The Triskelion Affair

This is a longish parser game set in a time with horses, wagons, and captains but not electricity. In it, you play as a soldier who is ordered on a special mission involving the Triskelion, a powerful weapon.

The game is divided into two parts. First, there is a long linear opening sequence which the author has designated as 'training', and that's a good description, as it gets you used to basic verbs and actions. Then there is a longer exploration part in a graveyard.

The puzzles can be tricky at times but not too bad. I used the walkthrough a couple of times, but only one puzzle would, I think have been really hard without it (finding a certain key).

There are a lot of red herrings. I found numerous items that presaged more puzzles and adventures but which were ultimately useless. It did add to the worldbuilding, so that's a tradeoff.

Some of those items could be implemented a bit more. I had this exchange in one late part of the game:

What do you do? x cannister
The green cannister is three feet tall, six inches in diameter, and made of heavy metal. On the side of the cannister is a red warning label. The cannister has a turn-valve on its top but the handle is missing. The valve cannot be opened without the handle.

>
> What do you do? read label
> That is not something to read. Try examining it instead.
>
>
> What do you do? x it
> A bright red square with a picture of a yellow flame on it. Beneath that is the wording "Hazard: Extremely Flammable"
>
>
> What do you do? take it
> That's hardly portable.

Somethings can only be EXAMINEd while some can only be READ.

The '>' prompt has been changed to 'What do you do?', presumably to help new players, and I thought that was neat. Many error responses have been changed, most of which I liked. The one I didn't so much was the error for when you type something that's not there; the game says things like Seriously?? and You must be joking! which is mildly funny the first time, but wears thin over time.

The game did a good job with pacing the puzzles, as I didn't usually feel overwhelmed or not having anything to do. The exits bar at the top is key; many puzzles can be solved by exploring all exits.

I thought the ending was a little anticlimactic, but maybe there will be more Triskelion in the future; I'd like to see it.

Some blurbs directly transmit what the game is going to be about, but others a little more challenging to decode. So it is with The Triskelion Affair, which starts out by saying you’ll be playing a “medieval detective”, implying a historical whodunnit; the genre tag, on the other hand, says it’s swords and sorcery, which put me in mind of mighty thews, dark sorcery, and greed. As I went through the game’s opening, going through an oddly-vague mission briefing that didn’t tell me what my mission was, courtesy of a martinet straight out of a British operetta, I looked for details that would clue me into the historical era of the setting, or indications that I’d soon be departing from my orders to engage in a bit of freebooting. This sense of uncertainty persisted until I finished the half hour or so prologue and entered into the game proper, which involves exploring a pillaged church to find a powerful magical artifact: in the backstory I was finally given before the adventure started in earnest, I learned that “a cleric, rogue, and two fighters traveled to St Cuthbert’s last week” bent on the same task as I was. So yeah, turns out I needn’t have worried, it’s just Dungeons and Dragons (specifically Grayhawk, I think, given that mention of St. Cuthbert), and the game features both the ropey implementation as well as the naïve but infectious enthusiasm you’d expect from a neophyte author motivated to produce a medium-sized game based on such a hoary premise.

Just to get the negatives out of the way first: this is an almost completely traditional game in terms of plot and gameplay, centering on an old-school dungeon crawl in search of a potent magic item of unexplained powers, which is also sought by some bad guys whose nature and motivations go completely unmentioned. The opening section adds a tiny bit of interest, allowing you to ride out from the headquarters of the army you’re apparently part of and stay a night in an inn before setting forth on your adventure, but it’s entirely on rails, and sticks so squarely to a generic DnD vibe that it doesn’t wind up providing much flavor.

The implementation is also pretty sloppy. Almost the first prompt in the game is “What is your full name, solider?”; there’s lots of unimplemented scenery, and examining certain object just gives a blank response rather than the default “you see nothing special” line; and there are mimesis-breaking touches like the sign in the stables reading “ask Hiram about Boarding”. Of course there’s an inventory limit, and odd touches like a lantern remaining the “south lantern” even after I’d picked it up from its perch on the wall. There’s nothing exactly game-breaking, but my progress was frequently blocked by a lack of clarity about what objects were around, wrestling with synonyms, or otherwise fighting the parser.

