I don’t usually go around waving a banner that says I have self-published material for Dungeons and Dragons fifth edition on the DM Guild. It has always felt a little strange, even though it makes perfect sense. This is a gaming blog; I live and breathe this hobby, and every so often, I even create something new for it. So if I’ve been busy writing books, I should probably share them here.
So forgive me for a moment of self-indulgence. Imagine me as a slightly overexcited dungeon master showing off the treasure hoard I have put together. I’m rather proud of what I have crafted, and today I’m going to walk you through some of my creations I released on the DM Guild over the last year.
The Book of Backgrounds – Family Legacies
I published two books under this book series so far (Volume I & Volume II).
The book is compatible with 2014 and 2025 rules, though it was geared towards the latest version of 5th edition.
When the 2024 edition of Dungeons and Dragons arrived and backgrounds were reworked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had been lost. The change wasn’t just a missed opportunity; it left backgrounds feeling hollow.
To me, and I think to many players and DM’s, a background should be more than a list of proficiencies or a couple of languages. It should be a springboard for role-playing, a hook for the dungeon master, and a way to breathe life into a character. Back in the 2014 edition, backgrounds had Personality Traits, Ideals, Bonds and Flaws. That little system added flavor and direction. It helped define how a character acted, what they believed in, and how they might respond under pressure. I loved it as both a player and a dungeon master.
But when the 2024 edition stripped that out without offering a real replacement, the result felt bland. Suddenly, backgrounds became purely mechanical. Useful, sure, but lacking heart. A soldier or acolyte was just a line of text with no soul behind it.
That is where Family Legacies came in. I wanted to put the narrative weight back into backgrounds and give them some teeth. Each legacy is built around a family history, a story that shapes the character you are playing. Maybe your ancestor was a notorious tyrant, a fabled duelist, or a beloved gladiator who spilled blood and won hearts in the arena. That history lingers, and you inherit the echoes of their legend.
The second volume practically wrote itself. I essentially released volumes I and II almost at the same time. Volume III has been tougher.
Each book features ten of these legacies. Writing them was a joy, but I felt they still needed something extra. That is why I designed special feats and tools for each legacy. These were not just mechanical add-ons, they were expressions of the story itself, giving each background a unique twist that tied directly to its lore.
The series has done well for something dreamed up by an amateur designer scribbling away in his free time. More importantly, it has been a blast to create. I fully plan to round out the set with a third and final volume later this year.
The Lost Citadel
It was my hope that creating adventures would also be a sort of series thing where I would write several over time, but writing adventures is a lot of work, and I don’t always have the free time to indulge.
Back in the eighties, just about every dungeon master secretly dreamed of publishing their own adventure. In a way, we all did it already whenever we scribbled maps on graph paper or cooked up villains with far too many hit points. But very few of us ever saw those creations appear in print.
Fast forward a few decades, and thanks to the magic of Dungeon Masters Guild and RPG DriveThru, that dream is no longer locked away in a dusty spellbook. Anyone can share their creations with the world, and if you craft something that really clicks, it can even be rewarding in more ways than one.
For me, that dream took shape in The Lost Citadel. I poured myself into this adventure, writing, rewriting, testing, tinkering, and dreaming. When it was finally finished, I felt like a kid again, except this time I actually had the published book in my hands.
The adventure itself is straightforward by design. I did not want to create something overly complex, but I also refused to churn out a bland dungeon crawl. In The Lost Citadel, players must contend with the mad wizard Vorlath Zevharak, who once sought to become a lich. His ritual failed, and instead of eternal mastery, he cursed himself into becoming a wraith.
I know the use of A.I. art is controversial, but creating adventures and content for D&D is neither a business nor a serious ambition. It’s a hobby I do for fun.
The citadel is crumbling, the players are trapped by one of Vorlath’s sinister snares, and the halls swarm with the undead. At one point, a horde of zombies crashes in with a frenzy that feels straight out of World War Z. And of course, it all builds toward the final confrontation with Vorlath himself, alongside his monstrous undead ogre companion.
