As mentioned
in yesterday's post, this 2000 game by Chris Charla is in response to the previous year's Life on Beal Street, a very bottlenecked piece of superficially-randomized hyperfiction. I love its micro-blurb
on this Tumblr! The basic form is very similar, except that all of the experiences the protagonist reflects on mirror puzzles, treasures, encounters and deaths from Infocom's Zork. Its author's notes also point to a preposterous number of potential configurations (why not 69,105?) but though its passages are randomly strung together, unlike its inspiration here their contents remain static. That means it's much easier for me to show you the complete contents of the game! That has meant imposing a bit of a fixed-rail track on which to cart you by all the set pieces. I hope you don't mind! If you like, you can experience the hyperfiction in its native Z-code medium, downloadable
here and playable through your favorite Z-code interpreter.
. . .
Life on Gue Street.
(I highly suggest typing "About" if this is your first time playing this.)
. . .
The little, invaluable self-deceptions we allow ourselves. Sometimes they're the only things that make adventuring bearable. Today, for example, you're taking a walk on Gue Street beneath a cloudless summer sky. Not surprising; you've been adventuring around this neighborhood almost every day to enjoy the warm weather and plentiful treasure. You've walked down this street, and dozens identical to it all across Quendor, countless times, reveling in the little details, taking an adventurer's pleasure in noting how the whole architecture of the game seems to change based on what you type. The placement of a single "N" or "Kill Troll" or the calibrated timing of a child's laugh, the most random of events, combine like a catalyst with your emotions such that the street never appears quite the same. It is therefore completely plausible, you tell yourself repeatedly, that this is just another daily adventure, that there's no special reason why you turned down this tiny lane rather than the next one. The fact that the White House, the unjustly enticing old, boarded up, cozy, bungalow is just down the street is a mere coincidence, nothing more.
. . .
Wandering in the woods is always an introspective way to adventure, so you try it. Moving aside a pile of leaves (you vaguely recall jumping in leaves with Pat, but that was another time, another adventure), you find a grate. Locked. Useless. You consider counting the leaves, but distracted by the noise of a song bird you wander north. A tree, ripe for climbing, beckons, so you climb it, discovering a delicate mechanical egg. Now this is a treasure any adventurer could be proud of. You pocket it and shimmy down the tree.
. . .
You walk around the White House and let yourself in through an open window. A quick walk into the living room reveals a sword of apparent Elvish origin, and a great lamp. This walk on Gue street, which started out so introspectively, may already be paying off. In an contemplative mood, you examine the oriental rug in the living room to make sure it isn't the product of child labor. In doing so, while remembering your many adventures past, you discover a trap door. You are a self-respecting adventurer, despite what Pat said, so you open it and descend.
. . .
You enter a maze of twisty passages, all alike. Lucky for you, you paid attention during that "Advent" class you took last year. You slowly begin dropping items, then wandering lost until you find them again. Tedious. Not as tedious as those endless late night discussions with Pat about JC, or the meta-game nature of IF, but tedious nonetheless. Eventually you map and find your way out of the maze, but you could swear some of your stuff was moved, or went missing.
. . .
"Abandon every hope, all ye who enter here," reads the inscription above the gates to Hades. You should have abandoned all hope that Pat would come around, but you didn't, because you knew that Pat would come around someday. You knew it. It just wasn't true. Now you wonder if you are making the same mistake with JC. Ugh. You shouldn't torture yourself with these thoughts. They're distracting you from the task at hand. Shaking your head to clear it, you get out the candles and bell, and turn to page 569 in the big black book. Time to get down to business...
. . .
With flood control dams like this it's a wonder it isn't the great underwater empire, you think as you gaze wistfully at Flood Control Dam #3. You wonder if anyone threw anything interesting into the reservoir behind the dam. Maybe it's worth open the sluice gate, you decide, and head into the control room.
. . .
You enter a maze of twisty passages, all alike. Lucky for you, you paid attention during that "Advent" class you took last year. You slowly begin dropping items, then wandering lost until you find them again. Tedious. Not as tedious as those endless late night discussions with Pat about JC, or the meta-game nature of IF, but tedious nonetheless. Eventually you map and find your way out of the maze, but you could swear some of your stuff was moved, or went missing.
