For All Mankind, the Apple TV series, is without question one of my favorite shows of the last decade. It’s an alternative-history epic about what might have happened if the space race never ended, if humanity kept pushing, competing, and occasionally tripping its way across the solar system.
It has everything I love in a good story: speculative history, grounded sci-fi, drama, and just enough “this could almost happen” futurism to make you glance suspiciously at NASA’s latest press releases. But what I enjoy most is that it feels less like science fiction and more like future history, a glimpse into a world that could have been ours with just a few different turns of the wrench, without infusing it with the magic of made-up future tech that most science fiction relies on.
I love a good historically based what-if story, and For All Mankind hits those beats with perfection in my humble opinion. No question, one of the best shows in years.
So when the marketing team at Mongoose Publishing reached out and asked me to take a look at their upcoming RPG, The Pioneer, the very first thing that came to mind was, naturally, For All Mankind. One paragraph into the description, and I was already hearing the opening theme in my head.
Today, we’re going to take a peek into Mongoose Games’ latest Kickstarter: a rather unusual, yet deeply intriguing, near-future Earth RPG about humankind’s next great adventure, exploring our own solar system. If you’ve ever wanted a game that sits somewhere between hard sci-fi realism and “what if we just kept going?”, this might be exactly your trajectory.
Overview
The Pioneer is built on the classic Traveller system, which, for long-time sci-fi RPG fans, should trigger an immediate nod of recognition. Traveller is the granddaddy of science-fiction tabletop gaming, the venerable elder around the campfire telling stories about starships before most of us were even rolling dice.
But that pedigree isn’t the real selling point here.
I haven’t tried the modern Traveller, though I do have nostalgic memories of playing this one back in the Jolt Cola days. I regret nothing!
What makes The Pioneer interesting is the opening it offers for a story-first RPG focused on near-future exploration beyond just the “adventure gaming” elements. You’ll be heading out into the solar system, and yes, there’s some delightful technobabble sprinkled throughout (it is a sci-fi RPG, after all), but this isn’t just a game about rockets, trajectories, or micromanaging oxygen levels. It’s got this presence defined into the game, like a grand stage on which modern space exploration stories can unfold and it’s this part of the game that has me intrigued.
Your mission isn’t just “go do the space thing.” Instead, The Pioneer opens the door for character-driven drama you’d expect from a prestige TV series. Motivations will matter. Politics will matter. The planning, the pressure, the PR disasters waiting to happen, the game leaves room to weave these elements into the action parts of the narrative just as much as the EVA repair scenes. It’s a game where you will tell the whole story, including the behind-the-scenes footage usually reserved for the documentary crew. An exciting proposition for a guy like me who loves NASA stories that happen between the lines.
A 200-page hardcover means that this RPG doesn’t fall into the “Light” category as far as game systems go. Not surprisingly, as neither does Traveller, but it is a modern system, so I think we can probably expect a relatively approachable game system.
A great example in the preview is Rescue at Low Earth Orbit. On the surface, it’s a classic space-rescue scenario with plenty of “uh… Houston we we have a problem” moments. But underneath, there’s a deeper narrative thread open to explore, one with enough emotional and political gravity to anchor an entire campaign. I won’t spoil the potential twists, but let’s just say there’s more going on than simply “complete the mission.” It immediately grabbed my attention and, once again, made me think of For All Mankind in all the best ways.
The Kickstarter
The Pioneer is launching through Kickstarter, and I always feel obligated to sound the traditional warning horn when entering that particular sub-market. We’ve all heard more cautionary tales than success stories, Kickstarter can be a magical place, but it can also be where good intentions go to die.
That said, Mongoose Publishing is not some first-time, two-person garage operation trying to figure out where the print PDF button is. These folks are seasoned veterans with a long, reliable track record. If there’s a spectrum of Kickstarter risk, this one sits comfortably on the “you can relax” end of it. You can check out the Pioneer Kickstarter here!
The even better news, at least in my humble opinion, is that this Kickstarter has already blasted past its funding requirement, so The Pioneer is definitely happening. And not only that, the most exciting stretch goals have already been unlocked, giving the project a strong launch trajectory (pun fully intended).
Of course, one of the first things anyone wants to do in a near-future space RPG is stage a mission to Mars. Luckily, this Kickstarter has anticipated that very impulse. Ares Ascendant, a full-length campaign covering the entire mission from A to Z, is already included. So if you’ve ever wanted to make the Red Planet your problem, you’re in good hands.
I think this book is the key to the game. Most people, I think are willing to try alternative RPG experiences to the standard stuff like D&D, but creating a campaign for a game like this, I think, would be tough, so releasing it with a solid campaign like a mission to Mars was a very smart move, it’s exactly what this game needs.
Is this a good game?
One question people love to throw at me, as if I’m shuffling tarot cards behind the scenes, is: “Will this be a good game?” And as always, I have the same answer when it comes to RPGs.
RPGs are good games because they’re not really games. They’re experiences. An RPG is only ever as good as the group you sit down with. That is the secret truth of the hobby. So the real question with The Pioneer isn’t “Is it good?” but rather: Does its subject matter excite you and the people you play with? Because if it does, the rest tends to take care of itself.
My advice to all role-players, especially those who’ve spent their entire hobby life inside the comfortable walls of Dungeons & Dragons, is simple: explore. For gods’ sake, explore other RPGs. There’s an entire universe of creativity out there. Designers are pouring their imagination, innovation, and occasionally their sanity into projects like this. And I can say with near certainty: if the theme speaks to you, you will find something to love in the game, whatever it is.
So go out there, support your community, and give games like The Pioneer a chance. This is a wonderful project, and absolutely one worth investing in.
As a general rule, I don’t touch Kickstarters with a ten-foot wizard’s staff. Too often, they feel less like scrappy dream-fueled projects and more like corporate “fund me” jars rattling for coins, a kind of alchemy I find, frankly, a bit of hogwash. If you’ve got the treasure hoard to make a game, then by the gods of dice and destiny, make it, release it, and I’ll happily toss my gold pieces into your coffers for a completed product. Misuse of the platform is as common as goblins in a mushroom glade, it irritates me to no end.
But every so often, a true conjurer of words and worlds appears, someone who uses Kickstarter exactly as it was meant to be: as a lantern-lit path for dreamers without publishers, great houses, or corporate dragons backing them. These are the brave creators weaving wonders with nothing but ink, imagination, and maybe a touch of faerie dust.
Dolmenwood is one such marvel, sprung from the mind of Gavin Norman of Necrotic Gnome. For a few years now, Gavin has been quietly brewing some of the most curious, creative, and downright enchanting projects in the roleplaying sphere. These are the kinds of things that would never survive the soulless glare of a big publisher’s boardroom, too niche, too strange, too delightfully weird. Exactly the sort of creations adventurers like me crave.
From the spellbinding Old School Essentials (a meticulous, love-drenched re-edit of Basic/Expert Dungeons & Dragons) to a treasure trove of smaller adventures, the cheeky and delightful Carcass Crawler zine, and now an entirely new game built around his own fairy-tale fever dream: Dolmenwood.
I have talked a lot on this blog about Old School Essentials. I ran a 3 year campaign using the system and it performed beautifully. It made me a fan of Gavin Norman. He makes a lot of good stuff.
I’ve been waiting for this one. Patiently, well, mostly, for nearly two years, ever since I pledged back in September 2023. And now, at long last, the package has arrived on my doorstep like a mysterious parcel left by a mossy-footed pooka. To say I’m buzzing would be an understatement. I tore into it with the giddy energy of a halfling spotting second breakfast.
One of the many charms of this whole journey is that Gavin has been an absolute wizard of communication, keeping us updated since day one with missives, sneak peeks, and development notes that felt like dispatches from the enchanted woods themselves. He gave us that personal touch, so even before my box of goodies arrived, I already felt like I’d been walking alongside the project every step of the way. I had been watching the trailer for two years, now I finally got to see the full production.
Today, we’re diving headlong into Dolmenwood. I’ll tell you what’s in the box, we’ll explore the game and its myth-soaked setting, and, most importantly, we’ll discuss who this game is for. So grab a cup of something hot and spiced, lean back in your favorite chair by the hearth, and settle in, because this is going to be a BIG article.
What is Dolmenwood About?
The very first question my friends asked, before I’d even cracked open the box, was: “Okay, but what exactly is Dolmenwood?” A fair place to start, I think, though a simple question this is not.
The best way to answer is to split Dolmenwood into two halves: first, how it works as a game system, and second, what it is as a fantasy world and story engine.
Dolmenwood as a Game
At its heart, Dolmenwood feels like a curious blend of two schools of design. On one side, it clearly draws heavily from Old School Essentials (OSE), Gavin Norman’s brilliant revival of 1980s Basic/Expert Dungeons & Dragons. On the other, it borrows the best lessons of modern narrative-first RPGs, which put storytelling, character invention, and immersion ahead of crunchy rules.
Now, that might sound like oil and water to some. After all, when many people hear “1st edition D&D,” they picture a rules labyrinth: THAC0 charts, descending AC, bizarre subsystems, and the heavy hand of the dice. Dolmenwood is not that. It doesn’t replicate old-school rules, it reimagines old-school concepts, polishing them into something that feels sleek and accessible to modern tables, but secretly, yes its old school rules. Confused?
To old dogs like me, this is just my adolescent stomping grounds, but I’m not blind to the fact that you have to really be glutton for punishment to still use systems that look like this today. There are better ways.
Ok so to be clear, there are no THAC0 charts, no wargame math, no headaches of deciphering unclear and unforgiving rules for which old school D&D is famous. For anyone coming from 5e, the rules will feel familiar and welcoming, even though for all intents and purposes, these are in fact old school rules. Imagine if a modern game designer, could travel back in time and advise Gygax on the fundamentals of rules writing and game design. Most of the decisions here are common sense for todays standards, but there is a clear focus on capturing the core concepts of these old school rules which (some of us old school guys) really do love. So its the good parts of these rules, without all the non-sense, which, when you get right down to it starts to look very much like a light, alternative, but modern version of D&D.
What Dolmenwood does carry forward from its old-school ancestry is the philosophy: this is not a game of superhero characters with endless feats and powers. It is low fantasy, low magic, high peril. A sword to the gut will probably kill you. You’re fragile mortals, not demigods, and that fragility is what makes your bravery meaningful. In Dolmenwood, you are heroes not because of your hit points, but because you willingly risk your tiny candle-flame lives in a world full of wolves, witches, and weirder things still.
Dolmenwood is not completely absolved of old school gaming shenanigan’s that deserve to stay dead and buried. For example, getting an XP bonus or penalty for having too low or too high prime ability score is just silly. There is some logic to it, but it dirties the waters in my opinion unnecessarily.
Of course as was the case in classic D&D, magic remains the great equalizer. Power often comes from what you find: a scroll, a wand, a ring, a talisman, the coveted equipment that often makes the difference between life with bags of holding full of treasure and horrifically tragic death at the end of a spear. Dolmenwood leans into that old-school rhythm where exploration and treasure-hunting matter to your prospects of survival and success. In fact, equipment is survival; resources are power, the story is about that glorious rise from a mere nobody to a powerful agent in the world.
Dolmenwood as a Story
Where Dolmenwood really unfurls its colors, though, is as a setting-first game. The rules exist, yes, but they feel more like a stagehand pulling ropes than the star of the show. Storytelling and atmosphere take center stage. In that sense, it leans closer to narrative-driven games like Vampire: The Masquerade or newer experiments like Daggerheart, where the drama lives in the back-and-forth between Game Master and players, rather then execution of rules.
This is why Dolmenwood’s books are so massive. The books are mainly tapestry of herbs, fungi, folklore, factions, fairies, pipeweed blends, oddball traditions, and richly described places. (Yes, there’s literally a two-page spread on different varieties of pipeleaf, and another on common fungi. You don’t need these details, but oh, how they make the world breathe.)
The game invites players not just to survive, but to inhabit. Characters don’t begin with a scripted epic or a railroad adventure paths. Instead, they’re handed a living sandbox, an open world alive with secrets, strange folk, and tangled politics.
At the start, you know almost nothing. You’re level 1 peasants with little more than a rusty sword, a pocketful of pipeweed and big dreams. The world is wide, mysterious, and dangerous, and you must carve your own path in it. The magic lies in how your choices, what goals you set, who you befriend, and which factions you side with slowly shape your story. The game doesn’t hand you a narrative; it hands you a place, filled with people with their own motivations and events brimming with fairy tales, and trusts you to grow a narrative out of it.
Dolmenwood is a stage ripe for theatre, something made clear from its evocative art and the writing style, even though theatre is not really traditionally an old school core ideology.
Over time, as you explore deeper, you begin to see the strings: the larger story of Dolmenwood itself. The factions, the plots, the creeping powers behind the veil. Small adventures tie into greater ones, and before you realize it, your once-humble would be adventurer is entangled in the grand weave of politics, prophecy, and faerie mischief.
And every inch of this playground is meticulously detailed. The campaign book runs a staggering 465 pages, stuffed with lore, locations, NPCs, and oddities. Every hollow, every hamlet, every mushroom ring feels like it has a story waiting to be uncovered, it feels that way because it is that way.
So yes, Dolmenwood is a game of rules. But more than that, it is a world, a moss-carpeted, fungus-studded, pipe-smoke-wreathed world, ripe for infinite exploration.
The Dolmenwood Setting
Let’s be clear: as a game system, Gavin Norman hasn’t reinvented the wheel. The “open world, make-your-own-adventure” style of play has been part of the D&D tradition for decades. But Dolmenwood tips its mossy cap to those old-school roots while polishing them for a modern audience, and I’m delighted to report that this approach is making a hearty comeback across the hobby.
Where Dolmenwood becomes something truly unique, where the real fairy-dust sparkles, is in its setting. This is no cookie-cutter fantasy world. In fact, I don’t think anything like it exists in today’s RPG landscape. It’s bold, strange, and deeply imaginative, so much so that it might even feel a little unsettling to players who are used to the safety blanket of Tolkien-inspired worlds.
Most fantasy settings lean heavily (sometimes lazily) on the Tolkien template: elves, dwarves, orcs, kingdoms, repeat. Dolmenwood gleefully shatters those expectations while still remaining recognizably “fantasy.” Its fairy-tale woods are bizarre, whimsical, and very dangerous. Nothing unfolds quite the way you expect, there are fewer recognizable fantasy troupes that players will connect with from other familiar settings. It’s geared towards real exploration, not the exploration of yet another alternative version The Forgotten Realms.
If I had to reach for an analogy, I’d say Dolmenwood is like a strange potion brewed from equal parts Harry Potter, Narnia, Legend and The Never Ending Story, with just enough Tolkien sprinkled in to keep it grounded. Fey folk, enchanted groves, and peculiar traditions abound, Gavin Norman delights in breaking expectations whenever possible.
The 1980’s classic Legend is a mostly forgotten film despite the fact that it was directed by Ridley Scott and stared a young Tom Cruise. It depicts a truly original fantasy world that departs from the Tolkien roots while still remaining oddly familiar as a fantasy world. It’s kind of the same effect Dolmenwood has when you read it.
Even at the character-creation stage, the game asks players to embrace the unusual. You can play a proud goat-headed Breggle, or a small, pipe-smoking Mossling, who feels like a halfling raised in a damp mushroom hollow. Sure, there are humans and elves, but they aren’t the focus. Dolmenwood itself is the wilderness, the edge of the map, the place where weirdness is the default.
The strangeness continues with classes. While you can still pick a Fighter or Cleric, you’ll also find uniquely Dolmenwood roles like the Enchanter, the wandering Friar, the cunning Hunter, and the noble Knight.
Magic, too, is peculiar and deeply rooted in folklore. While there are plenty of familiar things like the generic fireballs of high fantasy, spells draw on fairy glamour, rune-carved standing stones, ley lines, herbal concoctions, and fungi with names that sound like they were whispered by trickster spirits. It feels less like a spell list and more like a hedge witch’s grimoire.
But what elevates Dolmenwood above all else is the way the world itself is built. Nothing is random. Every ruined keep, every ancient shrine, every mossy mound is tied into the greater tapestry of Dolmenwood’s history. Stumble upon an abandoned tower in the woods, and you’ll eventually learn how it connects to the factions, politics, and hidden stories of the land. Nothing is throwaway. Nothing is meaningless. There is purpose and often you will not understand that purpose until later in your adventure, these locations become future lightbulbs for the players to connect in a larger story.
