Darkward
Dark, surreal point-and-click text adventure inspired by the poetics of Dark Souls. Guide the Wanderer through ruins and tombs in a purgatorial world.
Estimated lifetime revenue
Free-to-play
Revenue comes from in-game items and microtransactions, which our price-based model doesn't estimate. Copies below reflect the player base, not paid sales.
Est. copies sold
670
mid estimate
Reviews
31
Review score
81%
8.1/10
Playing now
0
live
Media
Screenshots & trailer
About
About the game
This game isn’t for everyone.
Darkward is a dark, text-driven point-and-click adventure that won’t hold your hand. Instead of a map, you’ll get traces. Instead of explanations, you’ll get consequences. And instead of heroism, more often a choice that hurts.
You’ll step into a world of crumbling sanctuaries, twisted vows, and old truths that should have stayed buried. The story is built from fragments: inscriptions, found records, the meaning of places, and what you decide to do — or refuse to do.
A Dark Souls mood without combat. Lovecraftian dread without cheap jump scares.
Just you, the words, the silence… and links that open the next step into the dark.
What to Expect
Text-based point-and-click gameplay: no typed commands — you choose actions by clicking links in the text.
Atmospheric exploration & lore: the world speaks indirectly and rewards attention.
Choices with consequences: some paths close forever; others open only later.
Dark fantasy: faith, ruin, and things beyond human understanding.
Who It’s For (and Who It Isn’t)
If you want fast action or clear explanations, you won’t find them here.
If you enjoy indirect storytelling, mystery, and slow revelation, Darkward will reward you.
Recommendation: don’t rush — read between the lines.
Around you now lies a time that does not flow. Your body is heavy, hollow and foreign – seated rigidly with your arms crossed over your chest. You feel no heartbeat. Your lips are cracked and mute, your hands are grey and cold. The silence around you is suffocating, as if this world has never known a voice. The chill of the stone bites into your skin like a thousand needles. You feel pain, but you sense it differently, as something distant. Your soul is empty, as empty as your mind and memory.
Slowly, you rise from the stone. Your limbs crack in the silence, as if they had forgotten how to move. Dust spills from your grey hands, and your muscles obey only under protest. You stand – not as one who lives, but as one who has been commanded to rise.
Rise, Wanderer!