For all these criticisms, though, I can’t say I had a bad time with the Triskelion Affair. The puzzles are straightforward DnD stuff, with a bell-book-candle ritual livening up the plethora of locked doors with hidden keys, but sometimes you just want comfort food – similarly, the church cum dungeon is absolutely something you’ve seen before, but the attention to detail in terms of church architecture still made it fun to explore. And while it adds to the general slapdashery, I liked that there are a lot of red herrings and puzzle chains that don’t appear to go anywhere – I solved some puzzles to find a hidden pair of magical glasses, which didn’t do anything so far as I can tell. These optional bits ease the difficulty while making the game seem deeper than it is.

I can’t say in good conscience that the game design is strong throughout, mind: there are a couple read the author’s mind puzzles, and a few places where the game, annoyingly, seems to be actively trying to mislead the player (I’m thinking especially of getting the key from the fireplace in the hunting lodge, where the fact that X GRATE will give a different result than X FIREPLACE isn’t telegraphed, and the description saying that the fireplace was recently cleaned seems to indicate to the player that there’s nothing else to be found by poking around). And there’s a pointless yet annoying combat system that’s used for a single fight against a zombie, which you’re foreordained to win but which will see you drop a couple of inventory items you’ll later need to retrieve. Still, if you’ve got a soft spot in your heart for generic DnD adventure and a high tolerance for design and implementation issues that were old hat even in the 90s, the Triskelion Affair has a certain disheveled charm.

Note: This review was written during IFComp 2024, and originally posted in the authors' section of the intfiction forum on 13 Sep 2024.

This one appealed to me a lot: a medieval detective, embarking on an almost archaeological hunt. In parser form.

The game is in two parts. The first more linear, as you get nearer to where you ultimately need to go. The second part is much more open, and a mix of puzzles, and things to uncover. Many secret clues to discover and follow up.

It could be easy to get stuck, but fortunately the game has a walkthrough provided. Though because the walkthrough was compiled partly using Inform’s built in TEST commands it may have been a little confusing for some players to work with.

Much in the game can be uncovered by exploring though, and following up lots of clues. And there is lots to discover.

One problem I did run into is that the game frequently wanted you to type EXAMINE X not READ X to read some writing. But not always, including at an absolutely crucial time.

I also found it under implemented in places, and I was often fighting the parser. The geography was also a challenge for me. I run interpreter Lectrote at usually a gargantuan font. I didn’t realise until part way into the game that I was missing all the available directions listed in the top bar of the window. I saw nothing there until I downsized my font a lot. It can be a good idea to list directions in room descriptions in any case.

I mentioned at the start that this game is about a medieval detective, which I initially assumed was a detective in medieval times. But then I got puzzled by the chronology, and specifically a reference to something from 1711. Are we meant to be in medieval times? Or is the soldier more modern? Or should I not be worried about things like this :slight_smile:

I expected a very different ending though.

But otherwise I enjoyed a lot. Just wished for a deeper implementation. And preferably duplicate the directions in the room descriptions, for folks like me who can’t see the title bar. Either cos we’re running an interpreter with too chunky size font. Or it may also be an issue for screen readers.

But a fun time. Atmospheric and scary in places ((Spoiler - click to show)I’m not sure how I survived my zombie battle). Thank you to the author.

Adapted from an IFCOMP24 Review

So this review is part of the review sub-series “Second Breakfast,” a series of reviews that showcase light fantasy/heavy puzzle works that resonate off the early days of parser IF. Resonate so hard they are truly IF comfort food for those weaned on and appreciative of it. They are also, for those of us NOT so enamored, maybe one breakfast too many?

Here, you are a fantasy soldier charged with recovering a fantasy weapon from a church. Let the puzzles begin! My relationship with these kinds of works is very transactional. What newness do they bringing to the table? The general category is not really centered in my interests. Sure, I recognize their pedigree and anyone that watched IF invent itself will too. The impulse to nod to that history is not TERRIBLE, but for me, at this point, we’ve kinda seen a lot of them haven’t we? I need more than a nod to make an impression. There are two obvious ways to stand out: memorable puzzle play, or memorable storyline/characters. Both are challenging in their own way.

I kinda think innovative puzzle play may be the harder one at this point? Ok, that is an unverifiable assertion, but hear me out. At this point in development stability, the major parser toolkits are extremely flexible, but still fundamentally built around an object-in-world paradigm. Keyed doors are so convenient to regulate narrative, so easy to implement, it is no wonder they show up everywhere. Same for find-the-thing, put-the-thing-in-other-thing class of puzzles. Works that devise unique puzzle play really stand out against that background dynamic.

