I regret to inform you that Resident Evil Village is cancelled forever. You cannot enjoy this game, you meanie.
A rickety carriage is parked outside an arcane manor, sitting stationary in its snow-laden surroundings. A vague light shines as the doors creak open, illuminating not a head, or a leg, but a drooping belly as it spills out the door, unflatteringly visible beneath the oh-so-small shirt that can only dream of containing half of it. There is no face or voice here – there is simply the ludicrous presence of a large gut lumbering from off-screen to centre stage.
Of course this man, The Duke, is a merchant, a gravy-guzzling greedster who divides his waking hours into scoffathons and extortionate auctioneering. I’d be surprised if he was anything else, really, because “fat” as a character trait is almost always synonymous with overindulgent, or bad. If The Duke was thin (hello Bowie), I’d have looked at him and mulled over the myriad possibilities of what role he might play in the story – but with that breadbasket? Come on. Villain or fraudster, for sure.
