Messages

I use the forum primarily on quite an old phone (iPhone SE 1) and the formatting of some more recent sites and apps is often a little off.  I presume you wouldn’t want me reporting on every little such issue as it’s my problem for having such an old phone. But I’m willing to have a play around and try to find some other types bugs and issues.

I went with the 3,2,1 format and gave myself the 1.

Mmmm, this looks… you can’t see me right now but I’m doing a chefs kiss.

Nice to see people playing this MAGS games! 
I can only speak for myself but any feedback/thoughts are always welcome!

Seconded. Keep the comments and feedback coming. And remember you can leave comments and ratings on each game’s own page.

Yeah, just to reiterate what the others have said, you can plug in any sprite or background as you wish and change/update them as you see fit.

Some devs like to have their whole game pretty much playable from start to finish with only mock-ups, sketches and stock photography, and then only start swapping out the placeholder art for the real artwork once they’re happy that all the gameplay elements are going to work. (This helps avoid wasting time on assets that aren’t going to end up in the game.)

[The Stranger’s Song]

I’m working on something but I need a redraft and an ending. I think I’m okay for the deadline, but an extension wouldn’t hurt if you happened to grant one for Sini.

Having said that above, I found myself with a bit of time to finish my story today. Enjoy...

The Stranger’s Song

The sun had risen and set five times since the boy had gone missing. The men of the tribe had all but given up searching when the boy’s father spotted movement in the tall grass and signalled for the others to follow him.

There the boy lay, barely alive and clutching a stone head, carved from a large rock. The top of the head was partially hollow and a pool of water had collected inside it from the rains of the previous days.

The men carried the boy back to their camp and fed him fruits and nuts and allowed him rest. No one questioned where the stone head had come from, but it had kept the boy alive by giving him water. It was passed around and kissed by all the men and women of the tribe. The Elder of the tribe ceremoniously wrapped the head in reeds and took it to his shelter to keep it safe.

A few more suns came and went, and one late afternoon, the boy who was saved by the stone head emerged from his shelter. The camp was abuzz with activity. The men were sharpening stones and chewing lion skins for wearing, while mothers suckled their young. The boy had recovered well and joined some of the other children, who were frolicking in the grass. At one point, he stopped and looked around and caught the eyes of the older tribesfolk watching him. They smiled and pointed, happy to see him happy. He smiled back and continued playing.

After a while, he became aware that a silence had fallen over the camp. The younger children sensed the change in the others and returned to their mothers. The boy and his older friends joined the men. 

A figure was approaching their camp - a sole traveller, not known to the tribe. It was rare to be approached by an individual without his own tribe, so they were wary. They held their sharpened stones and encircled the man. He put up no fight.

He was a good deal taller than any of them, and the hairs on his body were spread much more thinly. His face was different too, yet he was clearly one of them. The Elder moved close to the tall man and looked him up and down sniffing the air around him. The Elder pointed at something the man was holding. He lifted up some berries and grinned a toothless grin. This seemed to satisfy the Elder, who smiled back at him as the others lay down their stones and welcomed the man, and his fruit, into their fold.

Evening soon fell and the tribesfolk, full of sweet berries, began to turn in for the night. The Elder stood and moved toward his shelter, and more followed suit. One of the women removed her loincloth and presented herself to the stranger. He accepted gladly and took advantage of her offer over a large rock. However, the boy noticed that the man’s eyes were not focused on the woman. His gaze was following the Elder, as he slipped underneath his shelter for the night. When he and the woman were finished, the man sat down again as the woman returned to her own shelter and slept.

The boy, returned to his shelter, too, but was unable to sleep.

