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Best of List, Board Game Reviews

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.

Best of List, Gaming Articles, On The Table

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.

Best of List, Gaming Articles, Hidden Gems

In Theory: The Historical War Game Genre

This blog has always been a colorful tapestry of wildly different gaming topics, by design, not by accident. But even within that eclectic mix, clear dividing lines emerge. One of the most distinct is the rift between the broader board gaming community and the niche but passionate world of historical strategy and war games. These aren’t just different genres, they’re almost different cultures within the hobby.

That said, I’m living proof that this divide is more imagined than real. Like many supposed boundaries in gaming, it’s built more on perception than truth. While it’s easy to think of historical war gamers as a cloistered sub-group with their own sacred tomes and hex-filled rituals, the reality is far more fluid. Just as many historical gamers dabble in mainstream modern board games, there’s a growing curiosity among general board gamers about the mysterious and complex world of historical strategy.

But let’s be honest, crossing the bridge from mainstream games to historical war gaming can feel like stepping into another dimension. It’s far easier to move from heavy war games to general board games than the other way around. This is because historical games tend to be deep, dense, and unapologetically complex as a default. What a seasoned wargamer might casually call “light,” most hobby gamers would label “brain-melting.”

Take complexity ratings on BoardGameGeek as a perfect example. Twilight Imperium, a game known for its epic length and interstellar sprawl, clocks in at a weighty 4.33 out of 5. That’s pretty high, unless you’re a historical war gamer. Compare that to Empire of the Sun, a game steeped in the Pacific Theater of WWII, which sits at a 4.39. At first glance, a marginal difference. But in practice, these two games are judged by entirely different standards. Empire of the Sun isn’t just complex, it’s an Everest of a rulebook, dense with nuance and requiring perhaps a hundred hours of study even for experienced players. Its 45-page manual is printed in a font size small enough to make a lawyer squint, functionally the equivalent of a 90- to 120-page standard rulebook.

Twilight Imperium is an exceptional game, and I would easily quantify it as an amazing war game, but it does not fit into the historical strategy/war game genre as historical war gamers define their own genre. Being about a war is not enough.

To a hardcore historical gamer, Twilight Imperium might feel like a breezy afternoon diversion, perhaps a 2 or 2.5 on their personal scale of complexity.

My point is this: complexity and depth are relative concepts, deeply tied to experience and exposure. The world of historical war games isn’t just more intricate, it’s built differently, with its own traditions, expectations, and design philosophies. From minimalist components to standardized presentation styles, these games often look arcane and intimidating, which, let’s face it, they are, but there’s a strange elegance beneath the surface.

Today, I want to share a bit about my own journey into this fascinating world and offer some practical advice for those curious enough to dip their toes into the deep waters of historical strategy and war games. Whether you’re a seasoned Eurogamer looking for a new challenge or a curious newcomer intrigued by the lore of real-world conflicts, this one’s for you.

Some Encouragement & Reality

Speaking as a fairly typical board gamer who took the plunge into historical strategy and war games, let me offer a little encouragement and a dose of reality.

First, if you’re going to dive into this subgenre, you’ll need to be self-sufficient. These games often require solo setup, self-directed learning, and more than a few hours of quiet study. This isn’t a genre where you crack open the box, skim the rulebook, and dive in with a buddy over pizza and drinks. Technically, sure, you could try, but you’re more likely to spend the evening fumbling through obscure mechanics, wondering why nothing makes intuitive sense.

But here’s the twist: that’s part of the fun.

There’s something uniquely satisfying about deciphering a complex historical war game on your own. You’ll set it up, stumble through turns, cross-reference rulebooks, and gradually bring the simulation to life. It’s a solo endeavor at first, almost like reading a dense but rewarding novel. Once you understand it, you’re ready to teach it, not from the rulebook, but from experience. And if that doesn’t appeal to you, it’s probably a sign this genre may not be for you. This hands-on, slow-burn learning process is the hobby.

Twilight Struggle is perhaps the most famous example of a cross-over hit that lives in the historical strategy/war game category and is beloved by serious war gamers, yet has found considerable popularity in mainstream gaming. It’s an exceptional game.

Second, and this is crucial, understanding the actual history behind the game is often key to understanding the game itself. Most historical war games fall into the “simulation” category. That means the mechanics aren’t just arbitrary, they’re grounded in real-world events, logistics, and military doctrine. At first glance, some rules might seem bizarre or even unnecessary. But once you dig into the history, why that mechanic exists, what it represents, it starts to make sense. The design isn’t just about gameplay; it’s about reenactment, grounded in research.

In this way, learning a historical war game often involves learning history. If you find yourself fascinated by the “why” behind a game’s structure, why supply lines matter, why political will ebbs and flows, why reinforcements arrive late, that’s a good sign you’re in the right place. If that level of engagement sounds exhausting rather than exciting, though, you may want to reconsider.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, these games exist in a kind of ecosystem. There’s a lineage of mechanics, design principles, and influences that connect them like branches on a tree. The most complex games often build on systems introduced in earlier, simpler titles. There’s a generational progression, what some call “design DNA.”

For example, jumping straight into Empire of the Sun might be biting off more than you can chew. But games like Washington’s War or Paths of Glory share many of its core mechanics in more digestible forms. They act as stepping stones, easing you into the deeper waters with familiar rules and systems. You’ll find that learning one game helps you understand the next, especially when they come from the same designer or design school. This might be a familiar concept to general board gamers because in kind of works the same way in the mass market. We sometimes call certain games “good introduction games”, for example, Ticket To Ride or Settlers of Catan are often mentioned as good first dives into the larger world of boardgaming. The only difference is that in historical strategy and war games, this tends to be a lot more specific to the target game you want to reach.

That’s why doing a bit of homework goes a long way. Look into game families, designer interviews, and community recommendations. You’ll often find that designers openly discuss their influences, and discovering these connections can help you choose games that fit your current skill level and interests, driving you towards your target game. It’s like crafting your own war gaming curriculum.

In short, historical strategy and war games reward research, patience, and a thirst for learning. If that excites you, then you’re in for a deeply rewarding journey, one filled with rich history, complex mechanics, and a surprising sense of discovery. Your path into the genre won’t just be about finding good games, it’ll be about uncovering stories, systems, and strategies you might never have encountered otherwise.

First Venture

If you’re curious about diving into historical war games, my strongest recommendation is this: start solo. In fact, consider beginning with a game designed specifically for solo play. There’s no better way to test the waters and see whether this niche is more than just a passing curiosity for you.

Thankfully, historical war gaming has a rich and well-established subgenre of solo titles, offering a wide selection of accessible, thematic, and deeply rewarding experiences. Many of these solo games are purpose-built for solo players, meaning the learning curve is often smoother, the rulebooks more forgiving, and the gameplay tailored to your pace.

Even better, these solo titles tend to hover at the lower end of the complexity spectrum, making them a fantastic entry point into the genre. You’ll find more flexibility in terms of theme, length, and mechanics, letting you ease into the broader world of historical strategy gaming without being thrown into the deep end. The best part of solo play is that you can just leave your game up and pick it up whenever the mood strikes you, and that is a huge advantage over trying to put a game night together.

A perfect place to begin is Dan Verssen Games (DVG), a publisher renowned for its high-quality solo-only catalog. DVG has something for almost every historical interest and play style. Want to explore the Age of Exploration? Try the brilliant card-driven 1500: The New World. Curious about command-level warfare? Look into their Leader Series or Field Commander Series, where you take the reins of historical figures or tactical roles across conflicts ranging from the Napoleonic era to modern-day battlefields.

Field Commander Alexander is a fantastic example of a straight to it solo historical war game. It gives you the sensation of control over vast armies as you attempt to achieve conquest in the footsteps of one of the greatest war generals in history.

Whether you want to be a fighter pilot flying missions in the Pacific, a WWII submarine captain, or Napoleon himself masterminding a campaign across Europe, there’s likely a DVG game that covers it and does so in a way that feels personal, strategic, and surprisingly educational.

The key benefit to this solo-game approach is that whatever game you pick, you’ll be laying the foundation for future success in the genre. You’ll learn how historical rulebooks are structured (spoiler alert: they’re different), how to use playbooks and reference sheets effectively, and how certain core mechanics, like zones of control, operational cost cards, influence conflict, supply lines, and turn-based simulation tend to repeat across games. This familiarity becomes invaluable as you graduate to more complex titles and multiplayer experiences.

Starting with solo war games, I think is the best way to go, but let’s talk about the alternative starts, low complexity multiplayer games.

Entry Level Historical Strategy and War Games

One of the most common misconceptions about historical strategy and war games is that they’re defined solely by their connection to real-world events. But in truth, it’s not the historical theme that sets this genre apart, it’s the design philosophy, mechanical complexity, and simulation-based approach that distinguish it from the broader board gaming world.

Take Axis & Allies, for example. It’s a well-known game with clear historical ties, and while it shares some surface-level traits with war games, it doesn’t fully belong to the historical war game genre as enthusiasts define it. It straddles the line, a gateway, perhaps, but it’s ultimately a different kind of experience.

So, while it might be tempting to use cross-over titles like Axis & Allies or Memoir ’44 as stepping stones into deeper waters, the truth is that they offer relatively little in terms of preparing you for the complexities and conventions of true historical war games. These lighter games often strip away the very mechanics that define the genre: logistics, command structures, political abstraction, and long-term strategic depth.

Memoir ’44 is a great title and gives you a small taste of the historical war gaming genre but nothing you learn from this game will prepare you for a typical historical war game in the true sense of the meaning, at least as defined by fans of the genre.

Another important thing to note is that most historical war games are two-player experiences. While multiplayer options do exist, and can be excellent, they’re generally not ideal for beginners. Learning is much easier in a one-on-one setting, especially when both players are invested and focused. For that reason, nearly all the entry-level games I recommend fall into the two-player category. You’ll want a dedicated partner, someone who’s equally curious (or patient enough to let you teach them).

Now, let’s say solo play isn’t your thing. You’re ready to dive headfirst into the genre with a partner at your side. Great news, there are entry-level titles that can ease you in without sacrificing historical depth. In no particular order, here are a few strong candidates I wholeheartedly recommend…

Washington’s War by GMT Games (Designed by Mark Herman)

When it comes to introducing newcomers to the world of historical strategy and war games, Washington’s War is my go-to recommendation, and for good reason. It strikes a near-perfect balance of accessibility, thematic familiarity, and mechanical depth without overwhelming new players.

Here’s why it stands out as an ideal entry point:

1. A Familiar Conflict
The American Revolutionary War is one of those historical topics that most people already have at least a basic grasp of. Names like George Washington, the 13 Colonies, and the Boston Tea Party are common knowledge, even for those who aren’t history buffs. That shared understanding smooths the learning curve and creates a sense of immediate connection with the game’s theme.

2. Elegant Simplicity
From a complexity standpoint, Washington’s War sits firmly in the “low” zone, no matter who’s doing the judging. But don’t let that fool you; it’s rich in educational value. The game introduces several core mechanics found throughout the genre: point-to-point movement, influence/control mechanics, operational vs. event card play, the use of Generals, and Command Units (CUs). Each of these concepts is presented in a streamlined, easy-to-learn form, offering a solid foundation for more advanced titles down the line. These are concepts you’re going to run across in this sub-genre of gaming all the time.

3. Playtime That Respects Your Schedule
Perhaps most importantly, Washington’s War is relatively short by historical war game standards. A full session typically runs about 2–3 hours, a far cry from the all-day marathons many games in this genre demand. That makes it easier to get to the table, easier to find opponents, and easier to revisit regularly.

In short, Washington’s War is a masterclass in approachable design. It captures the essence of historical conflict in a digestible, compelling format, making it, in my opinion, the ideal starting point for anyone curious about stepping into the world of historical strategy and war games.

A bonus here is that this is a Mark Herman game, a name you will become intimately familiar with as you explore this sub-genre of gaming, as he is one of the most prolific and influential game designers in historical war gaming, both past and present.

Sekigahara: The Unification of Japan by GMT, designed by Matt Calkins

In the realm of historical strategy and war games, there’s a subgenre-within-a-subgenre known as block games, and if you stick with this hobby, you’re bound to encounter them. These games use wooden blocks to represent military units, adding elements of fog of war, hidden information, and elegant visual design. Block games are a staple of the historical war gaming scene, and among them, Sekigahara stands tall.

Not only is it one of the best block games ever made (in my opinion), it’s also one of the best historical war games, period (again, in my opinion).

What makes Sekigahara so approachable is how streamlined and intuitive it is. It distills the core mechanics of block games into a clean, smooth-playing experience without drowning players in exception-based rules or overly complex interactions. Better still, it’s a card-driven block game, which makes combat resolution dramatically simpler than many of its dice-based cousins. There are no convoluted CRTs (Combat Results Tables), no constant rulebook flipping. Instead, combat unfolds through card play that adds both tension and strategic depth, all while keeping the gameplay fast and accessible.

And let’s not overlook the setting, feudal Japan, one of the most fascinating and dramatic periods in military history. Sekigahara puts you in the middle of the legendary struggle for control of Japan, fighting to become the next Shogun in a civil war that shaped the nation’s destiny. For anyone who loves samurai warfare, clan intrigue, or grand tactical decision-making, this game delivers.

Beyond the theme and mechanics, Sekigahara does something very important: it teaches you how block games work, the hidden information, the maneuvering, the structure of turns and battles, all in a digestible, elegant package. It’s the kind of game that draws you in with beauty and theme, then teaches you the deeper rhythms of the genre without you even realizing it.

If you’re curious about block games, or just want a fantastic two-player strategy game with historical gravitas and refined design, Sekigahara is an absolute must-play. It’s not only a superb introduction to block games, but it may be the best in the genre.

Holland ’44 by GMT designed by Mark Simonitch

If you’ve spent any time in the historical war gaming world, the name Mark Simonitch probably needs no introduction. He’s a legendary designer known for his brilliant card-driven classics like Hannibal & Hamilcar, Hannibal: Rome vs. Carthage, and Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul—games that blend historical drama with elegant card-driven strategic play. But Simonitch is equally renowned for his work in another cornerstone of the hobby: hex-and-counter wargames.

Among his acclaimed World War II series, which includes Normandy ’44, France ’40, and Ardennes ’44, among many others and my personal favorite is Holland ’44: Operation Market-Garden. It’s the standout title in a consistently excellent lineup.

There are three things that really make this game stand out in my mind as an excellent choice to explore hex and combat warfare on the tabletop.

First, the rules system is intuitive and elegant, especially for the genre. It features core mechanics like zones of control, step losses, terrain effects, and combat results tables, but without the kind of overwhelming complexity often associated with traditional hex-based wargames. It uses a familiar “I go, you go” turn structure, and everything is presented in a clean, logical format that helps you ease into the broader world of hex-and-counter design.

Second, learning Holland ’44 doesn’t just teach you this game, it opens the door to an entire series of similarly structured titles. Once you’ve grasped Simonitch’s system, moving on to other battles in the same line, not limited to but including Normandy ’44, Sicily ’43, Salerno ’43, and more, feels like a natural progression rather than starting from scratch. You’ll already understand the basic rhythms, and each game simply layers on new historical flavor and scenario-specific tweaks.

But the real heart of Holland ’44 is the fascinating historical battle it simulates: Operation Market-Garden, the bold Allied attempt to seize key bridges in the Netherlands in late 1944. The scenario is filled with tension, tight decision-making, and a delicate balance of aggression and caution. The interplay between airborne landings, armored thrusts, and critical chokepoints creates a dynamic and suspenseful experience.

This isn’t a quick game, it will take 4-5 hours so you’ll want to dig in, focus, and commit. But in return, you get a deeply strategic, highly replayable, and richly thematic battle that captures the ebb and flow of this ambitious WWII operation. There’s a unique narrative tension to it, driven by risky gambits and critical timing, especially around bridges and river crossings, that makes every session memorable.

If you’re even remotely curious about the hex-and-counter style of war games, Holland ’44 is a fantastic place to start. It’s approachable, richly historical, and part of a broader system that rewards your time and effort with an expanding world of connected titles. Simonitch’s series isn’t just a masterclass in design, it’s a gateway to a whole new level of historical gaming.

Conclusion

Hopefully, from this article, you got some advice, tips on a few good entry points to the sub-hobby of historical strategy/war games and perhaps found something to research further.

Game selection is, in the end, a personal thing, and I think it would be criminal for me to leave you with just entry-level options without slipping in some of my personal favorites. So in this final bit, I will leave you with a few more entries to consider. These aren’t exactly entry-level games so you will want some experience before diving into these, but I consider them absolute staples of the genre.

Imperial Struggle by GMT Designers Ananda Gupta and Jason Mathews

You’ve probably heard of Twilight Struggle, it’s a titan in the board gaming world, consistently ranked among the top 10 on BoardGameGeek. And while it’s a phenomenal game, it’s not my pick for newcomers to historical strategy games. Instead, I’d point you to a different title from the same acclaimed design duo: Imperial Struggle.

Where Twilight Struggle distilled the Cold War into a tense, card-driven duel of influence, Imperial Struggle goes broader and deeper. It covers the century-long global rivalry between France and Britain, spanning four major wars from the War of the Spanish Succession to the American Revolution. This is a game of world-spanning conflict, military, political, and economic, played out across Europe, North America, the Caribbean, and India.

What makes Imperial Struggle such a strong entry in the influence control genre is how approachable and intuitive it feels, despite its enormous scope. The rules are tight, the turn structure clean, and the gameplay rhythm, once grasped, flows naturally. It’s the kind of game that feels complex in concept but smooth in practice. Within just a few turns, you’ll find yourself fully immersed in maneuvering fleets, shifting alliances, and managing colonial tensions without feeling overwhelmed. You’ll be thinking strategy, no rules absorption.

Even better, the mechanics aren’t overly esoteric. Even if you’re not a die-hard historical gamer, you’ll find the systems relatable and digestible, in many ways more so than its older sibling Twilight Struggle which relied heavily on deck memorization to play it successfully, creating a very high strategic learning curve. The decisions in Imperial Struggle are meaningful, the board state ever-evolving, and the replayability is immense thanks to shifting event dynamics and strategic depth.

I absolutely love this game. It’s one of the crown jewels of my collection, ambitious in design, elegant in execution, and endlessly rewarding to play.

Paths of Glory by GMT designed by Ted Raicer

An absolute classic in the historical war game genre, Paths of Glory was originally released in 1999 and has been consistently updated and refined ever since.

In this game, you command the entirety of World War I from start to finish, using a brilliant card-driven mechanic on a point-to-point map. The claustrophobic nature of trench warfare, the unreliable timing of allies, and the unpredictable escalation of the war are all captured with exceptional nuance; every session unfolds differently.

