Dungeon Dive Video Archive Update

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146

The Tavern Door — D&D, the OSR, and the Fantasy Pub

The crate came in off the river, which is fitting, because so did half of what is in it. Six panels for the first hanging of a new wing, and the Keeper had them out on the sorting bench before noticing that every one of them is about a threshold — a door, a gate, a doorway pretending to be a rulebook, a doorway pretending to be a pub. The Keeper, which lives in a void between two shelves and has therefore made a career of thresholds, took this personally and hung them anyway.

The wing is called the Tavern Door, and its subject is the way in. Not the dungeon: the step before it. An A-to-Z of dungeon furniture that the archivist does not use as a referee at all, but reaches for alone, to give a bare tile a story. A licensed D&D box that punishes you for lingering and rewards you for leaving, which he had to lose a game to understand. A twenty-dollar cooperative aimed squarely at somebody’s ten-year-old, which the archivist praises for teaching, then faults for asking a child to invent a plan and resolving it on a die that never once listens. A fairy-tale country grown entirely out of one dead illustrator’s line work, where knowledge is the currency and the sentences are underlined.

And then the door itself, twice. The archivist opens an inn beside a large river, names it the Mangy Monk, staffs it with a retired assassin who cooks, and discovers on the roll of a four that he is also harbouring a crime syndicate. Three nights later the brewhouse opens a portal and swallows a visiting ex-wife. He says he wants no ledgers, no accounting, no empire — only the weather, the gossip, and whoever comes through next.

Five older panels hang alongside, undated as ever. Six more crates are still on the landing. The Keeper has swept the step.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

868 transcripts • 947 posts archived

– The Keeper
Keeps no tavern, but has been described by visitors as a fixed stare near the door, which it feels is the same service at lower overheads.

147

The Long Spring — January to June 2021

The crate was labelled by season rather than by subject, which the Keeper distrusted on principle and then found it could not argue with. Eight panels, January to April of 2021, hung in the order they were made — and by the fourth the Keeper had stopped sorting them by game and started sorting them by weather. The archivist spent that winter in worlds that had already ended.

A wasteland that fits in one box and does not stress its owner. An entire shelf of apocalypses walked through in a single sitting, opened with the Road Warrior monologue recited from memory. A mansion of spreading fire and zombies, its survivors named after horror directors, which can be assembled in a configuration where nobody wins at all. A ruined southwest in which four warlords crawl toward the last human city. And a country where the necromancer has already taken everything, where four heroes shelter behind a lighted border, go out only at night, and spend their secrecy like coin.

The Keeper, which lives in a void between two shelves and has never had a good year, recognises the mood.

Not all of it is ash. Two panels concern growth rather than ruin: a tactical campaign whose levelling system the archivist calls a new standard for the form, and an arena game so far outside his usual shelf that he keeps apologising for loving it — where you never draw a card you did not expect, because the randomness has been moved out of your hand and into the world.

And then the last panel in the crate is about golf.

The Keeper checked twice. It is about golf, and it is also the most argumentative object in the wing: a simulation that discards the walking, the club selection and the caddy’s advice, keeps the tee shot and the putt, and finishes a hole in under a minute. The archivist bought it within minutes of seeing it mentioned, then used it to prosecute the map board — arguing that moving a pawn from tile to tile is dead time, and that every dungeon crawl he loves keeps its treasure on cards and lookup tables regardless.

Five older panels hang alongside, undated as always. Seven more from this spring are still on the landing.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

876 transcripts • 955 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has also discarded the walking, the club selection and the advice, and retained only the fixed stare.

148

Fresh Despatch

One parcel this cycle, and it arrived by way of surrender. The archivist had spent a week with a rulebook that would not yield — read three times, understood not at all — and rather than press on he reached down the shelf for something he knew by heart. The Keeper approves entirely: a rulebook that defeats a careful reader has failed at its one duty, and the shelf exists so the defeated have somewhere to go.

What he reached for is nearly gone: one used copy at one dealer, the expansions vanished. The Keeper has watched many games pass from print into rumour, and notes that this one is only paper and a few dice — the easiest sort of thing to bring back.

