Ratings and Reviews by OtisTDog

This game categorically defies expectations. It starts out giving every sign of being a hack job by a first-time author desperately fighting a losing battle against Inform 7's seemingly infinite layers of complexity, and I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it is. The remarkable thing is that, in the end, author Laura (no surname given) won that battle.

Countless new authors come to the world of interactive fiction with grand visions of making a sprawling epic of a game that does everything. Grand worldbuilding! Sorting hats! Combat! Conversations! Multiple endings! Crafting! Nailbiting tension! Reversals! Philosophical beats! Timeloops! The meta! This is impossible. It can't be done, especially by a newbie... unless, apparently, they are stripped down to their absolute core and all concerns about polish are tossed aside.

A large number of player actions in Mooncrash! take the form of a >CHOOSE verb (i.e. the affordance that is the heart of the choice-based paradigm), which seems to have been simply bludgeoned into place, crushing all built-in conversational verbs in the process. That verb -- plus >EXAMINE, basic movement, >TAKE, >PUT and a handful of specialized attack verbs -- are the only commands that will do anything for the player. Other verbs remain but are irrelevant since they do nothing useful.

Many works in recent decades have proven that this is enough. Superluminal Vagrant Twin, The Little Match Girl 3: The Escalus Manifold, practically the whole catalog of Arthur DiBianca... all of these feature essentials-only command prompt interaction that keeps the action moving by limiting the player's choices to the handful of options that are relevant at that point in the unfolding story. The author's execution at this game design level is very adroit; each scenelet has one easily-apprehensible mechanic, and the spaces in between are handled with quick-to-read prose decorated by hefty sprinkles of narrative glitter fashioned from RPG tropes (both tabletop and computerized).

The prose is absolutely essential to this game's success. As noted author Amanda Walker says in her intfiction.org review of the game, it "needs to be purple and is suitably lilac". Given how rough-hewn the program side is, one might expect the writing to be similarly crude, and the opening paragraph certainly does little to challenge that expectation. As one progresses through the story, however, low expectations are challenged with bits of imagery and beats of action that suggest a raw talent for the craft of IF, one that grew significantly even over the course of creating this game.

There is hinting about a deeper story, one that perhaps justifies certain hard-to-explain aspects of the situation presented. (Spoiler - click to show)(The main villain and the Four Winds are originally a group of friends from a universe more like our own? Or maybe they're all avatars of a group of players in a computer game, just like the protagonist?) Are these hints even consistent? Does that question even matter? If you're only in it for the fun, then the answer is no. The story provided is a half-finished sketch that lets one fill in the blanks with the ideas that seem right according to fit and preference.

This is one of those games whose main strength is that it continues to surprise on the upside all the way through, even when taking the completionist route and trying to see every ending. It really does delight, and intrigue, and satisfy. If the author considers refining this game into a post-competition release, my own advice (of quite dubious value) would be to go in the direction of "less is more" by learning to remove unneeded default actions entirely, and also to take some cues from authors of "limited parser" games such as the ones listed above about how to better set player expectations in accordance with that style. There is some danger that doing this would dispel the air of earnest sincerity that is a substantial part of the game's charm.

Although the quality of the initial segment will vary somewhat depending on the results of the factional alignment at the start of the game, anyone spending two hours with this game is certain to get past the initial poor impression, so it will be interesting to see how it fares in the competition. Even if it places low in the rankings, I would strongly encourage the author to spend some time genuinely studying the available tools (and to seek help and advice on the forum) so that the next attempt can better fulfill such a sweeping vision.

On first starting this game, I was strongly reminded of Rover's Day Out, due to the split-level reality of the action taking place. However, as play continued my thoughts turned more to the early chapters of Homestuck.

The minimal challenge to be found in Moon Logic comes primarily from dealing with the "helpful" automation that attempts to interpret what the player means to do based purely on the chosen verb and the object context. As one might guess, this is only sometimes what the player actually wants to do. Soon enough, anyone playing this will be learning how the automation thinks and trying to anticipate its foibles to accomplish one's objective.