I kept the setting intentionally loose so dungeon masters could drop it right into their own worlds without much fuss. That flexibility, I think, is part of why it resonated so well. The feedback was glowing, and to this day I have not had to patch a single plot hole. It just works.
I am ridiculously proud of this one. For me, The Lost Citadel is proof that a childhood dream can survive into adulthood and still feel just as epic when it finally comes true.
Boss Fights
It’s a small book, but I love the way it turned out. I have myself used it in a number of adventures; my players fear my creations!
If you have ever run a campaign, you know that creating monsters is practically part of the job description. No matter how many monster manuals Wizards of the Coast puts out, sooner or later, you find yourself needing a creature that just does not exist.
One of the long-standing challenges in 5th edition is the solo monster. The official stat blocks often struggle when one big creature has to face off against a whole party. The action economy tilts the scales so badly that your supposed epic boss ends up feeling more like a speed bump.
This is not a new problem either. Dungeons and Dragons has wrestled with it across editions, and it never quite goes away. That frustration is what sparked Boss Fights: Volume I. I wanted to give dungeon masters tools to run battles that truly felt like climactic showdowns, where the party has to dig deep and work together to win.
Now, this is a smaller book, but it packs a punch. Inside are three solo monsters designed to be dropped into your campaign at different levels of play. The Dread Dog Hydra is a three-headed beast inspired in part by a certain famous guard dog from Harry Potter. Anthera, the Queen of the Deep Colony, is a demonic insect monarch who rules with mandibles of terror. And The Umbra Claw is a shadowy hunter drawn from my love of the Predator movies.
These little evil critters have become a common nuisance in all my campaigns, to such a degree that one of my players actually used them as inspiration for a tattoo.
Each monster is presented in a style that will feel familiar to fans of the old 2nd edition monster manuals. You get descriptions of ecology, lairs, and tactics, not just a wall of numbers. Mechanically, I introduced systems like multi-initiative to keep bosses dangerous and unpredictable, as well as a minion mechanic inspired by fourth edition. Both mechanics are designed to balance out the action economy.
It may be a slim volume, but it is one I hope to expand on. My long-term plan is to build enough of these creatures to eventually release a dedicated boss monster manual. For now, Volume I stands as proof that boss fights can be just as thrilling on the tabletop as they are in your favorite video games.
The A.I. Art Controversy
There is one topic that always seems to stir up debate in the amateur publishing world, and that is the use of A.I. art.
I use A.I. art myself, and I understand why some people find it questionable. For most professional publishing, relying on A.I. is a tricky path. But I think there is an exception when it comes to hobbyist creators like me.
For me, these books are purely for fun. I have no ambitions to become a professional publisher, no dreams of “making it big.” I create because I love the process. I honestly would not mind giving these books away for free.
Like many fans, I also enjoy supporting other amateur creators. So I charge a little for my books, just enough to build a small cushion, and then I happily spend that money on other people’s content. This is basically how the Dungeon Masters Guild community works.
A.I. Art may be controversial but I don’t think technology is something to fear or get upset about. I mean, the results are cool, but it’s very obvious that it’s not original work. I don’t think A.I. art is ever going to replace the creative process.
A.I. art is just a tool to give my books a bit of visual flair. I have no interest in investing serious money into illustrations or trying to monetize these creations. It is all about enjoying the creative process, and I think that is fine.
If I ever treated publishing as a real business, I would definitely hire professional artists to illustrate my books. And I firmly believe that anyone approaching this as a serious commercial venture should avoid relying on A.I. art.
The biggest headline in the world of nerdy tabletop gaming just dropped like a fireball: Critical Role, the internet’s most famous troupe of voice actors turned dice-slinging legends, has made their choice, and it’s a big one!
