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Crytek's Roman Epic Almost Spawned a Multi-Era Historical Franchise Rivaling God of War
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Crytek's Roman Epic Almost Spawned a Multi-Era Historical Franchise Rivaling God of War

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Key takeaways

  • Crytek's leadership team developed a full franchise roadmap for Ryse spanning settings including Viking-era Europe, feudal Japan, and the Ottoman Empire.
  • Sequels were planned to feature semi-open level design, expanded combat mechanics, and historically grounded military tactics cut from the original game.
  • The franchise collapsed not through formal cancellation but through a deadlocked IP ownership dispute between Crytek and Microsoft after the original game underperformed.

When Ryse: Son of Rome launched alongside the Xbox One in November 2013, it was celebrated for its jaw-dropping visual fidelity and cinematic presentation — and quietly criticized for its repetitive combat and a campaign that could be finished in under six hours. What most players never knew was that the game's creative team had already been sketching out something far more expansive: a multi-entry historical action franchise that could have rivaled Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed in both scope and ambition.

According to former Crytek employees speaking to IGN, while the original game was still in its final stretch of development, a small group of concept artists, a historical researcher, and key leadership figures assembled to map out where the franchise could go next. Leading that effort was Patrick Hanenberger, a production designer who had come from DreamWorks and was originally brought aboard to give Ryse its trademark 'playable movie' aesthetic. Also involved was Todd Papy, fresh from directing God of War: Ascension at Sony's Santa Monica Studio, who joined Crytek in late 2013 with his knowledge of ancient-world game design ready to be applied to Roman history.

The team's ambitions extended well beyond Rome. Art director Peter Gornstein was eager to explore a Viking game, envisioning raids along European coastlines, adventures in Newfoundland, and even appearances in Constantinople — this at a time when the History Channel's Vikings was still in its debut season and Assassin's Creed Valhalla was nearly a decade from release. Feudal Japan was another serious contender, with Hanenberger drawn to events like the Mongol invasions under Kublai Khan, the Sengoku civil wars, and the arrival of European merchants. The Ottoman Empire, conquerors of Byzantium in 1453, was also discussed. Thematically, Hanenberger proposed connecting each installment around the question of how and why empires rise and fall, with narrative threads linking games together like falling dominoes.

Gameplay would have evolved significantly from the original. The team openly acknowledged Ryse's weaknesses — its linear corridor levels and limited combat depth — and wanted sequels to adopt something closer to the semi-open structure of 2018's God of War. Cut mechanics from the original, including vehicle navigation and a PVP multiplayer mode, were slated for resurrection. Developers also imagined more dynamic battlefield systems, including the ability to fluidly enter and exit Roman testudo formations mid-combat, and encounters built around real historical tactics like the Parthian shot and Japanese Kakuyoku formations.

Despite a reportedly enthusiastic reception from Microsoft — who allegedly called the franchise pitch 'the most cohesive and well-thought IP plan they had ever seen' — the series never moved forward. After the original game underperformed commercially and critically, Microsoft lost appetite for continued investment, but Crytek refused to sell the intellectual property. With neither side willing to compromise on ownership, the partnership dissolved. The Ryse sequels were never formally cancelled — they simply ceased to exist, a promising franchise quietly smothered by a corporate stalemate.

The bigger picture

The story of Ryse's abandoned franchise arc is a case study in how IP ownership disputes can quietly strangle creative potential before it ever reaches the public. Microsoft's insistence on acquiring the rights before funding sequels is entirely understandable from a business standpoint — the company had learned hard lessons about building franchises on IP it didn't control — but Crytek's refusal to part with the property it had built reflects the pride of an independent studio unwilling to hand over its identity. Neither party was wrong, exactly, yet the result was that a genuinely ambitious creative vision simply evaporated.

What makes this story particularly bittersweet is how prescient the Crytek team's instincts turned out to be. The settings they were considering — Vikings, feudal Japan, ancient mythologies — all became enormously successful in the years that followed. Assassin's Creed Valhalla, Ghost of Tsushima, and the God of War Norse saga collectively generated billions in revenue. Ryse's creative leads were circling the same cultural territory half a decade earlier, with a platform and publisher already in their corner. The market timing could not have been better. The business structure could not have been worse.

For readers watching the current gaming landscape, this history is worth keeping in mind as Microsoft continues to expand its first-party portfolio through acquisitions. The Xbox platform has long struggled to build the kind of deep, recognizable exclusive franchises that PlayStation carries with ease — and Ryse represents one of the clearest examples of a homegrown IP that could have filled that gap. Whether Microsoft's current strategy of buying entire studios rather than negotiating IP deals reflects lessons learned from situations like this is an open question, but the Crytek impasse looks, in retrospect, like exactly the kind of mistake the company has been trying not to repeat ever since.

LagPing's take

We're covering this story at LagPing because it speaks directly to something we find endlessly fascinating: the games that almost were, and why they matter as much as the games that actually shipped. Ryse: Son of Rome is one of those titles that occupies a strange place in gaming memory — visually striking enough to still appear in 'best-looking games' discussions over a decade later, yet largely forgotten as a franchise or cultural force. Learning that its creative team had an entire multi-game historical epic mapped out, only to see it collapse over a rights dispute, reframes what Ryse actually was. It wasn't a failed game so much as a failed franchise launch — and that distinction changes how we should think about it. We also think this story is timely in the context of today's conversation about Xbox exclusives and what the platform's identity should look like. Ryse was a genuine swing at something original, and its quiet death in a corporate negotiation is the kind of thing the industry doesn't talk about enough.

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