Joey J's Great Play Marathon Responses

I’ve started a long marathon, back and forth across a grid of games. I exclusively chose games that I hadn’t finished, and mostly hadn’t started. My starting point is Swigian. I’m #9, at A6:


My goal is to play 12 games in a sequence down the grid and then back up.


Swigian

Swigian is a game inspired by Beowulf. It was written as an experiment by Brian Rushton (Mathbrush) to see if any moderately long well-implemented game with puzzles would do well in the IFComp regardless of any merit. He kept the prose minimalist, the puzzles rote and nose-leading, and didn’t care about any plot consistency. It was tied for 21st place in the comp that year, more than beaten out by Mathbrush’s Absence of Law in 5th place. As an experiment, people mostly found it had greater merit to it than Mathbrush intended, but its placing did at least show that having rich characters, prose and stories is still well rewarded. (There’s a great discussion of it in the postmortem thread.)

Before playing, I’d heard Swigian was a minimalist game and so I thought it would work well with Adventuron and so I went with the Aventuron port. Marco Innocenti’s art is enriching without distracting and helps give a greater unity to the sometimes confusing picaresque.

While I was playing, I was thinking about the role of minimalist prose in adventure games. In the very early days, minimalism was a necessity due to hardware constraints, but a virtue could be made of it by having the minimal prose reinforce a specific atmosphere or theme. Often early adventure games would squander this, committing crimes against mimesis with anachronisms and forced zaniness, all the while having flat prose. But sometimes they would rise to the challenge. Perhaps despite Mathbrush’s best intentions, Swigian manages to make the most of its minimalism, with the game pushing the player to take simple and direct action in a setting which rewards simple and direct action.

There might be a temptation to say that Swigian (which appropriately means “silent” in Old English) is matching the sparse style of early literature. But I think the functional prose of text-adventurese is very much its own thing. Beowulf, from which Swigian takes its inspiration, is not afraid of adjectives, let alone adverbs. It can interweave a history of its characters to layer on dread and awe in its monsters. Consider these two translations of the same description:

Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.

(trans. Francis Barton Gummere)

A foe in the hall-building: this horrible stranger
Was Grendel entitled, the march-stepper famous
Who dwelt in the moor-fens, the marsh and the fastness;
The wan-mooded being abode for a season
In the land of the giants, when the Lord and Creator
Had banned him and branded.

(trans. John Lesslie Hall)

And compare to Swigian:

The mead-hall is dark and dusty.
You see an opponent.
> FIGHT OPPONENT
You attack the opponent. He vanishes through a hole in the ground.

In sum: I recommend playing Swigian, especially if you’re familiar with Beowulf. As an experiment I am glad that it was a failure in its modest success: it is better than it hoped to be, but thankfully far from as good as it is possible to be.

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That would make for an interesting tombstone.

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And now, Turandot by Victor Gijsbers. In the following reflections I’ll focus on the ideas in the game, and avoid any significant plot spoilers.

This is a philosophical game about falling in love with a princess and traversing her deadly dungeon, inspired by the opera by the same name. The protagonist, Calaf, is a womaniser who hopes for something deeper from life than endless orgies, but has yet to do anything about this nascent desire. The eponymous Turandot is a murderous princess who is also something of an existentialist, having decided to live an authentic life rather than allowing others to choose for her:

I decided to never again give away the power of choice. To take the reins in my own hands and shape my own life, custom be damned, tradition be damned, even ethics be damned. I am Turandot! And I will never submit.

The game makes wonderful use of some of Choicescript’s affordances, not least of all the greyed out text:

Along the way we get reflections on the nature of creative production, the possibility of justice and repentance. The prose is comic and about as anachronistic as the original orientalist fairytale opera was. It’s somewhat in the genre of the self-aware pornotopias like the Stiffy Makane games— in her own way the princess reveals herself to be as much of a pervert as Calaf. And like in any Stiffy Makane here are several droll allusions to text adventure standbys:

Turandot is also in the tradition of stories like The History of Rasselas which use a fairly flimsy exotic backdrop to explore questions of interest to the author. The main two questions it seems are:

  • What does it mean to love someone you have only just met?
  • Should you forgive yourself your own transgressions?

