I always try to find something good – something I enjoy – even in the bad games. My unofficial rankings are often higher than those of the real judges. I may categorize a game as “very good” where others consider it below average. I may score a game as “outstanding” where others find it merely passable. I can enjoy a game that’s technically bad, and even recommend an entry with bugs (especially if the author releases a post-comp update). I don’t know how true that will be this year, since my tastes change the more I write and play IF, but it has been true in the past.

     [RANT] I play interactive fiction because it’s fun. Playing and reviewing this many games may seem like a chore at times, but it really shouldn’t. These are the creations of real people, not emotionless robots. The feedback (especially when it’s brutally negative and lacks tact) can be a major slam to hopeful entrants. Let the score we assign be our stamp of approval (or disapproval). In reviews of amateur, hobbyist games, we need not be so callous and cavalier. Perhaps a review can be honest and critical without merely slapping the faces of these authors. This is the philosophy I try to use when I review interactive fiction. [/RANT]

     These reviews will form a kind of player's journal, since I'll write each one immediately (if possible) after playing the game. My reviews may contain spoilers. I’ll try not to do it, and I’ll try to explain things without giving away a puzzle or the story, but if I can’t, I can’t. Just keep this in mind when reading my reviews. Also, the number beside each review is the order in which it was played, not its order by rankings (although they will be re-listed in rankings order on the review list page.

     ** 9 (outstanding) – Again, maybe not a perfect game, but one where the problems weren't a distraction. Great story, great plot pace; a setting I found especially appealing; fun to play, fun to read, well-clued puzzles. This may also be a game where the author has made great use of his or her story, game structure, and characters. There may be very little (or no) technical difference between a “9” and a “10” on my scale. The difference is probably based on that “wow” factor, where a “9” is great but lacks some kind of emotional connection that would bring a “10” to life.

     ** 8 (very good) – One I enjoyed, but thought "it might have been even better if..." This might also be an outstanding game that just didn't hit me right; a genre I don't personally favor, for instance, but I was still able to appreciate the quality of the work. It's still a game I enjoyed playing. An “8” will have good writing, and if it has puzzles, they’ll be good and clued fairly. Generally, I will have no big complaints about an “8”, except maybe that the story, game structure, or characters may not have been used to their full potential.

     ** 7 (good) – A game worthy of the competition, but it could use some polishing. My hope is that most of what I play won't fall below this mark. This is a game I liked, but with noticeable typos, obvious omissions, suspicious puzzles, sparsely-implemented scenery, maybe a few bugs… just things to be improved upon for an updated release. This could also be a game that still seemed to fall short of its potential, even if the prior things (puzzles, scenery, etc) weren’t very problematic. This would be a game where these problems didn't really detract much from the experience for me, although I would expect the ratings of other reviewers to be less forgiving. This could also be a game that might have been a “6” or even a “5”, except that the story seemed unexpectedly good, making up for the more serious problems.

     ** 6 (average) – A game with a few more problems. Maybe this means more typos than usual, some bugs in the game that might either render it unfinishable or begin to detract from the experience, not enough implementation of the scenery, or quirks that just seem misplaced or unintentional. This could also be a game where frustrating, badly-clued, or overly-complicated puzzles bring down a score that might otherwise have been better due to the game’s other strengths. Some instances of any of these things can still make it into a higher ranking for me (even a “10”, if it’s the right game), but this score would imply that the game seemed a little rushed, unpolished, or unbalanced.

     ** 5 (below average) – This would be a game with quite a number of problems, or one I found frustrating to play. It could still be a game that I ultimately liked, just one that would put my entire ranking criteria under suspicion if I were to rate it higher. This would be a game that has potential – the author is on the right track – it just needs more work. It has probably failed in more than one area – puzzles, writing, story, etc.

     ** 4 (poor) – This game would be one in which I felt quite a bit of frustration, either with too many problems in the writing, the programming, the puzzles, the setting, or all of the above. This is a game in which I started to lose interest, began to cringe quite a bit, or just really disliked the obscurity of the puzzles (or the bad writing or uninspired plot). This is probably a game that felt more amateur as opposed to merely rushed and unpolished.

     ** 3 (very bad) – This would be a more extreme case of what a “4” represents. This is a game where it could be difficult or impossible to finish due to the problems; major bugs, glaring mistakes in the text; maybe even blatant attempts to make the player mad (without any indication that the emotion is helpful to the story). This is where it becomes more difficult to pick out the redeeming qualities in the game, because it isn’t much fun to play.

     ** 2 (horrible) – At this stage, I’ve found very little in your game to be excited about. It will have some kind of quality that sets it above a “1”, but only by a small margin. Maybe something you wrote was especially clever, or I found the setting to be interesting even if the entire implementation was not. I will consider this just a step above “unplayable.”

     ** 1 (unplayable) – I don’t mean that I can’t run it at all, because it wouldn’t be fair for me to rank a game I can’t even try. However, even though I can run it, I might as well have played with mud for two hours. I can find nothing of interest in the game, no reason or justification to bump it up to a “2” - basically, I strongly dislike the game.

     A plus by any score indicates a positive bias. Maybe it featured some plot twist I really liked, or a character I enjoyed, or clever writing that couldn’t really be factored into the score. A minus indicates a negative bias. Maybe it was intentionally insulting, or I expected more from the author, or it was in a genre I really dislike. Unlike previous years, these skews won’t affect the numerical score, but may shift games with the same score up or down within their own group.

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognize.

     Jason Ermer claims this as his first completed work of interactive fiction, and it’s a great first effort. Moon Shaped was a perfect game to launch my play-list, and with luck, a good sign of the quality I might expect from this year’s IFComp.

     Most of my yearly IF-playing comes from the IFComp. In the interim, it’s easy to forget how engrossing and powerful an interactive world can be. Moon-Shaped was successful in drawing me into the moonlit night, through the countryside and to grandmother’s house with a basket of goodies, as little Rosalind in her red cape.

     Yes, it’s that story. As spoilers go, that’s a given. It’s clear from the beginning. Equally clear, though, is that Moon-Shaped is a darker telling, hinting that there is more to the tale. Ermer borrows from the Brothers Grimm again, crossing plots with another famous children’s story. Then, he mixes in an element of Russian folklore. It never seems forced. The way it fits together is clever and inspired, giving importance not only to Rosalind’s lineage, but also to the more fantastic and grisly elements of the stories that are stale and unquestioned in a traditional fairytale telling.

     It works because in all likelihood you are familiar with the source material. You know the basic plots, you know what’s involved, and you know how these stories end. This makes it easier for the author to introduce some twists along the way, without making it too obvious too soon. It was only after taking a day-long break half-way through (I started playing too late the first night) that I started to mull over the story thus far. What I suspected proved true by the end, and a bit more.