Conversely, realistic conversation remains HARD to implement, which often renders NPCs as clue-dispensers or permission-robots. This artificiality is certainly forgiven by the parser audience, it is practically in its DNA at this point, but also can’t help but bring up wishes of more robust interactions.

Both of these tropey traditions are not hard to create, rarely wow us, but also are paradoxically kind of easy to undermine. The magic of parsers is nominally opening the entire implemented language vocabulary to fair player use. When obvious synonyms are missing, especially plurals and singulars, it can actively deceive the player and almost always makes puzzles harder for silly reasons. A player might be forgiven not trying to “>search object” when “>look behind object” told him there was nothing there, or that it was fruitless. (Real example - object in question really only HAD a “behind” to search.)

Same phenomenon with NPCs. When required to ask or tell them specific things, but reasonable near-neighbor topics get stock “Knows nothing about…” answers, the player might assume there is nothing there. Parser players have some forgiveness on both these scores, it’s not like the old days didn’t have these kinds of artifacts. However, NEEDING to forgive these things requires some compensation in cleverness or storytelling. Triskelion definitely had enough issues in its traditional-style puzzle designs to need some compensation.

Ok, I kinda think storytelling may be the harder element to innovate at this point. What? I don’t know what I said four paragraphs ago, I’m focused on the future, reader. Art starts as a blank slate, with literally anything the author can think of as fair game. Characters, plot, tone, background lore, language, all of it infinitely flexible, just waiting some fill in! So much blank space… staring back at us… yessir, just start filling it any moment now… Our most beloved stories are singular in one or more dimensions, but singularity is hard! There are all kinds of things I ALREADY LOVE in this world, can’t I just love those? Why do I need to create a NEW ONE???

Honestly, the answer is, you don’t. You are not beholden to anyone but your own bliss. Making more of what you love is a totally worthwhile endeavor. MY bliss though, that’s a different story. Everything I love started as something I knew nothing about then won me over in its vision or execution. If you maybe get in first with your idea, hey, pole position! You get the Vision award! (Clive Barker, for me, was an early example.) If you don’t though, you really have to excel at execution and/or apply a twist of some sort to distinguish from that thing I ALREADY LOVE. (Fury Road was onesuch for me. I already enjoyed the Mad Max universe, but the raw execution of Fury Road was sublime.) (Early Alan Moore is kind of a cool example of both, somehow.)

It gives me no joy to report that the story here did not achieve those heights. It was a fairly low stakes, low NPC personality affair of unlock-and-fetch puzzle solving. Very much of a piece with its inspirations, admirably so. There is some wry humor in tombstone epitaphs, a well conceived cathedral setting, some capably integrated puzzles, but nothing that established a vibe of its own APART from its inspirations. For folks that really enjoyed First Breakfast and are hungry for more, this is a sturdy option. Yes, there are implementation issues to deal with, but you kind of expect that in breakfast at this point.

For me, I’m kinda full? I’ll leave my portions for others.

Played: 10/10/24
Playtime: 2hr, finished lose and win
Artistic/Technical ratings: Mechanical/Notable implementation gaps
Would Play After Comp?: No, experience feels complete

Artistic scale: Bouncy, Mechanical, Sparks of Joy, Engaging, Transcendent
Technical scale: Unplayable, Intrusive, Notable (Bugginess), Mostly Seamless, Seamless

(This is an edited version of a review that first appeared in my IF blog during IFComp 2024.)

In spite of being the buggiest game I played during IFComp 2024 (caveat - I played fewer than ten of sixty-seven ) The Triskelion Affair still held my interest and/or pulled me through. This parser adventure posits the player as a "medieval detective" tasked with finding a magical item hidden in a church. The blurb says the game is "Inspired by the classic dungeon-crawl adventures of yore." This reins in a range of the game's content and approaches, which could otherwise be described as being all over the place. They still coalesce into a setting of some atmosphere and focus in the last third of the game, which takes place in an eerie abandoned chapel.

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

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

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

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

As my opening declared, I found the game buggy. Increasingly so towards its conclusion. All the way through, there's usually just one frictionless way to do a thing. Every other way is troubled, missing, leads in disambiguation circles, or suffers from spelling errors or no synonyms. I've experienced hundreds of games in this state by now in my gaming and reviewing career. These games just needed testing, as does/did this one.

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

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