GenFable — Changelog

30 August 2026 — The Underleaf

A tear has opened in the Elder Greenwood, an hour west of Oakhollow. On the far side of it is the Greenwood again — the same trees standing in the same places, dead, lit by nothing, and hung from the boughs down with pale thread. Things have started coming back through. A child went in.
Lanternwake. Wardens and Veilbound have pitched a camp around the tear and lit it with every lamp in the province. There is a hearth, a bed, a surgeon, a smith working a pattern of his own for the crossing, a salvager who labels everything on his tarp as cursed, and an auction block, so you can turn spoils into gold without walking back to a great city. One road from Oakhollow, one from Fernbrook.
Four places across the tear, and no safe ground on any of them. The Unhollow, the Still Mere, the Lattice and the Heartrot have no inn, no stall and nowhere to sleep. You cross with what you carry and you come back out — or you wake in Oakhollow. Buy your air before you go.
Sixteen new charges, and a whole line of gear to earn. Written for travellers between the ninth and fifteenth seasons, which is exactly the stretch the realm has been thin in: hood, coat and greaves to be had at the camp, and better waiting on the other side for anyone who goes deep enough. Three named things are down there. The last one is at the bottom, and it is what sent the first thing through.
Somebody's daughter is under the dead oak. She is not hurt and she is not hiding, and she will not answer a question. She will give you words instead. Carry them back out.

30 August 2026 — A better start

Bronn will trade you out of that knife at once. The pitted thing on your belt was never worth keeping, and the smith has stopped pretending otherwise: say a word to him and he takes it off you there and then, puts a proper hunting knife in your hand and counts out coin for the metal. His errand across the square to Orla still stands — but you are paid before you walk it, not after.
You can buy a sling on the Oakhollow square. A traveller who wanted to fight from a distance used to be sent from the smith to the gate-post to the Wardens' lodge and turned away at each one. Now the stalls keep a shepherd's sling and spare bowstring, and Aelwyn says plainly what she has always meant: she fletches for the Wardens and sells nothing, and the bowyers' trade is in Mossrest, where you may buy a real bow.
The suggestions under the box stopped pointing you at the biggest beast in the wood. When an errand wants something that several creatures carry, the suggested move now names an ordinary one you can walk up to and fight. Before, it simply named whichever was likeliest to be carrying it — which was often the one famous beast in the whole forest, a far longer fight, and one that only a single traveller can face at a time.

28 August 2026 — A side panel you can read at a glance

The panel beside the story is now three tabs. Here is what stands around you — creatures, people, the roads out, the stalls. You is your quest log, your pack, your standing and your recipes. Realm is what the rest of the world is doing. Whichever you pick, the panel remembers it.
Your next task now sits above all three. The quest you are closest to finishing — and only the steps you have left — stays in view wherever you are looking, with the rest of the log a click away.
Empty lists no longer take up room. A clearing with nobody in it used to say "No one." and "Nothing for sale." and "Nothing uncovered" one after another. Now those simply aren't there, and what remains is what is actually in front of you.
Your recipe book and your standing moved into the pack. Open 💼 and you'll find three tabs — your gear, every recipe you know, and how each faction regards you. Clicking a recipe still writes it into the composer, just as it did in the side panel.
And a couple of things moved to where they belong. What other travellers did in a place is now a single quiet line under its description instead of a list of its own.
Small screens stopped drifting sideways. On a narrow phone the header and the character card could push the page a little wider than the screen, so everything slid when you scrolled. They now hold the line at every size.

27 August 2026 — The Auctionnaire

The block is never bare again. The Auctioneers' Guild has taken to crying its own goods: every day the Auctionnaire enters ten to twenty fresh lots in the book — a little of everything, now and then something very good indeed. Lots run a day, so there is new stock each morning and no reason to hurry a bid you'd regret.
It asks the guild's price, not a friend's. The house adds half again to what a thing is worth, and it makes no secret of who is selling: the Auctionnaire is the guild's own hand, not a traveller. If you want the bargain, go and find the thing yourself — or put your own lot up beside it.