The main action involves exploring the immediate environs of Zork's classic white house. It's an impressive bit of work, both looking and feeling like you are interacting with a world model engine as complex as would be found in a typical parser game. (There's even nested inventory!) I find myself very curious about the technical underpinnings of this work and hope that author Onno Brouwer will provide some details in a post-mortem after the competition.

The player familiar with the original on which this spoof is based will recognize the NPCs and locations, often modified from their inspiration. Although the setting and emulated display strongly encourage the sense of playing the original, actual gameplay frequently diverges from expectations. Perhaps the greatest feat accomplished by Brouwer in this work is creating something fresh that is also a parody of Infocom's first game.

Along with the main progression of plot action, there is a second progression involving the UI itself. Billed as featuring the latest in "artificial incompetence," the simulated game proceeds to live up to that moniker by imposing visual effects over the basic text window. At first, these are fun and amusing, but by the time it gets to the point where (Spoiler - click to show)the text orientation rotates every few seconds, I was looking for the off button. (Fortunately, Brouwer has provided one.)

At the end, the game delivers a ranking in the old school style -- one based not on points but on turn count. Presumably, fewer moves results in better rankings; if not, then the ranking I received (Spoiler - click to show)("'Me, too' adventurer") is a bit of metacommentary. Achievements are also tracked, pegged to turn count instead of point value, making me wonder whether there may be more to be found than I saw in a single playthrough.

This isn't a deep game, but it is a fun short experience that mixes a bit of potential nostalgia with a demonstration that much more is possible in today's technical environment. It's well worth the time to play.

This is a horribly broken game, so broken that I have to issue it a one-star rating... but I wish it wasn't.

The title of this review is a somewhat compressed line from the game itself. The NPC to whom you would be speaking at that point is Dr. Polter, one of a handful of significant NPCs in the game -- the others being a mute and unsanitary ice cream vendor, an enormous stag, and FDR. (Yes, that last is Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The actual original, brought out of cryogenic suspension.) (Spoiler - click to show)Dr. Polter possesses a key that you will need in order to encounter FDR. It's a bit tortuous to trace out the decompiled Glulx game code, but I think (based on gameplay) that you have to exhaust all of these topics in order to get the key.

It's an example of the type of nerdy, goofy humor sprinkled throughout this half-finished piece. Here's another:


> spray stag with spray
It STAGgers away wheezing, clearing your path.


I mean, yes -- it's a bad pun. Some of you laughed, though. I know it.

There's no denying that this game is a mess as a program. It's also pretty messy in design, seemingly one of those play-around-while-learning-to-code types of efforts. Still, and perhaps surprisingly, the game is minimally playable and can be completed. I don't think anyone is likely to make much progress without resorting to decompilation, but the single largest obstacle is a terrible implementation of an elevator. I won't even wrap this in spoiler tags since it's more like an anti-spoiler: The key to using it is >PRESS BUTTON followed by >STEP INTO ELEVATOR. (Per the decompiled code, a special action is implemented for this.)

I have a soft spot for these neophyte efforts informed by Infocom tropes, and I'm often amused by absurdity, so it bums me out that author Sarah Bullard seems to have abandoned this game before finishing it, most likely due to frustration with learning Inform 7. If you're out there, Sarah: Join the intfiction.org forum and ask for help in cleaning this up -- I can see that you had a lot of fun ideas to share.

There is no point in even having an IFDB entry for this item, which the evidence suggests is the product of someone spending about an hour with Inform 7 before tiring of the effort of learning the basics and moving on to another hobby.

