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Top 10 Boardgames for Two Players

Two-player board games have always held a special place in my collection. Partly because they’re simply easier to get to the table, but mostly because the experience feels far more personal. It’s just you and one other player, matching wits across the table without the downtime, debates, or scheduling headaches that often come with larger groups.

There’s also something wonderfully simple about choosing what to play. When only one other person’s preferences matter, finding the right game becomes a whole lot easier.

When I first sat down to write this list, though, I quickly ran into a problem. What exactly is the “best” two-player game?

Is it an epic historical war game? A fast card game? A thinky Euro? A cooperative puzzle? A tactical skirmish? Comparing those games directly felt a bit like arguing whether a Formula One car is better than a mountain bike. They’re built to do completely different things; it was awkward, simply didn’t make sense to me to have one list that jams everything into one place.

So rather than force them into one giant, slightly ridiculous ranking, I decided to organize this list by category.

For each category, I’ll crown my favorite game while also giving you two runner-ups. That way, instead of recommending just ten games, I can introduce you to thirty outstanding two-player experiences, each suited to a different mood, partner, or evening around the table. Hopefully that will be a lot more useful.

Whether you’re looking for a deep strategic duel, a relaxing cooperative adventure, or something you can teach in five minutes, there should be something here for you.

Let’s get to it.

1. Best Casual or Family Game

This is probably the category most hobby gamers find themselves reaching for.

Most of us gamer-gamers own shelves full of heavy Euros, sprawling campaign games, and intricate strategy titles, but the reality is that most people we invite over aren’t hobby gamers. They’re friends, family, neighbours, or colleagues who simply want to sit down and have a good time.

That means the game has to be welcoming and easy to get into.

For me, a great casual two-player game isn’t just easy to learn, it has to be intuitive. A new player should be able to rely on common sense rather than previous experience and still feel like they have a genuine chance of winning. If knowing the deck by heart or memorising opening strategies gives the experienced player an overwhelming advantage, then I don’t think it belongs in this category.

The best family games create close contests regardless of who’s sitting across the table. They let newcomers make sensible decisions, reward good instincts, and leave everyone feeling like they were competitive right until the final score.

Those are exactly the kinds of games I was looking for here.

3. Starship Catan
I have had Starship Catan in my collection for over two decades, and it still see’s play often enough that I just can’t ever see myself getting rid of it.

Poor Starship Catan has largely disappeared into history, overshadowed by the seemingly endless stream of Catan spin-offs that followed. That’s a shame, because in my opinion, it’s still the best two-player Catan game Klaus Teuber ever designed.

It takes the familiar Catan formula and strips away much of the randomness that people often criticize in the original, replacing it with a game that rewards clever planning without ever becoming intimidating. It’s one of those rare games that’s genuinely easy to teach, yet still offers enough meaningful decisions to keep experienced players engaged.

The presentation has aged remarkably well, too. The artwork has that wonderfully optimistic early-2000s science-fiction charm, the production is clean without being cluttered, and the gameplay strikes a lovely balance between competition and accessibility. You’re racing your opponent rather than constantly attacking them, which makes it an excellent choice for playing with spouses, family members, or friends who aren’t looking for a cutthroat experience.

Starship Catan is a pretty game, even by today’s standards, I think, thanks largely to Franz Vohwinkel, an artist whose work you have seen more times than you probably realize because he’s just about everywhere you look.

What really earns Starship Catan its place on this list, though, is how naturally people seem to understand it.

Like the original Catan, it rewards instincts that almost everyone already possesses. You don’t need years of hobby gaming experience or dozens of previous plays to feel competitive. Once the rules are explained, most players immediately understand what they’re trying to accomplish and can start making sensible decisions from the very first turn.

That’s exactly what I look for in a great casual two-player game.

And perhaps the biggest compliment I can give it is this: almost everyone I’ve introduced it to has immediately asked for another game. Twenty-five years after its release, that’s still a pretty impressive achievement that I can say about very few games in my collection.

2. The Duke
The Duke probably belongs in the abstract category, but this game is so approachable and will be so familiar to your casual observer that I had to add it here.

Another older game makes the list, but one that’s still brilliantly clever.

The Duke is often described as chess with a twist. Each player controls a small army of tiles that show their movement directly on the piece. Every time you move one, you flip it over, changing how it moves next turn. The goal is simple: capture your opponent’s Duke (king) piece.

There is a wide range of pieces that do all sorts of clever things, and in that respect it can feel like a far more robust game to onlookers, but you have very few pieces on the board at any given time, so the analysis here is not nearly as broad.

The rules can be taught in minutes, but the strategy runs surprisingly deep. Because most people already understand the basics of chess or checkers, new players immediately feel comfortable and start developing their own tactics from the very first game.

It’s also wonderfully compact, making it an ideal travel game, and most matches are finished in around 15–20 minutes.

Experience certainly helps here, but unlike chess, the learning curve is much shorter. After just a handful of games, new players will already have formed their own strategies and can put up a very respectable fight.

For me, it’s one of the smartest abstract games ever made, and one that deserves far more attention than it gets.

1. Patchwork

One of the easiest games to recommend to everyone, it’s a universal kind of fun.

I don’t imagine this pick will surprise many hobbyists. Patchwork has become the gold standard for introducing people to modern two-player board games, and I think it has earned that reputation for good reason.

The concept is wonderfully simple. You’re building a patchwork quilt by selecting oddly shaped tiles, trying to cover as much of your board as possible while managing your buttons (victory points) and time. The rules can be explained in five minutes, yet every turn presents an interesting little puzzle.

What makes Patchwork so perfect for this category is that success isn’t really based on experience with the game. Instead, it rewards spatial reasoning and problem-solving skills that everyone naturally brings to the table. A veteran may recognize a few patterns, but a first-time player can absolutely outplay an experienced one simply by solving the puzzle better.

I like to describe this game as “Tetris” like, something very easy for everyone to relate to.

Fast, approachable, endlessly replayable, and satisfying every single time, Patchwork remains my go-to recommendation whenever someone asks me for the perfect casual two-player game.

2. Best Hobbyiest Strategy Game

Not every board gamer is a hardcore strategist, but most hobbyists are willing to try just about anything. We bounce between Euros, area control, deck builders, cooperative games, abstracts, you name it. That doesn’t mean every strategy game is going to appeal to everyone, though.

For this category, I wanted games that I think almost any hobby gamer would enjoy, regardless of their particular tastes, simply because of the excellent and inspired game mechanics. These are the games I’d happily recommend to someone with a reasonably established collection because they’re simply excellent designs with broad appeal.

They’re a step up from the family games in the previous category in terms of complexity and challenge. The rules are a little (sometimes a lot) more involved, the decisions a little deeper, and you’ll probably be setting aside the whole evening rather than squeezing in a quick game after dinner. They will also require multiple plays to really get good at them, so they are specifically designed for people who are going to get together more than once.

Think of these as the modern strategy staples of two-player gaming. If you’re serious about the hobby, these are games you should probably experience at least once. As I have many other categories on this list, I have excluded games that I think fit into a tighter, more specific niche.

3. Through The Ages: A New Story of Civilization
Through The Ages is a versatile game that shows up on many of my best-of lists, including best of all time. It is, to me, among the best games the hobby has to offer.

This is definitely one of the heavier games on the list, and while it technically supports up to four players, I firmly believe it’s at its absolute best with two, though an argument can be made for three. With four players, this game really stretches the definition of board game night; it’s just too long.

Through the Ages is a civilization-building game where you’ll guide your nation from antiquity into the modern era, balancing military, culture, science, economy, and politics in a constant struggle to outscore your opponent. There’s an incredible amount of depth here, and it’s the sort of game that demands repeated plays before you truly appreciate all of its nuances.

Through the Ages is a card-driven game, but it’s not a card game. It’s probably closer to an action selection and resource management game; the cards are really a support mechanism.

What keeps me coming back is how dynamic every game feels. Despite its complexity, it never settles into routine. Every civilization develops differently, every draft presents new opportunities, and every opponent forces you to rethink your strategy.

It’s long, competitive, and occasionally downright ruthless, but if you’re looking for a two-player strategy game you can really sink your teeth into with a lot of replayability, Through the Ages is one of the very best in class.

2. The White Castle
White Castle is the new kid on the block, but I’m obsessed; it’s a contender for a 5 out of 5 review, which would make it only the second game to achieve this on gamersdungeon.net in 12 years as of this writing. It’s that good.

The White Castle is one of my favourite discoveries of the past year. While it’s excellent with three or four players, I actually think it’s a fantastic two-player strategy game as well.

This is an incredibly tight Euro where every decision matters. With only 9 (With base game) to 12 (with Matcha expansion) actions over the course of the game, every move feels significant, forcing you to squeeze every possible point out of your strategy. Despite that limited action count, the number of viable approaches is remarkable, making each game feel fresh and rewarding.

I also highly recommend the Matcha expansion. It adds another layer of strategic depth without increasing the rules overhead, making an already brilliant game even better.

The Matcha expansion adds an extra dice bridge and an additional action per turn, while also giving the game tremendous added depth. It’s one of those situations where the game is amazing without an expansion, but doubles down on the goodness with one.

Elegant, challenging, and endlessly satisfying, The White Castle is the kind of game hobbyists can happily play over and over while continuing to discover new strategies. It’s an exceptional design and an easy recommendation for anyone who enjoys deep, thoughtful Euros.

There is a The White Castle: Duel variant that’s designed for two players, but despite the good effort with that one, I still think the multiplayer version is superior as a two-player experience.

1. Star Wars: Rebellion

I know that not “everyone” is a Star Wars fan, but that is a tough pill to swallow for a guy like me who quite literally named his son Luke because of the original trilogy. Saying you’re not a Star Wars fan makes you, at the very least, a suspect individual!

This might seem like an unusual winner because it’s so heavily tied to its theme, in fact, had I not put it here, it would go into the Best Theme category for sure. That said, I get it, if you have absolutely no interest in Star Wars, then one of the other games in this category is probably a better fit.

That said, I’ve always found there’s a huge overlap between board gamers and nerd culture, and Star Wars sits comfortably at the centre of that Venn diagram. So I’m fairly confident this recommendation will resonate with a lot, if not most, people.

The reason Star Wars: Rebellion tops this category is that it succeeds on two fronts.

First, it’s simply an outstanding strategy game. Every session is packed with bluffing, long-term planning, military campaigns, political maneuvering, and difficult decisions. Both factions play completely differently, giving the game incredible replayability and making every match feel like a battle of wits, while remaining a reasonably approachable game.

Everything about Star Wars Rebellion reinforces Star Wars fandom; there is no question that Corey Konieczka is a huge fan; he would not have been able to create this game otherwise.

Second, and this is what elevates it above almost every licensed game ever made, it absolutely nails the theme.

Rebellion doesn’t just use Star Wars artwork; it lets you play the original trilogy. Every objective, every desperate Rebel mission, every Imperial search for the hidden base, and every dramatic space battle feels like it belongs in the films. The connection between the mechanics and the theme is about as close to perfect as I’ve ever seen.

If you’re a Star Wars fan, I honestly think this is a must-own game.

And if you’re not…Well, there’s a decent chance this game might make you one.

3. Best Historical Duel

Historical games, and historical war games in particular, are one of my favourite genres, which made this category surprisingly difficult. Narrowing the list down to just three games was no easy task.

There is one important caveat, though.

I’m not recommending games for experienced historical war gamers. That would be an entirely different list. Instead, I wanted to highlight games that I think any hobby gamer with an interest in history could comfortably dive into without spending six months learning hex-and-counter warfare.

To illustrate what I mean, I firmly believe Empire of the Sun is the greatest two-player historical war game ever designed.

There is no question that Empire Of The Sun is the best historical war game ever made, but to suggest it to anyone but the most dedicated historical war gamer would be madness.

It’s also one of the most complex board games I’ve ever played.

Even seasoned wargamers treat it with a healthy amount of respect, so recommending it to someone who’s merely curious about the genre would be doing them a disservice.

With that in mind, these are the historical duels I’d recommend first. They still deliver the tension, drama, and fascinating decision-making that make historical games so rewarding, but they’re approachable enough that a hobby gamer can jump in without feeling completely overwhelmed.

That’s exactly what this category is about.

3. Twilight Struggle
A classic is a classic for a reason; resistance is futile!

Despite one significant caveat, I think Twilight Struggle remains one of the best entry points into historical war gaming.

That caveat is the learning curve, not so much learning how to play but learning to play reasonably well. This isn’t a game you’re likely to become competitive at after a single play. Deck knowledge is absolutely critical, and it will probably take four or five games before you really begin to understand the subtle timing, strategic positioning, and difficult decisions the game throws at you. Until then, you’re going to get crushed by someone who has played before, and it’s going to happen fast.

Once it clicks, though, it’s exceptional.

Set during the Cold War, Twilight Struggle brilliantly recreates the political tension of the era through card play, influence, and global maneuvering. From the Space Race to proxy wars and diplomatic crises, the historical events feel naturally woven into the gameplay rather than simply pasted on as flavour.

Historical games are about history, so if a particular piece of history doesn’t interest you, a game based on it probably won’t change your mind. This is a great game, but like all historical games, you need to have at least a passing interest in the topic, and admittedly, The Cold War can be a bit dry for some.

It’s a wonderfully tense, deeply strategic design that rewards repeated play without ever feeling repetitive.

More importantly, it also helped popularize one of my favourite genres in board gaming: the card-driven influence control genre.

As it happens… that genre gets its very own category later on this list.

2. Sekigahara: The Unification Of Japan
Block games can be traced all the way back to pre-modern era gaming; In fact, you could argue the first board games ever made were block games like Senet. They are a rather classic format, but the concept is very simple. Block games tend to be relatively light historical war games in general.

I’m a sucker for two things: Japanese history and card-driven games, so Sekigahara was always going to have an uphill battle trying not to impress me.

This brilliant block wargame recreates the struggle to unify Japan using hidden wooden blocks, so you always know your own army but never quite what your opponent has assembled. Think Stratego, but with far more meaningful strategic decisions.

Stratego is a very simple take on the typical historical block game, but it’s a game most of us are at least familiar with in passing, as it’s been on store shelves since the 1940’s. It is, however, very one-dimensional; most block games, including Sekigahara, include elements like supply lines, terrain, and strongholds.

What I love most is that it delivers everything I want from a historical wargame without the intimidating complexity the genre is often known for. There are plenty of deep strategic decisions to explore, but the objective is always clear. You know what you’re trying to achieve; the challenge is figuring out how to do it with incomplete information and a hand of cards that never quite cooperates.

That uncertainty creates constant tension. Every battle is a calculated gamble, every move a bluff, and every commitment of troops carries real consequences.

One thing I really love about this game is that it really rewards repeated plays with the same opponent. Players will come up with gambits and strategies that work, then on the next game when they try the same thing, your opponent will be ready for you. There is a sort of evolution that takes place the more you play with the same person.

It’s certainly a confrontational game, so both players need to enjoy going head-to-head, but if they do, Sekigahara is one of the finest battles of wits I can think of.

1. Tide Of Iron

Historical war games come in many forms, but tactical war games tend to be something historical war gamers are particularly passionate about. You will often see historical war gamers argue about what qualifies and doesn’t qualify as a proper historical war game, even in cases like Tide of Iron, some may not agree that it’s sufficiently “historical”. Ignore nonsense like that; it’s a rabbit hole of stupidity.

It just wouldn’t feel right to have a historical gaming category without World War II making an appearance.

For me, Tide of Iron is the gold standard for introducing players to historical wargaming. It strikes an almost perfect balance between authenticity and accessibility, delivering enough tactical depth and historical flavour to satisfy seasoned wargamers while remaining approachable for hobby gamers taking their first steps into the genre.

That’s an incredibly difficult balance to achieve. Historical accuracy and detailed simulation usually come hand in hand with intimidating rulebooks, but Tide of Iron manages to capture the feel of battlefield tactics without burying players in complexity.

It’s also a fantastic production. The modular maps, miniatures, varied scenarios, and customizable forces make every battle feel different, while just enough dice-driven uncertainty reminds you that no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. There is no better way to get someone to try this one than to simply show them what it looks like; the game sells itself.

Tide of Irons is a tactical game on the squad level, hailing from the big box era at Fantasy Flight Games. There are a lot of ways to expand your experience, including entire campaign books and expansions as well as many built-in variants for deeper immersion. If you enjoy the game, there is a tremendous amount of exploration available.

Most importantly, though…It’s simply a tremendous amount of fun.

The scenarios are varied, the tactical decisions are meaningful, and the game scales nicely for players of different experience levels. Whether you’re a history buff or someone who’s simply curious about the genre, Tide of Iron is the game I’d put on the table first.

It’s not just a great historical wargame. It’s a great board game, full stop.

4. Best Heavy Euro

For many board gamers, heavy Euros are something of a graduation ceremony. They’re not the games I recommend to someone who’s just discovered the hobby, but sooner or later most hobbyists become curious about what all the fuss is about. That’s usually the point where they take the plunge into heavier strategy games.

These are games that demand your attention. They’re longer, more complex, and packed with meaningful decisions. They often require several plays before you really understand what you’re doing, and a single game can easily occupy an entire evening.

The investment, however, is almost always worth it.

To me, heavy Euros represent some of the finest strategy game design our hobby has to offer. They’re intricate puzzles built around careful planning, efficient resource management, engine building, and long-term strategy. Luck usually takes a back seat, leaving success largely in the hands of the players.

