The Enigmatic Allure of The Stone of Madness: A Captivating Exploration

Bear with me while I share this familiar tale. Deep in the mountains of Europe lies a monastery. Sinister secrets and schemes are hidden within its fortified walls: inhabitants suffering from bizarre afflictions; bodies plummeting from towers, chickens pecking at remnants of scattered brains. Most alarming? The blatant hypocrisy of those who claim to love God and their fellow humans yet never miss an opportunity to dominate – be it through words, a cane, or something much sharper – those more vulnerable than themselves.

The Stone of Madness is indeed set in the 18th century, a full 350 years after Umberto Eco’s brilliant monastic thriller The Name of the Rose, yet the game is undeniably influenced by this literary classic. In fact, the game draws inspiration from an interesting source, a 1987 adventure online game adaptation called The Abbey of Crime, “one of the most significant games produced in Spain,” as stated by The Stone of Madness director Maikel Ortega.

What we have here is less a straightforward adaptation than a reimagining that seeks to translate the essence and structure of Eco’s novel into game form. Naturally, a mystery needs resolving, one involving devious monks. However, you do not step into the shoes of a detective or similar character parachuted into these sacred halls; rather, you embody a group of inmates trapped within. This is another significant deviation from Eco’s narrative: this monastery, portrayed in stunning, illustrated detail, serves a dual purpose as an asylum, which is simply another term for a prison in this historical context. Here, one can find abundant suffering, guilt, and heresy!

Initially, The Stone of Madness marks a departure for Spanish studio, The Game Kitchen. Their previous titles, 2019’s Blasphemous and its 2023 sequel, were strong, meticulously designed tributes to 16-bit platformers, greatly complemented by indeed grotesque Catholic artwork. The Stone of Madness, however, is an isometric stealth adventure with a touch of immersive simulation (and notably less bloodshed). It showcases The Game Kitchen navigating a distinctly different mechanical path and generally executing it well.

This isometric monastery is vast and elaborately detailed, inhabited by numerous cult members and armed guards. Playing as a group of daring escapees, including devoted priest Alfredo and elderly witch Agnes, you can explore certain areas with considerable freedom (such as the dusty courtyard adjacent to a vegetable garden) while others are strictly off-limits (like the opulent living quarters of more privileged inmates). You must be cautious to avoid arousing suspicion while potentially standing in a guard’s scrutinizing line of sight. Fail to do so, and you’ll need to dash to the nearest hiding spot, Alfredo’s white nightgown fluttering as he runs.

If you have played the Commandos or Desperados series, all of this may sound quite familiar. The twist comes in the form of a ticking clock: as time progresses, stages change (for example, you won’t want to be caught in the refectory during lunchtime). Choose to loiter at night, and areas will become increasingly restricted; you will also have to contend with patrolling guards and spirits that haunt the monastery. Thus, having turned into a damp cell for the night, new opportunities arise: engage in the dark market; mend party members; comfort one another to ease the group’s darkest thoughts.

This is another crucial distinction between The Stone of Madness and its stealth predecessors: each character has a sanity meter that you must keep topped up, or they risk succumbing to despair.

Take pity on the despondent Eduardo, a tall figure with lanky limbs, a hunched back, and a heart of gold. He serves as the team’s muscle, capable of lifting heavy planks to create paths to inaccessible areas and throwing debris to distract guards. However, he also harbors a fear of darkness – not an ideal trait in this dimly illuminated monastery. At the beginning of the game, you control only Alfredo and this gentle giant. Due to my ineptitude, I quickly drained Eduardo’s valuable sanity (largely by carelessly leaving him alone in the middle of the night).

As Eduardo’s sanity waned, he developed a new affliction: claustrophobia, which meant he couldn’t hide in confined spaces; cowardice, preventing him from committing illegal acts in forbidden zones. Soon, my once noble giant became a shadow of his former self, so weakened he was rendered ineffective. Consequently, I left him in his cell, only utilizing him at night for either crafting items or, worse yet, engaging in backbreaking manual labor to convince the prison that neither he nor his companions posed a threat. It felt like a tragic, and all too likely, demise for a man who had already endured so much.

I share Eduardo’s tale because it illustrates how the game’s mechanics, even in moments of undeniable failure, generate narratively and mechanically coherent outcomes. Another incident involves Leonarda, a spirited heroine capable of cold-blooded murder. Even after dispatching an unsuspecting adversary, she is overwhelmed with guilt, turning her blade on her arm in a disturbing fit of self-harm, thereby severing a heart from her existence. The result is temporary, yet it remains a skillfully balanced game mechanic – both cringe-inducing and clever in equal measure.

Regrettably, not every aspect of the game is so effective. There is a certain clumsiness present in the controls, particularly when directing characters as a team and navigating paths that lead characters into enemy sightlines. Another annoyance is the need to manually guide each character through a trap door (the game’s fast-travel system) one at a time instead of as a group.

The larger issue lies in the mystery itself which, to put it bluntly, isn’t particularly captivating, and the writing, which lacks the sharpness found in Eco’s witty prose.