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Talisman 5th Edition review: "The characterful imperfections of the original game remain clear to see "
It’s a painful journey through a safe and inviting space that asks you not just to rest, but to really do the work of unpacking what brought you to rock bottom in the first place.
Honestly, I’m not doing this opening sequence any justice. It isn’t like any other cozy game. It’s dark, and its depiction of exhaustion and burnout is visceral. You can see it in the art, the colors shifting and pulsing with her state of mind.
For as sweet and wholesome as it may seem on the surface, this is a piping hot cup of tea that left a lasting mark when spilled.
That kind of ingenuity, of tying mechanics and narrative together in such a seamless way, is something I wish more games would do.
With each new cup of tea she drinks, you’ll also learn about her past and how she reacts to strange new sensations, with every sip bringing you closer to understanding why Elevada is the way she is.
Wanderstop never actually names it, so I won’t either. But if you know, you know. If you’re living with it, if you’ve watched someone struggle with it, you’ll recognize it in Elevada before she does.
He’s patient. He listens. He respects Alta’s feelings without invalidating them, but also without indulging them in a way that lets her spiral deeper. He is, in every way, the calm in the storm that is her mind.
(I’m looking at you, “cozy gamers.”) I felt incredibly called out by this, personally, and it helped me realize this cycle is just not sustainable. By the end of Alta’s journey, I felt like I not only understood her a little better, but understood a part of myself I hadn’t listened to in a long time. I might even owe developer Ivy Road a therapist’s fee.
There’s this one cutscene with Monster—a moment so heavy, so emotionally charged—that I know I would’ve been bawling if there had been music. And that’s my one gripe with the soundtrack: That scene Wanderstop Gameplay needed a BGM.
And, as I mentioned before, they leave. Their stories don’t get conclusions. There’s pelo final moment of catharsis where they stand up and say, I’m better now. Thank you. Because they’re still on their journey, just as we are. We don’t get to know where that journey leads.
It’s not here to fix you. It doesn’t promise closure or the neatly wrapped resolutions we’ve been trained to expect from storytelling. Instead, it gives you space. To sit with discomfort. To make peace with uncertainty. To understand that healing isn’t about erasing the past, but about learning how to carry it.
I cannot overstate how beautiful this game is. The cutscenes feel hand painted, each frame dripping with emotion, with color that tells its own story. The game’s artistic direction is phenomenal. The color palette shifts with the narrative—sometimes warm and inviting, sometimes muted and isolating, always deeply intentional. If I had to pick a favorite thing to look at in this entire game, it would be the way light hits the large tea brewery.
While it embraces a cozy aesthetic, Wanderstop isn’t afraid to dive into emotionally heavy territory, balancing moments of warmth with introspection and melancholy. It’s a game that asks players to slow down, reflect, and immerse themselves in the quiet beauty of everyday rituals.