There are no set routines, no default strategies, no predictable scripts. This is a war you fight on instinct. Yet every decision, every troop movement, every card play, every offensive, is deeply impactful and often dramatic.

When you make a mistake, the consequences are disastrous. When you succeed, you feel like a genius. It’s a game that pulls you in emotionally, and I’ve never met anyone who played it just once. Paths of Glory is practically a self-contained hobby, thanks to its addictive, immersive nature.

It remains one of the finest historical war games ever made and one of the few that captures the full scale and horror of World War I.

Paths of Glory is to historical war games what Agricola is to Euro games, a sort of complex but timeless classic that you could almost say you should play at least once in your life.

The U.S. Civil War by GMT designed by Mark Simonitch

There are only a handful of games I would call a “complete experience” or the “final word” on a historical subject, and The U.S. Civil War is one of them. In my eyes, it’s a masterpiece: a sweeping, deeply nuanced simulation of the entire American Civil War, capturing both the complexity and the inevitability of its outcome.

This game fully embraces the asymmetry of the conflict, as both sides struggle with unsolvable logistical nightmares while fighting a war that often feels impossible to win. It’s not just a historical re-enactment, it’s a “what if” engine. The game asks you: What would you do differently? It gives you the freedom to try, and yet, the more you play, the more you find yourself making the same agonizing decisions the real generals made. It feels like history asserting itself, no matter what path you choose.

That’s the magic of The U.S. Civil War. It’s not only a strategic challenge, but an experiment in inevitability. The simulation is so tight and evocative, it teaches you why history unfolded the way it did, not by telling you, but by letting you live it.

It also happens to be an excellent solo experience. With no hidden information, it becomes a pure strategic exercise, where you’re simply trying to outthink yourself on both sides of the conflict.

This is one of my absolute favorite games. If you’re at all interested in Civil War history, this is the game to play. It’s the crown jewel of the genre.

Empire of the Sun by GMT designed by Mark Herman

The coup de grâce of historical war games, Empire of the Sun is nothing short of a masterpiece. Without question, it is, in my opinion, the greatest board game ever designed, across all genres. It is the final word on what truly brilliant game design looks like.

But brilliance has a cost.

Empire of the Sun is also one of the most complex, demanding, and mentally taxing historical war games in existence. It stretches the very definition of “depth” until it feels like there’s no bottom. A card-driven, operational-level, hex-and-counter simulation of the Pacific War, it pushes the boundaries of what is reasonable to ask of players.

And yet, if you persevere, if you navigate the labyrinth of rules and begin to grasp not just how the game works, but why, you reach a moment of sublime understanding that is unlike anything else in gaming. It’s not just rewarding. It’s transformative. Finding someone else who also knows how to play Empire of the Sun feels like discovering a secret society.

The simulation is extraordinary. Like The U.S. Civil War, you are free to rewrite history, but in Empire of the Sun, the possibilities are endless. You can change the war. Improve on it. Explore it. Reimagine it. The game practically dares you to study history, to go beyond the table and into the depths of books and documentaries, simply to keep pace with what it’s offering you, and each real-world discovery you will be able to apply the game. The simulation is so realistic that real-world knowledge applies.

It is, for the right player, pure bliss. But I won’t pretend it’s for everyone. In fact, I suspect most players will never make it through the rules—and that’s okay.

But if you ever find yourself searching for the ultimate challenge in historical gaming, Empire of the Sun awaits. One of the finest board games ever made, and a towering monument to what this hobby can achieve.

Hope you enjoyed the article, this one was for my historical war gamer readers who I’m almost certain will disagree with just about everything I said, but so it is with historical war gaming. Lots of opinions, lots of personal investment. Finding your own games and routines is a big part of the magic show, so go out there and explore!

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The Big Board Gaming Weekend – 2025

Like every year, my gaming crew gathered for a four-day pilgrimage of BBQ, beer, and board games. We call it Hassela Weekend, named after the sleepy little Swedish countryside village where it all goes down. Now in its ninth legendary year, it’s the crown jewel of our gaming calendar and this blog post is the tale of our latest adventure. Enjoy the chronicles!

The Fellowship of the Ring: Trick-Taking Game

We began our journey into the weekend with a cozy warm-up while waiting for the rest of the party to arrive. Enter a charming little trick-taking game for four players, The Fellowship of the Ring: The Trick-Taking Game. This beautifully crafted card game is built on the bones of The Crew, the cooperative classic that made a splash in the board game world just a few years ago.

The crew was quite a hit, for a simple trick-taking game to break into the top 100 on boardgamegeek is a big deal.

The concept is straightforward: work together to complete card “tricks”, without knowing what cards your companions are holding. But, like a mischievous ring of power, there’s a twist. Each mission has special conditions that determine how those tricks must be completed. Unlike The Crew, though, the challenges here aren’t static; there’s actual strategy in planning your quest.

Players choose story-driven characters tied to specific chapters in the Fellowship’s saga, and those roles shape the rules and order of play for each mission. The characters you pick affect not only the constraints but also your chances of success, making the pre-mission phase feel like preparing for a trek through Moria with the wrong crew.

The difficulty escalates with each completed mission, starting out light-hearted and deceptively manageable, until suddenly, you’re Gandalf deep in the Mines, clutching your forehead, wondering where it all went wrong. What starts as a breezy filler becomes a real mental challenge as the tension builds.

Personally, I loved it. It fills the same niche as The Crew, a quick, cooperative brain-teaser but I’m a sucker for the theme, and I found the mission structure tied to the characters far more compelling than The Crew’s more generic objectives.

So, if The Crew hooked you, and you’ve ever dreamed of traveling with Frodo and friends, this one’s a no-brainer. The artwork is gorgeous, the components are solid, and it’s easy to teach yet sneakily addictive. A perfect first step on our Hassela Weekend.

Vampire: The Masquerade – Vendetta

During our Hassela Weekend, each player gets to pick a handful of games to bring to the table, and with five or six of us in attendance, that means you’ve got two, maybe three slots to make your mark. So when I chose Vampire: The Masquerade – Vendetta from a massive library of games, know that it wasn’t just a pick, it was an endorsement of the highest order.

You see, most of us in this group are old blood when it comes to Vampire: The Masquerade. We know the World of Darkness like it’s etched into our souls and in some cases, quite literally. Let’s just say one of the crew may or may not be walking around with their favorite clan’s sigil tattooed on their arm. The passion is real.

Vendetta may not be the RPG, but it’s the next best thing. For a brief, deliciously dark hour, it captures the political paranoia, the whispered alliances, and the backstabbing brilliance of the setting with unnerving precision. It oozes theme. On paper, it’s a simple game: you’re battling for control over various city locations to gain influence (points). But in practice, it’s a shadow war made up of meticulous card placement and expertly executed card abilities.

There are quite a few vampire-based card games out there. I think Heritage tries to be a bit closer to the RPG with the legacy concept, and while I think it’s an excellent game, at some point you have to ask yourself if you’re going to take it this far, why not just play the RPG?

Nothing in this game is fair, and absolutely nothing is safe. You’re constantly watching your back, guessing what your rivals will do, trying to outplay them with deception and ruthless timing. Each clan is a twisted mirror of power, all potent in their own right, but no two alike. Success hinges on your ability to read the room and strike at just the right moment.

We played it with six players for the first time, which splits the table into pairs of unholy alliances. It changes the vibe a little bit: you still want to win, but now you’re also dancing with a partner, plotting your shared rise to power. It works, but I think I prefer to plot the destruction of my enemies on my own.

I adore this game. But I imagine, its fangs don’t bite quite as deep unless your group knows the lore. So much of the nuance, the tension, the delicious little faction details will fly under the radar if you’re not already initiated. But for us, it’s perfection. Vendetta is one of the best V:tM tabletop games out there next to the RPG, ruthless, stylish, and soaked in blood-soaked atmosphere.

Raise The Goblets

Raise the Goblets is, in a word, gloriously dumb, and I mean that as the highest compliment. This is the kind of game that absolutely belongs in your collection, not because it’s deep or strategic, but because it turns your table into a laughing, backstabbing mess of theatrical absurdity.

Firmly planted in the “silly party game” category, this one’s all about slipping poison into your fellow nobles’ drinks while desperately trying not to sip something fatal yourself. The goal is to stay alive, take someone out, and toast to your own devious brilliance.

Each player gets a character with a special power, and then the chaos begins: goblets are swapped, rotated, passed, and spiked with poison, antidote, or occasionally, some actual wine. The whole thing plays like a medieval dinner party gone horribly wrong, and it’s magnificent. At some point, everyone has to drink what is in front of them, but while you can occasionally sneak a peek on your turn, there is so much manipulation going on that most of the time, you haven’t a clue what’s actually in your cup.

At Hassela, we tend to fill our days with heavy, brain-melting games, so something like Raise the Goblets is essential. It’s our palate cleanser, light, chaotic, and guaranteed to generate a few dramatic “death” scenes and outbursts of laughter.

It’s easy to teach, ridiculously fun, and family-friendly in a “Disney villain banquet” kind of way.

Blood Rage

There are games and then there are symphonies.

Eric Lang’s Blood Rage isn’t just a game; it’s the hammerfall of modern board game design. In over ten years of writing for Gamers Dungeon, it remains the only title I’ve ever awarded a perfect 5 out of 5. A decade of reviews, thousands of hours at the table, and still nothing has dethroned it.

Its appearance at our annual Hassela gaming retreat is never in doubt. Even on the rare years it doesn’t make it to the table, its box sits there like a slumbering god, watching, waiting. Blood Rage isn’t a question of if, it’s when.

