Category Archives: Best of List

Top 10 Favorite Games To Play On BoardGameArena.com

People are always telling me that I should do more Top 10 lists. They’re a staple of the hobby, and to be fair, I used to write a lot more of them in the past. I get it, I like them too. The problem is that whenever I sit down to make one, I inevitably end up recreating some version of my annual Top 20 Games of all time list. After a while, it starts to feel less like a new article and more like I’m just changing the title and hoping nobody notices.

This year, however, I’ve spent a lot more time playing games on Board Game Arena, the digital board gaming site. If you’ve never used it and are a board game fan, you definitely should give it a go. It’s probably one of the best resources available for trying games before deciding whether they’re worth buying. The library is enormous, especially if you’re a fan of Eurogames, and there’s always something new to discover as games are added all the time.

One of the unexpected benefits of BGA is that it exposes me to games I would not ordinarily pick up and probably not otherwise ever try. Some of those games have turned out to be absolute gems. Even more interesting, certain games actually play better online than they do on the table. Some games are fiddly with endless bookkeeping, complicated scoring, or enough upkeep to qualify as a part-time job. When all of that is automated, a game can suddenly become a much smoother and more enjoyable experience online than it ever could offline.

In fact, I’ve caught myself saying, “I don’t really like that game… but I love playing it online.” Which, as strange as it sounds, I actually find to be true quite often.

So that’s exactly what this list is. These are my current 10 favorite games to play on BGA. Some of them are games I already loved, some of them surprised me, and a few are games that I enjoy far more online than I ever would around a physical table.

1. Great Western Trail

This is one of my favorite games of all time. It has appeared on my annual Best Of lists for years, and I do not expect it to disappear anytime soon. What’s interesting, however, is that unlike many of the other games on this list, this is one I actually play very often online but rarely offline. A big part of that is thanks to the excellent Board Game Arena implementation. This is a case of the game being a bit of a pain to teach, and it’s quite fiddly on the table and can be quite long. BBG kind of fixes all that for you.

It’s difficult to point to any specific mechanic in Great Western Trail that keeps pulling me back; There is a hand management element, resource management, and traditional victory point salad. Other than the way you move being a bit unique in the game, there is nothing particularly standout about the mechanics. I think it’s more of a general strategic options thing, everything put together at once. The sheer volume of strategic possibilities GW offers demands a lot of exploration; it goes quite deep. Even after 118 plays, I’m still discovering new ways to win and combo, but more often than I would like, new ways to lose.

A big part of your success in Great Western Trail is timing, landing on the right building at the right time, and doing that consistently is the puzzle and it’s not easy to unravel.

My history with the game is a little unusual. My original review was far from glowing. It took several more plays after this review before I really understood what the game was trying to do, and even longer before I truly appreciated just how brilliant it is. It is part of a very small number of games on this site that I have ever gone back on and re-reviewed.

At its core, this is a tight resource management game that rewards careful planning, efficient turns, and long-term strategic thinking. Success often comes from anticipating your opponents’ plans and finding ways to exploit the opportunities they create, an aspect of the game I adore.

My endorsement here is of the highest order!

2. White Castle

This was a relatively recent discovery for me, but wow, does this game deliver.

At its heart, White Castle is a tight worker-placement and resource-management victory-point salad game, a classic Euro formula. What makes it stand out is its shared dice pool. Players aren’t just competing for action spaces; they’re competing for the dice that power those actions as well, creating a sort of duality to the worker placement formula.

The result is a surprisingly interactive experience. Every turn feels like you’re making a multifaceted decision with significant impact both on your own position and denying opportunities to your opponents but on multiple fronts. It’s one of the more confrontational worker placement games I’ve played that doesn’t rely on cheap direct attacks or “take that” mechanics, like, for example, Lords of Waterdeep.

I love Lords of Waterdeep, but it can be a pretty mean-spirited game; getting slapped with a mandatory quest has a way of unraveling what is otherwise a pretty cordial and competitive worker placement game. I just don’t think it needed this mechanic.

What really sold me, though, is just how tight the design is. Every resource, every action, every position is part of a grand strategic design, and there is absolutetly no room for error. You literally will take 9 actions in the entire game. The game rewards careful planning, clever sequencing, and the ability to squeeze every last drop of value out of your turn. It’s the kind of game where you finish a session and immediately start thinking about what you should have done differently.

This game is challenging on several levels. The learning curve, getting your head around the strategy, unlearning all the stuff you thought was true, and then re-learning the game for real. It’s a brain buster, but absolutetly worth the effort.

In fact, this was one of the very few games I discovered on Board Game Arena that led directly to me buying a physical copy. That’s about as strong an endorsement as I can give.

If you enjoy deep, challenging worker placement games that reward smart play and punish sloppy decisions, White Castle is an absolute winner.

I should talk a bit about the expansion because this is also available on BGA. White Castle: Matcha introduces a 4th dice type and some new actions and cards that take this already pretty deep game and tight game and open it up a bit. It definitely complicates, and while I like I would not recommend it unless you’re playing this game on repeat and need something fresh. In that way, it’s a perfect expansion, as it does exactly what expansions should do: refresh a game you already like.

I’m generally very wary of expansions to games I already think are quite perfect, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. In this case, however, as this game can feel pretty short with only 9 actions per player, it pushes that a bit as players get 4 actions instead of 3 per round. It remains a tight game with 12 actions in the game, but if you want more White Castle, this is the way to do. It does what it should as an expansion.

3. Shogun

Let me start with a confession.

I think Shogun is better in person, making this an exception to the general rule of this list.

In fact, if given the choice, I would almost always rather play it at a real table. The reason is simple: the dice tower.

That ridiculous contraption is one of the greatest gimmicks ever put into a board game. Every battle becomes an event. Players gather around it, cheer for impossible outcomes, groan at disasters, and generally make far more noise than any sensible adult should. It is glorious.

So yes, something is inevitably lost when you move Shogun online.

And yet, the Board Game Arena implementation is excellent.

The reason it still works so well is that beneath the spectacle, Shogun is also a fantastic strategy game. It remains one of my all-time favorites and one of the oldest titles in my collection.

So far as “Dudes On A Map” games go, this is one of my favorites. With a few exceptions, simply moving armies around and fighting is not enough for me, a war game has to have some strategic juice coming from somewhere else. In Shogun’s case, that is the action planning system, and in my humble opinion, it’s perfect.

At first glance, it looks like a straightforward dudes on a map conflict. Armies move around Japan, provinces are conquered, and players fight for territory. Simple enough, but the game is much more than that.

The twist is that, hidden beneath all that military posturing, is a surprisingly tight victory-point driven game. Scoring opportunities are limited, which means every point matters. Taking territory is important, but taking the right territory at the right moment is what actually wins games because, as the game progresses, players build point-scoring buildings in territories, dramatically increasing their value.

Then there is the action planning system. Every round, players secretly assign a whole series of actions in advance, often with incomplete information and only a rough idea of what everyone else is about to do. It is a brilliant mechanic that turns every turn into a mixture of strategy, prediction, and outright gambling, culminating in beautiful chaos.

You can devise a master plan worthy of a legendary daimyo. Or you can watch that plan collapse spectacularly because your opponent did something unexpected. Or because the dice tower decided it was feeling particularly mischievous that day. Probably both.

The combination of area control, hidden planning, resource management, and unpredictable battles creates a game that is constantly generating memorable stories. It is strategic enough to reward careful planning, chaotic enough to keep players humble, and interactive enough that nobody ever feels like they are playing a multiplayer solitaire game.

Shogun is one of those rare games that has stood the test of time for a reason. If you have never played it, you should. If you enjoy area control games, you should probably own it.

And if your gaming shelf currently contains Risk because you wanted a conquest, dudes on a map game, I would argue that Shogun is superior in every measurable way and solves that need far more elegantly.

4. Knarr

Knarr is one of those games that seemed to slip past a lot of people when it was released, myself included. It’s a shame because it’s a bonefied hidden gem and smash hit as far as I’m concerned.

Mechanically, it’s a straightforward tableau-based, card-driven engine builder wrapped up in a race for victory points. On paper, there isn’t a lot going on here, mechanically it’s simple and streamlined. In practice, however, the game offers far more strategic depth than its light rules would suggest.

One of the things I love most about Knarr is that it’s sort of a risk vs. reward style game when it comes to your strategy. Your options are to go for the slow burn and explosive end, hoping you will get to execute that final big turn for the win, or you race to finish to outpace people building proper engines, creating pressure on everyone. Once you commit to a path, you are largely along for the ride. The game is simply too short to completely change direction halfway through, so success often comes down to reading the table, spotting opportunities, and trusting your instincts in the early game.

Knarr is a fast-moving game, but whatever your strategy is in any given game, one thing that makes or breaks you is getting the right combination of trade routes and being able to execute them regularly. This requires a lot of planning and a bit of luck.

There is certainly a bit of luck involved. You can’t control what cards will appear, and part of the challenge is figuring out how to make the best use of whatever opportunities are currently available. The best players are not necessarily the ones with the perfect plan, but the ones who can adapt when the cards refuse to cooperate. Reading people’s options is also fairly important here.

Perhaps the biggest compliment I can give Knarr is that one game is rarely enough. Whenever my regular online group plays a round, it’s rare that someone doesn’t immediately demand a rematch. It’s addictive, occasionally frustrating, and consistently entertaining. This is a game that will keep your gaming group up late every time. I’ve had many painful mornings because of this one.

Knarr went straight from Board Game Arena to my shopping cart. It’s easy to learn, easy to teach, accessible enough for newer players, and still offers plenty of depth for experienced gamers. The expansion adds a lot to the game; if you get a chance to grab it, it’s a no-brainer.

An outstanding game and one that deserves far more attention than it’s gotten since its release.

5. Middle Ages

I should probably begin this entry with a disclaimer. I have only played Middle Ages three four times.

As a result, its appearance on this list may be a little premature. There is every possibility that six months from now I will discover some fatal flaw and wonder what I was thinking.

That said, based on what I have seen so far, I really like it.

What immediately stands out is how unique the game feels; it’s not a mechanic I have seen before. There are plenty of games that ask players to plan ahead, but Middle Ages builds its entire identity around that concept.

The core mechanic is a bit odd, but ultimately fairly simple. Each round, you choose the action you will perform next round while simultaneously resolving the action you selected during the previous round. The action you choose next round will determine the turn order and will determine which building you put into play, how you score, and what special action you can take. You can see what buildings will be available 4 rounds in advance. The trick to the entire game is knowing how to navigate a clean path that yields the most victory points through building combinations by predicting what your opponents are going to do and what will be available on your turn. Do that well consistently and you are going to wint his game.

If that explanation sounds confusing, it’s because it is, and this game will seem very complex the first time you play it. It’s really not; that impression fades quickly.

One of the tricky parts about Middle Ages is that it will punish you severely for not having a building of each type (each missing building is -10 points), so whatever your strategy is, it has to include completing your medieval town, else you’re kind of screwed.

In fact, learning and teaching the game is probably harder than actually playing it. I remember being thoroughly confused the first time I sat down with it. Thankfully, once you get over that first game hump, everything clicks surprisingly quickly. Beneath the awkward explanation lies a remarkably straightforward game.

The real magic comes from the timing.

Many of the actions are surprisingly confrontational, creating plenty of opportunities to disrupt plans, steal opportunities, and generally make life difficult for everyone else at the table. It creates a wonderfully dynamic experience where long-term planning is important, but short-term flexibility is equally valuable.

Of course, if everyone else is trying to do the same thing, things can get delightfully messy. Which is where much of the fun comes from.

Four games is hardly enough time to form a definitive opinion, but Middle Ages has already made a strong impression on me. It is clever, interactive, surprisingly tense, and refreshingly different from many of the other games currently making the rounds.

Ask me again after ten more plays…but yeah, for now, I think it’s good.

6. The Castles of Burgundy

This is another game that firmly belongs in my “great on Board Game Arena, probably not for my collection” category.

The Castles of Burgundy hardly needs an introduction. For more than a decade, board gamers have been singing its praises from every rooftop available. It remains one of the hobby’s most celebrated Eurogames and continues to sit comfortably among the highest-ranked games of all time on BoardGameGeek.

To be fair, I completely understand why.

In Castles of Burgundy, it’s not just about building that perfect hex board, but doing it in a timely fashion. When you do stuff often matters a lot more than what you do.

The game is incredibly clever. Every turn presents you with a simple challenge: here are your dice, now figure out something smart to do with them. It sounds straightforward, but the sheer number of options available creates a deeply satisfying puzzle, and a puzzle is exactly what this game is.

Unlike certain other famous dice games (fuck you Catan!) that I could happily launch into the sun, The Castles of Burgundy never feels like it is actively trying to ruin your day. Yes, the dice can be frustrating. They will occasionally betray you. They will occasionally mock you. But the game gives you plenty of tools to manipulate results, mitigate bad luck, and salvage a plan that has gone horribly wrong.

I’m not saying that Catan is a bad game; its popularity is clearly established. I’m just saying, “please trade with me so I can win” is a stupid concept, as is any game where you roll dice to get resources. Combined, I find the game annoying to play.

Success comes from finding opportunities, building combinations, and squeezing as much value as possible from every action. Like any great point salad game, there are dozens of paths to victory and just as many opportunities to accidentally wander off a cliff.

What I find particularly amusing is that, despite genuinely enjoying the game, I have yet to finish anywhere other than last place.

Normally, that would be a warning sign. Instead, I find myself wanting to play more.

Every loss feels less like a defeat and more like a challenge. Somewhere inside this elegant machine is a strategy that works. Other players seem capable of finding it with alarming consistency. One day, I intend to join them.

Until then, while I’m late to the party, The Castles of Burgundy remains a great BGA discovery. I’m not sure I will ever own a copy, but I can fully understand why people love this game.

It vexes me.

And I shall prevail.

7. Beyond The Sun

Beyond The Sun is another game on this list that falls firmly into the “I keep playing it because I find it fascinating” category, but I doubt I would ever buy it.

Whether I actually love it or not remains an open question.

What I can say with confidence is that it is… interesting in an academic, connoisseur of board games kind of way.

The best way I can describe Beyond The Sun is that it feels like two only vaguely related games somehow got stitched together and, against all odds, the result actually works.

On one side of the board, players compete over a sprawling technology tree through a worker placement system. Researching new technologies unlocks powerful abilities, creating entirely new worker placement spaces that only the player who discovered them can use. Much of your overall strategy is shaped by how you navigate this constantly evolving network of technologies.

On the other side of the board, there is a surprisingly aggressive little space conquest game taking place. Fleets move around the galaxy, players compete for influence, and planets are eventually colonized for valuable rewards and endgame objectives.

What makes it all work is that both halves of the game share the same economy. The actions you take on the technology board fuel your expansion efforts in space, while success in space provides resources and opportunities that feed back into your technological development.

This game looks super fiddly to me, I suspect that playing it on BGA is probobly takes considerably less time to play, which is the case with most games, but the fiddlier it is, the more valuable a BGA implementation becomes.

The whole experience feels like an enormous efficiency puzzle.

There is player interaction. In fact, the space board can become downright hostile at times. Yet somehow, despite ships moving around and players competing for territory, most of your attention remains focused on optimizing your own engine and finding the most efficient sequence of actions possible.

That contrast is part of what makes the game so interesting. It feels interactive without being overly confrontational. Competitive without being particularly emotional.

And fascinating throughout.

The funny thing is that I am still not entirely sure whether I would call Beyond The Sun “fun.” I know that sounds absurd, given the amount of time I have spent playing it, but there is a difference between enjoying something and being intellectually captivated by it.

Beyond The Sun falls into that second category for me.

Every game leaves me wanting to explore a different technology path, try a different strategy, or see how another combination of systems might unfold. It is the kind of design that keeps provoking questions long after the game is over.

That curiosity alone has earned it a place on this list. I don’t know if I would recommend it as a purchase, but on BGA you should definitely try it, especially if you have an academic curiosity about board game design.

8. Aquatica

Aquatica occupies a similar space on this list as Beyond The Sun, an academic curiosity more than a fun game.

I am not entirely convinced that I love it. I am not even completely convinced that I would describe it as fun or even a good game.

And yet, I keep playing it.

That probably sounds like a terrible endorsement, but hear me out.

Again, as a self-proclaimed connoisseur of board game design, I find Aquatica fascinating. There is something about its unusual approach to engine building that continues to pull me back in. I have logged over a dozen games so far, and I am still trying to fully wrap my head around what makes it tick.

At its core, Aquatica is a tableau-building card game where players are constantly trying to create temporary engines from whatever cards happen to be available at the time. The experience feels less like constructing a finely tuned machine and more like creating temporary boosts that you hope will have a domino effect.

This is a very pretty game; the artwork is fantastic. It may ultimately become the reason I want a real copy.

I think that is the unique spark here that your tableau, the cards you buy, is a temporary resource in your engine. Unlike many engine builders, where you gradually assemble a powerful machine that produces increasing returns throughout the game, Aquatica lets you use a resource once, and then you kind of have to start over. Your engine is constantly changing shape, firing off effects, collapsing, and being rebuilt into something entirely different.

The result is a game that feels surprisingly dynamic. Every turn becomes a puzzle involving the cards in your hand, the cards available for purchase, and the opportunities hidden within your tableau. Plans rarely survive intact for very long, and adaptation is often more important than execution. Other players can also alter the board state in front of you, which creates another uncontrolled layer to the puzzle.

It is a strange design that sort of skirts expectations.

One thing I have heard repeatedly, although I cannot personally verify it, is that Aquatica can be somewhat fiddly when played physically. If true, it is exactly the sort of game that benefits enormously from Board Game Arena handling all the bookkeeping behind the scenes. Though I have to say this is not the best interface on BGA, it can be a bit fiddly here as well.

Whether Aquatica ultimately becomes a favorite of mine remains to be seen. What I can say is that very few games have managed to keep me this curious after so many plays.

That alone makes it worth trying.

Give it a shot. It might not capture your imagination the way it has captured mine, but if it does, do not be surprised if you find yourself queueing up “just one more game” while trying to figure out what on earth makes it so compelling.

9. Harmonies

Harmonies is a perfect example of a game I would never buy, but am more than happy to play on Board Game Arena.

That is not a criticism of the game. Quite the opposite, actually. Harmonies is an excellent design. The reality is simply that it lives well outside my usual gaming preferences. An abstract puzzle game about building habitats for animals is not exactly the sort of thing that normally finds its way onto my shelf.

More importantly, I know my gaming group.

If I brought Harmonies to game night, everyone would give it a fair shot. We would play a game, nod appreciatively, make a few comments about how clever it is, and then immediately return to conquering empires, managing medieval economies, or fighting over cubes. The game would quietly disappear into the collection and never see daylight again.

Board Game Arena changes that completely.

Online, Harmonies becomes the perfect middle-weight filler game. It is quick, engaging, easy to set up, and delivers just the right amount of brain burn without demanding an entire evening. It is the kind of game I am always happy to squeeze in between heavier titles.

If it looks puzzly, believe it, it is very puzzly; it should come with a warning label, because this game will melt your brain.

The gameplay itself is wonderfully clever. Players build habitats using colorful terrain pieces while drafting animal cards that reward specific patterns and arrangements. Every turn feels like a small puzzle, with multiple competing priorities fighting for space on your board. There are animal objectives to complete, bonus scoring opportunities to chase, and just enough point salad sprinkled throughout to keep you second-guessing every placement.

It is thoughtful, satisfying, occasionally frustrating, and surprisingly addictive. The kind of game that makes your brain hurt just enough to remind you that you are having fun.

I may never own Harmonies, but I am always happy to see it hit the virtual table.

10. Lost Ruins of Arnak

I feel obligated to include Lost Ruins of Arnak on this list. I am doing so under protest.

Let’s get this out of the way immediately: it is a good game. In fact, it is probably a very good game. The design is clever, the decisions are meaningful, and there is clearly a tremendous amount of depth hiding beneath its relatively approachable exterior.

The problem is that Lost Ruins of Arnak and I are currently involved in a bitter personal feud. After eighteen plays, I have yet to win a game.

Not only have I failed to win, but I have rarely come close. At this point, I am less an explorer searching for ancient ruins and more an archaeologist excavating the remains of my own shattered confidence.

I’ve heard the claim that this game is like Dune Imperium, and while I can see why people might say that, it’s not nearly as streamlined, and this has a far bigger learning curve.

What makes this particularly frustrating is that the game does not appear especially complicated or novel.

Mechanically, Arnak is built from familiar ingredients. There is deck building. There is worker placement. There are tracks to move up. There is resource management. None of these concepts are new, and individually they are all things I understand perfectly well.

Yet somehow, when combined together, they form a mysterious puzzle box that my brain simply refuses to open.

I watch other players effortlessly chain actions together, convert resources into other resources, advance research tracks, discover sites, recruit assistants, and somehow continue taking turns long after I have passed and started questioning my life choices.

Most of the time I don’t even understand how I lost. I simply know that at the end of the game everyone else has more points than I do.

Repeatedly.

To be fair, I completely understand why Arnak has such a devoted following. It is one of the most celebrated games of the last several years, and an incredibly polished design. Every mechanism feels carefully crafted and intentionally connected to the others. It is easy to see why so many people consider it a modern classic.

I just happen to be standing outside the secret clubhouse, pressing my face against the window and wondering what everyone else is so excited about.

Eventually, I will return. I will once again venture into the jungle. I will once again attempt to decipher its mysteries.

And perhaps one day I will finally discover the ancient secret that allows a player to score points.

Until then, Lost Ruins of Arnak sits at the bottom of this list as punishment for being naughty and refusing to let me win.

I am aware that this is not how rankings work.

I stand by my decision.

Top 10 Versions of Dungeons and Dragons

One question that shows up in my inbox again and again is simple on the surface but surprisingly loaded underneath. What is your favorite edition of Dungeons and Dragons?

I have done broader best RPG lists before, but that is not really what people are asking. They are not looking for my thoughts on the entire hobby. They want to know which banner I fly when it comes to D&D. Which version sits closest to my heart? Which books I reach for when someone says, do you want to play.

So I decided to answer properly.

Instead of naming a single winner, I pulled together a top 10 list that includes not just official editions, but also variants, clones, and offshoots that belong to the larger D&D family. Some are obvious. Some are unexpected. All of them, in one way or another, carry the torch of dungeon-crawling fantasy adventure.

It turned out to be a fun exercise. And with so much debate swirling around modern Dungeons and Dragons right now, it feels like a good time to zoom out a little. There is a vast landscape beyond the latest edition war. Plenty of roads to travel. Plenty of dragons to slay.

10. Forbidden Lands

I will start with what might be the most controversial entry on this list. Controversial only because it is the least mechanically related to D&D of anything here. Its core system comes from a completely different lineage. It does not descend from TSR or the d20 tree.

And yet, thematically, Forbidden Lands often feels more like classic D&D than some official editions. If we are willing to call 5th edition D&D, then I say by right, Forbidden Lands deserves a seat at the table.

What makes it unique is that it is tightly bound to its setting and intended campaign style. This is not a generic fantasy engine. It is a game about survival in a harsh and broken land, well defined, illustrated, and presented in beautiful detail. The players are not chosen heroes destined for greatness. They are desperate adventurers trying to carve out a place in a world that does not care if they live or die.

The mechanics are not perfect. There are a few rough edges, oddly familiar if you play a lot of D&D-style games. But what it does extremely well is align rules with tone. The system reinforces scarcity, risk, and tension. It avoids the incoherent sprawl that some classic D&D editions suffered from while still capturing that old school edge.

It is brutal. Life is cheap. Characters can and will struggle to survive. That feeling is deeply reminiscent of early D&D, when survival was not assumed and advancement had to be earned the hard way. Maybe it is not quite as unforgiving as the earliest editions, but it carries that same weight. Every journey into the wild feels risky. Every campfire feels temporary.

The boxed set presentation helps enormously. Forbidden Lands is largely self-contained. Yes, there are expansions, but the core box gives you everything you need. System, setting, campaign framework. It is all there, cohesive and focused. There is something refreshing about that. No endless stream of mandatory supplements. No sprawling library required. Just a complete experience in one package.

I have not played as much Forbidden Lands as some of the other games on this list, but the campaign I did experience was enough to convince me. It had that unmistakable D&D flavor. Exploration. Danger. Treasure. Hard choices. The difference was simply that the tone leaned darker and the system carried its weight more cleanly.

For that reason alone, it earns its place here. It may not share D&D’s mechanical ancestry, but in spirit it absolutely belongs to the same school of adventure.

9. Pathfinder 2nd Edition

I am not entirely sure I am a natural fan of the tactical RPG genre. I appreciate it. I respect it. But it is not my default preference. That said, when it comes to D&D style tactical systems, Pathfinder 2nd edition is undeniably solid.

I spent a fair amount of time running and playing it, and for good reason. It answers a very specific question. What happens if you take 3rd edition, modernize it completely, and then dive even deeper into tactical precision and character customization?

The answer is a beast.

Pathfinder 2e is enormous. Over six hundred pages of tightly engineered rules. Layers of customization. Class feats, ancestry feats, skill feats, archetypes, options within options. It likely contains more meaningful character choices in a single core rulebook than most of the other games on this list combined.

And yet, for all that weight, it is remarkably well organized. If you love deep mechanical play, Pathfinder 2e executes it in the most streamlined and optimized way possible. It is complex, but it is disciplined complexity. The math works. The action economy is elegant. The system is balanced with almost obsessive care.

What I admire most is something it shares with Pathfinder 1e. It takes a core concept and refines it relentlessly. Then it builds outward with themed expansions, adventure paths, and supplemental books that feel purposeful rather than random. It supports its own vision thoroughly.

At the same time, it is simply too heavy for me to run these days. I do not have the time I once did. There is no winging Pathfinder 2e. You cannot improvise your way through it casually and expect the system to carry you. To run it well, you need to put in the hours. Real preparation. Real system mastery. Without that effort, the experience suffers.

In my current stage of life, that level of demand is hard to justify.

As a player, however, I am far more open. If someone else is willing to do the work behind the screen, I am happy to show up and engage with the system. From the player side, Pathfinder 2e is a rewarding tactical experience. Fights are dynamic. Choices matter. Encounters can be genuinely challenging. And when paired with one of its strong adventure paths, it can deliver some truly memorable campaigns.

The Kingmaker adaptation for Pathfinder 2e is a great example. A massive kingdom-building saga, packed with depth and scale. As a player, I would gladly dive into something like that.

As a Game Master, though, I have to be honest. It is a hard no. Not because it fails, but because it demands more than I am willing to give at this point. Pathfinder 2e absolutely earns its place on this list. It is a masterfully engineered system. It is just one that requires a level of commitment I have long since outgrown.

8. Castles and Crusades

There are games on this list that I have spent years playing, systems that shaped entire eras of my D&D life. Castles and Crusades is not one of them. And yet it still earns a place here, because it fills a very specific role in the broader world of Dungeons and Dragons.

It covers a niche that I do not often need, but once in a while, it is exactly the right tool for the job.

