Northern Journey still feels like a secret

Fool of the wild
View from halfway down a narrow, U-shaped fjord, looking up. A waterfall, grey skies, distant paths, and above, two plank bridges in a V shape, suspended by one heavy rope
Desolate. Grey. Rickety. Powerful beings preying freely on humans. Yes, London is a good place to escape to games from.


Summarising Northern Journey feels like a transgression. Maybe it feels so secret because we haven't covered it enough. Maybe it's because The Gaemars are liars and hypocrites who yearn for the gruel. Maybe it's because playing it gently awakens some ancient feeling that the world is vast and unknown, and full of dark and strange things instead of just more goddamn humans doing the same thing as every other human because that's what the other humans are doing.

Of the three things I know about Finland, probably the most relevant is that it borders Norway, where Northern Journey is set. But not really. Nobody names this region, nobody explains more than where to go next and what to look out for. Its setting is that place. The world before "the world" meant a list of countries and buildings and certainties and fucking adverts.

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Northern Journey
Sin Vega

Sin Vega

Sin Vega is a temporarily immortal being who writes about games and TV, weeps for the sorrow that resonates in all things, and assassinates people who don't flatpack their cardboard. For maddening reasons, she lives in London.