I used to be a huge Assassin's Creed fan. I played every yearly release, usually as soon as it came out. Each game casts you as a vengeful, acrobatic assassin in a lush historical location: the first took players to the Crusades; the second, to the Renaissance. The third game in the core series (this being a successful franchise, there were spinoffs) took players to the American Revolution and the wilderness of the colonial frontier. Each time, I was utterly taken with the spectacle of it.
These games weren't smart, but they had a certain infectious energy to them. Mostly, it was the movement. Building on Ubisoft's history with platformer games like the 3D Prince of Persia games, Assassin's Creed oriented itself on an intuitive movement system, a simple setup that allowed players to perform parkour-style jumps and vaults onto and across rooftops. The joy of Assassin's Creed was in that freeform energy, the navigation that took me from ground to roof, across clotheslines, up minarets, and to the tops of towers overlooking vast historical landscapes. It was the sense of power and freedom, and the mastery that came with it. Assassin's Creed let me imagine that I was moving astride history as both observer and hero.
Eventually, though, I lost interest; the similarities between each title began to grate on me, and I moved on. This year's Assassin's Creed Origins is the first title I've played in the series since probably 2012—and it started out an incredibly disorienting experience.