27 August 2026 — Faelor's Dawn Coffer

Faelor has taken to leaving gifts. The luck-wyrm of Wyrm's Rest now sets a coffer aside for every named traveller, once a day. When one is waiting, a gift appears beside the story — tap it and the coffer opens on the spot. (It is also always there under 🎁 Coffer beside your pack.) It costs no turn and you needn't be anywhere in particular.
The seal wants a move first. The lid won't lift for someone who has only just walked in — take your first turn of the day, whatever it is and however it goes, and the coffer opens. When it does it says so: a gift floats up beside the story.
Mostly small things, sometimes not. Coppers, a bite to eat, makings for the workbench — and now and then a tonic that doubles what your next two kills teach you, a penny that leans on one bargain or one throw of the dice, a token the auctioneers accept in place of their fee, or a stub of chalk that will tell you where the nearest hidden thing is waiting. She never lets a dry spell run long, and the panel says how soon she owes you better.
Her scales are worth keeping. A Faelor's Scale can't be sold, hidden or cried from a block — it's yours. Gather seven and Pipwing at Wyrm's Rest would very much like to see them laid out in a row, and Faelor has said she supposes she ought to do something about it.

18 August 2026 — Quest items you can actually get

Boss trophies always drop now. Several quests say "kill this thing and bring back its X" — but X only came away about half the time, and these are one-of-a-kind foes, so a bad roll meant waiting for it to return and fighting it again for another coin flip. The Signalman's drum-skin and drum-note, the Matriarch's token and feather, the Listener's stone and the crag troll's tooth are now certain. Everything else those creatures carry is as chancy as it ever was.
Quest finds come back in minutes, not days. Things like the Great Vane's bearing were a single item for the whole realm on a six-hour timer — if another traveller had been up the spire before you, you searched the crown and found nothing, with no way to know you were waiting. Every find a quest depends on now returns within half an hour, and two of them had been sitting on two- and four-day timers.
Two quest logs were pointing at the wrong place. "Nine Towers, One Line" asked you to recover the drum-skin from tower six, when it only ever came off the Signalman — it now says so. The Vane's bearing now tells you to search the spire's crown, which is what it always needed.

18 August 2026 — Orla stops asking for the knife

"Kit for the Road" can be finished again. Orla's errand asked for the pitted knife you started the world with — but nowhere in Oakhollow sells one, so anyone who had traded theirs in for a better blade was asked for something they had no way of getting, while the quest text insisted it was still on their belt. That step is gone. Buy the rope and the torch and Orla will take the quest in as she always meant to. If you were stuck on it, you can hand it in on your next visit.

15 August 2026 — Watch the blow land

Fights stay still while they play. The combat panel used to grow as each blow was struck, shoving the story above it up the screen a step at a time. It now takes its full size the moment it appears, so nothing moves while you watch.
Your first strike is on screen. The opening blow of a fight could land below the bottom of the screen and stay there — you saw the fight start and never saw your own damage. The view now follows it down.
Nothing asks for your opinion mid-swing. The feedback card steps aside while you're fighting and comes back afterwards, with anything you'd typed still in it.
The suggestions come back after a fight. The "Try:" row under the box vanished once you'd fought something and only returned on a reload. It now reappears the moment the fight ends — and what you looted pops up as it's won.

15 August 2026 — Reachable by everyone

Every panel can be used from the keyboard. Opening the Pack, the Map, the Auction House or any other panel now puts you inside it: Tab moves between its own buttons instead of wandering off behind it, and closing hands you back to where you were. Screen readers are told what the world says each turn, and the health, turns and experience bars now read out their numbers.
Bigger things to tap. The section headers in the side panel, the ⚔ challenge button beside a traveller's name, the suggestion chips and the "load more" buttons were all smaller than a thumb. They aren't now.
Sign-up explains itself when it can't load. If an ad blocker or network filter stops the security check from loading, the form used to sit on "Verifying…" forever with no explanation. It now says what happened and what to do about it.
Small fixes. The auction house fits the narrowest phones; the place name at the top of the play screen is legible over bright artwork; the button at the foot of the front page is centred under the words above it.

15 August 2026 — Room to start on a phone

The cookie notice no longer sits on the game. On a phone it appeared across the bottom of the screen — exactly where the box you type in, the Act button and the suggested first moves live. It now tucks under the header instead, so the world is usable the moment you arrive, whether you answer it or not.
"Enter the Greenwood" is on the first screen. On smaller phones the one button that starts the game sat below the fold, behind a scroll. The front page has been tightened so it's there when the page loads.
The story sits next to the box you answer it in. The transcript now rests at the foot of the screen instead of the top, so the newest thing the world said is right above where you type rather than a screen-and-a-half away from it.
Realm chat reads as a conversation again. On a phone every line was breaking in two — the name on one line, what they said on the next. Names and words share a line at any width now.