For the upcoming Season 4, Critical Role won’t be rolling with their own shiny new system, Daggerheart, a game that exploded in popularity the moment it hit the scene. Instead, they’re doubling down on the freshly released 2024 edition of Dungeons & Dragons (what many of us are calling “5.5e”).
While Critical Role is famous for its D&D campaigns on YouTube, they have done a hell of a lot more than that as a business. The Legend of Vox Machina, for example, is reminiscent of the classic D&D cartoon from the 80’s (albeit obviously a hell of a lot better) is just one among a slew of entertainment offerings that have spawned from their success.
So what does this seismic decision mean for the RPG community? Should we be surprised, or was this move written in the stars like a prophecy from a high-level divination spell? That’s what we’re unpacking today, from the perspective of someone who’s both a die-hard Daggerheart player and a lifelong D&D fan.
The Short And Sweet Of It
First, a little disclosure: while I have a ton of love for Critical Role and all the incredible things they’ve done for the tabletop RPG community, I’m not what you’d call a dedicated viewer. Honestly, watching other people play D&D just isn’t my jam. I understand the appeal, and I respect it, but personally? I’d rather be rolling the dice myself.
That being said, there’s no denying that what Critical Role chooses to put on their table carries massive weight for the entire hobby. When Matt Mercer and crew pick a system for their main campaign, it doesn’t just shape their story, it shapes our tables, too. Critical Role is one of the biggest gateways into role-playing games. Quite simply, the game they play often becomes the game everyone else wants to play.
For their first three epic campaigns, that game was Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, and while D&D was already sitting on the throne as the most popular RPG in the world, Critical Role cemented it there with adamantine chains. Their endorsement wasn’t just influential; it was defining.
So when Daggerheart, Critical Role’s very own homegrown RPG, burst onto the scene with massive fanfare, there was an inevitable question hanging in the air: would they abandon the dragon-shaped juggernaut of D&D and ride their shiny new creation into the next campaign?
Personally, I wasn’t all that shocked when the answer turned out to be no. D&D was always the obvious choice, and for one clear reason: it’s the most universal, recognizable system in the hobby. Add to that a perfect storm, the unprecedented success of Baldur’s Gate 3 (arguably the best PC game ever made), Stranger Things barreling toward its final season (and bringing D&D references back into the spotlight), and Wizards of the Coast launching the new 2024 ruleset (the cleanest, most polished version of the game to date). All roads pointed back to D&D. Why fight gravity?
Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition is successful in ways that one could never have imagined back in the 80’s when we were playing in cellars and lying about it at school. It’s gone mainstream, we can where T-shirts with the D&D logo and get nods of approval walking down the street. It’s awesome!
That said, I can’t overstate how much I adore Daggerheart. I’ve been playing in a campaign with my local crew since its release, and it’s quickly become one of my favorite RPG experiences of all time. Its narrative-first design, elegant mechanics, and streamlined resolutions make storytelling feel effortless. Every session feels like a spark of creativity, and the game has inspired me to role-play and write in ways I haven’t in years. Simply put: I’m in love with it.
But D&D holds a different kind of magic. It’s the comfort food of RPGs, the game that’s just fun at the table. I always keep a couple of 5e campaigns running on the side, usually dungeon-crawling, monster-slaying, treasure-hunting romps. They’re especially perfect for younger players or folks newer to the hobby, where the focus is more on rolling dice and less on heavy narrative.
For me, D&D and Daggerheart aren’t competitors; they’re tools in the same creative toolbox. Sometimes you need the universal accessibility and classic adventuring vibe of D&D. Other times, you want the narrative spark and fresh mechanics of Daggerheart. The beauty is in knowing which tool fits the story you want to tell.
What Does The Future Look Like?
There’s always a debate simmering around Wizards of the Coast and their crown jewel, Dungeons & Dragons. And honestly, I sometimes ask myself, why?
At the end of the day, D&D is a beloved game. With anything that popular, there will always be an “anti-crowd” ready to pick it apart. That’s just the price of being the industry leader.
