Be a Supporter!

Credits & Info

Jul 14, 2010 | 4:49 PM EDT

If you liked this, check these out!

Author Comments

A game about climbing a mountain.

Controls: arrow keys.

August, 2011 update:
I don't know why so many people are panicking to "get" this game. Games are interesting because they're part product and part user experience, so you should be able to just play Mountain Top like any other game and then think about what your sad/wonderful/horrible experience was. I've failed at this game because any "art" should be able to be understood by anyone, and all most people get out of this is a joke ending. If this game had any "point" it would be to try to envelope you in the graphics made of very basic shapes and then bewilder you with crowded shapes as the supposed "greatest view in the world" or "the face of god."
If you got anything out of this game, it should be that you don't have to be a god damn genius to make a game or an interactive piece. You should be able to make a "sketch" of a game and feel good about the finished idea that someone can actually explore.



Rated 4 / 5 stars

i think its more a message than art game i thought the game glitched up at start
[spoiler alert]

did you make the triangles look like a skull on purpose.

if not i agree with indieredd's review.


Rated 0 / 5 stars



Rated 0 / 5 stars



Rated 3 / 5 stars



Rated 5 / 5 stars

A poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,

"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,

"Beware the pine tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,

People find this review helpful!