Totally Not A
Game Studio

Nine rooms. One quest. One goat, lying to you in person.

The message never arrived. The raven could not leave the standard, so the word went to the goat, and the goat stopped at the trough. Now somebody has to fix it. Find the passage money. Trade it for the banner. Carry the banner to the Hill and raise it, and do not believe a word the goat says on the way. The raccoon works the trash, asks to be asked three times, and pays in bent spoons. Chapter Two: The Stone is in development.

The studio's newest title leaves the screen and sits down at your table. Who Pays the Tavern is pass-and-play: two to ten of you, one phone, three rounds poured off the Totally Not A Brewery tap list while the tab grows in coins. Draw cards. Collect bent spoons. When the raven finishes counting, whoever holds the most spoons pays the tavern, and is crowned the Goat tonight besides. Six of you, one tab. The raven decides who pays.

The studio's newest title skips the story and settles a real argument instead. Who Pays Tonight is a decider in the spirit of the Oracle: one phone, opened at a real table, asking only how many of you there are. Let the raven count, and the count lands where it lands. Somebody pays tonight, and the payer wears the goat's title besides. Once in a while, the goat did it, and nobody pays at all. Open it at the table. The raven decides who pays tonight.

The studio's other resident is not a game so much as an audience. The Raven herself, first person. She stayed on her post. She remembers everything, every stroke, every mile, every lie the goat has ever told, in order. Ask her anything. She answers the way memory answers, which is to say, exactly.