IFComp 2025 review: my creation by dino

my creation by dino is a short (10 minutes) parser game (the IFComp website incorrectly said it was Twine but I have emailed them about this) in which the PC is a dad stuck in bed in a rickety house with his crying baby. You would never guess this from the cover art, a design which will only resonate if you complete the game.

Endlessly crying babies raise human hackles at a primordial level, so the game's temporal depiction of that common experience of shuffling around a room one can't leave while the crying can't be stopped is likely to knife (or knife anew) anyone who tries it, in spite of major implementation gaps. It's clear my creation hasn't had a testing round or received any technical advice, but I commend the author for bringing a story like this to the parser format on their own. Other gains can come in future.

It's important to say there's ultimately more to the game than the screaming baby. If that had been the whole thing, it would be an uninviting ask of players to say the least. It's tough as is. But there is more. I will discuss the more with complete spoilering in the remainder of the review.

The PC's in the bed and the baby's in a nearby basket, crying. Where the geography of the parser model really works for this game is making the bed into the PC's world. For reasons not made clear until the end, the prose indicates the PC is in physical pain and inhibited in movement, so each NORTH, SOUTH etc. drags them, with effort, to another section of the bed. The efforts are described. On the one hand, the idea of thinking about compass directions while moving around a bed is absurd. Obviously we're not meant to be thinking about them, they're just the stock method of movement in a parser game. For a new author to program up some replacement terminology would be a big ask, so in this case, it shows dino working with the strengths of the format, but also the need to bend the format's stock trappings to the game. In prose, it's also effective for the bed world that the game's opening paragraph is written in the third person (the rest of the game is in typical parser second person) offering a bird's eye view of the situation:

"He is lying in his bed, in his bedroom, in his own crooked little house with small windows, single glass, overlooking other crooked houses;"

The cut from this intro text into the "middle of the bed" location, the change of scale and pronoun and person, all act together like a magnifying glass zooming in on the PC's situation, where suddenly one bed seems giant.

The geography of the bed isn't respected in the programming, though. There's a constant mismatch between what's described, what can be acted on, where things are. This doesn't block progress – the game is too small for that – but it does interrupt the spell of the fiction and so reduce its power. One inadvertent side-effect was that I was chuckling at my gauche handling of such props as the baby or the basket, but at the same time I experienced a kind of remote terror in handling them. Like, god, I hope the game won't let me DROP the baby in any bad way.

I was surprised when, having found a copy of the novel Frankenstein near the bed, I typed READ BOOK and was suddenly hit with an almost 700-word excerpt. This moment broke the dirge of the baby situation and made me re-engage afresh. I also admit that my kneejerk reaction to the idea of reading Frankenstein to a baby was laughter, but I remembered a second later, of course you can read anything to a baby with a chance of soothing the baby. Reading Frankenstein to this baby is the "winning move". It leads to another text block, this one almost 800 words, in which the dad monologues to the restful baby.

The monologue drops the details of the story into place. It's not a twist, but narratively it has some of the functions of a twist of a short story. The dad's in pain in bed because he's had gender-changing surgery, but before that he gave birth to the child. The monologue muses on their possible future and their future relationship. It's certainly a breather after the oppression of game-long crying, and the dewy-eyed intimacy of the moment feels real. In the context of what's come before, which gave away little, and only a little bit at a time, 800 words straight up  inevitably feels expositional. That's how I/we typically respond to story structures and lengths after we've encountered enough of them. But the monologue doesn't feel expositional in a "nobody would say all this" kind of way, and I think that's more important. It reads authentic and illuminates the sketched character of the dad. The value of Frankenstein is now also apparent, its tale of human creation and unusual birth and an outsider human in an unusual body resonant with the PC's experiences.

I valued my creation more after playing it and after thinking about it than during the playing, at which time the implementation was kicking the atmosphere every few moves. Even implementation can't stop a baby crying baby, though.

