The moment an act's map procedurally generates, I'm eyeballing which route takes me past the most campfires, rest points where I can either permanently upgrade a card or heal. Like the decisions you make deckbuilding, learning when to detour is a skill, and different strategies are viable. Which path you take up the spire is a fun test of your ability to weigh long-term goals against short-term needs. You're building an airplane as you fly it, from partially randomized parts, through an FTL-style web of varied encounters and events. Your willingness to abandon your sweet deck idea when the RNG isn't serving up, say, loads of lightning orb cards for the Defect is itself a skill. Simply knowing Slay the Spire's combos or best cards isn't enough to earn a win. However much lightning I filled my deck with, it'd still take three or four turns to bring it out, and by then, I'd be dead.
This build would sometimes push me into Slay the Spire's third act, but eventually it'd get my robot face kicked in by the first monster that dished out big, turn-one damage. Free lightning! It felt great to end each turn and watch my family of floating green balls dish out randomly-targeted zaps. I'd always grab multiple copies of Storm, a power card that summons a lightning orb whenever I played another power card. To my naive eyes, this character was about lightning, and my initial runs were spent hoovering up as many cards as I could that made lightning orbs. The Defect, Slay the Spire's robotic character, for example, starts each run with a relic that summons a lightning orb, one of four, elemental energies that can occupy vacant slots encircling The Defect.
One deck type for The Silent became one of my favorites because of the sound it made.
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