Source: Cashmoneys
Price: £7.99
Where To Get It: Steam

There is a world you don’t know out there. A world where a soggy newspaper, picked up out of boredom, can achieve sentience and shoot you in the face. A world, split into levels, with a maximum of 5 clues to a grand conspiracy in each one. Unless you have to kill someone, or blow an office up, or encounter a boss… It’s a world where everything is simple, and yet… Quite, quite complex. Welcome to the world run by the IlluminASCII… Good luck uncovering the Conspiracy.

Well, part of that wasn’t true… Or *was* it? The mystery deepens…

IlluminASCII is a first person shooter roguelike with ASCII graphics. Sort of. Now, when you think ASCII graphics, the average person will say “What, like Dwarf Fortress, with all those unreadable commas and ampersands and smileys?”, but IlluminASCII is… Slightly different. Many of the graphics are made of ASCII symbols, it’s true, and the enemies, just like in traditional roguelikes, are massive letters representing species, but there’s also nice, simple, 3D models to represent the landscape. So… An ASCII aesthetic, rather than “The graphics are letters and symbols.”

It’s a pretty simple game, and a single game can be played in a coffee break (For example, just before starting this review, I’d finished three games of varying levels of success in half an hour), but that’s not to say that score attack Shootmans with a boss every five or so levels is the entirety of the game. You get hungry, the guns and pickups are procedurally generated (So it’s unlikely that a second pistol will act exactly the same as the first, in terms of ammo), and there are features you can miss, like gambling machines, timed escapes, and the fact that there are “Big” enemies, harder to defeat than the average. You’ll know them by the sheer firepower they bring, and the angry eyes stapled onto their threatening typefaces.

For being built of simple models and ASCII graphics, the game shows its dystopian world quite well.

The thing is, I can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy it. I like it for what it is, with the silence punctuated by the angry beeps and boops of enemies spotting you, the interplay between simple models and ASCII, the simplicity of play, and the references both to memes and conspiracy theories in the scores (One day, I’m certain, somebody will make a conspiracy theory linking Jet Fuel Can’t Melt Steel Beams to Alien Astronaut RFID Tagging), but it is a coffee break, score attack type deal, and that’s definitely not for everyone. Having the roguelike elements it does, the difficulty curve can be quite erratic, with the skill being in adapting to difficult situations… And again, that’s not for everyone. As such, while I personally like it, I’d have to say “Only go for IlluminASCII if you’ve seen footage of it, and decided ‘Hey, I wouldn’t mind paying £8 for that game I can come back to every now and again!’”

As the textual blood seeped down the screen, I knew it was over. But it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to hop back in.

The Mad Welshman was already aware of The Conspiracy. Everywhere he looked, threatening letters made eldritch patterns. But he wasn’t afraid. Sooner or later, he would go after Big Comic Sans, even if it meant his life.

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Source: Cashmoneys
Price: £6.99
Where To Get It: Steam , Developer Page

Thank the Space Lords for the pause button. Without this godly power, I would probably be quite, quite dead. As it is, there’s several blank spots in my memory, with only the word “Dammit, reload” coming to mind when I think of them. But enough about my life, let’s talk Interstellaria, by Coldrice, with music by Chipzel, and published by Chucklefish.

My brave starter crew, unfazed by the fact they’re shooting blindly at things in space.

Interstellaria is a space trading, adventuring, and universe saving game involving crew and fleet management, exploring new worlds, and, if you follow the main plotline, saving the known universe from blob-like aliens who are mysteriously abducting entire worlds for… Reasons. It’s a game with wit, where your glorious career starts with you being ejected from your home by your room-mate for being a useless sponger, and where Humans are the most beautiful (and nigh useless) species in the universe. But if it weren’t for that pause button, the game would be unplayable. As it is, I recommend something the very moment you start the game, and at every point where something happens… Pause. It’s the space bar to do that. Without that, you will probably not see all the hotkeys. And you will want those hotkeys. Either that, or frequent use of that pause button. Because the game will not forgive you for not learning them.