Castles and Crusades emerged at a time when 3rd and 3.5 edition Dungeons and Dragons had grown increasingly complex. Character builds became intricate, rules interactions multiplied, and system mastery was often rewarded over good old-fashioned adventuring fun. Castles and Crusades stepped in as a lighter alternative, a rebuttal to the question, what does modern D&D look like. It felt like a modern continuation of 2nd edition AD&D, but with a cleaner and more unified core mechanic. In another timeline where TSR had remained in control and refined AD&D using a more streamlined approach, this might have been the result.

It was clearly dedicated to preserving the feel of classic AD&D. The classes, the tone, and the emphasis on medieval fantasy adventure all remained intact. The goal was not to reinvent Dungeons and Dragons, but to refine it. To keep the spirit while trimming away the layers of complexity that 3rd edition became known for.

For me the difficulty has always been the audience. The people I play with tend to fall into one of two camps. They are either committed old school players who want early TSR editions or faithful retro clones, or they prefer whatever the latest official version happens to be. At one time, that was 3rd edition, then Pathfinder, then 4th edition, and so on.

Castles and Crusades sits squarely in the middle. It preserves early D&D while presenting it in a modern framework. In theory, that should make it a perfect compromise. In practice, D&D players are rarely looking for compromise. They usually know exactly what they want.

As a result, my copy has often stayed on the shelf. A bit of a dust collector.

That said, from a design perspective, I have a great deal of respect for it. The system is elegant, focused, and confident in what it is trying to do. It is unapologetically both old school and modern at the same time, and it manages to pull that off remarkably well.

I’m not sure I love the Siege Engine, which is the core resolution system for C&C’s answer to skill checks. I always found the dice odds and results of that particular rules mechanic off, but as I tend to avoid the use of skills in my games whenever possible, it’s not that big of a deal. I think the game would have been better off either using the D20 skill system or the AD&D non-weapon proficiencies, but the middle ground kind of didn’t work as well as either one of those did.

That caveat aside, if you have a group that enjoys modern Dungeons and Dragons but is willing to simplify things a bit, and you are a Dungeon Master who prefers the feel of classic adventures without all the classic mechanical baggage, Castles and Crusades can be an excellent choice. It may not be the game I reach for most often, but I am glad it exists; it earns its rightful place on this list.

7. 5th Edition Dungeons and Dragons

I know some of my old school D&D friends will raise an eyebrow at this one. Especially after the 2024 update and all the noise that surrounded it. But here is the simple truth. I am a gamer. I care about what happens at the table far more than what happens on social media. I am here to roll dice, tell stories, and have a good time. The rest is just background chatter.

For me, 5th edition is the most polished and efficient power fantasy version of Dungeons and Dragons ever made. It knows exactly what it is doing. You are not a struggling adventurer scraping by with four hit points and a rusty sword. You are a force of nature. A fantasy superhero with spells, abilities, and enough resilience to stare down a fantasy monster without breaking a sweat.

And that is fun.

5th edition is about bold moves and dramatic victories. It is about kicking in the door and believing you might actually survive what is on the other side. The system is flexible, easy to learn, and offers a huge range of character options without drowning players in mechanical detail. It gives you variety without demanding spreadsheets.

That matters.

It also matters that this style of play speaks to a lot of people, especially younger players. My kids love it. They want to charge into battle against multiple dragons and come out standing. They want big moments and spectacular powers. 5th edition delivers that in a way that feels smooth and accessible.

As a writer, I love working in the 5th edition design space. It is easy to create adventures when you can assume the characters are competent and durable. You can focus on cool scenarios, memorable villains, and cinematic set pieces without constantly worrying whether the mechanics will collapse under pressure. Yes, it is difficult to create truly punishing challenges, and the game gets truly wacky at high levels. But if you approach 5e expecting it to be a brutal survival simulator, you are probably aiming at the wrong target.

Above all else, 5th edition is simply fun to play. If you are old school like me, you do have to let go of certain expectations. Once you stop trying to make it something it is not and just lean into what it does well, it becomes clear why it has brought so many people into the hobby.

The starter sets are a perfect example. They are some of the best introductory products Dungeons and Dragons has ever produced. I own them all, and despite having shelves full of adventures, my kids are perfectly happy replaying The Dragon of Icespire Peek again and again. We defeat the dragon, celebrate, and then roll up new characters to do it all over. It is like rewatching a favorite movie for the tenth time and still enjoying every scene.

Wizards of the Coast clearly understands how to speak to the current generation of players. What might look unusual or unnecessary to older fans feels completely natural to younger ones. They do not carry the same expectations or nostalgia. They just see a game full of possibilities.

If someone comes to me today and says they have never played a roleplaying game but want to learn D&D, 5th edition with one of the starter kits is still my go-to recommendation. It is welcoming, flexible, and immediately rewarding. And sometimes that is exactly what the hobby needs.

6. Pathfinder 1st edition

For me, Pathfinder 1st edition represents the entire 3rd edition era. When I put Pathfinder on this list, I am also tipping my hat to 3rd and 3.5 edition Dungeons and Dragons. Pathfinder 1st edition feels like the definitive final form of that lineage. The system was refined, expanded, and pushed right to its natural limit.

I played an absurd amount of 3rd edition era D&D. From the original launch of 3rd edition to the sprawling Adventure Paths of Pathfinder, no other game on this list has generated more memories or consumed more hours of my life. We practically lived at the gaming table. Twelve to fourteen-hour sessions were normal. Several times a week was normal. We were young, obsessed, and fully committed.

That era was a golden age for me, and part of that is simply timing. I was in my late teens when 3rd edition arrived. No wife. No kids. No career clawing at my schedule. Just friends, dice, and time. So much time. We learned the system inside and out. We did not just play it. We mastered it.

It also felt like a second great age of settings. Much like the early TSR days, the 3rd edition era exploded with new worlds. Scarred Lands. Eberron. Golarion. Midnight. Iron Kingdoms. Each one with its own flavor, its own tone, its own promise of adventure. The writing was ambitious and plentiful. You could jump from gothic horror to pulp intrigue to mythic war without ever leaving the broader d20 umbrella.

And the adventures. Some of the best campaign material ever written for the game came out during this time. Kingmaker stands tall in my memory as a near perfect expression of what long form campaign design could look like. Big ideas. Player agency. Epic payoff.

Mechanically, this was the age of prestige classes and intricate character builds. We loved it. We loved planning out ten levels in advance. We loved squeezing every advantage out of feats, skills, and class combinations. Looking back now, it feels excessive, but at the time it was exactly what we wanted. Video games were deep and complex. Miniature games rewarded optimization. We wanted systems with moving parts, and 3rd edition delivered.

That said, this is probably the one game on the list I would not return to today. Not because it failed. Quite the opposite. It demands time, focus, and energy. It rewards dedication. Back then I had those resources in abundance. Today, with family and career taking their rightful place, the thought of diving back into that level of mechanical depth feels exhausting.

That is not a flaw in Pathfinder. It is simply a shift in who I am now.

I regret nothing about those years. They were loud, ambitious, rules-heavy, and absolutely glorious. Pathfinder 1st edition stands as the monument to that chapter of my gaming life, and it earned every hour I gave it.

5. Dungeon Crawl Classics

Dungeon Crawl Classics is another brilliant offshoot of D&D that might be just a little too niche for its own good.

If Castles and Crusades is a careful bridge between eras, Dungeon Crawl Classics is what happens when you hand the keys to a group of wildly creative designers and simply say go. Goodman Games has assembled one of the most imaginative teams in the hobby. Their adventures and supplements do not feel restrained or filtered. They feel unleashed.

The result is a game bursting with ideas. Strange ideas. Loud ideas. Ideas that do not ask for permission and no sane person would ever approve them, but Goodman Games is …special.

For many D&D fans, whether old school traditionalists or modern build-focused players, it can be too much. Dungeon Crawl Classics demands an open mind. It asks you to step outside your expectations of what D&D is supposed to look like. You have to let go…a lot. Let the dice take over. Let the chaos breathe.

I ran a single Dungeon Crawl Classics campaign during the pandemic, when we were all locked in our homes and playing digitally. It was the perfect time to experiment. My group was ultimately lukewarm on the whole thing, and I understood why. DCC is strange. Its magic system alone feels like a deliberate rebellion against predictability. Spells can spiral into glorious disasters or explode into legendary triumphs. Control is not guaranteed or even expected.

In fact, that loss of control is part of the point. Where most RPGs try to smooth out volatility, DCC leans into it. It takes the core tropes of Dungeons and Dragons and turns every dial as far as it will go. The tone becomes gonzo. The situations become outrageous. At times, it feels like a fever dream version of classic fantasy adventure.

To really enjoy it, you almost have to take off your traditional D&D hat. If you cling too tightly to balance, careful planning, or long-term character optimization, the game will fight you. But if you embrace the madness, it becomes something special.

I personally love it. I think Dungeon Crawl Classics is an absolute blast to run and play. The shenanigans that unfold at the table often feel like a wild fantasy cartoon brought to life by dice. almost a kind of comedic parody of D&D. It is not sloppy design. Beneath the chaos is a carefully constructed engine built to generate those moments on purpose.

Still, it takes a very specific kind of group to truly enjoy it. It pushes both old school brutality and modern spectacle to their extremes at the same time. That combination is not for everyone.

I admire it deeply. I have tremendous respect for its creativity. But I completely understand why it might not click for most players. Dungeon Crawl Classics is less about comfort and more about curiosity. It rewards those who love bold design and fearless imagination as much as they love playing D&D itself.

4. 1st edition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons

1st edition AD&D is a true old school classic for me. I played it in the mid-eighties, when I was still very young, but even today I feel a surge of energy when I pull those old books off the shelf. The covers alone still have power.

That said, of all the games on this list, this is probably the one that has aged the worst.

Let me start with why I loved it, and in many ways still do.

It had style. It had mystique. Being a Dungeon Master felt like stepping into a secret order; being a player felt like you were stepping into a mystery. These were not just roles at the table. They were positions of either authority and deep knowledge, or explorers of a great mystery. The game expected Dungeon Masters to study it, internalize it, and guard it. Players, on the other hand, were meant to discover it through play, not through reading the books. This unspoken understanding was a social contract, and there was a clear purpose behind it.

As a player, the game was a mystery. We did not read the Dungeon Masters Guide. We did not flip through the Monster Manual. Doing so was forbidden. You learned by playing. You learned by surviving. You learned by making mistakes.

Knowledge was power, and that knowledge was earned; it was a trial by fire.

The first time we encountered a gelatinous cube, it was not a stat block. It was a horrifying surprise, but the next time, the players knew how to deal with it. Experience was earned by players and characters alike. The first time we got lost in the woods, found a magical lock, picked up an unidentified scroll, or crossed an ocean, there was no safety net. No clear mechanical explanation was handed to us ahead of time, we didn’t know the odds or even fully grasp the dangers. We discovered how the game and the world worked by interacting with it, by suffering at its cruelty and learning as we went.

The result was a game where the world felt real in a way that is hard to describe. Your character lived in it, but you as a player were also navigating something unknown. Characters died. That happened often. But the player gained experience. We remembered where the dangerous forest was. We remembered that troll and the hard lesson about fire. We made our own maps because none were provided. We built keeps for safety, opened taverns with our ill-gotten gains for fame and glory, and followed storylines that unfolded over years out of personal attachment to the events. Events in which characters perished to the plots of evil villains that lingered despite our best efforts to stop them. There were personal agendas, oaths of vengeance, we cursed the DM for cruelty and unfairness, but secretly we applauded the experience because it was so vivid.

There was a veil over the whole game, and we didn’t peek. The rules themselves were part of the exploration; the DMG was a mysterious book, and we could only imagine what was inside.

In modern D&D, that veil is usually gone. Players know the system inside and out. They know what monsters do. They can look up spells, effects, and optimal builds between sessions. The mystery is replaced with transparency. That is not necessarily bad, but it is different.

The hard truth is that maintaining that veil was never sustainable back then, either. Eventually, we all wanted to try being Dungeon Masters. We read the books. We saw behind the curtain. Once you understand the machinery, it never quite feels the same again.

Today, when I look at 1st edition AD&D with experienced and unveiled eyes, I see flawed mechanics, inconsistent rules, and some genuinely questionable design decisions. The structure is messy. The balance is uneven. The clarity we now expect simply is not there.

And yet, I can still feel what it was meant to be. I can still sense the potential. The idea that the game itself is something you uncover over time. That the rules are not just tools, but secrets.

Modern players ask more questions. They want clarity. They want consistency. They want to know how things work before committing to an action. They are less willing to let the system itself be part of the mystery. Without that mystery, 1st edition AD&D can feel fragile and awkward.

But when it worked, when that veil was intact, and the world felt unknown, AD&D had a kind of magic that was indescribably wonderful. I can understand the OSR for wanting to keep this version of the game alive and immortal. I’m 100% convinced that no other RPG in existence can offer the experience AD&D can, and if you haven’t experienced it yourself, I pity you.

If this were a list of the best RPG experiences of all time, AD&D would be at the top of the list by a margin so wide that there would be no point in adding any other games to the list.

3. 1st edition BECMI (Basic, Expert, Companion, Master, Immortal): AKA The Dungeons and Dragons Rules Cyclopedia

Yes, that is a mouthful.

The unified BECMI line is an interesting creature. The original purpose of Basic and Expert was simple. It was meant to be an entry path into Dungeons and Dragons, a starting point before players graduated to 1st edition AD&D.

But TSR being TSR, things did not unfold quite so cleanly. Business decisions and internal dynamics led to Basic and Expert continuing to expand. Companion added domain play. Master pushed power levels higher. Immortal went cosmic. By the time you had the full BECMI spread, you were looking at a system that rivaled Advanced Dungeons and Dragons in scope and complexity.

In a sense, it became an alternate evolution of AD&D. Not the same tone, not the same mystique, but just as ambitious.

