When Immortality Gets Boring: 'The Dark Queen Of Mortholme' Flips the Script on Heroism
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
This indie gem flips the script, letting you play as the final boss in a surprisingly deep dive into stagnation, heroism, and the stubborn nature of narrative, proving even villains get the blues.
Right, so you know that feeling when you're playing a Souls-like – or any tough boss rush, really – and you've died for the tenth, twentieth, maybe even hundredth time? And you’re just sitting there, controller fused to your palms, thinking, 'Bloody hell, this boss must be having a laugh. What's even *their* motivation to keep doing this?' Well, mate, what if I told you there's a game out there that lets you step into those impossibly large, evil boots? A game where you *are* the final boss, casually mace-flattening the same plucky hero over and over again until... well, until you start wondering if there's more to life than just smacking do-gooders.
That's the deliciously twisted premise of *The Dark Queen Of Mortholme*, a short-form indie title that’s been tickling my brain like a rogue spell gone wonderfully right. It throws you into the role of the titular Dark Queen, an immortal force of nature, and then proceeds to subtly, cleverly dismantle everything you thought you knew about boss fights and epic narratives. It's an inversion of Soulsian conventions that's both a wry tribute and a rather profound micro-treatise on storytelling, curiosity, stagnation, and what it truly means to be a hero – or, in this case, a villain.
Picture this: you've just smacked down the same brave (or utterly foolish) interloper for the umpteenth time. You snap their corpse out of existence with a flourish of electric purple fire – all the ceremony of clearing toast crumbs off a bench, really. Each time, just as you're about to plonk yourself back onto your throne, the hero galumphs trumpetously back through the doorway, ready for another pop. It's a cycle of casual dominance that, at first, feels empowering. 'Ha! Take that, peasant!' you might think. But then, something changes.
About ten minutes in, there’s this beautiful, wordless moment. The hero is late. And as the queen looks toward the doorway, there's an unmistakable hint of longing. Not entirely clear if she's, y'know, *enjoying* this repetitive dance of death. But it’s a gut punch of a moment, revealing a stark truth: unchallenged dominance, after the initial high wears off, must feel unbearably stagnant. You eat the same soup daily for decades, you might just find yourself oddly fond of the fly that decides to one day show up for swimming lessons. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Is constant victory truly winning, if there's no challenge left to make it meaningful?
The hero, initially, is a bit of a chump. Stands still, takes a mace to the face. Easy. But they learn. They decide moving is probably a good idea. And so, you, as the queen, get a few new moves: a gap-closing spike, a devastating (but telegraphed, because even evil has sportsmanship) magic fire. And, of course, the hero works out how to deal with each move. Later, an achievement pops: 'Out of tricks?' A brilliant bit of meta-commentary, isn't it? Like the game itself is winking at you, saying, 'Yeah, we get it, boss, you're a bit stuck in your ways.' It's a perfect use of digital paraphernalia as a storytelling device, and honestly, I wish more games pulled off that sort of cleverness.
Through these moments of stagnation, glimpses of potential growth present themselves. Dialogue options that offer curiosity instead of dismissiveness. You learn the queen doesn't even know the layout of her own castle – if she did, she might have hidden those treasure chests better. So the hero returns with chainmail. Then a shortbow. Then a glowing sword. And for the first time, removes an entire segment of your four-part health bar. That's when it hits you, like a poorly aimed fireball: they're going to win, eventually. Your moves are the same, the bloodstains build up, and the queen, unchallenged for so long, had no reason to stay curious, to learn, to evolve. And now, faced with a real reason to change, it's probably too late. Bloody typical, really.
Now, for all its cleverness, *The Dark Queen Of Mortholme* isn't without its little quirks that made me raise a wizardly eyebrow. There's a line from the queen about halfway through – something to the tune of 'against the might of the status quo, your actions don't matter.' Honestly, a bit like a wizard explaining exactly how his illusion works – kinda ruins the magic, doesn't it? For a game that otherwise thrives on subtlety, this felt a tad on-the-nose, almost like a developer's note slipped into the script. It's a valid point, mind, but the game had already *shown* me that truth, it didn't need to spell it out in bold letters.
Then there's the game’s own description on its Steam page, calling it a 'second-person indie.' Here you are, fully immersed in the existential dread of being an immortal tyrant, and then the marketing copy kind of nudges you, 'Psst, you're just looking *through* her eyes, mate.' It's a weird one, that. It felt like it was almost trying to relegate the queen to a camera lens, a supporting role, which felt at odds with the powerful sense of agency the game otherwise provides. A classic case of trying to bottle lightning and labeling it 'sparky liquid,' I reckon. But hey, it's the artist's story, I'm just visiting, bumpy nudges and all.
This game, in its short runtime, got me thinking deeply about the power of stories. We craft our own narratives every time we load up a save, don't we? Even when a game is trying to tell us *its* story, we're always, subtly, writing our own alongside it. *The Dark Queen Of Mortholme*, for all its clever inversions and unique framing, ultimately tells a rather traditional story. The hero still gets the last word, the big dramatic lines. The Queen, for all her power, is still trapped in the hero's narrative. And there's a beautiful, melancholic truth in that, isn't there? That even when you turn the camera around, even when you play the antagonist, the fundamental narrative beats often remain.
But here's the kicker, mate: for a game that seems to suggest there are 'no new stories,' it certainly made me *feel* something new. It made me question the nature of power, of purpose, and yeah, even the sheer bloody persistence of a hero who just won't stay down. And if an indie game, in a short burst, can get you thinking *that* deeply, well, then it's done something magical, hasn't it? It’s a worthwhile distraction, a micro-treatise that wastes not a second, and a firm thumbs-up from this digital wizard.
Tags: indie games, narrative design, boss fights, game reviews, storytelling
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun