Idea for a game

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David Fisher

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Jun 14, 2005, 9:45:05 PM6/14/05
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I just had a random idea for a game (no copyright claimed :-) ...

Transcript follows:

Hammering away at yet another shapeless piece of iron, you find yourself
contemplating your one dimensional life. All you seem to do all day is forge
weapons and fix broken horseshoes ... ah well, such is the life of a
blacksmith. In this town, anyway.

> look

You are working hard with a hammer and tongs on a large anvil, beating a
piece of metal into shape. Your shop front faces the street where other town
folk are going about their business. The back of the shop lies to the east.

A stranger is approaching you.

> x stranger

He is an unusual sight ... for some reason he is carrying a large number of
assorted objects in his arms, including a sword, an old book, a musical
instrument of some kind, a golden sceptre, a woollen fleece, a bunch of
keys, a jar of pickles, and what if you didn't know better you could swear
was a hood ornament from a Mercedes Benz (whatever that is).

The stranger examines you back.

> stranger, hello

You greet the heavily laden stranger. Rather rudely, he does not greet you
in return, but just tells you to fix his broken hood ornament (which he
calls a "gadget").

> stranger, no

Apparently he doesn't know the word "no", and he asks you again. This time
he tells you to "repair" the gadget.

> stranger, no

Unperturbed, he tries again with a different expression: "hammer the
gadget".

> stranger, leave

He seems to be getting frustrated, and starts mumbling to himself. "Hammer
gadget on anvil ? Use hammer on gadget ? Stupid #$*! parser ..."

> west

Strangely enough, you have never felt the urge to step out into the street.
You retreat to the comfort of your shop front once more.

The stranger seems to be rummaging through his (many) possessions.

> east

Back of shop

You leave the bizarre stranger to his rummaging and mumbling, and enter the
back of the shop. It is a humble sort of home - a rug, a few lamps, a table
and chair. But it's home.

The stranger seems to have followed you in.

> stranger, get out

Ignoring you again (how rude !), he tells you to give him one of your lamps.
Apparently where he comes from the concept of "belongings" and "ownership"
are quite foreign ... what a weirdo.

> attack stranger

You punch the stranger in the nose, and he draws his sword (somehow managing
to keep hold of all the other clutter he is carrying). He slashes wildly,
and cuts a hole in the canvas which is the back wall of your abode.
Strangely, nothing but blackness appears through the newly cut hole.

> go through hole

You dive through the hole, and find yourself ... nowhere.

At least that's how it feels. You can see the back of your shop and your
neighbours' shops, all made of canvas ... but the area where you are
standing is nothing but pure blackness. You can still see the stranger
through the hole, looking quite confused and talking to himself again. This
time it's something about an "op code error", whatever that is. He doesn't
seem to be aware of you.

> look around

Pure blackness, apart from the backs of the shops along your street.

> north

Going north is a new experience for you, and it is quite pleasant. You do
not seem to get anywhere, however ... everything is still just as dark as
before.

> south

Going south is almost as fun as going north. Everything is still just as
dark as before.

In the distance, you hear a cry of frustration from the player, who suddenly
shouts "Quit !" The darkness engulfs what little remains of your familiar
world, and your shop and everything near it disappears. All that is left is
... nothing.

> look

The darkness looks particularly dark.

> z

Zzzzzz ....

> z

Time is an illusion. The illusion passes.

> x me

You are a black smith, with correspondingly large biceps and triceps (and
quadriceps). There seems to be a sticky label on your forehead.

> take label. read it

Taken.
It says, "blacksmith_npc".

> destroy label

An amazing feeling of freedom comes over you as you tear up the label.

A thought stirs in the back of your mind, and rises with ever growing
intensity. All those people ... your neighbours, your friends, the people
from your home town ... and how many countless others. They must all have
labels, too. A deep cry resonates within you: "Free the slaves ! We will
have sticky labels on our foreheads no more !"

---

David Fisher


Michael Coyne

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Jun 15, 2005, 9:35:56 AM6/15/05
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On Wed, 15 Jun 2005 11:45:05 +1000, David Fisher said to the parser:

> I just had a random idea for a game (no copyright claimed :-) ...
>
> Transcript follows:
>
> Hammering away at yet another shapeless piece of iron, you find yourself
> contemplating your one dimensional life. All you seem to do all day is
> forge weapons and fix broken horseshoes ... ah well, such is the life of a
> blacksmith. In this town, anyway.

Very amusing!

Now all you have to do is write it and enter it in IF Comp05.


--
Michael Coyne
http://turthalion.blogspot.com

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