     On the technical side, the problems in Moon-Shaped are few and generally minor. You can put the story into what is probably an unwinnable state from the start (in the competition version, anyway), although it’s by taking an action that is obviously contrary to how the story must go. It’s also an obscure thing to try, and something that is otherwise prevented – you can leave home without the basket of goodies if you put it all on the table. In a few cases, the text assumes a condition that isn’t true (the bucket attached to the roof of the well, even after you lower it). I noticed very few typos (few being more than none), but otherwise, it’s a well-written work.

     All in all, I was very impressed with the detail in Moon-Shaped. Ermer missed a few chances to include bonus actions, but not to the point that it feels under-implemented. The bigger problem is with the clueing of some puzzles, and to a lesser degree, with the recognition of synonymous actions.

     Of the former (clueing problems), entering the cave was particularly troublesome. There is a clue, but it’s easily missed in one of the visions Rosalind encounters. I went to the hints, and it’s the kind of puzzle that may force most other players there as well.

     Of the latter (unsupported actions), I had the right idea for opening the grandfather clock. I even knew the specifics to make it work. I gave up after a few failed attempts, only to later learn (via the hints) that what I tried was right. In one case, I had been told “I don’t understand that sentence” where additional feedback along the lines of “please be more specific” would have helped. In the other, reasonable equivalent actions might have worked, but didn’t.

     That’s not true of every puzzle, though. most work very well, with perfect clueing that still leaves a sense of accomplishment afterwards. Opening the locket was a favorite moment. Finding the cage (and taking candy from it) was another. Most of the puzzles are fair and rewarding.

     The ending branches in eight ways (they’re numbered), but they’re separated by only two or three moves at the end. Nothing that happens earlier seems to affect this, although some of the endings may be impossible if you didn’t bring a certain item or two. I had it all, so I worked out the eight possibilities in only a few minutes.

     This is a step above choose-your-own-ending, but just barely. I would have preferred a single longer ending, but it was nice to find all of them easily. It seemed a little like a collectible card game, but it was fun.

     Maybe because it was the first game on my list, or maybe as a credit to an engaging, well-told story, it has stuck with me through the additional day it has taken to start the review. When a work of IF is memorable in a good way, the author has succeeded. I hope Moon-Shaped won’t be a one-time offering from Jason Ermer. With such a strong, well-written entry, I expect him to place highly in the competition.

     I ranked Moon-Shaped as an “8” on my scale. Some of the puzzles didn’t seem well-clued, but it didn’t seem severe enough to drop the score. Because it was an entertaining and well-written start to the competition, it gets a plus.

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognise.

     I originally planned to play MANALIVE Part 1 and Part 2 together, then write a single review. After all, it is one story split in two.

     My plan has changed.

     To start, I didn’t know the first part would take well over three hours to complete. I also expected the quality between Part 1 and Part 2 to remain the same, but now, I don’t want to take this for granted (or rather, I don’t want to assume the second part will suffer from the same problems found in the first). Part 2, being Powell’s second game, may be more polished. It was entered separately, and I would like to review it separately, on its own merits. I may still play and review the second part next (it would ordinarily come much lower on my random list), but the reviews won’t be combined.

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognise.

     Despite a level of implementation that actually seems worse than the first half, MANALIVE Part 2 is less frustrating and more fun. It was much lower on my random play-list, but I bumped it up so that I could finish the story of “Innocent Smith” the same day I played and reviewed its beginning.

     Initially, it’s frustrating. The game is coded in such a way that nothing works. My all-caps notation in the transcript might have been real yelling if my baby wasn’t asleep and my wife wasn’t nearby. The beginning text was like film on a pond – I could poke at any part of it, but nothing was underneath. The most amazing part is that I even took the three paper shapes, yet nothing happened. When I went to the hints, I really wanted to scream. The answer – completely unprompted as far as I can tell – was to touch each of them. Didn’t I already?

     Ordinarily, this might be unforgivable. How many judges will give up then, and never play further? Some? Many? Most? I didn’t give up, and I’m glad I got to see the rest of the story. As it all unfolded, though, it was easy to see how the details in the G. K. Chesterton story were completely overlooked in Powell’s interactive implementation.

     You can’t rake the lawn, even though you find the rake. You can’t swim in the sea, because there isn’t enough water. When the story refers to “liquer”, you get a valid response only by referring to it as “brandy” (as it appears in your inventory). When rowdies blocked the way, the game told me I saw no such thing. In fact, not seeing things that were plainly described (even seemingly clued) in the text was a common hurdle through all of MANALIVE Part 2.

     The game succeeds only because the source material is interesting. Also, it’s presented in a way that works better than the first half, by letting Smith leave the boarding house in his memories. Equally welcomed – and probably Powell’s own creations – are the losing endings. They allow Smith to remember these incidents the wrong way, which causes him to truly go mad. I liked this. The hints were a necessity (not merely a luxury) in spots, but it was shorter and more focused than the first half.

     G. K. Chesterton’s “Manalive” was, according to Powell, published in 1912. It’s interesting that it reminded me of newer works. Most notably, the scene with Eames carries with it the same message Tyler Durden gave to the clerk in Fight Club: take nothing for granted, and live tomorrow as though your life might have ended today. The ending, too, had hints of Stranger in a Strange Land, in that there are better ways to treat people, and better ways to live life. In this case, it’s a vague connection, but one that hit me nonetheless.

     Even so, this is a credit to Chesterton – not (unfortunately) Bill Powell.

     In Part 1, I had very little sense of who Smith really was. To some degree, that’s probably intentional. It didn’t occur to me, though, until playing Part 2 that Smith seemed to have no purpose, no real characterization aside from the vaguely eccentric, and no real motivation for doing anything in the first part. This is resolved by the end of the second part, and I can see why Powell picked this for adaptation. It’s a good story, and one that’s worth telling. It just suffers from a weak and lackluster implementation.

     I have given MANALIVE Part 2 a “6” (which is “average” by my scoring definitions). Implementation is weak, but fewer things go wrong and nothing seemed to break the game entirely. It also gets a plus, because Chesterton’s story did make for an entertaining read. Eventually (maybe after I have played and reviewed all the other entries), I would like to read the original. It’s probably a story I would like.

     I also encourage Bill Powell to polish up both halves of MANALIVE the game. Don’t rush it. Go back and add in the detail that’s lacking. Really bring the story to life, have it tested by several people, revise, and re-test. Then re-release this game, letting your implementation shine like the story itself. You might even merge the halves, by compiling to GLULX instead of ZCODE (excuse me if it’s not quite so simple – I’m not an expert on Inform development, but I believe you can avoid the Zcode size limit when you target this alternate model – it might even be possible just by going to .Z8 instead of .Z5). This could really be an incredible game, but it needs a lot more work.

     XYZZY Response:
     [Press ENTER for cheat mode]
     A small voice says, "I'm sorry, but on Morbian the command xyzzy is meaningless."

     The introductory background material for Unauthorized Termination is both intriguing and daunting.

