Still, this was okay, until I saw his HP: 70/70. The head, by the way, was a flaking skull, and under the trenchcoat? More skulls. I didn't expect The Collector: a tall fellow in a trenchcoat, with some kind of cage around his head. Still, we'd been at it for four or five rooms, so what do you expect? Only rabies? Only a little masochism? What's the problem? But if you're only feeling terrible in Darkest Dungeon, you're actually feeling pretty good: one guy in my adventuring party had rabies, another had become paranoid, a third was edging towards something that would turn out to be masochism of some stripe. More specifically, you could say I was feeling terrible. I was feeling pretty good during my first few hours of Darkest Dungeon - until I met The Collector, anyway.
Punishing and beautifully crafted, Darkest Dungeon is cruelty at its classiest.
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