Karnov breathes new fire into the NES on December 18, 1987

Let us now journey back, not to the gilded towers of Manhattan, nor to the sun-baked cliffs of the West Coast, but to the neon-drenched, pixelated cosmos of a late-1980s American living room. The year, if you please, is nineteen hundred and eighty-seven, and the day, a brisk, pre-Christmas Eighteenth of December. A date, mind you, that was already etched in the digital firmament by the simultaneous arrival of two titans: the labyrinthine saga of Final Fantasy and  - just 24 hours earlier - the relentless, blue-clad robot hero of Mega Man. 

But ah, amidst this glittering firmament of nascent legends, a more ruddy star, if you will, blazed into existence. Not from the pristine laboratories of Nintendo’s Kyoto, nor the sun-dappled campuses of Capcom, but from the slightly more gritty precincts of Data East. And his name, my dear friends, was Karnov.

Billed by many as a "Russian strongman," the arrival of Karnov in arcades and home consoles might have been seen as a last gasp attempt to seize the minds of American youth by the dying USSR. But Karnov is actually from an unspecified Central Asian Soviet Republic, home to many proud cultures and civilizations who would be quick to educate you that they are most certainly not "Russian."

And therein we can view Karnov as a prime example of what makes the Nintendo Famicom/NES the greatest game console of all time: the sheer variety of games in its massive library. On the NES, gamers literally traversed the globe without leaving their family rooms. We hacked our way through the jungles of Vietnam, stormed the presidential palaces of Latin America, and rode magic carpets over the Middle East. 

In Karnov, we controlled a hero from the steppes of Central Asia as he quests for the lost treasure of Babylon. The graphics give an exceptionally rich depiction of villages such as the fictional Creamina, where the game begins. Probably normally home to a bustling population and lively bazaars, the village appears desolate and abandoned with boarded up buildings. Many of the opponents Karnov faces are inspired by Djinn, supernatural spirits who share our world with humans and angels, in Middle-Eastern and Islamic folkloric tradition. In a world where games have been reduced to three genres today, Karnov is a great reminder of how video games truly shined as an artform in the age of the NES.

Karnov! Say it aloud! It is a name that doesn't whisper of elfin grace or robotic precision, no sir. It bellows, it roars, it's a name that conjures images of a distant, mythic steppe, of Cossack dancers, of Plov and Doppi hats!

Karnov, in his initial arcade incarnation, was a feast for the eyes, a spectacle of detailed sprites and challenging platforming. But now, compressed and transposed, he brought his unique brand of proto-Soviet-fantasy-schlock to the suburban rumpus room. The kids, wired on sugar and adolescent angst, clutching those beige, brick-like controllers, were about to embark on a journey. A journey not merely through a video game, but through a cultural curiosity.

Behold, the very spirit of the game! Our hero, a portly fellow named Jinborov Karnovski, better known simply as Karnov. He is a man, bless his heart, on a quest. A quest not for princesses or galactic empires, but for the scattered pieces of a magical treasure map. A map that would lead him to the mythical Lost Treasure of Babylon! Good heavens, the very notion! Babylon! The Hanging Gardens! Nebuchadnezzar! All filtered through the lens of 8-bit digital fantasia and a hero who looks like he could wrestle a grizzly bear and then, for good measure, breathe fire upon it!

Fire! Yes, that was his signature move, wasn't it? Not a sword, not a laser gun, not even a jump-kick of refined martial artistry. No, Karnov, bless his Soviet soul, breathed fire! A stream of fiery projectiles erupting from his very being, incinerating everything from the grotesquely rendered skeleton warriors to the surprisingly nimble winged beasts that plagued his path. And the collectables! Oh, the sheer, unadulterated ecstasy of snagging that ladder icon, or the flying wings, or the mask! Each granting a fleeting, glorious advantage in his relentless pursuit of ancient riches.

It was a game, then, that stood apart. Not a ninja, not a plumber, not a space marine. No, Karnov was a character. A testament to the glorious, unhinged creativity that burbled forth from the primordial soup of early video game development. On December 18, 1987, a beefy, fire-breathing Soviet strongman stomped onto the scene, demanding attention, and by Jove, he got it. And in doing so, he etched his glorious, pixelated visage into the memory banks of a generation.

And so, as snow dusted the streets outside and kids rushed home from school to blow into cartridges, Karnov erupted onto the NES scene like a fireball from the steppes. He didn't merely provide a quality game and hours of entertainment, but a mind-expanding cultural encounter to rival The Magic of Scheherazade or Bandit Kings of Ancient China, on the only console that could deliver all three: the Nintendo Entertainment System.