Ask just about any game fan who lived through the ’90s for their top five RPGs of the decade and odds are Final Fantasy VI and Chrono Trigger will battle for supremacy near the top spot. Some will extend their vision into the back end of the decade with the Playstation finally finding its footing after a questionable start with Camelot’s Beyond the Beyond, while fewer still will call up some classics from Sega’s wonderful misfire, the Saturn. Undoubtedly, some nerd will tell you Live a Live, despite not having played it until a couple of years ago (they’re not wrong though). But we have, if not a proper canon, at least the strong entrenchment of a hierarchy of big budget bangers—the RPGs that established a vanguard and set the tone for Final Fantasy VII to blow the doors off the genre and let everyone feel like an RPG nerd. What about the cult classic RPGs, though?
For every Secret of Mana and Pokémon Yellow there’s another game waiting in the wings. A Kemco also-ran. A Game Arts diamond in the rough. Telnet’s laudable effort. A true cult classic RPG, one that doesn’t have a lot of fans, but whose fans that do exist are ride-or-die. This list is dedicated to some of the best of the rest—classics in their own minds, lesser loved entries in their bolder franchises, the beloved-by-few-and-unknown-to-most games that make up the second runners of the 16-bit era.
We have a lot of ground to cover, so let’s get started…
Paladin’s Quest (1992)
Developed by all-but-unknown Copya System (who otherwise gave us Air Diver, Lock-On, and Dead Heat Scramble for the Game Boy) and released in Japan under the much more accurate and descriptive title Lennus: Memories of an Ancient Machine, Paladin’s Quest didn’t review well, and I honestly don’t remember a single other person who owned or rented it at the time.
There is no paladin in Paladin’s Quest, and the box art is notably nondescript, making it the first of two games undercut by Enix’s questionable localization decisions on this list. But perhaps that’s only fitting for a game based entirely around questionable decisions.
The story at the heart of Paladin’s Quest is that of a young lad who gets goaded into unleashing a cataclysmic evil from inside an ancient machine called Dal Gren. (Growing up only an hour from the Naval Surface Warfare Center Dahlgren Division made this unintentionally hilarious as a child). After the big evil kills all of his classmates and obliterates the Magic School he was studying to become a great Spiritualist at, he’s told that all this is going according to prophecy and that he has to stop it and save the world. Also there’s an evil Dictator who wants to use the power of Dal Gren to enslave the world, etc. Chezni (yes, that’s the hero’s name) has to collect a bunch of elemental powers from all over the world, aided by a Girl and some randos, and become the ultimate Spiritualist to stop Dal Gren, the big Evil, and Zaygos the Dictator.
To top it off, the game looked old by the time it came out. Two years after Final Fantasy IV and mere months after Secret of Mana, it had a bog standard story and Master System graphics. It really didn’t stand a chance with gamers or reviewers at the time.
Yet, for as much tracing other RPGs as Copya System did, they also truly dared to try things. Say what you will about the bright pastel landscapes that fully extend into the dungeons, but the violent misunderstanding of Moebius gave us some alien and evocative tile sets. The decision to make magic pull from health instead of having a discreet magic pool was inspired for a game putting emphasis on the personal relationship to magic (even if the healing system was a confusing mess, and spellpower only increased through frequent casting). Instead of a fixed party (some guests will float in from time to time), a series of hirable mercenaries that came with their own, inflexible equipment and ability load-outs rounded out the final two slots leading to the tension of hiring newer, more advanced mercs when they became available, or keeping your now-leveled up henchmen. Sure, there’s no Palom and Porom anywhere here, and your killers for hire never seem numerically up to the challenge, but whether you’re stuck in 1992 or picking it up in 2025, the vision of a choose-your-own-weirdos game with fantasy Task Rabbits like FastJo, MeanMa, or the Rasav brothers is palpable.
It’s hard to actually praise Paladin’s Quest without feeling like you’re doing it ironically. But you’ll just have to trust me that while deeply frustrating and flawed, and absolutely outshined by the first three Phantasy Star games that came out years ahead of it, there’s something here beyond just another impeccable Kohei Tanaka (Gunbuster, Alundra) soundtrack.
I hold fast that the Yamaha YM2612 FM synthesis processor inside the Sega Genesis was actually the superior sound chip for RPGs, and while Sword of Vermilion‘s soundtrack gets nudged out by the sheer volume of incredible compositions of the ’80s and ’90s in a pure head-to-head, it’s those filthy-but-clinical jams that push this middling multi-modal experiment from its strangely Britannic riff on Xanadu and Phantasy Star to a next-gen vibefest.
If it wasn’t for an abruptly aborted sleepover at Conduct Disorder Ben’s house, I probably would have continued to walk past the (again) strangely Britannic box art for Sword of Vermilion. But before he decided to go outside and get a clump of dirt and rocks to throw at me out of nowhere in the living room, I really enjoyed my time watching him play Sword of Vermillion for like three hours. Maybe I’d like to do that myself, I thought.
