The Indie Informer

I predicted, in my last preview, the heroine of this story would not walk away from her tea-steeped retreat perfectly restored, but I didn’t foresee that I wouldn’t walk away from the adventure unscathed.

Wanderstop is a genuine exploration of human struggle. It’s tangled, humorous, vulnerable, enlightening, mundane, complex, sticky, straightforward, and personal in equal parts. Though some of the vocational meat could have had a little fat trimmed off, it stands as one of the best depictions of humanity I’ve seen in a game.

I start my journey as Alta, a professional tournament swordfighter, at the peak of my career. In years of vicious bouts, I have never been defeated. Until, one day, I am. Having entirely centered my identity and self-worth around being the unbeatable warrior, the loss shatters me. The fall and rise of Wanderstop’s main character is flawlessly executed. Hand-drawn scenes slice across the screen with grace and savagery, forcing me to feel this collapse as if it were my own.

So, when Alta’s hopes are spurred on by finding the mythical master Winters in the woods, so too are mine. I’m just as devastated as the protagonist to realize Alta can no longer physically hold on to her sword as she crashes through the forest. And I’m equally hopeful when the magical tea shop makes its entrance, that the golden brew in its wall can heal the weary warrior.

The game quickly disabuses me of this hope — in the gentlest way possible. Gameplay often unfolds with me hanging around the titular establishment, sweeping errant leaves or clipping thorny weeds while waiting for a customer. Once a request is made — a tea that tastes like books, a cup to inspire energetic exploration — I set about making the perfect infusion from scratch.

Each task, and each step of each task, is its own small, meditative experience. Which, I suspect, will irritate goal-oriented, action-minded gamers. I, however, loved abandoning myself to every moment, breathing in its individual delights.

First, I have to identify which ingredients might result in the best tea for the request by studying my handy, and ever-changing, field guide. It’s a well-written and easy-to-understand document that never leads me astray. Then, I head off to the tea shop’s grounds to do a little gardening.

Literally any patch of land welcomes plant growth. By placing seeds in a proper formation, I can create anything from my handbook. The system is delightfully accessible and a lot of fun to play around with. Plus, each fantastical piece of greenery is beautifully designed.

After my excursions in the garden are complete and every ingredient is placed readily in my pocket, I head indoors to the tea-making apparatus. It spans several stories and is as whimsical as anything you’d find gracing Charlie’s chocolate factory. But, again, each step is its own little adventure.

So, you can see where this dense, multi-step process might become just a little cumbersome. The game manages to mostly break up requests with story beats in such a way that I never felt like the process was tedious. There were a few moments near the end, however, when I just wanted to see the end of my journey and another request felt more like it was holding me back. I’m also equally pensive about whether that bit of needling is actually an interesting narrative device.

Wanderstop‘s finale is both wonderfully satisfying and personally conflicting. Despite longing to see the end for some time, when it comes down to leaving, I have a hard time tearing myself away. Graciously and beautifully, the game puts the weight of that decision fully on my shoulders. It inspires the feeling of leaving an old apartment, a past job, or a school you’ve just graduated from. The good memories flood back with nostalgic abandon, and the day-to-day details wash away in one poignant moment before taking that next step into the unknown. That a game could conjure that feeling is proof of Wanderstop’s triumph.