Random Brew Generator: Erse Vista

If you're anything like me, you're of legal age and you enjoy a nice brew while you unwind with video games. My experiences with drinking while playing games has ranged from a pleasant, unfazed focus to an intense and uncoordinated debauchery.

But, I find that when I hit the right mix, something exceptional bubbles up.

My method is simple. One beer is for taste, and the next for a playthrough of whatever video game I think goes best with it. So, while the setup is predictable, the experience is anything but. It's random, generated by 1s and 0s, mediated through my ever-suffering skillset.

Highlands Gaelic Ale and Horizon Zero Dawn

For this one, I'm hoping to satiate my more reclusive tendencies. Even though my mountains are computer-generated, I'm going to embody the contemporary hermit.

The Taste

I popped the cap off the bottle and poured the ale into my trusty, classy, plastic white wine glass. I debated for a moment whether I should take it straight from the bottle, like my father would choose, rather than endure the humiliating taste of plasticity. Or perhaps I should even switch to one of my trusty (and much-disapproved by my fianceé) Black Diamond salsa jars.

However, by the time these alternatives crossed my mind, I had already started pouring. C'est la vie.

As the liquid flowed, I noted the sweet aroma of roasted grain. Tiny bubbles swam swiftly to the surface, but there wasn't much in the way of head formation. The foam was bolstered a bit by pouring more, but it dissipated quickly, leaving no trace on the glass.

The liquid itself was a translucent blood orange, reminding me of the scorched orange slice that sat atop a flaming margarita I had recently. The fizzy carbonation imparted a light mouthfeel, but the actual drink was medium-bodied. It sat heavy on my tongue, spreading like gravy over a biscuit.

The flavor took a moment to hit, which could possibly be because my fridge was set to 37 degrees Fahrenheit. Ales are better served from 45-50 degrees, but even cold, there was a strong presence of malt with just a hint of chocolate.

I'm a big fan of retronasal olfaction as well, and this time, it confirms my assessment. The roast is carried by a soft, hoppy bitterness. It may be a dark beer, but it isn't heavy.

As the ale warmed, I tasted more of the grain. getting the overall feeling of cooked sugar as I sip on it/as it warms. The light bitter of the hops hits my throat after I swallow. It's not a super complicated palate. The light aftertaste in my mouth was slightly bitter, so subtle I wondered if it was more the absence of the sweetness than the presence of hops. It's a nice presence. The beer isn't as much a heavy-hitter as it is a reliable, single-base run.

As always, I look up the official palate afterwards. It was made with caramel malt, which I recognize that I still have trouble detecting. I find this blind spot weird because I love caramel; caramel is top tier; it's my favorite candy. But the answer to whether I love beer because I love caramel or vice versa will have to wait for later.

The Activity

I've been playing video games for close to thirty years now, and it still boggles my mind how RPGs have captivated the minds, GPUs, and superiority complexes of gamers everywhere. It seem that nowadays, if a game isn't open-world, single-player, and inundated with world-affecting role-playing opportunities, then it is panned (I will note that this sort of generalization puts me among the category of fist-shaking, pedantic, uninformed critic; one who blindly assumes that everyone who posts online is the same person all the time. But hey, I need to start somewhere with this article).

Horizon Zero Dawn is a stellar entry to the genre. Its open world is set in the distant future, where humanity rose to a high level of technological prowess before plummeting back to the beginning of the agricultural era. The plot centers around the once-outcast, Aloy, who must come to terms with her place in a world while a major threat rises from forces long thought dormant.

At least, I assume. So far I'm in the early stages of the game, and the narrative has been laden with hints, these little story fishhooks that drag me along. While I love the main plotline, I am enamored with all the little tidbits and side quests along the way.

The Experience

It's hard to overstate how excited I am for this session. I've had a very emotional week, full of ups and downs, irritation and excitement, mostly driven by a choice selection of beneficial and downright abysmal social interactions. I've been putting off this experience because I'm so excited to finally tune out and relax.

And now that I smell the rich roast, it's time to dive in.

I take a good, long sip as the game loads. The alcohol dries out my mouth, matching my anticipation, my longing to drown out my intrusive thoughts.