For players, this creates a delightful sense of discovery and self-importance, a logical puzzle where every new clue makes the world sharper and more comprehensible, known only to them. Knowledge that they can leverage in pursuit of their own success if they are clever.
For DMs, it’s a godsend: a pre-built web of places, people, and events that all interlock seamlessly. Players will feel clever as they connect the dots, while you’ll always have the tools to support their choices.
All of this is brought together in the Campaign Book, a masterpiece of editing and design. It combines event-driven encounters with location-based hex maps, giving you the freedom to run Dolmenwood as a true sandbox.
The one page layout approach of the campaign book is perfect for use at the table, you are a 2-3 minute read away from being able to run any area with plenty of flavor and direction, there is no need to read anything in advance even though you will not be able to help yourself.
What makes it brilliant is its clarity. You don’t need to read 100 pages ahead or memorize obscure lore. Every location is laid out in a simple, precise format: history, features, atmosphere, day/night differences, and the secrets that might be uncovered. No wasted words, no bloat, just clean, evocative notes that give the DM everything they need without scripting the events of an adventure.
Take The Craven Mounds, for example. In just a single page you’ll learn what the mounds look like, their unsettling history, the strange shrine hidden among them, the difference between visiting by day or by night, and which creatures prowl there. It’s enough to spark a full evening of play, while leaving room for you to weave it into the larger story. It’s connection to lay lines give it deeper meaning that might become important to the players later and then there is of course the real question, what are they for? The answer is not nothing and its this sort of intrigue that drives the Dolmenwood drama, a purpose in everything.
This structure repeats across the entire book: compact, flavorful descriptions that give you narrative cues and storytelling beats without ever tying your hands. The result is that your players can go anywhere, chase anything, and you’ll always be ready. It’s the kind of prep support most DMs dream about.
Dolmenwood is a sandbox done right: players get freedom, you get preparation, and the world itself does the heavy lifting.
What’s In The Box
While I don’t usually do kickstarters, if and when I decide to donate my hard-earned gold coins to a project, I don’t fuss about; I go all in for the full monty. I went for the limited edition loot box which includes pretty much everything except for a few of the “non-game” related items like T-shirts, buttons and stuff like that. It was a $200 dollar box and includes everything that is designed for the full Dolmenwood experience.
The Books
Let me say this right out of the gate: if you pick up these Dolmenwood books and are not utterly gobsmacked by their quality, then I’d like to meet the little green gremlins piloting your brain. The production values are jaw-dropping, perhaps the best I’ve ever seen in tabletop RPG publishing. The only comparable recent release is Daggerheart, and honestly, Dolmenwood still wins the duel, particularly when it comes to editing and layout.
These books are a dream to reference. The language is clean, concise, and direct, no wading through two paragraphs of purple prose just to extract one useful rule. Everything you need is right where you expect it to be.
Gavin Norman has always had a sharp editorial hand, OSE already proved that, but here, he’s outdone himself. This feels like divine work, a new gold standard for RPG book design. From this point forward, anything less will feel like sloppy wizardry. Work like this makes Wizard of the Coast publications look like incompetent goblins are running the company.
The Player’s Book
One of the trickiest challenges in RPG design is convincing players to actually read beyond the rules. When a game has a unique setting, as Dolmenwood certainly does, the danger is that players learn just enough mechanics to roll dice and stop there, never really tasting the flavor of the world.
The Players Book is a very handy reference for pretty much everything you need to know about Dolmenwood as a game, but its a bit light on giving players story based direction in my humble opinion.
I think Gavin understood this problem. The Player’s Book takes a deliberate approach: keep it short, sharp, and reference-friendly, while leaving the bulk of the lore and storytelling muscle to the Campaign Book. On one level, it works brilliantly. This is a book you don’t need to read cover-to-cover. Instead, it’s a handy companion that breaks the game into digestible chunks, how to make a character, how adventuring and combat work, how the physical universe ticks along. As a quick-start guide to “what is this game, mechanically?” it’s flawless. Often players books that are filled with lore between the pages, create an issue when you actually just want to look up some rules at the table, you won’t find problems like that in this players book.
But here’s the rub: Dolmenwood isn’t a system-first game. Yes, the rules matter, but the beating heart of the experience is the setting. It’s the moss, the pipeweed, the grimalkin, the fey bargains, the eerie ruins waiting in the mist. And I worry the Player’s Book doesn’t give enough of that to the people who arguably need it most, the players themselves. They need the inspiration for character creation and the grounding for their plans because this is after all, a open world game where players are expected to seek out the adventure on their own. How can they be expected to do that if they don’t know much about the place where that adventure is to take place?
Sure, there are delightful sprinkles of flavor scattered throughout. The races and classes ooze personality. The languages, gear, food, and drink entries all sneak in playful, flavorful cultural details. And there’s a particularly excellent chapter called “The Adventure” that does a stellar job explaining what role-playing actually looks like in Dolmenwood, complete with examples that make the difference between “rolling dice” and “telling a story” crystal clear.
Still, I can’t help but wish for just one more chapter, a lore dump, a short but rich introduction that gives players a real sense of what Dolmenwood feels like to live in. There is a kind of two page layout of major factions and settlements as a reference but its just not enough.
This is because while mechanics get us rolling, it’s the setting that inspires us to play. We don’t pick between Alien and Star Trek Adventures because of their initiative systems, we pick them because one is about horror in the void and the other is about utopian space diplomacy. It’s the story behind the game that drives the whole thing.
And Dolmenwood, for all its mossy brilliance, deserves that same up-front love and it should be in the first chapter of the players book. It’s absence I think in particular with players like mine, will be a bit of a problem.
As it stands, the Player’s Book is beautifully illustrated, brilliantly organized, and a joy to use, but I’d argue it’s just shy of being the perfect guide for players. A little more lore, and it would be flawless.
The Campaign Book
Ah, the Campaign Book. This towering tome isn’t just a rulebook, it’s a storybook atlas of wonder, equal parts practical GM guide and enchanting fireside read. From the very first page, I was grinning like a mischievous faun. Gavin’s writing is clever, breezy, and endlessly readable, just enough flourish to make it fun, but never so much that you lose track of the game-ready details. It’s splendid, cover to cover.
This is the meat and potatoes of Dolmenwood, written in a style that makes this entire book a page turner you will want to read cover to cover.
Now that I’ve got the finished version in my hands, with all its lavish illustrations, it feels like a treasure pulled straight out of a mossy chest. The art captures the words perfectly: whimsical, eerie, and evocative all at once. The character portraits especially are so vivid you can practically hear their voices, quirks, and mannerisms leaping off the page.
At first glance, one might assume Dolmenwood’s open-world, West Marches–style design means there’s no central story, just a big faerie sandbox. But that’s a trick of the briars. Hidden among the hexes and hamlets is an overarching narrative, an honest-to-goodness tale threading its way through people, places, and events. I won’t spoil it here (the delights of discovery belong to the reader!), but trust me: it’s there, and it’s wonderfully easy for a GM to weave into play.
The ink art is absolutely amazing, crafted to depict the bizarre world of Dolmenwood with a nod to classic D&D that is unmistakable.
The settlements section alone deserves applause. Each one feels like its own mini-campaign in a bottle, bursting with unique cultures, strange laws, and peculiar inhabitants. There’s no generic “town” or “city” here, every settlement is a little gem of fairy-tale worldbuilding, more bizarre and enchanting than the last. Its like reading Harry Potters version of England, except you have a wide array of cities from all over the world to explore, each wildly different from the next. They’re richly described in the Campaign Book and beautifully backed up in the accompanying Maps Book.
And then there’s the heart of it: the hex-crawl. A full third of this 460+ page grimoire is devoted to detailed hex locations, and they are a masterclass in design. Each entry can be digested in a couple of minutes, giving you just enough to run the area with confidence, but always laced with hints and connections that pull you deeper. It’s impossible to flip through without “cheating” as a DM, sneaking ahead to peek at how people, places, and events intertwine. Those connections are exactly what players will discover in play, and they’re intoxicating. You’ll want to run Dolmenwood the moment you put the book down.