15 August 2026 — Say it all in one breath

Two or three things at once. "Buy a rope and then go and see Orla", "search the roots and take the marble" — the whole line is carried out in order now, and told as one piece of story instead of one clause being answered and the rest quietly dropped.
It stops the moment something blocks you. If the second thing can't be done, you're told what stopped you and the rest simply doesn't happen — and doesn't cost you anything. What you'd already done still stands.
Fights are never run for you. Combat stays one blow at a time, your decision each round. Asking to attack and then do something else just attacks.

15 August 2026 — The world stops running out

New errands can now be written for the world. The Greenwood has always been a finite place — the people furthest along had reached the end of what there was to do. That changes here: fresh side errands can be added to people who weren't offering any.
They are ordinary quests. They appear in your log, advance and turn in the same way, and pay the same rates as anything else. Nothing about how you play them is different.
Nothing is invented out of thin air. An errand can only ever ask you for people, creatures and things that genuinely exist and that you can genuinely reach — no fetching an item that isn't in the world, no killing someone who can't be killed.

15 August 2026 — One thing the whole realm is fighting

The realm now has a crisis. When one is running you will see it at the top of The Realm in your sidebar, and on the front page: what it is, where it is, and a bar showing how far everyone has pushed it back together.
You help just by playing there. There's no special button and no new command — what you already do inside the afflicted region counts, and finishing quests there counts most. Your own share is shown next to the total.
It really changes the world. While a crisis stands, the creatures it stirred up are genuinely thicker on the ground. Turn it and they thin out again. Everyone who pushed gets paid, and the whole realm hears how it ended — including the people who never went.
Places remember people. Every location now has a Passed through list: who fell here, who finished something here, who came up a level here, in the last fortnight. The roads are busier than they look.
A tidier start. Duels, the auction house, guilds and realm chat now appear once you've found your feet — or the moment another traveller is standing next to you. If you already use them, nothing has moved.

15 August 2026 — Clicks that don't wait

Roads, market rows, stashes and recipes resolve instantly. Click one, hit Act, and it just happens — no spinner, no pause while a tale is written about buying a rope. Travelling from the map is the same. Everything else about it is unchanged: the world still decides what's allowed, and it still costs what it always cost.
Type instead and you still get the story. Writing your own line — including editing one of those staged actions before you send it — goes to the Narrator exactly as before. The quick path is for the moments that were never worth a paragraph.
The guiding suggestions stay longer. They now last as long as your free-turns window instead of retiring at level 2.

14 August 2026 — Walk in without knocking

No account needed to start. The front page now has one button — Enter the Greenwood — and it puts you in the world with a character of your own, immediately. No form, no email, no waiting.
It's the real world, not a demo. Everything you do counts: the quests, the gold, the gear, the story. Nothing is a sandbox that gets thrown away.
Keep it whenever you like. Claim a name and your character comes with you exactly as it stands — level, pack, quests, every step so far — and follows you to any device you sign in from. Until then it lives in this browser only, so don't clear it and don't log out.
A few doors stay shut until then. Realm chat, the auction house, guilds and duels are for named travellers — they involve other people's coin and standing. Claiming a name opens all four.

14 August 2026 — The day no longer runs out

Your first hours are free. Until you reach level 3 — or have taken thirty acts in the world, whichever comes later — nothing you do spends a turn, and the turn counter isn't even shown to you. Find your feet first. The meter can wait.
"No turns left today" is gone. It used to stop you dead until the next dawn. Now the world simply keeps going: your act still happens, still counts, still changes things — the Narrator just stops spinning it into a tale until morning and gives you the plain fact of what occurred. You are never locked out of your own world.
Guidance that doesn't vanish. The suggested moves under the composer now stay with you turn after turn instead of disappearing after the first one. They follow whatever your quest log actually needs next.

14 August 2026 — Realm chat: one room for everyone

You can talk to everyone now. A new 💬 Chat button sits at the end of the row above your quest log. Open it and you are in one channel shared by every traveller in the realm, wherever they happen to be standing. Say you're hunting something big and want company; ask where a passphrase goes; sell a thing the auction house won't price properly.
Click anyone's name. Every name in the channel opens that traveller's card — their level, their health, and the gear they are actually wearing at that moment. Handy for working out whether the person offering to come hunting is going to survive it. Guild sigils ride after names here too, as they do everywhere else.
What you say keeps. This isn't a window that empties when you close it. Someone riding through tomorrow morning will read what you said tonight, and answer it. That is rather the point — you don't have to be online at the same time as anyone to be heard by them.
It stays behind its button. Nothing pops up over your game, and the badge only counts what has been said since you last looked. Talking costs no turn, works anywhere, and works even if you've been knocked down.
There's a Game Master in the room. Lines from the keeper of the world carry a [GM] mark before the name, so you always know when it's the management talking and not somebody claiming to be. They can also silence a traveller who is ruining it for everyone, and strike a line from the channel.
The Narrator cannot hear any of it. Same as your guild hall and your notebook — what travellers say to each other is between travellers.
Talk at a normal pace. Send several lines in a row, greet six people one after another, say the same thing as often as it needs saying — none of that is treated as spam. Only a real flood is held back, and only for a few seconds.
House rules. No links can be posted. The whole realm is listening — voices that drown out everyone else can be silenced.

12 August 2026 — A better first ten minutes

You are paid for your second action now, not your twentieth. Until today the shortest piece of work in the Greenwood took a good twenty turns before it paid anything — talk to someone, walk to the Wilds, fight, walk back. Most new travellers quite reasonably stopped before that ever paid off. There is now a short chain of three jobs that never leaves Oakhollow, and the first one is finished four steps across the square.
Two new faces at the gate. Orla, the Wardens' quartermaster, who kits out every patrol and every newcomer from the same battered chest and has firm opinions about people who walk out of the gate carrying a bad knife and nothing else. And Pim, a small and extremely determined child of the market square, who is being very brave about having lost a blue glass marble down between two roots of the Motheroak.
You leave the city properly equipped. The chain hands over a fistful of healing herbs, a leather jerkin and a real blade off the Warden training rack — and gear that fills an empty slot is now worn straight away, rather than sitting in your pack while you keep swinging the knife you arrived with.
The suggestions under the box now walk you through it. They follow your own quest log one step at a time — who to speak to, what to buy, when to search, what to fight — and the moment a job sends you out of the city they offer you the road there. They bow out once you have found your feet.
Passwords and signs are forgiving now. When an errand asks you to repeat someone's words, only the words matter — capitals, commas, apostrophes and stray spacing are all ignored. Typing what your journal shows you now works, whatever your keyboard does to it on the way.
"Go see Orla" takes you to Orla. Being told to go and see someone standing right there used to be read as a request to travel, and answered with a list of roads.
Rowen only needs one boar. Boar on the Spit asked for two, which meant a walk back to town to rest in the middle of your very first hunt. It asks for one now.

12 August 2026 — The Cloudmarch: the country above the weather

A whole new region, and it is the far end of the realm. Above the Hollow Peaks, past the Wyrm's Rest pass, lies the Cloudmarch — five new places standing clear above a floor of cloud. Windvane, a stair-town wound around a single wind-carved spire, with a market, an inn, a forge and an auction block of its own; the Stormward Watch, a ridgeline of abandoned beacon-towers; the Cloudmoor, a level moor above the weather with a sheepfold nobody built; Talonspire, the hollow rock needle where every griffin in the Peaks was born; and the Stillcrown, a dead caldera where the wind stops entirely and the ash keeps every footprint ever set on it.
Three more places closer to home. Hearthstone Vale, a hill village built inside a druids' standing circle around a fire that has not gone out in eleven generations; the Standing Maze, a forest of standing stones set close as trees whose lanes do not stay where you left them; and the Quiet Mile, the one stretch of the Veiled Wilds where the trees have stopped moving — and stand exactly as they stood when they stopped.
Quest-givers now hold work back until you are ready for it. Until today every villager handed over everything they had the first time you said hello, so a new traveller could walk the map once and collect the entire realm's work in an afternoon. Now a person with a job beyond you will say so — that there is something, and that it is not for a beginner — and raise it properly when you have more roads behind you. The same face has something new to tell you each time you come back up. Anything you have already accepted is untouched and still turns in as normal.
Forty-five new quests, and the rewards finally match the climb. A day's errand in the sky country pays what a cross-realm round trip is actually worth, in gold and in hard-won experience — the Cloudmarch's charges are worth hundreds of times an apprentice's bounty, and two of them are worth a level outright.
Creatures up there can genuinely kill you. If you are a seasoned traveller in the realm's best gear you will have noticed that almost nothing could land a blow on you any more. The Cloudmarch's creatures are built for exactly the people who broke the old ones: they hit, they hurt, and the last two regions are decided by what you thought to bring to drink. Six named terrors wait at the end of them — the Signalman still climbing a broken beacon line, the Fold-Keeper, the Matriarch of every griffin in the Peaks, and the Listener at the bottom of the Stillcrown's vent.
Seventy new things to carry, wear and swing. A full line of gear well past anything the realm has held before, in every slot; new draughts strong enough to matter in a real fight; new materials, a dozen new recipes at the forge and the hearth; and nineteen new hidden caches, several behind locks that are not simply a matter of walking in.

11 August 2026 — Haggling, and an end to prices that moved

You can haggle now, and it is real. Argue a stall's prices down — "haggle with Bronn", "any cheaper?", "offer him 9 for it" — and one roll settles it. Talk them round and every ware at that market costs you 10% less for the next few hours (a rare, very good run at it gets you 20%). The discount is written into the world: the Market panel shows the new price with the old one struck through, and that is exactly what your purse pays.
A trader can no longer name a price they won't honour. Merchants used to be talked into a friendly number in conversation while the till quietly charged the real one — and then deny ever having said it. That could happen because nothing behind the conversation could actually move a price. Now a price only ever changes one way, through haggling, and everything you can see — the stall, the shopkeeper's own words, the bill — reads from the same figure.
Being turned down is free, but they won't be worked twice. Win or lose, that stall is done bargaining with you for a while; pressing them again costs you no turn and gets you nowhere. How the trader feels about you counts, and so does being a seasoned traveller who knows what things are worth.

11 August 2026 — "Take the boar meat" now gets an answer

The spoils of a kill were always already yours. When a beast falls, whatever it was carrying goes straight into your pack — there is no carcass to skin afterwards. Nothing ever said so, so asking to take the meat off a boar you'd killed met a flat "there is nothing hidden here", which was true about the ground and useless to you. Now the world tells you where the thing actually is: already in your pack (and how many you have), or still on the next boar you hunt.
Asking for something you already carry says so. Reach for a thing that's in your own pack and you'll be told you have it, with the count — instead of being sent searching the dirt for it.
No more turns that answer with silence. A pickup the Narrator couldn't place used to play out as a quiet moment where nothing happened at all, which is why the same line got typed over and over. Those now always come back with a reason. As before, being told no costs you no turn.

7 August 2026 — A coin left behind

You can leave coin where you stand. Press a coin into a statue's palm, lay one on a shrine, drop a penny in the dust for luck — say so and it happens. Name the amount or leave it at a single coin. What you can't do is expect to find it again: coin left lying in the open is picked up within the minute by whoever passes first, and the Narrator will tell you who. It leaves your purse for good.
The Narrator no longer invents an empty purse. It now knows exactly what you carry, so it can't tell you a gesture failed because you'd spent your last gold when your purse says otherwise — nor can something it described a moment ago quietly vanish to explain why something didn't work.

7 August 2026 — Guilds

You can found a company, and other travellers can join it. A new 🛡 Guild panel sits in your rail, wherever you stand. Sealing a charter costs 10,000 gold and must be done in a city; you choose a name and a two-to-five letter sigil, both yours alone in the whole realm. From then on that sigil rides after your name — Rowan <EWD> — wherever travellers are listed, and hovering it says which guild that is.
Getting in, and getting on. Guilds that are taking new hands appear in a searchable list with their charter; write a few words and apply, or take an invitation an officer sends you. Up to thirty hands, one guild at a time. Officers invite, answer letters, remove members and rewrite the charter; the leader alone raises and lowers officers, passes the seal, and dissolves the guild. A leader can't simply walk out — they hand the seal on first, so a guild is never left without one.
A hall of your own. Every guild has a running conversation, kept between visits and scrollable back through five hundred lines. It's read by your guild and nobody else — not by other travellers, and never by the Narrator, who is not told guilds exist. The 🛡 button carries a mark when something has been said, or when a letter is waiting on you.
Trade among your own, free of charge. At any auctioneer you can now set a lot aside for your guild alone. No fee to enter it and no tithe when it sells — the house waives both among sworn hands — and it never appears in the realm's book. A Guild tab in the auction house shows your guild's shelf.
Leaving. Free, and nothing is held back — but a day must pass before you can take another guild's sigil, so a company is a commitment rather than a doorway. Anything of yours on the guild's shelf comes straight back to your pack. Dissolving a guild is final, and returns none of the charter's gold: that was spent at the founding.
None of this costs a turn. Only the founding costs anything, and it costs coin, not time.

6 August 2026 — You go where you said you were going

No more being walked somewhere you never asked for. If you named a place the roads don't reach — a landmark from the telling, a town three days off — the world used to quietly pick the closest-sounding road and send you down it, and charge you a turn for the trouble. Ask for somewhere there is no road to now and nothing happens: you're told, in the moment, which ways actually lead out of where you stand, and the turn stays in your pocket. Saying it plainly — travel to Briar Crossing, head into the wilds, go back the way I came — works exactly as before — including when you fumble the name (go to the meare still gets you to Silvermere) — and so does go there when just one road was put in front of you. When several were, you'll be asked which you meant instead of marched down whichever one the wind picked.
Take the cider. A cup poured by a local who offered it, a bowl set in front of you, a seat by the fire, a hand warmed, a dog patted — the small comforts of a place are yours now. Say drink the cider and you drink it, that turn, with no purchase and nobody waiting on better wording. Nothing enters your pack and no wound closes from it; it's warmth, not supplies. Wanting a skin filled to carry off is still a purchase.
And nothing else gets taken instead. Asking for a drink could previously walk you off with a stranger's herbs from a hiding place nearby — a spent turn, and a local who now remembered you as a thief. Reaching for something that isn't stashed where you stand now simply doesn't take anything.
The telling no longer hands out directions it can't keep. A storyteller who paints a boundary stone or a stand of marked oaks into a scene will no longer send you off to them, invent a road, or give you a route to follow — a lightning-split oak is scenery you pass, not a place you can walk to. Ask anyone the way and you'll be pointed down a road that genuinely exists, or told honestly that they know of none.

4 August 2026 — Just say what you want to wear

“Equip the cuirass” now works. Until today, telling the world you wanted to put on a piece of armour got you a polite story about how it didn't fit — the only way to actually wear gear was the 💼 Pack panel. You can now type it: equip the ironbound cuirass, wear the helm, wield the axe, or take off my boots. Same rule as the paper doll — one piece per slot, and a new one replaces what it sits over.
It costs you nothing. Dressing is not an adventure: changing your gear spends no turn, works when your day's turns are spent, and reads exactly the same whether you click it or say it. The one moment it's refused is mid-fight — there is no pause under a swinging axe to buckle on a breastplate.

2 August 2026 — GenFable is on Google Play

Take the Greenwood with you. GenFable is now an Android app on the Play Store — there is a Get it on Google Play badge on the front page. It is the same world and the same character you play on the web: install it, sign in, and your turns, quests and gold are exactly where you left them.

2 August 2026 — A notebook of your own

Write it down. A new 📓 Notes button in your rail opens a notebook only you can read. Jot the passphrase a quest-giver hands you, the clue on a cairn, which lock wants which key, where a thing waits — every page is stamped with where you stood and the day you wrote it, so a breadcrumb keeps its trail.
It follows you. Your notebook is kept with your character, not your browser, so it is there on any device you play from — and it costs nothing: no turn, no travel, and you can write in it mid-fight or flat on your back.
Made for passphrases. Pin the pages that matter to the top, search them once you have a few, and use ⤴ on any page to drop its words straight into your composer — no retyping a sign you were given three days ago.
Yours alone. No other traveller can reach it, and the Narrator never reads a word of it.

1 August 2026 — A hundred new things to carry, wear and sell

The markets have restocked. Every settlement now keeps more on its shelves — village armour lines at Silvermere and Briar Crossing, a boar-spear at Thornwatch, a thorncast bow at Mossrest, a reedcutter at Willowfen, and the road's plain staples (lantern oil, whetstones, tinderboxes, waxed thread, hard tack) at almost every stall. The Warden's Field Kit is the strongest physic you can simply buy.
The creatures are worth more. Nearly everything in the wilds now leaves something new behind: cragcat furs on the crags, buttoned boggart coats in the near wood, chapel brass under the water, choirstone helms and greaves in the Hollow, and a full storm-grey harness off the Gale Tyrant.
Three new legendaries lie hidden. Faelor's Tooth and his Aegis at Wyrm's Rest, the Greatbow of the Heartroot in the Hollow, the Bramblecrown deep in the Thicket, and the Greaves of the Long Year — each behind a deed, a standing or a key you'll already know how to earn.
A craftsman's trade. Seventeen new recipes: smoke an eel, bake an eel pie, put up brambleberry preserves — or work the long way round. Ore becomes ingots, hides become tanned leather, spider silk becomes a bolt of marsh silk, and those become a hedge-knight's sword, a beetleplate vest, a stonecutter's plate or a mirrorsteel rapier. Nothing you make is worth much more than its makings, so the money is in making what somebody else wants.
New things to forage. Hazelnuts in the coppices, cress in the fen, eels in the traps off the Silvermere piles — all renewable, all makings for the new kitchen.