Where AD&D felt mysterious and almost arcane, BECMI felt structured and purposeful. To me, its true strength was scale. This was a game built to sustain an epic campaign. Characters could progress from level 1 all the way to 36. No other version of D&D committed so fully to that kind of long-term arc, nor did most systems support game elements beyond simple adventuring.

It is the only edition that truly embraced the idea that a campaign might run indefinitely without slamming into a hard ceiling. I have never met anyone who actually reached Immortal play at level 36, but the mere existence of that ladder is inspiring. It suggests a game designed for years of development, not just months.

I ran a Mystara campaign that lasted nearly six years. Same world. Same characters, we reached level 21 if memory serves, we could have easily gone on for another decade. We began with Keep on the Borderlands, rusty swords and no backstories. Over time, those same characters ruled kingdoms, negotiated wars, shaped politics, and watched the consequences of their choices ripple outward. It became generational storytelling. Legends built at the table.

You can tell stories like that in other systems, certainly. But BECMI supports it directly. It has mechanics for domain management, armies, mass combat, and high-level play baked into the structure. From dungeon delving to empire building, it provides a framework.

Of all the old TSR-era systems, this is one that I believe still holds up remarkably well. It is robust, deep, and surprisingly cohesive when taken as a whole. The Rules Cyclopedia in particular stands out as one of the most practical and usable single-volume rulebooks TSR ever produced.

That said, like all TSR games, it expects house ruling. No version from that era arrived perfectly tuned. But the underlying design space is strong enough to support that tinkering, it was quite flexible. Not only as a design space, but because it had such a close relationship with AD&D, you could pull elements from the supplements supporting that game as well.

It is also important not to confuse BECMI with the earlier B and X sets. They are the same game, or at least share DNA, but BECMI grows far beyond a simple introductory game. This is not a basic experience. It is a complex and demanding system for players who want a long and detailed journey. In terms of commitment, it sits comfortably beside AD&D and 3rd edition.

Which is why I do not really run it anymore. Like those other deep systems, it asks for time and focus that I simply do not have.

But if someone came to me and said can you run BECMI for us, I would struggle to say no. It remains one of the strongest designs TSR ever produced, and it absolutely still works at the table; it’s worth the stretch.

2. Dolmenwood & Old School Essentials & B/X

I group these three games because they are directly connected. Old School Essentials is a beautifully organized and clarified presentation of B/X. Dolmenwood builds on Old School Essentials and wraps it in a rich, self-contained setting. They have interchangeable structures so adventures for any of them will work with any of the systems without alteration; they are, in a word the same game.

What I love about this architecture, especially as a Dungeon Master, is its simplicity and its immediate focus on adventure. I would even argue that these are not role-playing games in the modern sense. They are adventure games.

The difference, at least in my mind, is subtle but important. In most modern role-playing games, the character as an identity becomes central. Backstory, personal arcs, emotional journeys. In B/X and its descendants, the character is more of an avatar. An extension of the player exploring dangerous places. The focus is on what you do, not who you are.

My expectation with these systems is simple. I can say hey, do you want to play D&D, and ten minutes later we are rolling dice and kicking in doors. There is very little friction between the idea of playing and actually playing, which I can with confidence is ALWAYS a problem in almost all RPG’s. Character creation is quick. The rules are clear. The goal is obvious and explicit in the metagame (1 gold = 1 XP). Go into the dungeon. Survive if you can. Bring back the treasure.

Dolmenwood adds tremendous flavor to that formula. It provides a fully realized setting, strange and whimsical and dark in equal measure, with locations and hooks ready to use. It feels open and alive, but it does not demand hours of preparation. You can point to a map, choose a direction, and the adventure is already waiting.

I have never had an easier time getting a game to the table than with B/X or Old School Essentials or Dolmenwood. That immediacy is part of what made B/X so powerful in the eighties, and it is why its descendants still work so well today.

I often prefer pulling one of these off the shelf over 5th edition. But it is important to understand the tone. These games have teeth. They are not about cinematic heroics. They are about risk and survival. When you play a 5e starter set, character death is possible but unlikely. When you play B/X or Old School Essentials or Dolmenwood, death is not just possible. It is expected. The real story is often how your character meets their end.

And somehow that makes the victories sweeter.

Because the rules are light and direct, it is easy to get everyone aligned around the core premise. We are here to explore dangerous places, fight monsters, and haul treasure back to town. There is very little barrier between intention and action.

If I had to choose a line of D&D that gets from do you want to play to actually playing faster than anything else, this would be it. The kicker its, a stupid amount of relaxed fun, pure joy at the table without any of the weight.

1. 2nd edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons

We have a winner!

When I think about the most complete and most authentic expression of Dungeons and Dragons, the version that captures the tone, the aesthetic, and the core gameplay in its purest form, I land on 2nd edition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.

That is a bold claim, I know. But when I picture what D&D is supposed to feel like, this is the game that comes to mind. The art. The writing. The atmosphere. The balance between danger and possibility. Just the right blend of low and high fantasy. It embodies the identity of Dungeons and Dragons in a way no other edition quite does for me.

There is nothing in it that I would remove at the level of essence. Nothing I feel compelled to replace with something from another system. It feels whole.

At the same time, it is a deeply flawed game in many ways. In fact, of all the systems I have run over the years, this is the one I modified the most. That may sound contradictory, but when I talk about modification, I mean adjustment and tuning, not rewriting its soul. I balanced numbers. I clarified mechanics. I nudged pieces into alignment. I did not change what the game was trying to be.

One of the recurring issues with 2nd edition is the gap between description and execution. Especially in the expanded supplements, I would read the flavor text of a spell, a race, a class, or a weapon and think this is perfect. This is exactly what it should be. Then I would look at the mechanical implementation and feel the disconnect. The rules did not always deliver what the text promised.

That tension drove me to tinker, and 2nd edition is wonderfully suited for tinkering. It has a flexible design space and an enormous body of supplements. You can adjust it without breaking it. You can shape it to your table without losing its identity.

It is also the most adaptable edition in this lineup. Hand me almost any fantasy setting and, with the right books and a few mechanical tweaks, I can make it sing in 2nd edition. It sits comfortably within the grooves of traditional fantasy. It feels like the natural engine for the kind of worlds D&D was built to explore.

I also consider it the fairest of the classic systems. Earlier editions could be brutally lethal, especially for certain classes. Magic users and thieves often felt like they were one unlucky roll away from oblivion. In 2nd edition, you still faced real danger, but you had tools. You had options. You had a fighting chance. It struck a rare balance between survival horror and modern power fantasy. It was tense without being hopeless. Dangerous without being absurd.

I love this system. It is the only edition for which I own a truly massive library. Even now, I still collect for it. The material produced during that era feels rich and valuable. There is depth there that I continue to appreciate. I will admit the adventure writing for AD&D was hit and miss, but the settings were chef’s kiss. 2nd edition AD&D era settings were the best we ever got for any edition by a considerable margin.

If someone walks up to me and says hey, do you want to play D&D, and they do not specify an edition, I assume they mean 2nd edition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. In my mind, that is the default form of the game.

Top 20 Boardgames Of All Time 2025 Edition

It’s been a little over a year since I last put this list together, which in board game time feels like forever. New games hit the table, old favorites get dusted off (or sometimes left to gather dust), and my tastes inevitably shift around. Regardless, its time for an update!

Just to be clear, this isn’t a “definitive best board games of all time” as some sort of objective super truth. Think of it more like a snapshot of where of one gamer’s favorites, right now! Everyone loves a good list, so let’s get into it!

If you’re curious, you can check out last year’s list to see what’s changed, what’s dropped off, and what’s managed to hang on.

20. War Of The Ring

Marching triumphantly back onto the list is War of the Ring, the gloriously overstuffed epic that lets you replay the entire The Lord of the Rings saga on your tabletop. One player leads the scrappy Free Peoples, the other unleashes the Shadow Armies, and what follows is an asymmetrical slugfest for the soul of Middle-earth. If theme were lembas bread, this game would keep you full for weeks. It’s basically Tolkien in a box, minus the singing (thankfully).

That said, this is not a casual weeknight affair. War of the Ring is long, chunky, and rules-heavy, with a learning curve steep enough to make even Gandalf sigh and ask for the rulebook. If you don’t play it regularly, expect a fair bit of page-flipping and “wait, how does sieging work again?” moments. For me, that means it lives on the shelf more than the table, but when it does hit the table, it’s pure wizardry.

I actually managed to get a game in this year, and wow, every dramatic dice roll, desperate last stand, and nail-biting corruption check reminded me exactly why this game is legendary. That single play was more than enough to earn its way back onto the list.

Fun fact: I reviewed this game way back in 2015. The review predates my scoring system, my current writing style, and possibly my dignity. It makes me cringe a little, but it’s still out there if you’re in the mood for a nostalgic (and mildly painful) trip down memory lane.

19. Tapestry

Holding firm at number 19 is Tapestry, and honestly? It’s still here for exactly the same reasons as last year, no drama, no surprise plot twists, just consistent excellence.

It’s often billed as a civilization-building game, but in practice, it feels much more like a gloriously thinky race. Every turn is about timing, efficiency, and wringing maximum value out of your actions like you’re trying to get the last drop of toothpaste from the tube. It’s very much a Euro at heart, with players mostly fussing over their own tableaus, but there is more interaction here than your average “everyone quietly solves their own puzzle” affair.

And wow, is it pretty. The production is pure eye candy: chunky components, satisfying boards, and those minis, especially if you snagged the Kickstarter version, are absolute table magnets. There’s also a small mountain of expansions if you decide you want more Tapestry in your life. Bonus points for being playable online for free on Board Game Arena, which makes it dangerously easy to squeeze in “just one more game.”

One of Tapestry’s greatest strengths is how approachable it is. The rules are easy to teach, but the strategic depth really opens up over repeated plays. The downside? Civilization balance can be a little… let’s call it enthusiastically uneven. Once you know the game, certain civs definitely start to feel like they’re playing on easy mode. It’s not broken, just a bit lopsided in a way experienced players will notice.

Even so, Tapestry remains one of my go-to recommendations for anyone who loves a smart Euro with a focus on efficiency, long-term planning, and strong table presence. For me, it’s a rock-solid collection staple, and a game I’m always happy to see suggested.

18. Western Empires

Next up is Western Empires, and… okay, full honesty time: I almost don’t know why this game is still on my list. I basically never play it in person (even though I do own it), it’s been nearly 30 years since the last time, what was back in the day called Advanced Civilization, hit the table. You can play it online, and occasionally I do, but the online games take so long they feel like a mild lifestyle commitment. And yet, somehow, my gut refuses to let it go. Western Empires is such a stone-cold legend that leaving it off would feel like rewriting history. And history, as this game loves to remind you, is already cruel enough.

This is the purest form of an event game. It supports up to nine players, and if you’re feeling truly unhinged, you can combine it with Eastern Empires to create Mega-Civilization, a glorious 18-player monster. Playtime? A casual 12–18 hours. Yes. Hours. Bring snacks. And backup snacks.

Each player guides an ancient civilization across thousands of years, watching it rise, collapse, and somehow stagger onward anyway. On paper, it’s part area control and part economic trading, but in reality, it’s more of a historical survival simulator. Disasters strike. Wars explode. Calamities ruin your perfectly sensible plans. Eventually, you stop feeling like the brilliant architect of an empire and start feeling like a stressed-out crisis manager just trying to keep civilization from falling apart this turn.

But… that’s the magic. Western Empires isn’t just a game; it’s an experience, and a completely unique one at that. There’s nothing else quite like it in the entire board gaming hobby. It’s big, messy, demanding, and slightly ridiculous… and for that reason alone, it absolutely earns its place on this list.

17. Sekigahara: The Unification of Japan

Sekigahara: The Unification of Japan quietly slides down the list this year, and not because it did anything wrong. This one is a victim of circumstance, not quality. It’s a strictly two-player affair, and right now I don’t have a reliably available opponent who’s eager to regularly reenact feudal Japanese power struggles. As a result, poor Sekigahara: The Unification of Japan sits on the shelf, unfairly punished for demanding exactly one dedicated rival instead of a whole crowd.

Which is a shame, because this game is excellent. If you’ve ever been curious about block wargames and wanted a perfect on-ramp, this might be the gold standard. It delivers real depth without drowning you in rules, elegance without stripping away meaningful decisions, and replayability that gently rewards repeat plays instead of aggressively demanding them.

It’s fast, approachable, and refreshingly easy to teach. Sekigahara is one of those rare games you can put in front of almost anyone and be confidently playing in no time. The blocks are satisfyingly chunky, the design is clean and purposeful, and the rules are so clearly written that ambiguity barely even attempts to sneak in. Seriously, this rulebook deserves a polite bow of respect.

While writing this, I keep asking myself why it doesn’t hit the table more often. The theme is strong, the design is razor-sharp, and the experience is consistently tense and rewarding. Sometimes, the greatest enemy of a great board game isn’t flawed mechanics or bad balance; it’s just the cruel logistics of finding the right person willing to sit across the table and scheme with you. Oh, and life… life in general gets in the way of boardgaming.

16. Syncanite Foundation

The new kid on the block, and one I admit I’m a little hesitant to crown so early. Its place on this list feels… provisional. The future is uncertain. That said, good luck prying this game out of my hands right now, because I am completely infatuated. I would argue almost every time I do this list there is a game on it I just recently discovered and frankly not all of them make it to the next list, but for now….its my list people, I do what I want!

Syncanite Foundation is a four-player political slugfest and one of the most unique board game experiences I’ve had in a while. It throws conventional design sensibilities out the window, offering a dizzying array of victory conditions, an unapologetically harsh tone, and a generous helping of “take-that” gameplay. The mechanics themselves evolve as the players do, shifting the ground beneath your feet depending on the choices made at the table. Comfort is not on the menu.

