The Arcade

The classic disc-flipping game of sun and moon on an eight by eight board: bracket a line of your rival’s discs between two of yours and the whole line flips to your colour. Corners can never be turned, so fight for them. When neither side can move, the larger half of the sky takes the board. Solo against the almanac or live at the open tables.

Checkers as a candlelit board of wax seals: slide your oxblood seals a square at a time, take the forced jumps and chain them where they line up, and crown a king at the far row to move both ways. Take or trap all your rival’s seals to win. Solo against the almanac or live at the open tables.

The classic game of Hearts against three souls from the taproom: pass three cards, follow suit, and let no sorrow land on you. Every heart is a point, the queen of spades is thirteen, and taking all of it hands everyone else twenty-six. Lowest at the table wins.

Full chess, nothing spared: castling, en passant, promotion, the fifty-move rule and every honest draw. The Bishop plays at three strengths, from a patient novice who hangs pieces to a five-move reader who does not forgive. Move generation proven against the old perft counts.

Full backgammon against the Chapman: the law of the dice kept exactly, blots to the bar, honest bear-offs, and gammons counted against you both. Three tempers of opponent, from a gentle hand to a merchant who has hustled dice for five thousand years.

The two-hand classic against the Widow Hale: draw, discard, and knock when your deadwood runs low. Melds reckoned exactly, layoffs and undercuts kept honestly, gin worth its full twenty-five, and matches to one hundred. She counts every card you lift from the pile.

The oldest counting game there is, played against the Shepherdess: lift a pitful and sow it round the board, land in your granary to sow again, and reap the pit across when your last seed finds an empty one. Forty-eight seeds, and the fuller granary takes the board.

The pencil-and-paper classic against the Pardoner: draw a fence, close a field to claim it and fence again, and learn why the last two boxes of a chain are sometimes a gift you should refuse. Twenty-five fields, chains that fall all at once, and an opponent who counts them.

The call-your-shots classic against the Ferryman: two fleets of five hidden in the fog, one broadside a turn, and a ship named only when the last of her goes under. He fires by the currents, reckoning where your hulls could lie; spread thin or cluster and dare him.

The partnership classic with the Pilgrim at your side against the Reeve and the Ale-Wife: bid your tricks, dare a nil for a hundred, and mind the bags, for ten of them cost the same. Spades trump all and may not be led until one has fallen. First side to three hundred.

The oldest board in the parish, cut into cloister seats and church porches: place your nine men, shift them along the lines, and close three in a row to take an enemy man. Fly at three, fall below it and the field is lost. The Hayward keeps the solo board; the open tables seat a living rival.

Four cups rolled in secret, bids that must rise, and dudo to call the lie: ones are wild, the wrong party sheds a die, and the last cup with dice in it takes the night. The taproom classic played for nerve, solo against the cast or live at the open tables.

The oldest board in the world, on a nine by nine field against the Hermit: lay stones at the crossings, surround to capture, and wall off more of the empty ground than he does. Two passes close the reckoning; the area you hold, plus komi, takes the board. Solo against the Hermit or live at the open tables.

Chinese chess against the Marshal: chariots and cannons, horses that can be hobbled, elephants that cannot cross the river, and generals who may never meet on an open file. Run his general down with nowhere to step. Solo against the Marshal or live at the open tables.

Partnership pinochle with the Pilgrim at your side against the Reeve and the Ale-Wife: win the auction, name trump, lay your melds (marriages, pinochle, a run in trump), then take the point cards in the tricks. Meld plus tricks must make your bid or your side is set. First to a hundred and fifty. Solo or live at the open tables.

The old two-hand duel against the Elder: exchange with the talon, then score the point, the sequences, and the sets before a card is led; take the tricks for the cards and dare the capot. Six deals to the partie, and woe to the player left short of a hundred, for the rubicon doubles the loss. Solo or live at the open tables.