Pull apart Sword of Vermilion and it unravels quickly. Its third-person perspective town navigation is a grim and generic affair of vague, European-style towns and white-on-blue menu conversations and commerce. Stepping outside of town leads to the kind of split screen PC-88 vision one might expect from Japanese-made RPGs in this era (albeit with a decidedly less impressive UI). Gone are the bespoke animations of corridor traversal that were a highlight of the Master System’s Phantasy Star, replaced by the almost beautifully brusque pop-up book rendering you expect from Space Harrier and Outrun home ports (this is a Yu Suzuki production after all). For the random encounters, we borrow directly from Xanadu. Isometric arenas filled with an assortment of baddies with button-mashing sword swings mixed with the occasional burst of magical abilities to keep things interesting. Boss fights take an entirely different approach, zooming in for a side-scrolling arcade beat ’em up mode.
It’s a far cry from the forward-thinking, genre-defying, seismic gaming shift that Yu Suzuki would present the world with in the production of Shenmue (also, definitely an RPG, don’t fight me, I’ll win). But you can see the minds behind it hard at work, even if it doesn’t gel in quite the way you’d want.
Brain Lord (1994)
I can’t tell you the number of weeks I walked right past this game at Blockbuster. “Brain Lord” what the hell? Get real. I’m not playing a game called Brain Lord. And I’m sure, you’re also looking at this list going “Dia, please. It’s called Brain Lord, AND it looks mid.”
It does. It looks mid. And, if we’re honest, it is mid. In a world of 7/10 Ys-likes daring to reach for the brass ring, this one says “I’m happy just being a 5.” But what if I told you this game’s strangely bulky hero not only got a sword (with an absurd cleave range), but also a bow, an axe, a mace, and a boomerang? All as primary weapons. Plus magic. And nine different familiars that function much like the ones in Symphony of the Night (they float around and basically cast magic).
A bevy of not-entirely-memorable-but-more-than-you’d-expect travelling companion NPCs show up to provide color commentary, advice, and comic relief in both town and dungeon. But they’ll never actually join your party. It’s Brain Lord, not Brain Team.
But why Brain Lord? Because MILORD, you’re going to need to use your BRAIN. This game is full of puzzles. Really hard involved ones. There’s only five sprawling dungeons, but each one coughs up more puzzles than your high school DM could for an entire BECMI campaign. If you liked Void Stranger but wanted more ARPG out of it, Brain Lord is exactly what you’re looking for, and a true cult classic.
Robotrek didn’t get a fair shot at life. Originally called Slapstick in Japan, with a colorful, vibrant shonen manga Mega Man vibe, Enix decided that American boys wouldn’t hang with that, and instead called it Robotrek (never mind that we were all firmly in the clutches of Carl Macek’s Robotech at the time) and put a menacing globular space station on the cover. “Another great RPG from ENIX!” was never going to save this game’s branding. It sold poorly. And anyone who saw a copy at your house would go “Bro, why?”
And the answer is simple: Robotrek is fantastic.
What if I pitched you a 20-30 hour RPG that was developed by the makers of Actraiser and Illusion of Gaia, published by the company that brought you Dragon Quest, with “build your own robot party” mechanics, inventive strategic combat using a quasi-“Gambit” system, and a localized narrative with writing that hits those “The same music sometimes sounds very wonderful when I am happy and sad when I am depressed” moments of Soul Blazer? Wouldn’t you jump on it? Of course you would. This is why I should have been marketing director for Enix and not whoever kept making decisions like this.
Look. Think of the eggs that would have cracked if Robotrek was Slapstick and we got this into the hands of needy Americans two years before Pokémon dropped? We wouldn’t have the “Manosphere” problems we do now if Enix had just let Quintet be their most authentic self.
Lufia & the Fortress of Doom (1993)
You know what I love? When the fated hero and his companions defeat the ultimate evil threatening the land and restore peace and prosperity.
But you know what’s even better than that?
When it’s 99 years later, and a terrible evil is threatening the land again, and that hero? He’s long since dead. But there’s a kid who looks just like him, who happens to have friends that are just like the original heroes’ companions. It’s even better when they have some kind of connection to the original companions.
You know what’s even better? When the original hero’s story isn’t even the first one. When we start with the descendant. You know who understood that? Yeah, yeah, sure. George Lucas. Of course.
But I’m talking about Masahide Miyata, writer and director of Lufia & the Fortress of Doom, who was brave enough to put forth that Maxim is the hero, but not of this game…
I know what you’re thinking, “But Lufia II: Rise of the Sinistrals expands on Fortress of Doom in every way, providing even more puzzles and systems and an even more robust combat system.” And I’m here to tell you, no. No. I get it, but no. What’s beautiful about Lufia is it’s NOT all of that. It’s just some kids following in the footsteps of heroes past, with good art, good music, and a solid combat system.
Look, you can play Lufia II to your heart’s content—you SHOULD play Lufia II—but first you have to play Lufia & the Fortress of Doom. Because it’s the first game in the series, and also because it takes place chronologically in the middle. Yeah, like Star Wars, motherfucker.