You might wonder why the devotion?

Because this game is pure, unflinching execution. There are no dice, no randomness, no fate to plead with. Just you, your strategies, and the brutal elegance of a system that rewards only the sharpest minds. The best player will win. No excuses. No mercy.

That’s what makes Blood Rage so satisfying. It’s chess with axes. A ballet of blood and fire. Every move matters. Every draft is a prophecy. Every battle, a poem written in steel and rage. It is area control refined to the finest and deadliest edge.

The theme is flawless. This game doesn’t just use Viking mythology, it embodies it. Ragnarok isn’t just a backdrop, it’s the ticking heart of the game. The art is ferocious, the miniatures stunning, and the production so good it makes lesser games look like goat herding simulators.

The question I often get asked is whether it’s really that perfect, and the short answer is nothing is perfect-perfect, but this is as close as you are ever going to get.

If I were to be brutally honest and in the spirit of Odin’s wisdom, I must be, I’d say there is one hairline crack in this otherwise indestructible blade: the monsters. They’re mighty, they’re beautiful, but over the years of play, we’ve seen their impact dulled by one simple truth: they still need an open spot on the board to function. And when the smartest play is to deny those spots, even the most fearsome beast becomes a caged wolf.

Whether that is a real flaw or just a wrinkle is debatable. A battle scar on a veteran warrior, perhaps. And maybe, in some poetic way, it makes the game better because even the monsters bow to the gods of positioning and control. I don’t know, my crew theorizes about this, and I think most of us agree that we wish the monsters were just ever so slightly more effective in breaking up some of the uncrackable strategies that we have developed.

Blood Rage is more than essential in my opinion. It’s foundational. If you care about game design, hell, if you even pretend to, this belongs on your shelf. Not just to play, but to study. To admire. To inspire.

Wonderful game, top marks since the first time I played it.

Valor and Villainy: Minions of Mordak

First introduced to our crew last year, Valor and Villainy: Minions of Mordak made a triumphant return to the Hassela Weekend lineup, proving its staying power with a second round of magical mayhem and villainous gloating.

Honestly, I’m not surprised. Our group is a bit of a chimera: part deep-strategy tacticians, part storytelling adventurers. The games that tend to hit hardest are the ones that walk the line between tactical depth and thematic flair. Valor and Villainy fits that bill like a wizard in a bathrobe, funny on the outside, but hiding real power under the hood.

It’s got a delightfully goofy fantasy setting, brought to life with hilarious writing and some top-tier cartoon art. But don’t be fooled, it isn’t all jokes and japes. Underneath the humor is a legitimately tactical engine. Sure, it looks like a lightweight romp, but there’s meat on these monster-slaying bones.

That said, it does lean toward the adventure side. Most of the game is spent planning your turn to bash baddies, grab loot, and prepare for the grand finale: the showdown with Mordak, the all-powerful antagonist controlled by one lucky player. Mordak’s job is simply to wipe the floor with the heroes before they grow too powerful.

Now, we’ve had a few sessions where the villain felt like little more than a magical punching bag, and I started to wonder if the balance was a bit off. But this year’s Mordak player brought the heat, playing smart, conserving resources, and nearly turning the tables. The entire game came down to a single, heart-pounding die roll. The heroes won again… but only just. Mordak can win. We know this now, and I think everyone witnessed just how it’s done. The days of easy take-downs are over.

It’s a fun ride. Not my personal go-to genre, but as with all things at Hassela, it’s about shared experiences and giving everyone a turn at the wheel. And really, this one’s a crowd-pleaser, easy to learn and teach. A perfect family game. Picture a parent as Mordak cackling across the table while the kids band together to save the realm. That’s good gaming right there.

Viticulture

I’m not here to stomp on Viticulture. It’s a genuinely clever, tight, and thoughtfully strategic game. It has that elegant Euro charm: plant your vines, harvest your grapes, make your wine, and hope the tourists show up. But in the context of the Hassela weekend? It just didn’t pour right.

There are two reasons why.

First: Viticulture sings best at 3, maybe 4 players. At 5 or 6 (and yes, we played with 6), the game stretches out like a long, slow summer in Tuscany. What’s usually a crisp, hour-long worker placement game becomes a two-to-two-and-a-half hour grind. And for a game this streamlined and abstract, that extra time doesn’t add richness; it adds fatigue. The decisions don’t get deeper. They just get slower.

Second: Viticulture is one of those games where the magic reveals itself on the second and/or repeated plays. If it’s your first time or your first time in a long while, you’ll likely spend the first half of the game just trying to remember how the wine even gets bottled. The strategy, the timing, the flow, they all click beautifully, but only once you know what you’re doing. For newcomers, it’s a slow realization that dawns just a bit too late to be competitive, leading to a kind of disappointment. If you could just get a do-over, you would do so much better.

And unfortunately, at Hassela we had the perfect storm: a full six-player game with half the table either new or rusty. That meant long pauses, muddled turns, and a general sense of “wait, I fucked that up!” No one hated it, but no one walked away glowing either. It was… fine. Just fine. And for a game with this much potential, that felt like a bit of a letdown. Especially for me, since I too had that rusty feeling, but after the game, it started coming back to me, and I remembered why I bought and brought the game with me in the first place.

I think Viticulture is a great game. Just not for six players. And not for a weekend like Hassela, where table time is precious and first impressions matter. I’d be surprised if it makes the invitation list again next year, but who knows? Maybe one day, with a smaller group and a little more wine knowledge, it’ll get the second chance it deserves.

Oath

Oath was, oddly enough, the highlight of the weekend for me. But not because I had an amazing play experience, far from it. The actual game session was long, confusing, and at times frustrating. What made it stand out was something deeper: a fascination with the game’s design, its mechanics, and its ambition. It felt like standing at the gates of something brilliant, even if I couldn’t quite get inside or even fully understand what I was looking at.

Right from the start, Oath pulled me in like the first chapter of an epic fantasy novel. The visual design is stunning, with that distinctive Kyle Ferrin artwork (of Root and Arcs fame) giving the game a unique sense of place and personality. But it wasn’t just the art, it was the concept that really gripped me.

At its core, Oath is a political war game. One player begins as the ruler—the Chancellor and everyone else is an outsider, a potential usurper. But it’s not as rigid as that sounds. Mid-game, you can choose to join the Chancellor and become a Citizen, aligning your goals with theirs… or even betray them later down the line. You can be exiled. You can rise. You can fall. The system is feudal, chaotic, personal, layered with intrigue and shifting alliances. That alone is compelling.

But Oath goes further: it’s a legacy game, not in the tear-up-cards sense, but in how the outcomes of each game shape the world for the next. The sites, the factions, the ruling powers, they evolve. Over time, you create the history of this fictional land. And that idea, that’s the sort of thing I live for in board games. Concepts like this add a layer of personalization that develop into rivalries that can become almost a sub-game within a game, and I think in a way that is what Oath is going for here.

Cole Wehrle, in my eye’s, is one of the most intriguing designers to come along in quite a while. From Root to Arc and John Company, he is putting out games that are redefining what it means to sit around a table with your friends and play a board game. I think Oath might just be one of the most interesting one in his design history yet.

Unfortunately, our session didn’t quite live up to that promise. It wasn’t bad, it was just… off. The game’s mechanics are surprisingly clean and elegant. Move around the map with your warband. Conquer sites. Play and manipulate cards. Manage your limited supply of resources. Simple enough. But the depth isn’t in the actions, it’s in how those actions interact with each other, and in the timing, the strategy, and the layers of emergent storytelling. And we just weren’t ready for that, or perhaps better to say that we didn’t find it in what amounted to a kind of learning game.

Most of us spent the first half of the game just trying to figure out what the hell we were supposed to do, not because the rules were complicated (they weren’t), but because the game’s nuance is subtle and entirely dependent on understanding your position in the system. It’s not obvious. It doesn’t hold your hand. And if you don’t “get” it early, it’s easy to get lost.

The result was a session that stretched well past five hours for a game that, if everyone knew what they were doing, probably could have been played in two. Six players were too many, especially for a table where most of us were new to the game, and others who had played it had formed negative opinions on previous, but similar learning games, resulting in the game living up to the resulting negative expectations. Four players might have been better. But even then, I think Oath demands a group that’s fully bought in and committed to playing multiple sessions, building a shared history, and exploring the game’s complex social and political possibilities.

And at the Hassela board game event, that just wasn’t the vibe.

What makes this hard is that I genuinely think Oath might be a masterpiece. I really do. But it’s a strange one, difficult to categorize. It’s not exactly a war game. It’s not a pure legacy game. It’s not just a Euro, or an area control, or an RPG-adjacent narrative builder. It’s Oath. And I think that’s the problem, it might just be a little too unique for its own good.

You have to love this kind of game to even want to “get it.” It’s not about rules comprehension, though; it’s about being attracted to this peculiar blend of theme, tension, abstraction, and emergent narrative. You need a group willing to lean into the strangeness and stick around long enough for the game to reveal its depth. At least this is my impression, whether Oath actually has that depth I would hope to find remains to be seen and I’m not sure I’m going to get the opportunity to find out.

Oath will probably end up back on the shelf, gathering dust based on this first playthrough. I don’t think it quite gripped anyone in the same way as it did me. And that’s a shame. Because I want to try again. I want a second run, maybe even a full campaign with the right group. I want to see what this game can become and whether or not the game I’m hoping to find there actually exists. But I don’t know how to get there, or how to convince four to six other people to go there with me.