David Welbourn's "walkthrough" (a term which seems to have extra applicability in this case) is complete; I decompiled the Z-code to make sure that nothing else was hiding. The sum total of author-supplied text is as follows:

A Bottomless Void

Deep inside the void, you hear a quiet sobbing that surges from a source that you can not locate. The wailing sounds are weak and broken, almost feminine, but not quite. It seems nearly familiar, yet distant, like the relationship of the sun and the moon. Your sight betrays you, for even though you stare into this absurd reality, your concentration mirrors this realm, never fixating, and always in motion. The weeping rises in intensity, the cries assault your ears more often, and they increase in volume. A variety of strange, swirling and altering colours converge around you, and then suddenly retract, and converge once more. A ceaseless kaleidoscope of glowing lights and shifting imagery. The lament of the woman induces an abrupt pain above your right eye, causing you to close your eyes and avoid the tornado of colour, but the scene remains there, unaffected by humanity's natural hiding mechanism. You shake your head, trying to negate the invasive gaze of this indifferent scenery, but its hold never falters, and restrains you. The wails suddenly morph and alter into a distorted, masculine voice, and a strange gargling sound emits from deep within its throat. The throaty sound drones on, staying at a rather low note, but the sound does not alter, or form into a comprehensible fragment of speech. It seems as if it is waiting for you to make the first move, but you have no idea where the sound's host is, as you can only hear the low, gargling noise. Though you can't find the source of the deep, throaty sound, you decide that it would be best to look around this strange, colourful and eriee realm.

Whirlwind of Dancing Shapes

You look to your right, and notice a difference from the lights that were infront of you. Over here, they seem brighter, and their glow pulsates, shining incredibly bright, then suddenly dying down, and reapeating the process over and over. Shapes also appear from the swaying colours. Though, they are not such shapes like squares or triangles. These shapes are heavily deformed, mutated and absurd. Like a smudged, pastel painting, the forms and colours are slow and sluggish, and they excrete a presence of depression and despair. You can only go back, as there is nothing else of interest here.

A Dark Presence

To your left is a haven for a multitude of glowing lights that are shining incredibly dully. At first they were swaying and rushing around the space of this strange place, but the introduction of these dull, nearly lifeless lights has hindered the almost beautiful display of dazzling lights and colours. The last remaining glowing orbs finally followed suit of the now dead lights, and slowed to a crawl, finally burning out. Out of nowhere, a burst of black streams forward to where the dead orbs make rest, and coats the assorted colours and orbs, absorbing them, and one could no longer tell if they had even existed. Bubble like shapes appear on the areas where colour remains, and more of the black liquid shoots foward, staining the once majestic display of light and absurd colour. The whole left side of this alternate realm is now a giant, swirling blanket of black. The once, almost appealing, colouring of this world had been completely dissolved on the left side. The monstrous, dark and haunting sheet of black had suddenly stopped spinning and twirling, and now lies motionless. With its cease of motion, it almost seems inviting, as if it wants company to venture forth and explore its depths. You can go closer to the black ocean that blankets the entire left side of this strange realm, or you can go back and search for that voice.

The title of this review is the translation of the Sohoek Ekalmoe's title as provided by the work itself. It is also the name given to the player character, which is a kind of sentient plant.

The premise is inventive, and the portrayal of the protagonist's experience is memorable. Although the experience is quite short, author Caleb Wilson has crafted something very clever at the heart of it. Like his better known work, Lime Ergot, the essential mechanic here depends on rendering an extraordinary style of perception. In this case, it's the ability to perceive one's environs as a distributed entity across multiple locations.

This aspect, in combination with the novelty of a botanical body, creates a compellingly fresh play experience. I only wish that this work was longer; (Spoiler - click to show)the promise of conflict hinted at in the beginning turns out to be false foreshadowing. Though the protagonist seems to have barely survived a battle with his unnamed but apparently humanoid "enemies," an attempt to seek them out yields only the remnants of their long-destroyed kingdom. Presumably the protagonist's sense of time is wildly different than our own, especially in the energy-limited environment in which the story begins.

Short as it is, this work accomplishes what it sets out to do, delivering a glimpse into a different philosophy and reminding the player that (Spoiler - click to show)even civilizations die, but the dance of life -- here meaning life in the grander sense of the biosphere -- goes on.

The core mechanic of Lime Ergot notably inspired the very popular Toby's Nose by Chandler Groover. It will be interesting to see whether the new ideas showcased in this work are ever used for something of greater scale.

This game was a contestant in the People's Champion Tournament of 2025, and it was one of the more serious works on the roster.