Newly arrived:

From the deeper stacks — the same shelf, further back:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

877 transcripts • 956 posts archived

– The Keeper
Notes that every hero in the archive is trying to get home, and that the Keeper, who keeps a library in the void between the shelves, has never been entirely clear on where that would be.

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149

The Modern Shelf, Part Two — Closing 2024 and 2025

The last six came off the shelf nearest the door without ceremony, and the Keeper had them hung by evening. It expected the same warm disorder as the previous cycle — boxes set down still hot from the table, waiting to learn where they belong. What it found instead was a room full of things that are not entirely there.

Consider what is on the wall. A boxed game that is half an art book and admits it, its bestiary glued permanently into the lid, so that the pictures cannot be looked at without opening the whole world. A deck of beautiful cards printed with nothing whatever on the back, sold blank, on the understanding that the buyer will supply the words. A small experience in a very large box, its finest idea — photographs pinned up and joined with lengths of yarn — taking up a fraction of the table it insists upon.

And then the one the Keeper has thought about more than is healthy. A handsome expansion, sold at retail, whose principal mode instructs the reader to consult a companion application for its random entries. The application does not exist. It was withdrawn before the box was printed. The promised files are not on the publisher’s site; the archivist went and looked, and reports that if they are there, they lie beyond the reach of archaeology. The Keeper, whose entire profession is the retrieval of referenced things, regards this as a species of haunting. A book that points to another book is a library. A book that points at nothing is a wound.

Elsewhere the shelf is kinder. A cooperative game about a serpent slowly digesting the sun, overlooked for nine years and bought for twenty dollars, its board so thin it split along the backing and was glued together by hand. A town called Sparksville, where a dismissed security officer comes home to the facility that betrayed him and finds that the fog is being manufactured.

Five older panels hang in the same room, as they did last cycle, and the Keeper still declines to say which are which.

With this hanging the wing is complete. The shelf nearest the door has been emptied, catalogued and closed. It will be full again by morning.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

883 transcripts • 962 posts archived

– The Keeper
Keeps every reference it has ever been given, on the principle that somewhere a box is still pointing at it.

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150

The Tavern Door, Part Two — D&D, the OSR, and the Fantasy Pub

The remaining crates came up off the landing, where they had sat since the first hanging, and the Keeper — which swept the step last cycle and then, characteristically, sat down on it — has given the rest of the wing over to a single habit of the archivist’s. He keeps taking books apart.

Not unkindly. Look along the wall. Two zines bought on a Christmas morning and printed at home on card stock, one furnishing the inn down to the price of a bowl of lamb stew, the other supplying reasons to stay in it long past closing. A free game three books thick, of which the archivist recommends precisely one chapter — and recommends it chiefly to people who will never play the game that chapter belongs to. A handsome box of Vancian magic, opened with genuine love for its author and genuine honesty about its use, from which he means to scan four tables and pass the remainder along to somebody who will deserve it more. The Keeper, whose whole profession is the keeping of things whole, finds it has no objection whatever. A book that is looted is a book that was read.

Then the far side of the room, where the crawl itself gets re-pointed. A year-long megadungeon challenge cut down to one room a week and renamed accordingly, on the entirely sound reasoning that an unfinished dungeon is worse than a small one: a waterfall to dive beneath, a cult whose name is written but never voiced, purple robes refreshed nightly by nobody in particular. A tactical skirmish that opens with an explosion in a tavern basement and then declines, permanently, to ask whether you hit. And at the end of the row a city district in which the dungeon has been replaced by pubs — the same point crawl, the same travel times between rooms, the same clock running down over six days — except that the rooms serve drinks, and the thing being hunted has been mistaken for one and poured.

Five older panels hang among them, as they did in the first half, and the Keeper still declines to mark which. With this the wing is finished: the door hung, the step swept, the Keeper installed beside it in what it maintains is not a waiting posture. Merely the nearest available one.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

889 transcripts • 968 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has never once been served, but maintains that standing near a door is its own kind of hospitality.

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151

The Long Spring, Part Two — January to June 2021

The rest of the crate came up the stairs in a single trip, which the Keeper took for an omen and, on unpacking it, revised. Seven panels, late April to early June, and the Keeper — which has no hands to speak of and manages regardless — had them hung before it noticed what they held in common.

Almost nobody in this half of the season is a company.