     On one hand, I enjoy worlds that adhere to a carefully planned model. As a citizen of Morbian, you should know about various body types, creation centers, crime and punishment (laws), fuel consumption and recharging, the usage (or meaning) of general terms, religion (the origin legend), series types, teleportation, and units of measured time. It really shows the thought and detail put into creating the Morbian society.

     On the other hand, if it’s really important to know all of it, how would my memory and comprehension serve me? It’s easy to review each bit in-game using special single-word commands, although “creation” displays the same text as “body”, and “fuel” is listed twice. I struggled, at times, as I confused a body type for a proper name, or forgot that the series number has nothing to do with the creation center.

     Ideally, this information might have been relayed in pieces (with the ability to review any part that was already shown). For a short game, I can see the difficulty in that. In a longer one, a better idea might have been simple puzzles through the beginning that introduce the recharging, and then the importance of laws, and then maybe the creation info, and perhaps the body types, models, and series types after that.

     By the end, though – and this is important for first-time players – it does make sense. Perhaps my mistake was in trying to understand it all from the start. I expected that some of this knowledge might work its way into puzzles. Maybe it would be important to know that “action x” could not have been caused by a certain functioner because this particular functioner has wheels instead of legs. Or, maybe my understanding of laws 4361 and 6610 would ensure (at some point) that I didn’t enter into a situation that would lead to my own termination. It didn’t work out that way, which may be good or bad. Borrowing two more hands, it either saved me from tricky logical deduction on one, or was a missed opportunity on the other.

     Epsilon-Beta handles the deductive reasoning. As a player, I only had to follow the clues. It’s not a difficult game, despite what may seem to be an overwhelming amount of world-defining exposition. I used the walkthrough once or twice, but I might have avoided it with a bit more persistence.

     What I came to realize is that learning how Morbian works is a big part of the game’s appeal. The story is fine (relentless cop defies boss to solve the case and save the day), but putting this in a uniquely odd society – where the emphasis is as much on the backstory as what’s happening currently – made the game more interesting than it might otherwise have been.

     The writing is okay, although some typos show up here and there. The style fits with the utilitarian setting. My biggest complaint (for which I’ll forego any other discussion of the writing in Unauthorized Termination) is with Richard Otter’s use of commas.

     The comma is a tricky little thing. In essence, it separates phrases and tells a reader where to take a mental pause. Commas have rules (as do other kinds of punctuation), and these rules don’t come easy to some of us. Even with my little pocket references for grammar and the rules of writing, I don’t always get it right. What stands out about Richard Otter’s writing, though, is that he really really doesn’t get it right. Commas sometimes take the place of periods (the so-called “comma splice”):

     “Little is known of those early times, some even doubt the existence of the 'first one', but most agree…”

     The fix? Let the bit before the first comma be a single sentence. Sometimes, it’s only a matter of the comma being a word or two out of place:

     “The circular id badge which, is both an id and security pass, reads…”

     The fix? Move the first comma after the word “badge”, since this is where the embedded clause begins. At other places in the text, a comma is sometimes used unnecessarily:

     “With a barrel shaped body it has four, multiple jointed legs and two arms.”

     The fix? I’m tempted to say remove it entirely, but it’s probably needed after the word “body” (before the remainder of the sentence). It’s the “multiple jointed legs” bit that throws it off. Read it as “four multi-jointed legs” instead. See the difference? It’s easy to over-analyze a sentence, but this might instead be written as:

     “It has four multi-jointed legs, two arms, and a barrel-shaped body.”

     I mention all of this (and at such length) because reading certain passages in Unauthorized Termination felt like walking with a shoelace untied. I kept tripping over these instances of comma misuse (especially during the first hour), and it would take a bit of mental stumbling to get back on firm footing.

     At the end, I was left with a few questions over plots points that seemed... unresolved. I hesitate to call them plots holes, because I could very well have missed a clue or misunderstood what was happening. When Epsilon-Beta reviews teleporter logs that have been erased, new entries (for E-B’s own usage) aren’t shown. The tracer finds one terminated functioner outside (distinguishing between him and the fake), yet later the tracer reports the whereabouts of the impostor instead. How do things go from the interrogator to the shelf in Zeta-Theta’s domicile, seemingly without Zeta-Theta ever leaving the Examination Center? What was the purpose of the Center for Distraction? Was recharging really necessary? It was easy enough, and appropriate spots are everywhere, but (a) these guys really need batteries that get them through the day, and (b) because it was so easy, it seemed like an unnecessary limit.

     As for bugs, I noticed only a few. I had a tough time getting the game to disambiguate badges, because replying with just the shape (as seems logical) didn’t do the trick. It usually required the entire description, in order to tell one badge from another. At one point, one of the teleporter options (from the Center for Distraction to E-B’s domicile) wouldn’t work, even though it was listed. The game just kept saying that it didn’t know how to achieve that (which seems to be a generic response for unrecognized commands). Near the end, it was still possible to read a piece of paper that had been taken away from me.

     The game worked well, with its numeric and sometimes alphabetic command shortcuts. It was easy to view laws, interact with the communicator, and teleport from place to place. When I got stuck, it was at times when I didn’t think to go back to a place I had already been – a place where I had already seen and done what needed to be, yet something different (and necessary to advance the story) happens on the way back. Overall, the puzzles are clued well. That, and they seem simple enough to keep the pace moving.

     Oh – one other thing. It’s a world ruled by robots. That’s worth a plus, and Unauthorized Termination gets an unofficial “7” from me.

     XYZZY Response:
     I didn’t understand that sentence.

     Having never played a game by Emily Short but knowing her high standing in the interactive fiction community, I started Floatpoint like a down-and-out boxer hoping to spot the weaknesses in a reputably superior opponent.

     It’s not the best way to start a review. In general, though, it feels like I’ve played every entry so far this year as though I’m beta-testing it. This may have been intensified for Floatpoint because I consciously played it as a concerned competitor would. Does it fail in any area that may count against it? Are there bugs that judges may notice? Is it hard to follow, and does the plot show obvious problems?

     These are good questions when evaluating a game, but I wasn’t only evaluating it for review. If I could find fault in Floatpoint, could I draw any conclusions from it? Would it be under as much scrutiny from other judges, whose expectations may be equally high? If problems do exist but they’re ignored by most reviewers, would it mean anything? If the same problems are found and criticized in other games by those same reviewers, what would that imply?

     In the end, it was all just wasted speculation. I found a few bugs and minor quirks (I’ll discuss these a bit later), but nothing of major significance. Floatpoint isn’t a perfect game, but I haven’t ever played one that was. At times, I wondered “how would I have found this thing?” or “what if I hadn’t thought to do that?” What’s amazing is that I did find or do just what I needed, every time, and that can’t be coincidence. It’s proof that it all worked. At no time (prior to my search for additional endings) did I feel stuck or lost or in need of guidance that could only come from the hints.