Two-hand block dominoes against the Tinker: seven bones each from the double-six set, fourteen asleep in the boneyard, and not a bone drawn all night. Match the open ends, knock when nothing plays, and count the pips when the hand goes out or the board blocks. First to one hundred. Solo or live at the open tables.

The shedding classic the boxed card games descend from, two-handed against the Fiddler: match the suit or the rank, or play an eight and name the suit to follow. Draw until something comes, and mind the reckoning, for an eight held is fifty against you. First to one hundred. Solo or live at the open tables.

The old five-dice game the boxed one descends from, against the Drover: three rolls a turn, hold what pleases you, and write one of twelve lines, once each. Straights pay thirty, the yacht itself fifty, and not a bonus anywhere. The higher card takes the game. Solo or live at the open tables.

The drop-disc classic on the seven-by-six frame against the Tiler: discs fall to the floor of their column, and four in a line, across, down, or aslant, takes the board at once. The middle column touches the most lines, and the strongest traps offer two finishes. Solo or live at the open tables.

Six-card cribbage against the Netmender: two to the crib, a starter cut, the pegging to thirty-one with its fifteens, pairs, runs, and goes, then the show counted in strict order, hand, hand, crib. First to a hundred and twenty-one, and the game ends the instant a peg crosses the line. Solo or live at the open tables.

The oldest jeopardy dice game there is, against the Pilgrim: every roll grows the pile, a hold banks it for good, and a one burns it all and hands the die across. First to bank one hundred. That is the whole law, and it is enough. Solo or live at the open tables.

The grandmother of every trick game, with the Shepherdess at your side against the Widow Hale and the Pardoner: no bidding and no honors, the dealer’s turned card names the trump, and every trick past six is a point to the side that took it. First side to five points. Solo or live at the open tables.

The kitchen classic, two-handed against the Ale-Wife: name a rank you hold and she hands over every copy, or the pond gives what it gives. Every ask is a confession the whole table hears, and the ledger under the pond forgets nothing. Thirteen books in the deck, so nobody ever ties. Solo or live at the open tables.

The great trump-making partnership game, with the Drover at your side against the Tinker and the Reeve: order the turned card up or name your own trump, and mind the bowers, for the jack of trump rules the night and the same-colour jack rides second. Three tricks make the point, a march pays two, a lone march four, and a side caught short is euchred. First to ten. Solo or live at the open tables.

The exact-bid trick game against the Fiddler, the Horse-Leech and the Drover: seven shrinking deals, a card flipped for trump each round, and the dealer barred from the bid that would make the table come out even. Land your bid to the trick for ten points and the bid besides; miss by one and take nothing. Someone at the table must always be wrong. Solo or live at the open tables.

Italy’s dearest card game, two-handed against the Potboy: forty cards, a turned briscola beneath the talon, and no duty to follow suit. The ace is eleven, the three is ten, and the trick goes to the suit led unless a briscola falls. A hundred and twenty points in the pack; sixty-one takes the game. Solo or live at the open tables.

The Italian fishing classic, two-handed against the Pardoner: play a card and it takes its match from the table, or a set that adds up to it, the single always barring the sum. Sweep the table clean for a scopa, then count the reckoning: most cards, most denari, the sette bello, and the primiera. First to eleven. Solo or live at the open tables.

The old English fishing game, two-handed against the Chapman: a number card gathers every like rank and every sum it reaches, a court takes a court, or lay a card on the table and announce a build you hold. Raise a single build, fix a double one, sweep for a point on the spot. Cards, spades, the two casinos and the aces make the count; first to twenty-one. Solo or live at the open tables.

Ten Thousand, the folk dice game of nerve, two-handed against the Pilgrim: set your scoring dice aside, then press on with what remains or bank the pile for good. Ones are a hundred, fives fifty, triples pay a hundredfold and double by the die; a roll with nothing scoring is a farkle, and the whole pile burns. First to ten thousand banked. Solo or live at the open tables.