I think it’s a great game, but even if you don’t, any true board game aficionado will find the experience fascinating a the very least. It’s bold, strange, and wildly experimental. In a hobby that sometimes feels a bit too safe and standardized, Syncanite Foundation is a sharp left turn into uncharted territory. If you have any appreciation for originality, this is one you simply have to experience.

It doesn’t hurt that the game is absolutely gorgeous once it hits the table. The presentation alone makes it an easy sell, dripping with visual appeal. While the rulebook could definitely use a bit more love, this is not a light game by any stretch, once you push past the learning curve, what awaits is something genuinely unlike anything else out there.

In my book, it has earned its spot here. While I can’t promise it will still be standing years from now, I can say this: at the moment, it’s the game I want to play!

15. Through The Ages: A New Story Of Civilization

It’s been a very long and happy love affair, but Through the Ages takes a gentle step down the list, not because it’s stumbled, but because it’s simply been lived with. Think of this less as a fall from grace and more as a well-earned semi-retirement, complete with a gold watch and thunderous applause.

At this point, I’ve logged well over 100 games across both physical and digital tables, and it remains one of the most fascinating designs in my collection. I’m always happy to play it, but truth be told, the genre it helped define has grown crowded. With so many newer civilization-building games vying for attention, my enthusiasm naturally leans toward fresh experiences rather than revisiting something I know quite literally inside and out.

That said, if you’ve somehow missed this one, you’re in for an absolute treat. Through the Ages is a towering achievement in civilization gaming, the benchmark, the measuring stick, the game by which all others in the genre are judged. Few titles capture the sweep of history with such mechanical precision and strategic depth.

An expansion released a few years back does breathe some new life into the system, but familiarity has a way of revealing cracks over time. One of the biggest lingering issues is player count. While officially a 2–4 player game, anything beyond two can stretch into an epic, and not always the good kind. Add even a hint of analysis paralysis and you’re staring down a six- or seven-hour session, which is simply too long for what is, ultimately, a regular game night and not a special event.

Downtime is the real culprit here. Turns can take ages, interaction during those stretches is minimal, and the pacing can feel glacial. For that reason, I strongly recommend the digital version on Steam, which dramatically smooths the experience and trims away much of the friction. There’s also a free version on Board Game Arena, not quite as polished, but still far preferable to trudging through a full in-person session.

As a two-player experience, it’s solid. At three players, it truly shines, but everyone needs to be experienced. In a 4-player game, you’re going to have time to do your taxes between turns. Either way, Through the Ages remains a masterpiece, just one I now admire slightly more from a comfortable distance and less often.

14. Dune Imperium

I love the Dune universe. No, scratch that, I adore it. It’s one of my all-time favorite science-fiction settings, standing shoulder to shoulder with giants like Star Wars and Star Trek. The politics, the mysticism, the sand, chef’s kiss.

As a board game, however, Dune: Imperium doesn’t really demand that love from you. In fact, it barely asks for familiarity with Dune at all. At its heart, this is a worker placement and card-management game, and a good one that could work with pretty much any theme with factions in it; the connection to the setting often feels more cosmetic than essential. I find this to be generally true of all worker placement games, so it could just be me, but worker placement games, this one included, simply don’t evoke theme for me.

As it slides down the list, that disconnect is the primary reason. I want a great Dune game, and while this is undeniably a great game, it doesn’t quite deliver a truly great Dune experience, if that distinction makes sense. The mechanics hum along beautifully, but they rarely evoke the drama, tension, or thematic weight that defines the universe. It’s mostly just an excellent worker placement game, one of the best in fact according to me.

I admire the design, I think it’s genuinely brilliant. But I find myself playing it less and less, largely because worker placement as a genre has started to wear thin for me. Looking at this list as a whole, there are very few pure worker placement games left standing, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this one eventually drifts off my radar entirely before too long.

Still, context matters. If I am going to play a worker placement game, this is absolutely the one I’d choose. The blend of hand-building, measured conflict, solid pacing, and meaningful interaction elevates it well above most of its peers. Even as my tastes shift, Dune: Imperium remains a standout, just not quite the sandworm-sized experience my love for the universe keeps hoping for.

13. Star Wars Unlimited

This one’s a little tricky to explain, considering it debuted at number five on last year’s list, but this isn’t a fall from grace so much as a game finding its permanent residence. Infatuation is a short-term condition. Eventually, games settle into your regular rotation, and that’s exactly where Star Wars Unlimited has landed.

The truth is, I haven’t kept up with the latest releases, not due to a lack of interest, but because collectible card games are expensive. A single booster box can cost as much as two full board games, and at a certain point, the expanding card pool starts delivering diminishing returns. More options don’t always translate into a meaningfully better experience.

I already have a frankly irresponsible number of cards. They’re fantastic. I love them. I will keep them forever. I will happily play Star Wars Unlimited anytime, anywhere, with zero complaints. What I won’t be doing is aggressively chasing future releases, because I just don’t see the benefit anymore.

It’s a bit like buying the ninth expansion for a game you already love. At some point, you have to ask yourself: do I really need more of this, or would I rather explore something new? What is the limit?

For me, the answer is three. Three expansions. That’s my limit. I bought the first three sets, had a great time, and now I’m content. I can build a dozen decks without breaking a sweat, and I don’t feel even slightly under-served for options.

Will I cycle back into heavier play at some point? Almost certainly. But for now, this is a game I enjoy comfortably, not obsessively, and there’s something very healthy about that.

All that said: great game, genuinely love it, and it absolutely earned its place on this list. I don’t see it going anywhere anytime soon, just no longer screaming for my wallet’s attention like it used to.

12. Terraforming Mars

Terraforming Mars is one of those games that never truly leaves, it just waits patiently until it’s time to return. I go through phases where I play it obsessively, largely thanks to its excellent digital implementation, and every time I do, I’m reminded just how absurdly versatile it is. It’s fantastic for competitive play, endlessly accommodating in how you approach it, and, most importantly, it has never “broken” for me no matter how often I revisit it.

It rises on the list this year, a fluctuation that feels entirely natural for a game that’s permanently embedded in my rotation. Some titles come and go. Terraforming Mars simply orbits.

The game is exceptionally well supported: meaningful expansions, strong digital options, and a healthy, engaged community all help keep it feeling alive. Of course, none of that would matter if the core design weren’t rock-solid, and it absolutely is. Deep, rewarding, and genuinely strategic, this is a game that consistently rewards planning over luck. Despite the presence of card drafting, I’d argue there’s remarkably little randomness here; success is earned far more often than it’s stumbled into.

What really sets it apart is the sheer breadth of viable strategies. There isn’t just one path to victory; there are dozens. The strategic well is so deep that even after nearly fifty plays last year alone, I still actively want to get it back on the table. That’s a rare quality.

I named this my Game of the Year back in 2016, and nearly a decade later, it’s still part of my regular gaming life. Very few games can claim that kind of staying power. Fewer still can do it without feeling stale. Terraforming Mars just keeps on terraforming, slowly, methodically, and apparently forever.

11. Hansa Teutonica

I honestly can’t fully explain this one. I don’t even own it, and I probably play it once a year at most, so how does this unassuming cube-pusher keep finding its way onto the list?

The simplest answer is this: every single time I sit down to play it, I’m immediately struck by the same thought, why on earth am I not playing this all the time? There are plenty of games on this list that I actively obsess over, many of them ranked lower, and yet somehow this one keeps quietly, stubbornly inching its way upward year after year.

What sets it apart is the interaction. It’s just a little sharp around the edges. Yes, it’s a victory-point-salad, cube-pushing Euro, but it carries a kind of tactical brilliance that doesn’t rely on the genre’s most overused crutches like role selection or worker placement. It feels smart without feeling scripted. Honestly, if Great Western Trail didn’t exist, this would probably be my favorite Euro game outright.

It sticks the landing in so many ways, and its approachability alone earns it a place here. I’ve played a truly irresponsible number of Euro-style resource management games, there are far too many of them, but this one stands out as something special in a very crowded field.

I think a lot of that comes from how it stretches player interaction. Despite its clear lineage in classic German Euro design, it never feels like a quiet multiplayer spreadsheet. You’re not just optimizing in parallel, you’re actively competing with the people around the table, which is rarely the case in Euro games, and that tension elevates the entire experience.

In short: elegant, interactive, and quietly brilliant.

Great design.

10. Great Western Trail

Kicking off the bottom of the top ten is the great Euro love of my life: Great Western Trail. And what a sordid history we’ve had together. I bought it, bounced off it hard, gave it another chance, kind of liked it… and then, somewhere along the way, it quietly became indispensable. Fast forward nearly ten years, and I genuinely can’t think of a single month in the last five years where I didn’t play it at least once.

It’s a permanent fixture in my rotation on Board Game Arena, where I’ve logged over 100+ games digitally, and that doesn’t even count the physical table time.

Why? Honestly… I couldn’t tell you. There’s just something deeply satisfying about this game loop. Card collection, victory point pressure, constant player interaction, and a dizzying array of viable strategies all intertwine to create game states that feel fresh, tense, and mentally stimulating every single time. It scratches an itch I didn’t know I had until it refused to stop scratching back.

What really seals it for me is how original it feels within the Euro space. I struggle to meaningfully compare it to anything else, and that’s saying a lot in a genre where déjà vu is practically a feature. When you play Great Western Trail, it only feels familiar because you’ve played Great Western Trail before, not because it reminds you of three other games stitched together.

I’ll also admit something slightly embarrassing but completely honest: I think I love this game in part because I’m pretty good at it. I just get it. And being good at this game isn’t easy. Not because it’s overly complicated, but because it’s packed with subtle nuance that takes time to internalize. Even once you do, there’s no way to “solve” it, no dominant strategy, no auto-win formula. It remains fiercely competitive no matter how experienced the table is.

I love it. No qualifiers, no caveats.

Without question, it’s my favorite Euro game.

9. Warhammer 40k 10th Edition

Has something gone terribly wrong with this list? What is a miniature game doing among the best board games of all time?

Fair question, and yes, this one needs an explanation.

At some point, trying to rigidly separate board games, card games, miniature games, and everything in between just became exhausting. I’m a tabletop gamer, full stop, and this list has quietly evolved into my favorite tabletop experiences rather than a taxonomy exercise. If you look far enough back, you’ll see miniature games have appeared here before, Star Wars: X-Wing and Star Wars: Armada both had their time in the spotlight during the 2010s. So this isn’t unprecedented… just mildly controversial.

That brings us to the obvious follow-up question: of all the miniature games I could have chosen, why Warhammer 40,000?

Because it’s been part of my life, on and off, for nearly forty years. This was one of my earliest gaming touchstones, right alongside Dungeons & Dragons and Magic: The Gathering. Even during periods when I wasn’t actively playing, its absence from this list always felt… wrong.

In 2025, however, I came back to it in a big way. I played a lot, started a brand-new army, Tyranids, and spent frankly ungodly amounts of time painting tiny space monsters with more care than most adult responsibilities deserve.

Now, let’s be clear: I’m not convinced Warhammer 40,000 10th Edition is a great design. But I am convinced it’s a great experience. And when you combine the gameplay with the hobby aspect, the spectacle of a fully painted army on the table, and the sheer narrative excess of the setting, it earns its place here.

I love the universe; there’s usually a 40k novel sitting on my nightstand, and while the hobby is outrageously expensive (only a fool would enter it without hesitation), the reality is that it’s given me decades of incredible memories. I regret none of it.

It does require a measured approach. You need a sense of humor at the table, discipline with your wallet, and a willingness to manage your enthusiasm rather than surrender to it completely. But approached with the right mindset, Warhammer 40,000 is an unmatched blend of game, hobby, and spectacle.

For that alone, it deserves a spot on this list.

8. Paths Of Glory

Alright, now we’re truly getting into the weeds.

Unlike most genres of gaming, I’m a relative newcomer to historical wargames. My first real exposure came through a wonderful title called B-17 Flying Fortress Leader, but Paths of Glory was easily my most ambitious leap into the deep end.

And it paid off, because I absolutely adore this game.

This thematically rich, card-driven masterpiece spans the entirety of the First World War, capturing not just the scope of the conflict but its drama. Every card, every decision, every front feels weighted with historical consequence, making the experience as narratively powerful as it is strategically demanding.

There’s a significant amount of “chrome” here, using the term correctly, I hope, and for someone not raised on historical wargames, the rules were genuinely challenging at first. But once the core systems click and you begin to engage with the deeper strategic and tactical layers, you discover something truly special. This is a level of tabletop gaming depth that few genres can offer, and even within historical wargames, Paths of Glory stands tall.

It’s also a brutally difficult game to win, especially when you’re a late bloomer facing seasoned veterans. But one of the great joys of this space is the community itself. There’s a calm, thoughtful, almost scholarly atmosphere to historical wargaming, a patience and maturity that makes learning, losing, and improving feel deeply rewarding rather than frustrating.

Over the past year, I’ve made a real effort to learn this game properly. Its nuances, its long-term planning, its subtle interplay of risk and restraint. I’m still far from graduating beyond novice status, but with every play I can feel myself improving incrementally and meaningfully, and that alone is incredibly satisfying.

This is not a game I recommend casually. If you’re merely curious about historical wargames, there are far better entry points. Paths of Glory is a graduation, a title you arrive at once you’re ready for something truly heavy, demanding, and profound.

From front to back, it is brilliant.

7. Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul

There’s no question that card-driven influence-control games, niche though they may be, are among my favorite two-player experiences. I own quite a few, and more than one appears on this list, but Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul has enjoyed a recent resurgence for me. In fact, I effectively rediscovered it, and doing so left me wondering how on earth this game ever fell off the list in the first place.

