About This Game

You wake up with no memory. Your day is starting off great!

Nepenthe is a hand-drawn RPG with a terrible sense of humor. Set in the strange world of Carithia, you play as a mysterious bald dude who lost his memory. Yes, you read that right. Meet some very polite monsters, and battle both them and your sense of self-dignity in epic bullet-hell fight scenes.

Definitely not a potato in a trench coat

Sporting a childish hand-drawn art style, Nepenthe is sure to either make you love it at first glance, or throw your computer away. The developer of Nepenthe takes no responsibility for such actions, and recommends drinking chamomile tea. “It’s really soothing,” he says. “You should really try it one day,” he says. “What was I talking about?” He asks. There is an awkward pause.

designed for non-psychopaths, mostly

With three different endings, and countless side-quests, Nepenthe is designed for ultimate replayability. This can get quite annoying if you need to share a computer with someone else. Trust me. Almost every monster can be spared, for added challenge and less violence. They can also be killed - don’t worry, you psychopaths! If you enjoy dad-jokes or Chinese water torture, Nepenthe is for you.

Nepenthe is designed for both casual and hardcore gamers alike.

• Explore two modes: "Adventure" or "Story," to find the play-style that best suits you.
• "Adventure" mode is a bullet-hell extravaganza, with ever increasing difficulty as the game progresses.
• "Story" mode's battles are easy one-click things, designed for those who just want the story, not the gameplay.
• Enjoy stunning hand-drawn art along the way

Join us, as we stare into the Orb together. b4d347fde0

Title: Nepenthe
Genre: Action, Adventure, Indie, RPG
Developer:
Yitz
Publisher:
yours truly
Franchise:
Nepenthe
Release Date: 17 May, 2018

English

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Nepenthe is a passion project but don't let that fool you. It is also very good. If you thought RPGmaker games were just for hacks and had no real value then I would like to draw your attention to this game.

______________

PROS

+ The music is way more than I expected for an RPGmaker game. I really liked the different sounds in the game. The music in this game is great in general.
+ I really loved the hand-drawn artwork in this game. It gives it a very different feel.
+ Very interesting combat style. Nepenthe offers a reallly unique but simple take on RPG combat.
+ The jokes of the game aren't for everyone but I found myself laughing on several occassions.

________________

CONS

- The combat can take a few rounds to get used to. I found myself dying a lot.
- Movement around the map can be a bit awkward at times but you will get used to it.

______________

Nepenthe is a really great breakthough for Yitz. I think it shows us that he has what it takes to code and has some really great ideas. I am looking forward to what he comes up with next.. An amazing gem that is worth your entire attention if you're the slightest fan of RPGs

Even if the game is rather short (even with three different endings), it is memorable.
Not only the art breaks the mold but the choice of soundtrack, the dialogues, the bad jokes, it all sets a very distinct mood which I fell in love with. Every aspect of this game is a good reason to pick it up and play it.

If I had a single complaint is that it's way too good for how short it is! I wish the story expanded a lot more. I know how much work has been put into making this, it took the guy a year or more to complete this project so I can't really complain about anything. I do admire the guy, but gosh, now that you made such an awesome title, why am i still hungry for more!!!!
It doesn't mean that I'll stop playing it, actually I think i'll even explore every single corner to find all the weird stuff that's hidden all around.. Completely drawn by hand with coloured pencils - that's commitment! This Scribbly Rpg Is packed full of witty humour, plenty of things to interact with, things to kill and quests to fulfil!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YX_JqtcmV-o. + charming graphics
+ great soundtrack
+ basically every tree and stone can be interacted with

- not enough content, lots and lots of open space
- hardly anything worth (!) interacting with
- coding issues: Trying to get the second ending resulted in the "best" ending, as the game assumed that I did things that I didn't do (pickaxe route, but I got treated as if I took the key route, i.e. interfering with the globe<\/span><\/span>)
- the first ending's escape section<\/span><\/span> is tedious and almost made me give up

Recommended? Yes, but barely, and only on sale.. I love this game!! It offers a unique charm with it's art style, and keeps you hooked with its story and humor. Definently the type of game I love playing!! I reminds me a bit of Undertale, but thats not a bad thing at all! :P. A fever dream in video game format.

10/10. I enjoyed the game, short as it was. I wouldn't mind seeing this game be expanded upon, much like other games on Steam have been. I do wish there was more to the game though. Perhaps equipment, for example. That being said it was a nice experience. I look forward to seeing more by the developer. Also, I enjoyed how it was ported for Mac. I find that, despite it being a relatively simple process to do, not many people port their RPGMaker games to Mac. I understand for more complex games in different engines, but in my experience 8-9 times out of 10 I can get RPGMaker games to work using Wineskin, which is a popular medium for porting RPGMaker games. So good on you Yitz.

A random essay I wrote that I'm putting here because I can:
Imagine, if you will, a baked potato. It’s pretty normal as far as baked potatoes go: brown, slightly mushy, and better with salt. There is only one thing that makes this baked potato unique—it’s 30 times the size of our sun. Obviously, this presents some problems for the hungry scientist. For one thing, every portion of the potato is gravitationally pulled towards every other portion of the potato. The portions on the outside are pulled toward the center, since that is where the most potato parts lie. It quickly becomes an almost perfect sphere, any irregularities crushed to the ground. Those in the center are pulled outwards in all directions equally, resulting in no overall movement. There is thus tremendous pressure exerted on the center of the potato by its own gravitational pull. AT this point, the core is squeezed to the point where its very atoms collide, creating enormous energy. The center explodes. The explosive force of matter and energy pushes outward, balancing the gravity pushing inward. The potato reaches an uneasy equilibrium: constantly exploding and imploding at the same time; a floating ball of fire in space. We have successfully baked our potato.

For the next few million years, our giant baking potato acts like a giant fusion reactor. It burns the elements in its core, producing tremendous force to counteract the constant pull of gravity. Simpler elements collide to form heaver ones, so hydrogen is the first to go. The potato eventually runs out of that, and gravity makes its move. The center compresses further, until it’s hot enough to fuse the next element up, helium. Being a potato, there isn’t much of that, and so the fusion cycle continues for a while. When it reaches iron, a strange thing happens: it isn’t fused. Iron is an incredibly stable element, and the amount of energy required to turn it into something heavier is beyond even our potato’s power. As the other elements are used up, eventually only iron is left; A perfect giant sphere of it at the very core.

Something tragic and beautiful happens then. Our potato has been burning for millions of years, and it’s all about to end. The potato has no energy left. Gravity wins. It pushes inward, and this time there is no fusion to stop it. It pushes the elements, the atoms, brings even the electrons together—a single moment and that which makes up everything touches, kisses, hugs each other for the first and last time—and keeps on pushing. The core becomes a point. Just a dot, with no width or depth or space. It’s only gravity now. The gravity of a former potato thirty times the size of the sun, all in a space so small it can hardly be called a space. The outer layers of the potato are brushed away into the cosmos by the aftershock of the event, to be forgotten among the stars. Observers far away might note an explosion in deep space, then they too will turn their attention elsewhere. No one sees what’s left behind.
The gravity of that single point which lies there is so intense that nothing can escape for one hundred miles away. Nothing. Not even light itself, the fastest possible thing in the universe. Think about that: a space the size of Honolulu, in which anything that enters never leaves. It was a potato once, and now it’s a hole in space itself. A black hole, if you will.

Our former potato—now black hole—still has close to the same mass it started off with. It’s in a smaller area, but the stuff it was made of is still there, in some form. Occasionally, a nebula or a star may cross its path, and will be swallowed by the black hole. What made up the star will be added to what made up our potato, indistinguishable in every way. As the mass increases, so will the size of its gravitational pull. The point at which even light itself cannot escape—called the event horizon—grows larger. As for the inside—there is no way to know what is happening inside. Nothing can ever come back to tell us. All we know now is that the black hole consumes, and grows, and eats, and grows.
But one day the stars will die.
Nebulae will disperse.
Galaxies will crumble away.