The old pub game, two-handed against the Ale-Wife: roll the dice and shut standing tiles that sum exactly to the throw, one die allowed once the high tiles are down. When nothing answers, the leavings join your tally, and the first tally to forty-five loses. Shut every tile and the box is yours on the spot. Solo or live at the open tables.

The connection duel on the eleven-by-eleven lattice against the Tiler: one stone a turn, and the first unbroken chain between your two sides takes the board. The swap rule keeps the opening honest, every cell touches six, and the old theorem promises there are no draws, ever. Every wall you build is also a road. Solo or live at the open tables.

Straight rummy, the root of the whole family, two-handed against Widow Hale: draw from the stock or take the top of the pile, meld your sets and runs aces-low, lay off on anything down, and discard to end the turn. Every pile pick is public knowledge, and going out pays the pips left in the far hand, doubled for going rummy. First to one hundred. Solo or live at the open tables.

The great Russian card game, two-handed against the Cellarer: thirty-six cards, the trump turned under the stock, and every bout a small war of attack, answer, and throw-in. Beat everything and the attack passes to you; take, and the whole table follows you home, in the ledger for all to read. The stock runs dry, the hands play down, and the one left holding is the durak. Solo or live at the open tables.

The Victorian race game the whole jumping family descends from, against the Shepherdess: nineteen men each on the sixteen-by-sixteen board, one step or a chain of leaps over any man, nothing ever captured. Build ladders and the flock rides them across the board in single turns. First to fill the far yard wins outright. Solo or live at the open tables.

The game the world calls chinese checkers, by its true name: halma’s law on the six-point star, against the Pilgrim. Ten pegs a side, one step or a chain of hops over any peg, ladders running the length of the board, nothing ever captured. First to fill the far point wins outright. Solo or live at the open tables.

The family form of old pachisi, two-handed against the Chapman on the classic cross: enter on a six, race the shared road, knock him home where the squares allow, and rest on the eight safe stars. The last step home must be exact, and a six always throws again. First to bring all four home. Solo or live at the open tables.

The Viking siege game against the Ferryman, and never once a fair fight: sixteen besiegers ring a king and his eight, every piece a rook, and captures close like a jaw. The king falls only surrounded and wins the moment he reaches a corner; a side left moveless loses where it stands. Hold either side of the board. Solo or live at the open tables.

The honest pawn race against the Reeve: two ranks of pawns, every step forward, straight into the empty or diagonally to capture. Nothing retreats, nothing promotes, and the first pawn to reach the far rank wins on the spot. No draws, no stalls, nowhere to hide. Solo or live at the open tables.

The old code-breakers’ duel against the Horse-Leech: each side seals four different digits, then the guessing alternates. Bulls stand in place, cows stray, and four bulls crack the code, with one last word owed if the first guesser lands it. Every answer narrows the book; guess to divide it, not merely to be right. Solo or live at the open tables.

The medieval line-game draughts descends from, against the Netmender: twelve men a side on the twenty-five points of the old web, stepping along the drawn lines. A man beside a foe with the empty point beyond must leap him, and the leap chains as long as it runs. Strip the far side bare, or seal it still, and the game is yours. Solo or live at the open tables.

The great medieval hunt on the cross board, against the Drover: one fox with the leap, seventeen geese with the numbers. The fox leaps goose after goose in chains he may break at will; the geese step down the board or sideways, never back, and win by pinning him moveless. Thin the flock below six and no pen can close. A hunt that marks time is the fox’s: repetition or three hundred moves means he slips away. No draws. Hold either side. Solo or live at the open tables.

The modern connection classic against the Netmender: twelve checkers a side, and every move flies exactly as far as its whole line is full, both colours counted. Fly over your own, never the foe, land on an enemy to take it. First side gathered into one connected body wins, corners counting and a lone survivor counting; join both sides at once and the mover takes it. Solo or live at the open tables.

