PataNoir
Description (IGDB)
The Baron's daughter is missing, and you are the man to find her. No problem. With your inexhaustible arsenal of hard-boiled similes, there is nothing you can't handle.
Description en cours d'enrichissement.
Médias
Informations Steam
Description Steam (Français)
"The Baron's daughter is missing, and you are the man to find her. No problem. With your inexhaustible arsenal of hard-boiled similes, there is nothing you can't handle."
PataNoir is a homage to the classic stories of hard-boiled private investigators with a knack for describing everything with complex similes and metaphors. In PataNoir, you solve problems by manipulating the hard-boiled metaphors used by the main character to make sense of the world in which he lives.
The game is an old-school text adventure, in which you type commands to perform actions.
Features
- An interactive noir mystery to experience and solve
- Innovative interactive fiction gameplay in which the metaphors you live by become tools to solve the mystery
- Simulated book interface
- Atmospheric illustrations by Lauri Ahonen and Tom Siddell
- Original theme song by postmodern rock musician William Steffey
Éditions et prix Steam
Avis des joueurs Steam
Mises à jour et Actualités
Poem
To put players in the proper surreal noir mood, I have written the following poem: A Devil's Threeway With Trouble Private eye, behind my desk, legs crossed, door opening, the bell rings. She wears black leather boots, a blue winter coat, prismatic scarf, and mid-length auburn hair. The amorphous ashtray on my desk extinguishes my cigarette, a lump of burned clay swallowing the flame. "Nice ashtray," she says. "Gift from your son?" Gift from my childhood self. "Raku pottery," I say. "Heated quickly, removed red hot, cooled in open air. Unpredictable patterns in the glazing." Tracing them with my finger. She takes the tray, inspecting. "Fascinating." Specks of ash spill onto the desk, some still glowing. Two officers burst through the door, guns drawn. Old vet and young cadet. "You," sneers the vet. "Trouble follows you." "Trouble's an old friend," I say. "We never got along," he says. "Trouble doesn't like cops." "Neither do you!" "That's why we're friends!" "Get a room!" says the cadet, eyes rolling. "Do a devil's threeway with trouble." "Trouble's a woman?" she asks, eyebrow lifting, ashtray gleaming. "Of course!" we agree, unanimously. Trouble enters the room, resolving the situation, in a whirlwind of violence and regret, her perfume lingering. When they are gone, my ashtray lies shattered on the floor. Trouble lights my cigarette. "Sorry, sweetheart." Her voice, the sultry rumble of rumpus. I assemble the pieces into a cornucopia of color and chaos. "No bother," I say. "The glaze awakens." - Simon Christiansen
