Pete's Expert Summary
My human has procured another box of colorful, distracting cardboard. They call it "Landmarks," a so-called "game" where they huddle around the table, staring at hexagonal tiles and muttering single words at each other like confused owls. Apparently, the goal is to connect these "landmarks" with clues, which sounds suspiciously like the convoluted way they try to guess when I want the expensive tuna versus the merely premium salmon. While the cooperative nature of their fumbling is mildly amusing, the true appeal lies in the potential. The game board itself presents a new, strategically-located napping platform, and I suspect those little wooden path markers will be far more entertaining once liberated from the box and batted under the nearest piece of heavy furniture. The "word association" part, however, is a definite waste of my time.
Key Features
- Connect the Clues - Build your map of landmarks using clever wordplay.
- Sync to Survive - Follow the Pathfinder’s clues to riches while avoiding traps and curses.
- Cooperate or Compete - Work together to win or compete to find your team’s treasures first.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
I watched from my perch on the arm of the sofa as the humans unboxed the artifact. It wasn't a toy; my finely-honed senses told me that much. They laid out the hexagonal tiles, chuckling about the art, blind to the fact that they were assembling a rudimentary summoning circle on the coffee table. They thought they were building a map. How quaint. I, a being whose lineage traces back to the great cats of the Nile, recognized a ritual when I saw one. One human was designated the "Pathfinder," a foolish title for what was clearly a medium, the one who would bridge the gap. The ritual began. The Pathfinder spoke a single word into the quiet of the room: "Metal." The word did not simply fade. I saw it, a shimmering, silver thread of energy that hung in the air, vibrating with psychic potential. It sought a connection between two of the landmark cards laid before them. The other participants leaned in, their mundane minds straining. I could see the ethereal glow of the "Statue" card and the "Train" card pulse in response, but the humans were deaf to the resonance. They were fumbling in a dark room, and the Pathfinder's word was the only match. Their first few guesses were clumsy, their logic laughably linear. They placed a path piece incorrectly, and it landed on a tile marked with a sinister-looking skull. "A curse!" one of them laughed. The air in the room immediately grew colder. A faint, cloying scent, like damp earth and regret, wafted from the board, a smell only I seemed to notice. The human who placed the piece shivered and rubbed his arms, blaming the air conditioning. Fools. They were dabbling, carelessly prodding at the veil between worlds with their cardboard sticks and simplistic vocabulary. They eventually completed their path to some "treasure," and a wave of warm, pleasant energy washed over the room, dispelling the lingering chill. They cheered, packed the sigils and hexes back into their box, and went to get snacks, entirely oblivious to the spiritual turbulence they had just caused. This "Landmarks" artifact is potent. It is a conduit, and they are playing with it like kittens with a ball of yarn that happens to be plugged into the wall. My verdict is therefore absolute: it is far too dangerous for them to use unsupervised. I will be required to attend every "game night," to lend my stabilizing presence and act as a furry, purring ward against whatever they might accidentally call forth. It is a heavy responsibility, but one I must bear.