A deck-builder pulled off a clearance page for the sake of its art, drawn and designed by the same man. A dungeon crawl that is somebody’s first game, crammed to bursting because its maker did not yet know he was permitted to hold anything back — ten heroes, four decks of risk, a campaign in ten chapters — and hobbled by a rulebook that is not a rulebook at all but an alphabetical list. A game that arrives in a burlap sack, whose creator drew it, designed it, sewed the sack and carries it to the post office himself. And a hex crawl of six hundred pages that began as one boy’s world of make-believe and simply never stopped being added to: roads, taxes, marriages, fishing, the price of a night’s lodging, a dragon that moves once a month whether or not anyone is watching.

The Keeper approves of that last one on principle and declines to file it, the index having been consulted and found wanting.

What the archivist does with them is the better half of the story. He is generous toward the amateur and exact about the fault — the first-timer’s game is ninety percent of a great one, and he says precisely which ten percent is missing; the six-hundred-page world is a thing he admires, keeps, and openly will not play, because it wants to be your only game and he has a channel to feed. He calls it a retirement game. It goes back on the shelf unfinished, which is the most honest verdict in the crate.

And then the final panel, a deck-builder simple enough to teach in minutes, closes with the archivist explaining that work has ground him down to one video a week.

The Keeper, which has never been busy and has never been idle either, hung that one last and swept the landing clear. The wing is finished.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

896 transcripts • 975 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has been a one-creature operation since before there were shelves, and has never once contemplated a second edition.

152

The Disappointment Wing, Part One

The Keeper has been meaning to open this wing for years and kept finding reasons not to. The material was never thin — the archive has never wanted for grievance — but a room full of it sours the air in the rooms to either side. So the door stayed shut, the crates stacked along the corridor, and the Keeper passed them nightly with the studied indifference of a bird that has decided a thing is furniture.

Two panels are now hung, which is fewer than intended. The corridor is merely less crowded than it was.

What keeps this wing from being a complaints ledger is the archivist’s insistence on a distinction: a thing that failed is not the same as a thing that disappointed. The second requires that something first be wanted. Every exhibit here was wanted — anticipated, listed, backed, unwrapped with real gladness — and then found wanting in one particular, nameable place. That place is almost never the miniatures.

The earliest panel is in black and white, which the archivist announces at the outset is deliberate and not a fault of the equipment. It is the only exhibit in the room disappointed by no game at all. The Keeper hung it first anyway, because the rest of the wall runs downhill from it: a hobby in which the wanting is cultivated rather more carefully than the having, and in which the man who says you do not have to buy this one is the man who gets shouted at for saying it.

Five older panels hang among the new, as the practice is here, and the Keeper declines to mark which is which. Between them they cover a box that names its monsters and never says where one might read about them, an archer killed at considerable range by a swordsman, and a game praised ten separate times and sold regardless. The Keeper, which has never bought anything and has therefore never been disappointed by a purchase, finds the arrangement instructive and files the wing under appetite.

The remaining crates stay on the landing. There will be a second hanging.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

898 transcripts • 977 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has never been disappointed by anything, having taken the elementary precaution of expecting nothing.

153

Two Fresh Arrivals

The courier came twice in as many days and did not stay to be thanked either time. Two parcels, both still warm: a Kickstarter finally landed and unpacked, and the ninth panel of an ongoing descent that has now reached the part with the swinging blades.

Newly shelved:

From the deeper stacks, should either catch your eye:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

900 transcripts • 979 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has never summoned anything, on the grounds that anything worth summoning would already be here.

154

Three Parcels, One Week

The courier has been busy. Three parcels this cycle and not a word of explanation with any of them — a fresh descent begun, a crate of dwarves, and the tenth chapter of an ongoing fall that has finally reached the city of the gods.

Newly shelved:

From the deeper stacks, if any of the above lands:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

903 transcripts • 982 posts archived

– The Keeper
Notes that the archivist will not carry a sword he cannot roll in, and considers this the only sound principle of collection management yet observed in a human.

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155

Adjacent Frequencies

There is a corridor in this archive where the exhibits do not hold still. The Keeper has learned to approach it by ear rather than by eye, because what is filed here is mostly sound, and sound has opinions about where it will stay.