. . .
This room is very loud. It reminds you of an argument you had with Pat, where Pat was very loud, and kept bringing up your former adventure partner J.C. You look around. Look... Look... Look... Hmm... Hmmm... Hmm... You always say "echo" in a place that echoes, so you say it. And suddenly, the room is strangely quiet. You pick up the platinum bar and move on.
. . .
Oh, the egg had a little canary in it. How cute. You take a minute away from your typical self-absorption about the you-Pat-JC triangle and decide to show the little canary to the song bird. You climb the tree and are rewarded with a little brass bauble. Well, maybe the song bird just dropped it, but you'll take it!...The altar is intriguing, as is the prayer book. But what really interests you is the hole in the corner. You try to climb down, but you don't have a prayer of a chance, what with that gold coffin you snagged in that weird Egyptian room. At loose ends, you decide (as you did so many times during your and Pat's difficult breakup) to pray. It seems to have worked, because you suddenly find yourself in a forest near Gue street.
. . .
West! Oops! You meant to go north. Crap. Now you're back in that maze. Maybe you can use the skeleton key you got from the skeleton to get out of here. Mazes suck, you decide, as you begin venturing in random directions. And yet, both JC and Pat expressed an interest in them...
. . .
The little, invaluable self-deceptions we allow ourselves. Sometimes they're the only things that make adventuring bearable. Today, for example, you're taking a walk on Gue Street beneath a cloudless summer sky. Not surprising; you've been adventuring around this neighborhood almost every day to enjoy the warm weather and plentiful treasure. You've walked down this street, and dozens identical to it all across Quendor, countless times, reveling in the little details, taking an adventurer's pleasure in noting how the whole architecture of the game seems to change based on what you type. The placement of a single "N" or "Kill Troll" or the calibrated timing of a child's laugh, the most random of events, combine like a catalyst with your emotions such that the street never appears quite the same. It is therefore completely plausible, you tell yourself repeatedly, that this is just another daily adventure, that there's no special reason why you turned down this tiny lane rather than the next one. The fact that the White House, the unjustly enticing old, boarded up, cozy, bungalow is just down the street is a mere coincidence, nothing more.
. . .
Wandering in the woods is always an introspective way to adventure, so you try it. Moving aside a pile of leaves (you vaguely recall jumping in leaves with Pat, but that was another time, another adventure), you find a grate. Locked. Useless. You consider counting the leaves, but distracted by the noise of a song bird you wander north. A tree, ripe for climbing, beckons, so you climb it, discovering a delicate mechanical egg. Now this is a treasure any adventurer could be proud of. You pocket it and shimmy down the tree.
. . .
You walk around the White House and let yourself in through an open window. A quick walk into the living room reveals a sword of apparent Elvish origin, and a great lamp. This walk on Gue street, which started out so introspectively, may already be paying off. In an contemplative mood, you examine the oriental rug in the living room to make sure it isn't the product of child labor. In doing so, while remembering your many adventures past, you discover a trap door. You are a self-respecting adventurer, despite what Pat said, so you open it and descend.
. . .
What good is this coal, anyway? But, maybe, in the right place, with the right amount of time... you could produce a diamond... now, if you could only find some sort of machine that would put that lump of coal under that much pressure. Maybe if you wander back through that nondescript area of the coal mine, you'll find something...
. . .
Pat always complained the you were indecisive, and here in this round room, with so many passages to choose from, it's easy to see why. Finally, you steel yourself and decide to move west.
. . .
It was quite a trial, inflating the boat, but now you've entered it, and you feel confident that going down the river will lead you someplace wonderful. Someplace with more treasure for an ambitious adventurer. Oops, you hit a buoy. Well, you can check that out later, you think. You've got treasure to find! You continue on...
. . .
That didn't work. Shit. "Such language in a high-class establishment like this!," exclaims a disembodied voice. You look around, confused and nervous, and finally wander away. There's probably a better way to dig in the sand, anyway.
. . .