IFComp 2025 review: Temptation In The Village by Anssi Räisänen

Temptation in the Village by Anssi Räisänen is a parser game adaptation of an unfinished short story by Franz Kafka. That story is dated 1914. Temptation took me 30-40 minutes to complete and my review discusses it in full.

Räisänen explains in the ABOUT that the game begins as a faithful adaptation of the story followed by his own expansions on it in the spirit of Kafka. The result is the experience of a Kafka tale manoeuvred to suit the parser format. Psychologically focused within the PC, it is atmospheric and works very well. The methods for the adaptation are interesting but uncomplicated, and they drew my attention back to some fundamental qualities of the parser format and their effects. The story is certainly as existential as one expects from Kafka, but it doesn't have the unrelenting heaviness of something like The Trial. Its feet are in naturalism and it's set on a village farm.

The opening paragraph of the game acts as a kind of benchmark. It depicts the PC experiencing what psychologist Abraham Maslow termed "the peak experience", the feeling that life is infinitely interesting and exciting, and potential-filled:

"One summer, as evening falls, you arrive in a village you’ve never been to before. You’re struck by how broad and open the roads are. Tall, old trees stand in front of the farmhouses. It has been raining recently, the air is fresh, everything delights you."

This experience will soon be defused by the PC's dealings with a roster of unhelpful and sometimes unintentionally sinister village characters. In my reading of the game, the elaboration of the move to or away from this psychological high point is the frame for what happens in the story.

I need to preface the rest of this review by saying that at the time I'm writing this, I haven't read any Kafka. Being a literary type, I know a lot about Kafka from secondhand reading, the zeitgeist, and the overused and under-understood adjective "Kafka-esque". The experience of Temptation meshed with specific qualities I expected from Kafka. It features absurdity and an uncertain prosecutorial atmosphere, and though there are no real bureaucracies in it to confound the PC, the minor hierarchy of the farm's running amounts to a version of one.

The story begins with the PC wandering in the countryside when they come across a farm. Looking for shelter and work, they start to enquire about both, and are soon running afoul of ambiguously helpful/unhelpful locals. A villager suggests the inn might suit, but also points out it's been turned over to a cripple the local community was obliged to provide for. The cripple and his wife can hardly manage the inn, so the inn stinks and ends up providing for nobody. The villager man and his wife hang about the dithering PC, following him at a distance for no good reason and seeming both menacing and foolish in doing so.

The main way such events are managed in the game is just by allowing or blocking directional movements at different times. The player is forced to twitch and dawdle about the first location, being invited in one direction, finding that way blocked by NPCs or their ideas, invited in another, finding it now blocked too for new narrative reasons. For the most part, these methods get around the need for any conversation mechanic. When I first tried to speak to the villager, I was briefly led astray by the ALAN engine's default help message regarding ASK PERSON ABOUT THING, which prompted me to think (with great relief) that I wouldn't have to use such a command at all, since all the characters thus far had been speaking spontaneously. It turned out later that I did have to come up with ASK MAN ABOUT ... so my least favourite IF mechanic struck again, forcing me to the walkthrough for one command.

The divisions of parser game turns and locations suits Kafka's and Räisänen's unhelpful NPCs. The prose of Temptation conveys an inner psychological process, not just a series of standalone vignettes about place. The PC enters a room, is often prohibited from performing actions by implied social customs or just the silence of others (how strange it would be to go to ask an old couple for a room for the night, find them at dinner, but also that they're prepared to sit there ignoring you in the half-dark while eating porridge) and must work out what to do to unstick the situation. The prose indicates a normalcy, or at least non-rudeness, in the PC, that is tested by others who seem to be unthinkingly rude or just not thinking.

Even children have an air of menace in this story. They awaken and encircle the PC in unison when they hear the sound of a dog barking at night:

"It is too late; suddenly, all around you, you see the children rising up in their white nightshirts as though by agreement, as though on command, and eye you closely."