The universe will grow old one day, and our black hole will still be there. Eons will pass, and nobody will be there to watch the world’s clock tick, tick, tick; Our black hole will still be there. Humanity will become a distant memory, and the concept of memory itself will be forgotten—Our black hole will still be there. It will still be there, when everything else has reached its end.

H.P. Lovecraft once said that “with strange aeons even death may die,” and perhaps he was right. Black holes represent a sort of cosmic death, and black holes themselves will someday die. No one will be there to witness it, but space itself—the shifting quantum foam that softly bubbles everywhere—will take its due. At all times—even now—particles are created out of the foam, both of matter and its twin, antimatter. The two are born, then touch, then annihilate each other. This dance of death takes place all around us, every second of every day. We don’t notice it, since we don’t have to: The particles are gone as soon as they appear, leaving no net energy behind. Around a black hole however, things are different. If the particles appear near the event horizon, one may fall in, while the other escapes. The one that escapes must by definition have an incredible amount of energy, in order to flee the gravity well. Since both particles brought together produce zero net energy, the one that fell into the black hole must have negative energy. Einstein famously showed that energy can be converted to mass, so in some sense the black hole just lost mass. It shrunk.

Over an unimaginable length of time, this shrinking by quantum radiation—Hawking radiation, as it is called— will become noticeable. The particles involved are among the smallest known, so for a practical eternity they have little effect. Of course, we have forever to wait. One day the last star will die, and the only source of energy left will be hawking radiation. If there is anyone left alive, they will have to live off of its power, scant though that may be.
As the black hole gets smaller, the curve of the event horizon becomes more pronounced. This makes it easier for quantum particles to diverge, since the gravitational pull will be significantly different depending on how close to the horizon they are. The hawking radiation thus becomes stronger, and the black hole shrinks faster. Our black hole—once a giant potato the size of thirty suns— will die in an explosion of hawking radiation, millions of megatons flowing from an event horizon the size of a proton.

Our potato will be the dying light of a black universe.

Now that’s food for thought.



Further reading:

https://www.livescience.com/39620-how-big-is-solar-system.html
https://www.aanda.org/articles/aa/pdf/2013/06/aa20920-12.pdf
https://arxiv.org/abs/1511.08221
http://www.slate.com/blogs/quora/2013/11/12/what_would_the_death_of...

PS: Wow, I'm impressed you read all that! If you liked it, well, thanks I guess :3
If you're confused, good. The plan is working. MWAH HA HA HA!
-Yitz. Steam Summer Sale so far:
So... um...
wow.
During the summer sale so far, more people bought the game than on opening week! That is pretty crazy. Like, really crazy. I'm popping in here to say a few simple words of thanks, most of which are "OMG WHAT" and "AHHHH."
So yeah, this means a lot to me. Thank you for being awesome people, and supporting me and my weird ideas.

Thanks,
Yitz

(PS: if you wanna help even more, leaving a review is the best way to do that ;)). Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came:
I would like to introduce you to a strange and haunting poem, one written by the Victorian author Robert Browning, who recorded this text, fully written, as seen in a dream one night. The title of the poem is "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came," and I think you will enjoy it very much. Here it is:


"CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME"

_(See Edgar's song in "Lear.")_

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried.
So much as gladness that some end might be.

For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
What, with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,--
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.

As when a sick man very near to death
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
The tears, and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside, ("since all is o'er," he saith,
"And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;")

While some discuss if near the other graves
Be room enough for this, and when a day
Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves, and staves:
And still the man hears all, and only craves
He may not shame such tender love and stay.

Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among "The Band"--to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps--that just to fail as they, seemed best,
And all the doubt was now--should I be fit?

So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
That hateful cripple, out of his highway
Into the path he pointed. All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.

For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; gray plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound,
I might go on; naught else remained to do.

So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers--as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove.

No! penury, inertness, and grimace,
In some strange sort, were the land's portion. "See
Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly,
"It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place,
Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free."

If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents
Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to balk
All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk
Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.

As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud
Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.
One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
Stood stupefied, however he came there:
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!

Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;
He must be wicked to deserve such pain.

