Sea of Thieves

The first thing you see when you drop into the Sea of Thieves isn’t the sea; it’s a table, a grubby, worn, wooden thing in a dingy tavern, dimly lit by candles, the hurdy-gurdy strains of some shanty (or Ride of the Valkyries) warbling in the air. There’s a woman at the bar who’ll offer bits of gossip or refill your tankard (for free - the business model is unclear).

Through the door, out into the too-bright sun, and you’re greeted by shanty lean-to stores and tents - where you’ll pick up Voyages, and (eventually) buy new boots, hats, weapons, tools - all looking like they’ve been cobbled together from the remains of whatever ships washed up here before you did. A short distance away, bobbing on one of the best water simulations you’ve ever seen, is your ship. Part vehicle, part home base, she’s your Falcon, your Serenity, your Black Pearl.

As a great captain once said, what a ship is - is freedom.

In other games - the most immediate comparison might be Assassin’s Creed IV Black Flag - taking control of something like this just means walking up to it and pressing X, effectively transforming yourself into the ship, where each button becomes a function not of you, but of the vehicle. A to speed up; B to slow down; triggers to aim or fire cannons.  Not so in Sea of Thieves, for here you are always you. As you make you way from island to island, especially in solo play, you’ll find you have to move from station to station, trimming and angling the canvas, weighing and dropping anchor, and scanning the horizon for other sails.

What you’re sailing between islands for is largely up to you - do you want to search for buried treasure on behalf of the Gold Hoarders, hunt down undead pirate captains for the Order of Souls, or catch wildlife - chickens, pigs, snakes - for the Merchants’ Alliance? Is there an ominous skull-shaped cloud on the horizon, calling all captains to pillage a skeletons’ fort? Or do you just want to sail, waiting for that moment where the wind catches the sails to full billow, and speed over the frothing caps to parts unknown?

Once you’ve completed a voyage and your hold is beginning to fill with treasure, the tension really starts to set in. Each loot-laden approach to an outpost is a hold-your-breath moment, waiting to see if there’s anyone else docked or approaching, ready to open fire or just sneak aboard and steal your hard-won booty for themselves. The sigh of relief I release when I’ve delivered the last treasure chest, cursed skull, or chicken - when I don’t have anything to lose - is huge.

There are valid criticisms, though they’re relatively minor issues for my money - on-foot, combat just about manages to hit the clunky side of perfunctory; there are “only” 3 factions, each with a single associated mission type; and thanks to the respawn systems, it’s fairly easy to end up locked in an interminable, ongoing naval battle loop with the same enemies. But I’ve always said that an open world game lives or dies on how fun it is just to navigate the map, and on that score, Sea of Thieves might just live forever.