     Of the writing and the story, I may have expected something esoteric and poetic. Really, I don’t know what I expected. Floatpoint is a game like any other, and it was neither hard to follow nor over my head. The story is filled with interesting ideas that are expressed imaginatively, just as good IF should be.

     It was exactly the kind of science fiction I enjoy most. David Moskin is Earth's newest ambassador to Aleheart Colony, founded on a cold and remote planet. Earth has a reason to hope for the return of its long-separated and genetically-altered descendants, just as the citizens of Aleheart have a reason to abandon a world where a worsening climate threatens their future survival. The story begins with this much, but the details are worked into the story as David finds his way to the embassy and begins a day of familiarizing himself with the populace and their customs. He also prepares for the duty that is expected of him by the Aleheart ambassador, and this is where he learns that something so seemingly simple might make all the difference in their future relations.

     In the static fiction I enjoy most (books by Jack Vance, C. J. Cherryh, and others), what I find really fascinating are the strange customs of alien cultures – especially those cultures derived from an Earth origin. Vance commonly uses colors, appearance, and gestures as key features in describing the interactions and taboos of an alien culture. For instance, yellow clothing might indicate contempt for the elderly, or maybe jewelry can’t be worn during the day without inviting the taunts of children. I find that Vance uses this in an intentionally amusing way, but it also works in a more serious story like Floatpoint. This is important to the story (especially to the decisions that lead to a number of possible endings), and I would have liked to see even more of it.

     The game is structured so that players can see the sights of Aleheart Colony – the planet’s ring, the enormous glacier, the neglected buildings of old town – before the story moves into more enclosed places. It seems that more may have been planned for these outside areas, but maybe it was only meant as a scenic introduction.

     Each character has his or her personal viewpoint and agenda. It stands to reason that they should, but it sometimes doesn’t play out that way in other games. Different characters may offer conflicting advice, and the story involves learning what it all means and making informed decisions at the end.

     Until the end, I believed there to be only one possible “right” choice. I really only focused on how I might decide which NPC to believe, thinking that one way would work while the others would lead to failure. What I found is that all ways lead to different degrees of failure and success, but most result in an ending scene that could easily have been the only ending. After the first, though, there is no doubt others must be possible. It’s just a matter of combining the two different choices, before following through to the end. Somewhere in the process, though, I forgot to consider what the combinations might represent. It became just a matter of working out the possibilities, and then seeing what would happen as a result. That seems like the natural result of this kind of ending, but it may not have been what Emily intended.

     A few things (the little man, for instance) seemed to hint that there might be other endings that are a little more difficult to find, or which don’t directly follow the gift-giving ceremony. I’m curious to find out more from other players, after voting ends.

     Floatpoint includes some special features that, while not entirely unseen in other games, are pretty rare in the IF I have played before. A “MAP” command gives a list of locations already visited, which is then useful for the “GO TO” command. Glulxe pauses for a second or longer for the latter (especially when the destination is a good distance from where you start), but the path taken is described and it beats walking there location by location. I found this more useful in Floatpoint than I recall it being in the only other game I’ve seen it done (Return to Ditch Day by Michael Roberts). A “THINK” command shows David’s mental checklist, which works much the same way a list of objectives does in a mission-oriented video game. This list is updated and displayed automatically as needed, unless you disable it.

     As to bugs and quirks, I noticed a few. If not for my intentional prodding, it would be an even shorter list. Some of these are definitely bugs, while others could just be a partial misunderstanding of the game’s structure on my part. As I said in the introduction I wrote before starting the process of reviewing this year’s IFComp, it should be noted that these are my observations of the competition version. These problems may not exist in later updates (if any), released after the competition.

     I could “get disk from slot” but “get disk from computer” wouldn’t work. Equipment mentioned in the lab could not be referenced. When I found a yellow paper and referred to it as “paper”, the parser believed I meant the receipt I had already found. Garbage didn’t allow “trash” as a synonym. Putting anything into the chute in the private lab gives a blank response (although the item does go away). It seems that “hug” (as a verb) was treated the same way as “kiss”. Liam speaks tentative English, but I never was quite sure why David assumed he would be unable to understand a reply. A couple times, Liam didn’t wait for my answer (immediately after asking a question). The game described Pamela as leaving Aleheart’s edge (and I couldn’t “see any such thing” when referring to her), even though the text described her doing things that would imply she was still there. I couldn’t retrieve the personal float unit after accidentally leaving it behind in the private lab, since I was no longer authorized to enter. One of the things on David’s mental checklist seemed to remain near the end, even though it should have been marked off. In the writing, I noticed a missing word here, an extra line there, but nothing less trivial.

     The strangest bug – and one I wasn’t even sure was a bug, at first – happened when I entered the private lab. The line “She greets you with a stream of words you don’t understand, and bows deep” was repeated a half-dozen times, followed by “--> The scene change machinery is stuck”, and then the whole pattern again. At first, I thought it meant the scientist was a projection or illusion that had become stuck – like a skipping record. After every turn, though, the same sequence was repeated. Somehow, I thought to get off the personal float unit (which is how I accidentally left it behind), and then the “stuck scenery” would stop until I got back on. I don’t know how the two things were connected, but they seemed to be.

     Even that one is minor, in that it has no bearing on actual gameplay. What I learned from my heightened scrutiny is that Floatpoint shows a level of polish that most IFComp games won’t. It’s fun, it’s interesting, and it’s a game that’s difficult to dislike on any point. If you are already a fan of Emily Short’s work, you will probably find it faultless. If you are looking to prove it unworthy of this year’s top spot, you will find faults. Any other entry, though, when examined in the same way, will be no different.

     The “floatpoint” theme was worked into the story in several noticeable ways. The floatpoint “objects” were obvious, but maybe it also applies to the icebergs (which do float, right?), the doodad that measures three statistics to multiple decimal places, and maybe even the gift-giving decisions (the final and pivotal point in the story).

     It’s a great game, and even at such an early point in playing through this year’s entries, I suspect it will win. The pessimist in me says that an equally good or slightly better game won’t have the advantage that Emily’s popularity lends to Floatpoint. The optimist in me says that judges aren’t fools, and Floatpoint is as deserving of the top honor as any other entry is likely to be.

     It’s a clear “9” on my scale, which is functionally the same as a “10” except that a “10” will have hit me in an unexpected and more emotional way. Floatpoint will be the game to beat this year.

     XYZZY Response:
     Sorry, but that isn't one of the magic words.

     If ever a work of IF needed graphics, this is it.

     They wouldn’t even need to be fancy. Each room in Labyrinth is an unfurnished 30x30-foot cube, with each wall a different color. Archways lead between rooms, but they are sometimes on the floor or ceiling, upside down on the walls, or in other awkward orientations that don’t make sense until the entire room is turned. Perhaps proving that I have poor spatial imagination, I found it difficult to “see” each room. It did get easier later (probably due to familiarity), but it requires re-reading the same room description with subtle differences over and over.