The night silence was broken by the sound of tapping. Stone against stone. Tap-tap tap, tap-tap tap. One by one, the tribesfolk came outside to see what was going on. The stranger was tapping the stone, without any obvious purpose, yet the repetition of the sound roused their curiosity. He gave the stone to the young woman he had earlier mated with, and gestured for her to copy the pattern. Tap-tap tap. Then he picked up another, lighter stone, and hit it against another rock, only this time it was a different pattern. Tatatata-tap, tatatata-tap. He gestured for the young boy to take over, which he did, dutifully. Other members came forward, some picked up stones in anticipation and waited for instructions. Tap tatap, tap tatap. Tap tata tap tap. After a few minutes, most of the tribesfolk were tapping their designated beat. Those who weren’t tapping had closed their eyes, enjoying the beautiful stone symphony before them. They had never heard anything like it.

Then, the stranger, pulled something out from around his neck. It was a piece of bone, except, it had holes in it. He put it to his lips and blew. The sounds that came out of this bone were mesmeric and, together with the tapping of the stones, produced a magic that can only have come from some other world. The rhythm continued for what seemed like an eternity, but nobody wanted to stop playing their part, lest the spell be broken. The smiling tribesfolk gradually fell into a state of hypnotic euphoria. All of them, men women and children were so entranced by the music that they did not see the movement around their settlement.

It was the little boy who noticed first. A flash of something from the nearby trees. But as he called out, it was already raining rocks. Stones, some sharpened, some dull, all heavy, were being thrown into the camp. The music stopped and the boy noticed the stranger lunging toward the Elder. His magical sound-bone had a sharpened tip, and he used it to slash the Elder’s neck. Blood gushed down the Elder’s chest and shoulders and the tribespeople screamed as they were besieged by the hail of rocks coming at them from the darkness.

Some men and women, still holding their tapping stones, began to throw them wildly in all directions, but the moon had already set and it was too dark to see their assailants. A mother’s head was struck and she fell to the floor, the children ran to their shelters, shielded by their mothers and fathers, who took the hits. Rocks kept hurling in from all angles. The men could do nothing to fight back and the shelters, meant only to keep the rain off, collapsed under the force of the projectiles.

The boy was suddenly struck by a feeling of horror. He knew what was happening, and it was his fault. Dodging rocks from all angles he darted directly towards the Elder’s shelter, and found the reed-package. He went back outside and tried to locate the tall man, but it was too dark to see. And then he saw a flash of white and fell to the floor.

When he came around, the rocks had stopped falling. The first thing he heard was his own groaning, then he became aware of the groans coming from around the camp. This was good. It meant that most of them were still alive.

Then he became aware of a terrible pain in his head. He reached up and touched it. It was not good. Beneath the hair, it was clear his skull was dented, much like the stone head he had found the other day. Suddenly he became conscious that he no longer had the package. He should never have taken that stone. He knew that now.

The boy stood up. His head would be okay, but he feared the same could not be said for some of the others. Day was beginning to break. The tall man and the attackers were gone. The tribespeople were in a state of shock. There were writhing bodies everywhere. And a few not writhing.

A lucky few, mostly kids, had not been badly harmed. but they had been deeply traumatised.

The boy’s father was the first to notice the dent in his head. He kissed it. And soon the other tribesfolk were lining up to kiss his head. For it was he who had saved their lives by realising the attackers only wanted the cursed stone back. They did not know that the boy had caused the attack by stealing the head in the first place.

He would never be able to tell them that. But he would be the one to lead their revenge. The tall man and his men had left a trail. The tribe would carve their own idol, they would make sharper weapons, stronger shelters and more powerful music, and they would follow that trail until they had avenged their Elder and the lost ones.

I’ve had a few more 3’s and 4’s recently so feeling better. In fact, my 3’s bar is longer than my 5’s bar for the first time since The Great Cache-tastrophe.

You may be aware, The Telegraph have a cool new spin. It’s called PlusWord, and it’s basically a mini 5x5 crossword, but some of the squares are shaded green and yellow giving you a little Wordle-esque puzzle to solve on top of the crossword.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/plusword/

Thanks for the entries, those who were able.
To those who were unable to finish, do not be disheartened. Check out June's contest right here.