Aloy rests next to a campfire, slumping to her side, peacefully regarding the blue skies. I browse the map for potential objectives before deciding to visit a village on a mountainside that I've never gone to before. The dopamine hit that comes from changing a marker on my map from grey to green is inimitable in the corporeal world.

I spin in a couple circles before diving into the river, where I struggle to get out of the water because I am a reviewer and not a real gamer. Pathfinding is an exercise in common sense and patience, sure, but it also requires a certain threshold of motor skill which I at times seem to lack.

I don't let my initial difficulties get to me. This digital nature is beautiful. It's Earth, after all; Earth is beautiful. I'm in what once was a city.  In a way, it's prettier than most cities I've been to in real life. There are street lights covered in dangling vines. There are ruined facades, their bricks broken apart by roots. Rusted cars sit trunk-up in ditches dug a long time ago. There is great craftsmanship about this game I take another sip as I just survey the land, the mountains in the distance. I listen to the birds flying over the river. I think they're ducks.

The isolation among what once was a densely populated area isn't jarring. There is space to breathe, time to soak it all in. It's actually cathartic to me to see this place reclaimed by the minutely encroaching forces of nature. There are questions that linger in the air, but they are unprovoking. They hover over the grasses, never landing, never applying pressure to solve them. And the mystical ambience is accentuated by the light darkness of the beer. It dissipates quickly, its malt lingering, begging the question of what comes next.

Aloy's head in the clouds, she runs too fast. One of the machines notices her. She ducks behind cover. The assailant is one of the Grazers, a metalloid deer. Unconcerned for her own safety, Aloy decides to take it down for parts. It approaches her, its eye changing from a cautious yellow to a threatening red. Aloy nails the robot in the middle of its horns, which only makes it angry. Luckily, Aloy brings up her Focus scanner to identify the deer's weak spots, and she quickly takes it down. Her self-preservation triumphs, and she stoops over the chassis to loot it for parts.

There's something different about hunting with a bow. A bow is deliberate. It is like the ohm, tying together meaning in the gaps between notching the next arrow. I strip the creature's chassis while she shelters behind a crumpled brick wall. The beer warms my chest, embodying the satisfaction of a successful hunt.

Oh, shit. A laser deflects off the corner of the wall in front of me, shot from one of the velociraptors, called Watchers. Rather than kill it, I decide to sneak up behind the Watcher, override its internal network, and make it my ally. You can do that. The beasts are responsive to persuasion.

I dive in the river and swim around the others. Best to let virtual, artificial nature lie.

I can hear my cats fighting in the room, which breaks me out of the immersion. The ambient irritation towards humanity both general and specific threatens me again, so I take another sip of the ale. I appreciate how quickly it washes over my tongue, how cool it is in my mouth, how it forces me to reconcile with the present instead of getting lost in my head. That's the power of the wilderness for you.

I'm getting more of the hops now. They're very light but they couple with the alcohol to create a want in my mouth. I could probably down this beer very quickly.

I see some beautiful red rocks covered in snow – I'm in the middle of a populated area, which, here, means approximately ten people. One of the women from the village tended to a sick brave. I sent Aloy to talk with her, and the woman introduces herself as a medic named Fla. She asks a familiar question from these sorts of RPGs: will you go and fetch the item that I'm looking for from the place I conveniently highlight on your map?

Before Aloy answers yay or nay, she asks Fla for all the information she has to offer. The brave was ambushed by machines and cultists, who descended "like nightmares" upon him. To remind me that the game is, well, a game, Fla reiterates the need for Aloy to embark on her quest. While the brave is beyond saving, there is still a chance he could have a peaceful death, if and only if Aloy finds the Dreamwillow herbs in their caches across the river.

Now, in the face of death itself, my irritation with human existence seems less important. However, the thought itself, that I experience frustration with humanity in general, an irrational, directionless rage, makes me irritated.

I gulp down some ale as Fla laments her lack of courage. She wishes that she could borrow some from Aloy. Alloy assures her, "You don't need to borrow what you already have."

She's so insightful. Of all the people who could have been written for me to watch and role-play, Aloy is a great choice. She's an interesting, multifaceted person with a nuanced perspective of the world around her (her incredible portrayal credited to Ashly Burch). I find myself compelled to play not only because of the world, but to help Aloy find the satisfaction she seeks in answering the questions about her past.