     XYZZY Response:
     I don't follow you. Type HELP if you're confused.

     If, by chance, you have already played The Initial State, you are probably goggling at the “7” I rated this game. I suspect most judges won’t finish it, and of those, most won’t play past the first few minutes. It will get 1’s and 2’s and a few 3’s from judges. It will probably rank near the bottom of IFComp 2006 (although, if past trends hold true, at least four games will likely rank lower).

     XYZZY Response:
     I don't understand the verb 'xyzzy'.

     If I were rude, I would describe Simple Adventure as Simply Abysmal.

     I think the game’s blurb lies. This bit from the introduction makes me think this so-called “ice dragon” is actually a Sith Lord in disguise:

     ...an evil dragon turned the good creatures of the forest towards the dark side...

     I’m tempted to let the following exchanges (showing that you can’t really trust what the game tells you) summarize my review, but I have a bit more to say afterwards.

     Here’s one:

     You are standing inside a darkened toolshed. There are a few items of interest lining the shelves here.
     >examine shelves
     You notice nothing unusual about the shelves.

     And another:

     >use lantern
     You can't use that here.
     >buy oil
     Ok.
     >use lantern
     Pzzzzt! The lantern flickers on!

     And how about this, in regards to a tree:

     ...It looks climbable.
     >climb tree
     I don't understand the verb 'climb'.

     I won the game quicker than I expected, because most of it is superfluous. With a minimum of effort, you can take the troll’s broadsword and defeat the dragon quite easily. You just need the lantern, the oil, and the rope (for going “up” the tree). Pick up a helmet along the way, be sure to wear it (and wield the sword), and you’re golden. On my first run, I remained pretty healthy during the battle. On my second attempt (because I expected something more), I even started the fight with fewer hitpoints. When I dropped to 0, I was able to keep fighting and gain some HP back. Although you can fight anything that’s alive (monsters yes, but also the villager, the clerk, and a bard), it doesn’t seem necessary. You don’t even need the armor from the shop (and even if you kill the clerk, you can’t steal it).

     It’s the same problem in some of the other games Paul has written. The combat system seems important to the game, yet it doesn’t work as intended. I probably needed to kill all the lesser monsters, level up (maybe a couple times), earn enough gold to buy the armor, collect the other pieces of defense (helmet, shield, etc) and then take on the Sith (er… I mean ice) dragon.

     It’s almost a non-game: no story, no creativity, no substance. The included text file states that Paul intended it to be a programming tutorial for would-be authors of text adventures. Without debating why would-be authors of text adventures would be wise not to follow this pattern, the game itself didn’t have to be dull and unoriginal.

     Paul is immune to well-intentioned advice. Each of his games seem written without the benefit of the code he has already created, yet the same styles, themes, and dragons find their way into them again and again. He is stuck in the 1980’s, writing IF exactly the way I used to (and that’s not a compliment). He doesn’t improve, and the quality and implementation of each game, while low in general, varies wildly from game to game. Hasn’t he implemented “x” as the shortcut for “examine” in the past? This one doesn’t, and it assumes any “look” (even when specifying an object to look at) should show the room description instead.

     XYZZY Response:
     Did you really expect something to happen? Collossal Cave Adventure won't be written for many years yet.

     This is shaping up to be a year in which I don’t play and review all the IFComp games. I’ve made it through this, the ninth game, and am only now getting around to the review (five days later). Seventeen more days before the voting ends means... I may not make it. With my current work schedule, I probably can’t make it.

     The first installment in the Bible Retold series (they’re planning another) is pretty interesting. It’s full of anachronisms, religious humor (sort of), and playful depictions of biblical events. I use the word “playful” because this retelling seems to be in good fun. It could be really offensive to those of a staunch Christians faith, if viewed as something that merely mocks the Bible.

     The beginning part is pretty smooth, but rushed development starts to show part-way and through to the end. The bugs are nothing a good post-comp update can’t fix (I’m going to skip the bug report for this review), but a couple of the puzzles left me confused.

     One requires looking up Bible verses and following instructions there. Somehow, I just never made the connection. I had assumed that one area in the game was a sort of model for part of a book in the Bible, and I remembered the notice at the beginning to either have a Bible handy or be prepared to look it up online. It just didn’t occur to me that I was in a puzzle that might only be solved by doing exactly that. I thought the Bible references would be handy for understanding the story itself, not for solving the puzzles, which may be how I failed to make that connection. I got the solution from the walkthrough.

     XYZZY Response #1:
     A piercing pain suddenly stabs at your temples. Then there are the voices, fading in and out like a radio with bad reception:
     Terrible... see her... blood... I know... so cold...
     As quickly as they came, they are gone.

     XYZZY Response #2:
     The whispering voices have returned. Your head feels like it is practically splitting in two.
     Can't believe... deploy... children wondering... don't know...
     Then nothing.

     Because I’m just about resigned to the fact that I won’t be able to play and review every IFComp entry this year, I’m starting to skip ahead to the games I want to play (each for various reasons), rather than the ones next on my random list. I skipped two games (if I have time, I’ll come back to them) to play Madam Spider’s Web.

     Even by IFComp standards, it’s a short game. I was able to finish the game in an hour, for an ending that I expected to begin another segment. The final screen-clear and the announcement of “the end” took me off guard. I spent another fifteen minutes afterwards, checking the walkthrough and replaying some earlier bits. There are multiple endings, but I saw (I think) only two of them.

     I’m conflicted about the game’s brevity. In a way, I think the competition should probably encourage games of this size. IFComp authors (and I’ve been guilty of this as well) tend to stuff as much into a game as possible, forcing players to see it at an artificial pace (using hints or a walkthrough), so that the entry feels substantial enough to stand well outside the competition. A game like Madam Spider’s Web, which comes in short with time left for replays, ends up feeling too brief when compared to other entries.

     This is probably true every year. In the case of Madam Spider’s Web, my basic reaction is that it would be excellent for a competition that calls for one hour of play. As a one-hour game, it’s superb. As a two-hour game, it just “feels” too short. It has to compete with equally good games that are longer, and those games are able to offer more puzzles, a bigger plot, and in a sense, a better experience. I don’t think it should be that way, otherwise this seems like a competition for longer games instead of short ones, but that’s my gut feeling after playing.

     The game does an excellent job at clueing the puzzles. I only felt stuck once, briefly, and then found my way again. I get the impression that Madam Spider’s Web might have been a longer game originally. Granted, this would be “stuck” time, but if beta testing and further refinements helped to resolve the sticking points, the result is a game that keeps a perfect pace but takes less time to complete.

     I hadn’t guessed the specifics of the ending, but very early on it made sense that things weren’t exactly as they seemed. This forced me to pay more attention to the details than I otherwise might have. I get the importance of the unconventional piano sounds, and I even see the connection between the three keys used to play them and another element of the ending. In a way, that’s the crux of the story, where what the “song” represents leads the PC straight to what the three keys together show. I get the “web” (it’s pretty clear in a bit of the story right before the end), and maybe the bug in a bag.