Now, to be fair, I’ve had my own frustrations with D&D, but never with the game itself. My gripes have always been with the company behind it. Case in point: during the infamous OGL scandal (if you don’t know about it, give it a quick Google), I actually banned 5th edition content from my blog as a show of solidarity with fellow creators and players. That was a messy chapter, but it blew over quickly, and in the end, the actions of Wizards of the Coast don’t define what the game itself is.
Because the truth is, D&D is still everything it’s always been: a monster-slaying, dungeon-crawling, dice-chucking blast. Sure, I could argue all day about which edition I personally prefer (and I do on this blog all the time), but for modern enthusiasts, especially those who don’t carry the decades of history that older grognards like me do, the smart move is simply to play the latest edition. That means 5th edition, and with the 2024 update, it’s clear this version is here to stay.
It’s unlikely to ever reach the popularity of D&D, but there is no question in my mind as a 40-year veteran in the hobby that Daggerheart is one of the best RPG’s to be released since Dungeons and Dragons, second only to perhaps Vampire The Masquerade.
So what does the future hold for tabletop RPGs? Honestly… more of the same. D&D will continue to reign as the most popular, most widely used system on the planet. Wizards will keep releasing books, people will keep buying them (myself included), and creators like me will keep making content for them. The cycle isn’t changing anytime soon.
And Critical Role knows this. No matter how much success Daggerheart has (and yes, I absolutely love the system), it’s not a universal game. It’s niche. It caters beautifully to a specific type of table and a specific style of play, but it’s not the catch-all, mass-market juggernaut that D&D is. If Critical Role had shifted to Daggerheart for Season 4, they’d risk cutting their audience in half. There was no upside to that gamble.
So in the end, their decision simply cements what many of us already knew: in tabletop RPGs, it’s business as usual. And honestly? I’m more than okay with that.
Shatterpoint, in my experience, is one of those games I orbit like a curious satellite, drawn in by proximity to someone who collects it, intrigued enough to play from time to time, but still waiting for that Force-tinged spark to pull me fully into the gravity well. I’ve danced around the edge of commitment more times than I can count. I’ve even had Shatterpoint boxes in my cart at Alphaspel.se, but each time, I’ve backed out at the final checkout like Admiral Akbar sensing a trap.
Don’t get me wrong: the miniatures are phenomenal, arguably the finest Star Wars sculpts on the market. The scale is just right, and it hits that sweet spot of the galaxy far, far away: up-close and personal lightsaber clashes, blaster duels, and cinematic showdowns between iconic characters. It’s Star Wars at its most visceral. And Shatterpoint nails that vibe.
And yet… I hesitate.
This isn’t the only game that puts me in this strange force dyad of admiration and ambivalence. Take Marvel: Crisis Protocol, I love the Marvel universe, truly, and Crisis Protocol delivers some of the most stunning superhero miniatures I’ve ever seen, wrapped in a concept that practically screams “perfect game night.” Super squads brawling across a cityscape? That’s pure comic book gold. And still, I find myself asking the same uncomfortable question.
I love all things Marvel, I feel literal pain that I don’t own these miniatures, but for me, a miniature game has to be more than just nice miniatures. Collection and gameplay have to be inseparable partners that live side by side as equals.
Are these actually good games?
In today’s In Theory article, we’re zeroing in on Star Wars: Shatterpoint. I want to break down why I think it might be a great game… and also why I suspect it might not be. Let’s get into it!
Star Wars: Shatterpoint as a premise
When Star Wars: Shatterpoint was first announced, it landed at a time when the Star Wars tabletop scene was, let’s be honest, already more crowded than the Mos Eisley cantina on a Saturday night. I’d spent years navigating asteroid fields with X-Wing, commanding fleets in Armada, and my Legion core box was still sitting half-painted like a forgotten protocol droid in a junkyard. And don’t even get me started on Star Wars: Destiny, that game was my cardboard crack, I was blowing money on it like I won the lottery. It was just… a lot. Too much Star Wars plastic, too many dice, too many rules bouncing around my head.