I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards--the soldier's art:
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.

Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
An arm in mine to fix me to the place,
That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.

Giles then, the soul of honour--there he stands
Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
Good--but the scene shifts--faugh! what hangman hands
Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!

Better this present than a past like that;
Back therefore to my darkening path again!
No sound, no sight so far as eye could strain.
Will the night send a howlet or a bat?
I asked: when something on the dismal flat
Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.

A sudden little river crossed my path
As unexpected as a serpent comes.
No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend's glowing hoof--to see the wrath
Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.

So petty, yet so spiteful! All along,
Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;
Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit
Of mute despair, a suicidal throng:
The river which had done them all the wrong,
Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.

Which, while I forded,--good saints, how I feared
To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,
Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
--It may have been a water-rat I speared,
But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.

Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
Now for a better country. Vain presage!
Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank
Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage--

The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
What penned them there, with all the plain, to choose?
No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,
None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.

And more than that--a furlong on--why, there!
What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,
Or brake, not wheel--that harrow fit to reel
Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air
Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.

Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
Changes, and off he goes!) within a rood--
Bog, clay, and rubble, sand, and stark black dearth.

Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
Broke into moss or substances like boils;
Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.

And just as far as ever from the end,
Naught in the distance but the evening, naught
To point my footstep further! At the thought,
A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
That brushed my cap--perchance the guide I sought.

For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
All round to mountains--with such name to grace
Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
How thus they had surprised me,--solve it, you!
How to get from them was no clearer case.

Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick
Of mischief happened to me, Gods knows when--
In a bad dream, perhaps. Here ended, then,
Progress this way. When, in the very nick
Of giving up, one time more, came a click
As when a trap shuts--you're inside the den.

Burningly it came on me all at once,
This was the place! those two hills on the right,
Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn. Nepenthe is on S A L E (not anymore lol):
This is the lowest price Nepenthe has ever had on Steam, so I'm both excited and mildly terrified! For those wondering, this is not the super-exciting news that's coming up. Trust me, you'll know when that's arrived :)
For now though — if you don't own Nepenthe yet, what are you waiting for?
Other than the zombie apocalypse, of course.
Because we're all waiting for that.

If you do own Nepenthe — good for you! I hope you're enjoying it (maybe not as much as the zombie apocalypse, but still), and please consider leaving a review on Steam :)
Happy holidays,
Yitz. D E E P D R E A M:
So I was playing around with Google's Deepdream[deepdreamgenerator.com] software today, and out of curiosity, gave it the Nepenthe logo. This is the result:

For comparison, this is the original image:

Um... yeah.
I have no idea why I did this.
Please forgive me, for I have sinned.
Amen.


Yours truly,
Yitz

PS: We're almost at 30 reviews, which is crazy! Thank you so much for all the support :3. A Poem About Sales:
Ten percent off;
It's very exciting—
Nothing compares
except maybe yo' face.

Ten percent off;
terribly frightening—
nothing's so scary
except maybe yo' face.

Why am am I writing this;
It's really quite boring—
I'm stuck in the car
just me and yo' face.

So yeah, Nepenthe is 10% off this week, and I'm stuck in a car for a few hours, wasting my time by writing weird poems about Steam sales and faces.
Have a nice day!
. Games And Nominations And Updates OH MY:

Welp, the Steam Awards Nominations have begun, and I highly recommend you go and vote in that! Here are my submissions, and I have of course nominated myself as "best developer" because I'm a loudmouthed shnook. ;)
Also, Nepenthe is on sale (again)! If you haven't bought it yet, or you want to give a very strange gift to a friend, now's the time. If you do buy it, you get free eternal joy. Or at least a slight smile. Maybe a general not-depressed feeling. Or not. It's a surprise!
Also, also, something very exciting is on it's way: lol you're not getting it that easy! I think you'll enjoy it...
Yours,
Yitz

PS: If you haven't done so yet, please consider leaving a review on Steam. Positive or negative, it really helps me figure out what I'm doing right (or wrong), and lets Steam know that people are interested in Nepenthe.

PPS: If you have written a review, know that I've read it, and really appreciate your words. It means a lot to me. :)

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