Now, this may give the impression the game isn’t friendly. In a sense, it actually is: The function of things is either clearly explained as they come up, or quickly accessible via one of the subscreens like Inventory or Fleet Management, and the game isn’t slow to tutorialise. In another sense, parts of that tutorial UI interfere with your crew selection “quick” bar, the hotkeys for crew selection need you to remember what order you picked up your crew in, and… Look, it’s not the friendliest of UIs, even after hotkeys, so use that pause regularly, alright?

Looting a planet once it’s safe is… Ennnnhhhh…

Honestly, Interstellaria is a bit of a mixed bag overall. The tunes by Chipzel are pretty awesome, especially in space battles, but the pumping chiptunes and EDM feel less fitting when, say, you’re on a station selling the junk you’ve looted, or looting a planet. Speaking of looting a planet, it’s got to be my least favourite activity in this game, which is a shame because it’s pretty central to progressing. Basically, you make sure the area’s safe (By killing everything hostile beforehand), hit H(arvest), then F(ast Forward), and… watch them go to it.

In fact… This is, I think, the core of why I’m not enjoying Interstellaria perhaps as much as I could be… Combat, salvaging, space battles… They feel like busywork, and a fair bit of my time is spent in either tasks that don’t take much attention (like salvaging), fights which don’t seem to take much of my attention (ground combat), or fights which mostly don’t take much of my attention, except for when things go wrong, in which case I end up losing track of what the hell’s going on… That would be the space battles, where damage can lead to all your stations damaged, leaving you defenseless, immobile, and blind until you not only repair the damage, but also get your crew back on station. That last bit can be confusing, because it’s not completely clear, until you try to do something, that the station isn’t manned (navigation is the worst for this, while Scanning is the obvious exception). Efforts have been made in recent patches to fix this (Automatic crew assignments, for example), but I think it’s still got a way to go.

“Nawww, this ship isn’t unlucky at aaaaallll!”

And I feel slightly guilty for not enjoying this so much, because it’s a genre right up my alley, the only real obtuseness is in the UI and space combat, and there’s some interesting quirks and awesome things, like the variety of races and encounters… For example, Robots (Can’t carry weapons or armour, but don’t need food or sleep), an amusing parody of Captain Kirk from Star Trek (Who seeks out potentially beautiful new civilisations, hopefully with smoochable folks, and diplomatically has big guns), and, of course, the strange energy beings encountered in the first proper plot mission.

So overall, visually, the aesthetic is tight and interesting. Musically, it misses the mood mark, but is awesome on its own (And, indeed, can be purchased separately), and gameplay wise… Well, if you think you won’t mind the slight tedium of salvaging, I’d say give it a go. But it’s definitely not for the impatient, or skippers of tutorials.

The Mad Welshman felt slightly hollow as he opened another crate full of in-demand scrap. He knew there was something more out there… Perhaps a beautiful alien with a bee-hive hairdo asking “Show me some more of this Earth thing called Kissing.”

…Nah, that’d be silly.

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Source: Cashmoneys
Price: £10.99 normal, £14.99 incl. Soundtrack, £5.59 separate soundtrack.
Where To Get It: Steam

Guild of Dungeoneering is, in essence, a game about how impressionable and petty adventurers are. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but at its core, it’s about how a shiny thing, or an easy kill, is one of the easiest ways to lead an adventurer in a dungeon by the nose. In fact, the game counts on it. Because while there’s some things you can directly control about the illustrious (?) members of the Guild of Dungeoneering, where they go isn’t one of them.

When you get going, you really get going, and reveal new dungeons to loot as you go!

Now, it’s not often I comment on the visuals of a game, but Guild of Dungeoneering hits a sweet spot with me, because the look of the game is a better version of how I used to try and draw my dungeon maps, back when I was a younger, harder working Dungeon Master. It’s charming, and a lot of effort has gone into making a seemingly simple looking game… Look good. Not in the “It is shiny, and has lots of pixels” sense, but in the sense that it fits the theme really well. It’s a small thing, but it counts for a lot, hearing the scribbles, and watching the map tile being etched into the graph paper that is the world of GoD. In fact, the feel of the game is amazing, and the music… Has to be listened to to be believed. On that, I will only say two things: The game is filled with Ye Olde Bardic Limericks like in the trailer for the game, and they are all pretty awesome, making the soundtrack (£4 or £5.59, depending on whether you buy the Deluxe edition, or buy the OST separately) well worth the purchase.