The first of these questions is worked out through the story. At first, it appears Calaf doesn’t know Turnadot at all and he is just as insincere as all her other suitors in professing his love. But you come to see that his initial appraisal of her character on first sight —including her sadness, cruelty and joy— was correct. He really did fall in love, a knowing love. But when this love is tested part way through the dungeon, Calaf embraces Turandot’s existential outlook, and makes an active choice to continue loving her.

The second question, about self-forgiveness, ties into the existentialist throughline. One cannot change the past, only change how one acts in the future, so the characters eventually come to accept their prior indiscretions, and those of one another. This is a comforting message for people who have seriously wronged others (though the work often ameliorates the harm caused by the characters), though perhaps less appealing for their victims.

Whatever one thinks of these conclusions philosophically, Turandot does a convincing job in bringing these principles and debates alive for the characters, with verve and humour such that it never feels didactic. Truly, more Socratic dialogues could do with a crocodile pit.

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I’d added Turandot to my to-play list some time ago without apparently having gathered much about the premise, but after reading your response I played it today and I’m very glad I did!

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Wonderful! I was in a similar position. This playing event is already proving a success for me, pushing me to try things I’d been half aware of for a while.

My third game is Messages From The Universe Graveyard by KADW.

At this point I am running alongside Harren who has also just finished Turnadot and decided to go south as well.

In many ways Messages From The Universe Graveyard is an old skool hypertext: you traverse a non-linear web, through links and lookups, and continue until you feel you have seen it all or seen enough. In this work, you explore a series of abandoned worlds. In this way, it’s much like the feeling of Myst— coming to uniquely themed zones and trying to fit together in your mind what must have once happened. As you go along, you read messages left by the original inhabitants, by nomads and exiles, heretics and saints, passing through. And you also read the messages of fellow explorers who have drifted through the dead worlds. They often can guide you to new places, or you can just follow the clues in the text.

I loved this game. It was a real feeling of exploration: I continually felt that I might have found all there was to see before trying one last thread which kept it going and going, discovering many new zones often nested within one another.

But more than that, I loved the messages. The different fictional characters, and the real explorers, and those who I wasn’t sure which was which. I recognised several names like @cchennnn and @mathbrush— both of whom have their own games that appear in this marathon!

And I added to the message logs myself, of course. There are many theories give by fictional and real characters in the logs about what the Universe Graveyard really it. I settled on one of the more mystic, psychophenomenal theories, and I developed and expounded it myself as I travelled around.

Some hints:

  • Don’t be afraid to just try numbers with known meanings in our world.
  • You don’t have to be completionist about reading logs, but many of them do reward reading and responding.
  • Soak in the different characters (real, unreal, unknown). Develop your own perspective on the place as you go and let others know your thoughts.

I hope to return there again some day, and hopefully see messages beyond my own.

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My fourth game is Starry Seeksorrow, by Caleb Wilson.

This was a compact little adventure involving looking up the properties of magical flowers and then using that knowledge to solve some puzzles. The puzzles were straightforward, you just had to take the time to understand what was happening.

In the Clash Of The Type-Ins podcast, Caleb mentions wanting to make a game where you have to consult topics in a book, having felt that that had gone out of fashion. The genre and interaction style reminded me a lot of my own Sub Rosa. In both games you consult topics in books, learn a few secrets in the backstory, and solve puzzles based on the magical properties of plants. In Starry Seeksorrow, if you learn enough about the backstory you can work out an additional optional action to help save the day even more.

I was left with one question at the end: was it possible to destroy the Starry Seeksorrow flower? If it was, I couldn’t work out how. I could only move it from the immediate area. If there’s something more I could have done, let me know and I’ll give it a try…

Starry Seeksorrow was made for the second Shufflecomps, which is a great recurring competition. This iteration of the competition wasn’t strictly ranked, but as the game came in the top 30%, it was “commended”. In recent Shufflecomps, ranking has been based on the average of “use of songs” and “overall goodness”. As it happened, the last game I played, Messages From The Universe Graveyard, was also made for a later Shufflecomp but scored middling for use of songs and so despite it having the highest overall goodness, it failed to win the competition and came 4th. Obviously, people playing years later will care more about whether the game is actually good. But for what it’s worth, I listened to The Violet Hour by Dolls Come To Life, and I think Starry Seeksorrow would score high on “use of songs”, with the setting clearly inspired by both the song lyrics and the band’s name itself.

Overall, I recommend the game to anyone who likes the rich genre of magic learning text adventures.

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