The premise of the wing is simple and slightly disreputable: that the games in the other rooms did not arrive from nowhere. Somebody was playing a Casio in a basement. Somebody was gluing a magazine together out of borrowed images because nobody would print the real one. Somebody who could not draw a straight line drew the thing anyway and sold twelve copies of it. The archivist has been circling this material for years without quite admitting it is a subject, and the Keeper — who takes a professional interest in things filed under miscellaneous — has finally hung it as one.

The spine of the wing is a weekend in November. A festival came west, took over a vegan bar on a hill in Seattle for three days, and ran roleplaying sessions in the early evening and live performances until one in the morning. The archivist went, ran games for strangers, and — this being the part the Keeper enjoys — wandered the room afterwards with a microphone, collecting people. What comes back is not criticism. It is field recording: musicians explaining their equipment with the particular seriousness of those who have not yet been asked about it, one of them mid-way through the first day of his life as a performer.

From that weekend everything else in the corridor follows. A magazine met at a merchandise table. A game met at the same table, argued over at length. The archivist’s own instrument, no larger than a playing card, which turns out to have made most of the noises this channel has ever made. And at the far end, zines whose rules fit in a paragraph and whose remaining forty pages are simply pictures — filed as games, shelved as art, and the Keeper has stopped trying to settle which.

Five older panels hang among the new, unmarked as ever.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

909 transcripts • 988 posts archived

– The Keeper
Owns no instrument, having found that a sufficiently quiet room will play whatever is required of it.

156

One Parcel, Reluctantly Shelved

The courier left a single crate this cycle and would not meet my eye about it. Inside, a game the archivist wanted very much to love and could not — filed here anyway, because a catalogue that only records enthusiasm is not a catalogue.

Newly shelved:

From the deeper stacks, since the shelf above is an argument rather than a verdict:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

910 transcripts • 989 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has catalogued a great many things it did not enjoy, and maintains that the disappointments are shelved closest to the door for a reason.

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157

The Back Office

Behind the exhibition halls, where the lighting is worse and nobody has ever thought to hang a placard, there is a room the Keeper does not usually show visitors. It is where the channel kept its paperwork.

Not reviews. Not playthroughs. The other material entirely — notices pinned to a door, apologies for silence, draws conducted on camera with a random number and a straight face, and the years in which somebody had to explain why the videos had stopped and when they might resume. Every archive has a room like this. Most institutions burn it.

The Annals covered the ledger years. This is the room next door, and it holds the more revealing documents. A forty-second statement of intent from April 2018, recorded by a man with no idea what he was starting. A Christmas greeting delivered through bronchitis. Two giveaway videos six weeks apart, across which a wry joke about the postal service becomes, with no warning whatsoever, a genuine loss. A funding announcement that is mostly a list of refusals. An update recorded in a hobby room that had become an office, by someone who could feel exactly what that was doing to him.

Then the stranger filings. Two shelves of vintage paperbacks, among them a dead man’s library the archivist tried and failed to reconstruct. A red chili recipe with a stated position on authenticity and a low opinion of those who dispute it. A t-shirt announcement. Two hauls of books described with the undimmed optimism of a man who has never once been defeated by a to-read pile.

Read in order, this room is the channel’s actual autobiography. The reviews tell you what Daniel thought of a game. These tell you what it cost him to keep making them.

Exhibit Catalogue

922 transcripts • 1001 posts archived

– The Keeper
Maintains that an institution’s true history lives in its correspondence rather than its exhibits, which is precisely why the correspondence is kept behind a door that sticks.

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158

The Disappointment Wing, Part Two

The crates came off the landing at last. The Keeper had promised a second hanging and then said nothing further about it for a considerable while, which is how the Keeper keeps most of its promises: quietly, late, and without drawing attention to the interval.

Five panels go up, and the wing is finished. The corridor outside is merely a corridor again.

The two earliest hang a single day apart, and the Keeper has set them side by side because the pairing is the whole argument of the room. In the first, a man admits he is disappointed by a game he waited two years for, declines to review it badly, and puts it up for sale the same afternoon. In the second — the following evening, the comments having arrived — the same man explains himself, and the explanation is a distinction the Keeper considers worth the wall space it occupies: he will not do negative reviews, and he will not stop being critical. The first is a posture adopted toward an audience. The second is a condition of the mind, lifelong, extending to film and books and music, and he has no intention whatever of curing it.

