* is a compact, unique experience. It’s perhaps not the deep narrative dive some might expect from Okomotive, and it definitely leaves you wondering what could have been explored further with those fascinating herding mechanics. But it’s beautiful, it sounds incredible, and it asks some interesting questions about our relationship with the wild – even when the wild is made of wires and code. If you’re into quirky indie gems that make you think, and don’t mind a bit of digital animal husbandry, you might just find a home for *Herdling*.
Tags: Indie Game, Adventure, Simulation, Atmospheric, Review
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun