Trivia games

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.

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 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.