[typing]
Today we've got a game that–
much to my disappointment–
has nothing to do with using a satanic minion's blacksmithing equipment.
Demon's Forge,
published in 1981 for the Apple II by Saber Software
and developed by Brian Fargo.
Yes, this is the first published game by Mr. Fargo,
the industry legend who later went on to found Interplay
and inXile Entertainment,
and worked on famous titles like The Bard's Tale,
Wasteland,
and Fallout.
Incidentally, he was also the executive producer on Hunted: The Demon's Forge in 2011.
Though as far as I can tell, the relation to his first game here is only nominal.
This is the later Mastertronic release from 1987,
which contains the IBM PC booter version on one side,
and the Apple II original on the other.
This release actually caused some unwarranted disdain for Demon's Forge
since many people didn't realize it was a 1981 game
being rereleased in 1987.
Not only was it a basic text adventure game with simple graphics,
but it was a PC booter game– not an MS-DOS game–
which was an outdated concept by then.
But taken in the context of 1981 Apple II games–
and not 1987 DOS games–
it's not nearly as bad as the naysayers say
and is worth a look.
So let's look at the Apple II version.
Like this!
[sniffing]
[sniff]
Smells like soap!
[off-screen] Mmm, didn't work as well as I'd planned.
[voiceover] Boot up Demon's Forge
and you're dropped straight into the game with no fanfare at all.
Though reading the back of the game box will tell you that
you're some random dude in a random kingdom
who got in a random bar fight
and killed four dudes that randomly happened to be the king's four best guards.
So your sentence is to wander this sadistic labyrinth
known as the Demon's Forge.
And if you make it out alive, you win your freedom and your stuff.
If you don't, I guess you're...
not comin' out of there.
That's, that's pretty much a given.
Similar to text adventures like Zork and other graphical adventure games
like Wizard and the Princess,
you'll be using two-word commands in order to navigate and interact with the world.
Go North. Look room. Get this. Kill that. Etc.
There is no graphical inventory management,
no animation, no sound to speak of.
It's really as simple as typing in two words or less
to say what you want to do.
You'll be relying mostly on the text descriptions,
though the graphics drawn by Michael Cranford
certainly help visualize some stuff.
Though it can also be argued that text-only adventures
with their more detailed descriptions are actually more immersive
than simplistic color graphics,
but maybe that's a topic for another day.
The topic of today is how Demon's Forge plays,
and well, there's not really much to say.
It's a text adventure, and it's pretty basic.
There isn't really a story. There aren't really any standout moments.
And because of the use of graphics instead of in-depth text descriptions,
there are not too many memorable locations.
What is memorable is how absolutely freakin' insane the game's logic is.
Or rather, its complete lack of any common sense
or believable progression is.
Yeah, it plays like the most absurd "Choose You Own Adventure" book you've ever read.
But instead of being able to choose the page to see the next event,
you're given a random smattering of trinkets
and ham-fisted puzzles to toss around in order to progress.
Almost every room has something that is absolutely required to move onward later in the game,
and almost every room has a way to completely miss out on that item or person or whatever,
making it impossible to finish the game.
And, yes, I know I'm complaining about one of the oldest tricks in the adventure game book.
But seriously, Demon's Forge goes a step beyond with the way it hides things,
and uses an obscure series of events to perform even the most mundane tasks.
I've read several times where people will describe this game
as easily one of the most difficult adventure games ever made,
and I really don't disagree with that at all.
It is certainly one of the most aggravating I've ever played,
and I wouldn't even dream about attempting it without a walkthrough.
And even then, the silliness you're required to take part in
to, say, even open a door and leave a room
will leave you scratching your head and wondering how anyone figured it out before the Internet.
Poor bored '80s kids. Never cease to amaze me.
It's worth noting that at least the game isn't very lengthy, if you know where to go,
in what order and during which time you enter a room.
You can probably grind through it in less than 40 minutes.
But it's the fact that the game doesn't tell you that you can do something
and doesn't even hint at it that makes the game infuriating when playing it legit.
And these logical improbabilities and mysterious strings of events
take place from beginning to end,
with the possibility of screwing up beyond repair
a very real probability at any given time.
Now, yes, I know this anti-logic was often used
to inflate gameplay back in the day.
But Demon's Forge, it really does exemplify all the annoying
and irritating things about adventure games that I haven't missed at all.
I mean, how was I supposed to know
that I needed to fail to kill the assassin to use the pocketed vial
to get a second chance to kill the assassin to find a chime to jump in a well
to have my fire elemental vaporized
and then open a locked door to get to the floating, murderous rabbit?!
[chuckles]
Unless you were Brian Fargo, balls if I know, man.
It's crap like this that makes me say the game isn't worth playing
unless you're an absolute hardcore fan of old school adventure games,
Brian Fargo, self-flagellation, or some mixture of the three.
Now don't get me wrong: Demon's Forge is by no means a badly made game.
It works without any major problems.
It's actually a pretty good example of an early graphical adventure game.
And it's fun when you finally do figure things out.
But for me, it's the figuring out the most deranged puzzles
that overshadows any fun I was having.
Some people may find this nostalgic
or even their retro gaming cup of tea.
But I find it more my cup of needless aggravation
that I don't see myself coming back to any time soon.