1 August 2026 — The auctioneers have opened their books

You can sell to other travellers now. The Auctioneers' Guild keeps a block in Oakhollow, Silvermere and Thornwatch — and, improbably, at the Goblin Bazaar. Open the new 🔨 Auction panel in the side rail to put a lot on the block, or to buy what somebody else has put up.
One book for the whole realm. Every auctioneer keeps the same book, so whatever you enter is cried in every city — and read in every city. The book lives at the block, though: the 🔨 panel appears in your rail only where an auctioneer stands, and out on the road there is no book to consult.
One price, first hand wins. There's no bidding: a lot carries a single price for the whole stack, and whoever clicks first takes it. The guild takes a small fee to cry a lot — returned if it sells, kept if it doesn't — and a tithe of what a sale fetches. Terms run 12, 24 or 48 hours.
Your goods are held, and the coin finds you. A lot leaves your pack the moment you enter it, so nothing can be sold twice; if it doesn't sell, it comes back. When it does sell the gold reaches you by the guild's courier wherever you are — there's nothing to go and collect. You'll find their word waiting when you next open the world, and in your Chronicle.
None of it costs a turn. The auction house spends your travel, not your day. Quest relics and anything you're currently wearing stay out of it.

30 July 2026 — Reporting what shouldn't be in the wood

You can report a message now. Travellers leave written notes and rumours with the folk of the Greenwood, and other players hear them. If something reaches you that has no business in the old wood, the contact page now has a “Report a player or a message” reason — say who carried the words and roughly when, and we'll take it out. Words are already screened before they're stored, but no screen catches everything.

30 July 2026 — GenFable, on your home screen

You can install the Greenwood now. On a phone or a desktop, your browser will offer to add GenFable as an app — its own icon, no address bar, opening straight onto the road where you stood. Look for “Install GenFable on this device” on the front page, or your browser's own install button. On an iPhone: Share → Add to Home Screen.
It remembers its own furniture. The lantern-lit frame of the world — the artwork and the layout — is kept on your device after the first visit, so the game opens faster on a slow connection.
A gentler way to lose signal. Wander out of reception and you get a quiet page with a guttering lantern instead of a browser error. The world keeps its own time on the server: nothing is lost, no turns burn while you are away, and everything is exactly where you left it when you come back.

29 July 2026 — The second charter: new faces, new work, new things in the dark

Twenty-eight new tasks have been posted across the Greenwood, at every tier from your first week to your last. A miller whose wheel has stopped, a bounty four years old on the board at Oakhollow, a ferrywoman hauling passengers out of her own boat, a hedge-knight holding a ruin nobody pays her to hold — and, at the far end, a choir singing beneath the Heartroot that even the Antler Court wants silenced.
Fifteen new people to talk to. Nine keep shops, lofts, kennels and mills in the towns you already know; six live out in the wilds, which until now had nobody in them at all — a hedge-witch inside the Bramble Thicket, a beacon-keeper on the crags, a frog-herder in the Mistfen, a little drowned acolyte still tidying the Sunken Chapel, a wyrm hatchling who cannot yet fly, and a knight camped at the Old Tollhouse who will share her fire with you.
Fourteen new creatures, one for every hunting ground you already walk, so no region hands you the same four fights over and over. Among them two new named beasts for those who have outgrown the first bosses: the Gale Tyrant over the Hollow Heights, and the Bone Piper in the deep barrow under Stonehearth.
New gear and makings to go with them — a crest cut from the Tyrant's plumes, a hedge-knight's surcoat cut down to fit you, reedwalker boots in Willowfen, a tunneler's cap in Stoneroot, a mourner's shawl the fen makes out of grief, and a stonecutter's maul that was made to argue with mountains.
Three of the new tasks want no blade at all: a scribe's undelivered letters, a mountain inn's harvest table, and a hatchling's first hoard. Boots and nerve only.
The long errands now pay like long errands. Anything that sends you clear across the realm and back — the hedge-witch's brewing, the hatchling's hoard, the harvest carried up the mountain — has had its purse raised to match the road. Mother Thistle's candles are stocked in Willowfen too, so the Sunken Chapel's errand no longer means a trek to Mossrest for one candle, and the Heartroot's singing splinters go straight to the dryad they were always meant for instead of back up to the Veil first.
Sharper teeth on the crags: the Gale Tyrant now hits as hard as the griffins it lords over, and Iorik's quarry hammer has been reforged into a proper heirloom — it was never going to be worth a barrow-wight the way it stood.