A duel of assertions against the Pardoner, that silver-tongued seller of falsehoods that sound right: twelve claims drawn from the almanac’s six branches, put to both chairs at once. Each calls true or false in ignorance of the other; the reveal names the verdict and tells the story behind it. The higher count takes the disputation, and an even count is honourably drawn. Solo or live at the open tables.

The modern territory classic against the Reeve: four amazons a side on the ten-by-ten board, and every move two slides in one breath: the queen’s glide, then the arrow, and the square it strikes burnt for good. Nothing is captured and the board only shrinks: the player who finds no move has lost, and there are no draws at all. Think in rooms; every arrow is a wall. Solo or live at the open tables.

The taproom’s race through the catechism’s book: four chairs and the same question put to every one at once, cycling the six branches without repeating itself. A right answer seals its branch; the first chair to all six seals takes the night, chairs sealing together share the honour, and a closed book settles by seals then right answers. Solo against three scholars of the room, or live at a rated table. Solo or live at the open tables.

The classic parlour word-duel against the Fiddler: the fragment grows one letter at a time, and whoever completes a word of four or more letters loses the round on the spot. Think the fragment begins nothing? Challenge, and the house judges it against its own book of 74,947 words; a failed call costs the round. Openers alternate; first to three rounds takes the duel. Solo or live at the open tables.

The old slate game made a fair fight, against the Ale-Wife: rounds come in pairs, and the setter picks the cruellest of four dealt words, hint shown, mercy optional. Every wrong call is a mark, eight marks build the gallows for a round score of ten, and the fewest marks across the pairs takes the duel. Level after five pairs is a drawn duel. Solo or live at the open tables.

The great partnership melding game, you and Widow Hale against the taproom’s pair: two decks and the jokers, melds of three with the wilds counted close, and the whole war fought over the discard pile: take it only by melding its top card, freeze it with a wild, guard it with a black three. Seven deep is a canasta, and your side needs one to go out. Red threes lay themselves. First side to three thousand. Solo or live at the open tables, four chairs gathered.

Germany’s national card game and the finest three-hander ever devised: the auction climbs the ladder (18, 20, 22 and on) and its winner plays alone against the other two. Take the two-card skat or play brave from the hand, then name the game: a trump suit with the four jacks always on top, grand, or the null that dies on a single trick. Sixty-one card points win the deal; fail, or win under your bid, and it pays double against you. Twelve deals, richest name takes the table. Solo or live, three chairs gathered.

A daily five-letter puzzle that flowers as you solve it.

A daily grouping puzzle: find the four secret fours among sixteen, in the Connections vein.

Hangman by candlelight: find the word before the candle burns away.

A daily word search drawn from an illuminated page.

A five-by-five crossword, clued and gilded. Quick to start, satisfying to finish.

The hive of letters: gather words of four or more from seven wax cells, every one using the golden centre. Somewhere in the comb hides a word that uses all seven. A new comb every day.

Lewis Carroll’s parlour game of 1879, kept nightly: turn the top word into the bottom one, changing a single letter at each rung, every rung a true word. Par is the shortest ladder the whole dictionary allows; match it and the night is flawless. Ask the tailor if you must.

The classic pencil pastime, inked nightly: a twelve-by-twelve field of letters hiding twelve words from a themed list, laid in all eight directions and sharing letters where they please. Drag first letter to last to claim them. Every night deals a fresh themed field, the same for everyone, with endless fresh fields besides; the fastest full clears go on the community board.

Cozy Minesweeper with no unfair guesses, candle markers, and a generative soundtrack.

A daily candlelit maze you illuminate as you walk.

Klondike, dealt on illuminated cards.

The viral merge classic, as illuminated tiles that gild from parchment to gold.

Drop blocks into a parchment grid and clear rows in gold. The 1010 mechanic, made cozy.

The matching-pairs game, played with illuminated almanac cards.

The number puzzle the whole world knows, on illuminated parchment. Daily, with three depths.

Match free tiles and clear the turtle. A daily board, always solvable.

Paint-by-numbers logic: read the clues and an illuminated picture rises.