Usually, I spend my time in HZD talknig with people. Today, I'd rather hunt, abandoning the tethers of society, shaking loose of social constructs. I "skyrim" (read: manipulate the game's terrain to move unnaturally) my way down a mountain.

When I'm on solid ground, I check my map. The world is so vast. I don't know how long it would take to travel across it by foot. I'm sure I could look it up, but I bet it would take a long time.

Lucky for me, I find a horse machine. Like I noted briefly before, you can bend the wills of the machines to your benefit. These Striders are useful in that you can hop on their backs and gallop freely across the countryside.

Let's ride.

Aloy reaches the trail made by members of her clan, and she ziplines to the medicine. But, when we open the canister, there's nothing there other than the currency of the future, metal shards.

It's evening now, and fireflies are out. I remember how many fireflies are out when I was a kid. It's soothing to think about them returning after our demise. for some reason, my video capture - which I use to ??? - stops working.

Oh well. I'd rather not stop the playthrough, as I'm less than halfway through the beer. I don't want to interrupt the flow. But it's frustrating, more so than I anticipate. I wonder if Aloy feels the same frustration as she runs this odd job to no fulfillment.

There's no Dreamwillow in the next canister, either. Where the hell is it?

The stars come out, and, combined with the roasty beer, I am somewhat calmed. I walk my robot horse into the night. Look at all those stars. It makes me wonder how many I could see in my backyard. Probably less than twenty, if that.

We ride. I return to Fla and tell her that I found nothing. She tells me maybe a recluse has it. He lives to the west, where troublesome machines roam.

Excellent. I'm ready. Let's meet some machines and catharsize.

The heavy pounding of my horses footsteps galvanize me. We climb into danger; I feel a broiling, determined fury bolstered by a swig of brew. The heaviness of the liquid somehow matches my mood. People were the cause of my irritation, they always are.

As I ascend the icy mountain slope, I'm forced to abandon my horse. Aloy hops from rope to rope, casually showcasing her prowess. Along the way, she hears a cry for help. The recluse has been locked inside his house.

Naturally, Aloy smashes open the door with a spear. The action reminds me that maybe there are, in fact, some benefits to living near people.

Apparently, a gang of outcasts stole the weed to sell it. The recluse tells Aloy where they are, adding that they're murderous. As Aloy makes a lighthearted joke, I eagerly finish my drink. It's time to take down the most dangerous prey and vent my frustrations on criminals who deserve it.

I use the Focus to follow their trail. As we climb the sheer rock face, I consider that Aloy may be my hero. What a competent person.

When we find the outcasts, they are already pinned on a cliffside by a giant machine reminiscent of a panther or a sabertooth tiger. It snarls, occasionally lunging towards the rocky wall.

Aloy sprints into the fray, her bow drawn and ready to fire.

Quickly, I learn that I can't attack the humans. It becomes clear that Aloy has more compassion than I do. She will only fight the machine; she refuses to take out the cowering outcasts. Without an easy catharsis for my misanthropy, I find my frustrations coming to a boil.

Now, I want to clarify that these feelings are more moments than they are a consistent attitude. In my better self, I consider humanity to be like other life, moving with biochemical motive in ways that I can't comprehend. But, on days like today, I am obsessed with negative representation.

It can be difficult for me to move past personal misunderstandings. Sometimes, the encounter sticks in my head on loop, and I find myself re-encountering the miserable moment again and again. Over time, these memories become indicative of the problems I see in humanity as a whole - the wanton disrespect, the proclivity toward selfish waste. There are times I wish I were something outside of humanity, something beyond it, because I am so fed up with the systemic bullying, the close-minded insults-ingrained-as-common-belief, the exclusionary mindsets.

On days like today, the rusted street signs and broken facades of HZD are reassuring. There are no guarantees to the permanency of things, even those refined beyond my capacity to destroy. Nature always triumphs. The erosion of the human day-to-day is a triumph, one that I cannot hope to see in my lifetime. A fall for the general public would likely also mean a fall for me. Nevertheless, if I could get away with never driving a car again, nor having one pass me, I would be a very happy person.

