A folklore deckbuilder
Old-school card combat against the väsen of Swedish folk belief.
Leave butter on the porridge. Hang steel over the stall.
Never give the forest your true name.
Turn the clock ↗ and the whole page turns with it.
A real board
Minions persist. Trades matter. The enemy plays cards too — and when night falls, the world and the cards turn with it.
The same fight, one turn apart. The windows light themselves — and under the floorboards, the vätte wakes: 2 attack by day, 3 by night. to see it.
The road is stitched in red
Every run crosses a linen map sewn with your choices: fights and elites telegraph their threat, rests and bargains wait at the fireside, and the boss looms over the top hem.
Laid out on the cloth
Twelve cards from the archive. Some of them care what time it is.
“Something small follows you. Its feet make no sound on the pine needles. It asks for stockings and shoes.”
The myling — a being of recorded Swedish folk belief, not our invention. The folklore is drawn from the folk-record archives where the records reach; where the game invents, it invents in their spirit.
