Rock, Paper, Shotgun

Lugging a gaming PC around isn’t exactly practical, and handhelds like the Steam Deck or ROG Ally are fun, but not exactly built for heavy lifting. If you want something that’s actually powerful and still portable, a gaming laptop’s where you'll probably end up.

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Rock, Paper, Shotgun

I've been poking around for some new PC games and stumbled across Fanatical’s May Madness sale, and it's kinda good? It's not exactly Steam Summer Sale levels of "How the hell is it that cheap?">, but there's still plenty of cool stuff on sale.

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Rock, Paper, Shotgun

Have you seen Eriksholm: The Stolen Dream knocking about? I can't seem to find it. It's an upcoming adventure game about some sneaky urchins from a fictional Scandilike country in the 1900s. We've previously described it as "a bit Dunwall and a bit Desperadoes". I got to play a short preview build, and being offered its toylike city from a top-down perspective made me eager to explore and find its many collectible artworks. It's a lavishly animated and handsomely modeled piece of work. But, well, its approach to stealth veers bland and predictable. I don't know if sunkissed tiles and cobblestone alleyways are enough to forgive what so far appears to be an entire game based on the derided "instafail stealth section". But sit down, we can talk about it.

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Rock, Paper, Shotgun

Sending my trading vessel to sail the seas of Anno 117: Pax Romana offers up a cornucopia of dangers and discoveries. Dastardly pirates. Lush islands. New leaders to barter and play diplomacy with. Most of all though, it allows me to discover hitherto unknown depths of petty jealously, as I realise how much nicer everyone else's city layout is compared to mine. Time to go demolish several family's houses and rearrange them in a slightly more aesthetically pleasing manner it is, then.

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Rock, Paper, Shotgun

Hello reader who is also a reader, and welcome back to Booked For The Week - our regular Sunday chat with a selection of cool industry folks about books! No cool industry person this week (I'd like requests though. No Classical Gas), but I want to get back into the habit of posting the column regularly regardless, since the comments are always a medium good time, which is the maximum amount of good time allowed on a Sunday.

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2025년 5월 18일
Rock, Paper, Shotgun

I don't know what Sundays are for, or indeed any other moment of spare time. Listlessly re-watching YouTube videos and refreshing BlueSky then feeling bad that I'm wasting my time rather than playing the games I want to play or reading the books I want to read? Probably. At least this way I stumble across some articles worth reading.

For 404 Media, Nicole Carpenter - former Polygon reporter - wrote about how videogame sex scenes are made.

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Rock, Paper, Shotgun

I write to you from the heart of an on-going emergency. Somebody or something> keeps digging holes in the notionally shared lawn outside my block, and the neighbours who actually own their flats are mounting a witchhunt. It's brilliant! They’ve been taking photos from multiple angles and accusing the local kids. As far as I’m concerned, all this is divine vengeance on the building owner for having somebody mow the grass twice a month. It looks like the Bay Of Tranquility out there. The holes are an improvement. Anyway, here’s what we’re all playing this weekend.

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Rock, Paper, Shotgun

Four dead. Four from a company of ten. Excellent Log, worm soup. Dietmar the Geldling, worm salad. Wolfgang Silkworm, some sort of delicious worm entrée, which he might appreciate. Reiner, worm dessert. They talk about survivor's guilt but no-one tells about you survivor's malice. At camp, watching that grinning blackguard Rick Nipples drink and breathe air meant for better men is as maddening as it is exhausting. Night falls, and I try to count the stars to keep my mind off wondering if I could feasibly jam an entire skillet handle into his earhole.

There may be a time, I think, when the land our descendants travel over runs small despite its vastness; when the night that now belongs to wolves and animate dead becomes as commonplace as draped tapestry. In stars, the wolves see loping gods; the dead, sepulchral torches in a gravecold pit. Us, bright horses for breaking, dreaming of spinning astrolabes like spurs and hung parchment charts for roughspun livery; owl and bat and comet song as muted muzzlesnorts.

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