They’re certainly not for everyone, but if you’re ready to dive into the deep end of board gaming, these are some of the very best places to start.

3. A Feast For Odin
This is a pretty complex game with tons of game critical decisions; it’s going to take many plays to get your head around the strategies involved.

While A Feast for Odin shines with three or four players, I actually think it’s just as enjoyable with two, making it an easy choice for this list.

This is the kind of game that feels like the culmination of everything you’ve learned from lighter Euros. Worker placement, resource management, engine building, and the wonderfully satisfying polyomino puzzle of filling your personal board all come together in one enormous Viking adventure.

It’s undeniably a heavy game, but I don’t think it’s overwhelming. The complexity comes from the sheer number of systems working together, rather than any individual rule being particularly difficult. If you’ve played a variety of lighter strategy games before, you’ll recognize many of the mechanics; they’re simply woven together into something much grander.

The amount of “stuff you can do” in this game is so broad that you may very well play the game half a dozen times and never take certain actions available to you.

Yes, it’s a little fiddly, and yes, it asks a lot of its players, but the payoff is immense. Few games offer this much strategic freedom while remaining so consistently rewarding to explore.

It’s a wonderful, thoroughly satisfying, albeit exhausting gaming experience.

2. Tapestry
The lovely thing about Tapestry is that the rules themselves are relatively simple, yet the amount of depth in this game- the sheer volume of possible strategies can be quite overwhelming. It’s a deep well, one I think is worth exploring for any serious gamer.

I should start by saying that I think Tapestry is at its absolute best with three players. That said, the two-player game is excellent and, perhaps more importantly, much faster. It feels less like a territorial struggle and more like a race to build the most efficient civilization.

What makes Tapestry such a great heavy Euro is that the strategic depth far outweighs the rules complexity. The rulebook is surprisingly approachable, yet the game offers an enormous amount of long-term planning, resource optimization, and engine building, not to mention dynamics. It’s an ideal stepping stone for players looking to move into heavier strategy games without first having to learn a hundred pages of rules.

A big part of the game is the ability to anticipate your opponents’ strategies and plan your own, while making sure you’re getting under your opponents’ feet now and then to slow them down. There is a bit of a give and take here that I really like, and this is a lot easier to do when playing Tapestry with two players. The more players you add, the more complex this games strategy becomes.

Experience definitely matters, though. Your scores will improve dramatically as you learn the game, which means newcomers can feel outmatched during their first few plays. Fortunately, almost all of the information is open, making it easy for experienced players to offer advice without spoiling the experience.

Deep, elegant, and remarkably accessible for its weight, Tapestry remains one of my favourite introductions to heavier Euro gaming.

1. Marco Polo II: In The Service Of The Khan

This is a heavy Euro that I think a lot of people passed on mainly because of the subject matter, but I personally think it’s one of the true standouts in the heavy Euro category.

Now we’re talking about serious Euro gaming.

Marco Polo II: In the Service of the Khan is one of the finest economic strategy games I’ve ever played. Building on the award-winning The Voyages of Marco Polo, it expands the original with more strategic variety, greater flexibility, and a simply fantastic production. I genuinely love both games, but if I had to choose one, Marco Polo II gets the nod.

This is one of those rare games that, while you can play it with up to 4 players, is absolutely best as a duel. In fact, I would argue against playing it any other way.

While the game uses dice, don’t let that fool you into thinking luck dominates the experience. Like The Castles of Burgundy or Catan, the dice create interesting constraints rather than determine the winner. The real challenge is adapting your strategy and making the most of the opportunities you’re given.

There is a lot going on in this game, and the fact that it uses dice does give it that “luck” element that I don’t think everyone will appreciate. That said, you’re not going to win this game because you got lucky with the dice; far from it. The dice are just a factor to contend with in the same way Castles of Burgundy, for example, uses dice.

What I admire most, however, is how competitive the game remains regardless of experience. A veteran will usually make better decisions, but new players rarely feel completely outclassed. Scores stay surprisingly close, and every game feels like a genuine contest rather than a lesson in how much more experienced someone else is.

It’s a wonderfully rich strategy game with enormous replayability, and despite being one of the very best heavy Euros I’ve played, I still think it’s criminally underrated on BoardGameGeek. If you’re ready to dive into the deep end of Euro gaming, I wouldn’t necessarily start here, but you definitely want to end up here at some point.

5. Best Themed Games

One of the greatest strengths of board games is something no other medium can quite replicate: the connection between theme and mechanics. A good board game doesn’t just tell you a story, it makes you live it through the decisions you make.

Most hobby gamers would probably agree that theme alone can’t save a bad game. We’ve all played beautifully produced games with incredible artwork that turned out to be mechanically dull. Equally, we’ve played brilliant abstract designs wrapped in themes so forgettable they could have been about almost anything.

The magic happens when the two come together.

When every mechanic reinforces the theme, every decision feels natural, and you stop thinking about rules and simply start playing the role the game asks of you. That’s when good games become great ones.

The following three games all achieve that in spectacular fashion. They don’t just have great themes; they make you feel like you’re living them.

3. Fury Of Dracula
I will grant you that Fury of Dracula is niche, but the connection between theme and mechanics is so strong and so much fun, it’s not going to be a problem for anyone.

Although Fury of Dracula is designed as a one-versus-many game, I honestly think the very best way to experience it is as a two-player duel.

At its heart, this is a wonderfully atmospheric game of cat and mouse. One player controls Dracula as he secretly moves across Europe, leaving a trail of clues behind, while the other commands the famous vampire hunters in a desperate race to track him down before it’s too late. The day-and-night cycle, hidden movement, and constant sense of uncertainty create a level of tension that very few board games can match.

What I love most is how perfectly the mechanics reinforce the theme. Every clue feels significant, every wrong turn feels costly, and every encounter with Dracula becomes a memorable story in its own right.

The thing with Fury of Dracula, that “niche” part, is that you really want someone who knows how to play Dracula really well. The difficulty is sort of set by that player. A poor performance by Dracula can make it feel flat and disappointing. When Dracula is executed well, however, it’s just a box of fun.

I enjoy the multiplayer version, but I find the constant table discussion often gives away too much information to the Dracula player and introduces long stretches of downtime for the vampire hunters. This dulls down the game and results in a lot of the tension escaping through the cracks. In a two-player game, every decision is immediate, every bluff matters, and the psychological battle between hunter and hunted takes centre stage.

It’s tense, cinematic, endlessly replayable, and one of the finest examples of theme and mechanics working together.

I absolutely adore this game. It does not get to the table often enough.

2. Star Trek Fleet Captains
Star Trek Fleet Captains, for fans of Star Trek, would make this my number one pick without any question. When it comes to picking the best themed game, I effectively picked War of the Rings because I’m a Middle-earth fan first, a Star Trek fan second.

Trekkies are a unique breed of nerd. More than any other fanbase I know, they care about the details, the nuance of the shows and movies. Get those wrong, and they’ll let you know about it.

Star Trek has been adapted into dozens of board games over the years, and if I’m being honest, most of them have ranged from forgettable to downright awful.

Star Trek: Fleet Captains is the exception.

Rather than simply wrapping Star Trek artwork around generic mechanics or trying to squeeze the theme into some adaptation of another game, it is designed from the ground up and captures what Star Trek is actually about. Exploration, diplomacy, scientific discovery, dangerous away missions, impossible decisions, and yes, the occasional spectacular space battle. It understands that combat is only one part of the Star Trek experience, that science and utopian philosophy are the main characters.

Normally, when a game uses stock images, especially in franchise games, I consider it a red flag, a short cut indicitive of what the rest of the game will be like, but in Star Trek Fleet Captains, the characters are the stars of the show, and they are so iconic, so memorable, that I think it just works. It’s not a shortcut so much as a bit part of getting you in the mood.

Every ship, captain, and mission feels like it belongs in the universe, and the two expansions only deepen that experience without losing what made the base game special.

If you’re a Star Trek fan, this is THE board game to own.

And while it supports more players, I honestly think it’s at its absolute best as a two-player duel.

1. War Of The Ring

War Of The Ring is so thematic, it borders on an activity more than a game. You are literally rewriting the Trilogy as you play, making your own decisions, your own story branches, and yet it all culminates in everything wonderful you expect from the Lord of the Rings story. I love this game.

War of the Ring is to Lord of the Rings what Star Trek Fleet Captains is to Star Trek. Same boat, different franchise.

This magnificent asymmetrical strategy game doesn’t simply retell Tolkien’s story, it lets you live it. One player commands the Free Peoples, desperately trying to buy enough time for the Fellowship to reach Mount Doom, while the other unleashes the overwhelming military might of Sauron. Every decision reinforces the central theme of the books: hope triumphing against impossible odds.

It’s a complex game, and I’ll happily admit that the rulebook can be intimidating. But there comes a point where flawless execution outweighs complexity, and War of the Ring crosses that line with ease.

I could write an entire thesis on why this game is so amazing, but all you really need to know is that it just bleeds Lord of the Rings from every orifice, and this is more than enough to satisfy a Lord of the Rings fan. It’s Lord of the Rings, in a box.

This isn’t just another licensed game. It’s an experience.

For many fans, it’s practically a hobby in its own right, offering endless opportunities to relive, or rewrite, one of the greatest fantasy stories ever told.

If you’re a Lord of the Rings fan, I honestly can’t recommend a better board game. Accept no substitutes.

6. Best Card-Driven Influence Control

I know this is a strangely specific category. Two things.

First, this is my favourite genre in all of board gaming, so my list, my rules. Indulge me a little here.

Second, I genuinely think this subgenre deserves the attention. There are at least two dozen outstanding two-player card-driven influence games, and narrowing this list down to just three was harder than picking the winners in several of the previous categories. Honestly, this could have been a Top 10 list all by itself.

The genre works so well with two players because it’s built around history’s great rivalries. Whether it’s the Cold War, ancient empires, political struggles, or ideological conflicts, these games are almost always about two opposing forces trying to outmanoeuvre one another through careful planning, clever card play, and long-term positioning rather than outright military conquest. I’ve already snuck in Twilight Struggle in the Best Historical Duel category.

The three games I’ve chosen here represent what I consider the very best the genre has to offer.

That said, they vary enormously in complexity. Some are approachable enough for newcomers, while others demand repeated plays before they truly reveal their brilliance. So while I have a clear winner, the best game for you will depend entirely on how deep you want to dive.

If this genre appeals to you, I’d encourage you to do a little extra research before buying.

3. Washington’s War
It has the look of a very traditional historical war game, and the assumption might be that it’s going to be very complicated, but nothing could be farther from the truth. This game is very light on rules complexity, though it’s quite deep strategically.

Of the three games in this category, Washington’s War is by far the most approachable, making it an excellent introduction to the card-driven influence genre.

Set during the American War of Independence, one player commands the British Empire while the other leads George Washington’s struggling Continental Army. The conflict is beautifully asymmetrical. The British possess overwhelming military strength, while the Americans must survive long enough to build support and ultimately secure French intervention.

The struggle for control of the thirteen colonies creates a wonderfully tense tug-of-war, with influence, positioning, and timing often proving more important than outright military victories.

What makes Washington’s War so appealing is how streamlined it is. Compared to many games in the genre, the rules are refreshingly clean, the number of special exceptions is kept to a minimum, and the card play remains elegant without sacrificing strategic depth.

It’s no surprise that many historical gamers consider it a modern classic. As a spiritual successor to We the People, it refines many of that game’s ideas into a tighter, more accessible package.

Iconic historical leaders are key to the game; they are the movers and shakers that will decide the fate of the war, and this game respects that historical importance through the rules and impact they have on gameplay.

If you’re curious about card-driven influence games but aren’t ready to tackle the heavier titles, Washington’s War is exactly where I’d recommend you begin.

2. Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul
Another cover that has that “historical War Game” look, but the reality is that this is a game I think anyone can learn; in fact, it’s much simpler to get your head around than more popular variants of this mechanic like Twilight Struggle.

Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul is a deeper and more demanding game than Washington’s War, but I still think it’s remarkably approachable for what it is.

The conflict is wonderfully asymmetrical. Caesar commands the disciplined might of the Roman Empire, while the Gauls are little more than scattered tribes desperately trying to resist one of history’s greatest military commanders. Naturally, that means the pressure is on Rome. The Gauls have the advantage of time, difficult terrain, and a defensive position, while Caesar must execute an efficient campaign before the opportunity slips away.

One of the reasons I enjoy introducing this game to new players is that the roles naturally suit different experience levels. A newcomer can take the Gauls, whose strategy is a little more intuitive, while the experienced player tackles the far more demanding challenge of leading Caesar.

War, or perhaps more specifically combat, is a much bigger part in this game than most card-driven influence control games, and it’s a much better game for it.

Despite being a proper wargame, I don’t think it’s any more difficult to learn than many modern heavy Euros. Most of the mechanics are straightforward, and the cards do a fantastic job of bringing the historical figures and events to life while presenting both players with a fascinating strategic puzzle.

Victory for Rome is genuinely difficult, and that’s exactly what makes playing Caesar so rewarding. It’s a bit lopsided, but that is very specifically why I think this game is so good.

1. Imperial Struggle

Imperial Struggle is a pretty complex and deep game, it does favor experience and can be quite unforgiving, but any mistake you make in this game you won’t repeat. There is a natural strategic learning curve here, and you will quickly get your head around it. Just don’t expect to become an expert right away; this game takes many plays to learn to play well.

There isn’t much debate in my mind.

Imperial Struggle is the finest card-driven influence game ever designed, and one of the greatest board games ever made. It currently sits at #2 on my personal Top 20, and I don’t see it moving any time soon.

Set during the century-long global rivalry between Britain and France, the game isn’t simply about military conquest. You’ll compete for influence through diplomacy, economics, colonial expansion, and, when necessary, outright war. Every decision feels like part of a much larger struggle for control of the world.

What elevates Imperial Struggle above almost everything else in the genre is how seamlessly it blends history with gameplay. The mechanics don’t just represent the conflict, they explain it. Before playing this game, I knew surprisingly little about the historical rivalry between these two empires. After dozens of plays and plenty of reading inspired by the game, I’ve come to appreciate just how brilliantly the designers captured this fascinating period of history.

It’s unquestionably a game for experienced players. I wouldn’t recommend it as your first historical game or even your first card-driven influence game.

But it should absolutely be your destination.

I think most look at this map and find it a bit off-putting, even if they appriciate it’s artistic beauty. All of this stuff after a couple of plays, however, will make sense, and by your second or third game you will be able to access the board state at a glance, and that is very specifically because this map is so well made.

Once you’ve worked your way through the genre and finally arrive at Imperial Struggle, you’ll either understand why so many players consider it the benchmark against which every other card-driven influence game is measured or Twilight Struggle will be your favorite game in this genre. There is a reason that the community is split on this, Twilight Struggle is in a sense, the common standard, but if I can be so bold as to say, true aficionados will recognize that Imperial Struggle is the true masterpiece.

7. The People’s Choice

This may be my list, but after so many categories, it only feels fair to let the wider board gaming community have its say as well.

Whether you agree with them or not, there are good reasons these games consistently appear at or near the top of rankings on BoardGameGeek and countless other “best of” lists. They’ve been played by thousands of people, recommended time and time again, and have earned reputations as some of the finest two-player games ever published.

Of course, these rankings change over time. New releases often generate a lot of excitement, and the hobby has a tendency to fall in love with the latest masterpiece before settling into a longer-term consensus.

That’s perfectly fine.

For this category, I’ve combined the community’s favourites while excluding games I’ve already covered elsewhere in this article, along with more niche titles that, while excellent, appeal to a much smaller audience.

These are the games that have achieved something much rarer.

They’re not just critically acclaimed; they’re genuinely popular, widely played, and have become modern classics in the two-player gaming world.

3. Jaipur
I’m not sure I would put this game on any list I would create, but I do appriciate it’s elegant design, straight-to-it gameplay, and fantastic pacing.

Before 7 Wonders Duel, before Patchwork, and before the explosion of dedicated two-player games we enjoy today, there was Jaipur.

Released back in 2009, Jaipur arrived at a time when two-player hobby games were usually long, heavy strategy affairs. Lighter games almost always catered to larger groups, leaving very few options for people simply looking for a fantastic game to play with one other person.

Jaipur changed that.

This wonderfully elegant set-collection game proved that a dedicated two-player game could be quick, approachable, and strategically satisfying without sacrificing depth. It quickly became one of the defining gateway games of the hobby, and for years it was the game almost everyone recommended when someone asked, “What’s the best game for two players?”

In board gaming, a simple-looking game is far more likely to trigger a positive response than a complex-looking one. In particular, a game with pretty but few components does a lot to alleviate that stress casual gamers feel when you open a box.

Although newer titles have inevitably stolen some of the spotlight, Jaipur has quietly endured. Its recent reprint has introduced it to a new generation of players, and it’s still easy to find games on Board Game Arena, a testament to just how timeless the design really is.

To me, Jaipur is one of those games every hobby gamer should experience at least once. Like Catan or Ticket to Ride, it’s become something of a rite of passage.

Nearly two decades later, it’s still one of the finest two-player games ever made.

2. 7 Wonders Duel
7 Wonders Duel is a stone-cold modern classic, of that there is no doubt.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a “Best Two-Player Games” list that didn’t include 7 Wonders Duel. More recently, The Lord of the Rings: Duel for Middle-earth has joined the conversation, but the original remains one of the defining two-player games of the modern era.

When 7 Wonders took the hobby by storm, a dedicated two-player version felt almost inevitable. Remarkably, it wasn’t just a good adaptation; it became a classic in its own right.

It’s a very pretty game; it’s a simple game, yet it’s a strategically deep game. It’s kind of a perfect storm, so I’m not at all surprised by its popularity. The fact that it can be played in under 30 minutes is just a cherry on top.

The game strikes a near-perfect balance between accessibility and depth. The rules are easy to teach, games rarely overstay their welcome, and beneath the elegant drafting system lies a surprising amount of strategic nuance. Whether you’re pursuing science, military dominance, or simply outscoring your opponent, every draft presents meaningful decisions.

More than a decade after its release, 7 Wonders Duel is still a fixture at game nights around the world.

There aren’t many games that can claim that kind of longevity. That’s the mark of a true modern classic, and I agree with it wholeheartedly.

1. Azul

This abstract game from 2017 blew the doors off the board gaming hobby. It’s sitting pretty along with titles like Settlers of Catan and Ticket To Ride in terms of popularity.

While Azul is an outstanding multiplayer game, it loses remarkably little at two players. In fact, it’s become a regular fixture on “Best Two-Player Games” lists, and I completely understand why.

More than just a successful board game, Azul helped define a generation of modern tabletop gaming. Like Settlers of Catan before it, it’s one of those rare titles that escaped the hobby and found its way onto the shelves of mainstream retailers and family homes around the world.

The premise couldn’t be much simpler. Players draft colourful tiles to decorate a palace wall, creating a wonderfully elegant puzzle that can be taught in just a couple of minutes. It’s one of those games that almost anyone can learn, making it a perfect replacement for classic family favourites like UNO or Yahtzee when someone says, “Let’s play a board game.”

I think, when it comes to board games, one universal truth is that people love puzzles.

Despite its simple rules, there’s far more strategy here than first meets the eye. Reading your opponent, timing your drafts, and balancing immediate points against long-term planning creates a game that’s easy to enjoy but difficult to perfect.

Elegant, beautiful, and endlessly replayable, Azul has earned its place as one of the defining modern classics of the hobby, and like all modern classics, there are literally dozens of variants.

8. The Dodo Bird Category

Some games simply go the way of the dodo.

They’re out of print, increasingly difficult to find, and if you do stumble across a copy, there’s a good chance it’ll cost you a small fortune. That makes them difficult to recommend today, at least from a practical standpoint.

But I couldn’t bring myself to leave them off this list.

These are games that, in their prime, would have comfortably earned a place somewhere in the rankings. They’re classics that deserve to be remembered, even if publishers have chosen to let them disappear into history.

Who knows, perhaps one day they’ll return in a shiny new edition.

Until then, these are my favourite extinct two-player masterpieces.

3. Star Wars: The Queen’s Gambit

A franchise game from Avalon Hill is by default a major red flag, but with Queen’s Gambit they really knocked it out of the park.

When The Phantom Menace hit cinemas in 1999, Avalon Hill (under Hasbro) was given the license to produce a board game based on the film. Like most movie tie-ins of the era, expectations were… low.

We couldn’t have been more wrong.

Today, Star Wars: The Queen’s Gambit is one of the rarest and most sought-after modern board games ever produced. If you can even find a copy, expect to pay anywhere between $500 and $1,300 on the secondary market.

The reason is simple: it wasn’t just an impressive production; it was an excellent game.

The Queen’s Gambit recreated all three climactic battles from The Phantom Menace simultaneously. One player commanded the Gungan army against the Trade Federation droids, another led Queen Amidala’s assault on the royal palace, while, towering above it all on a magnificent multi-level board, Darth Maul faced Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi in one of the most iconic lightsaber duels in Star Wars history. While the game could be played multiplayer, it very clearly worksed best as a two-player experience.

The Queen’s Gambit is as much spectacle as it is a game. It’s as much fun to look at as it is to play. Finding a reasonably priced copy of this game is not going to be easy.

Mechanically, it’s surprisingly approachable, but it’s the production that made it unforgettable. Few games have captured the feeling of recreating a movie quite so successfully. Later titles, such as the 2015 edition of Star Wars Risk, borrowed elements of the formula, but none matched the spectacle or table presence of The Queen’s Gambit.

For years, Star Wars fans have hoped for a reprint. While nothing has been officially announced, rumours of a spiritual successor or modern reimagining continue to circulate.

If it ever happens, I’ll be first in line, but don’t get your hopes up!

2. Star Wars: X-Wing
There are a few different editions of this game in terms of rules and releases, but the original, 1st edition Star Wars X-Wing was the best we ever got.

I’m honestly trying not to turn this into a Star Wars list, but some games are simply too good to ignore.

At its peak, Star Wars: X-Wing wasn’t just the best two-player miniatures game on the market, it was arguably one of the best two-player games, period. To this day, I struggle to think of another miniature game that combined accessibility, tactical depth, and cinematic action quite so perfectly.

X-Wing captured the feeling of fast-paced dogfights better than any game before or since. It was simultaneously epic and intimate, with every maneuver dial and every firing arc creating meaningful decisions. In many ways, I never really thought of it as a miniature game; I just thought of it as an exceptionally good game.

A huge part of its success was how approachable it was. The ships came pre-painted, games were played on a compact 3′ x 3′ battlefield, setup took minutes rather than hours, and a competitive collection could be built for roughly the cost of a handful of modern board games. Compared to most miniature systems, it felt refreshingly affordable and easy to get into.

Star Wars dog fighting at it’s best!

During its golden years, X-Wing was an enormous success. Unfortunately, like many collectible miniature games, it eventually became a victim of its own expansion cycle. New releases arrived at an increasingly aggressive pace, balance became more difficult to maintain, and many players felt the focus had shifted from refining the game to continually selling new products. Interest gradually declined, ownership changed hands, and eventually production came to an end. It was, in a way, a victim of its own success, and I would argue corporate greed.

Unlike some of the games in this category, however, X-Wing isn’t impossible to find. Fantasy Flight Games printed enormous quantities of ships over the years, so the second-hand market is still full of them at very reasonable prices.

Officially, though, Star Wars: X-Wing has gone the way of the dodo. And that’s a genuine loss for tabletop gaming.

1. Battlelore

The command and colors system is a lot of fun, but there is no question that this is the definitive variant for me! Although I will say that Battle of Hoth, the latest iteration, is really awesome too and mostly for the same reason.

Richard Borg’s Commands & Colors system has become one of the most successful tabletop wargame engines ever created, spawning adaptations covering everything from the American Civil War to Ancient Rome, Napoleonics, World War II, and even Star Wars.

For fantasy fans, however, there is only one game that truly stands above the rest: BattleLore.

Taking the proven Borg formula and transporting it to the world of Terrinoth was an inspired decision. The familiar command card system remained intact, but the addition of magic, legendary creatures, unique faction abilities, and asymmetrical armies gave BattleLore an identity all of its own. It felt less like a historical simulation and more like a fantasy battlefield where anything could happen.

What made the game truly shine was its range of expansions. New factions, creatures, heroes, and scenarios allowed players to customise the experience in countless ways. Unfortunately, that’s also what makes collecting BattleLore today so painful. The core game is difficult enough to find, but completing a collection now requires a considerable investment on the secondary market.

BattleLore was a lot more unit-focused than other versions of the Command and Color system. The game understood that fantasy monsters needed to be special.

Thankfully, the Commands & Colors system is still alive and well. Games like Star Wars: Battle of Hoth prove that Richard Borg’s design remains as compelling today as ever.

As for BattleLore, I remain optimistic. Unlike other games in this category, this one feels destined for another life.

Here’s hoping someone gives it the reprint it deserves.

9. Best Two-Player Abstract Games

There are already a few abstract games on this list, but by “abstract” I’m talking about games that don’t even pretend to have a theme. These are games that fully embrace the puzzle, strip away the narrative, and rely entirely on clever mechanics and meaningful decisions.

There are a staggering number of abstract two-player games out there. In fact, most pure abstract games are designed specifically for two players, which made this one of the hardest categories to narrow down.

I also think it’s one of the most important categories on the list. While the theme is often what draws hobby gamers in, it can have the opposite effect on people outside the hobby. Asking someone to roleplay a medieval merchant or command an alien invasion isn’t always the easiest sell.

Puzzles, however, are universal.

Abstract games remove that barrier completely. They’re easy to explain, immediately familiar, and appeal to something almost everyone enjoys: solving interesting puzzles. I’ve found they’re often the easiest way to get even the most reluctant non-gamer to sit down at the table, and before long, they’re asking for another game.

3. Hive
Hive is a game, even if you have never played it, that will feel familiar. It has the quintessential “of course something like this exists” thing to it.

While Hive isn’t completely devoid of theme, what’s there exists almost entirely to help identify the different insects and their unique movement. You’re never meant to immerse yourself in the world or tell a story. The theme simply gives the mechanics a memorable face.

At its heart, Hive is a wonderfully elegant abstract game. Each player places insect tiles onto the table, with every piece moving according to its own simple rules. The objective couldn’t be more straightforward: surround your opponent’s Queen Bee before they surround yours.

Despite the simplicity, there’s plenty of room for clever play. Positioning, timing, and anticipating your opponent’s next move are everything. Much like chess, you’re often trying to force a particular response before springing your real plan, although Hive is considerably easier to learn and far less intimidating for newcomers.

It’s compact enough to throw into a backpack, can be played almost anywhere, and takes only a few minutes to teach. That combination of accessibility, portability and strategic depth has made Hive a modern classic.

It may not receive the same attention as some of the bigger names in the hobby, but it’s one of those games I can happily recommend to almost anyone.

2. Onitama
Yes, I hate the shape of this box too, but what is inside is well worth finding an odd place on your game shelf to put this thing.

Very reminiscent of The Duke, which I also love, I don’t feel bad about including both games on this list. They share the same core concept, but each has enough personality to justify its place.

Each player begins with four students and a master on a compact 5×5 board. Rather than every piece having its own movement, players instead share a small pool of movement cards. On your turn, you perform one of the available moves, then pass that card to your opponent and take a new one. It’s an incredibly clever system that ensures the puzzle is constantly evolving throughout the game.

The objective is wonderfully simple. Capture your opponent’s Master or move your own Master into your opponent’s temple.

Like all great abstract games, the rules can be explained in just a few minutes, but mastering the strategy is an entirely different challenge. Every move changes not only the current position but also the options available to both players on future turns, creating an elegant tactical dance where planning ahead is just as important as reacting to what’s in front of you.

Onitama is a kind of modern-day chess, yet oddly enough it feels like an ancient game from China. It’s a thinker, and you can attain a pretty high level of mastery over it.

This is very much a “one more game” kind of experience. Matches are quick, every setup feels different thanks to the randomized movement cards, and it’s the sort of game that quietly keeps finding its way back to the table.

More than a decade after its release, it’s still one of the finest abstract games ever designed, and one that I expect will remain in my collection for many years to come.

1. YINSH

I doubt anyone would ever buy this game on impulse; it’s in the hobby the sort of game that get’s passed around and recommended by gamers to gamers. Which is sad because it really is one of the best abstract games ever made.

Yinsh is part of Kris Burm’s celebrated GIPF Project, a series of abstract games that includes equally strange-sounding titles such as TZAAR, DVONN, ZÈRTZ, LYNGK and, of course, GIPF itself.

I haven’t played every game in the series, so I can’t honestly say how they all compare, but if BoardGameGeek’s rankings are anything to go by, Yinsh is widely regarded as one of the finest. Having played it, I find it hard to disagree, not just in the series but so far as abstract games go in general.

The objective is deceptively simple. Players move rings around the board, leaving markers behind as they travel. Create a line of five markers, and you remove one of your rings from the game. Be the first player to remove three rings, and you win. There are, of course, various shenanigans beyond that, including flipping opponents’ markers.

Explaining the rules is easy. Playing well is another matter entirely.

Yinsh is one of those games that forces your brain to think differently. Every move changes the state of the board, flipping markers, creating new threats and often setting up combinations several turns into the future. It reminds me a little of a more involved Othello or Go in the way every move influences everything around it, yet the puzzle is entirely its own. The strategic possibilities go far deeper than anything I’ve ever been able to master.

It doesn’t look like much, but this game has a very deep level of mastery; it’s a true brain burner. This is a game of pure skill, plain and simple.

For a game with no theme whatsoever, Yinsh also has a wonderful physical presence. The chunky rings, solid components, and clean, minimalist design make it a pleasure to play.

More than twenty years after its release, Yinsh remains one of the premier abstract games ever designed, and I suspect it will still hold that reputation twenty years from now.

10. New Kids On The Block

Thanks to the explosion of board games since the early 2000’s more games are published each year than the year before, so there is never a shortage of new games to try.

Now I consider a game new if it was released in the last 2-3 years, mainly because unless a game is some sort of phenomenon that attracts a lot of attention, it can take that long for a game to get sufficient traction and exposure before you even hear about it, let alone try it.

The following are the three best 2-player games released in the last couple of years.

3. Lord of the Rings: Duel For Middle-Earth
You might assume that this is just 7 Wonders Duel with a Lord of the Rings skin; it is not, and saying that about this game is just willful ignorance.

I already mentioned this game earlier on the list, but I think it’s good enough to deserve a category all of its own.

At its heart, this is clearly built on the foundations of 7 Wonders Duel, but rather than simply applying a Lord of the Rings skin to an existing game, it meaningfully improves the formula.

The familiar drafting remains, but the victory conditions have been reworked to better fit Tolkien’s world. Instead of simply chasing points, players are constantly balancing military control, the Fellowship’s journey to Mount Doom, and the support of Middle-earth’s allies. Every path to victory feels thematic and keeps both players engaged until the very last turn.

For me, this is essentially 7 Wonders Duel 2.0. It takes everything that made the original great, wraps it in one of the greatest fantasy settings ever created, and adds enough new ideas to justify owning both games.

While there is quite a bit going on in this game, the simplicity of the core mechanic maintains it as a casual or newbie-friendly game, much in the way 7 Wonders Duel could be described. It’s just good gaming with a cool theme.

If you pick up the Allies expansion, I think the game gets even better. The unique faction abilities add a welcome layer of asymmetry that makes the Free Peoples and the Shadow feel even more distinct, bringing the theme to life in ways the base game only hints at.

For fans of Tolkien, this is rapidly becoming one of the definitive two-player games, and I wouldn’t be surprised if, ten years from now, it’s remembered even more fondly than the game that inspired it.

2. Dune: War For Arrakis
I don’t doubt its potential, hence its presence on this list, but there are quite a few great interpretations of the Dune universe in board games, many of them are stone-cold classics.

Dune: War for Arrakis sets out to do for Frank Herbert’s universe what War of the Ring did for The Lord of the Rings and Star Wars: Rebellion did for Star Wars. That’s an incredibly ambitious goal, but from what I’ve seen so far, it’s a remarkably successful attempt.

Like those games, War for Arrakis is built around two highly asymmetrical factions battling over the fate of an iconic setting. Event cards bring key moments from the story to the table, action dice drive difficult decisions, and famous units such as the Fremen and the Sardaukar all play exactly the roles you would expect.

I’ve only played it once, so I’m not ready to declare it a masterpiece just yet. A single learning game is rarely enough to fully appreciate something of this size. What I can say is that it immediately gave me the feeling I was hoping for. It felt big, cinematic and unmistakably Dune. That’s often something I can recognise after just one play, and it left me wanting to get it back to the table as soon as possible.

If you’re looking for a great Dune game, Dune: Imperium is still my favourite, especially with three or four players. It’s one of the best worker placement games ever made. War for Arrakis, however, isn’t trying to compete with it. It’s a completely different experience.

In my experience, there are two types of people in the world: people who love Dune and people who hate Dune. I don’t think this game will make you a fan if you’re not already, and if you love Dune, this one is likely going to stick the landing.

This is a game about the war for Arrakis itself. It puts the conflict between House Atreides and House Harkonnen front and centre, delivering the kind of grand, narrative-driven experience that only a dedicated two-player game can provide.

If it continues to impress over repeated plays, I wouldn’t be surprised if it eventually joins the ranks of the genre’s all-time greats.

1. Toy Battle

For anyone active in the hobby of board gaming, seeing Toy Battle on this list should come as no surprise; it’s a phenomenon- this is a game everyone is playing.

With its bright colours, chunky toy soldiers and Saturday morning cartoon presentation, it would be easy to dismiss Toy Battle as a children’s game. I assure you, it’s not.

Toy Battle is one of the smartest two-player games released in years, proving once again that simple rules and deep strategy often make the best combination.

Players deploy units onto the battlefield, each bringing its own unique ability, in an effort to capture the opposing headquarters. The rules can be taught in minutes, but the interaction between unit powers, board positioning and the game’s clever supply line system creates an endlessly fascinating tactical puzzle.

Every decision matters. Commit too early and you leave yourself exposed. Wait too long and your opponent seizes the initiative. It’s one of those rare games where every turn feels important without ever becoming complicated.

Its dominance at the 2025 Golden Geek Awards surprised absolutely nobody. Toy Battle arrived seemingly out of nowhere and immediately established itself as one of the premier two-player games on the market.