There is the sense of conspiracy amongst others, never verified or verifiable. It just emphasises that the PC is the PC and cannot know others' thoughts, yet he keeps trying to balance what he guesses those thoughts might be against his own standards.

Where Kafka's story ended in the night, Räisänen continues to the morning with the PC's enquiries regarding work. A young man seen earlier on a wall, where he was inviting the PC onto the farm in what modern folk would describe as a passive-aggressive manner, now submits the PC to a pre-work test:

"It would make a great impression on the master if you mowed the tall grass south of the house. There is a scythe in the old barn... Another thing you could do is move the big trunk from the old barn to the new barn."

The PC thinks this man seems like a foreman, and speculates he might even be the son of the old farmer, but chooses not to ask about either of these things. The player's more traditional adventuring skills are now drawn on to bring the farming tasks to a close, at which point the man asks one more thing:

"... remember seeing those fallen cherry blossoms in the garden? You could go and glue them back onto the tree branches. I am sure the master would appreciate that very much."

The PC's realisation that the man has been pranking him and wasting his time is accompanied by another; that the PC himself has been behaving in a blindly obedient manner while on this farm.

Similar incidents sprinkled throughout the game have led to this point. As a player, I recalled my own following of all the suggestions made by the first villagers outside the farm in spite of them not actually being helpful. However, I didn't realise that the old couple I'd found eating porridge on the first evening had never even offered me a room until I reviewed my transcript. I had just felt they had, then I'd gone off and lain down on a pile of straw to sleep. The so-called foreman never indicated who he actually was, or why he might have had any real authority over me, yet the PC had behaved in a manner as if he had.

Given that this is the conclusion to the fully original portion of the game, and that it weaves together the prior contents of Kafka's short story so well, I think the integration is excellent, and the story has a thematically and psychologically powerful conclusion.

The man's prank isn't the final word, though. Recalling the peak experience of the protagonist in the first scene, that hard-to-share delight he experienced at everything, I'm aware of the distance travelled from that moment to his humiliation at the hands of the foreman. The game has shown that the PC got here by careless small steps in the face of uncertainties, and certainly lost his way after that first moment. Peak experiences can feel like accidents. Abraham Maslow ended up assuming they were. Writer-philosopher Colin Wilson later explored the phenomenon in literature and in reality. He wrote about the true value of these experiences, their nature, what we can do to try to bring them about, what we can do to try to recall them, or avoid losing them or moving too far away from them. Temptation ends with a turn back towards the potential of the opening high point:

"But even in this desolate moment, you know that one day you will find a place that truly belongs to you, no matter what it takes - and it will be somewhere entirely different from here."

For the evolution of the PC, this is the right move. The game casts most of its situations in Kafka's socially adversarial light, so there are practical implications we can take from the story, or be reminded of, about how more assertiveness may be needed in dealing with such situations, and with self-proclaimed authorities, if we aren't to be given the runaround like the PC is in Temptation.

Given my lack of Kafka-reading, I don't know if Kafka ever ended stories with what you might call a positive vector. By reputation, my guess is that he wouldn't have. On the other hand, if he'd trafficked down in Samuel-Beckett-like levels of wilfully stupid pessimism, I'm sure I'd have heard about that.

Temptation in the Village is interactive, but not in the sense that the player could have warded off all those unhelpful people. There's a journey to go on here and the interactions highlight opportunities to think about it. The player is subjected to the old "You can't go that way" message a lot – in situation-specific prose, of course – but that message is existential, not just physical. The PC chooses not to go that way, now. Why? Probably because they're being too careful to try not to offend any of the uncaring NPCs.

What is the Temptation of the title? I have no idea. Some googling suggests there aren't solid ideas out there regarding Kafka's original piece. It was an unfinished fragment, after all. I think some mystery is always a good thing.