For the uninitiated, this genre, made famous by Twilight Struggle, is a form of area control built around multi-use cards. The core idea is simple, but it has been explored through many fascinating variations in games like Washington’s War, Successors, Hannibal & Hamilcar, and my beloved Imperial Struggle.

Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul earns its spot here for one very specific and very important reason: it’s far more approachable than most of its peers. A common hurdle in this genre is deck knowledge. In many card-driven games, knowing what cards might appear is a critical strategic skill. Until you’ve internalized that information, you’re essentially learning by losing, often repeatedly. Twilight Struggle is infamous for this, and it’s why newcomers can spend a long time getting comfortably trounced before things start to click.

Caesar largely sidesteps that problem. The cards are straightforward, intuitive, and less about surprise timing and more about responding to the evolving board state. As a result, I can teach this game quickly and have a new player competing meaningfully almost immediately. That alone makes it an easy and appealing choice to pull off the shelf.

Beyond accessibility, I genuinely love how it handles its history. The game captures the Roman conquest of Gaul with clarity and flavor, without burying the player under a pile of academic detail. It feels like a proper member of the historical wargaming family, just one that’s welcoming, lean, and refreshingly light on ceremony.

It’s challenging, endlessly replayable, and remarkably easy to get into.

I love it, and it absolutely belongs on this list. It’s also easy to recommend to just about anyone interested in the genre, though I would probably argue for Washington’s War if this is your first segway into the genre; that’s even more approachable and arguably a candidate for this top 20 list, as it too is a fantastic game.

6. Old School Dungeons and Dragons

Alright, this one’s less a single game and more a category, and I’m fully aware that this alone is going to rub a few people the wrong way. The phrase “old school D&D” is hotly debated territory, guarded by a passionate community that often treats it less like a genre and more like a hereditary title. Who gets to claim it, define it, or pass it on is… contentious, to say the least.

For me, old school D&D comfortably includes Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition, as well as B/X-style descendants like Old School Essentials (and by extension BECMI). I also include some more modern interpretations that clearly carry the same spirit, Dolmenwood, and yes, I’ll even dare to say Daggerheart.

But ultimately, I don’t recognize old school play by rulebooks or edition numbers, I recognize it by approach.

Old school D&D is a reactive storytelling system. Worlds are invented on the fly. Characters emerge through play rather than pre-written arcs. The game doesn’t care about your narrative aspirations, and the dice certainly don’t care about your feelings. Triumph feels earned because failure is real, frequent, and often hilarious. The mechanics don’t bend to accommodate you, they push back. When you win, there is a satisfaction to it because you know the odds were against you and only through cleverness can you succeed.

I love adventure games that understand when to challenge me, when to obstruct me, and when to simply get out of my way. Most modern RPGs, in my experience, don’t capture that balance. With a few rare exceptions, many contemporary designs lean hard into mechanical power fantasies, highly curated tactical experiences where success is expected, survivability is guaranteed because balance favors the player, and failure is politely escorted out the back door. I find that… dull.

Even stretching the definition further, there are non-fantasy games that tap into the same ethos. Titles like Vampire: The Masquerade, Alternity, and classics like Shadowrun all scratch that same itch: player-driven stories, dangerous worlds, and systems that don’t promise fairness.

Put plainly: I don’t love the direction modern role-playing has taken. I don’t think most modern RPGs are as much fun as these older designs, and I genuinely believe that, archaic mechanics and all, old school games still represent the most compelling form of role-playing available.

They don’t protect you.
They don’t flatter you.
They let you play.
and most importantly, they allow stories to emerge

5. Empire Of The Sun

If Paths of Glory is a graduation in the world of historical wargames, then Empire of the Sun is a doctorate. This is, without question, the most complex, most demanding, and deepest game I have ever played. It doesn’t depict the Pacific War, it is the Pacific War, rendered in exhaustive operational detail and somehow compressed into a single box.

This is the ultimate challenge. It is the most complex ruleset I have ever learned, and I quite literally need to play it two or three times a year just to keep the rules from evaporating out of my brain entirely. Miss a year, and you’re relearning it from scratch.

That warning label firmly in place, Empire of the Sun is also one of my absolute favorite lifestyle games, an endeavor rather than a pastime, and I have loved every frustrating minute of it. Rules layered atop rules, exceptions piled onto exceptions, and a heroic amount of linguistic gymnastics all combine to create an absurdly steep learning curve. But the payoff is extraordinary: one of the most detailed, authentic, and strategically rich tabletop experiences ever created.

I typically manage two full games per year, each taking roughly two months to complete. It’s a massive commitment. That said, if you can manage it, playing the game in a single sitting is the best way to experience it. Expect an extremely long night. Even with two experienced players, you’re looking at roughly six hours. And yes, it’s worth every single minute.

Despite its scale, the game is intensely interactive. The “you go, I go” structure means constant engagement, and because you’re executing the Pacific War at an operational level, there are no small decisions. Every move is a major operation. Every action reshapes the strategic landscape in meaningful ways.

This is not a game you casually try.
It’s not even a game you learn easily.

But if you commit to it, Empire of the Sun rewards you with an experience few games, of any genre, can match.

One of the best games ever made.

4. Twilight Imperium

This game has been on my best-of list since before I was even keeping one, and for me personally, there’s no ambiguity here: Twilight Imperium is one of the best tabletop games ever made.

That statement, however, comes with a lot of caveats when it comes to recommending it. While this game speaks directly to my gaming soul, it is absolutely, unequivocally not for everyone. In fact, I’d argue it’s niche enough that it’s probably not for most people.

So who is it for?

Twilight Imperium is an epic 4X event game for three to six players that takes anywhere from five to eight hours to play. It’s complex, unapologetically dense, and built around a deep well of strategic and tactical decision-making. It doesn’t streamline itself for convenience, and it doesn’t soften its edges to widen its appeal, because it is exactly what it intends to be.

That intentionality is important. When I read critical reviews of Twilight Imperium, the most common complaints are almost always about features that were deliberately designed into the game. Those criticisms usually say more about mismatched expectations than about the game itself.

For the right group, Twilight Imperium is magnificent. It’s a gorgeous, sprawling science-fiction experience that lets you guide an interstellar civilization through diplomacy, warfare, politics, and ambition in a fiercely competitive 4X environment. The variability is staggering. You could play this game a hundred times and never have the same experience twice. When it works, it’s pure joy, when it doesn’t, it’s hell on earth.

To find that joy, you need the right people. Finding five or six like-minded players who want to commit an entire day to this kind of experience is hard. In my immediate orbit, that group simply doesn’t exist, which means the game spends far too much time gathering dust, an unfortunate fate for something this special.

There is, however, hope on the horizon. A digital version was announced last year for Steam, and honestly, there may be no game in existence more in need of a proper digital adaptation than Twilight Imperium. I have high hopes that it will finally connect fans across distance, scheduling conflicts, and adulthood, and that I’ll soon find myself knee-deep in glorious sci-fi chaos once again.

I can’t wait.

I love this game.

3. Lord of the Rings: The Living Card Game

The Lord of the Rings: The Living Card Game by Fantasy Flight Games is my favorite card game ever made, but probably not for the reasons you’d expect.

I play it almost exclusively solo. While it’s an excellent game at any player count (and particularly strong at two), I rarely make an effort to get it to the table that way. Instead, this is my daily ritual. I set it up on a small gaming table in my office and run a game or two each day. I’ve kept that routine for years now. Occasionally, I take breaks, but for the most part, I’ve been happily cycling through its overwhelming library of expansions again and again, and somehow it never gets old.

That’s the magic of it. I never tire of this game. It offers a fully realized, deeply thematic board gaming experience whenever I want it, without scheduling, negotiation, or compromise. I enjoy the solitude, but even more than that, I love the puzzles. This game is brutally difficult, demanding precise deck construction, careful play, and long-term planning. No matter how many years I’ve invested in it, it never truly gets easier; it just invites you to fail more intelligently.

At this point, I own nearly everything ever released for the game, which means the collecting phase of the hobby is mercifully behind me. That said, it’s worth acknowledging that living card games are not cheap, and I’m always hesitant to recommend it casually for that reason alone.

But if you love The Lord of the Rings, and if you love card games, especially deep deck-building experiences, there is simply nothing else like this. Nothing even comes close.

This is one of the most challenging, elaborate, and rewarding card games I’ve ever played. I adore it, and it earns its place on this list with grace, confidence, and an absurdly large stack of cards.

2. Imperial Struggle

Imperial Struggle is a difficult game to explain, and that, more than anything else, is why it remains such a tough sell and a relative unknown in the wider board game sphere.

At its core, it explores the century-long global rivalry between Britain and France, rendered in an abstracted but highly coherent way that ties just enough mechanical logic to historical reality for everything to make sense. It’s also a member of the card-driven influence-control genre. Either of those elements alone can already be a hurdle for many players. Together, they create a niche within a niche.

Then there’s the learning curve. Imperial Struggle, I would not say is unforgiving to new players, but it’s fairly demanding. Not so much in rules comprehension (though still there is some complexity), but definitely in strategic depth and understanding the core principles behind winning. It’s entirely possible, easy, even, to lose the game by the second round if you misstep early. That kind of punishment, paired with a fair amount of rules overhead, makes it a game that’s hard to table and even harder to recommend casually.

And yet.

If you give it a real chance, if you power through those first few games and reach the inevitable light-bulb moment, a remarkable strategic landscape opens up. The game suddenly reveals an astonishing number of viable paths, long-term plans, and tactical pivots. It’s like stumbling onto an obscure novel series you’ve never heard of and realizing, halfway through the first book, that it’s quietly brilliant. That’s what discovering Imperial Struggle feels like.

It’s not an easy journey, and having a good teacher helps enormously; this is not a game that gently teaches itself. But I genuinely can’t think of another game more worthy of the effort.

Every time I play, all I want to do is reset the board and go again. I want to try that strategy instead. Or this opening. Or see what happens if I lean harder into a card I previously dismissed as useless. And without fail, cards or systems I once questioned eventually reveal their purpose. A few games later, it clicks: oh, that’s how this works. The discovery never stops.

What makes this even more impressive is how tight the design space actually is. There aren’t endless systems layered on top of each other, just a remarkably robust framework that takes many, many plays to fully internalize and master, but rewards you for doing so.

Importantly, while the learning curve can be called “moderately heavy”, the game itself is logical. Hidden information is limited, and it doesn’t lean nearly as hard on encyclopedic card knowledge as some of its genre cousins, including Twilight Struggle. The strategic dynamics are deep, but they’re also coherent.

This matters. When you lose your first game of Twilight Struggle, you often don’t even understand why until you’ve lost ten more and the systems finally come into focus. In Imperial Struggle, the reason for your loss is painfully obvious, even in game one. The board state tells a clear story, and improvement comes immediately. It’s an intelligent game, but it never makes you feel stupid.

There’s no question that this is my favorite game in the card-driven influence-control genre. And honestly, it goes beyond that, it’s very close to being one of my favorite games of all time.

But, as Yoda famously said:

“No… there is another.”

1. War Room

Ever since the day I received War Room, as a birthday gift, the tradition of playing it once per year, on my birthday, has become one of my most cherished gaming rituals. It’s not just a game day; it’s an event. One I look forward to all year.

I’ve sung the praises of War Room on this blog for years, and its position at number one has never been in doubt. Not once. That hasn’t changed.

What has changed is my perspective. After enough plays, the glow of novelty fades and what remains is something far more valuable: understanding. At this point, War Room is a game I know, and know well. I wouldn’t change a single word of the review I wrote back in 2019, but time and experience have added some clarity worth sharing.

First and foremost: War Room is undeniably random. That’s not exactly a revelation, you roll handfuls of dice to resolve combat, but the deeper randomness lies in timing. In War Room, when something happens is often just as important, if not more so, than what happens.

Take the opening round. Whether Japan acts first, or whether the U.S. and Britain do, can define the entire shape of the war from that moment forward. It’s arguably the single most impactful moment in the game, and it hinges on an oil-bidding contest in round one. The same is true between Russia, Germany and Britain in Europe. That decision doesn’t determine who wins or loses outright, but it absolutely dictates the next two to four rounds of the war, what survives, what burns, who the aggressor gets to be and how starved or flush each nation is with resources during the most critical opening moments.

Bidding is usually very close, so often, even with bidding, the turn order is decided randomly due to ties.

You can debate the “correct” strategy endlessly, and people do, but that’s part of the joy. The point is that chance plays an enormous role throughout the game. Yes, you can mitigate it through deterministic choices, but control always comes at a cost. The more certainty you demand, the more resources you burn. That tension, do you invest, or do you gamble? is at the heart of War Room.

And it’s both the game’s brilliance and, perhaps, its greatest flaw.

Because War Room is brutally unforgiving. Despite its enormous scope, you actually make far fewer decisions than you might expect. Each nation gets six moves per round. Most games end in three to five rounds. Over a twelve-hour session, you’ll make roughly eighteen to thirty truly meaningful decisions, and those decisions will define everything.

Here’s the paradox: War Room wants repeated plays. It begs for mastery. It’s an event game that secretly longs to be a lifestyle game. But its size and length make that nearly impossible. If you’re lucky, you’ll get one game per year. Maybe two if the stars align. You never quite get enough repetitions to fully explore its strategic depth.

It took me five years, five plays, to even begin forming basic conclusions about what works and what doesn’t. That’s a glacial pace by any standard. And so, inevitably, players fall back on the one thing the game always allows: luck. Let the dice decide. Hope for the best.

That doesn’t make War Room bad. Not even close. It simply means that most games are played closer to high-stakes gambling than to pure strategic optimization, despite the fact that the system is absolutely capable of supporting that deeper play.