     Even so, I’m not sure I’ve connected everything from the house with clues at the end. Without delving into clearer spoilers, though, I can’t say much else about that. I like the story, and I think its only real flaw is that there just wasn’t enough of it.

     There were very few (and very minor) problems – so minor that calling them “problems” almost seems unfair. These are things like an extra blank line at a spot that’s inconsistent with the rest of the style, failure to accept “key” when answering a “with what?” question (typing the full command worked), etc. In fact, I probably shouldn’t even say “etc”. Those are the only two things that come to mind, even skimming through my transcripts.

     It’s a solid and detailed game. I don’t remember anything that “wasn’t there” or that I “didn’t need to refer to” when mentioned in a room or another object’s description. I could have missed something, but it looks like Sara was very thorough in implementing Madam Spider’s house. The game has a good way of drawing attention to important things and away from unimportant ones, without resorting to announcing the difference (in most cases, anyway – I did notice a spot or two where something is said to be important, but it still fits).

     It’s a simple but important trick to keep most players from dwelling too long on scenery. Just repeat what information has already been given. If you describe a shower curtain as “a beige vinyl curtain” in the room description (an example from this game), and this isn’t important except for a single action suggested in the text, then writing a long description that provides additional information might fool players into believing there is some further importance. It also means more adjectives, more nouns, possibly extra component objects to either implement or leave implementation holes by their absence.

     Instead of describing the shower curtain as (for instance) having silver rings, pretty patterns, maybe some creases or folds, water stains, and a new (or maybe an old) smell – all of which would have fleshed out the description in a more literary way – the “look at” description simply rephrases what was already said about it. No new information and no elaborate description for an object that exists for a singularly clear purpose means less work for the author and fewer avenues for players to become sidetracked. “A bland beige curtain circles the bathtub.”

     XYZZY Response:
     It’s a thousand years too late for such nonsense.

     I skipped two more games to play The Elysium Enigma next. Admitting it almost feels like confessing that I cheated on a test or something. What I like about a randomized list is that it will usually provide a good pacing between good games and bad ones. Now, with the remaining days ticking away, I’m targeting the games I think I’ll enjoy – the ones that probably have the best chance of ranking highly in the competition. This is based on the author’s prior work, and also the recommendations I’ve already seen about this year’s batch.

     In other words, I’m doing something I’d rather avoid: messing with the natural flow of the competition experience. It also means that some of the games I skip might lack a review from me entirely (at my presently slow place), and this also seems unfair. In a way, I’ve already grouped the remainder of the games into two piles: entries I really want to play before the results are announced, and everything else. This makes me question my own objectivity. Next year, I hope to be in a better position to play and review every game in its random order.

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognize.

     XYZZY Response:
     I’m sorry, but XYZZY doesn’t do anything special in this game!

     It’s a “PT” that it’s not GOOD. Har har!!!

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognise.

     Hmm. Just... hmmmm.

     I chose this game next (I only needed to skip one more on my randomly-ordered list), because it has already been identified in other reviews as a joke game. I’ve tried to just skim for scores (so as to maybe minimize the influence of these other opinions), but when the reviews of Sisyphus are only a line or two, that’s not easy.

     Still, I hoped to find something more here – something the others overlooked. I have failed in that, and I can only agree with them. I see three possibilities, though, instead of just two. It’s either a joke game, or a larger game that fails in its very first puzzle so as to appear as nothing but a joke game, or it’s neither. In that case, maybe it’s exactly what it appears to be. Maybe it’s intended to show the endless futility Sisyphus endures as his punishment in Hades, by hinting that Sisyphus believes himself clever enough to escape from just another unfortunate encounter.

     In my brief quest to answer the question posed by the game’s blurb, I tried a number of actions. Most don’t work or give default responses, but a few pay off. Since none of this seems “spoilery” in a game that goes nowhere, here is most of what I found to work: x hill, search hill, x me, die, x boulder, look under boulder, push boulder, pull boulder, wait, pray, get boulder, n/s/e/w/etc, help.

     I also tried looking to the story of Sisyphus (I searched the internet) for the details I lack in my prior understanding of this Greek myth. Plenty leads up to Sisyphus and the boulder, but nothing comes after it. Sisyphus doesn’t weasel out of his predicament. This is his final, everlasting punishment, and as such, it suggests no way out.

     I want to believe, even now, that maybe Theo Koutz (an alias, I think) has built a bigger game that just hides behind a hard-to-guess introductory puzzle. I think it’s unlikely, though. Even though not much is implemented, what is here seems solid and well-written to the point that it would be an unbelievable lapse in judgement for the author to have designed this in such an unhelpful way. Also, the actions that might hint at alternatives don’t, instead suggesting that Sisyphus resume his toil. Doing this (even dozens of times) offers no variation. It’s all worded in such a way that the task seems unavoidable and inescapable, yet the idea of escape lingers.

     It could be a “1”, and it might be a “2”, but to me, it has a peculiar charm. It’s a little like looking for buried pirate’s treasure where thousands have failed before you. It’s almost certainly as pointless as it seems, yet the possibility that the author has devised some way for Sisyphus to escape is a tough idea to shake. Eventually, somebody will probably decompile the .Z8 file (if such a thing is possible, and I don’t know why it wouldn’t be) to find out for sure.

     My theory, as absurd as it might be, is that this is a joke, but a very particular one. I think the author hopes to make a point in wasting our time. Maybe we keep hunting for an escape that doesn’t exist, or we write scathing reviews. Either way, the joke’s on us. I think the author knows the community, and Sisyphus is his middle finger. If so, I don’t mind that. It’s not an enjoyable game, but I’m not offended. It’s oddly fascinating, but still just a “3” on my scale.

     I hope the author, whoever he may be, claims it after the competition.

     XYZZY Response:
     Is that some sort of telegraphic cypher?

     What a strange, fun game.

     Criticism of home-brewed text adventure games is pretty predictable, maybe because the comfort and quality is no match for games written with the IF systems we’re more familiar with. I used to think these were petty complaints – back when I too wrote IF the home-brewed way. After all, each game is unique. Quality should be about the game itself, not the standards and extras and minor conveniences mostly attributed to the engine. That was my belief for quite a while.

     It was, as stands to reason, wrong. It’s as difficult to play interactive fiction that fails to allow “x” (for “examine”) or “undo” or “save” or any of the parsing power that shows an understanding beyond two-word phrases, as it would be to play a first-person shooter in which four unrelated buttons had to be pressed at once to effect a jump. It might work. It might even come to feel less clunky over time, but it would show that the game designers have paid no attention to how other first-person shooters are built. If the design serves no purpose, and could just have easily been built in a familiar and intuitive manner, it won’t be well-received by experienced gamers.

     XYZZY Response:
     What utter nonsense.

     What a strange, fun game.

