I am fairly sure HORSE MASTER has graced these pages before, in Porpentine’s most splendid column, but I am entirely certain that it warrants its own post. It is a primarily textual game about raising the ultimate competition horse, nurturing it to greatness from the very moment that it is freshly stuck from the egg sac of its queen’s papal dome.
To write much would be to spoil HORSE MASTER, but it is a game of marvellous, terrifying writing which no two of you will experience quite the same events in. Choices are made, with sharp, strange, impossible consequences.
I, with my monstrous gene-addled horse Tarnal Ragecup (who I would need a ladder to reach the top of were I to ride it, but NEVER ride a horse), wound up arrested for shoplifting on the day before the competition. I will play it again and make different decisions in the training of my horse, in order that I compete and experience the wonders/horrors of completed horse mastery.
But for now, I rest in jail, evicted, agonisingly withdrawing from the mad drugs which kept me sane, knowing that Tarnal Ragecup is still out there somewhere. The world is in such peril.