After a few turns I gave up hope that this would be anything other than a generic fantasy milieu, with a regrettable whiff of Celticism and Zork about it. The game seems very solid and thorough, remarkably so, perhaps even dazzlingly so, but rather purposeless. I played for an hour without finding any motivation for doing what I was doing, and then quit. It's perhaps difficult to convey to those immersed in fantasy literature, as I myself was many moons ago, just how much of a slog it can be to get through this stuff unaided.
World-building fantasy always seems to me a waste of the imagination. The imagination put into these worlds may be extensive, but generally lacks discipline and rigour. If you write a story about WW2 GIs fighting the Germans in a forest of redwood trees, some smartarse can point out your error. If you write a story about a unicorn running through a forest of purple bala-bala trees, who is to contradict you? Who can even know what you mean? Your made-up stuff has no denotation; it lacks the resonance, the history, the locus of meaning that names for real things have. Made-up worlds tend to be dull and shallow creations even apart from their usual boilerplate aspects. (It's also worth remarking how many of these worlds concentrate on objects rather than relations.)
Imagination is a precious resource, one of the best defences anyone can have in an age of media monopolies. It needs to be kept limber, constantly stretched and exercised and pushed in uncomfortable directions. To spend your imagination on dreaming up fantasy worlds is to keep it lazy and out of shape. It's an evasive or stalling tactic, like pouring all your creative effort into the doodle on the side of your exam paper. Sometime, imagination needs to confront reality.
Rating: 5 (Third Place)