I want to love this game, but there are three things I wish I knew before starting a short campaign–and one reason I was glad when it was over.

The tldr is this: I have mixed feelings about Public Access, I give 6.5 Odyssey Tapes out of 10. And if Public Access looks cool to you, you should absolutely run it–especially if you’re a new GM or running your first multi-session campaign. If you’re an experienced GM with an established flow and prep style, you might struggle with its rigidity and its eventual dissolve into tonal whiplash.

1. It’s too much paperwork.

I spent too much game time flipping through notes. Because Carved from Brindlewood clues are established reactively during play, completed mysteries still held crucial narrative threads for future sessions. Running this from folded papers and napkin notes quickly became a mess, and I repeatedly missed roleplay beats while hunting for buried, player-generated facts.

2. It’s not actually rules-light.

Between inventory, Side Character perks, past adventure rewards, Conditions, and Keys, players have a surprisingly large ledger to track. During tense moments, I found myself breaking character to nudge players to utilize all their abstract mechanical resources.

3. The GM doesn’t get to roll.

I missed running characters with set drives and concrete failure conditions. Because the game relies so heavily on improv-driven truth, even an NPC’s core nature is fluid until a clue or roll locks it in. I found myself gravitating toward hazards like Darryl Rodenbecker over Side Characters simply because hazards possessed stable, fully realized definitions.

All that Being Said…

These design choices are all undeniably intentional. The system gets you 85% of the way to a unique aesthetic with minimal traditional prep. So if you love constructing conspiracy boards and cross-referenced journals, you’ll probably adore it. And for first-time GMs Carved from Brindlewood guidance belongs on the required reading list alongside the Mothership Warden’s Operations Manual.

Why I’m Glad It’s Over

As our campaign progressed, each session yielded less joy for me than the last. Reading this review by Fail Forward helped me identify the source of my dissatisfaction: tonal whiplash. Fail Forward notes that the overarching narrative is “a romp to a degree that no other part of the game is. It’s a slasher at best, and a comedy action-flick in a Spirit Halloween at worst”–and my table proved that right.

In Session 3, as my players were searching for the Black Leaf Circle, a failed check brought one if its members Godpanther through a staticky, dimensional door. I asked Timothy’s player to make a Day Move to avoid being overpowered by the cultist. Timothy invoked his wallet-chain for advantage, whipped Godpanther across the face, and sent the sorcerer-cultist fleeing in pain. It had an awkward, Coen Brothers/Barry violence to it that was fun in isolation, but it completely drained the cult of its cosmic threat going into future encounters. Later, when two latchkey kids literally stomped the amusement park anomaly from Starlight Kingdom to death, my ability to maintain analog horror-atmospheric tension collapsed entirely.

Like Fail Forward put it: “it’s the Mystery Gang tripping up an eldritch abomination with a wet bar of soap.”

Nagging Thoughts

All of this leaves me with more questions about the medium:

• Can pure horror ever survive player agency in TTRPGs, or is camp inevitable? When players have strong mechanical tools to fight back or manipulate narrative reality, tension naturally degrades into action-comedy.
• High-impact moves vs. Slow-burn dread. Analog horror relies on unexplainable, lingering dread. But PBTA engine design rewards high-impact choices and immediate resolution–two mechanics that actively undermine slow-burn fear.
• Designed to end. I deeply respect that Public Access has a finite campaign arc. Too many games assume infinite modular play. I only wish the game’s finale was designed with the same eerie restraint as its opening act.

Lessons I’m Stealing

Despite my bouncing off its rigid campaign structure, Public Access left me with three brilliant design ideas I plan to steal for my next campaign. If anything, playing it reignited my excitement for emergent, serialized play.

1. Have players define the consequence before they roll.

This is tailor-made for high-stakes games like Mothership or Into the Odd, where rolling is a desperate last resort or a save against guaranteed harm. Pitching compelling, fail-forward complications on the fly is mentally exhausting for a GM. Asking players “What goes wrong if this fails?” before the dice hit the table completely shifts that cognitive load. If their proposed consequence feels too tame for you, you can always “yes, and…” it to dial up the danger but at least they’ve gotten your gears turning.

2. Leave structural gaps in your prep for player theorycrafting.

Leaving mysteries unresolved and incorporating player theories into the lore is S-tier advice that many GMs admire but struggle to practice without a net. Certainly that was the case for me. While the Carved from Brindlewood framework ultimately felt too rigid for my GMing style, its core principle is invaluable: leaving explicit blank spaces in your campaign prep forces the spotlight to remain firmly on the players’ observations and hypotheses.

3. Reserve two-thirds of session time for predictable, player-driven play.

The structural contrast between Day and Night phases creates a fantastic gameplay rhythm. During the Day, players drive the action, their plans generally succeed, and they explore their own personal agendas without constant threat. At Night, the dark forces retaliate and failure carries sharp teeth. You don’t need a rigid phase set up to accomplish this. For example:

• Dungeon Crawls: Safe town prep and wilderness travel serve as the “Day,” while deep dungeon delves become the high-stress “Night.”
• Sci-Fi Horror / Mothership: Routine maintenance, cargo runs, and shore leave represent the predictable “Day” before things inevitably collapse into horror.

Giving players a generous, reliable window of low-threat agency makes the eventual turn to high-stakes danger hit much harder, and allows them to express a lot of agency.