Video games almost always contain a travel element. And we are talking not only about the metaphorical ‘hero’s journey’, but also about simulating something much more similar to a tourist trip. Just like during a European tour, in a great video game we expect to see a number of unusual places, that each of them will have worthy ‘sights’ and that there will be something interesting to do.

However, games don’t always send us to places that are picturesque and fun, but, on the contrary, to gloomy, scary and disgusting places. And where have we not visited virtually! The back alleys of gangster New York, abandoned mental hospitals, post-apocalyptic deserts, crashed space stations with all kinds of monsters, many catacombs with the walking dead, and at least a handful of different versions of hell.

However, even the worst horrors on the screen get boring over time. Each next game has to try harder and harder to impress the player – to convince him that in its depths, if not scary to death, then at least sincerely uncomfortable. The same is true for online casinos. Players want new and exciting games, not repetitive mechanics. Lolly Spins is different in this way, with a wide range of slots and table games that have exciting themes and features. Whether you prefer dark, horror-inspired slots or high-stakes table games, Richard Casino offers an exciting experience that always feels new.

From Software has outdone itself and managed to portray a place where everything is really bad in a surprisingly convincing way. We are talking about the region of Caelid, which is located on the eastern edge of the Elden Ring. Caelid impressed me and made me disgusted with it, despite everything I’ve seen in games over the past two decades. Today, I propose to take a closer look at this place not from the point of view of gameplay or plot, or even worldbuilding, but from the plane of its atmosphere.

A land where everything is bad

Caelid ‘welcomes’ the player with the ruins of a burning church. Against the backdrop of a blood-red sky and scorched, desolate hills, it feels like stepping into a cursed ghost town straight out of a twisted Wild West nightmare.

And it only gets worse from there. A little further down the road, wild dogs appear—mangy, covered in strange sores, and vicious in their attacks. But they are nothing compared to what lurks beyond the next hill. Here, the dogs resemble monstrous hybrids of a canine, a tyrannosaurus, and a demon. The same grotesque transformation affects the local crows, and even the dragons, which—rather than breathing fire—vomit clouds of a mysterious infection known as Red Rot.

Beyond an abandoned village, the player encounters a horde of diseased wretches. They aren’t the typical undead rising for revenge or under the command of some necromancer. Instead, their sluggish, aimless movements make it seem as though they are simply wasting away, victims of the relentless plague that has consumed the land.

The region’s vegetation is all but dead. What little remains has either withered or mutated into towering, sickly flowers and grotesque fungal growths, symptoms of the spreading Rot. And anything not visibly diseased is on fire. Scattered throughout the landscape are burning walls, their purpose unclear at first. The local horrors are opposed only by freakish flamethrower tanks, suicidal warriors who ignite themselves in explosive sacrifice, and knights wielding spells that border on dishonourable. All of them see the player as a threat—and an acceptable target for incineration.

Venture into Caelid’s caves and dungeons, and you’ll find familiar enemies, but corrupted by the Rot. Their attacks not only hit hard but also infect the player’s character with the same affliction. In the remote corners of the region, towering, centipede-like insects skitter through the ruins. Their spindly limbs are unsettlingly long, and they can fire webs at a disturbingly vast range.

At the heart of Caelid lies a massive lake of Red Rot, its surface occasionally ruptured by geysers of the toxic plague. Around it, knights patrol—or at least, creatures that resemble knights from a distance. Up close, it becomes clear that they, too, have succumbed to the Rot. Insect wings sprout from their warped forms, their postures twisted beyond recognition. Thankfully, their disfigured faces remain hidden beneath their helmets.

Spending time in Caelid feels like being trapped in one of the Chaos worlds from Warhammer Fantasy. It’s a realm of pure hostility—demonic, unnatural, and devoid of hope. The only people left alive are either desperate knights or madmen. Yet, despite my familiarity with the horrors of FromSoftware’s games—wading through the sewers of Dark Souls, sprinting through the leech-infested cemetery of Dark Souls III, and enduring the constant visceral nightmare of Bloodborne—Caelid still managed to leave an impression.

It is a place that is not just disturbing, but truly revolting. An evil, wretched land, steeped in sickness and suffering. And yet, it is unforgettable.

Beautiful Caelid

How did From Software outdo themselves? And what can an attentive game designer learn from them here? Why does Caelid work so well?

1. Fear

Fears tend to become outdated, tied to specific historical eras. For example, in the Middle Ages, a tale about the Big Grey Wolf might have terrified children, as wolf attacks were a real danger. Today, with few wild predators left, fearing wolves feels unrealistic. But the fear of insects persists—after all, they still invade our homes and cities. Spotting a centipede in the bathroom is a very real possibility.

Caelid is terrifying from the moment we arrive. The region has been consumed by a disease—the Red Rot. Early encounters with sick dogs immediately reinforce the idea that this is a plague-stricken land. Disease remains terrifying because, even with modern medicine, many illnesses are still incurable or difficult to treat. This taps into our deep-rooted fear of infection, much like the countless stories about unknown viruses turning people into monsters. It’s a familiar trope, but it works because it reflects real-world anxieties.

2. The Unspoken

If there’s one fear that never ages, it’s the fear of the unknown. When faced with gaps in information, the human mind tends to fill them with worst-case scenarios—often far worse than reality itself.

Caelid is frightening because, in true Soulsborne fashion, we’re given very few answers upfront. The player must piece together the origins and nature of the Red Rot through exploration. Why does the infection create giant flowers? Who are the knights trying to contain its spread? Who is Malenia, and how did she unleash such devastation? The lack of immediate answers fuels the imagination, making the horrors of Caelid feel even more unsettling.

3. Contradictions

Facing an enemy that deliberately wants to kill you can be terrifying, but it’s a tangible fear: you are good, they are bad. The real horror comes when the enemy harms you unintentionally—out of sheer loss of control. This taps into a different kind of fear, one mixed with surprise and even pity. The Silent Hill series is built on this idea—many of its enemies are victims themselves, manifestations of the protagonist’s inner struggles.

Caelid is terrifying because even our enemies fear it. General Radahn’s knights aren’t just fighting us—they’re desperately battling demonic T-Rex dogs, setting everything ablaze with flamethrower tanks in a last-ditch effort to survive. And we can tell their odds aren’t great. But the infected creatures roaming Caelid aren’t really villains either. They had no control over their mutations, nor did they choose to spread the Red Rot.

This adds to Caelid’s haunting nature—the player becomes an executioner of already suffering victims, trapped in a brutal, self-destructive war.

4. Contrast

Many games fail to make the apocalypse feel tragic because they never show what came before. Some post-apocalyptic settings seem barely different from pre-disaster worlds. Even the Bioshock series didn’t fully explore the utopian vision of Rapture until the third game.

Caelid, by contrast, stands out because we have something to compare it to. By the time we reach this hellish wasteland, we’ve already seen the relatively peaceful Limgrave—gloomy, yes, but full of ruins, life, and even friendly NPCs. If we traveled through Liurnia first, we’d witnessed its eerie but undeniably magical beauty. Later regions, like the golden-hued Altus Plateau and the snow-covered mountains, might be harsh, but they’re still livable. Compared to all of them, Caelid feels utterly broken.

Even the enemies reinforce this contrast. By the time we face a “Rotten” version of a Tree Avatar, we’ve likely fought a healthy one before. That instant visual comparison makes it clear—things were once better.

In the end, I’d argue that contrast is the key to Caelid’s impact. Without something to measure it against, its horror wouldn’t hit nearly as hard.