Of course, the Campaign Book also comes stocked with the GM essentials: magic items, curious equipment, random tables, charts, and all the toys you need to answer the question, “What if my players…?” Whether your party sets out to plunder dungeons, open a tavern hawking strange ales, or establish a kingdom in the mist, you’ll have what you need within a page flip. That’s the real magic of this book, it makes running Dolmenwood feel effortless.
In short: I absolutely love this book. Honestly, if Dolmenwood had shipped with only the Campaign Book, it still would have been worth the price of admission.
The Supporting Tools
Dolmenwood comes with its share of frivolous extras (see below), but the real treasures for a GM are the supporting tools, clever, practical, and brimming with utility.
The Monster Book
This volume is a delight. The illustrations are gorgeous, the entries lean hard into roleplay cues, and the mechanics always come with a twist or two. Many of these creatures aren’t meant to be generic foes but unique denizens of Dolmenwood, weird, singular beings with their own origins woven into the setting’s lore.
An fantasy RPG is incomplete without a monster book, but frankly I have so many of these you have to do something really special to make it worth are time. In my humble opinion, Gavin nailed it, you cannot run Dolmenwood without this book and maintain it’s unique character.
That’s the real trick here: every monster’s backstory matters. Their histories and methods of creation often double as clues for how clever players might deal with them.
One of my favorite touches is the chart of monster rumors, half true, half deliberately false. They’re perfect for seeding tavern gossip, confusing players, or foreshadowing a lurking horror in the woods. It’s playful and practical, like the rest of the books.
The thing about most monster books for me personally is that I find that they are usually generic replications of pretty standard fantasy monsters that I have seen scraped together based on everything that has come before in D&D. This book is unique to the setting and you could not run Dolmenwood without it. Its a must have to do this setting justice and t ensure its well executed.
The Maps Book
Think of this as a stack of enchanted lenses. Each map presents Dolmenwood filtered through a different lens: political boundaries, faction domains, herb and fungus distribution, shrine locations, ley lines, and more (no spoilers!).
This is without a doubt a luxury, not really something you need, but having a lot of material that is easy to reference allows you to answer wacky questions that might come up unexpectedly and that is a nice touch to making the world feel lived in for the players. I like it.
For a DM, it’s an absolute luxury. Need to know which lord rules the next region? Or which strange herb grows in that hex? Flip a page and it’s there. The book also includes full-page settlement illustrations, styled to reflect local culture. They’re mostly for flavor, but oh, what flavor. Pull one out mid-session, and your players instantly feel the character of the place.
It’s not a necessity by any stretch, but its cool and I can definitely see myself using it.
The GM Screen
I’ll be honest: I’m not usually a GM screen fan. It can feel like a wall between me and the table. But if ever there was a screen that earns its keep, this is it.
I don’t use DM screens generally, but so far as they go, this is a pretty useful one.
Printed on thick, sturdy board, it’s packed with genuinely useful reference material: combat reminders, weapon traits, faction names, settlement lists, and those regional pronunciations you’re bound to butcher under pressure.
Again, not a necessity, but sure, why not.
The Adventures
The box also comes with four stand-alone adventures tailored to Dolmenwood:
Winter’s Daughter
Emelda’s Song
The Fungus That Came to Blackswell
The Ruined Abbey of St. Clewyd
Each one can be prepped in about fifteen minutes and run on the fly, short, sharp, and clearly laid out so you’re never bogged down in text when you should be running the table.
They’re tied into Dolmenwood’s broader story web, but they also work independently as bite-sized campaigns. And while I haven’t run them yet, I backed Dolmenwood largely because of Gavin Norman’s adventures. His style is unpredictable, evocative, and brimming with creativity, exactly the kind of storytelling that surprises even veteran GMs.
Winter’s Daughter is probobly THE adventure that made me a fan of Gavin Normans creativity and led to me buying Dolmenwood.
More importantly it doesn’t overcook your prep. This isn’t a story laid out point by point, or just a bunch of location place descriptions, its more of an adventure guide that gives you the basics and you fill in the rest. Though it gives you enough so that you don’t have to plan or think about it in advance, you’ll be able to run these on the fly.
That’s the mark of a good adventure writer: giving you something you couldn’t have conjured up yourself. These adventures hit that mark. Brilliant work, full stop.
The Frivolous Fun Stuff
Beyond the core treasures of Dolmenwood, the box also comes sprinkled with a handful of whimsical oddities, frivolous, yes, but delightful all the same. Think of them as the shiny baubles and enchanted trinkets you might find tucked into a mossy hollow after a long woodland ramble.
First up: funny dice. Yes, Dolmenwood blesses you with a set of charming polyhedrals, your trusty click-clack friends, ready to be rolled in fury or folly. Then there’s a jaunty little Dolmenwood patch, perfect for sewing onto a bag, cloak, or perhaps the satchel you take into the woods when mushroom-picking. Add in access to a digital soundtrack (more on that in a moment), and, most surprisingly, a full set of miniatures.
I tend not to use miniatures in my RPG sessions, mainly because I want combat to be just an extension of role-playing rather than a “mini combat game” we play periodically when a fight breaks out. But I love collecting and painting miniatures so these are going to get some paint regardless, because they are pretty unique.
Now, as a longtime lover of pewter and plastic adventurers, I must say the minis were the most delightful surprise, mostly because I had completely forgotten they were included! These are single-mold game pieces already perched on bases, sturdy and practical. No, they’re not dripping with hyper-detailed resin flair, but they’re absolutely paintable, and more importantly, they embody Dolmenwood’s curious cast of races and classes. Goatfolk, moss dwarfs, grimalkin, and other odd denizens you won’t find in your average fantasy bestiary, they’re here in charming form, ready to stalk across your tabletop. For anyone who likes to use minis in play, these are a genuine boon.
The soundtracks, meanwhile, are a touch of magic I didn’t realize I needed. I adore setting the mood at the table with music, and Dolmenwood’s offerings are wonderfully distinctive. There’s a proper “music” soundtrack, full of strange rhythms that feel like a cross between old-school video game tunes and eerie X-Files-esque mystery. Then there are the atmospheric tracks, which I think are the real gems. These are subtle soundscapes, whispers of wind, the patter of rain, the creak of branches, the low murmur of something uncanny just beyond sight. Many are region-specific, perfectly tailored to accompany particular areas of the setting.
Together, they capture the peculiar, otherworldly vibe of Dolmenwood in a way that words alone can’t. You can practically smell the damp moss and hear the flap of a nightbird’s wings.
So yes, these extras may be the garnish rather than the feast, but they’re flavorful little morsels all the same. Cool stuff, and wholly in keeping with Dolmenwood’s knack for enchanting the senses.
Conclusion – Who Is Dolmenwood For?
I’d love to say Dolmenwood is for anyone who loves fantasy and role-playing games, but that would be too broad, and not entirely fair. This is a unique world and a very particular system, and not everyone will vibe with it.
If you grew up with old-school Dungeons & Dragons, particularly the stranger, more experimental settings of 1st and 2nd edition, Dolmenwood will feel like a nostalgic return to form. It has the same bold departure from Tolkien tropes that made worlds like Dark Sun and Planescape so compelling, while still carrying that classic sense of story-driven adventure that made D&D a phenomenon in the first place.
For modern audiences raised on 3rd, 4th, or especially 5th edition, the appeal is more complicated. The setting, whimsical, fairy-tale, tinged with Narnia, Harry Potter and Neverending Story, may hook you immediately. But mechanically, this is not a game of heroic power curves, feat chains, or endless character builds. Dolmenwood is not about gaming the system, it’s about dynamic narrative play. Growth is slower, victories are hard-won, and characters are fragile. If you try to play it like 5e, leaning on dice and mechanics to bail you out, you will die. Often. This is a game that rewards planning, cunning, and creativity over brute force.
And yet, this might be exactly what modern players are looking for. Many D&D players openly admit they find the modern rendition of the game too easy, too bloated with safety nets, too focused on “powers” rather than theatre. Dolmenwood offers a refreshing change of pace: a system that strips things back, trusts the players, and invites you to rediscover role-playing as a collaborative story first and foremost.
That’s why Dolmenwood matters. It’s not just a curiosity, it’s part of a broader movement in the hobby. Games like Blades in the Dark, Shadowdark, and Daggerheart, along with the OSR revival, are all pushing role-playing back toward dynamic player-driven experiences. Dolmenwood stands proudly in that lineage, and in many ways raises the bar for what a modern fantasy RPG can look like despite its nostalgic nod to classic D&D play.