As far as gameplay goes, it’s again, fairly simple, but meaningful. Adventurers like, in this order, unguarded loot, a monster that will gain them sweet, sweet XPs, aaaand… That’s about it, actually, but the value of the loot is always a factor. Combat and loot, however, requires a bit more thought, because the adventurer will take the shortest path to what they want (Which can definitely be a bad thing) and the classes you choose have a bearing. Will you enter a dungeon with an Apprentice, who starts with no physical defences, but powerful magic? Or maybe a Bruiser, the thug whose spikey demeanour (or armour, it’s not certain which) is so cutting that blocking all damage means you hurt the enemy? And once you’re there, will you go for magical kit, or physical? More blocking, more damage, more healing? Simple choices, but they add up to make a challenging experience. Even putting down more map tiles may open up pathing options for your poor, dumb adventurers that you really, really didn’t want them to pick right now.

The more loot you get, the more powerful you are! Simples!

So, for all that I’m talking up the game, is there anything I would complain about? Yes, but it’s niggles. There is always the possibility of a fail from turn 1 (For example, the only dungeon tile card you have bridges you straight to higher level wandering monsters), but death of an adventurer… Has no consequence I can see, so feel free to abandon quest if you see that. Animations play at a set speed, and while I’m fine with it, preferring the tension, the option of speeding it up could be put in for the less patient (A concession toward this has been added to the game with the ability to turn icon animations off). It’s also slightly unclear when a guild expansion is going to close off building directions, so a little extra mention there would be great. But, as I mentioned, these are niggles. The difficulty curve seems just fine, as you get a feel for a dungeon and its challenges after only one or two plays, and the game is mostly pretty intuitive. In short, it’s the best idealisation of Monty Haul dungeons I’ve ever seen.

Want to spend around £11-£16 on something with charm, wit, and simple play that’s easy to learn, but hard to master? Guild of Dungeoneering is a turn based strategy game for you. But if you’re the kind of person who groans whenever you have to wait for a movement, or attack, or animation to finish because you want to play quicker, it might be a better idea to wait, see if animation speed options get patched in. Overall though, I think you can tell that I’m enjoying this a hell of a lot. Now, to send a Mime into a Boss Dungeon… Muahahahahahaaa…

And, of course, the more you earn, the bigger and more powerful your guild gets!

The Mad Welshman was put in charge of The Guild of Dungeoneering, and within a week, the hero population dropped drastically. There is no correlation between these two events, honest.

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Screwfly hate you. They love you, but at the same time, they hate you (Well, not really… But it seems that way when you play sometimes. ;D ). They want you a gibbering wreck on the floor, babbling about the dark between the stars, or, in the case of their first game, Zafehouse Diaries, about how the dead won’t stop moaning and scrabbling at the walls outside. Screwfly make Legit Hard Games. And I want to celebrate this, by talking about Deadnaut, and how the game supports the mood it wants to invoke.

You can create your own crew, but monitoring and equipping them from then on is up to skill *and* luck.

Deadnaut is not a game I’m good at, and I don’t think I’m meant to be good at it. The game, in a sense, resists it. But this is one of the rare cases where I find myself more immersed in the experience because of obtuseness, not less. Why?

Because in Deadnaut, I’m a Lieutennant Gorman, watching my own maladjusted crew of misfits and criminals attempt to board supposedly long dead alien ships that, you guessed it, aren’t long dead after all. Not for me the experience of directly seeing what’s happening through amazing Commander Vision. Oh no. That would imply we’re valued, and have the technology. No, we, the characters (And, by extension, the player’s unnamed and invisible character) are the dregs, the people Humanity would rather throw in a meat grinder. So we have three screens we can switch between. And, bad commander that I am, I’d rather get fucked than micro manage anything.

Pictured: Me suffering because I was weapons-free in a heavily damaged hulk.

The three “screens” are pretty simple in theory: The left shows the team, their equipment, their stats, their quirks and flaws, and their health, mental and physical. Being a Gorman, I don’t really look at that too much in missions, and panic when the suit-breach alarms are going off. The right shows information we’ve gathered, giving me clues as to the threats we’re experiencing, the ship and crew logs we’re salvaging, and the security/power status of the ship we’re entering. I only look at this between missions, even though it could give me early warning that no, our guns won’t work in this situation.