Dungeon Explorer II (1993)
I think it’s safe to say that the majority of gamers are decidedly pro-Orb. Sure, Dungeon Explorer II (like its PC Engine predecessor) only has one orb. Becoming the champion of AN orb is better than being the champion of NO orb. And this orb is truly powerful.
1993 is a hard year to be a top-down action RPG, especially one that wears its Ys and Gauntlet inspirations so proudly. However, we’ll never sneer at a game that succeeds at bringing us more arcade RPG delights. Especially when it’s dressed up with absurd voice acting, and one of the wildest soundtracks ever.
But more than that, Dungeon Explorer II builds on its predecessor in every meaningful way. This became the alternative to Venus Wars (for the 5th time? Really, Hunter?) during a weekend mid-dungeon D&D break. Grab a multitap and make sure you’ve got plenty of controllers because if Dungeon Explorer for One is pretty nifty, Dungeon Explorer for you and four friends is fantastic. It has a shared life pool (that can be replenished by playing Blackjack with Death, literally) and a full complement of pre-rolled character classes (and a host of secret characters to unlock); half the fun became fighting over who got stuck with stupid, ugly Sorn the Cleric, and throwing fistfuls of M&Ms at the nerd playing Sepi the Thief who kept wasting all your lives.
It’s hard to go toe-to-toe with Gauntlet, especially in the same year IV released with its much loved Quest Mode. But, with an unexpectedly engaging story, energetic gameplay, and lethal dungeons, Hudson Soft really shines with this sequel.
The 7th Saga (1993)
I watched a half-naked man get taken apart by a Level 1 Rat in Ultima Online my first day logged on. I watched him come back to life, and get taken apart again. I laughed and tried my hand after he died a third time. I too was taken apart. I bring this up because it’s not uncommon for people from my generation to have an inflexible grudge against Produce’s second entry on this list. Every RPG fan has a moment of crisis, where their mad dungeoneering skills have been pushed to the limit and they wonder what they’re even doing in this genre. For some, it’s the Marsh Cave in Final Fantasy. The transition from the first to second floor of Wizardry. Fucking Doom in Ultima V. Others have just never gotten over needing to dodge 100 lightning bolts in the Thunder Plains. Whatever the game or moment, there comes a point where RPG players realize that not only do these games require strategy and immense amounts of grinding, sometimes they can just be deeply unfair. For those of us who rented The 7th Saga, even if we made it this long, this was a breaking point.
Square thought that Americans were too weak for RPGs. They toned down Final Fantasy IV when creating the US version and then, of course, there’s the pejoratively-named, ultra-simplified Final Fantasy USA (aka Mystic Quest). But for whatever reason, when localizing The 7th Saga, they broke the game to make it so much harder, hard beyond reason. Between changing how leveling works, and ramping up opponent health, if there was a way to manipulate the numbers of the game against the player, basically they pursued it. I can’t tell you how many weekends I spent fighting one first level monster at a time, barely surviving, and then having to go back to town. It only got worse from there. Why would anyone submit themselves to this masochism for an entire weekend? Why would they go back the next weekend and burn another rental slot on it? Sure, the soundtrack has a deep bench, but the graphics aren’t much to write home about, and the localized script is woefully (if sometimes comically) under-written. Why play The 7th Saga then or now? Well, see it all starts with seven apprentices.
The 7th Saga doesn’t have traditional parties or character creation. There are seven available characters ranging wildly from human knights to demons to elf spellcasters, and even a spiked fire alien from literal outer space. Your quest? To go out into the vast world of Ticondera and retrieve seven runes for the benevolent king of the world Lemele to defeat the evil Gorsia and save everyone. Despite training and working towards “the same goal,” each apprentice has their own reason for seeking out the runes. The robot, LUX TIZER, for instance, wants to find out more about the ancient origins of his kind. Now, an RPG with characters as wildly divergent as this is one thing. But where The 7th Saga goes truly wild is by sending the other six apprentices the player doesn’t choose out into the world of Ticondera as NPCs. Players will have the opportunity to have one join them (and only one at a time) as a recruitable party member. But here’s the catch: One of them is a traitor, who is more than happy to use you to acquire a rune for them and then run off with it. And the traitor is random every time. But it’s not just the traitor you have to watch out for, each time you collect a rune the other apprentices have an increasingly higher chance of trying to fight you for them. You can also elect to fight other apprentices for their runes. Win and you’ll get theirs, lose and you’ll have to hunt down your runes all over again. Remember how I said this game was a brutal dick slap? The apprentice battles scale with your level, often unfairly. It’s breathtaking. And that’s the thing; sure, there are plenty of hard games, there are even more unfair games, but few of them actually make the proposition worthwhile. The apprentice system is such a unique oddity that, for the devoted, the brutality of the localization becomes a transcendent layer. After all, losing to an apprentice doesn’t mean Game Over, it’s the start of a new vendetta! Why settle for a hero’s quest, when you can tack on a revenge narrative or two as well? Besides, there’s always the opportunity to batter your fellow apprentices and take their goodies too.
Dia Lacina is a queer indigenous writer and photographer. She tweets too much at @dialacina.
