But it's worth checking that link if you want to see what others are capable of.Īside from getting another little pet (a baby dragon) I didn't find a lot interesting or game-changing about upgrading another skill-tree. I'd soon learn my character is officially Tiny Tina's Wonderlands' best class. Later, you unlock an extra subclass, letting you use critical hit bonuses from the stabby rogue character, or the spinny axe abilities of the berserker class, for instance. He fulfils a similar function as the insectoid pet that so pleased Nate in Borderlands 3. More importantly, he has a little fungal friend who walks around and helps you kill stuff, mostly by farting a cloud of toxic mist. In terms of classes, I played as the Spore Warden, a lad who can fire a line of magic arrows or summon three icy mini-tornadoes. My favourite spell summons a large meteor that slowly crushes and burns everything beneath it. These share the '18 bajillion guns' gimmick of the game's more bullety armoury, meaning spells are confined to a few archetypes with different styles of damage and extra quirks.

Arcane tricks include ice spikes, fire blooms and vampiric area attacks. And there's a spell slot as well, with randomly generated spell tomes any class can equip. There are active abilities restricted by class (although later you get more choice than ever to swap these around). But there are a lot of duds and nose-whistlers in between.Īs for the running and the gunning, I'm not the Border-prof that Nate is but, as far as I can tell, differences between this and previous games are minor. The superior script-flips got me laughing. And once in a while there's a punchline of dramatically stupid proportions, usually functioning as the climax of some long multi-tiered quest. Enemies blurt some great lines on death (the catch being you will hear them a hundred times). One character is described as a 'half-bard', a solid joke at the fantasy genre's expense. At one point a barkeep shows you a kiosk where you can change your character's appearance, 'in case you need to change anything fundamental about your entire being,' she says. In a world where every sentient being has no volume control, it's the quieter gags that make me smile. She's less a character and more a joke deliverer, and her relentlessly manic nature is emblematic of the script as a whole. It takes patience to get past how baseline annoying she can be. But most of the time she's a noxious slang abuser growling the word 'babaaayyy' over and over. She's redeemable in the few scenes in which she softens, where it becomes clear she's a lonely and over-excitable kid. The big hurdle first: I find Tiny Tina hard to stomach. It exists as a handsome world to roam through with pals, half-listening to dialogue while Paula chews toast and Jeremy complains about work. For Borderlikers, the gun compulsion and farty japes will be enough. It's a loots-be-shoot with a moreish loop urging you onward, boasting characterful art design and thick-lined scenery goading you to pause for yet another snap in photo mode. Tiny Tina's Wonderlands is more mix for the bag. In richer moments, it flips your expectations with a huge scene-changing gag that solicits a hearty giggle. In poorer moments, it falls into the trap of the sketch show, flogging a perfectly fine jokehorse to the point of putrefaction. The comedy of Borderlands is like a high-recoil submachine gun. Sparse laughs can't win Borderlands a new fan.

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