It's been a while since we had an actual contest, so lets enjoy playing and voting for MAGS May
Vote using the poll above.

	Another Museum by glurex
	The Museum by ddavey1983

[Flight]

Theme: Flight
Set by: ddavey1983

Here are the entries. Vote using the poll above:

	The Death of Oceanspirit Dennis by Ponch
	Flash McCoy by ddavey1983

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it Superman?

Or indeed a spacecraft, a balloon, a drone, an angel, a bee, a witch, a bat, a kite, a helicopter?

Any link to flight is the theme for this month's MAGS.








What is MAGS?
Started in 2001, MAGS is a competition for amateur adventure game makers. The idea is to create a game in under a month, following the guidelines set by the previous winner. It aims to help you work to a deadline, improve your skills, and provide a kick-start into making adventure games. Regardless of skill, MAGS is for everyone. Voting is based on "favourite" games, and not the most artistic, or the best coded. If you have bad art skills, use it as a chance to do some graphic work. If you're sub-standard at coding, use it as a chance to give scripting a go. Ultimately, people will vote for the most enjoyable entry.

Rules
Entering MAGS is simple. First, conceptualize your game following the month's criteria (see above). Second, create your game fuelled only by coffee. Finally, post your game in this thread, including:

* A working download link
* The title of your game
* A suitable in-game screenshot

At the end of the month, voting will begin, usually lasting for fourteen days, and the winner chooses the next month's theme.

Remember that this is a challenge to see what you can do in a month, so any tinkering you do after that, including fixing minor glitches, is against the spirit of the competition. The exception to this is that you may go in and fix major, game-breaking bugs only during voting. We want you to have a game that voters can actually play and that runs on their machines.

So to reiterate, during the voting period fixing major, game-breaking bugs is okay, fixing minor glitches or making cosmetic changes is cheating.

Tips
Here are some ways to make sure you have a game to submit at the end of the month:
* Make a tiny game. Plan small, then cut it in half. Find shortcuts (e.g. if making walkcycles is time-consuming, make the characters static or have it in the first person).
* Plan to have your game playable and submittable with a week to spare. This way you have a week to fix bugs, add some flourishes and maybe even get someone to test it.
* Plan to submit it a day or so early. This way, if there are any technical issues with uploading, they can be sorted out in time.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Need a little help with graphics? Perhaps The AGS Trove has something you can use.
Don't want to go it alone? Try the Recruitment board.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Damn, #344 was hard. I got it in 4 goes but I feel like a bit dirty as I had the 2nd and 4th letters and basically had no choice but to brute force it systematically until I came across a potential word, even though I had no idea what it meant. Luckily it was correct.

Similar thing here in Japan at convenience stores.

They sell fried chicken drumsticks which they put in paper bags.

The bags have a perforated tear-off line about two thirds of the way down.

The way it's supposed to work is that you tear off the top of the bag and gnaw on the drumstick while holding the base of the bone wrapped in the smaller part of the bag that is left.

This is the system that is designed so that you never have to touch the actual drumstick and get your fingers greasy.

But 9 times out of 10 the staff puts the drumstick into the bag top first, which means you have to pull it back out and put it back in so that the bone end is in the right place to tear off the bag.

And then the entire reason for the bag is gone.

The worst part is that on the back of the bag there is a diagram showing the buyer how to use the bag properly.

But the staff have never looked at the diagram.

To add to this, they also seal the paper bag with a small piece of tape, except they invariably put the tape over part or the perforated line, making it harder to cleanly rip the bag open.

This kind of thing should be common sense but I’m afraid in Japan common sense is secondary to just literally following the guidelines. There is a piece of paper somewhere telling them to put the chicken in the bag and then to seal the bag with a piece of tape. But I’m guessing the guideline doesn’t specify that they should put the chicken in the right way diwn and to avoid putting the tape over the perforated line. And unfortunately, if it’s not written down then it just won’t occur to many people here.