The middle screen, for me, is where it’s at. The buttons sometimes bewilder me, but I know enough to push NET to see the Watchers, automated, roaming antivirus programs gone wrong, as they go about their not-so-merry business of Keeping Things As They Were (to my detriment); LOC , which lets me see how damaged an area is, and occasionally, when the situation demands it, PWR, which lets me see if a turret I’ve noticed is powered up or not. I know enough, being a greedy corporate scumbag, to turn the signal booster dial to SIGnal, and leave it there, even if it dooms my crew because I can’t see what’s happening (VISual) and can’t give them orders (AUDio). The more signal I have, the more KnowledgeBux we get from looting these rotting hulks, and the better I can equip my poor, doomed squad for the future.

Hell, sometimes, I’m nice enough to resurrect one, if I can afford to do so. So, as you might have guessed from this description, there’s a lot to take in, and not a lot of it is in easy reach, having to switch between screens to see things, having to, god forbid, split the group so we can keep the Watchers from resetting that turret that almost chewed the squad up when they opened the door, or use the special abilities of the Shield and Sensor suits to scan ahead, plan, and protect team-mates from the dangerous conditions created by nigh-destroyed rooms (Because our vacuum suits are cheap, and don’t protect against space worth a damn.) This is a game where, if you’re good, you can micro, switching between screens to gauge threats in a safe moment, pair up team-mates efficiently (This one hates this one, don’t keep them close. This one hates open spaces, try and keep them in small rooms. This one doesn’t like open spaces, use them as a rearguard)

This screen may not make much sense… Until you realise I’m being screwed around with by ancient space-ghosts.

But this game, in a sense, doesn’t want you to do that. Watchers and Signal Dampers can mess up your visuals (Leaving you nothing but static) and audio (Leaving you unable to even warn your team of nearby threats, or tell them to get the fuck out of there right now before it collapses). Your guns are useful, but also damage the ship, so sometimes, you will have to order your squad not to use their weapons… And it won’t always help, either, because sometimes the enemy has guns. And sonic shockwaves. And plasma bursts. Melee weapons exist, but I’ve never seen them used very well. And the game’s controls don’t help either, there are very few hotkeys, so nearly everything is “Click shield person, right click this person we want to shield” or the like.

Despite that, I love the game. Why? Because, with its flaws, it makes me feel like a Gorman, and, on a good day, like a Corporal Hicks. The game, through its flaws and hateful moments, creates exactly the feel it’s aiming for: That moment where everything is going wrong, and you have to act and oh god someone’s dead what the hell do I oh god another beep beep beep BEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

I have precisely one criticism of this game: I’d like to actually read logs, instead of being unable to look at any screens the moment I either win (By completing a set number of missions), or lose (By all my squad dying before extraction.) I know the logs, just like the diaries of Zafehouse Diaries, are also procedurally generated, and so lose their lustre if you look at them too closely, but I still want to see. I want to see what I missed, why I failed. I want to reread the last communications. I want to know.

All of the buttons on this right screen provide potentially useful information. It is not a good idea to check it mid-battle.

But if you want a good example of a game that accurately creates the feel of being the inept (or life saving) commander giving orders from afar in a sci-fi action horror, then Deadnaut is pretty bloody close. You can even, if you’re feeling particularly sadistic, make your friends in the game as crew members (Although I’m not sure how many people you know who have the drawback of fucking up radio reception randomly wherever they are, as an example), and forever voyage with those instead of procedurally generated crew.

Me? I like the procession of badly mismatched crew. Makes me feel better on those rare occasions I win. There’s even the promise that some Deadnauts can be given parole from their forever deadly duties. I have yet to see it. One day, I may be a Good Commander, and have that happen.

Hahaha no. They’re all screwed, every time. Because I am Gorman, and I love to panic. I’m an asshole that way.

Deadnaut is available on Steam for £6.99. I have also recorded some LP type footage of it here.

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Source: Review Copy
Price: £6.99
Where To Get It: Steam
Other Reviews: Early Access 2

The world of Caves of Qud (by Freehold Games, creators of Sproggiwood) is a harsh one. I’m too canny to starve, or go thirsty, but I’ve been killed by plants, by hyena-men, by mortars, and by bear-things that should not be. I’m having a whale of a time.