     XYZZY Response (varies, but is initially):
     Nothing obvious happens.

     Note: I’ve tried to be vague where possible in this review, but I do talk about some specifics at times. To avoid spoilers, you may want to play the game first and then read my review.

     Having just played Mobius, I haven’t reflected on it long enough to figure out just what went wrong. I liked it well enough, but I somehow expected to enjoy it a lot more. At first, I really did. When the first cycle happened, and I realized exactly what the gimmick was (I had read that it was a time-travel game, but I’ve tried to be careful in avoiding specifics), I was really into it.

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognise.

     Even without recommendations, Game Producer! is one I have been looking forward to since I saw its blurb on the IFComp info page. When I first started programming as a hobby, way back in – yikes, nearly two decades ago – I wanted to work for a game developer. The NES was king, and my dream job was to work as a programmer for Nintendo. I’ve gone on to work as a programmer (and I can relate to nutty deadlines, crunch-time overtime, and the quirky workings of other departments), but not in the video game industry. Game development is still just a hobby.

     Game Producer! is a caricature of resource and crisis management on the last day before a new video game is supposed to go into production. It doesn’t require an insider’s knowledge, though. The puzzles are exaggerated too, making it familiar territory. You are the producer. Your choices (aka, your ability to solve as many puzzles as possible before the time runs out) highly affect the game’s success after release.

     It’s a pretty generous time limit. This, according to the “game_guide.txt”, is all that changes when you make a difficulty selection near the beginning. That’s good, because it was a question I struggled with (I didn’t read the guide until afterwards). I didn’t want the puzzles to be too easy, but I didn’t want them to be too hard (which might have indicated a lack of good in-game clueing). It seems that the puzzle difficulty doesn’t change, and since it’s just right as-is, that was fine for me.

     It helps to remember not only what the Big Man tells you, but also which tasks you’ve already completed. This can be a little confusing on a second play-through. I would have liked to see an in-game notepad, where the PC automatically records (and checks things off) a “to-do” list. This might have made the game a little too easy, and maybe it was a conscious decision by the author not to do that. I played through twice, needing the first time just to get familiar with the puzzles and how to solve them. The second play-through lead me to what’s probably the ideal ending (you can’t beat 99.2% on GameRankings.com – it’s a site I use frequently), and two million copies sold ain’t bad! I did use strategic saving and undoing, but I think that’s natural when playing against a ticking clock. (If only that would work for real deadlines.)

     The included “game_guide.txt” (not a walkthrough – those are included, but I didn’t need to peek at all to finish) is charming. It discusses the design of Game Producer!, and then goes into a FAQ-like section about some specifics. It’s a little spoilery, though, and probably best read after playing.

     The game seems pretty bug-free, but a few quirks manage to be scuffs in the polish. Too many line-breaks and missing ones here and there seem to be what I’m noticing most in this year’s IFComp entries. I know it’s just a formatting thing, but it throws off the flow. “X me” gives the default “as good-looking as ever” response. A few pieces of missing scenery can be found – things described in a room but not actually present in the game. Something on your keychain only appears if you look at the keychain, even though it was presumably there all along.

     The game seems to have just one ending, but the details change depending on how much was accomplished before the deadline (and even then, a bit of randomness plays a part). Although it might not be a popular opinion among IF players, I think I prefer a single ending. Maybe it defeats the point of interactive fiction, but I really like to know that I’ve finished the game as it was meant to be seen. The differences really give Game Producer! quite a few variations to this single ending, but it’s still just one ending. I think the point isn’t whether the game was a success or a failure, but whether the player is satisfied with the result. As is pointed out in every ending, you still get paid, and the next project is right around the corner.

     Game Producer! has a nice structure and puzzle design from an author who obviously knows how to design with the player in mind. An “8” on my scale is “very good”, and that’s an apt summary of Game Producer!

     XYZZY Response:
     Party Trick: Go into bathroom with a mirror. Close door, turn out all lights, let eyes get used to dark. Hold arm out and touch mirror, at the same time turning on the lights for 2 seconds. Turn off light, drop arm to your side, while continueing to stare at mirror without moving or blinking your eyes. Your arm will still be in the air! Freaky.

     Expirament with giving the finger or making funny faces.

     ~ A.P. Hill

     Santoonie games have a certain style: the font sizing, the use of color and inline graphics where you wouldn’t really expect a visual, three parts (preface, prologue, introduction) to begin each story, lengthy legal notes, unedited writing, and offbeat game responses that are probably a huge source of amusement to those involved in the development. None of this makes a Santoonie game a good game, but I find something compelling – maybe in a guilty pleasure sort of way – about each one.

     In my third experience with a Santoonie-made game, I’m also starting to see that it just can’t be reviewed in a traditional way. Some reviewers take hold of what they like, and they rate all games against that. For instance, if a reviewer really likes comedy and puzzles and expects that all games should be funny and puzzley, then great games may get low marks if they fail to impress on that level (even if the game was never intended to be puzzley or comedic). Other reviewers (and in my opinion, more fairly) try to evaluate whether or not each game succeeds at what it was trying to be. In the case of a game trying and succeeding at being bad, though, does it deserve high marks? How does it compare to bad games that weren’t trying to be bad, or games that succeed, but at being good?

     XYZZY Response:
     That's not a verb I recognise.

     Star City is really really good – until its beast of an endgame puzzle.

     The setting reminded me of Rendezvous With Rama (or maybe one of the sequels), by Arthur C. Clarke. Star City is a huge cylindrical space ship, possibly of alien origin, that awaits the arrival of a lone explorer. The biggest mystery is solved shortly after boarding, only to be replaced by more questions. Why does it exist? How did it come to be so close to Earth? Is the PC really alone aboard it?

     Exploring Star City, even though it’s not a very long game, was great. The quick trip through the center of it elicited great mental images. The city itself was drab and uniform with block after block of inaccessible buildings, but the game had already established an interesting layout. I thought of it as a maze at first, but there are no dead ends. Except at either end of the cylinder, you can go in any direction. Others may dislike this, but with a destination presented after only a brief bit of exploration, it worked for me just as the author probably intended.

     I noticed no problems in the writing, and I noted only a few minor complaints through most of the game: a missing synonym here, seemingly unimplemented scenery there. This didn’t seem too common, though. The construction of the game felt solid, even responding to a few things I wouldn’t have expected it to. My overwhelming thought through most of it was “this is really good” and “what a great game.”

     But then... that endgame. What happened? I think the author probably wanted something with a bigger challenge than the rest of the game (which wasn’t hard, but did feel rewarding enough to make it worthwhile), and something with a greater sense of urgency. The challenge is there. The urgency is there. The last part just wasn’t fun.

     I struggled with the first part of the endgame (made harder in that you die after only a few turns, and UNDO doesn’t work twice in a row), but managed to get settled in. The part with the restraints was particularly nasty, requiring guess-the-verb and guess-the-noun, although it was in a “forgot to use synonyms” kind of way, not a “this is a special magic action” way. I made a new save there (good thing, too), and hoped that I was just a turn or two away from the ending.