To my irritation, I'm forced to reconcile with a single contradiction. While I have grown up in a time of unmitigated human expansion, the fact remains that I have grown up in it. I am humanity; I am the hustle and bustle of a futuristic society that reduces "nature" to "resource." I am the very symptom of what frustrates me. There is no world in which I exist that lacks others existing as well.

And, to add to the obstacle, I consider the begged question of the artifice which surrounded my upbringing. As it stands, can I truly conceive of the wild? Does such a thing exist anymore? If it were something different from what I believe, and I knew what it was, would I venerate it as much as I do now?

These questions put me in my place, albeit begrudgingly. At least I know one benefit to being a person.

Historically, human culture developed concurrently with some form of beer. Beer is the marker of human existence. The formative ingredient in beer, barley, was created by the meddling of humans millennia ago. Even in a future where nature has encompassed artifice itself, it's easy to believe that people would still gather together to make and share a wide variety of brews. That's what they do in HZD.

Back to the game; back to the beast, who is leaping towards me, fangs bared. Back to the outcasts on the cliff, laden with stolen weed, desparate for protection. Ignore the UI menu on my photo. (I learned during edits that you have to manually hide the menu before taking a screenshot. My frustration - like yours at this point when I use the word "frustration" for the umpteenth time - was inconsolable)

Aloy nocks and releases a flurry of fire arrows while she dodges the Sawtooth's swift pounces. The Sawtooth is clever and ferocious. When Aloy sets an electric tripwire, the beast immediately jumps over it. Aloy is forced to roll and roll and roll again through the snow to escape the panther's heavy iron claws.

As I whip Aloy around to try and lure it in, two Watchers jump to its assistance. Fuck. Lucky for us, the sabretooth has hit the tripwire, paralyzing it for a short time. Aloy deals with the velociraptors as best as she can. In between frequent dodges, she ultimately whips out her spear to take them out. Then, we focus on the beast and finish it off with fire.

The outcasts show gratitude. I remember that Aloy herself was once an outcast. That must be why she cared so much. These people were cast out for impulsive, minor acts of violence, stealing, and trespassing. None of them are murderers. They took the medicine for their own use. It's rough in the wilds without the protection of a tribe. The money in the caches was left by them to pay the tribespeople back. Aloy suavely negotiates for some - not all - of the Dreamwillow. The outcast agrees with her, and the weed exchanges hands.

We fast travel back to the recluse and give him the meds to deliver it to Fla. When we arrive, he comes at us hot, pissed that the outcasts broke the tribal rules. We reveal that Aloy was an outcast, too, and the recluse rages. He is a complete, intolerable asshole.

And, in a rare moment of dialogue, I now have a choice of what Aloy will say.

Sensing a chance at catharsis, I summon my anger and threaten him. Aloy brutalizes him. She predicts that the recluse will amount to nothing. After all, he's a nobody, and a useless one at that. He will live and die without any recognition or contribution to the world.

The recluse responds with more bigotry, more insensitive, hateful rhetoric. Even though Aloy claps back immediately, I realize that, while insults are a language the recluse understands, Aloy will impart in him neither shame nor a willingness to change. Instead, her anger will just feed the recluse's biases, feed his loop of irritation, justifying his exile.

The lesson is dissatisfying. But it's a good place to end.

Conclusion

Damn. I hate having to learn things.

It's only now that I realize the quest was titled "Insult to Injury." I really should go back to see if Fla succeeded in her mission. I also realize that, while the recluse claimed the outcasts stole from him, they actually left payment in the canisters. Did they take anything from him at all? Or was he locked in his house because he yelled slurs at the outcasts as they passed by his run-down house?

Either way, I had a nice time slugging it out with machines and navigating the mire of communication. What a gorgeous wilderness to run around in. The beer was nice, too, but it didn't seem to meld together with my time as Aloy. What we're looking for here are pairings that are two sides of a coin, that encapsulate experience within one another rather than merely complement each other. So, while the ale complemented HZD, I don't think it fleshed out my gameplay in the way I initially imagined it would.

Recommendation

I enjoyed the experience, but I can't say that this pairing is a match made in heaven.