Genre wise, Caves of Qud is a roguelike set in a post-apocalyptic world. Three arcologies hold the last True Humans, who have all, in some fashion, been changed, and mutants are the “average” citizens. I’ve mainly been playing an Artifex, from the Ice Sheathed Arcology of Ibul, in the North, a caste not very good at fighting, but extremely good with the lost artefacts of the days where Things Weren’t Quite So Fucked. But that’s by no means the only option. There are four castes for each Arcology, and the variety of playing mutants, who start with much less money, but make up for it with powers like Light Manipulation (allowing them to not only light their surrounding area easily, but also create lasers by focussing light to a single, searing line). Of course, everyone has their flaws too, and no one build appears broken compared to the others. Perhaps because the world is so deadly.

The world is big, and even a trip to the nearest ruin or cave can lead to unexpected trouble.

If you’ve never played a Roguelike, you may be thinking “It’s turn based, and the graphics aren’t modern and shiny, where’s the tension, where’s the excitement?”

You would be surprised. A good example would be a monster found semi-regularly on later floors of the very first dungeon, the Slumberling. Basically a massive, speedy, nigh unkillable bear that, if woken up, can rip you to shreds without much effort at all. Imagine he’s in the middle of a cave, and you’re passing him, step, by step… And then a Snapjaw Hunter (A hyena-man with a bow) fires at you. He didn’t hit the Slumberling or you this turn… But there’s going to be a chance, even if he’s aiming for you, that he misses horribly, and wakes the organic death machine up. In the end, it’ll only be a small comfort that, after dealing with you, it’s probably going to kill the Snapjaw that killed you. What’s your move? Shoot him? Block the arrows as best you can with your body, and hope he doesn’t kill you before you close? Or worse, miss you and hit that Slumberling? Even with the game being turn based, tension is definitely there. It’s just you have all the time in the world to think how you’re going to react to the situation. Still doesn’t mean you’re definitely going to make the right choice.

Enemies can use items just like you can. Case in point: This acid cloud didn’t come from me.

The interface for the game, as far as Roguelikes go, is actually quite good. Everything has a place, you can easily switch between inventory, or quests, or equipment, even if you went to one of the others without intending to, and everything is clear. The amount of artefacts isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that there’ll always be something you’ll find, providing you live that long, which makes you giggle and wiggle in your seat. And, if you want to stick with and master a single class, the option is there to replay your last character (Albeit with a different selection of equipment) There’s no single skill you have to have, and the skill tree gives you a fair bit of wiggle room. Do you go for Axes, tripping and headbutting enemies as you go? Long Swords, with a skill path that allows you to melee swathes of enemies at once? Or perhaps Persuasion, getting other people to do the dirty work for you, and taking the various traders to the cleaners instead of the other way around? There’s a lot of options, and I definitely enjoy that. Hell, some of the best fun I’ve had in this game is in getting lost, and encountering Gorilla cultists, hunting for water (Both the game’s currency and a necessity. Tip from one who found out the hard way: Don’t take traders for all their “money”, as they’ll die, and upset their friends. Some of whom are mutants with very big guns), and seeking strange new device plans, in equally strange locales (I really have to visit the ocean. I think I will, this run. Just for the hell of it.)

What I’ll admit I don’t enjoy so much is that some of the enemies are not entirely fair. I mentioned Slumberlings are nigh impossible to kill in the early game, but that won’t stop them spawning in the first caves you visit. Ruins are, in the early game, almost certainly deathtraps, with a much higher chance of encountering a still-active heavy weapon turret that ends your life than a much needed artefact. It’s not recommended for the easily frustrated, and it’s definitely not a beginner’s roguelike. But for the price they’re asking (£6.99), it’s definitely a good roguelike, with some interesting ideas. And there’s more on the way.

You may not understand if you’ve never played Roguelikes, but seeing this was both awesome and terrifying. I don’t *like* it when the RNG likes me. And, sure enough, I died shortly thereafter.

The Mad Welshman wanders the jungles of Qud, forever dying, forever going back in time. Sometimes he’s a mutant, sometimes he’s a True Human. One day, he shall find the mythical “dying of old age.”

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