Simple to learn, lightning fast to play, yet incredibly rewarding to master, I genuinely believe Toy Battle is well on its way to becoming a modern classic. If people are still talking about it twenty years from now, I won’t be the least bit surprised.

Conclusion and Final Notes

The truth is that I could put this list together 10 times and come up with different games to put into each category, not to mention easily come up with more categories; the goal here isn’t really to make some sort of definitive statement but to expose hobbyists to some games they may or may not have heard of.

To me, a good top 10 list is going to give you a hankering to buy/try something new, and hopefully I have managed that with this list.

Happy Gaming!

Review: Tembo – Survival On The Savanna

I’ve been described by friends as many things over the years, but my personal favorite is “a fully functioning idiot.” Honestly, I think that’s a fairly accurate assessment.

That same quirkiness extends to my taste in board games, which is probably why my enthusiastically recommending a cooperative game about escorting elephants across the African savanna sounds completely out of character.

Generally speaking, I don’t like cooperative games, regardless of theme, but theme is rarely the problem for me.

Why sign up to review a cooperative game if, in general, I don’t like cooperative games? This picture is the answer. I saw this and thought to myself, that is one beautiful game I would like to see in person. The use of color, wonderful components, and amazing art really brings this game to another level. I figured if I end up liking it, it will be an easy game to get to the table.

Even more strangely, when I do like one, it rarely seems to be the ones everyone else loves. I have no explanation for this phenomenon other than the possibility that I’m simply wired differently somehow, or I’m a cooperative gaming hipster. Who knows!?

Take Pandemic, for example, one of the most beloved cooperative games around. I actively dislike it. Pandemic Legacy did nothing to change my opinion; it was just an extended version of the same game with the same problems. Gloomhaven bored me to tears. I still maintain it’s essentially shitty Dungeons & Dragons with all the roleplaying surgically removed, and I never understood the obsession with Clank! either. Its repetative if it’s anything.

Clearly, I’m the problem? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

So why has a cooperative game about herding elephants managed to win me over?

The answer has surprisingly little to do with elephants.

What I enjoy most about cooperative games is genuine adversity. I want a game that repeatedly beats us into the dirt before we finally scrape together a victory through experience, better teamwork, and a little bit of luck. That moment where everyone around the table erupts because you’ve finally solved a puzzle that seemed impossible three games earlier. That’s the magic of cooperative gaming to me and coincidentally, it’s what makes for a good solo game as well.

Which checks out. Among the cooperative games I love, you will find games like Lord of the Rings: The Card Game. An absolutetly brutal and unforgiving deck builder and the lesser-known Peloponnesian War by Mark Herman, a game, if you can win, you should call the designer, he will be impressed! Both are great games to play cooperatively, but for me, these are just fantastic solo games.

Peloponnesian War is a historical war game and technically a solo game. Yet, I found Tembo reminded me of it a bit because it’s this really great puzzle that you have to solve, and I love living inside my head, obsessing about a game that is just absolutetly crushing me as they say “is the juice!”. The Peloponnesian War was the last game I played solo that did that, and it’s exactly what I got out of Tembo, which was really great. I love a good challenge.

Tembo delivers exactly that energy.

I’ve also discovered over the years that there are three things I absolutely cannot stand in cooperative games.

First, I dislike “alpha gamer” designs where one experienced player effectively takes everyone’s turns for them. Pandemic has always been the poster child for this. Once someone at the table knows the optimal strategy, everyone else gradually becomes an unpaid intern carrying out instructions.

Second, I have very little patience for cooperative games that secretly don’t want you to lose. You know the type. They’re less games than guided theme park rides where the illusion of danger is far greater than the actual challenge. If failure requires the combined tactical brilliance of a potato, something has gone wrong.

Finally, I want games that earn their victories.

If my group beats a cooperative game on the first attempt, chances are it wasn’t difficult enough. That’s admittedly a slightly unfair benchmark because the people I regularly play with are seasoned hobby gamers. We tend to solve difficult games faster than most groups. Fate: Defenders of Grimheim is a good example. I genuinely believe it’s an excellent challenge, yet we’ve somehow managed to beat it every single time it’s hit the table on the highest difficulty level.

Tembo is different. I’ve now played it well over a dozen times. I’ve won once. And that’s exactly why I keep coming back.

Even the introductory challenges continue to force me into difficult decisions. Every defeat leaves me convinced there’s a better strategy waiting to be discovered, another approach I haven’t considered, another tiny optimization that might finally tip the scales in my favor.

That’s exciting. That’s the sort of cooperative game I want to play.

Behind the adorable artwork, charming elephants, and wonderfully approachable rules lies a genuinely demanding puzzle, one that’s far cleverer than it first appears.

And for someone who generally doesn’t enjoy cooperative games as a whole, that’s about the highest compliment I can give.

Overview

Final Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star(3.85) Great Strategic Puzzle

The best way I can describe Tembo is as a deceptively simple puzzle that’s constantly trying to outsmart you.

The objective itself couldn’t be more straightforward. You’re guiding a herd of elephants across a randomized savanna, escorting them safely from one side of the map to the other. If all your elephants make it to the destination, you win.

Unfortunately, the game seems to have taken that simplicity as a personal challenge.

The first obstacle is that your herd can’t simply march to the finish line. Along the way, there are six key locations that must be visited before victory is even possible. Every detour costs precious time and resources, forcing you to constantly weigh short-term efficiency against long-term necessity.

Checking off the different locations before you march your elephants to the finish line is the big catch here, but the complexity is tripled down on because you have to manage this little trip around the savanna while avoiding lions and staving off the Matriarch cards.

Then there’s your energy supply.

Energy is brutally limited and slowly drains away as you play certain cards. You can replenish it by visiting certain places scattered around the board, but doing so often requires abandoning the route you actually wanted to take. Ignore your energy, and you’ll eventually grind to a halt. Chase it too aggressively, and you’ll waste so much time that victory slips away anyway.

It’s a wonderfully uncomfortable balancing act. The elephants themselves introduce another layer of complexity.

Your herd must always remain connected, forming an unbroken chain stretching across the landscape. Periodically, you’ll need to play a Matriarch card, relocating the lead elephant somewhere else in that chain before gathering up the rest of the herd and beginning the journey again from that new position. It’s a clever mechanism that constantly forces you to rethink your route instead of simply extending the same line across the board.

As if that wasn’t enough, you’re also building the savanna as you play.

The terrain itself is created by laying down landscape cards, determining not only where your elephants can travel, but also providing the resting places needed to recruit additional elephants into your growing herd.

The game is further complicated by lions that will periodically activate and hunt your elephants, which, when successful, will permanently remove members of your herd and weaken your chances of success.

The lions can absolutetly devastate any attempt at a victory, no matter how brilliant your strategy, they are the big trump card that you must be ready for at all times. In most scenarios, their starting location really determines just how difficult a scenario will be.

Individually, none of these systems are particularly difficult to understand. Collectively, they’re fiendishly difficult to master.

That’s where Tembo really shines.

Every turn feels like you’re solving a Rubik’s Cube where twisting one side somehow rearranges three others. You finally solve your energy problem only to discover you’ve broken your elephant chain. You build the perfect route only to realize you’ve skipped a mandatory objective. You manage to get your chain set up correctly, only to have it cut by a lion attack. Every solution creates two brand-new problems, and somehow that’s exactly what makes the game so satisfying.

For all of those reasons, I absolutely adore Tembo.

Interestingly, though, I don’t think the cooperative aspect is actually its biggest strength.

Don’t misunderstand me, it’s an excellent cooperative game I would recommend to any group of gamers. Sitting around a table with friends trying to untangle this puzzle is hugely rewarding, particularly after several failed attempts. Everyone contributes ideas, everyone spots different opportunities, and those eventual victories feel thoroughly earned.

But for me……the real magic is the solo game.

I’ve been slightly obsessed with Tembo for the better part of two weeks. I’ve replayed the opening challenges more times than I care to admit, and despite losing, well, pretty much always, I keep coming back for “just one more attempt.”

That’s the sign of a great puzzle to me, if it feels like I can’t solve it, that drives me to try over and over again.

Every defeat feels deserved. Every loss convinces me I was only one or two better decisions away from success. Every new game teaches me something I hadn’t noticed before.

I’ve only managed to beat the game a handful of times on the most basic difficulty levels after two weeks of trying. Either I’m stupid, or this game is hard!

Normally, that would frustrate me. Instead, it just makes me want to shuffle the cards and try again.

That’s probably the strongest recommendation I can give. Tembo isn’t simply difficult.

It’s addictively difficult, and for players who enjoy slowly unraveling a beautifully constructed puzzle, I think that’s exactly what makes it special, and it’s the main reason to get into this game.

Components

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Looks great, feels great, is great.  Quality publication with an eye for great art.

Cons: You would have to be pretty picky to find a problem here.

Reviewing components has become a slightly strange exercise these days. Twenty years ago, component quality could make or break a game. Today, the industry standard is so consistently high that most productions simply clear the bar. It has almost become a pass-or-fail category rather than a meaningful differentiator.

Tembo is a perfect example of that.

Everything in the box is exactly what you’d hope it would be. The cards are excellent, the modular board tiles are thick and durable, the wooden elephant tokens are charming, and all of the cardboard components feel like they’ll comfortably survive hundreds of plays. Long before the components begin to show any wear, you’ll almost certainly have exhausted the game itself.

The presentation deserves particular praise. Once everything is laid out across the table, Tembo does a wonderful job of evoking the African savanna. The warm color palette, inviting artwork, and clean graphic design all come together to create a game that’s simply pleasant to look at.

Tembo is more than just pretty, its very functional. Good use of iconography, a very well laid out rulebook, and good reference material make learning to play and executing this game that much easier. This is the standard I think all games should meet.

The insert also deserves a quick mention. It’s thoughtfully designed, keeps every component neatly organized, and makes setup and teardown refreshingly painless. It sounds like a small thing, but after wrestling with enough poorly designed inserts over the years, I’ve learned to appreciate the ones that simply do their job.

If I had one criticism, it’s that the production occasionally wanders into the realm of unnecessary spectacle.

The cardboard standees used for trees and location markers certainly look nice on the table, but functionally, they don’t add very much. A simple token or tracker could have communicated the same information while reducing both production costs and setup time. I understand the designers were aiming for immersion, and aesthetically it works, but it also feels like an easy place where the game could have been streamlined without sacrificing the experience.

That’s a relatively minor complaint, though.

Overall, Tembo is a beautiful production. The artwork is gorgeous, the components feel premium without being excessive, and everything has clearly been designed to withstand repeated play. More importantly, the production serves the game rather than distracting from it. The iconography is clear and easy to remember, and there are plenty of cheat sheets and reference material, so you don’t have to go searching through the manual to answer the few questions you might have during play.

In the end, I really don’t have much to complain about.

It’s a polished, attractive package that feels every bit as refined as the gameplay inside.

Theme

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_star

Pros: The art sells this theme, and for a strategy puzzle game, the theme comes across surprisingly well.

Cons: This family-friendly theme may result in a disconnect between expectations and reality.  It may look like a family game, but this is definitely a complex strategic puzzle that casual gamers will struggle with.

For games that are fundamentally abstract puzzles, theme often takes a back seat to mechanics. Whether you’re moving cubes through a medieval marketplace or elephants across the African savanna, the underlying puzzle usually remains the real attraction.

Tembo is no exception.

I’m a sucker for a pretty game with pretty colors, but at the end of the day Tembo’s theme and eye candy is not the main attraction here; this game lives by the wonderful strategic puzzle it presents, the eye candy is just a cherry on top.

That said, if you’re going to wrap a puzzle in a theme, marching a herd of elephants across the African savanna is a pretty inspired choice.

There’s something immediately calming about it. The artwork evokes the same feeling as a lazy Sunday afternoon watching a wildlife documentary, complete with the soothing narration of Sir David Attenborough gently explaining why the elephants are, once again, making better life decisions than the humans.

The artwork deserves particular praise.

The color palette is absolutely gorgeous. Warm oranges, rich greens, and soft earth tones combine to create a board that is both inviting and unmistakably African safari. Every illustration feels carefully considered, giving the game a personality that’s difficult not to appreciate. It’s one of those games that naturally draws people over to the table simply because it looks so attractive.

The adorable presentation is both one of the game’s greatest strengths and, oddly enough, one of its greatest deceptions.

Everything about Tembo screams “friendly family game.” The rules are straightforward, the elephants are charming, and the presentation couldn’t be more welcoming.

Then the game proceeds to repeatedly crush your spirit.

It’s almost comical how vicious the puzzle hiding beneath those cute illustrations actually is. I can easily imagine families picking this up expecting a relaxed cooperative adventure, only to discover they’ve accidentally signed up for an advanced logistics course run by elephants.

That contrast is strangely endearing.

The theme itself isn’t deeply woven into every mechanism, but it provides enough context that every action makes intuitive sense. You’re exploring the savanna, guiding your herd, managing their energy, and carefully navigating the landscape toward safety while avoiding predators. The mechanics never feel disconnected from the story the game is trying to tell.

As I understand it, Tembo is part of a broader series of nature-themed games, although I haven’t had the opportunity to play the others.

My understanding, mind you, I did the absolute minimum amount of research here, is that Deep Blue is a member of the game series that Tembo completes. Looking at the wonderful use of color here, that would not surprise me. It definitely piqued my interest.

What I do know is that designer Asger Granerud has developed a reputation for elegant designs with memorable themes. Between Flamme Rouge, Heat: Pedal to the Metal, and now Tembo, there’s a clear pattern of taking relatively straightforward mechanisms and wrapping them in themes that immediately resonate with players.

The theme isn’t the reason I keep coming back to Tembo. The puzzle is.

But the beautiful presentation, charming artwork, and wonderfully peaceful atmosphere certainly don’t hurt. They make repeatedly losing feel just a little less painful, which, given how difficult this game is, might be one of its smartest design decisions.

Gameplay

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: The simple rules disguise a very complex puzzle that requires a lot of game knowledge and experience before you succeed.  Great challenge.

Cons: Despite best efforts from the design perspective, some games you will simply lose because of a bad draw, and some you will win because you got lucky.

Whenever I review a game, there are two questions I always ask myself.

The first is simple: Have I played this game before?

Not literally, of course. But most games borrow ideas from somewhere. Worker placement, deck building, tableau building, drafting; modern board games are built on decades of fantastic design, they are usually evolutions, not revolutions. But every now and then, a game presents a puzzle that feels genuinely fresh, a design that makes me stop and think, “I haven’t quite seen that before.”

Those games always get my attention.

The second question is equally important: Can I solve it immediately?

If the optimal strategy reveals itself during the first play, my interest tends to fade rather quickly. What keeps me coming back are games that slowly reveal themselves over repeated plays. Games where every defeat teaches you something, every victory results in you uncovering another layer, and you’re constantly left wondering if there’s an even better approach waiting to be discovered.

Tembo ticks both boxes.

On the surface, it looks like a pleasant little family game about escorting elephants across the African savanna. The rules are approachable, the artwork is adorable, and nothing about the presentation suggests a strategic monster lurking beneath. And perhaps Tembo is not exactly that, but it’s certainly a lot more than what’s on the tin suggests.

That’s wonderfully deceptive. As I’m writing this review, I’ve played Tembo roughly fifteen times. I’m still discovering new ideas. I’m still excited to play.

What’s interesting is that my first impression was actually fairly lukewarm. After my opening games I remember thinking, “This is interesting… but I’m not sure there is much more here than a push your luck game.”

Then I lost. Again. And again.

Losing at Tembo is not hard to do; things can escalate and get out of control pretty fast, especially once the lions get close to the herd. It can be a bit frustrating at times.

Those defeats bothered me enough that I refused to write this review until I’d actually beaten the introductory scenario. More importantly, as I lost, I could see that it wasn’t luck that was driving my defeats.

Eventually, I did win. That’s when the obsession started.

Instead of feeling satisfied, I immediately wanted to tackle the next challenge. Then the next one. Then the next. Every victory revealed another layer of the puzzle, and what initially looked like a pleasant family game gradually transformed into one of the most fascinating strategic puzzles I’ve played in a while.

The best way I can describe Tembo is that it rewards thinking several turns ahead without ever becoming mechanically complicated, with some luck management. The rules remain wonderfully straightforward, but the game is a lot deeper than the rules suggest.

The strategy doesn’t end with solving one of the puzzles; there is a lot more to learn after finishing the first couple of scenarios.

Whether you’re playing solo or cooperatively, I think three elements combine to make the game exceptional.

Every Puzzle Feels Different

The first is the dynamic map.

Every scenario changes the layout of the savanna, but the map tiles themselves also rotate between games. Add to that the impact of the locations of the lions and suddenly every puzzle demands a different approach.

Some layouts reward speed. Others reward caution. Some practically force you to detour for energy, while others encourage aggressive expansion before the lions begin closing off your options.

How you build up the savanna with cards is vital to any strategy, but you’re always working with the constraints of the cards you have drawn. There is a lot of nuance in this little card game built into Tembo, it takes several games for the lights to come on.

The game constantly asks you to reassess your plan rather than relying on whatever worked last time.

Information Is a Resource

The second thing Tembo quietly expects from its players is card counting.

Keeping track of how many Matriarch cards remain in the deck, how many Lion cards have already appeared, and what your odds are on the next draw becomes increasingly important as the difficulty ramps up.

It’s a little like Blackjack. Your odds of winning feel random until you card count, and then suddenly it feels far more strategic. Vegas refers to using strategy in Blackjack as cheating, because it’s that effective. Though card counting here is an intended element, there is even a reference card that helps you do it, and of course, it’s considerably less complicated to count cards here than in Blackjack. It’s an obvious part of the strategic expectation designed into the game.

You never have complete control over what happens next, but understanding the probabilities dramatically improves your chances of making the right decision.

Ignoring the deck is possible. Winning while ignoring is not unless you get really lucky.

Resource Management Is Everything

Finally, and most importantly, there’s resource management.

Energy and rested elephants are the lifeblood of the game. You’ll never have enough of either.

Energy constantly disappears, forcing difficult decisions about when it’s worth diverting from your route to replenish it. Running out is one of the endgame loss conditions, so its nescessary to keep your levels up. Meanwhile, your elephant herd gradually shrinks as lions become more aggressive and the board grows increasingly hostile.

Managing those two resources while simultaneously planning your route, tracking the deck, and preparing for future Matriarch resets creates an astonishing number of possible board states.

Every turn feels meaningful. Every mistake has consequences. Every successful move feels earned.

It’s very easy during your first few games to fall into the trap of simply hoping things work out.

“I’ll probably draw the card I need.” “Hopefully the lions don’t appear here.” “Maybe I can squeeze out one more move…”

Sometimes you’ll even get away with it. Tembo quickly teaches you that hope and luck is not a strategy.

The greater difficulty scenarios demand careful planning, disciplined resource management, and a willingness to think several turns into the future. That’s where the game truly comes alive.

Interestingly, while the cooperative and solo experiences are mechanically almost identical, I actually prefer the game solo. The cooperative restrictions around discussing cards create a slightly different challenge, and it’s still an excellent multiplayer puzzle, but it was the solo mode that completely hooked me. It’s where I’ve spent most of my time, and it’s where I think Tembo truly shines.

What I love most about the design is that it never advertises any of this.

On the surface, Tembo looks like an approachable cooperative family game with adorable elephants. And it kind of is, but hidden underneath that theme is one of the smart, very satisfying strategic puzzles well worth exploring by veteran gamers.

That’s a wonderful achievement. And it’s exactly why I think Tembo is a very underrated game. It deserves more attention in my humble opinion.

Replayability and Longevity

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: It’s going to take a lot of replays to complete all of the difficulty levels, and you’re definitely getting your money’s worth.

Cons:  Eventually, the puzzle will feel solved, and the game will run out of steam permanently.

Replayability is perhaps the most difficult category to score in Tembo because the answer depends entirely on what you’re expecting from the game.

From a pure value-for-money perspective, I don’t think there’s much to complain about. At roughly the €35–40 price point, Tembo offers a tremendous amount of gameplay. It took me around fifteen plays just to consistently solve some of the introductory scenarios, and I suspect the later challenges will demand at least that many again before I feel like I’ve truly mastered them. Then there is the potential of introducing it to new players and enjoying their discovery and experience.

Frankly, that’s already more plays than many games in my collection ever receive.

There is a campaign mode that comes with Tembo, and for this review, I did not even attempt it. I think it’s for an advanced level of play. Just reading the instructions, I could see how very difficult a challenge that will be, but it does give the game a bit of extra longevity.

When I look across my shelves, the list of games I’ve played thirty or forty times is surprisingly short. Tembo is well on its way to joining that club, and that’s saying something.

That said, I don’t think Tembo is the sort of game you’ll play forever. At its heart, it’s a puzzle. And puzzles, by their very nature, have an endpoint.

I don’t necessarily mean they’ll ever be completely “solved.” The randomized maps, card order, and dynamic board states ensure there’s always some variation from game to game. But eventually you’ll reach a point where the game has taught you most of what it has to teach. The surprises become less frequent, the strategies more familiar, and your decisions increasingly instinctive.

For some people, that might sound like a weakness. I don’t see it that way.

Not every game needs to become a lifestyle game that lives permanently on your table. Sometimes a game simply needs to provide dozens of hours of engaging, memorable gameplay before gracefully stepping aside for the next experience.

Tembo strikes me as exactly that kind of game. It’s a journey with a destination.

Eventually, you’ll reach the end, feel immensely satisfied that you made it, and happily place it back on the shelf knowing it earned every play it received.

I think there’s something rather fitting about that. After all, every migration eventually comes to an end.

Conclusion

When I sat down to write this review, I honestly wasn’t sure where I was going to land. If anything, I expected to be fairly lukewarm on Tembo.

Cooperative games and I don’t exactly have the best relationship, and if I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t particularly excited when I first agreed to review it. There was even a small part of me that regretted saying yes.

I’m very happy to report that I was completely wrong.

Tembo didn’t just surprise me; it quietly became one of my biggest gaming obsessions of the past few weeks.

It’s an unusual game. A cooperative strategy puzzle about escorting elephants across the African savanna isn’t exactly the sort of pitch that immediately grabs my attention, yet behind that simple, yet charming presentation lies one of the most satisfying and cleverly designed cooperative puzzles I’ve played in quite a while.

What impressed me most wasn’t the difficulty. It was the very subtle depth brought out slowly, even if it was a bit frustrating at times.

Tembo is one of those rare games that’s incredibly easy to learn but remarkably difficult to master. The rules are concise, intuitive, and approachable, yet the strategic puzzle hiding beneath them took me well over a dozen games before I felt like I truly understood what the designers were asking of me.

That’s exactly the sort of challenge I enjoy and certainly wasn’t expecting it from Tembo, a game about herding elephants.

I love going into a game with low expectations and being pleasantly surprised; it’s actually one of my favorite things about being a tabletop games reviewer.

Although Tembo plays wonderfully as a cooperative experience, it was the solo mode that completely won me over. It captures everything I love about solitary puzzle solving: the constant experimentation, the gradual discovery of better strategies, and the satisfying feeling that every defeat is teaching you something rather than simply wasting your time.

Yes, sometimes the game just beats you because of bad luck, not unlike a bad beat in poker, and that is going to happen now and again, but the more you play, the less often it happens, and that is experience kicking in. It might seem random, especially at first, but this game hides a lot of strategic subtlety.

If you enjoy cooperative puzzle games that genuinely expect you to think, titles like The Crew, The Gang, or even the more puzzle-oriented side of Spirit Island, I think you’ll find a lot to love here.

I also think it makes an excellent family game, with one important caveat.

Don’t mistake approachable rules for an easy game.

Tembo is genuinely difficult, and younger players or more casual families may find the constant defeats frustrating. Fortunately, the designers anticipated this. The support cards provide valuable assistance, and there are optional rules that soften the challenge for groups who simply want a more relaxed experience, like playing without event cards. Personally, I recommend keeping the event deck in play. It adds another layer of unpredictability and keeps the puzzle feeling dynamic, even if it occasionally results in spectacular failure.

Spectacular failure, in my opinion, is half the fun.

Tembo won’t be for everyone. If you’re looking for a light-hearted cooperative game where victory is almost guaranteed, you’ll probably bounce off it.

But if you’re the kind of player who enjoys wrestling with a difficult puzzle, learning through repeated defeats, and finally earning a victory that feels genuinely deserved, Tembo is an easy recommendation.

A beautifully produced, deceptively deep, and wonderfully addictive puzzle game that earned its place on my shelf the hard way, by making me want to play “just one more game” fifteen times in a row.

That’s about as high a compliment as I can give.

In Theory: Why 2nd Edition AD&D?

Over the past few months, I’ve been dropping not-so-subtle hints about my affection for Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition across this blog. But my Top 10 Versions of Dungeons & Dragons article back in February didn’t just hint, it basically proposed marriage; it was my number 1 pick.

While I don’t think this is a big reveal, I have in the past kind of avoided simply stating it outright because that tends to draw… attention.

As expected, a few loyal readers have (politely) raised an eyebrow and asked me to explain myself. Now, I don’t usually feel the need to justify my tastes, this isn’t a courtroom, and I’m not on trial for “liking THAC0 unironically.” But the questions seem to come from genuine curiosity rather than thinly veiled judgment… mostly.

So the question is simple: what is it about 2nd edition AD&D that clicks for me? Why, out of all the editions of Dungeons & Dragons, would I pick one that, aside from the occasionally misunderstood Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition, is often labeled as one of the least popular?

Now, I’m not entirely convinced that’s true. In fact, I’d argue 2nd edition is one of the more popular versions of the game. Do I have hard data to support that claim? Absolutely not. But in the grand tradition of internet discourse, I’m comfortable asserting it confidently anyway, and besides, no one else seems to have the numbers to contradict that claim either.

I suspect this “unpopular” reputation comes from the timing. 2nd edition was around when TSR, the company behind D&D, was heading straight toward financial ruin. Naturally, people connect the dots and assume the game must have been the problem, and in fact, it’s often blamed for TSR’s demise.

TSR’s demise is one of the great tragic stories in the legacy of D&D, with many characters, plots, and crazy events that have fascinated gamers for years. Several books have been written on the subject.

But if you actually dig into the history of TSR’s downfall, you’ll find something surprising: it had very little to do with the game itself and everything to do with spectacularly questionable management decisions. We’re talking the kind of business strategy that makes you double-check if it was actually real or a parody. Entire books have been written on this subject as an illustration of what not to do as a corporation.

But I’m wandering off into history-lesson territory, and that’s not why we’re here.

I came to answer a question.

And answer it I shall.

The Origins Of Ethos In Dungeons and Dragons

I touched on the “ethos” of Dungeons & Dragons in my last article, specifically in relation to D&D’s latest incarnation, D&D 5.5, but I feel the need to circle back and give it the attention it truly deserves in the context of 2nd edition AD&D. Because if early editions invented the ethos of D&D, then Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition took that rough idea, wrote it into stone as commandments, and formed the official religion. Everything we consider to be THE ethos of D&D largely comes from 2nd edition AD&D, even in modern versions of the game.

A big part of that comes down to one thing: 2nd edition AD&D is absurdly verbose, and I mean that as the highest compliment.

Pick up just about any 2nd edition book, and you’ll quickly realize something important, especially compared to other versions of the game: this game was created by writers, not designers, people who gave far more importance to the narrative weight of the game rather than its mechanics.

Until the 2nd edition AD&D Monster Manual, the concept of the monster book was about some basic information, a nice picture, and a clean monster stat block. Useful, yes, but inspiring? 2nd edition AD&D monster descriptions took up 1 or 2 pages, describing them in excessive detail. It was the first time monsters were more than just “things to kill”, there was a story behind every creature. Unfortunately, in modern D&D monster books, we have reverted to making monster entries stat blocks.

And it shows, mechanically, 2nd edition sometimes leaves a lot to be desired, which might hint at why many D&D players frown at its presence or mention, and I get that. There are balance issues, odd design choices, and plenty of “did anyone actually playtest this?” moments scattered across spells, monsters, and adventures alike. It’s the kind of system where you occasionally squint at a rule and just decide, as a group, to emotionally move past it because there is just no way to justify its existence.

I do believe when the 2nd edition was being designed, it was forced to work under certain constraints, namely backwards compatibility with the 1st edition, so I do believe part of the design problem stems from that, but for the most part, as a design, 2nd edition AD&D is just kind of meh… but with moments of brilliance that in my opinion make it THE best version of the game. We will get to that in a minute.

But the writing is phenomenal, of that there is no question. D&D is a game about stories, and writing trumps rules in my humble opinion. It’s the creative center of D&D, it’s where lore and mechanics converge to create the ethos, and it’s why, in my humble opinion, 2nd edition AD&D becomes such a critical part of franchise history.

Between the pages, you can feel the beating heart of D&D lore coming alive in a way it never did before or since. Not hinted at. Not loosely suggested. Fully realized and fully committed to Sword and Sorcery in all of its glory.

Spells don’t just tell you what they do, they invite you to imagine what they could do. Monsters aren’t just stat blocks; they’re given histories, ecologies, and so much more than you could ever ask for. You don’t just learn what an orc is, you learn how it lives, what it fears, and probably what it argues about over dinner.

And the sheer volume of it all is astonishing. The “Complete” series, the endless player and DM option books, the sprawling settings, the amazing monster books, 2nd edition didn’t believe in giving you just enough. It believed in giving you everything, plus a few extra pages just in case you were getting comfortable.

There is no question that the Complete book series for 2nd edition AD&D is, pun intended, complete overkill. It’s actually common to refer to this expanded content as “bloat”, but I find that to be an insane concept. It’s only bloat if you try to use everything at the same time, which there is literally no reason to ever do. These books are about inspiration, and 90% of the content in each book is narratively focused. These books are story juice!

These books were wildly creative. Deeply flavorful. Occasionally unhinged in the best possible way. There’s a richness to the writing that makes D&D feel distinct, lived-in, creating a deeply ingrained ethos in your soul. For me personally, 2nd edition AD&D defined what D&D is forever.

I, however, was not the only person who garnered such affection from the writing behind 2nd edition AD&D. This game inspired an entire generation of designers who created some of the most memorable D&D video games ever made, not to mention the volumes of books written with 2e as a backdrop. From the Baldur’s Gate series to the Neverwinter Nights games, from Planescape Torment to the Gold Box Era games. From the Forgotten Realms saga’s to the Dragonlance epics. Ask anyone what their favorite D&D PC or video D&D game adaptation is or their favorite D&D book, and I will show you how 2nd edition AD&D writing was the primary influence.

What 2nd edition really did was bring the core ideas and growing ethos of the game into sharp focus. Things that felt a bit blurry in earlier editions suddenly became established constructs of the game. The identity of D&D, its tone, its style, its voice, was no longer implied. It was spelled out for you, in loving, excessive detail.

Later editions leaned heavily into the idea that “D&D can be whatever you want it to be.” And to be fair, that’s a perfectly valid philosophy. The game has always relied on DMs and players to shape it into something personal, even in the 1e days, perhaps specifically in the 1e D&D days.

But 2nd edition took a different approach. It didn’t just hand you a toolbox, it handed you a fully furnished house and said, “You can redecorate if you want… but you really don’t have to.” More than that, it anticipated player desires and offered solutions to some of the deepest and often most convoluted questions. It was, in a word, excessively thorough.

In my view, that’s where 2nd edition truly defines the ethos of Dungeons & Dragons. It answers the question: What is D&D? in no uncertain terms. Where modern D&D would say “Here is what D&D could be, it’s up to you though, don’t take my word for it, I just want to make you happy, I don’t want to tell you what to do, in fact, never mind, do what you want, any D&D at your table is real D&D, we don’t actually have an opinion.” I don’t want to say that the alternative approach is wrong, it’s not, but if you want to play D&D within its core ethos, explicitly defined and gloriously written, 2nd edition AD&D is the only version of the game that comes even close to doing that. By comparison, everything else is intentionally vague at best.

This is 100% complete information in 5.5 D&D regarding what a Dwarf is. This is it. Three paragraphs describing a Dwarf in the most static, inconsequential way possible. If you didn’t already know what a Dwarf was before reading this, it would be utterly useless. As it stands, the core information is brave people who sometimes have beards who live in the mountains. The text doesn’t even commit to them being short out of fear of offending someone. At best, I would describe this as ZERO effort from a writing perspective.

2nd edition D&D was not just a set of rules, but a culture. A tone. A shared understanding. A very real “thing” that you can recognize instantly, and even people who weren’t fans of the edition would ultimately be influenced by its existence.

When you hear a 2nd edition AD&D player describe D&D, it will always be with confidence, arrogance even, but this stems from the simple fact that they didn’t invent it, it’s not some version in their head or homebrew, they read it, straight from the horse’s mouth in exceedingly, almost painful detail.

Mode Switching and Execution Complexity

Two of my biggest gripes with Dungeons & Dragons, both before and after Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition, are what I call mode switching and execution complexity. And yes, I realize those sound like terms stolen from a software engineering meeting, but stay with me.

Let’s define them before we wander too far into the dungeon.

Mode switching is that very obvious shift in playstyle when the game goes from “we are telling a story” to “everyone grab a miniature and roll initiative.” Combat happens a lot in D&D, but to me, a fight is still part of the story. It’s the climax, the tension release, the cinematic payoff. It shouldn’t feel like you’ve paused the movie to boot up an entirely different video game.

But that’s often exactly what happens in all versions of D&D after 2nd edition.

A fight breaks out, and suddenly the roleplay screeches to a halt. Outcome the miniatures, the grids, the measuring tools, and we transition, sometimes dramatically, into what is essentially a tactical combat mini-game with its own rules, pacing, and logic. It’s like switching from a novel to a board game mid-sentence.

There is no question that a beautiful tactical board in full color and mini’s is a fun experience, and I don’t think it’s hard to understand why people like tactical combat. The problem is that the rest of the game takes place in our imagination, and the switch alters the perception of what the game is. Story mode and combat mode are two very different things, often in direct opposition to each other.

Closely tied to this is the execution complexity is the moment combat begins, time compresses into 6–10 second chunks, movement becomes squares, and actions start to feel like selecting abilities from a hotbar. Attacks, spells, effects, they’re no longer described; they’re executed. Press the button, resolve outcome, next turn. The rules stuffed into these systems are complex and intertwined with exceptions and sub-sections. Even in a well-designed game its a coma-inducing experience with the pace of continental drift, hardly the stuff of cinematic combat.