The classic sliding-tile puzzle, in glowing numerals.

The Flood-It colour puzzle: flood the grid from the corner in the fewest moves.

The match-three classic: illuminated tiles that fall and chain.

The Tower of Hanoi: carry the rings peg to peg in the fewest moves.

Pyramid solitaire: pair cards to thirteen and take the pyramid apart, row by row.

A logic-maze homage to Chip's Challenge: gather every sigil to lift the ward, then reach the gate. Cross water, fire and ice, shove blocks, dodge monsters, and build your own courses in the editor.

A nightly whodunit of pure deduction: read the testimonies, work the ledger grid, and name who took what from where. Every case is proved fair before it is printed, solvable with no guessing at all. A new case at midnight.

The liars’ puzzle in the old style: five souls in the taproom, one line apiece. The true of tongue never lie, the forsworn never speak true, and exactly one marking of the five fits every word. Mark the tongues and pronounce. A new case at midnight.

The counting-house daily: six numbered stones and the four operations, and any two stones become one. Strike the target exactly. The house arithmetic is honest, par is proven by the reckoner himself, and the same stones fall to everyone each night.

FreeCell with the authentic numbered shuffles, all thirty-two thousand of them: four free cells, supermoves, safe cards flying home on their own, and every move retractable. Nearly every deal can be won, and the fastest clears go on the board. No. 11982 remains at large.

The great two-deck patience, at last: ten columns, five deals waiting in the stock, and eight full suits to spin from king down to ace. A finished suit sweeps itself off the table; a run only travels together when it is all one suit. One suit is a gentle evening, two is the classic, four is for the patient. Unlimited undo, a nightly web the same for everyone, and the fastest clears go on the community board.

The beloved peaks-clearing solitaire: three summits of cards, their base row open, and a descent that runs one rank up or down with aces and kings wrapping. Baring a card’s coverers turns it; the stock lends twenty-three cards but every turn breaks your run. Fell all three peaks to clear the deal. Tonight’s deal is the same for everyone, and the fastest clears go on the community board.

Sudoku sharpened: no digit repeats in any row, column, box, or dashed cage, and every cage prints the sum its cells must reach. Nine given digits start you off, pencil notes keep your reckonings, and wrong arithmetic is inked as you go. Every puzzle is machine-proved to a single solution before it is shown. A nightly puzzle the same for everyone, and the fastest solves go on the community board.

The great Japanese cross-sums puzzle: white cells take the digits one through nine, every across and down run must reach the sum its clue cell prints, and no digit repeats within a run. A few starter digits are given, pencil notes keep your reckonings, and wrong arithmetic is inked as you go. Every puzzle is machine-proved to a single solution before it is shown. A nightly puzzle the same for everyone, and the fastest solves go on the community board.

The classic sliding-block escape: a six-by-six shelf packed with pieces that slide only along their own lanes, and a gilded chest that must reach the notch on the right. Every shelf is dealt from a seed and proved solvable, its true minimum printed below the board; match it if you can. A nightly shelf the same for everyone, and the fastest solves go on the community board.

The quick classic of the golf family: seven open columns of five, one rank up or down to the waste, and nothing wraps; the ace knows only the two, the king only the queen, and the walls end many a fine run. Sixteen cards in the stock, every draw breaks your run, and not every course can be cleared. A nightly course the same for everyone, and the fastest clears go on the community board.

A one-tap tower of lanterns, with a rising chime for every perfect drop.

A pocket idler, and a first taste of Tideward.

The timeless Snake, reskinned as a candle-wick gathering embers across the page.

Falling blocks, reskinned as glowing embers. Bank four rows at once for gold.

Connect four against the almanac, a wax-seal duel with a cunning opponent.

The beloved bubble shooter, in glowing orbs of light.

The timeless brick-breaker, with a wandering orb of light.

A one-tap flyer: thread a moth through the dim almanac, gap by gap.

A whack-a-mole of will-o-wisps, sixty seconds of glow and grab.

