30 years and 15-or-so games after its debut, Final Fantasy is not a string of sequels but a solar system of discrete planets, of varying likeness, linked only by a weird selection of motifs - airships, crystals, birds that can be ridden like feathery ponies. Within that solar system, Final Fantasy 12, first released in 2006, is an outlier, a Pluto quite unlike any of its neighbours. In other Final Fantasies - and many other RPGs for that matter - you adopt a clutch of orphan fighters and, experience point by experience point, chip away till you have revealed each individual's predetermined potential. In Final Fantasy 12: The Zodiac Age, there is no such predestination. Each character begins as a lump of clay, ready to be shaped to whim or strategy.
The potential future of each character - Vaan, an irritating, fey ghetto rat, Balthier, a smartly dressed, quipping sky pirate, Fran, an Icelandic giantess, dressed as if she just stepped off the set of a Beyoncé shoot - is mapped out on a chart. This license board, as it's known, is divided into chessboard squares, and each square represents an upgrade: 100 HP to add to his or her total, the ability to equip a particular sword or hat, a screen-quaking special move. Collect enough license points from downed enemies and you can buy the square, which then opens up any adjacent squares for future purchase. In the original game, every character shared the same board; by the game's conclusion every character was exactly alike. In The Zodiac Age, which is based on the previously Japanese-only 'International' version of Final Fantasy 12, you choose a class for your character (Knight, Archer, Monk, Red Mage and so on) and then unlock squares relevant to their speciality. Later, you can choose a second license board for each character to plunder, creating fabulous, terrifying hybrids.
It's important to start down here, in the weeds of gritty detail. Final Fantasy 12 is a cathedral built from ten thousand of these shifting, agency-gifting parts. Next, you must design how your emerging party members work together in battle. While it's possible to direct every swipe of the sword and each life-restoring potion tossed into the air, long term you must step back and play a role closer to that of a football manager. Each character must be programmed with simple lines of logic to autodirect their behaviour. The format of these 'Gambits' is simple and always the same: 'If X then Y.' This could translate to a command such as 'If your ally's HP falls below 20 per cent then consume a potion' or 'If you meet a monster that's vulnerable to fire then cast fire spell.'
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