     It would have been nice if the game had ended there, or if the author had reconsidered the endgame puzzle to come. Instead, it’s a matter of controlling a small out-of-control escape craft manually, while trying to figure out how to make it go and turn. I somehow missed an important first step, so my first few attempts weren’t working for reasons I couldn’t figure out. It’s something I should have seen, but overlooked. For the first time since I started, I had to peek at the walkthrough. Knowing then what I missed (and what the game failed to let me know I missed), I survived a little longer, only to meet death after death as I tried to figure out the controls.

     Actually, the controls are easy to figure out. A convenient in-game manual explains it. The problem was that I had no idea what kinds of maneuvers I should be attempting, to keep from crashing. The walkthrough helped, but it was expressed in such a general way that I still struggled through a few more deaths before getting everything to work just right. When the winning ending came, I should have been smiling at what a great game I had just completed. Instead, I was grumbling to myself about the inane endgame puzzle.

     Score distribution seemed a little off. At one point, I was awarded a whopping sixty points (out of a hundred) at once. The full hundred is awarded before the endgame, leaving no more to earn for all the work involved in actually winning.

     About the plot. Since the Gloss seem to exist only as backstory, what was their importance? How could they have overlooked the Star City during their decades-long occupation of Earth? How did the builders of Star City, at the time it was constructed, come by the technology necessary to create such a thing? How is it that the orbit was about to decay just as it was discovered? How was it that a recording, presumably looped for so many decades, broke mere moments after it finally found an audience?

     Most of the game is great. I think this could have been a “9” – one of the outstanding games of IFComp 2006 – with a little more substance to the main part of the game and a less frustrating endgame. As it is, the rough endgame only counts enough against everything good that leads up to it, that I put it at “8” on my scale. I’ve added a “minus” for the numerous deaths I suffered at the hands of that ill-conceived design, but it’s still a game I really enjoyed.

     XYZZY Response:
     That doesn't make sense.

     Hmmm. I decided to play Tentellian Island next, because I realized it would run on my laptop (the Java VM is installed on my home PC, but for whatever reason, it wouldn’t run). I figured it would be short – and it is. I figured it would be a disappointing home-brew – and it is. I figured I would have more bad to say than good – and I do.

     This was the author’s Java class project, if I understand correctly. As is, it’s a little buggy. As IF, it suffers from most of the classic home-brew failings (I would say “all” except that “x” for examine does work).

     The game gives blank responses to “swim” (except in one spot), and actually locks up when trying to cut things with the knife (not always, but enough to make me stop doing it on later attempts). It has no save/restore and no undo, making these kinds of issues fatal (instead of just really annoying). It appears that you can lose the crystal by using it in the wrong place, but maybe the author has worked around that with an alternate solution – seems unlikely, but I grant that it’s possible. Object and verb synonyms are almost non-existent and very little in the way of scenery is implemented. The command prompt is a blank line. The puzzles are of the magical “because it doesn’t have to make sense” variety, reminding me a lot of my own cruddy earlier text adventures (I liked the “emotor” puzzle in the auditorium, though). Directions are capitalized mid-sentence. The game works in a terse mode (revisited rooms require a “look” to see), but I couldn’t get “verbose” to work. The message “that doesn’t make sense” is given where it’s not appropriate, such as walking in invalid directions. It has no transcript feature, but thankfully the available scroll-back held it all and could be copied.

     The story is a simple but nonsensical “find the mysterious relic” hunt – not an instant black mark, but not very compelling in this case. It starts with you standing on a dock, after the vessel you arrived on has sailed beyond the horizon. That’s a nice start, but why did I hang out alone on the dock of a seemingly abandoned island prior to the start of the game, just watching the boat sail away? If I think hard enough – harder than the author did, I believe – I could imagine that the PC didn’t want to begin the quest until the people on the boat could no longer see him. It’s more difficult to think of plausible reasons for everything else that happens.

     The game claims to have four endings – which very well may be true – but I could only find one. The ending I did find seems like a winner (it looks like I make it away alive), but it goes on to say I didn’t survive.

     Because I think this will be a game most people never finish (whether by giving up in frustration, or by the obscurity of the puzzles), I’ve included a walkthrough below. It will lead to the one ending I found. I feel a little guilty about putting a walkthrough inside a review, but it feels like the right thing to do in this case. The part in parenthesis is optional, because I found no use for the knife. Perhaps it’s for one of the other endings?

     s. s. s. e. x plants. get key. w. w. s. get pendant. n. e. s. s. s. s. (w. swim. dive. get knife. u. e. e.) s. e. get crystal. w. s. get bulb. n. n. n. look. get emotor. s. s. s. break crystal. s. w. laugh. s. s. cry. n. n. e. e. yell. s. s. dance. n. w. unlock box. get gem-hat. wear gem-hat.

     And there you have it. It’s one of those custom-made games that feel like a copy of a copy of a badly written original. The author must know the basics of interactive fiction, but nothing about what would make a game fun and worthwhile to play. It’s generic.

     I think the author tried his hardest, and the included info makes me think he had a great time writing Tentellian Island. If it’s the Java he enjoys, I recommend using it for a different kind of game. If it’s the Interactive Fiction instead, then try using a language made for it – Inform, Tads, Hugo, etc. Today, there is very little (if any) reason to invent your own, unless you are very familiar with what’s already being done and your engine will take IF authorship even further. If you like programming more than IF authoring, you might create your own custom interpreter (in Java, even) for any of those without the need to invent a new one-shot IF engine from scratch.

     It’s a “3” on my scale, but I give it a “plus” for... being winnable, I guess, and for not making me type “look at” everything. It has a certain charm, but not enough to mask how crude it all is. It’s a low-end IFComp game, good for the “full experience” of the competition but not recommendable outside of it.

     XYZZY Response:
     We aren’t familiar with that action.

     Usually, when I review an IFComp game I beta-tested, I try to re-play the competition version first. I save them until the end, so that time and other games have put a little distance between then and now.

     I managed to play just over half of this year’s entries. It’s evening of the last day now, and I don’t have time to play Legion again before writing its review. So, this is based on my memories of the beta version almost two months ago, and on my beta transcripts. This will be a short review.

     XYZZY Response:
     You can't hear the hollow voice.
     (note - it changes in the epilogue)

     I wanted to write a few short notes about TTS before the results were announced, but I didn't quite make it. I'll probably put something here later... soon... something. I kept a development journal through its entire creation, and I might pick some good bits from that to post here.

     Anyway, I wrote this one. I won't review it, but I may discuss what I think other reviewers got right, and what they got wrong. Maybe "wrong" is too strong a word. TTS is the result of more than two months of hard work -- I mean hours and hours daily (when possible) and nightly. Of course I'd feel the urge to defend it. :)