The first time I dipped my hands into soil to cultivate my own strawberry patch, I felt a connection to the earth that supermarket produce never provided. There's something magical about watching tiny seeds transform into plump, juicy fruits under your care—a sense of creation that feels both ancient and profoundly personal. This journey into home fruit cultivation mirrors what I've always loved about role-playing games: the opportunity to build something meaningful from the ground up, to become the hero of your own growing story. Yet as I've nurtured my garden and played through countless RPGs, I've noticed how crucial it is for the protagonist—whether in virtual worlds or in gardening—to feel truly essential to the narrative being told.
Recently, while playing through the Dragon Age series in preparation for The Veilguard, I couldn't help but draw parallels between character development in games and plant development in my backyard orchard. Just as my fruit trees need proper roots to thrive, game protagonists need compelling reasons to exist within their stories. Dragon Age has always excelled at making players feel necessary—remember how in Dragon Age: Inquisition, our character literally had a unique connection to the fade through that mysterious mark on their hand? The game spent significant narrative capital explaining why we, and only we, could handle the crisis. Statistics from my gaming logs show I've poured over 280 hours into the Dragon Age series, and what kept me engaged through all three main titles was precisely this sense of purpose.
This brings me to Rook, the new protagonist in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and why this character feels about as substantial as a sapling planted in barren soil. I've spent approximately 35 hours with the game now, and I'm still searching for that "aha" moment where Rook's presence feels justified. The opening sequences have the Veilguard leader insisting Rook is "the best one for the job," but the game never shows us why. There's no equivalent to the Inquisitor's anchor, no special heritage or unique ability—just empty assertions that ring hollow when compared to the evidence presented. It's like telling someone they're the perfect gardener while they're standing there holding a dead plant.
What's particularly frustrating is how much of The Veilguard's narrative seems to belong to someone else. Approximately 60% of the main story missions feel like they should have been handled by the Inquisitor from the previous game, creating this persistent sense of narrative dissonance. I found myself constantly wondering why I wasn't playing as that established character instead, much like if someone gave you a prized orchard but replaced all your carefully cultivated trees with generic saplings from a discount nursery. The emotional connection simply isn't there.
This problem extends beyond mere character development into the very philosophy of storytelling. When we invest time in anything—whether a game narrative or a fruit garden—we need to believe our efforts matter. My blueberry bushes produce nearly 18 pounds of fruit each season because I've learned their specific needs, developed proper soil compositions, and protected them from pests. Similarly, game characters need proper "narrative nutrients" to flourish. Rook receives none of this care—no compelling backstory elements that genuinely integrate with the main plot, no unique mechanics that couldn't be performed by any other character in the game world. It's storytelling malpractice of the highest order.
The anthology approach Dragon Age employs has always been challenging, but previous games mastered the transition. Dragon Age: Origins gave us multiple unique origin stories that took approximately 6-8 hours each to complete, making our Wardens feel deeply connected to the world. Dragon Age 2, despite its flaws, gave us Hawke's personal journey spanning seven years. The Veilguard provides none of this context, instead expecting players to immediately connect with a character the writers themselves don't seem particularly invested in. It's the gaming equivalent of being handed a fruit basket and being told to pretend you grew everything inside yourself.
As I navigate between pruning my apple trees and navigating The Veilguard's lackluster protagonist, I'm reminded that authenticity matters in both gardening and gaming. My most successful fruit varieties—including the Honeycrisp apples that now yield about 45 bushels annually—succeeded because I understood their specific requirements and growth patterns. Similarly, the most memorable game characters succeed when developers understand what makes them essential to their stories. Rook's inclusion feels like an afterthought, a narrative contrivance that undermines the rich tapestry BioWare previously wove throughout this beloved series.
Perhaps what stings most is the missed opportunity. The framework for a compelling protagonist exists within The Veilguard's world—the magical systems, the political tensions, the lingering consequences of previous games—but Rook never truly connects with these elements in a meaningful way. It's like having all the ingredients for a spectacular fruit salad but forgetting to add any sweetener. The components are technically there, but the final result falls flat where it should sing.
In my gardening experience, I've learned that the most fruitful endeavors—whether cultivating grapes or game characters—require careful attention to foundation and purpose. Just as my strawberry plants needed specific soil pH levels between 5.5 and 6.5 to truly thrive, game protagonists need properly calibrated narrative conditions to feel authentic and necessary. The Veilguard's failure to provide this for Rook ultimately makes the entire experience feel less rewarding, like harvesting fruit that looks perfect but lacks flavor. For all its technical achievements, the game forgets the most important lesson both gardeners and storytellers should remember: without strong roots, nothing truly flourishes.