Now, I get why this exists. There’s a certain appeal to tight, tactical combat systems. But for me? That level of depth and mechanical layering pulls me out of the story rather than deeper into it. It’s the antithesis of role-playing. I expect to do that when playing Warhammer 40k, but not D&D.

And this is where 2nd edition AD&D quietly does something brilliant mechanically. I can’t say if it was intentional or not; we don’t know that much about the design thinking behind 2nd editin AD&D, other than being a derivative of 1st edition AD&D, but it nails it just the same.

It sidesteps all of this, not by removing tactics, but by embedding them inside the narrative.

Combat in 2nd edition is fast, brutal, and dangerous, but it never stops being part of the story. It doesn’t switch modes. It just intensifies the cinematics; it asks for more adjectives, not less.

First, a combat round is about one minute long. That alone changes everything about the dynamics of battles in the game. Suddenly, there’s room for description, for dialogue, for actual acting. Your character isn’t just swinging a sword or executing power X, they’re circling, shouting, reacting, and making choices that feel like part of a living scene.

Second, and this is the real magic, all combat actions are declared before they are resolved, and before initiative is rolled. This is a crucial dynamic shift, it’s the key design decision that transforms 2nd edition AD&D combat from a tactical mini game to a strategic narrative game. It switches the game from a sport to an actual battle.

  • The DM describes what the monsters and NPCs are doing.
  • The players describe what their characters intend to do.
  • THEN the initiative is rolled, and actions are resolved in that order with narrative adaptations made on the fly.

That sequence fundamentally changes how combat feels. Instead of reacting to a mechanical order of turns, players are asked a much more interesting question:

“Here’s what’s happening, what do you do over the next minute?”

It’s proactive, not reactive. Narrative first, mechanics second.

While describe then execute is a strange concept in modern D&D, largely due to the nature of how tactical combat systems must be executed, in the overwhelming majority of RPG’s, especially those that don’t directly try to emulate D&D, this is the standard. The normal way is the way 2nd edition AD&D does it, initiative tactical combat, is the outlier in RPG mechanics.

Even initiative itself, while technically a simple d10 roll, is influenced by real in-world factors, weapon speed, number of attacks, whether you’re using ranged weapons, what armor you’re wearing, and so on. It’s not just a number generator; it’s a loose simulation of physical reality, stuffed in one place, yet defined by the decisions players made in how they equipped themselves and their style/approach to combat. All of the realism and factors are bundled up into a single mechanism that gets out of the way of the narrative play right after it’s executed, but has a tremendous impact on how combat ultimately resolves.

There’s enough granularity to keep things tactically interesting, but not so much that it strangles the flow of the story. The system isn’t obsessed with rigid operational execution; it’s trying to interpret what’s happening in a believable way in a story about a battle, rather than being a mini-battle game.

Compare that to earlier editions, like Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition, which aimed for something similar but got buried under mechanical weight and was overall focused on Dungeon survival as a core feature of the game. Or later editions, 3rd, Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition, and 5th, which lean heavily into structured, tactical execution. Those systems work well if what you want is a combat-focused miniatures game, but they undeniably shift the experience into a different gear.

I want to be clear on this point, in my mind, the 1st edition AD&D Dungeon Master Guide by Gary Gygax is a masterpiece, it is the definitive work that breaks down the work of a DM. This is an important book, but it does very little to inspire writing, narrative creativity or the premise of creating adventures. It’s really a book that is more about problems and solutions of being a DM and how to referee the game. That is a critical part of running D&D, but when you sit down to create an adventure, this book offers very little to the creative process; it more helps you understand the conceptual principles.

And just to be clear, I’m not saying that’s bad. Plenty of people love that style, and I don’t fault them for it, but to me, it’s actually always kind of a fresh hell. It trips up the narrative in incalculable ways and resolves stories in an almost silly mockery of reality, dirtying the waters of storytelling. I just don’t like tactical combat in my RPG’s, any RPG’s, least of all my beloved Dungeons and Dragons.

What I love about 2nd edition is how seamlessly it connects combat to the rest of the game. The act of saying “this is what I do” is the same whether you’re negotiating with a king or fighting for your life. The way it plays out, how the story shakes out, is pretty much the same. Some dice rolls to determine success and failure, and an attached collaborative narrative to those results.

That consistency matters to me a great deal. It’s really why I play RPG’s in the first place. I want it to be a movie in my head, not a game that I try to win at the table.

It also gives real meaning to choices that might otherwise feel purely mechanical. Weapon selection isn’t just about damage; it’s about speed and timing. Armor isn’t just protection; it affects how you move and act. Spells aren’t just “strong” or “weak”, they’re fast, slow, risky, or reliable.

It adds an extra dimension without adding unnecessary friction.

The result is a system that feels tactical within a narrative framework, rather than replacing the narrative with tactics. Combat becomes a vivid, flowing scene instead of a start-and-stop simulation.

And perhaps most importantly, it’s actually simple to run, it gives players and DM’s room to be creative, dynamic, to adapt as they go, and combat is described, rather than executed. The one main difference between 1st and 2nd edition AD&D is the rules weight associated with bringing these dynamics to the table.

There’s a rhythm to it. A cadence. Describe, declare, resolve. Repeat.

It just… works, and no wonder, as this is the core rhythm of role-playing in general. This is how most RPG’s work today, that tactical depth and mode switching is largely a product of modern D&D, not really of modern RPG’s. Modern RPG’s function actually function as 2nd edition AD&D, which oddly makes 2nd edition AD&D the most modern version, from a design perspective, ever made.

Storywriting and DM Inspiration

I’ve already sung the praises of the writing in Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition, but there’s an important side effect worth calling out: what it actually does to the people sitting at the table, especially the DM.

Because inspiration isn’t just a “nice to have” in Dungeons & Dragons, it’s the fuel the entire game runs on.

For DMs in particular, inspiration is everything. Your first duty isn’t to the rules, or balance, or whether that goblin encounter is “appropriately tuned.” Your first duty is to the story and to the world the player characters inhabit. You’re building something that needs to feel alive, believable, and flexible enough that players can meaningfully interact with it (and, inevitably, derail it).

And here’s the thing, when you’re given rich, detailed, and thoughtfully written material to work with, that job becomes less of a burden and more of a joy.

2nd edition AD&D is, quite frankly, a goldmine for inspiration.

You can crack open the Player’s Handbook, the Dungeon Master’s Guide, the Options books, or, perhaps most dangerously, the Monster Manual, and within minutes you’re spiraling into ideas. Not “oh, that’s neat” ideas, but full-on campaign arc ideas.

I’m not exaggerating when I say you can open the Monster Manual to a random page and accidentally invent a three-month campaign before you’ve finished your coffee.

The level of detail is sometimes overwhelming, sure, but it’s purposeful. There’s intent behind the words, a sense that someone really sat down and thought, “How do I make this creature feel like it actually exists and make it a worthy addition to a narrative game?” And that effort shows. We haven’t seen such dedication in D&D books in a long time. Modern D&D books, have fallen out of this habit.

It feeds the creative monster in your brain. Constantly.

With 2nd edition, I never feel like I’m running out of ideas; I feel like I’m trying to keep up with them.

And honestly, I can’t say that about most other editions of D&D.

You could make a case for 3rd edition; it had its moments, no question, but when I look at later editions, like Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition and 5th, I personally find them… lacking in this department. Not bad, necessarily, just flat.. vague. The writing feels cleaner, more structured, more “accessible”… and somehow far less inspiring. It’s like the difference between reading a rulebook and reading a story.

Everything works. Everything is clear.

But nothing grabs you by the imagination and refuses to let go.

Now, to be fair, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition had flashes of brilliance. I have often spoken about the mystic nature of that game. Especially buried deep within its Dungeon Master’s Guide. There are sections in that book that are still among the most inspiring things ever written for a DM.

But they’re exceptions, not the rule, and AD&D 1st edition, I think, is a very difficult game to run unless you ignore most of the rules.

Overall, 1st edition often feels more concerned with telling you how to run a game, how to manage players, enforce rules, and maintain control. Useful, yes. Inspiring? Less so. It can feel a bit like being handed a manual for operating heavy machinery when all you wanted was to tell a story.

2nd edition strikes a different balance. I think at the time it was written, there was a general understanding that role-playing was more than Dungeon Crawls and rules management.

It gives you structure, but not shackles. Guidance, but not micromanagement. And layered on top of that is this constant stream of evocative, flavorful writing that makes you want to create.

It doesn’t just support storytelling. It encourages it.

And that’s not something you can easily design into a system… but somehow, 2nd edition AD&D pulled it off.

The Perfect Game For Me

If I were to describe my ideal version of Dungeons & Dragons in abstract terms, it would come down to four core ideas: Sword and Sorcery, narrative combat, fantasy realism, and a wide but grounded range of character customization, though each comes with some caveats. That probably sounds straightforward, but, as with most things in D&D, the devil is in the details.

Sword and Sorcery

When it comes to general preferences as to the type of fantasy I want, Sword and Sorcery is the clear winner. I want more Baldur’s Gate grittiness than Final Fantasy power fantasy. I want a sword to be a dangerous weapon, a monster to be a legitimate threat, and I want the life of an adventurer to be hard.

I want rarity to matter, spells to be special, and magic weapons to have character. I want the world and the rules to support each other, rather than support the wacky ideas of an anything-goes fantasy. I want being a Dwarf to mean something, not just a “shorter human”.

Sword and Sorcery is based on classic fantasy, and while I can appreciate modern high and power fantasy from a distance, I find it excruciatingly boring. Most of all however, I don’t want to run or play in a game that favors the players; I want the zero to hero story, I want the game to have stakes and not through a veil of pretend stakes where everything is engineered to give you the illusion of danger, but is balanced for your level, but real, objectively, and observable stakes.

Sword and Sorcery is a different type of fantasy. It’s really kind of about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances that become extraordinary people as a result of the experience. In a Sword and Sorcery fantasy, the story is about how the adventures go from zero’s to hero’s. Once they achieve that legendary status, the game is over. They retire.

In a game of Sword and Sorcery, when a fight breaks out, I want the players to feel their characters are in imminent danger and the decisions they make over the next few minutes to be life or death.

Narrative Combat

I’ve already talked about this at length, but it really is the cornerstone for me, so it’s worth revisiting in this context. Combat needs to feel gritty, dangerous, and just a little bit terrifying. Not in an over-the-top, grimdark noir sense, but in a way that makes players stop and think before they draw steel. In my ideal game, combat is not the default activity; it’s a consequence with potentially terrible risk. It’s something that happens when plans fail, negotiations break down, or risks are taken too far, and at best, a part of a well-laid plan. It should never feel routine; players should always fear that this time, their character might die.

That danger feeds directly into the narrative and tension of the sort of fantasy I want to create at the table. When combat is lethal, every decision carries weight. That wizard with a single Sleep spell suddenly isn’t underpowered; he’s the reason the party survives the encounter. Victory stops being an expectation and becomes something earned, something the players feel at the table. That sense of “we barely made it” is, to me, one of the purest expressions of what D&D is supposed to be narratively.

At the same time, I don’t want combat to bog the game down. This is where things get a bit paradoxical. I want it to be fast and simple to execute, but still rich with meaningful choices. Not so simple that it becomes a repetitive dice exercise, but not so complex that players have to pause the scene to decode their character sheet. The decisions should come naturally from the situation, from the character, from the story, not from scanning a list of abilities for the “correct” option. This is all about syncing the activities in the game as a matter of practical execution with the narrative of the story.

Class and equipment play a huge role in this. A fighter shouldn’t just deal more damage; they should feel different in how they approach a fight. The same goes for equipment; what you carry should reflect how you fight, not just how much damage you can output. A lightly armored duelist and a heavily armored warrior shouldn’t just have different numbers; they should create different moments at the table.

More importantly, I don’t care about balance. An Amazon with no armor and a spear should be weaker than a knight in full plate mail. I don’t believe in the equalization of power. Your character choices should not be driven by trying to be good at combat, but by the narrative you want to bring to the table. I don’t care if the game is fair; I don’t need it to be.

Spellcasters, in particular, should stand apart. Their identity shouldn’t come from raw power alone, but from preparation, timing, and intent. The spells they choose shape how they interact with the world, and that should be visible in play. Two wizards with different spell selections should feel like entirely different characters, not just variations of the same template. I don’t need 30 Wizard sub-classes to create distinct “wizard types”, a magic-user is a magic-user, just like a fighter is a fighter. What makes them distinct is how they use those powers.

When all of this comes together, with lethal stakes, fast resolution, and meaningful choices, combat naturally becomes narrative. Players stop thinking in terms of mechanics and start thinking in terms of actions, risks, and consequences. The fight becomes a story in motion rather than a separate game layered on top of it, more importantly, what comes before the fight has an elevated level of importance.

Fantasy Realism

The second pillar is what I think of as fantasy realism, though it’s less about realism in the traditional sense and more about internal logic. The world doesn’t have to mirror reality, but it does need to make sense on its own terms. What happens mechanically should reflect the perceptions of the characters and make sense to the players.

This is where the idea of associated versus dissociated mechanics comes into play. A mechanic is associated when it makes sense within the world, when it represents something the character is actually doing. The character and player can lean on the reality of the world and know that the mechanics work to reflect it. A dissociated mechanic, on the other hand, exists purely for gameplay purposes, disconnected from the logic of the setting and player character realities.

A simple example would be something like tripping an opponent. In a grounded fantasy world, that’s just something anyone can attempt. It’s part of physical interaction. But if it becomes a limited-use “ability” tied to an abstract resource, it stops feeling like an action and starts feeling like a button you press. The moment that happens, the player’s focus shifts away from the situation and toward the mechanics.

That shift might seem small, but it has a ripple effect. Once players begin thinking in terms of “what can I activate” instead of “what would I do,” the connection to the world weakens. The game starts to feel less like a lived-in reality and more like a system to be navigated.

Fantasy Realism is a rather odd thing, it’s about normalizing weird things that never existed, but still tries to establish them within the context of that fantasy as a real thing. In a sense, many weird things can’t exist in a fantasy for it to be a realistic fantasy. It’s a bit of a circular argument, but for example, a Light Spell does certain things, but there are many things it can’t do. Why? Fantasy Realism. Try to make sense out of that!

This isn’t about rejecting mechanics or demanding strict realism. Fantasy, by definition, isn’t realistic. Magic exists, monsters roam the world, and none of it needs to align with real-world physics. What matters is consistency. The world needs to have its own logic, and the mechanics should support that logic rather than constantly breaking it.

When that consistency is maintained, players naturally engage with the game in a narrative way. They act within the framework of the world because the world makes sense to them. When it isn’t, they fall back on the rules as written, and the experience becomes more mechanical than immersive.

For me, maintaining that sense of fantasy realism is critical. It’s what keeps the game grounded, even when everything happening in it is entirely fantastical.

Character Customization

The final piece of the puzzle is character customization, and while most editions of D&D handle this reasonably well, I still have a couple of preferences that shape what I consider ideal.

First, I want customization to stay grounded in a gritty, low-fantasy tone. I’m not looking for an endless stream of increasingly exotic options that need to be retrofitted into settings. I prefer something closer to the original feel of settings like the Forgotten Realms, where the world has a clear identity and the available character options fit naturally within it.

When I say I want a wide range of choices, I don’t mean anything goes. I mean a variety of options that feel like they belong to the same world, drawing inspiration from classic fantasy rather than constantly expanding into something more abstract or exaggerated. There’s a tone to it, a kind of grounded fantasy aesthetic that I find much more compelling.

The second aspect is that I want character options to emphasize narrative identity over mechanical power. A small bonus or a unique ability is fine, but the real value should come from how those choices shape the character as a person, not how effective they are in combat.

This ties back to the idea of starting from zero. No matter how interesting the concept is, I want characters to begin as relatively ordinary individuals and grow into something greater through play. The journey matters more than the starting point. If a character feels fully formed and mechanically complete at level one, something is lost.

What I’m looking for is that moment where a player understands who their character is, not because of a build they optimized, but because of the choices they’ve made and the experiences they’ve had in the game.

Bringing It Together

When I look at these four ideas together, they describe more than just a set of preferences. They describe a particular feel, a way the game unfolds at the table.

For me, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition captures that feel better than any other edition. Not because it’s perfect, but because it aligns with these principles at a fundamental level. It doesn’t need to be bent or reshaped to fit this style of play. It already lives there.

And that, more than anything else, is why it remains my personal gold standard.

Problem Mechanics

Now, before anyone accuses me of wearing rose-tinted glasses the size of dinner plates, let me be very clear: I am fully aware that Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition comes with its fair share of… let’s call them quirks. Some of them are dated, some of them are clunky, and a few of them make modern game designers visibly uncomfortable.

I get it. I really do, I’m not making a sales pitch for THAC0 here.

Whenever 2nd edition comes up in conversation, the same usual suspects tend to be dragged into the spotlight like they’re on trial for crimes against game design. So let’s address them properly.

Class and Race Limitations

The Player’s Handbook outlines various restrictions, race/class combinations, ability score requirements, and so on. These are often presented as a major sticking point, but for me, the solution is almost laughably simple: I ignore them, always have, and I’m yet to sit at a table in all my years of gaming where things like this were enforced. In fact, in the 80’s it was unanimously agreed that this sort of thing was generally stupid; it was the OSR that brought them back. Actual old school gamers didn’t really do this, or at the very least, it was understood that it wasn’t important in most cases. It was used when it was relevant to the game and ignored when it wasn’t.

Unless I’m running a very specific setting where those limitations serve a narrative purpose, they don’t really add anything meaningful. They’re not essential to the mechanics, and they certainly aren’t critical to the storytelling. More than anything, they feel like artifacts of a different design philosophy, one that hasn’t aged particularly well nor was particularly well thought out to begin with.

If someone wants to play a paladin with a strength of 8, go for it. You’ll just be… a very underwhelming paladin. And honestly, that sounds like a character concept with legs.

To me, these “restrictions” read less like hard rules and more like suggestions from another era, perfectly safe to ignore without the system collapsing into chaos.

Rolling for Ability Scores

This one tends to divide people, but I’ve always been a fan of rolling ability scores. There’s something inherently fun about not knowing exactly what you’re going to get. It adds a bit of unpredictability to character creation, a sense that you’re discovering the character rather than engineering them.

And importantly, starting with less-than-perfect stats isn’t a problem in 2nd edition, it’s a feature. Characters grow over time, both mechanically and narratively. Beginning with average or even mediocre abilities gives the game texture. It creates room for development.

Not every hero needs to be born exceptional. Some of them can earn it the hard way. In my experience, the most forgettable characters are always optimized characters.

THAC0 and Descending Armor Class

Ah yes, the infamous THAC0. The mechanic that launched a thousand internet arguments.

Here’s my honest take: I’ve never actually used it in any variant of D&D.

The very first DM in the very first game I ever played with flipped the math, turned everything into ascending values, and we just… kept doing that. Problem solved. No confusion, no headaches, no existential crisis over subtraction.

If your THAC0 is 18, congratulations, you have a +2 to hit. If your armor class is 7, that’s AC 14. Done.

Some things are just objectively true, and it’s crazy to me to think that there are people out there who still make the argument that THAC0 and Descending AC are better. It’s not, it wasn’t in the 80’s, and it never will be. Just because something is modern doesn’t mean old school players have to come up with cacamany ways to justify shitty mechanics. THAC0 sucked… PERIOD.. END OF STORY! I can understand that some people still use THAC0 because they are used to it, perfectly fine, but if you’re arguing that it’s better…let’s just agree to disagree because you are objectively wrong.

This is one of those debates that has always puzzled me. People act like THAC0 is some insurmountable barrier to entry or defend it like it’s a meaningfully different construct, when in reality it’s just a different way of expressing the same numbers. If you don’t like it, change it. The system doesn’t break. The dice don’t revolt. Everyone survives.

It’s a non-issue masquerading as a major flaw, literally the most inconsequential mechanic in all of D&D, yet it has prevailed as the most common debate. It’s absolutely bizarre to me.

Thief Skills and Non-Weapon Proficiencies

This is where I start to get a bit more opinionated.

I really struggle with how skills have evolved in later editions of Dungeons & Dragons. Earlier systems, even into 3rd edition, kept things somewhat grounded. But by the time you get to Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition and 5th, skills often feel less like character traits and more like mechanical levers you pull to bypass situations.

And that’s where it breaks for me.

At its core, a “skill” is supposed to represent something your character is good at. It’s part of who they are. But in practice, it often becomes a gamble, “I invested in this, now let’s see if the dice agree that I’m actually competent today.”

That disconnect is hard to ignore, and it’s also what has led to the dice odds slowly over time favoring the player more and more, arriving in a way back to where the whole concept started. A representation of what you can do, rather than what you can sometimes do if you’re lucky with the dice.

Take knowledge, for example. If your character has spent years studying the arcane, why are we rolling dice to see if they remember something about magic? Either they know it, or they don’t. That’s a judgment call based on their background, training, and abilities, not a coin flip.

The same goes for physical capability. If you’re strong enough to lift something, you lift it. If you’re not, you don’t. Rolling dice doesn’t suddenly make you stronger, it just adds randomness where it doesn’t really belong.

Now, there are exceptions. High-stress situations, sneaking past a guard, spotting a hidden trap, those make sense as rolls. Pressure introduces uncertainty. That’s where dice shine but it is also a great place to put a class with specialized abilities for that purpose, aka, The Thief!

And this is why I’ve always preferred the way 2nd edition handles it.

Thief skills, in particular, are a great example. They’re specialized, class-based abilities that reinforce identity. If you’re playing a thief, you own that space. You’re the one finding traps, picking locks, and moving silently. That’s your role, it’s a specialization, and no one should be as good at it as you, and this makes sense within the logic of a fantasy world.

And roles matter.

When someone chooses to play a fighter, they expect to be the best warrior in the group. A wizard should feel like the master of magic. A thief should be the undisputed expert in stealth and subterfuge. When skill systems flatten those distinctions, something important is lost.

Non-weapon proficiencies, on the other hand, strike a nice balance. They represent additional talents and areas of knowledge, things that define your character beyond combat, without turning every interaction into a dice roll. They’re more like declarations of capability than lottery tickets.

And that’s really the core of it for me.

Your character’s abilities should be something you can rely on. They’re part of your identity, not a gamble. The dice come into play when circumstances are uncertain, when stress, danger, or chaos make success less predictable.

An archer doesn’t miss during practice. But in the middle of a life-or-death battle? That’s a different story.

Stress changes things. That’s where randomness belongs.

Outside of that, I want the game to trust the character, and by extension, the player, to simply be good at what they chose to be good at.

Conclusion

To be frank, I could probably keep talking about Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Edition all day. There is so much about this version of the game that resonates with me that I could easily write an entire series of articles. In fact, the biggest challenge with this piece has not been finding things to say, but figuring out where to stop.

At the end of the day though, I think the simplest explanation for why I love this game is also the most honest one.

I love how it feels.

I love the rhythm of it, the atmosphere of it, and the way the mechanics and writing align with my personal vision of what Dungeons & Dragons should be. The game feels dangerous without being oppressive, imaginative without becoming absurd, and narrative without abandoning mechanics entirely. It occupies this strange middle ground that no other edition has quite managed to capture for me.

Now, the point of this article is not to convince you that 2nd edition AD&D is the definitive version of D&D. I think far too much energy online is spent trying to persuade strangers that their preferences are somehow objectively wrong. Preference is preference. We all come to this hobby looking for different things, and that is perfectly fine.

What I wanted to do here was explain why this particular edition speaks to me the way it does.

The truth about D&D and any RPG really is that whatever sort of D&D you’re having fun playing and creating for, is the best kind of D&D. Period. It might not be for me, but that doesn’t make it bad. It just makes it bad for me.

If this article has sparked your curiosity, though, I would offer a couple of pieces of advice before diving into 2nd edition AD&D.

First, focus on the writing and the experience at the table rather than the myths that have grown around the game over the years. A lot of people judge 2nd edition purely by reading isolated mechanics on paper or the perceptions of keyboard warriors with a cause, and I honestly think that gives a very misleading impression of how the game actually plays. This is a fantasy writer’s version of D&D, designed for fans of reading fantasy books. That is the game’s secret.

The experience of playing it is very different from the way the rules read in isolation. There is a narrative rhythm to the game that only really reveals itself after some time with it. The flow of play, the pacing of scenes, the structure of combat, the emphasis on storytelling and atmosphere, all of it comes together into something that feels genuinely distinct from every other version of D&D, even from Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition, despite how much DNA they share.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, explore the settings and expanded material. Read the Complete books. Read the setting guides. Read the monster entries in full instead of just scanning stat blocks. The more you explore, the more you begin to understand what I mean when I talk about the game’s connection to sword and sorcery fantasy and narrative storytelling.

These books are unapologetically verbose. They want you to sit down and immerse yourself in the world. They want you to imagine things. Sometimes they feel less like rulebooks and more like someone desperately trying to infect you with enthusiasm.

I will also say something about modern D&D that might come across as a bit controversial, though I genuinely mean it fairly, and it’s directed at Wizards of the Coast more than the fans.

Modern editions of D&D have actually done a pretty good job of achieving their design goals. Personally, I find them too high-powered and too tactically focused for my tastes, but that does not mean they failed. Quite the opposite. If your goal is to create a more mechanically balanced, tactical, character-driven fantasy combat game, then modern D&D absolutely succeeds at that.

It would be unfair to criticize the designers for accomplishing exactly what they intended to accomplish. Besides, for me, lowering the power levels, adapting the game to be less tactical and more story-focused, these are things within my power to adjust. Modern systems are flexible enough to achieve this. There are even 3rd party source books that help achieve just that.

Where I think modern D&D struggles, however, is the writing.

And here I will admit my bias and disappointment openly.

Personally, I find the writing in the latest material, particularly 5.5 core books, to be painfully sanitized and overly simplistic. It often feels less interested in sparking imagination and more concerned with flattening every edge and sanding away every rough corner. There is very little mystery to it, very little atmosphere, and almost none of the rich, excessive enthusiasm that defined older editions, especially compared to 2nd edition AD&D. It has no style or reckognizable theme of its own; it is, in a word, bland and generic, in the worst and unappealing way. From a writing perspective, it’s a complete catastrophe.

Older D&D books felt like they were written by eccentric fantasy nerds who desperately wanted to pull you into their worlds.

The latest core books coming out of Wizards of the Coast feel like they were reviewed by a corporate committee whose primary concern was making sure nobody anywhere might misunderstand a sentence.

That sounds harsh, I know, but it is genuinely how I feel when comparing the two.

That said, I have not completely given up hope. I’m glutten for punishment, and foolishly, I am actually quite excited about the upcoming Forgotten Realms books. I would love nothing more than to be pleasantly surprised. In many ways, this feels like my first and final real attempt to reconnect with modern D&D on its own terms.

Because at the end of the day, I do not want to dislike modern D&D.

I want to fall in love with it again. I want to be part of it, I want to look forward to new books and be excited about using them, and I want to be inspired by them.

I can always fall back on my beloved 2nd edition AD&D, but I’m always hoping for a better future.

Gamefound: Syncanite Foundation Launches

Syncanite Foundation: Gamefound Crowdfunder

Early this year, through what can only be described as pure cosmic luck, I stumbled across a strange little gem called Syncanite Foundation. It did not take long before it crashed headfirst onto my list of the 20 Best Games, and honestly, it earned that spot in all the right ways.

What grabbed me immediately was just how different the game felt. Syncanite Foundation is packed with unusual mechanics, a stunning visual identity, and production values that practically scream passion project. Every system in the game feels soaked in lore and atmosphere, creating an experience where thematic gameplay and player interaction sit front and center. This is not a game where everyone quietly builds their own little engine in a corner. The table talk, tension, alliances, and betrayals are part of the experience.

I previously wrote a full review of the game and, spoiler alert, I absolutely loved it. That said, I did point out a few production issues at the time. Most of them were cosmetic rather than game-breaking, but there was clearly room for improvement.

Apparently, the creators agreed.

Since my review, the team behind Syncanite Foundation has been quietly working away behind the scenes, polishing and refining the experience piece by piece. All of that effort has now culminated in a brand new Gamefound campaign that has just gone live.

For existing fans, this is genuinely exciting stuff. For newcomers, though, I can already imagine the reaction. Looking at the mountain of information, updates, expansions, and extras attached to this project can feel a little like trying to decode alien technology. So, I figured I would put together a short article sharing my thoughts on the campaign, what stands out, and whether this strange and fascinating game deserves your attention.

Who is Syncanite Foundation For?

Before you even think about reaching for your wallet, I think it is important to talk about what Syncanite Foundation actually is and, more importantly, who it is for. Board games come in all shapes and sizes, and despite what marketing departments would love you to believe, not every game is meant for every table.

Syncanite Foundation is a big and elaborate experience; its mechanics are verbose and evolutionary, but above all else, confrontational. This is a take that game in it’s purest form.

In my opinion, Syncanite Foundation feels like an old school game wearing modern clothes. Beneath the slick mechanics and gorgeous presentation lurks something far meaner than your average cozy game night experience. This is not the sort of game that gently pats you on the back while everyone quietly builds an efficient engine and celebrates participation trophies.

No, this thing feels like an underground cage fight from an eighties action movie where somebody gets punched simply because they made eye contact at the wrong moment.

At its core, Syncanite Foundation is a deeply confrontational game. In fact, betrayal is not just part of the experience; it is practically the main course. Winning often feels less about building yourself up and more about dragging everyone else down into the mud before they can do the same to you. Alliances are temporary, trust is dangerous, and mercy is usually a tactical error.

Personally, that is exactly my kind of nonsense.

My gaming group consists of the sort of loud, whisky-swirling maniacs who treat social manipulation as a competitive sport, and Syncanite Foundation delivers that experience beautifully. It is an absolutely glorious asshole simulator, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment.

That said, I can absolutely see this bouncing off groups who prefer quieter Euro-style games where players peacefully push cubes around a board while calculating victory points in quiet contemplation, then shaking the victor’s hand in respectful admiration. No, after you’re done playing Syncanite Foundation, there are going to be some f-bombs.

Most people who regularly buy board games already know what kind of players they are and what kind of group they play with, so you probably already know whether this sounds amazing or horrifying.

If you enjoy games like A Game of Thrones: The Board Game, Diplomacy, Twilight Imperium, or classic Dune, then there is a very good chance Syncanite Foundation will click with you. Not because these games necessarily share mechanics or themes, but because they all thrive on tension, negotiation, manipulation, betrayals, desperate deals, and devastating double crosses.

Syncanite Foundation embraces all of that with absolute passionate enthusiasm, and that full commitment is exactly why you would buy this game.

What’s In The Box?

I usually prefer simple and elegant game design. Tight systems. Clean execution. Efficient components. My general philosophy is very much “keep it simple.”

There is, however, one major exception to that rule.

If I truly love a game, then all restraint immediately leaves my body. At that point, I want the deluxe version of everything. I want oversized components, absurd table presence, thematic nonsense, and enough accessories to make it look like a minor royal family financed the production. If possible, I would also like a live tiger sitting beside the table so I can pet it while making diplomatic threats in character.

Thankfully, the people behind Syncanite Foundation seem to understand this very specific form of board game insanity.

The funny thing is that even the core package already feels excessive in the best possible way. If you are completely new to the game and unsure whether you are about to become obsessed with it, the base version alone still delivers a ridiculously premium experience. Yes, it is a little expensive, but honestly, it costs about the same as one decent night out, and you are no doubt going to get far more entertainment out of this box than overpriced cocktails and regret.

The production quality is excellent, the presentation is gorgeous, and overall, the value feels genuinely strong.

Now, if you do decide to fully embrace the madness, there are a couple of add-ons I can easily recommend.

The Great Council Box is probably the standout. The premium game mat alone is a nice upgrade, but the real attraction is the expanded player count. It allows two additional players to join the chaos, which is absolutely worth it if you have a larger gaming group. Few things are more painful than gathering everyone together only to realize somebody has to either sit out because the table is full or you have to choose another game. Thankfully, Syncanite Foundation scales surprisingly well with more players, which only amplifies the tension, paranoia, and inevitable betrayals.

Then there are the Dignitary Packs, which add special character cards that give each player a little extra personality and flavor. These might sound minor on paper, but they add a surprising amount to the overall experience for a relatively small investment. It is the kind of addition that makes the game feel closer to the lore and just a little more personal and memorable.

The big talking point, however, is the new Crimson Protocol expansion.

This is the headline addition for the current Gamefound campaign, and while I have not had hands-on experience with it yet, I do find the direction extremely interesting.

Crimson Protocol is mainly focused on reigning in some of the chaos of the base game. From interviews with the designer, it’s clear that many compromises were made for playability in the core game, and the Crimson Protocol expansion is like a director’s cut.

One criticism sometimes aimed at Syncanite Foundation is that the game can occasionally feel a little wild and unpredictable. Certain random systems can create moments where everything spirals into glorious chaos, which is sometimes hilarious and sometimes feels like the universe personally decided to ruin your evening. House rules are not uncommon among experienced groups looking to tighten things up a bit.

Crimson Protocol appears to directly address that issue by introducing additional control over some of the game’s more chaotic elements. That sounds very appealing to me and I suspect many existing fans will feel the same way.

That said, there is probably a tradeoff here.

Syncanite Foundation is already a fairly dense and demanding game, and I would not be surprised if Crimson Protocol increases the complexity even further. If you are brand new to the game, I am not necessarily saying you should avoid it, especially since crowdfunding campaigns have a nasty habit of creating fear of missing out, but there is also something to be said for learning the core game first before diving into the deep end of the madness pool.

As for the rest of the extras, there is definitely some fun nonsense in there. The vinyl soundtrack is honestly kind of awesome purely on vibes alone, and the novel could be genuinely interesting if you enjoy digging into the lore. Beyond that, though, most of the remaining add-ons feel more like flavor than necessity.

Still, if you are already falling in love with the game, flavor is exactly the kind of irrational luxury purchase board gamers live for.

Very exciting stuff!

Review: Dewan (2025)

Designer: Johannes GoupyYoann Levet

Publisher: Space Cowboys

When Dewan first landed on my table, my eyes didn’t go to the rulebook, the components, or even the promise of gameplay. They went straight to that absolutely mesmerizing cover art by Arthus Pilorget. It’s surreal, vibrant, and just the right kind of strange, like a dream you can’t quite explain but don’t want to wake up from. There’s an immediate sense of identity here, a bold, artistic swagger that practically demands your attention. And yeah… I love it.

Beneath that dazzling, slightly offbeat exterior lies something far more restrained: a deeply abstract puzzle game. There’s nothing wrong with that, far from it, but when the art sets the stage this dramatically, part of you can’t help but expect something equally theatrical underneath. Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe that’s just the spell the artwork casts. Either way, I always like to capture my raw, first impression, the unfiltered “wow” before the mechanics settle in. So yes, let the record show: very cool art.

Anyway, enough gawking, consider me thoroughly impressed, and let’s dive in.

I feel compelled to put this piece on my blog; it really defines the term, artwork! Anyone who says that A.I. will replace artists is kidding themselves, a machine can copy it, but nothing like this will ever originate from a machine, no matter how much we invest in them.

Dewan sits comfortably in that delicious design space of deceptively simple mechanics wrapped around a surprisingly deep strategic core. At first glance, it feels approachable, almost gentle… but give it a few plays, and suddenly you’re in deep waters, wrestling with decisions that feel sharper, tighter, and far more consequential than expected. It’s a slow burn in the best way, subtle at first, then steadily revealing layers of tension, bite, and competitive edge. And make no mistake, this game can get spicy once players find their footing. It’s a lot more confrontational than it appears or the rules suggest; there is strong, in-your-face interaction here.

What really elevates Dewan, though, is its ever-shifting landscape. The game is map-based, and crucially, you build that map yourself at the start of each session. The result is that no two games feel remotely alike. Forget rehearsed openings or safe, go-to strategies; this is a game that thrives on adaptability. You’ll need to think on your feet, pivot constantly, and embrace the chaos of a board that refuses to play by familiar rules. I really liked that a great deal; it speaks to replayability and longevity, so we are off to a great start.

I find it interesting how wildly different I saw this map during the first 3 plays of this game and how I see it now. The learning curve is not steep, but there is understanding and meaningful knowledge, a transition that takes a few plays to appear.

I also struggled to pin down a clean comparison, and that’s a fantastic thing. In a hobby full of echoes and iterations, Dewan feels refreshingly, confidently unique.

So right out of the gate, we have a strong opening and a lot of great potential. The question is, does Dewan deliver on the promise? Let’s find out!

Overview

Final Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star christmas_star(4.05 out 5) Outstanding Game!

If you really want to get a grip on Dewan, the cleanest way to unpack it is to think in three interlocking layers: the razor-thin scoring system, the slick card-driven action engine, and the ever-present, quietly cutthroat area control on the map. The game demands that a player be efficient, which, coincidentally, is how I would describe the way the game was designed.

Let’s start with the path to victory, because this one is tight. Points are scarce, precious, and just a little bit elusive. You’re not racking up big numbers here; instead, most of your scoring trickles in through the completion of story cards (think elegant little objective puzzles). These ask you to control specific terrain types, mountains, forests, and deserts, and convert that control into a sort of resource checkbox. There are a few bonus avenues for points, plus a shared scenario card that sweetens the pot for everyone, but the real magic lies in efficiency, not overwhelming acquisition.

The trick is to chain your story cards together so they overlap in clever, satisfying ways, squeezing maximum value out of minimal effort on the board. It’s less about doing more and more about doing just enough, brilliantly. If that sounds like a hobbit riddle, well, the game kind of is that.

The Story cards tell you what resources you must collect, but you unlock these as you go, and there is no telling what cards will be available when it’s your turn to pick one. This might be the only time a bit of luck can help you. Finding a way to make use of the same resource in more than one story is key to a successful run.

Actions are governed by the card system, the pulsing, strategic heartbeat of the game. Each round, you’re faced with an illusively tense choice: play cards to move across the board and establish settlements (your claim to territory), or pause to draft new cards from a constantly shifting market. It’s simple on paper, but in practice every decision feels like a tiny, meaningful gamble. Efficiency, again, is everything. Waste a move, and you’ll feel it, and while you may have a plan, opportunities difficult to pass up come up all the time, and knowing when to take them and when to pass is kind of the key to the game.

At the start of the game, the board feels wide open, brimming with possibility. Resources seem plentiful, and on the dynamically built map, opportunities are abundant. You might even think, “Hey, this isn’t so hard.” The game will correct that perception rather quickly.

Because Dewan hides a beautifully designed rule at its core: connected territories of the same type only count as one terrain type. I would imagine when the designer came up with that, the rest of the game laid out for him like a solved puzzle.

You might think that having 5 deserts so close together is a lucky break; it will make checkboxing deserts quick and easy, but the reality is that you are looking at one big desert, which is catastrophically bad. It not only forces you across it, meaning you need to collect desert cards to move through them, but settling more than one of these deserts is useless.

Those four cozy mountain tiles clustered near your starting position look like a goldmine… but mechanically, they’re just a single, lonely mountain. Suddenly, the board shifts from inviting to demanding. That one rule, simple, elegant, slightly cruel, completely reshapes how you approach the game. You can’t just carve out a neat little slice of the map and call it a day. You’ll need to spread out, stretch your reach, and compete across the entire board, and you can be certain your opponents will be doing the same.

And here’s the kicker: moving across that board costs cards. Every step, every expansion, every ambitious grab for territory eats into your limited hand. So once again, the game whispers its central mantra, do more with less. The game could have been called “Optimization,” and that would have been on point.

There’s a lot more bubbling beneath the surface, layers of nuance, timing, and tactical brinkmanship, but even at a high level, you can feel it: Dewan is one of those games where the rules are deceptively simple, but the decisions are gloriously, brain-meltingly complex.

And that’s fascinating. Genuinely.

But also very abstract, and if I’m being honest, just a little outside my personal taste. I can absolutely appreciate what it’s doing; there’s a deep, rewarding well here for players who want to dive in, explore, and master its many subtleties. This is a game that could easily sustain dozens, maybe hundreds, of plays for the right audience. It’s well designed, well balanced, everything you could want as a general board game fan, but general is not my sweet spot.

Three times during the game, you will be allowed to slip a card under your board, which gives you both the terrain and resource on that card. This requires good timing and preparation, but is quite important for scoring purposes.

For me, Dewan lands squarely in that familiar category of:
“This is excellent… just not entirely my thing,” which simply means I’m happy to play it, but it won’t necessarily find its way into my permanent collection.

It’s not so much a judgment as it is a preference, but I will say that games like Dewan sometimes win me over, over time. I’m not in a rush to cull it. I recognize that while I have my preferences, sometimes these sorts of puzzly games win me over, and Dewan certainly has the potential to do just that.

Components

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Outstanding quality through and through, the art is just a cherry on top!

Cons: I would have liked to see a rules reference for this one.

The component quality, judged across my three core pillars: physical durability, artistic execution, and clarity, puts Dewan on a clear path toward a perfect score.

Frankly, there’s very little to criticize here. The components are crafted from thick, resilient stock that feels built for countless plays. Visually, the game leans fully into its charming, whimsical art style, maintaining a cohesive and inviting aesthetic across every piece. The iconography does present a slight learning curve at first, but once it clicks, it reveals itself to be clean, intuitive, and thoughtfully placed; everything communicates exactly what it needs to, exactly where you expect it. And the box insert is exceptionally well-designed, snug, practical, and oddly satisfying in its precision.

The rulebook, however, is where things get a bit more nuanced. My initial instinct was to criticize it. It adopts a “teach-as-you-play” approach rather than functioning as a structured reference guide. While this makes onboarding smooth and approachable, it becomes less convenient when you need to answer a specific question mid-game. Instead of quickly locating a rule, you may find yourself digging through the flow of the gameplay explanation to uncover it.

The vivid and colorful art make this game a pleasure to look at, but I have to say it again, art this good belongs on something less abstract; this artist should be working on RPG’s!

This is a hill I will happily die on: every game should include a dedicated rules reference for quick lookups, especially for edge cases and commonly misunderstood elements.

In Dewan, those questions will most often revolve around iconography and scenario cards, which can feel slightly opaque during your first few plays. That said, this is far from a dealbreaker. The game itself is elegantly simple, and once those early uncertainties are resolved, you’re unlikely to revisit the rulebook at all. The rules are streamlined, logical, and easy to internalize.

Overall, this is a beautifully produced, impressively polished game, one that doesn’t just meet modern board game production standards but confidently exceeds them.

Theme

Score: christmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_star

Pros: If we were judging the theme on art alone, this would be 5 stars!

Cons: The theme is mostly irrelevant to the game, but as an abstract game, it doesn’t really need a theme.

The theme isn’t exactly the beating heart of Dewan, in fact, it barely registers as a pulse. Outside of its enchanting, fairy tale-inspired art style, there’s very little here to anchor the experience in a meaningful narrative, leaving me with surprisingly little to dig into.

Beyond a scattering of light flavor text in the rulebook, the game offers only the faintest hint of context. You’re… expanding a village, exploring, for reasons that remain charmingly vague and conveniently unexplained. It all feels more like a decorative backdrop than a driving force, pleasant to look at, but ultimately insubstantial. It’s an abstract game, plain and simple.

What this game lacks in theme, it makes up for in great gameplay and, more importantly, amazing style. The vivid use of light here is amazing!

I’m not even sure what else can be said. This is precisely where my tilting system earns its keep. While Dewan’s theme is undeniably thin, almost ethereal in its absence, it also doesn’t detract from the experience in any meaningful way. The game isn’t trying to tell a story, and it doesn’t need to.

So yes, the theme may be wispy, but crucially, it’s also harmless, an aesthetic flourish rather than a foundational pillar in an otherwise abstract puzzle game beautifully executed.

Gameplay

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Fantastic design, I foresee this game winning some awards.

Cons: Can be quite unforgiving, takes a few plays before it clicks.

While the theme in Dewan barely leaves an impression, the gameplay is the undeniable centerpiece, the beating heart and razor-sharp mind of the experience.

For a game with such elegantly simple rules, Dewan hides a remarkable amount of depth beneath its surface. It’s one of those deceptively “light” designs that quickly reveals a dense, cerebral core the moment you start making meaningful decisions.

If I had to distill what makes Dewan stand out, it’s that it belongs to a lineage of games rooted in mathematical integrity. This is a design built on balance, probability, and precision rather than flashy mechanics or familiar systems. It feels engineered in the best possible way, echoing the philosophies of designers like Reiner Knizia, Vlaada Chvátil, and Alexander Pfister. In that sense, Johannes Goupy and Yoann Levet have crafted something that feels refreshingly deliberate and structurally sound, without the usual copy/pasting that makes it easily definable as “just like X game”.

Where many modern games lean on familiar frameworks, worker placement, deck building, and action selection, Dewan confidently carves its own path. It doesn’t rely on genre shorthand. Instead, it builds tension and decision-making from first principles, and the result is something that feels both fresh and intellectually satisfying.

From the very start, variability defines the experience. Randomized terrain, shifting board layouts, and scenario (or “story”) cards ensure that no two games unfold the same way. Yet impressively, this randomness never undermines balance. The scenario cards feel meticulously tuned, difficult to achieve regardless of your starting position. You won’t luck into an easy 8-point score just because the board happened to favor you. That level of consistency in a dynamic setup is no small feat; it’s careful, disciplined design. Anyone who has ever tried to design a game knows just how painful balancing dynamic mechanics can be. It’s clear this game went through rigorous testing to achieve this result.

The pacing is another standout strength. Every village placed tightens the board, increasing both spatial pressure and urgency. The game subtly transforms into a race, not just to score efficiently, but to act before opportunities disappear. You want to craft perfect, optimized turns… but the game rarely affords you that luxury.

This is a pretty fast-paced game, you’re going to take maybe 12-15 actions before the game ends, and you know you’re doing well if you are the one putting the pressure on other players to keep up. There is definitely a race here; faster is in fact, better. The result is that in a typical game night, you are probably going to play this more than once.

This creates a fun and sometimes frustrating tension. Dewan is a puzzle under pressure, a game where careful planning collides with the constant need to adapt and race to the finish. Mistakes are not easily forgiven; there just aren’t enough turns for you to course correct a mistake.

Player interaction is also more pronounced than it first appears. This isn’t a solitary optimization exercise; it’s a shared, contested space. You need to track opponents closely, anticipating their moves, disrupting their plans, and adjusting your own strategy accordingly. Blocking becomes just as important as building, and though this skill takes time to develop, it is more often than not the key to a tight victory.

One particularly elegant design choice is the terrain drafting system. When selecting terrain cards, you must take two adjacent cards rather than freely choosing any combination. It’s a small rule with enormous implications. Even when the exact pieces you need are visible, they’re often just out of reach. This forces compromise, sacrifice, and creative problem-solving, adding another layer of often painful decisions to the puzzle.

Drafting cards in Dewan is really very key. I’m not even exaggerating that one bad decision, especially when playing with experienced players, can make the difference between winning and losing. It’s very unforgiving, which I actually liked quite a bit.

And that’s really the magic of Dewan. With only two types of actions per turn available, the game manages to feel surprisingly weighty, filled with difficult choices. Every choice ripples outward, interacting with the board state, your objectives, and your opponents’ plans. It’s tight, demanding, and deeply engaging.

That said, this style of design comes with its trade-offs. There’s no real catch-up mechanism. Strong, optimized play is rewarded, and mistakes can be costly. In fact, the game is so tight that even a single bad call can and often will cost you the game. It is a puzzle game that demands perfection. In many games, you may find yourself identifying the likely winner well before the final turn. Fortunately, Dewan keeps things brisk, typically wrapping up in 30–45 minutes, so even a losing position never overstays its welcome. You won’t have to wallow in your defeat for long.

At its core, the gameplay loop is beautifully simple: control space, match terrain to objectives, and position your camps to maximize scoring opportunities. But the path to doing so is filled with clever constraints and constantly shifting decisions that keep every turn engaging.

Dewan succeeds because it embraces one of the purest goals of game design: when you lose, you know exactly why, and you immediately want to try again with a better plan.

That’s not just good design. That’s great design.

Replay-ability and Longevity

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Dynamic starting setup and unique scenarios make this game very replayable.  Works with all player counts equally well.

Cons:  Playing with new players can be a little unfair; it’s not that much fun until it clicks for everyone.

The first couple of plays of Dewan, I have to be honest, felt a little… samey. Not bad, not boring, just oddly flat. The competitive edge hadn’t quite surfaced yet, and I struggled to see where the long-term excitement or replayability was supposed to come from. It all felt a bit too neat, a bit too contained, like a clever puzzle that might not have much more to say after a few rounds.

And then, somewhere around the third or fourth play, it clicked for me and I’m glad I stuck around to see it.

That’s when it hit me: everything I thought I had learned was not nearly as useful as I expected. The game’s dynamic, randomized setup completely reshuffles the puzzle every single time. What worked before doesn’t necessarily work again. There’s no “perfect opening,” no reliable flowchart to follow, no cozy strategy to fall back on. Dewan quietly pulls the rug out from under you and says, “Figure it out… again.”

And that’s where it comes alive.

Each session feels like a brand-new puzzle with familiar rules but a wildly different personality. The structure stays consistent, but the execution constantly shifts. The game is constantly demanding adaptation. It’s like solving a new riddle using the same language, recognizable, yet endlessly surprising.

Now, sitting here after about a dozen plays, I feel pretty confident saying this: the replayability here is, for all practical purposes, limitless. You might eventually step away from it, but it won’t be because you’ve “solved” it or fallen into repetitive patterns. This game doesn’t let you do that.

You’re not going to score a lot of points in this game, and most end-of-game scoring is going to be very tight. Every point matters in this game; you have to squeeze it for everything you can get out of it, there is no room for sub-optimal play.

If you have a soft spot for light, puzzly Euro games, the kind that reward clever thinking, efficient play, and a willingness to adapt on the fly, then Dewan is going to feel right at home on your table. It’s a sharp, thoughtful design with a wonderfully dynamic core, and that ever-changing setup does a ton of heavy lifting when it comes to keeping things fresh.

A great design, a tight balance, and endlessly shifting starting conditions, together, give Dewan a replayability that feels not just strong, but effortlessly alive.

Conclusion

I always find games like Dewan uniquely difficult to review, and not because they’re flawed, but because they’re so clearly, so quietly excellent. After decades of playing board games with near-obsessive enthusiasm, and more than ten years of dissecting and reviewing them, you develop an instinct for design, an ability to recognize when something is finely tuned, meticulously balanced, and thoughtfully constructed.

And make no mistake: Dewan is exactly that. It is subtly, almost deceptively, brilliant.

But the beauty of a conclusion is that the analysis is done. The score is set. The critical lens can finally be set aside, and I can just speak as a player.

And as a player, I can say Dewan is a game I deeply respect more than I personally love. It’s excellent, I’m just not its target audience.

It’s an elegantly engineered experience that will absolutely resonate with the right audience. For me, though, it sits just outside my usual preferences. That said, I have no doubt it will continue to hit the table. Its quality all but guarantees it, people will discover it, appreciate it, and want to play it again and again. And importantly, I never found it frustrating or grating in the way more abstract, puzzle-heavy games sometimes can be. It’s thoughtful without being exhausting, challenging without being punishing.

In the end, Dewan is a game I would confidently recommend to players who appreciate clever, finely crafted systems and enjoy abstract, brain-burning puzzles wrapped in a clean, distinctive design.

It may not be my perfect game, but it is, without question, a remarkably well-designed one that will make it someone’s top 10 list.