Lovely to see an entry already. Nice one glurex. Lovely stuff.

Incobalt, no worries man. It’s great that you made it this far, and I hope you can finish the project at some point.
Keep checking the monthly threads for future topics :-)

Pell, we’re root in’ for you.

This looks like a lot of fun. Will there be a level editor mode?

[[REC]]

Since it doesn't look like it's been mentioned yet, maybe it's an obvious choice but I remember liking [REC] a lot back in the day. I'm not sure how well it might have aged, but it's probably worth a shot in any case.

REC and REC 2 are still great. The rest of the REC series is...different. The third one starts off like the first two, but segues into something else entirely. The fourth one is a straight-up zombie movie.

Glad to see people are checking out Lake Mungo.

Yeah, I mentioned it way up in the second post. The first movie is one of my favourite films of any genre. The second is basically more of the same, so I enjoyed it. I frankly hated Rec 3 and thought it was utter toilet, but maybe I was in the wrong frame of mind on the day. Rec 4, I watched in Spanish with Japanese subititles and still absolutely loved it.

The Mothman Prophecies?

Well done Baron.
Commiserations to the rest of us.

Onwards to the next topic!

Nice one. I got #336 in 3 guesses

Spoiler

FRIED > PARTY > SCRAP

[close]

Had more than my fair share of 5s and 6s though lately.

[Sinitrena]

Here's a short bit of feedback:

Sinitrena

Spoiler

I loved the imagery of this one too. The sole flower unable to move but somehow fighting single-handedly (petaled-ly?) against the curse of human apathy. I could see this in a book of eco-literature. It wasn't immediately clear what the actual thing being recycled was. There isn't one particular thing recycled in the poem. After thinking about it though, of course it was about the flower making use of whatever limited nutrients it can from all the garbage and waste breaking down around it over time, which is what flowers do and is definitely a form of recycling.

[close]

Baron

Spoiler

I enjoyed this a lot. There was recycling galore but I loved that while the robot was making use of all the items in the dump, the story was really about her recycling (or at least repurposing) of an old song. Nice twist. I liked the writing style too, really painting a pitiful but hopeful picture of the patchwork robot with her makeshift limbs.

[close]

Mandle

Spoiler

I had good fun with this one. I'm a sucker for thinking about the "adventures" of everyday items. In many ways, it's the perfect complement to Sinitrena's story. While hers is about a static flower with the world, and time, moving around it as it struggles to survive, your spoon is moved around and passed about, and couldn't die even if it wanted to, as its consciousness seems to transcend even its own molecular breakdown.

[close]

Both poems had some good rhymes. They both had some dodgy rhymes too, but pretty much every rhyming poem does, so I don't really see it as grounds for criticism.


Thanks for the feedback about my story.
I'm aware that I left a lot of details out. It was partly deliberate (I wanted to lay off the exposition), though after reading your feedback, some more details could have been useful.

I was hoping some of it would be implied. For instance, Greg Thompson's card was hand-written, so it must have been written to look like a child had written it and the mother must have picked it up and handed it to Danny saying "Hey, this came for you. Must be one of your school buddies."

I was also hoping to leave some of it deliberately vague. Did the Dad deserve the restraining order, or was it a punishment by a spiteful mother? I don't think it really matters as the story wasn't really about the mother. Unfortunately, growing up in my area, I had a few friends who never spoke to their dads simply because their mums wouldn't let them near them. I myself haven't spoken to my biological father for 20 years and also never got a final goodbye (though I'm not sure I wanted one. The circumstances are very different).

I just realised this isn't the only father-son story I've done recently... Probably since having a boy of my own, it's brought some stuff up that I need to work out.

How are we getting on, everyone?

Post updates to encourage and be encouraged.

This looks fantastic.