Now I would personally argue if you really want to experience a modern RPG as a design, Daggerheart is just pure magic. But as a built in story, combined with clever writing and an amazing set for theatre, Dolmenwood is also a fantastic choice.
So yes, I recommend it. Wholeheartedly. Not because it will replace D&D at every table, but because it reminds us that fantasy role-playing can be stranger, braver, and more imaginative than the well-worn Tolkien mold. Dolmenwood is extraordinary, a design triumph, a storytelling feast, and a bold step in the right direction for the hobby.
I don’t usually review role-playing games here at Gamersdungeon.net, and for good reason. Reviewing an RPG after a single read-through or a session or two is like reviewing a restaurant after sniffing the menu. Sure, you could, but you’re not doing the chef, or in this case, the designer, any favors. It doesn’t help your readers either. RPGs are machines with a lot of moving parts, and you only hear the engine purr (or cough) after you’ve actually run the thing for a while.
But Shadowdark is a different beast. A strange, time-twisting beast. Because even though it’s a brand-new game, I’ve been playing it for… oh, about thirty years. Yes, thirty. Cue the Twilight Zone music.
How is that possible? Well, Shadowdark isn’t just a game, it’s the codex of house rules we old-school Basic/Expert D&D folks have been scribbling in the margins for decades. Shadowdark is, for the most part, “the best of” mixtape of all those tweaks, adjustments, and modern fixes that grognards like me have been lugging around in binders and notebooks since the Reagan administration. Reading it felt less like discovering something new and more like reading my own notes, only better formatted and with a professional layout instead of coffee stains with a few clever extras.
So yeah, I know this game. I know it like the back of my GM screen.
And yet, that doesn’t take away from what Kelsey Dionne (The Designer) has pulled off here. She’s taken the essence of classic D&D, bottled it, polished it, and somehow made it shine brighter than it ever did in the first place.
Spoiler alert: it’s a masterpiece. So instead of doing the usual review thing, I’m going to give you the tour of how Kelsey pulled off this wizardry.
Introduction to Shadowdark
If you’re an old-school D&D player, Shadowdark needs no introduction; it is a dungeon-crawling survival adventure in which players (not their characters) are challenged to take their avatars into dangerous places, explore them, and relieve them of their treasure. It’s the foundational concept of old school D&D dungeon survival gameplay, and Shadowdark doesn’t just lean into it; it makes it almost exclusively about that.
This core concept isn’t just a metaphorical thing, as it is the case in some modern fantasy RPG’s (think Forbidden Lands) that try to capture the dungeon survival genre. Like 1st edition B/X, it is a literal, mechanically supported goal built into the game. How much XP you get in this game is based on how much treasure your surviving avatars walk away with. This is key as treasure is intended to be the primary motivation behind the game…period….
This core pillar (treasure = XP) is not part of modern RPG fantasy play like 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons; rather, it has been replaced by the many shinaningans that go into character creation and session 0 planning. In modern games, “motivation”, aka, why are we here, why are we going on this adventure, how does “my character” feel about the story, events and plots, is the replacement for this rather simplistic motivation Shadowdark (and old school D&D) offers.
Shadowdark, as a concept, is a derivative of 1st edition Basic/Expert rules, even if many of its core mechanics are drawn from modern 5th edition D&D.
It’s a significant complication that comes with playing a modern take on role-playing in fantasy worlds. I’m not here to tell you what Shadowdark is better; it’s not a competition, but it is a hell of a lot simpler. So simple, in fact, it alleviates the need to have any discussion in advance at all. Like a board game, treasure = XP, is a simple, direct goal that ensures all the players and their characters understand the “why” behind the game’s primary motivation. All you have to do is create mechanical characters, and you’re ready to play. You don’t need any more information.
That, however, doesn’t mean that this old school approach doesn’t have character, story, plot, and narrative, but it puts those things outside of the scope of the work at hand.
Think of it this way. Your life, what you’re about, who you are, how you live, and what you wish to accomplish in your life aren’t necessarily linked to the 9 to 5 you put in every day. You do that for money, it’s what supports your other, more important ventures in life.
This is more or less how Shadowdark (and the old school gaming approach) sees it. You don’t go on personal quests in pursuit of some glorious ambition; being an adventure is “your work”. It’s dangerous work to be certain, but it’s where your wealth comes from, and so when you show up to work at the door of a dungeon, it’s time to buckle down and focus on the job at hand. Go in there, find the treasure, and get out. What you do with that treasure, what ambitions you will fulfill with it, well, that’s a kind of sidescape that is developed between player and DM later, perhaps even between sessions as a sort of backdrop to the game. That is, if you do it at all.
Maybe you open a tavern, maybe you start a guild, perhaps you build a Wizardry tower, or become a land owner constructing a keep and town. Perhaps you use it to destabilize the politics in the region etc.. etc.. All of it is possible, but none of it has a direct impact on what you actually do in Shadowdark as a game.
Now it’s important to recognize the difference between intent and application. As is always the case with RPG’s, you do with it as you please. You can just as easily run Shadowdark as a traditional story-driven game; there is nothing about the rules that prevents it, but as a design, what you find in the book in terms of advice and direction will push you towards the more classic old school gaming tradition. It’s a game, first and foremost, not a narrative storytelling “concept” as is the case with many RPGs that came after the 90’s.
While many will argue, the concept of storyteller and narrative first style gaming is largely credited to Vampire The Masquerade by White Wolf. Though story has always been a part of role-playing, prior to VTM, most people did not think of the game as theatre.
In the end, it is plain and simple: Shadowdark is a dungeon-crawling survival adventure game. It’s challenging and it’s fun.
Characters
Let’s talk avatars. One of the pillars of old-school dungeon crawling is simplicity, not just in the rules, but in the very idea of what your character is supposed to be. This isn’t about min-maxing or building the perfect “damage engine” with more moving parts than a Swiss watch. Shadowdark hands you a mostly-random pile of stats, a handful of hit points, and enough pocket change to buy a pointy stick and maybe a sack to carry your regrets in. Then it shoves you into the dungeon and cheerfully says, “Good luck!” It’s an idea that screams old school D&D, and it delivers it with precision and no apologies for being what it is.
The core game gives you four classes. Not forty-seven. Not a three-ring binder of subclasses. Four. The classic archetypes.
The Fighter. Your armored battering ram. They’ve got one job: take hits like a champ so everyone else doesn’t have to. Fighters are the heroic meat-shields we all need but never appreciate until they’re gone.
The Priest. Think of them as part-time warrior, full-time walking first-aid kit with divine customer service hours. They heal, they buff, they keep the rest of you standing long enough to make bad decisions.
The Thief. Not really meant for fighting so much as everything else. Locked doors, hidden traps, stolen wallets, the dungeon is their playground. In a dungeon, a thief is the difference between springing a deadly trap and dying horribly or walking out with bags of gold.
The Wizard. Wizards are the ultimate problem-solvers. The catch is they’re fragile. Like, “trip over a rock and die” fragile. But once you get past that whole being alive problem, they can bend reality, melt faces, or turn invisible just to mess with people. Basically, they’re children with nuclear launch codes.
On top of that, you pick an ancestry (what we crusty grognards used to call “race”). The usual Tolkien suspects are here: Dwarf, Elf, Halfling, Human, but Shadowdark spices it up with Goblins and Half-Orcs, which is a refreshing nod toward the “we know you want it, don’t lie” side of player choice. Each ancestry gives a small bonus, usually just enough to patch a weakness or flex a strength. These ancestries are also sufficient to act as a template for creating your own, which is generally kind of the point of games like Shadowdark. Every element in it is a blueprint for making your own stuff.
Importantly, unlike B/X, ancestry and class are separate. (Shocking, I know.) No more “Elf-as-a-class” nonsense. Also gone are the AD&D-style restrictions where, say, a Halfling couldn’t be a Wizard because… reasons. Here, it’s house-ruled freedom straight out of the box, I don’t know a person alive today who still plays with these sorts of restrictions. I’m sure they are out there; most of them hang out on the Dragonfoot forums, and I’m sure Kelsey has had to defend this decision more than once.
But that’s not all. You also get:
Backgrounds (modern flavor text so you can say you were a “Turnip Farmer” before all this).
Alignment (Lawful, Chaotic, or Neutral—nice and simple, like the good old days).