And yet… I love it.

None of this diminishes War Room in my eyes. If anything, it makes me wish I could play it more. I wish I had the time to truly live inside its systems, to explore every nuance and edge case it offers. My only real regret is that this game didn’t exist when I was fifteen years old, with endless weekends and nothing but time.

Fifteen-year-old me would have played the absolute hell out of this game.

So yes, without hesitation, without qualifiers:

The best game ever made. Period.

10 Amazing Games No One Knows About

In the modern board-gaming landscape, new releases don’t just “come out”, they burst forth in a tidal wave, fueled by Kickstarter dreams, indie ambitions, and the eternal hope that this design will finally be the one that breaks through. With hundreds of amateur publishers and small creators tossing their hats into the ring, it’s become all but impossible to keep up with everything hitting the shelves.

To put it in perspective: this year alone, over 500 new board games dropped on BGG. Five hundred! Even if you made board gaming your full-time job and played a new title every single day of the year, you’d still fall short. And you’d also probably lose all your friends, because scheduling that many game nights is basically a war crime.

In this chaotic release environment, countless titles slip through the cracks, many deservedly so… but plenty of these are absolute gems that simply never found their audience. And that’s where today’s list comes in.

We went spelunking through the forgotten tunnels of board-game obscurity to dig up 10 fantastic games you’ve probably never even heard of, but absolutely should have.

Welcome to today’s topic: 10 Board Games No One Knows About. Let’s shine a light on the lost, the overlooked, and the criminally underplayed. In no particular order!

New Angeles (2016) – BGG Rank 1561

New Angeles is what happens when you mix corporate greed, city management, light backstabbing, and a cooperative game night that absolutely won’t stay cooperative.

Set in the Android universe, players take on the roles of mega-corporations shaping the future of a glittering sci-fi metropolis. Everyone has the same broad goal, to keep the city from collapsing into chaos, but each corporation has very different ideas on what “helping” looks like. And, of course, one player is secretly a Federalist whose only job is to watch the city burn.

Mechanically, it’s incredibly approachable. Each round, players propose agendas, essentially the policies the city will follow that turn, and then argue, plead, negotiate, and occasionally bribe their tablemates into voting for their preferred option. The whole experience plays out like a futuristic city council meeting where everyone is both a lobbyist and a special interest group.

The fun isn’t in complex systems or dense rules, the fun is in the conversation. Every vote becomes a mini political debate. Every agenda becomes a chance to sway the room. And every round becomes a tense balancing act between helping the city, helping yourself, and trying to figure out if that one player who keeps making bad decisions is incompetent or just the Federalist.

It’s dynamic, it’s social, it’s narratively rich, and it’s honestly one of the most underappreciated designs of 2016. If you love games where interaction is the real engine, New Angeles is a masterpiece hiding in plain sight.

Condottiere (1995) – BGG Rank 1034

There are a lot of trick-taking games in the world, enough to fill a small museum or at least a very judgmental shelf. But I’ll say this without hesitation: Condottiere is the best trick-taking game that ever briefly shined, vanished, and left most of the hobby tragically unaware of its brilliance.

It’s themed around the late-medieval Italian Renaissance, but does not require a working knowledge of 15th-century mercenary politics to enjoy it. That odd theme, however, is probably why half the gaming world missed this one entirely. But do yourself a favor, don’t let the dusty history-book veneer scare you off.

What makes Condottiere special is its razor-sharp blend of trick-taking and area control. Winning battles on the map requires winning tricks, but the real strategy comes from managing your hand over multiple rounds, playing the long game, and anticipating how every card you commit or hold back, will shape your eventual path to conquest. It’s a simple to learn, deeply strategic card game, filled with the kind of “I can’t believe you just did that” table moments that only smart card games can produce.

Despite its rules fitting into a three-minute explanation, Condottiere is a game you’ll return to for years, trying to unravel its layers. Psychology plays as big a role as the cards themselves. Bluffing, tempo, reading opponents, timing your retreats, it all matters.

It’s beautiful, elegant, endlessly replayable, and somehow still the trick-taking masterpiece no one talks about. If you love the genre, this is the one game you absolutely need in your collection. This is THE trick-taking game lovers of the genre must own!

XCOM: The Board Game (2015) BGG RANK 1003

Based on the beloved (and occasionally soul-crushing) XCOM PC series, XCOM: The Board Game takes the digital classic’s signature panic-inducing time pressure and somehow makes it even more stressful, in a good way. While the video game might not be universally known outside PC circles, it’s still a major piece of gaming history, and the board game leans hard into the two core pillars that made its digital ancestor so memorable.

First, XCOM has always been about time. The alien invasion escalates, the clock is ticking, and you’re constantly forced to act before you’re really ready. That’s central to the video game, and brilliantly recreated on the tabletop.

Second, it’s about scarcity. Not enough money, not enough soldiers, not enough satellites, and certainly not enough calm among the players as they frantically try to hold the planet together with duct tape and prayer.

The board game captures both elements by doing something almost unheard of in traditional strategy titles: it’s played in real time with an app barking orders at you. No leisurely planning, no “give me a minute to think,” no zen-like strategizing. Instead, players take on specialized roles, Commander, Squad Leader, Central Officer, Chief Scientist, and must make rapid decisions that directly affect each other, often without enough time to actually talk things through. You simply have to trust your teammates… or at least hope they won’t accidentally doom the planet.

Surprisingly, the app remains unpredictable even after multiple plays. Unlike many app-driven titles that eventually fall into patterns, XCOM keeps the tension high and the threats variable.

The result is a glorious mash-up of party-game panic and cooperative strategic depth. It’s fast, frantic, and far more engaging than most people expected, which makes its lukewarm reception all the more baffling. Honestly, the only thing missing is a hidden traitor role. A saboteur would have been chef’s kiss, especially once a group has mastered the basics and the difficulty starts to dip.

Still, even without the extra chaos, XCOM: The Board Game is a wildly underrated gem that delivers one of the most unique cooperative experiences out there.

Red Rising (2021) BGG Rank 1035

A lot of games on this list make me raise an eyebrow when I see how low they rank, but Red Rising? Honestly, I get it. My first play left me pretty unimpressed, and if someone in my group hadn’t insisted we give it another shot, I might have walked away thinking it was all style and no substance. Thankfully, I was very wrong.

The theme certainly didn’t help its visibility, Red Rising is based on a relatively obscure sci-fi novel series of the same name (which, for the record, is fantastic and absolutely worth reading). But don’t worry: prior knowledge of space aristocracies and color-coded castes is not required to enjoy the game.

Mechanically, Red Rising is a deck-crafting card game with a dash of resource management, but the real hook is the interplay between the cards you pick and the cards you leave behind. Every card in your hand is a potential point engine, combo, or strategy, but everything you don’t take becomes an opportunity for someone else. The board develops into a kind of communal buffet where every choice you make can feed an opponent if you’re not careful.

There’s a subtle push-and-pull as you manipulate the stacks on the board while shaping your own hand, and the tension ramps up thanks to an intentionally fuzzy end-game trigger. You never quite know how many turns you have left to perfect your hand, so there’s constant pressure to stay flexible and ready for the game to end at any moment.

It’s surprisingly thinky. The pieces themselves aren’t individually mind-blowing, and the first play or two can feel chaotic, almost random. But once you understand how the card synergies mesh and how the timing works, the game snaps into focus. Suddenly, it becomes a fascinating little puzzle with far more depth than you’d expect.

I won’t claim Red Rising is a misunderstood masterpiece, but it is a clever, unique card game doing things you rarely see elsewhere, and it deserved far more attention than it ever got.

Nations The Dice Game (2014) BGG 1237

Nations: The Dice Game belongs to a very sacred category I like to call:
“Games That Replace Games I Despise but Non-Gamers Keep Asking For.” And in this case, the villain is Yahtzee, a game I have played far more times than any human should, entirely against my will, simply because people like rolling dice and praying for six-of-a-kind.

Enter Nations: The Dice Game, a civilization builder that also involves rolling dice and hoping for the best… but with this miraculous addition: actual strategy. You can mitigate luck. You can plan ahead. You can shape your civilization in ways that reduce dependence on the Dice Gods. In other words, you can actually make decisions that matter, something Yahtzee has never heard of.

The theme is fun, the rules are dead simple, and it scratches the same “roll dice, get stuff” itch while being roughly a 1,000% improvement in every possible aspect over Yahtzee. It plays fast, works perfectly as a filler, and it’s endlessly replayable. And if you end up loving it, there’s even an expansion (Unrest) that adds a bit more punch.

It’s quick, clever, and, most importantly, it’s the perfect antidote to another forced evening of Yahtzee.

Starship Catan (2001) BGG Rating 1627

I can’t say I’m shocked to see Starship Catan ranked as low as it is. Honestly, for a title this obscure, its ranking is practically generous. And normally, I’m not a big fan of Catan-branded anything—Settlers has never been my jam, and most of its spin-offs tend to stretch out a simple formula into games that last twice as long as they should.

But Starship Catan is different. This two player Catan game actually has some chops, in fact I would say to put it bluntly: this is the best Catan game ever made. Better than Settlers, better than Starfarers, better than any variant with sheep, grain, or plastic rocket ships. And the fact that it’s strictly a two-player experience is just icing on the cake, because it avoids the #1 problem most Catan games suffer from: taking forever despite offering fairly basic decisions.

Starship Catan takes the familiar Catan concepts, trading, upgrading, resource management and transforms them into a tight, engaging two-player race. The game gives you multiple ways to mitigate, improve, or outright remove dice luck, which alone makes it feel like a breath of fresh air compared to the usual “roll and pray” Catan experience.

It’s short, smart, and surprisingly replayable. I bought my copy back in 2001, and somehow, after nearly 25 years, it still hits the table regularly. My daughter now plays it too, this is one of those games that proves staying power doesn’t come from flash, but from clean, clever design.

It’s fun. It’s simple. And it’s absolutely overlooked. If you enjoy Catan, or even just wish Catan was better, this is a must-own.

Age of Civilization (2019) BGG Rank 1716

I’m a sucker for a good civilization-building game. I own plenty, I play plenty, and I love when a designer manages to cram the essence of a sprawling 4X epic into something you can knock out in the time it takes to make a cup of coffee. Age of Civilization fits that description perfectly.

This game is a tiny, abstracted Civ-builder that manages to feel strategic, tense, and satisfying, all in 15 to 30 minutes. It’s a bit of a race, a bit of an efficiency puzzle, and a whole lot of clever design wrapped into a filler-length package. And full disclosure: I don’t even own a physical copy. I’ve played it relentlessly on BoardGameArena, which should tell you how good it is despite its humble size.

I can’t say I’m shocked that it’s overlooked. Fillers almost never climb high on BGG rankings. Still, it’s wild to see heavyweight short games like 7 Wonders Duel and The Crew sitting comfortably in the top 100 while brilliant little titles like this one languish in the 1700s. Don’t get me wrong, those are great games, but if they are in the top 100, so should Age of Civilization.

Age of Civilization is tight, thinky, and surprisingly competitive. Every decision, literally every single one, matters. There’s almost no randomness; most of the information you need is visible from the very first round, which means the game rewards planning, timing, and adaptability over luck.

Even better, while most strong fillers are two-player affairs, this one works beautifully at 2, 3, or 4 players, and remains highly replayable across all counts.

Short, strategic, and punchy, Age of Civilization is an underappreciated gem that deserves far more love than it gets.

Aristeia! (2017) BGG Rank 1903

I’m convinced part of the reason Aristeia! is so overlooked is because at first glance it looks like some kind of Japanese anime gladiator game. The art style is loud and unusual, and I never would’ve bought it for myself. But sometimes being a reviewer means you get surprises in the mail, occasionally great ones.

Case in point: Corvus Belli sent me a review copy of their newest miniature game (Warcrow), and tucked inside the box was Aristeia!. And here’s the twist: while Warcrow was solid and fun, it was Aristeia! that absolutely stole the show.

The game is a fast, competitive, sports-arena skirmish played on a hex grid. You control a small team of unique characters, complete with minis, each with their own abilities. Gameplay mixes clever card-driven tactics, slick movement mechanics, and objective control into a tight, engaging package. The whole thing feels like a tactical TV bloodsport, and it sings on the table.

What surprises me the most is that this never became a hit among miniature gamers. It’s practically engineered for them. It’s like a miniatures skirmish game in filler form: Don’t have time for a full game of Warcrow or Infinity? No problem, play a best-of-three match of Aristeia! in under an hour.

The rules are straightforward, the gameplay is fast and tactical, and there’s plenty of list-building and team customization. And if you fall in love with it, there are expansions galore.

It ended up being one of my favorite discoveries of the year. My daughter and I play it constantly.

A fantastic, tightly designed, and criminally underrated game.

Illuminati (1987) BGG Rank 2607

This one, I have to admit, frustrates me. Not because the game is bad, quite the opposite. Illuminati is one of the all-time greats. It has been in print almost continuously since 1987, and despite that longevity it still sits criminally under-appreciated. Practically a gaming injustice.

I can almost forgive its low profile, though, because Steve Jackson’s design reputation has always been a bit niche. Old-school gamers like me, who cut our teeth in the ’80s on Axis & Allies, Dune, Advanced Civilization, and other titans, know these classics well. But many of them, including Illuminati, have remained somewhat obscure despite loyal cult followings.

To me, Illuminati is the ultimate psychological competition. It is an argument waiting to happen. Betrayal, manipulation, and cut-throat mind games aren’t just possibilities, they’re the core mechanics.

You’re trying to build a growing power structure by adding organizations to your Illuminati web. But the stronger you become, the more exposed you are. The only way to rise is to make someone else fall. Every decision is a balancing act of threat perception, convincing others you’re harmless while quietly setting up the perfect final strike.