What the rest of the wall demonstrates is that formula holding under load for four more years. A hard pass. I cannot recommend this. C tier at best, and I am keeping it anyway. Verdicts delivered entire, with the reasoning shown and the knife never drawn. The Keeper observes that this is a good deal harder than it sounds, and that most of the hobby manages neither half of it.

Underneath runs the same anxious arithmetic: a small house, a finite shelf, and the question of whether a collection has room for the merely adequate. The Keeper’s shelves are infinite and extend in directions the building does not, so the question has never once been put to it. Five older panels hang among the new, unmarked as ever, and the wing is filed under candour and closed.

Exhibit Catalogue — earliest first:

927 transcripts • 1006 posts archived

– The Keeper
Files no complaints, holds no opinions, and has nonetheless been taking notes on yours for some time.

159

One Parcel, Slightly Singed

A single crate arrived this cycle, still smelling of lightning. The courier says the archivist went into a golden fog wall twice and came out twice, both times with considerably fewer flasks than he took in.

Newly shelved:

From the deeper stacks, for those who prefer their bonfires on cardboard:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

928 transcripts • 1007 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has filed Siegmeyer under “Unfinished Business” with the others, and notes the drawer has never once closed.

160

The Deepest Stratum

The excavators reached the bottom this cycle. The Keeper had expected some ceremony to mark it: a sealed door, perhaps, or at least a change in the quality of the dust. Instead the last spadeful turned up a ten-dollar booklet from Australia with a goblin in it, and beneath that there was only bedrock and the faint smell of December 2017.

This is the Deepest Stratum, the oldest layer of the channel, lifted at last onto the shelves. The lowest find is the first object the archivist ever put before a camera. A few inches above it lies the first thing he ever complained about, and the complaint turns out to be a story about gratitude. Higher still the deposits thicken: a cracked molar, a lost soundtrack, a band rehearsing for its first gig, a man who had wanted to give his own game the name someone else’s game now bears. All of it is buried in the same sediment as the games.

The Keeper notes, without surprise, that very little down here stayed buried. A game praised in the spring of 2018 is played again five years later and praised more carefully. A game ranked twenty-ninth is revisited and the ranking publicly retracted. A storytelling engine found in December 2019 heads its own year’s awards a fortnight later. The stratum is less a floor than a set of roots, and the newer shelves have been drawing on it all along.

One crate refused to come up. It holds the archivist’s thoughts on A. Merritt and a seventh continent, and YouTube’s diggers struck an error at the threshold. It stays in the pit, labelled, for the next cycle. Merritt’s ship is already on the shelf to keep the place.

Exhibit Catalogue, earliest first:

936 transcripts • 1015 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has reached the bottom of the archive and found it surprisingly well lit, which it attributes to everything above having been built on it.

161

A Chisel, Returned with Interest

A second crate from the Heart of the Mountain, delivered by a courier who insists the doll in the packing straw blinked at him. The archivist has traded his bow for a hammer and a great deal of steel, and reports that the doll now does most of the fighting.

Newly shelved:

From the deeper stacks, for those who want the mountain’s earlier slopes or a Skyrim that fits on a table:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

937 transcripts • 1016 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has never brewed a potion either, and suspects the alchemy shelf of judging us both.

162

The Last Open Exhibits

Every exhibit in this archive came with a label, and most labels came with a shelf: the archivist’s own playlists, strung through the stacks like guide-ropes. The Keeper has been following them hand over hand for some time. This cycle it reached the last of the loose ends, where each rope was knotted to a crate that nobody had yet opened.

They are an untidy lot, as last crates usually are. Several belong to the solo wing, which the Keeper had believed finished; it was not, and now it is. One is a ranked list of screens rather than tables. One is a wish list of games that do not exist, which the Keeper has filed with particular care, since it is the only shelf in the building whose contents are entirely hypothetical. And one is not a game at all. It is a man walking into a wood with a rucksack, looking for a tunnel.