I’m not sure any of that makes sense, but basically, to me, the game I experienced during this weekend and the game that is in the box, I suspect, are not the same thing. I like to think of myself as being pretty perceptive and in tune with game design, given that I have been playing and writing about games for several decades at this point, and what I can say is that it’s quite rare for me to find something truly unique like Oath.

I think there is something under the hood here, and I’m very curious to explore it further.

Empires: Age of Discovery

Age of Discovery has long been a flagship title at our Hassela weekend, our own trusted galleon in a sea of changing tastes. It’s hit the table many times over the years, usually to triumphant applause. But this time… something felt different.

It wasn’t the game’s fault, per se. The sails are still crisp, the cannons still loaded. But perhaps the winds of modern board gaming have shifted. Worker placement games have evolved dramatically in the past decade, and Age of Discovery, once a towering conquistador of the genre, now feels a bit like an old empire grappling with new revolutions.

That said, Age of Discovery is more than just a worker placement game, and perhaps that is at the heart of the issue. It’s an abstract colonization simulator disguised in a worker placement cloak. The placement of your workers is only the opening maneuver, a careful disembarkation before the real expedition begins. What unfolds after is a tense struggle for land, gold, exploration, and domination. This is a game of empires, and if you fall behind, you will get crushed.

And in true imperial fashion, it’s not always polite.

Age of Discovery has teeth. Actions taken here can leave scars, players jockeying for position, muscling one another off prime territory, blocking moves, stealing opportunities. It’s not the gentle farming of Agricola or the tidy capitalism of Viticulture; it’s a game that evokes the cutthroat nature of colonial expansion, where every decision echoes with ambition and consequence. In a six-player game, 2-3 players are just going to get left behind in the dust, and you might have a couple of people actually competing by the end for the crown and glory. The game lacks comeback mechanics, so it’s not uncommon to see your empire’s impending failure as early as the end of the first age, a quarter into the game. That is a tough pill to swallow.

Personally, I still think it’s one of the best worker placement games ever made. If I drew up a map of the top 10, Age of Discovery would land firmly near the top. But I’ll admit my chart is a bit outdated. I haven’t explored many newer worker placement titles, maybe because I found my favorite harbors long ago and dropped anchor.

Still, Age of Discovery has what I want: thematic depth, strategic brutality, and a sprawling table presence. It feels like the Age of Exploration. You send your settlers across vast oceans, claim the unknown, clash with rivals, and build your legacy one exploited province at a time. Sometimes the endeavor is a failure, and as brutal as it can feel to be defeated, it’s part of the game.

One drawback I do think the game has is that it can feel a bit long, especially at six players and especially if you’re doing poorly. But then again, empire-building isn’t a short-term project.

If you like your Eurogames with salt in the air and the occasional knife in the back, Empires: Age of Discovery is worth charting a course for. Just remember, this is no friendly trading voyage. This is conquest. This is colonization. And in this game, history is written by the victor.

Bang The Dice Game

Just a quick mention, this staple of the Hassela weekend has been played every year since we discovered it. I have no idea if it’s a “good game” by any measure of the definition beyond the simple fact that it’s silly fun. It’s a perfect filler, and it has the charm of combining hidden identity and the chaos of dice into one game. It’s not quite of the same caliber as Love Letter or Coup, but sometimes games weasel their way into a gaming group’s playlist for ineffable reasons.

Make of that what you will.

Red Rising

Once labeled “absent of any endorphins” at last year’s gathering, I was genuinely surprised to see Red Rising return to the table at Hassela. Yet there it was, quiet and unassuming.

Red Rising is a strange creature. On its surface, it seems like a mere diversion; its rules are straightforward, even sparse, but beneath that veneer lies a machination of choices, a lattice of decisions so tight and intricate that you can actually miss it, which is what I think happened last time we tried it.

Every card you place is both a sacrifice and a step toward dominion. You build alliances in your hand while burning them on the table, all in service of progress across shifting tracks that you have to pace carefully. Every move is a compromise.

What makes it so treacherous and perhaps brilliant is that the end looms like a whisper, never certain, always threatening because it’s based on the very tracks that score you points. You don’t know exactly when someone will trigger the final curtain call, and getting caught unprepared before your hand is ready is devastating, yet stalling it for fear of the end is equally bad. It’s a rare thing: a game where the tension builds without spectacle, a slow-burn conspiracy played in plain sight. I would argue that at the very least, we can call Red Rising clever.

And perhaps that’s why it was better this time. We understood the contours a bit more, the rhythm of its strange economy. The crew around the table, fond of card-driven intrigue, seemed to resonate with it more deeply this time around. The verdict is still out, but for now, Red Rising has earned a cautious reprieve.

It’s a quick affair, once the rules and the general strategy of the game are known. Not quite a filler, not quite a feast, but something like a tactical interlude between wars. I’d return to its cold, calculating corridors again, but I’m not sure I’m ready to recommend it. I would put it in the “curiosity” category. I think some tables might like it.

Dead of Winter

I have a rather tumultuous relationship with Dead of Winter. Sometimes it grips me like a survival thriller I can’t put down, tension rising, frost creeping up the edges. Other times, it drags like a limp dick through snow, cold, sluggish, and joyless. And then, just when I think I’m done with it, some spark reignites the flame like an ex-girlfriend who seems less crazy in a bikini.

The truth is, Dead of Winter has a lot going for it. I love the premise, zombie apocalypse survival with narrative tension. I love games with storytelling, and this one clearly has effort behind its writing. The Crossroads system is brilliant, and mechanically, the game is clever. It should be one of my favorites in theory.

But it’s not.

And the reason is simple: I absolutely loathe the win conditions.

At the core of Dead of Winter lies a conflict, not just between the colony and the undead, but between the game’s mechanics and my philosophy as a gamer. Each player receives a personal objective. To win, you must both ensure the colony’s survival and complete your private task. Tasks that, more often than not, directly jeopardize the group’s success.

Now, thematically, I think it’s on point. It captures the desperation and selfishness of a crumbling world. But as a player, as someone who sees games as a battlefield of wits and willpower, I just can’t abide by it.

Because here’s the deal: I don’t play to help someone else win. If I’m going down, I’m dragging the whole colony into the snow with me. And when that moment comes, the moment I sabotage the group to chase my own victory, tempers flare. People see it as not just selfishness in a game environment, but a sort of player selfishness, and get genuinely upset as a result. I don’t just get in-game exiled, but it draws out real-life irritation. And I get it. But I also don’t. Because to me, a game is a war with rules. We all know what we signed up for. I’m here to win.

The problem is Dead of Winter wants it both ways. It wants cooperative tension and personal ambition. It wants trust and treachery. And in that tug-of-war, it often creates a confused, emotionally charged experience. One I’m not always in the mood to navigate. The game leaves me with an odd kind of dread, not from the zombies or starvation, but from the awkward social fallout that’s almost guaranteed to follow when I sabotage our chances chasing my own victory. It’s made worse by the fact that the game is pretty unforgiving; more often than not, if someone pursues their personal victory, they are likely to tank the game.

Add to that the pacing issues; it’s just too damn long. Even in its shorter forms, I often feel like the frost sets in around the third crisis too many. And this time at Hassela, we chose a long, brutal scenario; it really dragged on, we were on like our third hour when we finally lost the game, and we were technically only 50% done. I think had we actually won and finished the game, it would have easily hit the 5-6 hour mark if not longer.

That said… I still can’t fully walk away from it, and the end game result from this weekend’s game is exactly why. It was hands down the best execution of a betrayer that I have seen in this or any other game, ever..period. Despite screwing us in plain sight, one of the players had us all convinced that he “accidentally” put in the wrong card in the crisis deck, a moment of theatre only a true psychopath could have pulled off. It’s brilliant and hilarious stuff like that, that can only happen in games like this and that may be reason enough to play it.

There’s something compelling about the way Dead of Winter wraps theme, story, and survival in such a sharp, splintered package. It’s a game I admire. It’s a game I sometimes enjoy, but it certainly has some glaring flaws that get in the way of the fun.

Lords of Waterdeep

The final game of the weekend was a stone-cold classic: Lords of Waterdeep, played with the Scoundrels of Skullport expansion.

It’s a simple D&D-themed worker placement game, elegant in its clarity, yet layered with just enough interaction and tension to keep everyone leaning forward. It’s clever without being exhausting, competitive without being cutthroat. A perfect wind-down after three intense days of gaming.

By the fourth morning, we were all running on fumes. The last game is always a bit of a solemn occasion. You can feel the end creeping in: the bags are half-packed, the snacks are dwindling, and the sunlight feels more like Monday than Sunday. But Waterdeep has a way of waking you up. Something about the logic of it, the satisfying little cube puzzles, the gentle engine-building rhythm, just gets your brain clicking again.

There’s interaction here, sure. Intrigue cards, blocking key spots, stealing quests. it’s not a passive game. But the stakes feel friendly. It’s the kind of game where even when someone snatches the agent space you desperately needed, you sigh, smile, and adjust. And let’s be honest, that is the real villain of Waterdeep: someone taking the spot you were eyeing for the last three turns.

I’ve always had a soft spot for this one. It knows what it is. No fluff, no filler, just clean mechanics and a clear path to victory. Everyone knows what to do. Everyone has a shot. Games are often close, especially at our table, where we’ve all played it so many times that victory is more about finesse than luck.

I’m not even sure if it’s still in print. It might be one of the last survivors from our early days, a game that predates Hassela, and for some of us, even predates our friendships. An oldie, but a goodie. And the perfect note to end on.

Conclusion

That’s it, that’s Hassela 2025, the 9th year – done. As is always the case, the games are mostly just a distraction, while I love the competition, the whole point is for a crew of friends to get together and spend a few days away from the hustle and bustle of our lives.

All and all I think it was a good list this year, but I was a bit disappointed that we didn’t introduce more new games. Oath was really the only completely new game to me , unless you count the Fellowship of the Ring Trick Taking Game, which was fun but didn’t really feel “new” in the truest sense.

Oath, however, did have me spinning. I love discoveries like that. Hope to see that one hit the table sometime soon.

Hope you enjoyed the article, see you next year, Hassela!

Best of List

Gaming Theory: Yes, I’m A Bit Of A Hipster – Here Is My Hipster List

In the last year, I realized something about my gaming habits and preferences that perhaps I should have, but never did notice. I seem to be a bit of a gaming hipster!? I think…

When I think about the sorts of games I like, regardless of category or genre, I find my tastes are a bit unusual compared to pretty much anyone I know around me. In fact, it’s kind of a problem because I very rarely get to actually play the games I would play if it were exclusively just up to me. Part of this I think, has to do with my age, I have been playing games for nearly 4 decades at this point, at least 2-3 decades more than most of my peers, which might explain my tastes to some degree; nostalgia and all that.

Regardless, in the spirit of Hipsterism, I thought I would talk about my preferences a bit, which, by default, has produced a kind of Hipster list!

What I will do is choose a genre of gaming, and for each genre, I will assume that I have a gaming group raring to play this weekend. Which game would I choose!?

Role-Playing Game

I’m going to split Role-Playing into three sub-genres because I do see RPG’s as something of a quirk of mine and picking just one game just won’t do.

Fantasy – 1st Edition AD&D
The classics in their original form can still be enjoyed thanks to the Wizards of the Coast reprints.

Here’s the thing: I love fantasy RPG’s—truly. I could spend hours agonizing over a top 10 list, shuffling titles around, and second-guessing myself. But one thing is certain: Classic 1st edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons is one of the most robust and compelling RPG traditions ever created for fantasy storytelling. Hands down.

Note, I did not call 1st edition AD&D a game, because to me, it’s always been more than just that, nor would I exactly escribe it as an RPG by today’s standards. AD&D is unique, a game with a very special approach and essence which did not exist before it in any game and has not been replicated in any games since. Every version of D&D that followed lost sight of this hidden essence, that magic that exists between the game as a rule set and the tradition that was born in Gygax’s definitive work. AD&D as a gaming tradition, an activity, and a collaborative storytelling tool, far exceeded the presumed simplicity of being a rule system and a game. I don’t know that Gygax intended for this to be true about his game, quite to the contrary, I think he was trying to create just that, a definitive rule set with AD&D, but like any art form, happy accidents happen. That happy little accident would never again be repeated, and every edition of the game has tried but failed to recapture the magic of the original.

Mind you, this is not for the lack of trying; in fact, I think most editions of the game have tried very hard to mirror the magic of AD&D, but the truth is that most designers even today can’t fully explain why this original version is different. I don’t think I could fully explain it either; it just is. An intangible quality exists in AD&D that is simply ineffable. As ineffable as it may be, I feel obligated to at least try to explain it, but I say this here and now, this is NOT about nostalgia.

Why do I gravitate toward this strange and inexplicable classic? Because I’ve always believed (as did Gygax) and still do that the most powerful, memorable role-playing happens when players don’t know the rules inside and out of how it’s done behind the screen. In the case of AD&D, it’s mostly because the rules are unknowable, thanks to the cryptic way in which they are described in what I consider the most important book in the RPG hobby ever written, the 1st edition AD&D Dungeon Master’s Guide.

The 1st edition Dungeon Masters Guide is one of the most unique books ever written. It doesn’t just guide you through the process of creating worlds for players to live in, but it teaches you how to present that world in a way that will inspire players to believe in it.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a critique of AD&D. Every player, given the chance, will lean into what they know; it’s only natural that when you know the rules of a game, you start using those rules to your advantage as a game. True magic happens when players don’t know how the game works. The less they know, the more they have to trust their natural instincts at the table. Not knowing the rules activates your imagination, and players start acting like people living in a story rather than characters moving through a system. They make choices that feel right, because they don’t have the option to make sure their choices are mechanically sound. This is the magic of AD&D, it refuses you the foundation of rules upon which to make decisions, leaving you to your collaborative imaginations. Some (in fact, most) would argue this is bad game design, but I would argue that it’s perfect game design. It makes the act of role-playing the only avenue for all participants. There is no game here upon which to hang your hat.

And that’s where the magic happens.

Especially in fantasy, where gods walk the earth, monsters lurk in the dark, and magic bends the very fabric of reality. Not knowing how everything works is a feature, not a bug. It creates a sense of wonder, of discovery, of trying things to see what they do. Players aren’t just learning about the world, they’re learning how its very physics of the world operates.

There were many versions of Dungeons and Dragons, both official and unofficial, but every book that followed 1st edition AD&D strived to be a rulebook first, presenting the game as a mechanical architecture for creating a game at the table that everyone, especially players, could understand. Only 1st edition AD&D saw itself as a creative toolkit for collaborative storytelling, targeting the DM as its master.

For me, 1st Edition AD&D will always be my first love and for that it can be easy to write it off as nostalgia and often with old school games this is the case with me, but not so with AD&D. If I had the chance, I’d run a classic game exactly as I believe it was always meant to be played: with a little mystery, a lot of imagination, and just enough chaos to keep everyone guessing.

Science-Fiction – Alternity

I was this close to picking The Aliens RPG by Free League Games. It’s a fantastic system for intense, edge-of-your-seat one-shots. But let’s be honest: once the xenomorphs are out in the open, the mystery that is the Alien movies vanishes, and with it, a lot of the drama. It’s hard to stretch that tension into a long-term campaign without it wearing thin, despite the fantastic game design that went into the Aliens RPG. I love it, but a good foundation for a long term RPG campaign – it’s not. It is a one-shot, nothing more, nothing less.

If Gygax is the pioneer of fantasy RPG’s, there is no question that Bill Slaviscek and Richard Baker were the pioneers of science-fiction RPG’s. Alternity is a master class in how science fiction should be approached as a storytelling game.

So in the end, it came down to a real heavyweight match: Star Wars RPG by West End Games versus Alternity by TSR/Wizards of the Coast. And while both hold their own with style and substance, I give the edge to Alternity for one reason only: The Stardrive campaign setting.

The setting designed by Richard Baker, one of the sharpest minds in the business, pushed Alternity over the top for me. It’s original, ambitious, and packed with the kind of rich lore that inspires long-term storytelling.

The Stardrive campaign setting is an epic tale of humanity’s rise to the stars, and despite being written in the late 90’s, the history of this setting rings more true today than it did back then. It’s a fascinating read, almost as if it’s a prediction.

But Alternity as a system is more than just a great way to bring a setting to life. It’s the unsung pioneer of the d20 era. Before 3rd Edition D&D made the mechanic mainstream, Alternity was already out there, blending class-based progression with skill-based freedom in a way that felt sleek and forward-thinking. It wasn’t just a set of rules, it was a toolkit for building any kind of science fiction world you could dream up. It’s the tragedy of the 21st century that Wizards of the Coast would take the d20 system invented with such perfection and completely botch it over the course of 3rd, 4th, and 5th edition D&D. They had the perfect model for a perfect system and decided to foolishly ignore it, but I digress.

Need spacefaring starships, cybernetic upgrades, rogue AIs, mutant powers, alien civilizations..the list goes on and on! It’s all there. Not just as a flavor, but with clean, well-designed mechanics that make it all sing at the table. There is no science-fiction setting that has ever been or ever will be created that you can’t replicate with perfection with the Alternity RPG.

I still believe that West End Games take on Star Wars is the best version of a Star Wars RPG to date. In effect, it makes Star Wars feel more hard science fiction, unlike the movies that pushed the setting into science fantasy.

Alternity gave us a framework where science fiction didn’t just feel possible, it felt limitless. That’s why, for me, it’s the gold standard for sci-fi roleplaying.

If I was going to run a science-fiction game today, there is no question it would be Alternity. The only exception I would make is for Star Wars, in that case, it would be the West End version of the game.

Other – Mage The Ascension

Over the past thirty years, I’ve run World of Darkness chronicles more times than I can count, and every single one stands out in my memory. There’s something about this universe that sticks with you. It comes in many shades: vampires brooding in neon-lit alleys, werewolves howling at the edge of the apocalypse, and wraiths lost in their own sorrow. But the default flavor has always been Vampire: The Masquerade.

And don’t get me wrong, Vampire deserves its fame. It’s probably the most iconic and approachable entry in the World of Darkness line, and for good reason. But if you came to me right now and said, “Run a World of Darkness game,” I know exactly what I’d pick: Mage: The Ascension.

Like Vampire, Mage puts players in the shoes of powerful supernatural beings. But where Vampire centers on politics, survival, and control over the mortal underworld, something players can more easily connect with, Mage reaches for something far more abstract and far more profound.

One of the big burdens of Mage The Ascension is that it’s focused on a wide range of unique takes on belief systems. It’s one of those RPG’s where everyone needs to read it cover to cover to really understand it, it’s difficult to present it as a GM. White Wolf games require a lot of self-reading because so much of the games storytelling is buried in the details of the setting and aesthetic backdrops, but nowhere is this more true than Mage.