27 July 2026 — No more errands that lead nowhere

The narrator could sometimes spin an errand out of pure scenery — a smith naming a price for a blade he was never really forging, a hollow high in the Motheroak that seemed to want climbing — and then keep you chasing it for turn after turn. Those were never real tasks, and gold spent on them was spent for nothing. The world's mysteries stay mysteries now: they set the mood, but only a genuine quest, clue or hidden cache will ever send you somewhere.
Ask a quest-giver where to find your quarry and you'll now get a straight answer drawn from the task itself, instead of a confident guess that could point you at the wrong end of the realm. If a creature ranges the Greenwood Wilds, nobody will tell you it prowls the village fence.
Villagers have stopped inventing appointments. There's no dusk, no nightfall and no hour to wait for in the Greenwood — the world counts whole days — so no one will ever ask you to come back after dark for something that was reachable all along.

24 July 2026 — No more foes locked by a fight nobody's fighting

Fixed a case where a lone foe — Old Tusker, say — could stay “already locked in combat” for everyone after the player fighting them simply closed the tab mid-swing. A fight left untouched for a while now quietly breaks off on its own, freeing the creature for the next challenger. Walk away and come back later and you'll just start the fight fresh, exactly as if you'd fled.

24 July 2026 — Sign in with Google or Discord

You can now create your account and log in with a single tap using Google or Discord — no new password to remember. Look for the buttons on the log-in and sign-up pages.
Already have an account? Signing in with a provider that shares your account's email simply links it, so you reach the same character whichever way you come in.

21 July 2026 — Wagers land at the table

Fixed a snag where saying “gamble for 20 gold” without naming the keeper could produce a dice scene that never actually happened — no dice widget, no coins changing hands. A staked wager now always finds whoever runs the game at your table, rolls the real dice, and shows the toss.

21 July 2026 — Sign-in no longer minds capitals

Your email address now works no matter how it's capitalised. If you signed up as [email protected] you can log in as [email protected] and it will just work — existing accounts were tidied up automatically.

19 July 2026 — Smoother sign-in

Fixed a snag where logging in or registering could fail with “Captcha verification failed” until the page was reloaded. The security check now quietly refreshes itself and your sign-in goes through on the first try.

18 July 2026 — Tavern gambling

New action: gamble. Wager gold on a two-dice toss against a game-running keeper — five tables across the realm. Ties go to the house, stakes up to 100 gold… and not every table is honest.

17 July 2026 — Crafting & cooking, bulk trade

New action: craft. Sixteen recipes to discover — cook at any campfire or a settlement hearth, with makings from markets, hunts and wild forage spots. A new Recipes panel in the rail shows what you can make right now.
Bulk buy & sell: trade a whole basket in one turn — “buy bread and honey”, “sell the pelts and the tusks”.

16 July 2026 — Quality of life

NPCs now remember the last conversation they had with you and pick it back up next time you talk.
A welcome email greets new travellers after sign-up.
Smarter action suggestions, including the roads out of town.
Mobile fixes (quest text), sign-up fixes and performance work.

15 July 2026 — Housekeeping

Published the privacy policy; the site is now properly indexable by search engines.

14 July 2026 — Recap reliability

The “while you were away” recap is far more reliable — it no longer goes quiet when the storyteller is slow to answer.

12 July 2026 — GenFable goes live 🎉

The Living World opened its gates at genfable.com.
Days now pass in the Greenwood — the world clock advances and dawn is announced across the realm.
Production hardening for launch.

9 July 2026 — Fairer secrets

Every locked hidden cache now has an in-world way to learn its secret — no more unguessable phrases.
Published the Terms of Service; assorted UI polish.

8 July 2026 — Light fingers, fuller world

New action: pickpocket. Twenty-eight marks across the realm — safe marks pay coppers, long shots pay well, and one caught hand is remembered.
New easy starter quests and faces around Oakhollow for fresh travellers.
NPCs now know their local market prices when asked, and the storyteller paints richer scenes — inn interiors, statue inscriptions, rumours of work.