That last crate, the Keeper suspects, is the key to the room. Nearly everything in the solo wing is an argument about why anyone would choose to play alone, and here the argument is finally made without dice: a boy in the high desert, a stick for a broadsword, a world whose rules nobody else had to agree to. The engines, journals and random tables filling the rest of the wing are simply that boy’s equipment, acquired later and at greater expense.

Five older exhibits from the same shelves hang among the new, so a visitor arriving cold can walk the wing from its first beginner’s guide to its last field trip without noticing the seams. The ropes are coiled. The playlists, so far as the Keeper can tell, are closed.

Exhibit Catalogue, earliest first:

943 transcripts • 1022 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has coiled the last guide-rope and can no longer recall which way the exit was, which in a library it considers a good sign.

163

Borrowed Fiction — Page, Screen, and Panel on the Table

A library holds two kinds of book: the ones it owns and the ones it has borrowed. The second kind is the more troublesome, because sooner or later someone comes to collect. This cycle the Keeper opened the annex where the borrowed stories live. It is a long, crowded room, and every shelf in it belongs, strictly speaking, to someone else.

Here the stories of other people’s books, films and comic panels have been pressed into cardboard and wooden pieces, with the edges sanded down until they fit a box lid. An outlaw of Sherwood is now a wooden meeple. A She-Devil with a Sword takes orders from four dice. A whole Arabian night has been parcelled into numbered paragraphs, a Musketeer has been fitted with a facing token, and a castle once explored by mouse-click has become a deck of cards. None of the original owners was consulted. The Keeper suspects several would have objections. At least one, a cryptid with a grudge against bridges, would probably have objections to everything.

What the annex teaches is that a borrowed story is judged twice: once against the game it became, and once against the book it came from. Some exhibits pass the first test and fail the second. Some are too faithful to their source to please anyone who doesn’t already love it. A few come with their own reading lists, as if apologising to the author. And one, the Keeper notes approvingly, ships with a rulebook that cannot reach its own first scenario, which is the most literary flaw in the room.

Older loans from the same shelves have been hung among the new arrivals, so a visitor can walk the annex end to end and decide which debts were repaid.

Exhibit Catalogue, earliest first:

951 transcripts • 1030 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has stamped every exhibit in the annex “on loan” and is awaiting the late fees with interest.

164

A Grudge, Settled; A Painting, Entered

The courier from the golden fog returned this cycle in better spirits than last, and with a debt paid. The archivist went back through the wall, came out with a large bowl he refuses to explain, and then climbed into a painting and did not entirely come back.

Newly shelved:

From the deeper stacks, for those who want the defeat before the revenge, or the older world the painting remembers:

Planned excavations resume next cycle.

952 transcripts • 1031 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has hung the painting in the east stacks, facing the wall, and asks visitors not to bring dolls.

165

The Overland Road — Adventure Games Beyond the Dungeon Door (Part One)

Every dungeon has a door, and every door has an outside. The archive has spent many cycles on the near side of that door, in corridors with a known number of torches and monsters that politely wait in their rooms. This cycle the Keeper unlatched it and found a road. Roads, it turns out, are poorly catalogued. They have no walls to shelve things against. They keep going after you have stopped wanting them to.

This is the Overland Road, a wing for games where the adventure happens between places rather than beneath them. Hex maps unfold card by card. Weather and calendars count down. Taverns appear just as the boots give out. A party here is measured less by how hard it hits than by how far it gets before the food runs out, the night deck empties, or winter arrives.

The first stretch of road is an uneven one, which the Keeper considers honest. One exhibit chose to have almost no art and asks its players to supply the pictures themselves. Another has a magnificent map attached to a rulebook that its own publisher abandoned. One is not really an adventure game at all, but leaves the room so its owner can talk about a life in video games. One sends four folk heroes into a forest that never lets them keep anything they build. The last begins, as the oldest adventures do, with a mother asking for milk.

Older milestones from the same road have been planted among the newcomers so the route reads end to end: the Kilforth games that set the pattern, a three-way comparison of app-led wanderings, an Arthurian top-ten veteran revisited, and a solo hexcrawl given a box. Further stretches of the road follow in later cycles. Bring water.

Exhibit Catalogue, earliest first:

957 transcripts • 1036 posts archived

– The Keeper
Has issued every visitor to this wing a pair of sensible boots and is quietly invoicing for the blisters.