So when Shatterpoint came along, I made a decision, a prequel-style “this is how democracy dies” kind of decision, to skip it. Not because I thought it looked bad, but because I had officially hit Star Wars saturation. My shelves were already groaning under the weight of the galaxy far, far away. Even my wife, god love her, whose tolerance for my bullshit is significantly higher than I imagine most wives, gave me the stank eye as I was scrolling Star Wars Shatterpoint mini’s on my iPad.
Star Wars Shatterpoint is absolutely gorgeous; there is absolutely nothing in the market today that can compete, in my opinion. From a visual aesthetic perspective, it’s worth collecting these miniatures just for collecting’s sake.
My decision did not discourage my local gaming crew; several of my friends dove in headfirst, and that gave me plenty of chances to test the game out. And not at all that surprising, my first impression of the game was that it was quite brilliant.
Not perfect, but brilliant.
The core concept of Shatterpoint is rock solid. It leans into what makes Star Wars great: iconic characters in dynamic, cinematic combat. Each unit is asymmetrically powered, meaning Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like Maul, and Maul sure as hell doesn’t feel like Ahsoka. The gameplay itself is objective-driven, fast-paced, and surprisingly smooth, no mid-battle rulebook diving, just action.
Even early on, it felt like there was a ton of room for variety and growth baked into the system, a wide-open hyperspace lane for future expansions, modes, and narrative twists. As a premise, Shatterpoint struck me as one of the most clever designs to come out of the Star Wars gaming space in years.
Even as the game’s initial impression had me grinning from ear to ear, reconsidering my decision to pass on it, I could not shake the feeling that something was both familiar and ever so slightly off.
A Lack of Drama
To understand my hesitation, you have to know a bit about my gaming history, and one of my more cockamamie theories about why I love miniature games in the first place. This is important because if you’re interested in Shatterpoint (or any miniature game), you should know what kind of gamer you are. It’s not always just about reviews and opinions; style and preference should always be considered first and foremost when considering a game for your collection.
So, Marvel: Crisis Protocol came out a few years before Shatterpoint, and the two games share more than a few mechanical similarities. In fact, you could argue they’re essentially the same game wearing different thematic costumes. I wouldn’t entirely sign off on that claim; they do have key differences that give each its own identity, but they clearly spring from the same design philosophy: objective-based gameplay first, theme and setting a distant second.
Star Wars X-Wing didn’t really have objectives, and when they were added later, they didn’t really matter that much, but that was ok because X-Wing just tapped into the Star Wars universe feel with perfection. Feel is a real thing, and when you play enough games, you just know it when it’s there, it sometimes really is just that simple with games.
And that, right there, is where my main issue lies.
To explain that issue properly, I need to be clear about what I value most in a miniatures game. For me, theme, setting, and feel come first, not balance, not clean mechanics, not elegant game loops. I see miniature games as an extension of roleplaying; they should feel like small, tactical stories unfolding on the tabletop. If a game can reflect and bring to life its setting through its mechanics, not just its art and models, that’s when I really connect with it.
I’m not sure that makes perfect sense, but basically: I’d rather a game be thematically authentic than mechanically perfect. I want it to feel like the world it’s portraying, even if that means it’s a little clunky or chaotic. The game should simulate the soul of its universe.
That’s probably why I love games like The Middle-Earth Strategy Battle Game, Warhammer 40,000, Blood Bowl, BattleTech, and Star Wars: X-Wing. These games may not be celebrated for their balance or cutting-edge design, but they ooze theme. They play like the worlds they represent. On the other hand, critically acclaimed games like Infinity, Malifaux, or Moonstone, as clever and well-designed as they are, just don’t light that same fire in me. Some I’ve tried. Others I haven’t, because I already know they don’t scratch the same itch.