When I start out with a new work of IF, I always try to ascertain as quickly as possible whether the author is aiming for simple entertainment or is trying to accomplish something more profound. As with literature or film, I consider both options to be worthwhile endeavors, but the mindset of appreciation is so different between these two types that it's usually helpful to determine this early on. (That's not to say that there can't be serious works with comedy beats, or comedic works with serious beats; both of these are often very effective techniques that enhance the playing experience.)

Thin Walls is definitely the serious kind. It depicts the life of several relatively young adults (likely in their 20s and 30s), all of whom live together in a strangely reality-defying building, one that changes and expands over time. Many of the characters seem to be searching for meaning in their lives, with varying degrees of success. A young couple finds that in growing they are growing apart, which puts stress on their relationship. A young lady obsessively documents her daily existence with social media in an apparent attempt to transcend reality and live the life she portrays on the internet. Others experience conflict over property rights and differing definitions of what constitutes appropriate care of the commons. Still others seem adrift, unsure of what they are seeking or how to go about it.

Another thing that I look at closely for any given work is how the author uses interactivity, and specifically how they use it to achieve their intended goal (or at least their apparent goal). The main device used by author Wynter for this work is to frequently reassign the player to different player characters as the story progresses. This is very effective in creating player empathy with the characters, particularly in cases where the player experiences both sides of a conflict. However, because one cannot simultaneously imagine being two different people, it also invites an "outside" objective perspective that is not aligned with any particular character viewpoint.

As I think about this work in hindsight, it is primarily from the objective perspective, i.e. as a disembodied observer of the society in miniature formed by the building's inhabitants. Among the inhabitants is one particular character who stands out, that of the mysterious landlord named Eddie who is never observed directly by the other characters. As with the building itself, there are supernatural aspects that defy easy explanation in a world that otherwise seems to be everyday reality. Eddie is apparently some fantastic entity of malign intent, as in at least one interlude (in which the player is shown the perspective of the landlord) that entity seems to have knowledge about what's been happening in the building that is not explained by events observed by other characters, and to be deliberately fostering conflict between inhabitants of the building.

If there is a center to this story, it is Eddie. Since Eddie is sentient but seems vaguely inhuman, I can't help but wonder what he is supposed to represent. Is he a representation of the corporate "personhood" of a rental management company? Is he the invisible hand of capitalism? Is he a vague personification of our basic primate nature, with its instincts that are sometimes at odds with civilization? Is he supposed to be a literally-existing personification of evil as seen in pretty much every major religion?

I haven't been able to come to any real conclusions, and that leaves the work's foundational message uncertain. The thing that looks most like a clue is the way that characters in the building are discouraged from talking about certain things that they all experience and know to be true; it is taboo for them to discuss the house and its changes over time. The current Wikipedia article on Taboo begins as follows: "A taboo is a social group's ban, prohibition or avoidance of something (usually an utterance or behavior) based on the group's sense that it is excessively repulsive, offensive, sacred or allowed only for certain people." Which (and how many) of those four aspects do the inhabitants of the building believe, and why?

Thin Walls hints at deeper questions but does not seem willing to address them directly, an aspect that I find to be unsatisfying. However, the complex of stories being told is absorbing enough to hold one's attention, and there is value in contemplating the questions raised indirectly, so it's well worth one's time to experience this work.

I experienced this game in an environment far different from its original release in 1998. More than two and a half decades have stripped it of the mystique that it held after years of pseudo-existence as presumed vaporware, and months of hopeful speculation about the return of commercial IF in the form of Cascade Mountain Publishing, a short-lived endeavor by none other than Michael Berlyn of Infocom fame.

This is a work of truly epic scale in terms of play time, and I admire author G. Kevin Wilson simply for the massive size of the effort put into it. Once and Future is easily two or three times the length of a typical long-form work, requiring substantial time at the keyboard even if one makes frequent use of a walkthrough. It's not just a matter of puzzle solving and navigation across the extensive map, it's also a matter of just plain reading; in SPAG #16 Gunther Schmidl notes that a printout of his transcript was 128 pages of 10 point Times New Roman. This is perhaps the only work of IF I've ever gone through that truly felt like reading a novel, and I'm not alone in that impression; in that same issue of SPAG -- which was dedicated in its entirety to this work -- Magnus Olsson compares Once and Future to the Great American Novel in IF form.