IFComp 2025 review: Willy's Manor by Joshua Hetzel

Willy's Manor by Joshua Hetzel is a good-natured puzzling-in-a-house parser adventure, no more and no less. The blurb's concept of the PC being a producer for a TV show called Celebrity Houses is the game-unimportant excuse to subject them to a test organised by novelty-manufacturing eccentric Willy in Willy's extravagant manor. In other words, you enter the manor and solve all the adventure game puzzles inside. Willy has a box which dispenses lightly riddly questions whose answers are objects. Put your object-answer in the box, pull the lever and see if you're right to get the next puzzle. It took me about 45 minutes to complete the game using the in-game HINT command seven times. There are some typos, it lacks proofreading polish, and sports the odd non-critical bug, but it works.

The character of Willy is built up during play in his absence. There are lots of photos in his house showing moments from his life that either amused him or were important to him. These include shaking hands with the president of the USA and laying out whoopee cushions. Other notes and books and bits and pieces pay out anecdotes about the man. He comes across as a thoroughly nice and quite nostalgic chap, a Willy Wonka (I assume the main inspiration) without the dark bits. So while it's his house that's supposed to be the subject of the PC's interest, it's really Willy's life that the player seems to be analysing during the course of the puzzling. I don't recall the game specifying Willy's age, but it does all feel like an exercise in looking back in fondness. Ultimately it felt good in its emotion to me, if in danger of being a little cloying on the way.

The game is not technically a limited-parser one but it is one of those that lists all the commands you might need in its HELP section. It doesn't exploit a wide range of actions, sticking to the basics and adding a few custom ones. The in-game graded hints can be called on generally or in relation to specific items, and worked well for me. A couple of times, one of them in the case of a word riddle, I continued to enter HINT until I got the explicit answer.

I'm not sure the manor is as bizarre as the blurb suggests. There's definitely one fantastic section you'd not find in a house, but otherwise it's mostly traditional rooms and halls. It pays to EXAMINE everything. A lot of items don't appear until the PC first notices them. Most puzzles involve you observing the quality of some item and matching it to the riddle answer Willy's box is asking for at the time. A few puzzles in the fantastic section involve more elaborate work, and actually I kicked myself in this area for not being more observant of the environment. I felt I spoiled a good puzzle mechanism with the hints; I blame IFComp haste.

The very last puzzle exasperated me a little as it relies on the player having either a good memory of details of their game, long scrollback that they can review, or a transcript. After wracking my brain I was able to extract from it the needed data. There is a satisfaction in the last room in reviewing Willy's various nostalgic memories, this scene amplifying the overall theme of the game.

Willy's Manor is a little rough-edged and the prose isn't remarkable, but there are lots of puzzles and some good puzzles. The indirect focus on the character of Willy adds an angle to distinguish this arbitrary-puzzling-in-a-house game from the many similar ones out there.

IFComp 2025 review: Not so Happy Easter by Petr Kain

Not so Happy Easter 2025 (NSHE) is a humourous, light horror adventure originally written by Petr Kain in the Czech language. The author's translation of it to English debuts in IFComp 2025. The platform is the ZX Spectrum, one of the most popular 8-bit microcomputers in Europe and the UK in the 1980s, so you need to use an emulator to play it. I used and can recommend Retro Virtual Machine (RVM) which I've used for ZX text adventures before.

I found NSHE to be compelling, well designed and a lot of fun, so I would say to players, yes, it is worth the effort to get the emulator and play it if you're prepared to take that little bit of time to get into (or re-tap) its 8-bit mindset. It has some contemporary design sensibilities like an absence of random deaths and "walking dead" situations, and I also particularly enjoy retro-platformed IF that is set in the present day (unsurprising, as I made one of my own). NSHE offers the anachronistic delights of cell phones, Teslas and QR codes rendered via technology which predates their existence. As an Australian, the game was also culturally interesting for me. It has some local slang, the Czech currency and other European touches which might be inconsequential if you live there but are nice transporting details if you don't.

