A Good Death
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A Good Death
A darkly humorous dungeon crawler
A barbarian is in search of a good death. Guide them through the dungeon to balance honour, health, hunger, and gold. Die too soon and earn nothing. Live too long and be rich enough to return home, but suffer the shame of having failed to die. Get the perfect balance and go out in a blaze of glory. Most importantly, learn why it is so important to have A Good Death.
Pat Ryan (Sycopat) – Concept, Coding
Ciarán O’Brien (Sarklor) – Concept, Coding, Writing
Ashland Pym (Uliet) – Writing
This game was created at Galway Game Jam XII, 30 March 2019. When I arrived, the organizer introduced me to Pat and Ciarán, who had a concept for a dungeon crawler they wanted to build in Twine. Ciarán had an introduction written a list of some rooms they wanted, so I set to work writing text for the room descriptions, monster encounters, flavor text for health and glory, and of course the background story for why our barbarian hero was in need of a glorious death. The game is free to play in your browser via the link above, or you can read the complete script below.
Screenshot Gallery
Game Scripts
Introduction
The Story So Far:
A dark purpose compels you, a fearsome barbarian from the frigid north country, to invade the warm lowlands in search of glory. You hear tell of a place where only the most terrifying monsters live. Barbarians and knights alike go there to make their name. You have arrived clad in furs, studded leather, horned helmet, and a sword slung across your back…
…only to be the laughing stock of the inn. You are here to meet your death, but you cannot do so until all the lands sing your praise. It will be hard work, but at the end you will earn
A GOOD DEATH
Flavour Text
Health Meter
100: You feel perfectly fine.
90-99: Tis but a scratch. No gangrene as of yet.
80-89: You won’t lie, it stings a bit.
70-79: Black, white, who can tell when you’re just one big bruise?
60-69: You’re starting to look like a mummy with so many bandages.
50-59: It’s just a flesh wound. Ignore the gushing blood, it’ll stop when you run out.
40-49: Okay, starting to feel pretty poorly now. You didn’t think a glorious death would actually hurt. Not for long, anyway.
30-39: Fine. You’re fine. The world’s fine. The monsters are fine. Your numb feet and missing digits are fine. Slipping on your own blood is fine. Sure it’s grand.
20-29: How much longer is this going to take? Everything hurts and you want to die. It just hasn’t happened yet. But there’s no glory in sitting and waiting for it to happen.
10-19: You regret all your life choices. Did you remember to kiss both your kids goodbye, or just one? Too late now.
1-9: You’re starting to practice your dramatic death poses and the best way to utter “goodbye, cruel world!” As a death-rattle? A whisper? Maybe a song?
Glory Meter
Level 1: Your family knows your name. Your neighbors might. That’s something.
Level 2: Someone in the tavern has started writing a ballad about you. It’s not particularly flattering, but it gets your name out there.
Level 3: People cheer when you enter the Inn. Stories of your deeds have reached the next town over. But it isn’t enough.
Level 4: Some new barbarian arrived at the inn, spinning wild tales of a hero she heard tell of. After a few minutes you realize she’s talking about you.
Level 5: You curse the gods for their cruelty. You have become a legendary hero but you just can’t seem to die!
Deaths
By starvation: You starved to death. That’s not glorious, that’s just humiliating. Your name has been struck from the annals of history so no one will suffer embarrassment by proxy. [set score to 0].
Glory 1: You have died and no one will remember your name. Well, maybe your family, but how long have they got? In another generation it will be as if you never existed. With a defiant cry to the gods, you breathe your last.
Glory 2: You have died. All that you left behind was a starving family on its last legs and an embarrassing song about pinecones. Your name will be remembered, but as a joke.
Glory 3: With a valiant cry, you fall dead. It was a good death. The people who knew you will weep. The people who didn’t will pretend they did. Your spouse will wait at least a decade before remarrying and your children will grow up—well, maybe—being able to brag about you.
Glory 4: It was the perfect death. You struck a dramatic pose and uttered a memorable catchphrase that will be repeated for decades to come. Plays and ballads will be written of that moment. The creature that finally struck you down will get free pints out of it for life.
Glory 5: The heavens weep as they part for you. Choirs of angels trumpet your arrival. The keening of the world accompanies your ascent. The likes of your greatness will never be seen again. Oh, and the insurance grudgingly paid out for Agatha’s new lungs.
Encounters
You encounter –
Kobolds. Lots of them. They’re pretty small, but they vastly outnumber you. Your ankles are already bleeding. Was this such a good idea?
A Manticore. Who thought a scorpion tale was a good idea? And giant pincers? Were those really necessary? Why not have it spit corrosive poison, too, and just make it the worst day ever?
Oh. It does. You might be fucked. Hope your glory is high enough and it’s not just a humiliating death.
A Centaur. He is majestic. He knows it. His coat is shiny and his muscles are oiled. He flexes his abs at you and waggles his eyebrows. You could kill him for being a twat and the world would cheer.
A man-eating Giant. You should be safe, then. No, apparently that was a general term. He’s a lot bigger than you. You could run for it, but that would defeat the purpose.
A Slightly Perturbed Naga. She knows why you’re here. She was sacred back home, but here she’s just another snake for the killing. Westerners. You might as well get on with it; she’s not going to sit there sharpening her teeth all day
A world-weary Unicorn. She is tired of innocent maidens, shitting rainbows, and being sprinkle-tastic. She will shank you with her well-endowed horn.
A Contrite Cockatrice. It’s a rooster. And a snake. The gods will have their little jokes. This one is keeping its eyes lowered so it doesn’t kill you outright, giving it a sorrowful air. The way it moves isn’t necessarily defensive; it seems a deliberate attempt to obscure the crumpled body of another Cockatrice. You’re about to turn away but the living Cockatrice utters a challenging cry. Perhaps it, too, seeks a glorious death.
[if first encounter]
A Drunken Councilor. He staggers around shouting “order!” and “the noes have it!” You think you remember him from that time your village wanted to change the colors on the jugging pitch from Kelly Green to Sage Green, and the whole forest got burned down as a result. Killing him will definitely earn you glory points.
[else]
Oh look, another Councilor. This one is pretty plastered and singing a rude song about hedgehogs. This will be easy glory.
[if first encounter]
….nothing. Strange, there’s just a room of bones and gruesomely dismembered corpses. You’re not sure what was here before but thank the gods it’s gone now. A glorious death it one thing, being ripped limb from limb is another.
Wait, what’s that sound? Are those limbs… moving? Oh. They’re coming together. Okay, that shape isn’t even remotely human. And it’s running at you. Well, that solves the question of whether or not Revenants move above a shuffle.
[else]
Let’s see… pile of bones, scattered torn-off limbs. Yep, another Revenant. And there it goes, reassembling itself. It could at least make an effort. The biggest challenge is keeping lunch down long enough to kill it.
[first encounter]
Why is your spouse here? Why are they smiling like that? And why are they holding that sword?
[else]
The old wearing-the-face-of-your-spouse didn’t work for the last shapeshifter, and this one clearly hasn’t learned.
[on death] The body of your spouse melts into the grey-goo flesh of a shapeshifter. Ew.
[Triggered Immediately After Glory Level 3 Inn Encounter]
An aged CamemBear! It roars in your face, nearly knocking you out with the halitosis of over-ripe cheese. It seems content to let you gag before taking its first swipe. It’s that fucking bard’s fault, and you swear you’ll have your revenge.
Dungeon Rooms
Trap room:
It’s a trap! As you push open the door a bucket, which was precariously perched on top, falls on your head. No, that wasn’t water it was holding. It was rocks. When you come ‘round again your head is pounding, there’s blood everywhere, and goblins have riffled your pockets.
Crap room:
It’s a trap! Wait, no it’s a crap. A dragon sized crap. And now you stink. What has it been eating? It seems to be corroding your armor. So now you stink, your armor is wasting away, and your skin burns.
Spike Room:
You open the door and something whizzes past your ear, giving you a new place for a piercing. More spring-loaded spikes come flying at you, and you just managed to slam the dread portal shut again as they thud home. Some however, find their target and aerate your armor for you.
Druid Room:
This one appears to be a cupboard. A friendly cupboard-dwelling druid grins at you and waggles his fingers.