Talents. This is where things get spicy. Instead of cookie-cutter class abilities everyone optimizes to death, you get talents from a list, randomly stacked over time. No picking, no power-gaming. Just, “Congratulations, you rolled this weird perk, deal with it, make it work.” It’s very much in line with the “you get what you get” ethos of old-school gaming.
I’ve been running a house-ruled talent system myself for years, but I’ll admit it: Shadowdark’s version is smoother, fairer, and way more polished. Like, I brought a garage-built go-kart to the race, and Kelsey Dionne showed up with a Lamborghini. It’s the difference between someone who designs games professionally and amateurs like me.
This setup is perfect for a straight-to-it D&D game; it’s simple enough for character creation to be quick and easy, but interesting and diverse enough for each character to be unique. It’s kind of what old school B/X was trying to achieve, but I always recognized it didn’t quite nail it and ended up house ruling the crap out of it. Shadowdark effectively recognized the same thing and fixed it in an eerily familiar way, almost like Kelsey has access to my Google Drive.
Equipment and Magic
Here’s where Kelsey and I part ways a little. Shadowdark takes a very lean and mean approach to gear and spells: a short, functional list that covers the basics and nothing more. It’s clean, it’s efficient, and it absolutely works.
However, I’ve been running survival dungeon crawls long enough to know that equipment and spells are the only real currency players have. When you’re trudging through a dungeon, every ten-foot pole and flask of oil is the difference between “triumphant return” and “everyone dies in a pit trap.”
So while I respect Shadowdark’s minimalism, I can already hear my players asking: “Where’s the breastplate? What happened to Blink? Who stole my Bag of Holding?” To which the answer is: it’ll show up in supplements, or as is more often the case, I add in the stuff I think is missing. That’s how RPGs work, past and present. The core book is your foundation, and Shadowdark gives you a rock-solid one. The spice rack comes later or in the form of house rules and player-created content.
One of my favorite books of all time is the Arms and Equipment guide from 2nd edition AD&D. While largely it does not change the game in any significant way, I loved knowing stuff about all the wild medieval weapons, armor, and gear, both real and made up. This book remains a foundation for every type of fantasy campaign I ever run.
Now, magic. This is where Shadowdark got me grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. They use a mechanic I’ve been house-ruling for years: roll to cast.
See, in D&D, magic is basically an escalator that only goes up. Wizards get more spells, bigger spells, scarier spells, forever. No brakes, no consequences. Which is fun, sure, but eventually your wizard stops being “squishy scholar” and starts being “walking apocalypse with a staff.” It makes everyone else in the party feel like they are getting weaker and triggers classic conversations you will hear all the time among modern players like….for example, how to make martial classes more useful and comparatively powerful to a Wizard. This is the source of most power creep in D&D over the years; few think of ways to scale back mages rather than scale up martial classes.
Shadowdark fixes this with a brilliant twist: spell slots are gone. Instead, you roll to cast. If you succeed, great, the spell goes off, and you can cast it again later. If you fail, you don’t get to try that one again today. No tedious slot tracking, no Level 1 wizard crying in the corner because they already burned their single Magic Missile. It’s simple, it’s clever, and frankly, it makes me a little jealous. I’d been circling this idea for years, but Kelsey nailed it.
And then there’s the mishap table. Oh yes. Cast a spell, roll a natural 1, and magic slaps you upside the head for your arrogance. Fireball goes boom in your face. Illusions turn on you. Weird stuff happens. It’s delightful. Even better, clerics get their own version: instead of exploding mana, they get into an awkward theological argument with their god about “proper spell usage.” (“Really, Steve? You used divine power to impress barmaids again?!”) Chef’s kiss.
It’s elegant, it’s dangerous, and it makes magic feel like what it should be: a risky, volatile force that doesn’t always do what you want. And I love it.
Gameplay
When it comes to gameplay, Shadowdark isn’t here to reinvent the d20 wheel. If you’ve ever played Dungeons & Dragons, any edition, you’ll sit down at the table and immediately know what’s what. Roll a die, fight some monsters, loot the shiny stuff. It’s comfort food gaming, but with a few extra spices thrown in.
That said, Shadowdark doesn’t just photocopy D&D and call it a day. It sprinkles in house rules most old-school tables already use, and polishes them until they shine.
Take Advantage and Disadvantage from 5E. Elegant, simple, and a godsend compared to the days of juggling a dozen fiddly +2/-1 situational modifiers. I’ve been running with this mechanic since the moment Wizards of the Coast unleashed it, and Shadowdark agrees: it belongs everywhere.
The first article I ever wrote for this blog (From Mediocrity To Perfection: The Trials of D&D 2014) was an article about the 5th edition, namely the advantage and disadvantage mechanic. I still hold that it is the best mechanical contribution to the game of D&D that came out of the modern version. I use it for everything.
Then you’ve got critical hits and failures. Another fan favorite. Roll a natural 20 and something awesome happens. Roll a natural 1 and the universe laughs at you. Shadowdark makes sure both ends of the dice curve matter.
Need a quick ruling when you’re stuck? The 50/50 resolution rule has your back. Flip a mental coin (d2) whenever you can’t decide whether that dropped torch actually ignites the spilled oil or whether the surly innkeeper decides to punch the bard in the face. Simple, fun, done.
There are also Luck Tokens. Basically re-roll currency. Call them inspiration, hero points, light side/dark side chits, every system has its version. In Shadowdark, they work smoothly and give players a nice little “get out of jail free” moment when the dice go sour.
And when it comes to skills? Forget them. Gone. Instead, Shadowdark keeps things light with straight ability checks. Want to recall a trail, spot a goblin, or notice the barbarian is trying to cheat at dice? Roll your ability score and move on. It cuts down on bloat and keeps the game moving. Honestly, I’ve never been a fan of chunky skill systems either; they just overcomplicate what is, statistically, already a chaotic d20 toss. Kelsey clearly feels the same.
Initiative is simplified too, rolled once at the start of the session, not every combat. Nice and efficient, though personally I prefer Daggerheart’s “players choose” approach. Either way, Shadowdark doesn’t let bookkeeping drag the fun down.
Everything else, light sources, movement, hiding, surprise, resting, works exactly as you’d expect. Solid, reliable D&D bones. But the real fun is in Shadowdark’s quirks, the bits where it struts out on its own.
Carousing
Not new, but always a delight. Shadowdark bakes in carousing, spending your gold on wine, women, song, and general debauchery, in exchange for XP. It’s perfect for those characters (players) who don’t have lofty ambitions like “found a kingdom” or “uncover ancient truths.” Nope. They just want to party like rockstars, and Shadowdark says, “Sure, here’s some XP for your troubles.” A beautiful money sink and a role-playing excuse rolled into one.
The Real-Time Torch
And now, the poster child of Shadowdark: the real-time candle. Light an actual candle at the table, and when it burns out, so does your character’s torch. It’s atmospheric, I’ll give it that. You will get tension as you watch the flame sputter lower. But honestly, it’s more of a gimmick than a core mechanic. My players are usually prepared enough that the candle rarely does more than stress out the snack table.
Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of time pressure mechanics. I just think the execution works better in other systems, like Daggerheart’s use of timers and fear/hope points to tilt the spotlight between players and GM. That feels more interactive. The candle is a cool set dressing. But set dressing, all the same.
The DM Guide
So far, I’ve only skimmed the surface, roughly the first hundred pages of Shadowdark’s 300+ page tome. The rest of the book is the DM’s playground. Advice, tables, monsters, treasure, it’s essentially a lovingly crafted toolbox for running the kind of dangerous, seat-of-your-pants adventures old-school D&D is famous for.
I firmly believe that the best Dungeon Masters Guide ever written was done by Gary Gygax for 1st edition AD&D, but it’s not an easy read, it’s not convenient and it’s a horrific editing job compared to modern standards.
Now, I could spend three separate articles dissecting this section alone (believe me, I have opinions), but let’s keep it simple: if you’re new to being a Dungeon Master, you could not ask for a better teacher than Kelsey Dionne. Her guidance is sharp, practical, and rooted in that “fun first, but scary second” vibe that makes a great game.
Two parts stood out to me in particular:
Monsters That Want You Dead
Shadowdark monsters don’t exist to pad your XP bar. They exist to kill you. Brutally. Gleefully. They’re designed to remind players that being an adventurer isn’t glamorous; it’s like taking out life insurance in a world where goblins are the actuaries.
This isn’t a game where you kick down doors and expect a “balanced encounter” to be waiting. Shadowdark firmly plants its flag in the old-school camp: if you fight fair, you die. The odds are stacked against you. Survival depends on planning, creativity, and maybe just a smidge of cowardice. Frankly, I adore it.
Treasure Like a Slot Machine
Then there’s the way Shadowdark handles magic items, which is pure genius. Instead of handing out the usual +1 sword you’ve seen a thousand times, items are generated in a Diablo-style mix-and-match fashion. Random rolls create unique gear combinations, so you never know if that sword you just looted is going to be “pretty good” or “campaign-definingly insane.”
This approach does two things: it keeps DMs from drowning in prep, and it keeps players leaning forward at the table like gamblers feeding coins into a slot machine. Every treasure haul is a gamble. Sometimes you win big, sometimes you don’t, but either way, you’ll dive back into the dungeon for another pull on that loot chart.
The most addictive part of Diablo was (is) the dynamic loot system. It drives you to delve deeper and play longer, and coming back to town to identify everything to see what you got was pure joy. Having that as a core element to a table top RPG is brilliant.
And honestly, that’s perfect for a game like this. Because if monsters are going to chew you up, you should at least have the hope of finding a shiny toy worth dying for.
Conclusion
There’s a lot more I could say about Shadowdark, but here’s the thing: RPGs aren’t meant to be absorbed purely through reviews. They’re meant to be cracked open, rolled with, and tested in the wild. You’ve got to actually sit at the table, sling some dice, and see if it sings for you.
That said, let me be crystal clear: Shadowdark is one of those rare books that belongs on your shelf even if you never plan to run a grand, sweeping campaign with it. It’s the perfect “anytime RPG.”
Here’s a scenario I know you’ve lived: you’re hanging out with friends or family, and someone says, “Wouldn’t it be cool to play D&D?” Everyone nods enthusiastically… and then reality sets in. Fifth Edition? Character creation alone is a three-hour marathon of spreadsheets and spell lists. The evening’s already gone before you’ve even rolled initiative.
Shadowdark laughs at that problem. With this book, you can go from “should we play D&D?” to “roll for initiative” in about twenty minutes. It’s quick, it’s deadly, and it captures the heart of old-school dungeon crawling without burying you in prep.
And that’s the magic of it: Shadowdark isn’t just for grognards or OSR diehards. It’s for everyone. New players. Casual tables. Busy adults who miss the game but don’t have the time for a full-blown campaign commitment.
So yeah, spoiler alert confirmed. It’s a masterpiece. And more importantly, it’s an RPG you can get to the table very easily. It respects your time and doesn’t assume you have hours to spend on prepping your entertainment. It’s the RPG equivalent of saying “let’s go to the movies… right now”
I love this game; it nails the intended design goal with perfection.
The biggest headline in the world of nerdy tabletop gaming just dropped like a fireball: Critical Role, the internet’s most famous troupe of voice actors turned dice-slinging legends, has made their choice, and it’s a big one!
For the upcoming Season 4, Critical Role won’t be rolling with their own shiny new system, Daggerheart, a game that exploded in popularity the moment it hit the scene. Instead, they’re doubling down on the freshly released 2024 edition of Dungeons & Dragons (what many of us are calling “5.5e”).
While Critical Role is famous for its D&D campaigns on YouTube, they have done a hell of a lot more than that as a business. The Legend of Vox Machina, for example, is reminiscent of the classic D&D cartoon from the 80’s (albeit obviously a hell of a lot better) is just one among a slew of entertainment offerings that have spawned from their success.
So what does this seismic decision mean for the RPG community? Should we be surprised, or was this move written in the stars like a prophecy from a high-level divination spell? That’s what we’re unpacking today, from the perspective of someone who’s both a die-hard Daggerheart player and a lifelong D&D fan.
The Short And Sweet Of It
First, a little disclosure: while I have a ton of love for Critical Role and all the incredible things they’ve done for the tabletop RPG community, I’m not what you’d call a dedicated viewer. Honestly, watching other people play D&D just isn’t my jam. I understand the appeal, and I respect it, but personally? I’d rather be rolling the dice myself.
That being said, there’s no denying that what Critical Role chooses to put on their table carries massive weight for the entire hobby. When Matt Mercer and crew pick a system for their main campaign, it doesn’t just shape their story, it shapes our tables, too. Critical Role is one of the biggest gateways into role-playing games. Quite simply, the game they play often becomes the game everyone else wants to play.
For their first three epic campaigns, that game was Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, and while D&D was already sitting on the throne as the most popular RPG in the world, Critical Role cemented it there with adamantine chains. Their endorsement wasn’t just influential; it was defining.
So when Daggerheart, Critical Role’s very own homegrown RPG, burst onto the scene with massive fanfare, there was an inevitable question hanging in the air: would they abandon the dragon-shaped juggernaut of D&D and ride their shiny new creation into the next campaign?
Personally, I wasn’t all that shocked when the answer turned out to be no. D&D was always the obvious choice, and for one clear reason: it’s the most universal, recognizable system in the hobby. Add to that a perfect storm, the unprecedented success of Baldur’s Gate 3 (arguably the best PC game ever made), Stranger Things barreling toward its final season (and bringing D&D references back into the spotlight), and Wizards of the Coast launching the new 2024 ruleset (the cleanest, most polished version of the game to date). All roads pointed back to D&D. Why fight gravity?
Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition is successful in ways that one could never have imagined back in the 80’s when we were playing in cellars and lying about it at school. It’s gone mainstream, we can where T-shirts with the D&D logo and get nods of approval walking down the street. It’s awesome!
That said, I can’t overstate how much I adore Daggerheart. I’ve been playing in a campaign with my local crew since its release, and it’s quickly become one of my favorite RPG experiences of all time. Its narrative-first design, elegant mechanics, and streamlined resolutions make storytelling feel effortless. Every session feels like a spark of creativity, and the game has inspired me to role-play and write in ways I haven’t in years. Simply put: I’m in love with it.
But D&D holds a different kind of magic. It’s the comfort food of RPGs, the game that’s just fun at the table. I always keep a couple of 5e campaigns running on the side, usually dungeon-crawling, monster-slaying, treasure-hunting romps. They’re especially perfect for younger players or folks newer to the hobby, where the focus is more on rolling dice and less on heavy narrative.
For me, D&D and Daggerheart aren’t competitors; they’re tools in the same creative toolbox. Sometimes you need the universal accessibility and classic adventuring vibe of D&D. Other times, you want the narrative spark and fresh mechanics of Daggerheart. The beauty is in knowing which tool fits the story you want to tell.
What Does The Future Look Like?
There’s always a debate simmering around Wizards of the Coast and their crown jewel, Dungeons & Dragons. And honestly, I sometimes ask myself, why?
At the end of the day, D&D is a beloved game. With anything that popular, there will always be an “anti-crowd” ready to pick it apart. That’s just the price of being the industry leader.
Now, to be fair, I’ve had my own frustrations with D&D, but never with the game itself. My gripes have always been with the company behind it. Case in point: during the infamous OGL scandal (if you don’t know about it, give it a quick Google), I actually banned 5th edition content from my blog as a show of solidarity with fellow creators and players. That was a messy chapter, but it blew over quickly, and in the end, the actions of Wizards of the Coast don’t define what the game itself is.
Because the truth is, D&D is still everything it’s always been: a monster-slaying, dungeon-crawling, dice-chucking blast. Sure, I could argue all day about which edition I personally prefer (and I do on this blog all the time), but for modern enthusiasts, especially those who don’t carry the decades of history that older grognards like me do, the smart move is simply to play the latest edition. That means 5th edition, and with the 2024 update, it’s clear this version is here to stay.
It’s unlikely to ever reach the popularity of D&D, but there is no question in my mind as a 40-year veteran in the hobby that Daggerheart is one of the best RPG’s to be released since Dungeons and Dragons, second only to perhaps Vampire The Masquerade.
So what does the future hold for tabletop RPGs? Honestly… more of the same. D&D will continue to reign as the most popular, most widely used system on the planet. Wizards will keep releasing books, people will keep buying them (myself included), and creators like me will keep making content for them. The cycle isn’t changing anytime soon.
