Unravel the Mysteries of Madness: A Deep Dive into The Stone of Madness for Switch
By If you ever believed that monasteries were solely dedicated to indulgent feasts and the melodious chants of Ave Maria, The Stone of Madness is here to prove you entirely mistaken.
This title marks The Recreation Kitchen’s initial venture into the stealth genre (a distinctly Spanish fascination as we discussed with the developers last year) following the team’s impressive achievements with the Blasphemous Metroidvanias. Two distinct campaigns take place in a grand 1800s monastery nestled in the Pyrenees, which also serves as an asylum for the insane. This mountaintop confinement provides no solace or escape from worldly troubles for five unfortunate inmates seeking to break free from their captors.
The hospitality from these harsh nuns and friars may feel as frigid and unyielding as the stone slabs constituting the monastery’s walls, yet it’s impossible not to be captivated by this grim Jesuit asylum that is steeped in the cruelty and despair of the Spanish Inquisition. A dazzling stealth sandbox, meticulously painted in rich gothic ambiance and Catholic pomp, creates a dynamic simulation of its daily routines: spiteful inmates wander common areas. Nuns and friars tend to herb gardens, wash clothes, or engage in holy duties under the watchful eyes of fearsome inquisitors and mother superiors. When the clock strikes three, monks march from their Angelus prayers in the chapel to the dining hall. As night falls, unsettling spirits roam the corridors.
The movements of patrolling guards and the sounds of passing clergy may define your safest route, but your own abilities come into play immediately. Limited to a team of three, much like in Commandos or Shadow Tactics, the paths chosen by your inmates are determined by their skills.
Some skills are straightforward; the capable ones can incapacitate guards and hide them in the nearest closet, while the nimble among them can swipe keys and other valuables before slipping through narrow openings unnoticed. Others are more inventive and dramatic: a witch casts a spell causing guards to stumble as they run, while a mischievous youth provokes guards to leave their posts by making a childish raspberry noise and leading them right into a waiting mousetrap. At its best, it resembles a morbidly whimsical Scooby Doo escapade filled with chases and unexpected turns.
Interestingly, we discovered that the clever utilization of obstacles was just as memorable as our abilities. If tasked with speaking to a nun, don’t choose Eduardo – the timid fellow can hardly utter a word. And a stack of papers may contain many secrets, but they’re of little use to young Amelia, who has yet to learn how to read. There are numerous pathways, yet only a few are practical at any time. It’s an immersive-sim-inspired setup for improvisation, paving the way for countless, chaotic scenarios to unfold.
And this is just the beginning. In a twist of fate, one mechanic is designed to make us even more prone to accidents: each character starts the game with a phobia. Whenever they are confronted with their fears, their sanity takes a nosedive. Alfredo the priest cannot handle the sight of violence or the aftermath in the form of corpses or unconscious individuals. Eduardo is terrified of the dark. Meanwhile, while Leonara may act as the group’s brawn, she cannot bear the sight of an open flame.
This mechanism leads to a downward spiral through levels that compel you to face your worst nightmares. Should Eduardo traverse a dimly lit hall at a perilous risk or wait for Alfredo to accompany him with his oil lamp? A treasure chest in a ghastly room filled with corpses is a deterrent for the squeamish, and if you suffer from a headache, best steer clear of the ominous piano player.
Even more troubling, if your sanity reaches zero, you’re rendered unconscious for the duration of the day with an all-new phobia to contend with. After suffering from rheumatism, Agnes spent much of our gameplay immobile; Eduardo became claustrophobic and refused to hide in cabinets. With our options limited, more misfortune lay in wait.
The day-night cycle in The Stone of Madness creates an impression of an ever-present escape scenario. By night, you can craft makeshift tools, treat your wounds, and mend your fractured minds. By day, as the clock ticks, you take action. It’s a mild reset, an opportunity to reorganize your party and equipment almost reminiscent of a roguelite. With no aim timer, the situation is desperate yet the pressure is manageable. Got into a bind? Try again tomorrow.
This forgiving nature is why you won’t find a strict save system or a game-over state, a commendable effort to address stealth mechanics’ long-standing dependence on save-scumming. However, we still found ourselves quitting and reloading saves due to the game’s most formidable aspect: its oppressive dread.
When the game removes its guardrails, our most cunning schemes didn’t always correlate with the ability to find a clear path forward, nor to maneuver when we eventually uncovered a way ahead.
The guidance breadcrumbs towards your goals sometimes feel ambiguous and often brute-forced – even with hints switched on, we struggled to complete a mission involving gathering several mandrakes with frustratingly hard-to-find solutions. And the monastery’s subterranean crypts, stately cloisters, and winding corridors offer dramatic environments, yet at the cost of narrowing the available space to avoid detection.