Its a mean game and that might explain why it’s struggled in the modern age of friendlier, more cooperative designs. Illuminati demands ruthlessness from everyone at the table, and not all gamers enjoy taking (or receiving) a knife in the back.

Still, it remains, without question in my mind, a stone-cold classic. Bold, unique and fiercely interactive. A true original that deserves far more love than it gets.

War Room (2019) BGG Rating 2198

Alright, my bias is about to show. War Room is my favorite board game of all time. I consider it dangerously close to perfect in how it executes its design goals, and it is an absolute blast to play.

That said, I’m not remotely surprised to see it sitting in the 2000s on BGG. Honestly, I’m a little surprised it ranks that high. The reasons are obvious: this is a massive, all-day event game that practically demands 4–6 players and devours 10–12 hours. Add in its truly eye-watering price tag, and yeah… I get why it’s not climbing the charts.

But leaving it off this list would be dishonest, because War Room is responsible for some of my most cherished gaming memories. My group plays it every year on my birthday, no questions asked. When Chris’s birthday rolls around, everyone knows what we’re doing: we’re setting up War Room.

Epic doesn’t even begin to cover it. You and your allies reenact the most iconic and devastating conflict in human history, World War II, in all its tragic, sprawling intensity. Hidden orders, bucketloads of dice rolling, resource management, and breathtaking large-scale planning combine into an experience unlike anything else I’ve ever played.

Nothing matches its scope. Nothing comes close to its ambition.

I love it. Enough said.

List complete.

In Theory: Is Star Wars Shatterpoint A Good Miniature Game?

Shatterpoint, in my experience, is one of those games I orbit like a curious satellite, drawn in by proximity to someone who collects it, intrigued enough to play from time to time, but still waiting for that Force-tinged spark to pull me fully into the gravity well. I’ve danced around the edge of commitment more times than I can count. I’ve even had Shatterpoint boxes in my cart at Alphaspel.se, but each time, I’ve backed out at the final checkout like Admiral Akbar sensing a trap.

Don’t get me wrong: the miniatures are phenomenal, arguably the finest Star Wars sculpts on the market. The scale is just right, and it hits that sweet spot of the galaxy far, far away: up-close and personal lightsaber clashes, blaster duels, and cinematic showdowns between iconic characters. It’s Star Wars at its most visceral. And Shatterpoint nails that vibe.

And yet… I hesitate.

This isn’t the only game that puts me in this strange force dyad of admiration and ambivalence. Take Marvel: Crisis Protocol, I love the Marvel universe, truly, and Crisis Protocol delivers some of the most stunning superhero miniatures I’ve ever seen, wrapped in a concept that practically screams “perfect game night.” Super squads brawling across a cityscape? That’s pure comic book gold. And still, I find myself asking the same uncomfortable question.

I love all things Marvel, I feel literal pain that I don’t own these miniatures, but for me, a miniature game has to be more than just nice miniatures. Collection and gameplay have to be inseparable partners that live side by side as equals.

Are these actually good games?

In today’s In Theory article, we’re zeroing in on Star Wars: Shatterpoint. I want to break down why I think it might be a great game… and also why I suspect it might not be. Let’s get into it!

Star Wars: Shatterpoint as a premise

When Star Wars: Shatterpoint was first announced, it landed at a time when the Star Wars tabletop scene was, let’s be honest, already more crowded than the Mos Eisley cantina on a Saturday night. I’d spent years navigating asteroid fields with X-Wing, commanding fleets in Armada, and my Legion core box was still sitting half-painted like a forgotten protocol droid in a junkyard. And don’t even get me started on Star Wars: Destiny, that game was my cardboard crack, I was blowing money on it like I won the lottery. It was just… a lot. Too much Star Wars plastic, too many dice, too many rules bouncing around my head.

So when Shatterpoint came along, I made a decision, a prequel-style “this is how democracy dies” kind of decision, to skip it. Not because I thought it looked bad, but because I had officially hit Star Wars saturation. My shelves were already groaning under the weight of the galaxy far, far away. Even my wife, god love her, whose tolerance for my bullshit is significantly higher than I imagine most wives, gave me the stank eye as I was scrolling Star Wars Shatterpoint mini’s on my iPad.

Star Wars Shatterpoint is absolutely gorgeous; there is absolutely nothing in the market today that can compete, in my opinion. From a visual aesthetic perspective, it’s worth collecting these miniatures just for collecting’s sake.

My decision did not discourage my local gaming crew; several of my friends dove in headfirst, and that gave me plenty of chances to test the game out. And not at all that surprising, my first impression of the game was that it was quite brilliant.

Not perfect, but brilliant.

The core concept of Shatterpoint is rock solid. It leans into what makes Star Wars great: iconic characters in dynamic, cinematic combat. Each unit is asymmetrically powered, meaning Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like Maul, and Maul sure as hell doesn’t feel like Ahsoka. The gameplay itself is objective-driven, fast-paced, and surprisingly smooth, no mid-battle rulebook diving, just action.

Even early on, it felt like there was a ton of room for variety and growth baked into the system, a wide-open hyperspace lane for future expansions, modes, and narrative twists. As a premise, Shatterpoint struck me as one of the most clever designs to come out of the Star Wars gaming space in years.

Even as the game’s initial impression had me grinning from ear to ear, reconsidering my decision to pass on it, I could not shake the feeling that something was both familiar and ever so slightly off.

A Lack of Drama

To understand my hesitation, you have to know a bit about my gaming history, and one of my more cockamamie theories about why I love miniature games in the first place. This is important because if you’re interested in Shatterpoint (or any miniature game), you should know what kind of gamer you are. It’s not always just about reviews and opinions; style and preference should always be considered first and foremost when considering a game for your collection.

So, Marvel: Crisis Protocol came out a few years before Shatterpoint, and the two games share more than a few mechanical similarities. In fact, you could argue they’re essentially the same game wearing different thematic costumes. I wouldn’t entirely sign off on that claim; they do have key differences that give each its own identity, but they clearly spring from the same design philosophy: objective-based gameplay first, theme and setting a distant second.

Star Wars X-Wing didn’t really have objectives, and when they were added later, they didn’t really matter that much, but that was ok because X-Wing just tapped into the Star Wars universe feel with perfection. Feel is a real thing, and when you play enough games, you just know it when it’s there, it sometimes really is just that simple with games.

And that, right there, is where my main issue lies.

To explain that issue properly, I need to be clear about what I value most in a miniatures game. For me, theme, setting, and feel come first, not balance, not clean mechanics, not elegant game loops. I see miniature games as an extension of roleplaying; they should feel like small, tactical stories unfolding on the tabletop. If a game can reflect and bring to life its setting through its mechanics, not just its art and models, that’s when I really connect with it.

I’m not sure that makes perfect sense, but basically: I’d rather a game be thematically authentic than mechanically perfect. I want it to feel like the world it’s portraying, even if that means it’s a little clunky or chaotic. The game should simulate the soul of its universe.

That’s probably why I love games like The Middle-Earth Strategy Battle Game, Warhammer 40,000, Blood Bowl, BattleTech, and Star Wars: X-Wing. These games may not be celebrated for their balance or cutting-edge design, but they ooze theme. They play like the worlds they represent. On the other hand, critically acclaimed games like Infinity, Malifaux, or Moonstone, as clever and well-designed as they are, just don’t light that same fire in me. Some I’ve tried. Others I haven’t, because I already know they don’t scratch the same itch.

Take BattleTech, for example. I know it’s not a brilliant design. It’s slow, it’s random, and sometimes it falls apart under its own weight. But it gives me exactly what I want: a messy, explosive mech brawl where missiles fly, limbs get blown off, and heat sinks explode. It’s unpredictable and thematic, and determining a winner is not nearly as important as creating a great memory of that time when X or Y happened. It lives and breathes its world unapologetically, catering to fans of the genre and the story behind the game.

Battletech is an odd mixture so far as games go because the details on a battlemech’s character sheet go further than most RPGs, the rules are thick with unique weaponry and tactics, and the game itself can be excessively long. Yet from a core mechanic perspective, it’s basically a Yatzee dice chucker. You have very limited control over the outcomes of a game, a single missile can ignite an ammo store on your mech and blow you up and it’s game over.

Now enter Shatterpoint, and here’s where my core issue kicks in.

Shatterpoint plays more like a game of chess. Yes, the characters have distinct powers and abilities connected to the Star Wars Universe, but at the end of the day, their job is the same: stand on an objective, push enemies off, and score struggle points to win. It’s a positioning puzzle, a tactical game of movement. Victory isn’t about winning an awesome duel between Vader and Skywalker or taking out the enemy Bounty Hunter or some story arc in the Star Wars universe; it’s about board control, and it’s exclusively and only about that.

The one thing Shatterpoint does well that brings it closer to its theme and makes up for some of the other failures to bring Star Wars to life is the characters. Every character’s powers are distinctly unique and very in tune with their on-screen personas. I think Shatterpoint nailed it in this department.

And that creates a disconnect. It’s supposed to be a game about epic, cinematic duels between legendary characters (that’s on the tin!), but that sense of drama just isn’t there and is often even discouraged. Instead, you get a sterile, tactical experience where the theme takes a back seat.

You may be tempted, for example, to have Obi-Wan descend upon Darth Maul to let them have an epic duel out in the open field because it’s awesome, but everything about that from a gameplay perspective is a mistake. You fight only when it serves the objective, you certainly don’t leave an objective for someone else to grab and it’s far better to send someone less powerful to face Darth Maul to keep him busy, rather than simply fight him for awesome fighting’s sake. That sort of decision-making is not only common but almost mandatory for success. The game doesn’t encourage or reward doing the cool stuff or taking risks; it encourages smart tactical play that serves the purpose of scoring objective points so you can win the struggle.

That might be fine if the struggle had some meaning or story behind it, but unfortunately, that is not the case.

The struggle is a sort of nameless, faceless, inanimate “thing” left undefined beyond the mechanical purpose it serves in the game to determine a winner. You’re not trying to disable the Death Star’s power or blow up the shield generator; you’re trying to score X points before the opponent does. That’s the whole game, every mission is the same, all that changes is some minor thing like which objectives you can score on this round or some quirky special power you might get when drawing a shatter card.

The Struggle Tracker, don’t get me wrong, is a very clever mechanic that builds tension and makes your goals in the game very clear, but it just doesn’t really represent or depict anything. It’s just this abstract thing that’s there to remind you if you’re winning or losing.

Don’t get me wrong, the mechanics are sharp. The game is well-designed. It’s an interesting, engaging system. But the Star Wars theme doesn’t matter to the gameplay itself, nor do the circumstances of the battle have any meaning, being indistinct “brawls” for positional control. Even the objective carries no thematic weight; being nothing more than a “spot” on the field, you need to be within 2 inches to control. It’s all very pragmatic, absent of any meaning, story, or connection to the Star Wars universe. A terrible missed opportunity!

I bring up Marvel: Crisis Protocol in the same conversation because it suffers from the exact same issue. For all the cool miniatures and superhero flair, the gameplay doesn’t reflect the universe it’s based on in any meaningful way. It’s not a battle between Dr. Strange and a multiverse demon to control the book of Vishanti; it’s a contest of who can hold objective A or B long enough to score enough points before the round ends. It’s just absent of the flavor that makes the Marvel Universe, its history, and setting special and fun.

Marvel Crisis Protocol, in a way, is a worse offender in the absence of theme, setting, and story connection as a game. There is literally an unlimited amount of story material on which to build events, missions, and stories for the game. For them to settle on abstract objectives, completely disconnecting the game from this potential, is, I would argue, inexcusable.

Both games, I don’t want to say, feel soulless, but lack a certain commitment to simulating and supporting the theme and the cinematic spectacle you hope to discover when you play them. That’s a harsh critique, I know, but it’s the one thing that keeps me from diving into either of them; no matter how good the sculpts look or how tight the mechanics are, these games more or less boils down to a game of positioning. There is no story, induction of Star Wars or Marvel events, or a meaningful way in which the setting’s epicness comes to the surface.

Is it a fun game? Is it a good game?

Those are relative questions, and when it comes to Star Wars: Shatterpoint, the answer depends entirely on what you think makes a miniature game fun or good in the first place. There’s no objective measure here. It’s all a matter of personal taste, and that’s the exact crossroads where I find myself.

From my perspective, Shatterpoint is a well-designed game. It’s streamlined, it runs cleanly, and there’s very little rules ambiguity. The tactical puzzle is real and rewarding, especially if that’s the kind of game you enjoy. And if you’re the type who thrives on smart plays, tight decisions, and clever planning, then yes, it’s fun. In that regard, it delivers.

And I do enjoy it, at least to a degree. There’s something undeniably satisfying about seeing iconic Star Wars characters brought to life on the tabletop. I’m not completely opposed to brainy, tactical games either. Shatterpoint challenges you to think ahead, adapt, and outmaneuver. It’s a solid mental workout.

But for me, the experience falls short in one crucial area: the connection between game and setting.

Yes, the game has objectives, but they are abstract, disconnected from the world they’re supposed to represent. I love a good mission-driven game, but only if those missions feel rooted in the narrative. If Shatterpoint had objectives that tied into iconic Star Wars moments or scenarios, or even just leaned harder into the drama of its duels, I think it would go from an “interesting game” to a great experience.

Instead, it stops just short. It teases greatness, but doesn’t quite land it. It’s missing something vital, and tragically, that something happens to be the only thing that truly matters to me. The one and pretty much only thing I care about when I play a miniature game.

A good story.

And so ends the anxiety over whether or not I will buy into Shatterpoint.

It’s just not meant to be.