Note: I don't think the game's playtime estimate of half an hour is accurate. Bringing my retro-adventuring skills to bear, it took me 83 minutes to complete without hints. I don't know if it would be physically possible to get through it in half an hour at the accurately emulated game's sub-5Mhz speed. Commands have processing time, text doesn't appear instantaneously and you can't type too fast or characters are missed by the buffer. It's possible that on a different emulator, you may be able to overcrank a little, but RVM offered me real speed or an impossible-to-manage warp speed. On the plus side, I discovered you only have to type the first two characters of any word to be understood. The great danger for modern players is that L is not short for LOOK here but for LOAD, which will fastload a fastsaved game! To LOOK, either type LOOK or R (Refresh?)

Having recently commended the blurb for valley of glass, at least for its ability to draw me, I think NSHE has a good one too, and which is an accurate tonal harbinger of the game's content:

"You invented a simple adventure game for the kids in the town, where they had to solve simple puzzles and look for chocolate eggs. They solved nothing, they found nothing, and three of them got lost somewhere."

I especially like that second line conveying the mildly exasperated cynicism of the PC voice. The good thing is that that voice doesn't become overly cynical during play. 8-bit games of the day could be snarky at the expense of the game's narrative or atmosphere, and still can be if they emulate that tone, but I found NSHE to be sitting in a good spot. My own feeling of achievement in solving its 75 points worth of puzzles was not undermined by cheap one-liners. Those puzzles involve the PC's search for the missing kids with the goal of avoiding being drubbed by angry parents. There are a handful of F-bombs dropped and some described violence, but contextually there's not much of it and no gratuitousness.

The game starts in a town, and with this section being more open than what comes later, it's potentially a little more difficult, or at least less aimed. I found the key to success is to continue to make your rounds. The environment is mildly dynamic (e.g. there's a bus stop, and a bus that doesn't come immediately, and NPCs who come or go in response to events) but this is a game where repeat visits to locations and retrying actions over time can pay off. Once you've observed this, the fact that the roster of locations isn't too big works for you, as does the limited verb set. The game gives a complete list of verbs if you ask for VOCAB. Anything that can't be expressed with a more specific verb can be effected with USE A, or USE A ON B. There's lots of technical help, too, in the form of colour-coded feedback and the marking of interactive props with inverse text. Such features help prevent the wasting commands on things that aren't implemented.

The post-town adventure which takes place in spookier wilderness is where the game gets denser. This is well-performed classic adventure gaming with lots to do in a small number of locations, some back-and-forthing and the potential for new ideas and uses for such diverse items as an electric bike or a rubber duck to pop into the player's head. I finished with a score of 71/75, interpreting a few actions I performed as gaining bonus points, so there must have been some more that I missed. You can check your SCORE at any time en route.

Overall, Not so Happy Easter 2025 is a solid and solidly 8-bit adventure touching with humour on the tropes of modern life, still managing to exercise a bit of a PC voice and attitude through terse-leaning writing, and which does what it can technically to smooth play.

IFComp 2025 review: valley of glass by Devan Wardrop-Saxton

valley of glass, a lyrical-leaning and extremely short parser game by Devan Wardrop-Saxton, was the first IF I chose to play from the IFComp 2025 crop because I liked the blurb. However, when I say it is extremely short, I mean that it seems incomplete, a stub of an experience. The author may view it as complete – I don't know – but I expect that most players will not experience it that way. My review describes potentially everything in the game.

The blurb for valley of glass starts like this:

Here you are again, walking the North Road in a rare moment alone before another day of your seven years promised to the village blacksmith.

This called to my mind the English folk song The Blacksmith, the first track on both of Steeleye Span's first two studio albums, which I like very much, and I expected to find a broadly similar vibe here.

I assumed the PC was a woman, both because of the song and because of the line in the blurb "promised to the village blacksmith" which I read as being about marriage. When first examining my inventory, I found I was wearing "A heavy woolen coat made for a man twice your size." Then I wasn't sure. Perhaps the seven years I promised were of hard blacksmithing toil? If I was a woman, the coat description sentence was ambiguously written, though admittedly the blurb pointed out it was a borrowed coat; but that's the blurb. That info should be in the game if confusion is to be avoided.