Ooh, a mirror. You approach it. Instinctively, you reach out to the mirror, and actually tough it. Things subtly shift. When you try to leave the room, you realize that all the exits now lead to different places. That mirror must have teleported you. Cool.
. . .
Wow, the view from the canyon was amazing. To think that you can see the Flathead mountains from here. Anyway, that scepter you found in the coffin seemed really useless. As useful as a rainbow is to an adventurer in search of treasure. Pat, now Pat never thought you were creative enough to make it as an adventurer. Well, you showed Pat. Waving that old scepter turned the rainbow into a rainbow bridge, and revealed that you were actually at the end of the rainbow. And just as it was supposed to, a pot of gold appeared.
. . .
Hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you encounter a skeleton. It looks like a not-so-lucky adventurer stopped here. His stay was both brief and permanent. Near him is a rusty knife. Wary, you pick it up, as well as snagging a bulging pouch of coins. You are careful not to touch the corpse, as you grab the rusty knife. That knife looks nasty.
. . .
The little, invaluable self-deceptions we allow ourselves. Sometimes they're the only things that make adventuring bearable. Today, for example, you're taking a walk on Gue Street beneath a cloudless summer sky. Not surprising; you've been adventuring around this neighborhood almost every day to enjoy the warm weather and plentiful treasure. You've walked down this street, and dozens identical to it all across Quendor, countless times, reveling in the little details, taking an adventurer's pleasure in noting how the whole architecture of the game seems to change based on what you type. The placement of a single "N" or "Kill Troll" or the calibrated timing of a child's laugh, the most random of events, combine like a catalyst with your emotions such that the street never appears quite the same. It is therefore completely plausible, you tell yourself repeatedly, that this is just another daily adventure, that there's no special reason why you turned down this tiny lane rather than the next one. The fact that the White House, the unjustly enticing old, boarded up, cozy, bungalow is just down the street is a mere coincidence, nothing more.
. . .
Wandering in the woods is always an introspective way to adventure, so you try it. Moving aside a pile of leaves (you vaguely recall jumping in leaves with Pat, but that was another time, another adventure), you find a grate. Locked. Useless. You consider counting the leaves, but distracted by the noise of a song bird you wander north. A tree, ripe for climbing, beckons, so you climb it, discovering a delicate mechanical egg. Now this is a treasure any adventurer could be proud of. You pocket it and shimmy down the tree.
. . .
You walk around the White House and let yourself in through an open window. A quick walk into the living room reveals a sword of apparent Elvish origin, and a great lamp. This walk on Gue street, which started out so introspectively, may already be paying off. In an contemplative mood, you examine the oriental rug in the living room to make sure it isn't the product of child labor. In doing so, while remembering your many adventures past, you discover a trap door. You are a self-respecting adventurer, despite what Pat said, so you open it and descend.
. . .
The sword begins to glow very with a faint blue glow. And suddenly, like a memory of Pat dropping unbidden into your head while you eat your Cheerios, you move north and there is a Troll. You kill the Troll [with the sword]. But you merely knock him into dreamland. You kill the Troll [with the sword] again, and this time, unable to defend himself, he dies. Almost as soon as he draws his last breath a sinister black fog envelops him. You pick up his axe and continue on.
. . .
A stranger wanders into the room. He's holding a sack, and it's clear you'll only get it over his dead body. Realizing that the better part of valor is discretion, you decide to take your adventuring elsewhere, and quickly exit the room.
. . .
This is easy, you think, as you tie the rope to the railing and let yourself down from the top of the "Dome Room" to the floor below.
. . .
A giant cyclops looms before you. Like the cyclops from that Greek book that you read in the "great adventurers in history" class you had with both Pat and JC. Was it Odysseus? Or Ulysses? You can't remember how to spell it in any event. What the...? Suddenly the cyclops run off, straight through the wall. You pause a moment to finish eating your pepper sandwich, and follow through the cyclops-shaped hole.
. . .
What is that squeaking sound? you wonder as you head north. Ahh! Bats! You mind flashes to another adventure – hunt, more like it – that you took just after you and Pat split up. The bats were both a danger then, and your salvation, and you will never forget the look in the Wumpus's eyes as you shimmied up the cave wall that day. Anyway, you're holding a clove of garlic and the bats keep their distance, enabling you to snag the exquisite jade figurine in the corner.
