Ink Tide
Guide a drop of living ink through flooded libraries. Bend viscosity, fold reflections, and learn the grammar of a sea that rewrites itself when unobserved.
Quellwisp makes fluid puzzle-poems, ink-tide simulators, and games about things that surface only at night. Our worlds are written in water and remembered by moonlight.
Guide a drop of living ink through flooded libraries. Bend viscosity, fold reflections, and learn the grammar of a sea that rewrites itself when unobserved.
Tend a well that fills only under a specific moon. Balance evaporation, reflection, and dream-offering. No failure state—only lower tides.
A lakeside town where every reflection is a year behind. Recover drowned letters, decide which memories to let rot, and listen for the wisp at 3am.
Co-op swimming-game about pulling each other out of rhymes. Currently in internal tide-tests; no release window, only moon phases.
Quellwisp started as a midnight email: “what if a game felt like watching ink settle?” Nine years later we are nine people who still answer that question with prototypes instead of pitches.
We work from a converted boathouse, a Tokyo apartment, and a Discord that only pings during lunar events. No hype cycles, no seasons passes, no urgency that the ocean didn’t invent first.
Our code is quiet. Our shaders are wet. Our endings are tidal—they return, they recede, they leave something on the shore.
Keeps the studio’s “one true tide” document. Believes pacing is just teaching the player to hold their breath politely.
Writes shaders that behave like tea. Specializes in caustics, meniscus edges, and the exact grey of a thought you forgot.
Records harbours at 2am. Mixes absence as if it were a reverb tail with nowhere left to go.