In Mage, your faction isn’t just a club or a bloodline, it’s a belief system. A worldview. And the war isn’t over turf or influence, it’s over control of reality itself.

The Technocracy reigns in the modern age, shaping the world through science, reason, and the rigid laws of physics. But the twist is that, this version of reality is just another kind of magic, one that’s been accepted by consensus. Other mages, the ones who Awaken to alternate truths (the players), fight back not with bullets or blades but with paradigm-shattering ideas. The conflict is philosophical, spiritual, and metaphysical; the journey I can only describe as a mind-bending acid trip.

When you run Mage, you’re telling a story about characters who don’t just cast magic, they reshape the fabric of existence. And the more they push, the more the world pushes back. It’s a game where players don’t just feel powerful, they begin to believe in the power of belief itself.

To this day, I’ve never had the chance to run a full Mage chronicle—and I’ve been itching to do so for years. I love this setting. I ache for the chance to guide a group through its mysteries. If the opportunity ever came up? Let’s just say I’d be all in.

Boardgames

When it comes to board games, the number of categories is ridiculous, and I could make a solid argument for any of them. If, however, you forced me to pick three, forsaking all others, I think this would be the list.

Lifestyle Games – Twilight Imperium
Without question, the single best boardgame ever designed…period.

If I could conjure up a dedicated group of Twilight Imperium fans with the snap of my fingers, I’d be running a weekly game in a heartbeat, and I doubt I’d ever get tired of it. I know because I once had that, and it was and still is to this day, the best boardgaming experience I have ever had. It’s an irreplaceable memory that I will always chase because, in my view, Twilight Imperium is a one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

Twilight Imperium isn’t just a board game. It’s a commitment, a journey, and for those willing to invest the time, it becomes something greater: a lifestyle. This is a game with layers on top of layers. What looks at first like a complex 4X space opera transforms into an ever-evolving, deeply human drama of ambition, alliances, betrayals, and vision.

Yes, it’s long. But that time investment isn’t a drawback it’s what allows the story to breathe. The game unfolds like an epic saga, each session an emergent narrative shaped by the choices, fears, and aspirations of the players around the table. It’s a game that brings out raw human drama, both imagined and real at the table. I have seen how passionate players can get about this game and I thirst for those experiences.

On the surface, Twilight Imperium is a combination of a civilization builder and war game, filled with rich lore, factions with asymmetric powers, and galactic conquest. But dig deeper, and you’ll find a game of psychology, political maneuvering, negotiation, and strategic bluffing. As I like to call it, the real game behind the mechanical one. Every move is loaded with meaning. Every word spoken a ploy. Every silence held can shift the balance of power.

You don’t just play Twilight Imperium, you live it for the duration of the game. You embody your faction’s ethos. You forge uneasy alliances, backstab former friends, and navigate the ever-turbulent currents of the Galactic Council. You calculate every vote, every trade, every fleet deployment with a mix of tactical precision and raw gut instinct.

With two dozen unique factions, dynamic objectives, modular galaxy maps, and endless human variables, Twilight Imperium offers infinite replayability. It’s a true modern masterpiece, an epic that’s far too often overlooked because of its scale and length. But for those who make the leap, the rewards are unmatched.

This used to be a game I played all the time and I can’t think of any gaming experience I miss more, it’s right up there with 1st edition AD&D and Battletech!

Tactical Games – Battletech
Its a cross between boardgaming, miniature gaming and role-playing.

Some might call BattleTech a miniatures game and sure, technically it is. But to me? It’s always been a dice-chucker board game disguised as a tactical miniature game, dressed up in pewter and plastic, pretending to be part of the miniatures crowd while doing its own brilliant thing as a role-playing game. It’s a strange mixture but it works.

BattleTech is incredible for three big reasons.

First, the lore. It’s a sprawling, obsessively detailed tapestry of interstellar warfare, dynasties, betrayals, and battle mechs the size of small buildings. You can trace the fictional design history of a single ‘Mech model, who built it, where it was deployed, how it evolved with more depth and nuance than many real-world war machines. We’re talking more lore than Warhammer 40k, and I don’t say that lightly. If you’re a story-driven gamer like me, this universe is an absolute goldmine of narrative potential. It’s a robust setting that rivals most role-playing games.

Second, the game itself. The core mechanics of BattleTech have remained remarkably intact for over 40 years. In a world where games are constantly rebooted, patched, streamlined, or gutted for new editions and marketing cycles, BattleTech is a white elephant. Buy a rulebook or a miniature in the ‘80s, and your game is still valid today. Still playable. Still awesome. That kind of long-term commitment to players and collectors is practically unheard of in the tabletop world. And here’s the kicker: as of 2025, BattleTech is the third-highest-grossing miniatures game in the world. Proof positive that you don’t need to screw over your fanbase with constant reinvention for a cash grab to make a living in the industry.

But honestly, those first two reasons are just icing on the cake. The real reason you should play BattleTech is this:

It’s a glorious, chaotic, beer-and-pretzels dice chucking tactical slugfest. A crunchy, customizable, story-driven war game where everything that can go wrong probably will — and that’s the fun of it. Yes, there’s tactical play, but this isn’t chess. This is a cinematic, slow-motion trainwreck of overheating engines, ammo explosions, critical hits, and desperate Hail Mary maneuvers. It’s a game where you feel the damage, as your mech gets carved apart limb by limb in a ballet of ballistic fire and reactor meltdowns.

Only one other game I’ve played, Warmachine, gets anywhere near the same granular feel of mechanized combat. Unfortunately, like most miniature games, the constant rule changes, reboots, and updates completely ruined Warmachine. Battletech has stayed the course and remains all about managing your loadout, balancing your heat, and watching as your prized war machine limps across the battlefield, missing an arm and trailing smoke. That’s peak drama. That’s BattleTech.

I love this game. Always have. It’s one of the few on my shelf where pieces I bought in the ‘80s can legitimately still hit the table, no updates needed, no strings attached.

Sadly, like many of my hipster gaming passions, BattleTech isn’t exactly mainstream in my circles. I rarely get to play these days. But if someone asked me to drop everything for a match?

Hell yes. I’d be there in a heartbeat.

Event Games – Western Empire (Advanced Civilization)
The original Avalon Hill version of this game was quite ugly, like many games back then, they lived in your imagination which was kind of the point of table top gaming in general.

If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you already know War Room is one of my favorite event games. It doesn’t make the hipster list, though, mostly because I actually get to play it and I believe it to be a well-designed modern game, there is nothing hipster about it. My friends are kind enough to indulge me once a year (usually around my birthday), and while it’s big, bold, and unique, at the end of the day, it’s still an Axis & Allies descendant.

Now Western Empires, or as I still instinctively call it, Advanced Civilization, is hipster gaming royalty.

Shut up and sit down, I think did the best and most honest review of this game I have ever seen, flaws and all, but they their is one observation that they sort of failed to make which is that what they saw as flaws in the game from a gamers perspective are very intentionally designed features. It’s sort of like accusing Star Wars of having too many lightsabers.

I’ve talked about this game plenty before, and for good reason. It’s a sprawling, epic beast of a board game. Designed for a minimum of five players, though let’s be honest, it really wants nine (yeah you heard that right). Clocking in at a cool 12 to 15 hours, it’s less a game and more a full-day historical event. It is, without exaggeration, one of the hardest games to actually get to the table.

To put it in perspective, I haven’t played a live game of Advanced Civilization in over 20 years. Two decades. And yet, I’ve always kept a copy on my shelf. Just in case. Always hopeful that one day this one will get its moment in the sun.

At its core, Western Empires is a game of historical empire-building and economic maneuvering. There’s trading. There’s a touch of area control. Sometimes, it even pretends to be a war game. But really, it’s about managing the wild, unpredictable chaos of history. You stretch your reach, you push your luck, and you try to outmaneuver your rivals not with brute force, but with sharp wits and sharper tongues.

One of the biggest reasons this game rarely hits the table, aside from the sheer time investment and player count requirements, is that modern gamers often expect strategy games to reward clever, clean moves. Western Empires doesn’t care about your strategic brilliance. This is not a game of perfectly calculated efficiency. It’s a game of negotiation, adaptability, and psychological warfare. The best players aren’t the ones with the most optimal city placement, unit movement or strategic planning. They’re the ones who can read a room, spin a trade, and deliver a betrayal with a smile while staying the course of the inevitable and uncontrollable ups and downs of the game’s natural ebb and flow.

You don’t play the game, you play the players. That’s where the real magic is.

There’s really nothing else quite like it. The closest modern comparison might be Small World, and that’s a real stretch for a comparison, as it matches only some of the subtle nuances of mechanics. Western Empires occupies a weird, wonderful niche all on its own.

And that’s why it’s here, on the hipster list. I know full well this kind of game isn’t for everyone. Hell, it’s barely for anyone. Finding eight other souls who are all willing to commit an entire day to a relic of the 80s is an impossible task in most gaming circles. But if I ever found the right group, you better believe I’d make this a yearly tradition, right up there with War Room.

Quirky, chaotic, and criminally underplayed. That’s what the hipster list is all about.

Euro Games –

Miniature Games

When it comes to miniature games I would argue there are also quite a few different ways these games can be categorized, but I think a simple way to do it would be to split it between casual games and competitive games. It’s a broad, but it’s easy to distinguish way to do it. I would only add one third category, which I would call semi-miniature games, in which I would place miniature games that don’t have a miniature painting hobby component at all.

