Strange Antiquities: This 'Shopkeeping' Sim Is a Deep Dive into Delightful Digital Arcana
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
Bloody hell, *Strange Antiquities* takes the seemingly mundane task of shopkeeping and turns it into a genuinely brilliant, brain-bending puzzle game. It's packed with delightful 'aha!' moments that'll make you feel like a master digital alchemist, even if you did spend an hour just yanking a clock pendulum.
Right, so you reckon a 'shopkeeping puzzle game' sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry, yeah? Fair dinkum, my initial thoughts weren't exactly 'mind blown.' But then I spent ten glorious, brain-bending hours with *Strange Antiquities*, the follow-up to the utterly charming *Strange Horticulture*, and bloody hell, it’s wilder than it first appeared. It's like accidentally casting a 'Deep Dive into Eldritch Lore' spell when you only meant to brew a simple cup of tea.
My first couple of hours? Spent mostly yanking the bronze pendulum of an ornate clock at least a dozen times, convinced it was a clue, yet drawing a blank. I flicked through occult encyclopaedias, compared clock faces to hermetic symbols – a proper digital detective, I was. And there were so many other tantalising teases: a locked cabinet with no key, a sliding-door cupboard with no clear purpose, three empty plinths beneath my shop counter, chunks missing from an engraved desk. Each one screaming 'puzzle!' but keeping its secrets tighter than a dragon hoarding its gold. I just knew they were all clues; I just couldn't tell what for.
Then, mate, it happened. The big reveal. That moment when the clock clicked into place, not just as a time-teller, but as the key to a multi-part puzzle that blew open a new, secret area of my shop. I genuinely chuckled with delight, a proper belly laugh of pure, unadulterated 'I'm a genius!' satisfaction. And that feeling? It wasn't a one-off. *Strange Antiquities* is absolutely packed with those 'aha!' moments, making its predecessor feel almost quaint by comparison.
The general concept remains much the same as *Horticulture*, but cranked up several notches. Customers walk in, asking for an oddly specific, named item. Your trusty (or perhaps untrusty) encyclopaedia holds the keys, from the obvious – 'it's bronze,' 'it's shaped like a snake' – to the deliciously abstract: 'it evokes a feeling of dread,' 'it's used in blood rituals.' You fondle, sniff, and listen to the mysterious objects on your shelves, and if your instincts are right (or your detective skills are sharp), you identify the correct artefact. Meanwhile, outside your cosy, albeit creepy, shop, a whole narrative of curses and cults unfurls, and your decisions – like which of two suspicious items to hand over – genuinely ripple through the story. It's not just transactional; it's narrative alchemy.
The objects themselves? Pure imagination fuel. Carved totems with unfamiliar symbols, bejewelled boxes that catch spirits, medallions designed in the image of a snake god, a blood-stained stone held by an eagle's talons – they all look utterly magnificent, however you arrange them. The descriptions are deliciously vague, often with double meanings that made me squint at my screen like I was trying to read digital tea leaves. 'Does this necklace give me goosebumps because it's cold, or because it's *creepy*?' you'll wonder. 'Which of these wooden bits could possibly be a 'finger'?'
What starts as simple identification quickly morphs into layered, delightful challenges. You'll juggle an encyclopaedia, a book of gems, a book of symbols, and a book of curses – often flicking between them multiple times for a single identification. Need a curse cure? First, identify the curse, then find it in the encyclopaedia, then cross-reference related entries to find the *actual* object. It sounds dense, and it is, but it's the good kind of dense. The 'split it into chunks and conquer' kind. And the hint system? It's a proper gentle nudge, not a full-blown spoiler. It tells you *roughly* where to look without snatching away that sweet, sweet satisfaction of finding the answer yourself. And when you do solve it, the game handily points out the relevant clues, often things you hadn't even consciously registered, sparking new pathways for future puzzles. It's like the game is teaching you to be a better digital wizard, one cryptic clue at a time.
The feeling of mastery this game builds is genuinely sublime. New encyclopaedia entries flash up, and you can ignore them, but the key info just *sticks*. I lost count of the times I'd think, 'Wait, I know that name!' later on, pulling information from the subconscious depths of my gaming brain. Before you know it, you're not just identifying one object, but following a trail of thought that leads to three or four. By the end, I was a proper expert shopkeeper, knowing instinctively which gemstone meant death, which symbol meant summer, and which winter. I could pick the right object without consulting my books, which felt less like rote memorisation and more like true arcane insight.
But the true magic, mate, isn't just in the object identification. It's in the way the shop itself holds secrets. Those moments like the clock pendulum, or discovering how to manipulate an object in an entirely unexpected way to open that locked cabinet. And that empty cupboard I mentioned? It proves instrumental in a way I won't spoil, but it’s another layer of genius. The game’s scope kept surprising me, delivering on every single one of its teased promises. Even the collectible maps hide their own secrets, turning into miniature treasure hunts with riddles and pattern recognition. When I finally figured out how to use a device to pinpoint locations on those maps, I felt like a bloody genius. A digital Indiana Jones, if you will.
Now, with so many puzzles, and so many different *types* of puzzles, a few duds are inevitable. I did hit a wall on one particular medallion, only for the hint system to point me to an entirely different, seemingly unrelated puzzle I’d picked up (and put down) much earlier in the game – a bit arbitrary, that. And another time, I narrowed it down to two possible objects, had to guess, and even after seeing the right answer, the other still felt like it fit. But these are minor bumps in a road paved with gold. The sheer density and consistent generosity of *Strange Antiquities* make it easy to forgive those little missteps.
It helps that the shop itself is such a lovely place to just... exist. I found myself lingering, listening to the rain and thunder outside, petting my shop cat every morning until he purred his digital contentment. Every morning, after the first customer, I'd reshuffle my shelves to match my mood – medallions by material, then by gemstone colour, then all identified items shunted to their own special shelf. It's not busywork; it's a testament to the game's flexibility and how it lets you make the space your own. My only real niggle, apart from those few puzzle stumbles, was the mouse navigation. Trying to compare multiple objects on the desk below the counter meant a fiddly grab-and-hold process for each one. It's easier if you use the keyboard too, they say, but this is a game designed for a mouse in one hand and a cuppa in the other, innit? And double-clicking to zoom a book when I just wanted to open it? A minor annoyance, but enough to make me grumble into my digital brew.
My enthusiasm for the puzzles did wane a little in the final hours, partly because the best challenges truly do shine in the middle, and partly because the unfolding town tale of curses and cults, while finely written, direct, and even mildly poetic, tends to fade into the background. When you’re buried deep in your books, deciphering arcane symbols, it’s easy to lose track of who betrayed whom last. The story loses a bit of its momentum about two-thirds of the way through, delaying what feels like an inevitable conclusion.
Even so, the sheer satisfaction of a fully ticked-off list kept me pushing to the very end, and I happily lingered for a few more hours, just identifying lingering objects I’d missed. The highs of *Strange Antiquities* – and there are *so* many – stand proudly alongside anything else I’ve played this year. It's fiendish, it’s delightful, and it genuinely makes you feel like you’ve unearthed a hidden truth about the world, all from the comfort of your own slightly spooky digital shop. If you fancy diving deep into a puzzle game that rewards curiosity and observation like few others, you’d be a fool to miss this one. Here’s hoping for many more 'Strange' games to come!
*(Original review published on Rock Paper Shotgun by Samuel Horti)*
Tags: Puzzle Game, Indie Game, Mystery, Shop Management, Occult
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun