The Dark
October, to the winter break
The light goes. You put things away for a year you will not see the end of, and the fire is lit every afternoon from here on.
The board
Everything starts at the board. It is a real board, outdoors, with real quests pinned to it, and it is the first thing you look at when you arrive.
Starter. One afternoon, on your own or with one other person.
Standing. Always there, repeatable, and the reason a wet Tuesday is never empty.
Earned. Carries a house sigil and a grade; clearing it moves you in that house.
A post with a place open on it. Paid work, held for a whole arc rather than taken for a day; the houses say which posts exist.
Posted by somebody here, claimed by somebody here. Anyone can pin one up.
BLUE 14 · GARLIC, IN THE GROUND
Takes: one afternoon. Party: 2 to 4. Needs: nothing you do not already have.
Break the bed, set the cloves point up, a hand's width down and a hand's width apart, and mark the row so nobody digs it up in February.
Truth: You will not be here in July when it comes up. Somebody else eats it. That is the job.
Signed ________________ Date __________
You can take a quest one plate above your own. Reaching is the point, and nobody has to tell you no, because the board already says it.
Nothing in the houses is gated on your plate. If you already know how to cook, start where you already are; the house cares what you can do, not how long you have been here.
Someone has the big table. Someone is teaching a game they learned last week. Someone is on their third attempt at making one of their own. That is a normal Tuesday here. It is not the backup plan.
A day
We run two until seven, and we will open earlier if your school day ends earlier. Come when your school lets you go; if you have a half day, come at the start of it.
Two to seven, Monday to Thursday, and earlier by arrangement. Nothing starts on a whistle, and nobody is late.
One exception to the close, and it is deliberate: on Wednesdays we finish at 6:00 instead of 7:00, so anybody with a Wednesday evening still has it. The day costs the same; our pricing is by the day, not by the hour.
When the district runs a half day, we open early and the day is longer at our end. No booking, no different rate; it is the same day starting sooner.
Everyone eats together, at the same time, sitting down. It is cooked here by whoever is on the kitchen that week, out of the garden when the garden is producing, and it is included; there is no separate charge and nothing to opt into. Some days it is a full meal and some days it is a good snack, depending on what the kitchen got done.

The year
The year runs in arcs of about eight weeks, with a break between each, following the school district's calendar. An arc ends with whatever gets finished in it.
October, to the winter break
The light goes. You put things away for a year you will not see the end of, and the fire is lit every afternoon from here on.
January, to the mid-winter break
The hard one, and the one nobody else runs. Anyone can love the outdoors in August.
After the mid-winter break, to the spring break
The wettest of it, and the most trodden. The light comes back faster than anything else does. Seed goes in under lights indoors while there is still nothing to see outside.
April, to the end of the year
It all comes up at once, the work moves outside for good, and the year ends with a night out.
An arc is not closed with a ceremony. It ends with whatever got finished: the bed that came through, the thing that sold, the build that stands up. What the arc was is whatever you can point at when it is over.
A term is an accounting period. An arc is a thing with a beginning and an end, which is what you need if you are going to start something and finish it. Most of what is worth doing here does not fit in an afternoon.