“You have been fully healed!” he exclaims, as if this is something you should be grateful for. “Would you like a mushroom? They taste like piss but then the dancing girls appear!”
You spit on him and slam the door in his face.
Reality-TV Kitchen Show Room:
As you open the door you enter a brightly lit room. A dozen people turn to stare at you, holding either ladles or cameras. A man up front is shouting about an idiot sandwich. Once he notices you, he picks up a ladle and chucks it at you. Within seconds you are bombarded with every ladle in the kitchen. You dash out again, but not before you’ve stolen some food.
Empty Kitchen with Food:
It is a kitchen. Sides of beef hang on one side, and soups bubble gently in the hearth. No one seems to be around, and your stomach is growling from the delicious smells. You shove some food in your pockets and run out again.
Empty Room:
This room is empty. It will bring you no glory and no death. Gods damn those previous heroes.
At the Inn – Story Dialogue
It is a dingy place that smells of recycled ale, desperation, and yesterday’s armor being aired out over the fire. The food is bland and the ale cold. Perfect.
Would you like to rent a room for the night? (5 gold, will do a small amount of healing.)
Story Dialogue
Unique Events Triggered by Glory Level
[Glory Level 2] =
You push the door of the Inn open and drag your tired ass up to the bar. As the innkeeper pours you an ale, the Bard smarms up to the stool beside you.
Bard: Hey, I need fresh material. This lot gets bored easy and I you’re starting to make a name for yourself. Mind if I write about you?
Player: [option 1] Thanks! That’ll really help! [option 2] No, you’ll just make a mockery of me.
Bard: [if 1] Great, this’ll really get them laughing and I’ll get better tips. [if 2] Fair enough, fair enough. So…
Bard: So what brings you out here?
Player: I am trying to die a glorious death.
Bard: Ah sure, that’s a nice goal. Any reason?
Player: Some idiots set fire to the woods around our village. It caused some problems. I—
Bard: Boring. I’ll make it up.
She walks off, slinging her mandolin off her shoulder to pensively strum some chords. You can hear her muttering something about cheese-related embarrassments.
[Glory Level 3] =
The bellows that greet you when you bang open the door of the inn are cheerier than usual. A few of the other heroes slap you on the back as you head up to the bar. Someone has pushed an ale into your hand before you’ve even finished removing your sword belt. One of the tavern wenches waves and sits down next to you. He doesn’t bother arranging himself prettily; he knows he’s off duty around you.
Wench: So that bard sings some pretty unflattering things about you. I’ve known you long enough that I’m starting to think she made it all up.
Player: That she did.
Wench: So there was no incident with a salami? No exile for robbing the queen’s chamber pot?
Player: ‘fraid not.
Wench: So why are you here?
Player: There was a fire. It did a lot of damage. Some people died, a lot of people suffered. That’s it, really.
Wench: Doesn’t make a good song, does it? I can see why she made it up.
The wench wanders off, leaving you to drink with your fans.
[Glory Level 4] =
It’s hard to press though the throng of admirers to even go to the bar. Your hired thugs have kept your favorite table cleared and the Innkeeper brings over a frosty tankard of his best ale. Instead of going back to the bar his sits across from you.
Innkeeper: I’ve been serving you drinks for a while. I’ve seen you go from sad little nobody to everyone’s favorite barbarian. But still sad. You always avoid the details or make them up. So tell me. Why do you want to die so badly?
Player: I have to.
Innkeeper: But why bother with fame? You could have just walked into that dungeon and let yourself be eaten by the first Raging Ronin.
Player: My daughter’s dying.
Innkeeper: I see. This has to do with the fire?
Player: The village only had so much money to pay for the blacksmith’s leg that had been burned clean off, or the mayor’s eyebrows. By the time we realized my daughter’s lungs were beyond repair, there was no money left. There’s a mage that can fix her, but he won’t do it on charity. And the insurance doesn’t cover Acts of the Gods.
Innkeeper: So why a glorious death?
Player: The money my family would get for my death would cover the cost to save my daughter’s life. But if I die without fame, they won’t pay. “Pre-existing patheticness,” they call it. “Voluntarily butchered.”
Innkeeper: I see. I’ll keep the beers coming and the fanboys at a distance. Have a good night.