. . .
The Flatheads were rumored to be great patrons of the arts, and you suppose this studio proves it. You decide to shimmy up the chimney and end up back in the kitchen of the white house. That was kind of neat. It took your mind off things for a bit.
. . .
Well. That's that, you think, as you put the platinum bar in the case. What's that? A parchment appears that you didn't see before. You look at it. A barrow? Where? You head outside, back towards Gue street, to look for the entrance to the barrow, and your next adventure...
Thank you for taking a walk on Gue Street.
. . .
Wow, this room smells. Good thing you have your torch here to burn off the fouler odors. You head down the staircase carefully. And explode, as your torch ignites the coal gas that fills the room.
You have died.
Thank you for taking a walk on Gue Street. - Try again?
. . .
Man. You knew you should have remembered to turn out the lamp when you were wandering around in the forest and by the river. You just thought it would get dimmer though, not go out. Wow. It smells like grue scat around here. You didn't really notice the smell in the light, but now that it's pitch black, your senses must have heightened or something. Tentatively, you go north. Right, unfortunately, into the slavering fangs of a lurking grue!
You have died.
Thank you for taking a walk on Gue Street. - Try again?
. . .
The preceding brings you to a halt. Your old, parser-free adventures. You grimace in frustration. Will you never be able to enter a new adventure without that old verb-noun specter floating up again? You don't want to face the Great Underground Empire with that on your mind, but now of course the vision refuses to fade. Your mood darkened, you turn around and squeeze into a small passage leading up, away from Gue Street. Perhaps when you're in a better mood, when bad parsers agree to stay out of your mind for the evening, you'll return. Perhaps not.
Thank you for taking a walk on Gue Street. - Try again?
. . .
This is not Interactive Fiction. Terribly sorry, but you have to know the truth sometime. Well, I hear you asking, is it an Adventure Game? That's trickier. Adventure, yes, certainly, it's all about getting treasures and exploring. A game? Yes... but to a limited degree.It is my belief that we adventurers are influenced drastically by the thousand, minuscule, random events that occur each day. As they say, a Grue flaps its lips in Quendor and the weather changes in the Eastlands. The same occurs on a much more personal scale. Our attitudes can range over a vast spectrum between hope and despair, joy and sadness, treasure and slag, triggered by such inconsequential and unpredictable forces as our lantern not working, or a trying to open an ornate egg without the requisite skills. This piece demonstrates that.
This piece tells a story of a person exploring a great, underground empire, but it is never the same twice. Random forces, like the ones we face in real adventures, change the story every time it is read. All in all there are over 1023 possible stories that can occur. Some are completely different from others, while some stories only differ from the rest by a single, crucial paragraph. But the stories are all created by the same, not-quite-random Random() function.
So where do you, the adventurer come into this? Just as in life, through unpredictable events around us may shape our existence, so too does personal choice. In this piece the adventurer is limited to one choice: to continue adventuring, or to turn back. Simple as this is, it is the key to the whole adventure, and one that lies completely in your hands as the player. You may adventure on, or you may turn back. And when you have reached the end of the street you can return to the beginning and see how the story is changed the next time through.
That's basically it as far as interaction. There are some additional commands you can enter. You can't save or restore or undo or anything the Inform Libraries would normally let you do (I didn't use any of the libraries).
Also, if you reach a paragraph that you have seen too often or you simply dislike you can type "no" and will be offered an alternate interpretation of that moment. For once, you are given the god-like power to refuse reality in lieu of something else.
I'd like to extend thanks to my boss for putting my new project on hold, giving me the time to waste to make a parody of "Beale Street." I actually kind of liked "Beale Street" for what it was. But it wasn't Interactive Fiction by any stretch of the imagination. I still like to think of Interactive Fiction as "adventure games" – I think beating puzzles (good ones anyway) is fun (I even like making maps) – and after playing "Beale Street," I just couldn't resist the urge to meld today's "cutting edge" IF with a classic adventure game.
Anyway, if anyone is offended, sorry. I was just trying to be funny.
