I have a special place in my heart for RPGMaker. Its tantalising accessibility has enabled plenty of people to realise their dreams (and others - including my school-age self - to just explore them, even if nothing much came of it).

I loved Skyborn, for example, because it hit those retro notes and didn't overstay its welcome, and RPGMaker gave it the toolset to do that.

Lost Art shows that hyper-traditional JRPGs aren't the only thing you can use it for, and offers a fantasy that I don't think I've seen before - which is worth the price of admission.

It's got a lot in common with fantasy shop sims Recettear and Bargain Quest. Like those games, it's got a clear gameplay loop: remind yourself which regulars you're expecting today; set up your rooms in anticipation; check in and check out.

Of course, the challenge can be completely defeated by reloading your save once you know who's arriving tonight.

There's also an evolving series of items to acquire and tasks to complete to improve your inn, and I admit I got in the habit of zooming around town talking to every NPC every couple of days in case I missed something new.

Both of these behaviours undermine the causal quaintness the game is aiming for, so I'm making an effort to try not to do them so much.

Speaking of thematic disconnects, it did strike me as a little weird that the main daily decisions invoke ordering your butler to haul four single beds back up into your attic and bring two double beds down. And firing your chef for the day because none of your guests strictly need breakfast.

Maybe that's how it works. I'm not a real innkeeper.

Some of the other decisions didn't really feel like decisions, either. You're meant to toggle which amenities you can afford on a regular, tactical basis, but I found myself trying to say yes to everything, all the time. The game punishes you for not running your newspaper ad, or for not hiring your staff often enough to prevent pests returning.

I'm probably going to lose at the strategic level because of this - there's a mountain of debt that needs repaying in a month's time - but humans are bad at conceptualising Big Numbers when they spend their days working with small numbers...

It's like how in real life I don't feel bad about buying nice snacks because I know I shouldn't bother thinking about buying a house because I'm a millennial.

The premise of the game allows for some very economical design decisions: the entire game area is only a few dozen screens. I can't fault that, since it also helps the place feel cozy and quaint. Your empty mansion and the tiny town also feel alive thanks to the guests who come and go, wandering around their favourite spots.

There's a couple of perky, plinky tunes that were stuck in my head when I started writing this, but have since vanished.

There's a "main plot" of sorts about a gold-digging cousin and some kind of secret or treasure hidden in the mansion, but it's clearly more about the characters and the moments.

Like that first night, sleeping on the couch in the hall so that our one and only guest could stay in my room.

Or when the visiting young adventurer offered to user the tools of his trade to solve my rat problem, and get some experience while he was at it.

Or when my loyal butler explained that the reason he's always standing ready in the corner of each room from the moment I enter it is simply that he's a really good butler who anticipates my needs.

Stringing these moments together and achieving each step towards the goal of fixing up the mansion is primal videogame progression fare, and there's a reason it's so appealing.