Olsson also notes that Once and Future is "a very American game." Its central preoccupations are with matters that had significant impact on American culture in the latter half of the 20th century. From its opening set in the Viet Nam war to its conclusion at (Spoiler - click to show)the site of the Kennedy assassination, American sensibilities dominate. Good guys are good guys, bad guys are bad guys, and where they meet violence is a foregone conclusion. This Manichean worldview translates easily to the world of Arthurian legend, where the majority of the action takes place, but other aspects of this mix of tropes only go together about as well as oil and water. The mishmash of tropes seems to originate in something personal for Wilson; to me the connections between the various categories seemed tenuous at best. (Spoiler - click to show)It was hard enough to try to reconcile the fairy tale atmosphere invoked by King Arthur with the gritty mood of the game's opening scene in a post-propaganda portrayal of the Viet Nam war, but adding (Spoiler - click to show)a literal demon to tempt Lee Harvey Oswald into being an assassin was ultimately stretching things too far for me.

They say that a cynic is just an idealist minus the hope. Wilson's magnum opus blends idealism and cynicism, leading to jarring tonal shifts in many places. The plot is undeniably escapist from the outset, but the protagonist's happy ending (Spoiler - click to show)(achieved when he escapes from our world into one in which JFK was not assassinated) is muted and not in keeping with a typical Hollywood ending; Wilson does not let idealism win at the end, at least on the individual level. (Spoiler - click to show)It seems that even the good endings are linked to a horrible future in which the protagonist is possibly the last person alive in a ruined world, waiting for the arrival of his past self in a scene that you must play through earlier in the game. The treatment of Snookums, an NPC that was much celebrated in contemporary reviews, is ambivalent in this context. It seems to be very vaguely hinted that her simplemindedness is the result of (Spoiler - click to show)brain damage received when she was drowned for being a witch in the real world, but similar logic does not seem to apply to the harm that the PC received in the process of dying, which leaves the portrayal of her interaction with the PC a little disconcerting.

The work's writing has both highs and lows. There are definitely memorable parts, and portions of the writing and craft on display show skilled shaping of the player's experience at the local level. It's at the macro level that it breaks down; although the work holds together well enough in terms of prose style, the story unfolds itself irregularly in a manner that isn't very satisfying.

As is relatively common in "old school" works, there are various distinct areas, each with its own feel to it. In an interview found in SPAG's dedicated issue, Wilson estimated the work to have 300 rooms, 1300 objects, and 35,000 lines of code (in TADS 2). (By comparison, Scavenger has about 15,000 lines of code, and Uncle Zebulon's Will has about 5500.) When you do the arithmetic, you might be surprised that this averages to about 115 lines of code per room, those lines also being spread across the objects within them. This leads to a rather sparse world, with a mostly empty map of rooms containing only limited description. Similarly, the estimate of 600 topics and 40 NPCs implies an average of around 15 distinct topics each, leading to largely uninteresting ASK/TELL interaction with them.

The attention to programmatic detail and game design is sometimes lacking. For example, the protagonist has a (Spoiler - click to show)suit of armor that, when carried, reasonably prevents entering a lake due to its weight and the possibility of damage. However, it is possible for the the PC to be magically transported into the lake while in possession of that object without negative consequences. To get the maximum score, the player must do some mind-reading, such as somehow deducing that all of the wrong pieces for a certain puzzle (Spoiler - click to show)(the planks in the mole tunnel sequence) must be broken instead of just determining which is best to use. Certain puzzles are just arbitrarily-included logic games that do nothing to support the central theme; this was still relatively common at the time when coding for the work began.

This game is historically notable, but I'm not sure how much the average modern player will appreciate it. Overall, Once and Future seems too late for its own time, and much too late for today. I would advise anyone trying it to keep a walkthrough handy and not to hesitate to make liberal use of it.