My speculations continued. The blurb continued, "seven years until you may reunite with your love, the Black Bull of Norroway." Now I was thinking woman again, because the Black Bull of Norroway sounded like the kind of entity a woman betrothed to a blacksmith might instead pine for. What cinched the deal for womanhood were my boots: "Plain leather-soled boots that first belonged to your eldest sister, then your second-eldest sister, and now you." To play devil's advocate and suggest the boots might have been passed from sister to brother felt like a stretch atop all the other bits of info.

I thus find myself walking on the road in the game's first location. It's clear the author is unaware of Inform typicalities. X ME replies "as good-looking as ever" and no exits are listed. Testing the directions, I discover that a geographical and/or memory-based blockage exists in three of the four main directions, and that they imply puzzles I expect to solve. e.g.

But until you’ve won your iron shoes from the blacksmith, you’ll never make it past the first few switchbacks.

The southern location was a village. Here, no compass directions worked, so I tried IN. That provoked the end of the game. I had to run the ending a number of times before I got the feeling that yes, it can be considered a legitimate ending, as vague as it is about all things other than that a workday is beginning.

I couldn't locate a blacksmith, forge, shoes, or anyone or anything else, except some jewelled fruits in my inventory, polishable with the cloth I had. My instinct, when stuck in certain kinds of parser game, learned back in the day from Infocom's Wishbringer, is to try squeezing or breaking things I'm holding. BREAK worked here, reducing my jewelled fruits to detritus, but also indicating that this was probably a mistake.

Those are the far extents of the game that I've found. They comprise the start of a character who has memories, possessions that add to that character (the clothes), others that are unexplained (the fruit), and a few locations recalling memories. The lyrical bent of these things is something, but there's not a game here and not enough resolution of what is to convey much else.

Given that I harped on the blurb, I should also point out that valley of glass's synopsis did describe it as "a reimagined moment alone from the folktale Black Bull of Norroway." Moments aren't long, unless you're in Inception. I personally anticipated a certain vibe here because of my acquaintance with Steeleye Span's take on a folk tale, but I expect most other IFCompers won't have that. Perhaps my review describes my process of acclimatising myself to the scale of valley of glass, which I had misapprehended. It never promised me puzzles or greater length, though it presented four geographical nodes that I could have sworn were going to lead to puzzles. I still don't think there's enough detail here to convey the import of the promised moment.

IFComp 2024 review: The Triskelion Affair by Clyde Falsoon

In spite of being the buggiest game I've played this IFComp – though admittedly I have not played many – The Triskelion Affair still held my interest and/or pulled me through. This parser adventure posits the player as a "medieval detective" (quoth the blurb) tasked with finding a magical item hidden in a church. Perhaps, in retrospect, the key piece of information to take from the blurb is this description: "Inspired by the classic dungeon-crawl adventures of yore." And not this other one that says, "Sword & sorcery", which feels wrong. And also not the paradoxical thrust of the whole blurb, which is that you will only get into deeper trouble if you don't explore diligently. I think it's actually the opposite, that by exploring diligently, you will advance in the game and thus unavoidably get into deeper trouble, the nature of adventures in general. That first note about the dungeon-crawl adventures of yore reins in a range of the game's content and approaches, which could otherwise be described as being all over the place. They still coalesce into a setting of some atmosphere and focus in the last third of the game, which takes place in an eerie abandoned chapel.

(cover art by Ian Yarham, Geograph (2024-08-18))

The parser voice is a mixture of straight reverent description, replete with details of the different architectural features of churches such as the apse and narthex, and personalised snark of the kind parser games have refined over the years but which is going out of style unless you label your game Old School. A rewrite of core parser cues, like asking the player 'What do you do?' every turn, and the inclusion of numerous gags, like wacky doggerel for tombstone epitaphs, or erecting mausoleums to Crowther and Woods of Adventure fame, give the sense of the author's presence. I don't know that the two voices are at war with each other, but they certainly comprise a tonal switch that is thrown rapidly and repeatedly between settings A and B during the course of the game. There's also the odd personal exhortation; typing GET ALL produces: "That’s too much burden for one person, and there’s stuff you don’t want to deal with. Try examining the thing first. Explore! Otherwise, what’s the fun?"

This particular message was a handy cue for me to poke at things for poking's enjoyment and sake, which was the correct attitude to take in retrospect. Much of the game's contents and geographical presentation remind me of a MUD's, which aren't usually designed for single players or for puzzle-solving. The room description of each of a large graveyard's sections consists of a brief note about which sector the player is in, followed by the same general graveyard description. A game warden's hut is chock-full of takeable described stuff that is ultimately of no use on the player's quest. Having taken it all, I ended up leaving it strewn all over the donjon because there's also an inventory limit, albeit a generous one.

I found the chapel part of the game particularly involving. I've found it hard to put my finger on exactly why. I certainly find abandoned church settings inherently creepy and fascinating. There's a sense in this game that there's no overt threat, and that the environment shouldn't be hostile, but it is, anyway. Everyone's left or died. Broken furniture barricades hint at scary troubles. The church is full of ritualistic paraphernalia, the volume of it suggesting numerous stressful prop-based puzzles are ahead (What am I going to do with an explodable canister? With the northern lantern? The southern lantern? The third lantern whose direction I forget? The stack of parchment? The highly suspicious blank parchment? The multiple candleholders? etc.) yet that's not the case. Somehow all of these elements apply an overhead weight, an idea of a past and of a world and kingdom outside, all the better to make you feel stuck in this weird holy place picking at some minor mystery like it's a cog in something bigger. 

There's also a lone RPG fight with a zombie, easily won, but just make sure you pick up and wear again anything the zombie tore off you during the melee!

As my opening declared, I found the game to be really buggy. Increasingly so towards its conclusion, where even room names degenerate into exposed Inform code. All the way through, there's almost always just one way to do a thing that's frictionless. Every other way is troubled, missing, leads in disambiguation circles, or suffers from spelling errors or no synonyms. Most alternate obvious uses for objects are not catered to. I've experienced hundreds of games in this state by now in my gaming and reviewing career. These games just needed testing. How this one's state will sit with each player is unknown to me. It's easy to imagine players tossing in the towel due to a lack of trust. Once I'd established the level of bugginess, I didn't hesitate to turn to the walkthrough when needed, or just break out saved games to repeat actions that I had no faith the game would let me repeat without cutting off future success.

Triskelion also opens with a tutorial. It feels funny and friendly, but already shows many of the implementation omissions. The second command demanded in the whole game seems to be SALUTE. This immediately returns, "What do you want to salute?" Come on, game. The guy who just saluted me. It's also off-target in emphasising a lot of eating, which is unimportant for this game, and a decent amount of communication by the dreaded ASK/TELL system, which is also, mercifully, completely unimportant for this game beyond the tutorial.

The Triskelion Affair feels like a lot of buggy, parser-loving parser games I've played before, but it comes on friendly, even if the tutorial's off piste, and the church section ultimately pulls together to menace with atmosphere. Whether you will get that far in spite of all the bugginess is not a prediction I can make in general.

IFComp 2024 review: Winter-Over by Emery Joyce and N. Cormier

After enjoying The Killings in Wasacona (KIW) so much, I got wind that another Twine IFComp game, Winter-Over by Emery Joyce and N. Cormier, might present a similar experience, and a comparable one for reviewing purposes. It does and it does. Were you to read no more of this review, what I would say about Winter-Over is that it's fairly dense and challenging on various fronts, and even with the help of its excellent auto-taking Notes feature and character summaries, it's probably best approached not in a hurry, and with mental resources to spare.