And Critical Role knows this. No matter how much success Daggerheart has (and yes, I absolutely love the system), it’s not a universal game. It’s niche. It caters beautifully to a specific type of table and a specific style of play, but it’s not the catch-all, mass-market juggernaut that D&D is. If Critical Role had shifted to Daggerheart for Season 4, they’d risk cutting their audience in half. There was no upside to that gamble.
So in the end, their decision simply cements what many of us already knew: in tabletop RPGs, it’s business as usual. And honestly? I’m more than okay with that.
One of the unexpected perks of hurtling toward the half-century mark, aside from creaky knees and reading glasses, is having grown up with the world’s greatest roleplaying game: Dungeons & Dragons. For as long as I can remember, this game has been a part of my life, sometimes in the background, sometimes front and center, but always there, like an old friend ready to spark the imagination.
And one of the greatest joys of D&D is passing it on to others and watching them discover the game as I did in my youth.
This summer, my family escaped to the sun-drenched hills of Tuscany, where we rented a villa nestled among vineyards and olive groves for two blissful weeks. It was an Indian summer, the air thick with heat, our days melting away by the pool. But as the sun dipped behind the cypress trees and the cicadas finally fell silent, a new tradition emerged. Dungeons & Dragons by moonlight.
My players ranged in age from 12 to 20, kids from my extended family, including my own, and for many of them, this was their first taste of the game. We cracked open the Essentials Kit and plunged into Dragons of Icespire Peak. Our first evening began with character sheets and dice, laughter and name-picking, as we stepped into the legendary Forgotten Realms on a quest to slay a dragon.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure how it would go. This is a generation raised on iPads and X-Boxes, a digital world of instant gratification. I half expected eye rolls or short attention spans.
What I got instead was lightning in a bottle.
From the very first session, the spark caught. D&D didn’t just become part of our vacation routine; it became the reason to clear dinner plates faster than ever before. The excitement was palpable. The story, the characters, the dice rolls, they were hooked. It was electric.
For them, it was magic. For me, it was something deeper. Watching them discover the wonder of tabletop storytelling in real time was like watching fireworks go off behind their eyes. There’s something incredibly moving about seeing a new generation fall in love with something that shaped your own youth.
In a word, Pure magic.
A Game About Rules You Don’t Follow
When introducing Dungeons & Dragons to a new group, especially adults or seasoned gamers, there’s a sacred ritual: session zero. You take your time. You explain the rules. You build characters thoughtfully. You lay down the groundwork for the campaign like a careful gardener planting seeds.
But when your players are kids?
They just want to fight the dragon!
Their impatience was a jolt, a glorious, chaotic reminder of what D&D really is. Yes, it has rules. Yes, there are mechanics and modifiers and sourcebooks full of fine print. But none of that matters if you’re not having fun pretending to be a sword-swinging, ale-guzzling hero with a questionable moral compass.
There have been a few different starter sets for 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons, but I think the Essentials Kit is one of the most complete and arguably the most flexible. It includes rules for creating your own characters, a campaign that takes players through 6th level, and has additional material like cards and a DM Screen. Most importantly it’s an adventure about fighting a dragon, which I think is sort of on point with new player expectations.
The kids didn’t care about encumbrance. They didn’t ask what armor class was or how spell slots worked. What they did care about was choosing the coolest-looking helmet (even though modern D&D doesn’t have rules for helmets) and ordering a frothy mug of tavern ale (because pretending to be drunk is, apparently, hilarious).
They wanted to dive headfirst into the fantasy and so we did.
We built 1st-level characters lightning-fast: 4d6, drop the lowest, straight down the line. Four classic classes—Fighter, Rogue, Cleric, Wizard. No agonizing over feats or backstory minutiae. In less than 20 minutes, we were on the road from Neverwinter, headed toward the sleepy frontier town of Phandalin, backpacks light, coin purses jangling, stomachs growling.
I told them they were running low on rations, poorly equipped, and unprepared for the dangers ahead. They ignored all of it. Naturally. Because five minutes later they stumbled upon the corpse of a murdered merchant, Orc tracks leading off into the woods and that was all the motivation they needed.
They were in.
There is a new starter set coming out later this year called Heroes of the Borderlands based on the classic 1st edition adventure Keep on the Borderlands. This robust set clearly targets a younger audience and looks like it will be quite perfect for introducing new players to the game with lots of visuals and extras to help make the introduction as easy as possible.
They didn’t know the rules. They didn’t need to. What they did know was that something had happened. Something bad. And these make-believe heroes were going to chase those orcs into the forest and make them pay, because they knew what Orcs were, they had all seen The Hobbit.
It was everything D&D is meant to be: danger, mystery, and bold, messy heroism.
Every face was locked in. Eyes wide, pencils nervously chewed, dice clutched tight. When I asked, “Who’s tracking the orcs?” and introduced the very first Survival check, you could feel the energy spike like a lightning bolt hitting the table.
The Rogue rolled a natural 20.
They followed the trail right to a clearing where a band of orcs sat around a campfire, drinking and laughing. Before anyone could strategize, the Fighter slammed their fist on the table and shouted, “I attack the Orcs with my Axe!”
One of the other players protested, but it was too late.
“The Fighter takes off running. The rest of you better catch up”, I told them.
Boom. Chaos. Laughter. Screams of delight.
Pure D&D magic.
What is D&D?
When I first sat down to write this article, I wasn’t sure what it was going to be about. I just wanted to tell the story, because even the act of writing it out stirred something in me. A kind of quiet, emotional tremor. Watching those kids, my kids and nephews, discover Dungeons & Dragons the way I once did was more than just heartwarming. It was life-affirming.
I’ve spent my life playing games. Role-playing games, miniature games, board games, you name it. And if you’re like me, you know the looks you get. The raised eyebrows. The half-smirks from people who have never had a gaming table in their lives. Even my wife, who’s known me for over 25 years, has often looked at me with a kind of affectionate confusion.
Why does a grown man care so much about all this?
But this time… I saw something different in her eyes.
She watched what was happening around that table, not just the game, but the way the kids leaned in, eyes wide, hanging on every word and I think, for the first time, she really got it. And then something happened that neither of us expected.
One day, the adults decided to go on a wine tour through the Tuscan countryside. It was going to be a long day of vineyard-hopping and child-free relaxation. No D&D that night, the kids would be left to their own devices. There was some grumbling, of course, but we kissed them goodbye and set off for a day of indulgent day-drinking.
When we returned, we braced ourselves for the usual post-unsupervised chaos. But there was no chaos. No screens. No locked bedroom doors.
Instead, the kids were all gathered around the table again, playing Dungeons & Dragons, on their own.
Dungeons and Dragons in my day was a big mystery; it was not a very approachable game, but the vivid art combined with that mystery of discovering the game through the many books printed for it was absolutely irresistible to me.
My son had taken the mantle of Dungeon Master. Despite barely knowing the rules, he was narrating a story, guiding the others through improvised adventures. They were telling tales, fighting monsters, completely immersed in a world they’d decided to build together.
No one told them to do it. No one handed them a script. They just wanted to.
They’d even drawn portraits of their characters, hoping, of course, to earn some extra XP from me when the campaign resumed. And before I could even step fully through the door, they were on me with rapid-fire questions:
“Why didn’t you tell us about Saving Throws?”
“There’s a Paladin class? What about Barbarians?, Why didn’t you tell us!?”
“Why didn’t you tell us about D&D Beyond!?”
It was… stunning. These screen-savvy, digital-native kids had unplugged themselves. They weren’t mindlessly scrolling, or zoning out, or retreating into the isolation of algorithms and apps. They were creating. They were collaborating. They were lighting up a part of their brains and their hearts, which too often lies dormant in today’s world.
And that, right there, is what D&D is. That’s what it’s always been.
It’s not just dice and rules. It’s freedom. It’s pure creative expression. It’s a primal kind of joy, something ancient and instinctual that lives inside every person. Some people find it in books. Some in painting, or sculpting, or dancing. But when you sit down at a table, look your friends in the eye, and say, “What do you do?”, you’re unlocking something sacred.
D&D is a release valve for the imagination. A bridge to wonder. A reminder that we are all still storytellers, no matter how old we get.
So, if there’s a takeaway from all this, it’s simple.
