Or he could just be the unlucky pawn of an Asgardian struggle that's splashed over into Midgard (where we live), the bemuscled chump who's supposed to tip the scales in favor of the divine status quo. Banished from Asgard for opposing that status quo, Hel—as in the Norse goddess and not a typo—has a wolf-god to grind with Odin's minion Freyas, the Norse goddess of war. The wolf-god in question: Fenrir, who you don't want dropping by unless it's Ragnarok, i.e. "the end of the world," which is of course what a social call from Fenrir typically entails. Enter Skarin, Freyas' hand-picked balance-swaying champion. Because you know what they say: If at first an all-powerful god can't succeed, send in a mortal.

Battling Hel's legions across three sprawling Midgardian isles, players march Skarin between quest points, slaughtering orclike creatures and freeing captive warriors to raise an army before assaulting enemy-held forts and strongholds. Launching from safe points where Skarin can buy items like throwing axes, potions to boost his health and map tweaks that reveal the location of scattered loot, players can wander in any direction and tackle quests in virtually any order. After exploring each island and freeing a sufficient number of soldiers, player can initiate an area's "final" battle sequence. These partially scripted assaults involve hundreds of allied soldiers charging an enemy-fortified structure, then directing Skarin to flank rear-guard elements like shamans that spawn enemy troops from nothing, or to wield runes gathered from defeated enemy champions to launch dragon attacks against targeted areas.

Though Skarin himself never gets faster or stronger, he can learn new melee combos and upgrade magical abilities that turn him from a blunt killing automaton into a situationally adaptive combatant, switching from head-on assaults to ranged stealth kills as desired. Rage crystals accumulate as Skarin scores hits, allowing him to execute special moves purchased from Asgardian dueling rings, and he can even momentarily lend a little elemental pluck to his battle mates, giving them the power to shock, burn or freeze the bad guys until his power bar—replenished by orbs from slain enemies—runs out.

Popcorn hack-and-slash

Who ordered Lord of the Rings with Vikings? Creative Assembly's probably best known for their history-minded Total War real-time strategy PC games, but add one-upping a spate of mediocre Tolkien clones to their roster of successes. Because in spite of my ability to see all the obvious problems with Viking: Battle for Asgard—foremost its tendency to repeat missions and end-battle tactics ad nauseam—I couldn't put it down, something that hasn't happened with this sort of game since well before the mess EA made of its New Line license with those two silly Lord of the Rings beat-em-ups.

In fact, Viking bears comparison with Blizzard's Diablo, another game in which mindlessly repeating the same missions strewn about recurring vistas, collecting random artifacts and tabulating conquered areas somehow coalesces into an experience that's courting sleepless insanity to quit. Yes, Viking is repetitious. It's so repetitious, in fact, that you'll battle the same five or six enemy types and literally free the same three guys tied to posts or dozens jammed into cages from the moment you jog out of the starting camp to the final fiery battle in Hel's fortress. What's more, you'll do all your slicing, dicing, climbing, jumping and dodging to a soundtrack bereft of tunes. No one talks about the music in games these days, but it's startling how much you miss a rousing tune or three between a little rain and birdsong and little else.

Still, there wasn't a moment spent exploring the bosky isles of Nilfberg and Galfcliff or the fire-blighted island of Isaholm that I wasn't itching to canvass a quarry, delve to the roots of a soaring mountain or track down the key to an inscrutable crypt, tear into increasing hordes of enemies in solo combat just to see if I could, sneak through an enemy-thick stronghold to steal a quest item and get back out undetected or hack my way one floor at a time to the top of a multistory tower just to snatch an uncompromising view of the world all the way out to its gorgeous edges. And while your tactical latitude between straightforward fighting and sneaking around isn't terribly broad, it's enough to keep the game's 10 hours start to finish stimulating.

If you measure Viking by its innovations, sure, it flunks. It's Diablo with orcs instead of demons, Dungeon Siege done third-person-solo instead of isometric and with a party. It's also easy to pick up and tough to put down for nearly the same reasons as either of those two. Besides, you wouldn't pillory The Mummy or Van Helsing for being popcorn fare. Why treat this popcorn Tolkien knockoff any different?