The game's sublimely atmopsheric cover image is a real photograph that looks unreal, and this primes the player to enter the strangely cloistered reality of Pickering Station in Antarctica. The PC is Pickering's "mechanic, handyman, and general jack-of-all-trades", and they've brought along their somewhat edgy brother, Daniel. This makes for a complement of about fourteen working at the station, a mixture of men and women, scientists and maintenance staff. When one of them murders Daniel, the PC is driven to try to solve the case themselves because the New Zealand Police are ten days away.

The game's title refers to Winter-over syndrome, a kind of stir craziness particular to workers enduring the long (two thirds of the year) winters at the Earth's poles. The irritableness, depression and aggression from the syndrome potentially affects the behaviour of all the characters in this game. Having paranoid characters trapped in a dangerous situation in the Antarctic immediately recalls John Carpenter's film The Thing (1982), and the game acknowledges this and dispenses with any need to dwell on it by having copies of both The Thing and its same-named 2011 prequel present in the game's rec room video library. This gesture says: You know about The Thing, we know about The Thing. Let's just continue.

Winter-Over (WO) presents as a more cerebrally veiled mystery than KIW. This grows out of its more restricted setting, and the fact that its PC is not letting on, while questioning suspects, that Daniel's death is suspicious. It's being passed off as an accident. Characters and geography tended to be tied together in KIW. You would explore the map, meet different characters and speak to them on their own turf about their experiences. Memories were easier to anchor because each interviewee could be visualised in a particular place. In WO, all the characters work and live together in a finite space. Their work is interconnected. They are not met in discrete venues but roam the station. You will meet almost every character in every location at some point. In fact, a challenge is just working out where particular characters will be at given times when you need to speak to them. It is all challenging; remembering who's who, what to go back and ask someone about, or whom to spend more time with to butter them up. These elements would allow a player to investigate smarter on a replay, though.

WO also offers considerably less commentary on physical environment than KIW, which makes sense as WO's environment is closed and more uniform. This puts the focus on the character dialogue and the PC's thoughts on their interactions. It's a tricky balance keeping dialogue sufficiently lively while also indulging enough repetition that the player can grab onto some routines. While it is a bit drab to be given the exact same questions to ask every major NPC, it means the answers can be more easily compared, even as a samey feeling does threaten the first few questioning sessions.

The characters perhaps need more tics to enable them or their interrelated pecadilloes to be distinguished in the long run. Again, it's tough when they have to frame themselves almost without action, just by responding to similar questions asked repeatedly. It is exciting when you find something that will allow you to goad more out of someone you've already met, whether that something is revelations from a security camera, info about their medical problems or evidence of their handedness (the killer was not a lefty). But just finding a target character can be tough. If you haven't developed their schedule, which is collated for you in the automated Notes section as you play, you can spend many game days trying to encounter them again.

There is some dense plotting in WO, and while I always enjoyed learning new things during play, and feeling the tension of the looming deadline, events often felt like they were floating away from me. I couldn't find people I needed to find, or the PC would become too sleepy and need to take a break, or an exciting one-off event would occur (e.g. the lights go out) that would interrupt both my physical progress and train of thought.

Perhaps this is all less stressful if you consider, going in, that you might need to play again. Given the level of detailed I uncovered, I wasn't sure if I'd be prepared to try again (at least during IFComp) if I didn't succeed. The thought was more stressful than warming. I'd not acquired a sense of how important saving the game would be, either. Maybe I still don't have one. I don't think you can die during the investigation, but can you identify any landmark moments? The investigation is all cumulative. And there is ultimately a lot to enjoy, from the mystery and revelations, and the claustrophobic atmosphere, to the odd violent shock or attack upon the PC.

Comparing it to the broadly similar KIW, I enjoyed KIW more for its varied presentation of characters and the possibilities presented by its skill system, but both games offer a stiff mystery challenge coupled with a lot of helpful features. Both can be replayed. I think KIW offers more replay appeal.