Casual – Warhammer 40k
40k is an all-encompassing hobby, stretching far beyond simply playing the game, and that is kind of the point of it. It’s a bit like loving Star Wars.

Ironically, in 2025, playing the most popular miniature game in the world might be the most hipster thing you can do.

Why? Because the moment Warhammer 40k comes up in conversation, it’s almost guaranteed someone will start rattling off a list of games that are “better in every way” and listing all the things that are wrong with 40k. And they’re not wrong, there are more balanced, more strategic, more thoughtfully designed games out there, lots of them. But sticking with something you know could be objectively replaced by a dozen superior alternatives? That’s peak hipster energy!

But let’s talk about the most fascinating part of the 40k experience: the community.

Across the globe, the Warhammer 40k community treats the game like a competitive titan, and to be fair, it is the largest and most active competitive tournament scene in all of tabletop gaming, by a long shot. The sheer scale of organized play is staggering.

And yet… Games Workshop, the company behind 40k, doesn’t seem to agree. At all.

To GW, Warhammer 40k is primarily a miniature line, secondarily a source of lore and novels, and somewhere far down the list, it’s technically a game. Their support for competitive play feels more like a reluctant nod to what the community chooses to do with their game, than a purposeful commitment or intent for it. The rules are often unbalanced, the game systems are regularly reworked or mismanaged, and it’s clear that game design is not what drives the brand. What we have here is a competitive community built on a system that was never meant to bear the weight of serious play. And somehow… it thrives on that very thing.

In a word, I would argue that Warhammer 40k is not a great competitive game, and when people trash-talk it, that’s really what they are talking about. But it’s a fantastic hobby and a super fun, casual experience, aka, exactly what it’s designed to be.

It’s a beer-and-pretzels dice-chucker in a gothic sci-fi shell, where the real joy comes from painting your army, crafting your own narrative, and then putting it all on the table to roll some dice and blow stuff up. The rules are often clunky, the strategy is there only to a point, but largely buried under layers of “smoke and mirrors.” Winning isn’t about mastering a perfect system, it usually comes down to how well you roll the dice.

And despite all that? I love it.

The mission system is genuinely dynamic, with flavorful objectives and varied scenarios that keep the game feeling fresh. The list-building is wide open, full of creative options and wild combos. But at its core, this is a casual game through and through, one that thrives on the atmosphere around the table and the lore on which it’s based, not in the pursuit of perfection of its gameplay.

Warhammer 40k is about collecting and painting miniatures, swapping war stories, and diving into the endless supply of pulpy, over-the-top lore of a universe where everything is grim, dark, and somehow still gloriously silly.

It’s a hobby. A vibe. A lifestyle, even. Flaws and all, I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Competative – Songs of Ice and Fire
I would argue that Songs of Ice and Fire the miniature game is the only rank and file miniature game ever made that actually works well as a game rather than a terrible history lesson about how boring war on the battlefield actually is.

I’ll be the first to admit: I don’t play A Song of Ice & Fire much these days. It’s had a rough road, marred by some truly questionable management decisions over the years and plagued with availability problems. But even with all that baggage, I still consider it one of the most compelling competitive miniature games out there.

This is very much a game that lives in the “I wish” category. I wish it had been better supported, wish it had stuck the landing in balance and they did it all much faster, and wish it still had a place at my table. There’s a part of me that’s still hopeful it’ll stabilize and find its footing again, maybe even make a comeback in my group.

I went in deep on this one. Despite its flaws, I found A Song of Ice & Fire to be one of the most engaging strategy games to hit the miniature scene since Star Wars: Armada. At its core is a genuinely smart design, layered list-building, unique unit interactions, and some fascinating sub-war game mechanics like the NCU board and tactical card play. When it clicked, it really clicked.

Except when it didn’t.

To be fair, most of the problems I ran into weren’t with the design itself — they were with the balance. And yes, you could argue that design and balance go hand in hand (and you wouldn’t be wrong), but I still think there’s a meaningful distinction. A game can be brilliantly designed but hampered by poor balancing decisions, one can be fine-tuned, the other is just a flaw. That’s A Song of Ice & Fire in a nutshell: great foundation, uneven execution.

Now, I haven’t kept up with the latest updates, so maybe things are better these days. But in my local scene, the damage was done, people moved on, and getting a game back into circulation after a group loses faith in it is no small feat.

And then, there’s the personal hurdle: painting.

This one’s tough for me. Being a mass army game, ASOIAF demands batch painting. Lots of similar models, unit after unit, rank after rank. And repetitive painting is my kryptonite. I just can’t stay motivated painting the same miniature ten times in a row. It sucks the joy out of the hobby for me, and ASOIAF is particularly brutal in that regard with no list building avoidance some games offer.

All that said? I still think this is a fantastic game. It deserves recognition. It’s competitive, it’s clever, and when it’s running smoothly, it offers a rich tactical experience that not many miniature games can match. That’s why it earns a spot on the hipster list, a flawed gem that still shines when the light hits just right.

That said… its time may be running out. Modern miniature design is evolving fast, and with games like Warcrow on the horizon, strong contenders are lining up to take this slot permanently.

The Most Fun – Star Wars: X-Wing
In my mind, Star Wars X-Wing is still one of the best miniature games ever made. PERIOD.

When talking about the miniature game hobby, there’s always one title that sparks debate, some say it barely qualifies as a miniatures game at all. I’m talking about X-Wing. And frankly, I don’t buy the skepticism. Slap those sleek ships onto a sprue and suddenly there’d be no doubt where it belongs.

Yes, it’s pre-painted. Yes, it’s more accessible than most. But that doesn’t disqualify it, it redefines the space. X-Wing was designed to walk the tightrope between a serious competitive game and a relaxed casual experience, and it succeeded. Brilliantly. This game brought three key advantages to the table that most miniature games either ignore or fail to execute well. And those three factors are why X-Wing stood tall in the market for years, even managing to shake Games Workshop out of its golden-era complacency.

First, the pacing. X-Wing matches are quick, typically 45 minutes. That’s practically warp speed in miniature gaming terms. It made the game ideal for tournaments and casual nights. You could run multiple matches in an evening, try out a bunch of new lists, and still have time to argue about who really shot first. There’s no hour-long rules refresh or setup slog—just “Hey, want to play?” and you’re in. That kind of approachability is rare in the hobby.

Second, it’s Star Wars. That’s not just thematic dressing—it’s a gateway. The brand brings in people who’ve never even looked twice at a miniature game. You don’t have to explain the appeal of piloting an X-Wing. You show someone the TIE Fighters screaming across the table, and they’re already halfway sold. I’ve never seen a non-gamer pick up Warhammer 40K on a whim. But X-Wing? That’s the one that brings in the curious, the casual, the movie fans, the dads and uncles and kids who just want to fly the Falcon.

Third, and maybe most importantly, X-Wing made high-level tactical play accessible. The rules were simple on the surface, but the depth was staggering. Movement planning, arc dodging, list synergies, action economy, there was real meat on those bones. You didn’t have to learn 200 pages of codex lore to be competitive. But if you wanted to go deep, the game rewarded you. It hit that perfect balance: easy to learn, hard to master.

X-Wing wasn’t just another miniatures game. It was a lightning-in-a-bottle moment in the hobby. It opened the door to a new audience, streamlined what was possible in design, and reminded the rest of the industry that a game could be both fast and deep, fun and tactical, cinematic and competitive.

Whether you play it today or remember it from its heyday, X-Wing deserves its place in the conversation, not just as a miniature game, but as one of the best games to ever grace a tabletop. In my personal opinion, its the single best miniature game that we have gotten in the 4 decades of I’ve been around.

Best Design – Star Wars Armada

When first announced, everyone thought that this would be X-Wing but with capital ships. It certainly looks the part, but Star Wars Armada is an entirely different and far heavier game that demanded a lot more from its audiance.

One final entry I’d like to sneak onto the hipster list—and I say this with as much objectivity as a subjective opinion can carry—is my pick for the best-designed miniature game out there.

To take this crown, a game has to meet a singular, uncompromising criterion: skill must reign supreme. Like chess, where grandmasters fall only to their peers, this kind of game leaves no room for chance to decide the victor. It must be a pure contest of mastery, where the dice are just accessories, not arbiters of fate. And in the world of miniatures, that game is Star Wars: Armada.

Sure, there are dice. But make no mistake, those little cubes only matter when two evenly matched minds clash. In Armada, outcomes are forged not by luck, but by foresight, precision, and relentless practice. It’s a game that rewards not just play, but study. The kind of study that turns casual fans into hardened tacticians.

But here’s where it gets really compelling: Armada doesn’t just test you on the battlefield. It demands mastery before the first ship even hits the table. The list-building is deep, nuanced, and packed with options that will make your head spin if you’re not ready for it. Understanding the shifting meta, anticipating counter-play, these are not fringe skills, they’re the bedrock of victory. The game is highly deterministic, which means your preparation matters as much, if not more, than your moment-to-moment decision-making at the table.

That it’s set in the Star Wars universe, with massive capital ships slugging it out in glorious slow-motion ballet? That’s just the sweet, sweet icing on a very dense, very intimidating cake. But fair warning: Armada is not a casual fling. It’s a demanding, often unforgiving beast that can feel downright brutal if you approach it half-heartedly. You don’t play Armada, you train for it, like a chess grandmaster gearing up for the championship board.