The Hinterlands Is The Best Part Of Dragon Age: Inquisition
I played it for 300 hours. I know these things.
Inquisition is about the formation of the titular organisation in response to an ancient would-be God tearing a rift between the material world, and the realm of dreams, spirits, and demons. You are the only survivor of a war summit’s explosion that killed Thedas’s religious leader — and everyone else in attendance — and you survived by falling out of that very rift yourself, with no recollection of how you came to be there. The first quest area you go to is very big, and very green, and has cliffs you can jump up with satisfying ‘hup’ noises.
I am somebody who needs to be around trees on a regular basis in order to feel like I still have a soul. I grew up on the doorstep of a forest, if forests had doors, and now I live in a town, which definitely have doors. Grey ones. Awful. I am also disabled! So, my nature time is limited. Try to ‘hup’ a wheelchair up a hill. Try to ‘hup’ a wheelchair down a hill.
In much the same way as your average able-bodied player might embrace heroic fantasy RPGs to indulge in escapism from the mundane and frustrating parts of their 9-to-5, I play Inquisition to briefly be a cool powerful lady with a sword… who can also climb every hill she can see.
Inquisition has some of the sheer loveliest environmental design of any game I have played. The Storm Coast, and its rain-slicked rock columns and crashing waves. The Emerald Graves, and the stone Elven ruins protected and concealed in the forest surrounding them. The Hinterlands, and its green and pleasant lands, with rickety bridges and miniature waterfalls and sweeping hilltop views.
I never use the mounts, delightful as riding around on a giant nug may be, because I very much want to take the scenic route, the long way round. I wander around, picking elfroot (so much elfroot) and listening to my companions banter while I follow little tiny points of curiosity on the map in the hope that it will lead me to something new and lovely I can savour. Somehow, 300 hours in, it still sometimes does. I’m a very absent-minded completionist in this way. I just know that if I see a waterfall, I have to stand under it. And if I see a hill, I have to find a way to climb it.