The memory game of growing tones, played on a ring of candle-sconces.

A rising ember, ledge to ledge, as high as you can climb.

Noughts and crosses against a flawless hand, sun and moon seals on a candlelit grid.

Place your rolls, smash the matching column, and outscore a cunning opponent.

A candlelit chase: clear every mote, swallow a beacon, and turn the hunters to prey.

A springy motorbike-physics homage: gather every apple, then touch the flower to finish in your fastest time. Mind the rider's head and the thorny burrs. Ride the built-in pack or forge and share your own courses.

A candlelit tower defense: set wards of light along the winding path and keep the shades from the keep.

A lane defense for the cloister: set casters, gatherers, and bulwarks against the creeping shades.

A mazing tower defense: there is no road. Wall the open field with wards, sculpt the longest detour you can, and make the shades walk it.

An arena of living wicks: eat the loose light, surge to cut rival flames off, and never touch what glows another colour.

A pool of hungry wax: drink the drops smaller than you, flee the greater, split your light to catch the quick, and mind the green burrs that burst the mighty.

A homestead-automation idler priced from the real world: buy the right tools, raise a timber-frame house yourself, wire the solar, write the firmware, hire the crew, buy the next field, and sink the dream vault beneath it all. Honest dollars the whole way; only the Frontier shelf leans forward.

The bell-ringing game: five bells, one rope in your hands. Strike your place in every row as the changes weave, from steady rounds through called swaps to the plain hunt, quicker as the night deepens. One button, honest timing, and the band carries the rest.

The lantern-lit fishery: cast, hook the dip, and play the fish on one button. What bites tonight follows the true moon and the night’s weather, and the folio’s rumors tell you when to come back for the rest. Thirty-two entries, four of them fabled, none of them in a hurry.

The parish engine-builder: every week the box spins your little congregation of geese, bees, monks and stranger things, and adjacency pays. Draft one symbol of three, build the engine, and outlast the collector, whose figure only ever rises. Runs end; the compendium is forever.

The arcade classic by candlelight: an ember, a brass rail, and endless walls of illuminated tiles. Where the ember strikes the rail decides its angle; gilded tiles take more blows and pay better; falling favors broaden the rail, temper the pace, or kindle a second ember. Three candles keep the night alive. Every player climbs the same walls, and the best scores go on the community board.

A ballistics tower defense: every lobbed shot takes real time to fly, so your engines lead the marching column like a hunter leads a bird, and the bends in the road are worth gold. Terraces raise a thrown stone’s reach; armor blunts bolts but never splash; the horn pays gold for boldness. Every siege is the same siege, and the longest stands go on the community board.

A tower defense where light is the whole economy: the field lies dark, wards only strike at what stands in lit ground, and lanterns buy that ground. The shades know what the light costs you; they drain lanterns dark, and devourers carry a gloom that shrinks every light near them. Relight what gutters, raise the pharos, and keep the lattice burning. Every night is the same night, and the longest stands go on the community board.

A daily seven-question almanac quiz, from geography to astronomy, one leaf at a time.

Weigh two moments of history and name the elder. Build a chain as long as your memory of the past.

The weighing game: two things of the world, populations and peaks, rivers and planets and beasts, and you say which is more. One wrong answer breaks the chain.

The cartographer’s nightly leaf: a single land drawn in ink, and six guesses to name it. Every miss answers with the distance and a compass point toward the true land; after three, the old charts whisper the continent. The same leaf for everyone, every day.

The taproom quiz in the grand old style: six branches of knowledge, four souls at the table, and the first to seal the Chronicle, the Chart, the Physic, the Folio, the Green and the Bestiary takes the night. Three scholars with strong suits and weak ones sit against you.

The daily dozen: twelve assertions from the almanac, two from each branch of knowledge, and some of them handsome fabrications. Judge each in turn and learn at once why the false ones fooled you. The Sexton reads the same dozen every morning; out-read him and keep your streak.