Take BattleTech, for example. I know it’s not a brilliant design. It’s slow, it’s random, and sometimes it falls apart under its own weight. But it gives me exactly what I want: a messy, explosive mech brawl where missiles fly, limbs get blown off, and heat sinks explode. It’s unpredictable and thematic, and determining a winner is not nearly as important as creating a great memory of that time when X or Y happened. It lives and breathes its world unapologetically, catering to fans of the genre and the story behind the game.
Battletech is an odd mixture so far as games go because the details on a battlemech’s character sheet go further than most RPGs, the rules are thick with unique weaponry and tactics, and the game itself can be excessively long. Yet from a core mechanic perspective, it’s basically a Yatzee dice chucker. You have very limited control over the outcomes of a game, a single missile can ignite an ammo store on your mech and blow you up and it’s game over.
Now enter Shatterpoint, and here’s where my core issue kicks in.
Shatterpoint plays more like a game of chess. Yes, the characters have distinct powers and abilities connected to the Star Wars Universe, but at the end of the day, their job is the same: stand on an objective, push enemies off, and score struggle points to win. It’s a positioning puzzle, a tactical game of movement. Victory isn’t about winning an awesome duel between Vader and Skywalker or taking out the enemy Bounty Hunter or some story arc in the Star Wars universe; it’s about board control, and it’s exclusively and only about that.
The one thing Shatterpoint does well that brings it closer to its theme and makes up for some of the other failures to bring Star Wars to life is the characters. Every character’s powers are distinctly unique and very in tune with their on-screen personas. I think Shatterpoint nailed it in this department.
And that creates a disconnect. It’s supposed to be a game about epic, cinematic duels between legendary characters (that’s on the tin!), but that sense of drama just isn’t there and is often even discouraged. Instead, you get a sterile, tactical experience where the theme takes a back seat.
You may be tempted, for example, to have Obi-Wan descend upon Darth Maul to let them have an epic duel out in the open field because it’s awesome, but everything about that from a gameplay perspective is a mistake. You fight only when it serves the objective, you certainly don’t leave an objective for someone else to grab and it’s far better to send someone less powerful to face Darth Maul to keep him busy, rather than simply fight him for awesome fighting’s sake. That sort of decision-making is not only common but almost mandatory for success. The game doesn’t encourage or reward doing the cool stuff or taking risks; it encourages smart tactical play that serves the purpose of scoring objective points so you can win the struggle.
That might be fine if the struggle had some meaning or story behind it, but unfortunately, that is not the case.
The struggle is a sort of nameless, faceless, inanimate “thing” left undefined beyond the mechanical purpose it serves in the game to determine a winner. You’re not trying to disable the Death Star’s power or blow up the shield generator; you’re trying to score X points before the opponent does. That’s the whole game, every mission is the same, all that changes is some minor thing like which objectives you can score on this round or some quirky special power you might get when drawing a shatter card.
The Struggle Tracker, don’t get me wrong, is a very clever mechanic that builds tension and makes your goals in the game very clear, but it just doesn’t really represent or depict anything. It’s just this abstract thing that’s there to remind you if you’re winning or losing.
Don’t get me wrong, the mechanics are sharp. The game is well-designed. It’s an interesting, engaging system. But the Star Wars theme doesn’t matter to the gameplay itself, nor do the circumstances of the battle have any meaning, being indistinct “brawls” for positional control. Even the objective carries no thematic weight; being nothing more than a “spot” on the field, you need to be within 2 inches to control. It’s all very pragmatic, absent of any meaning, story, or connection to the Star Wars universe. A terrible missed opportunity!
I bring up Marvel: Crisis Protocol in the same conversation because it suffers from the exact same issue. For all the cool miniatures and superhero flair, the gameplay doesn’t reflect the universe it’s based on in any meaningful way. It’s not a battle between Dr. Strange and a multiverse demon to control the book of Vishanti; it’s a contest of who can hold objective A or B long enough to score enough points before the round ends. It’s just absent of the flavor that makes the Marvel Universe, its history, and setting special and fun.
Marvel Crisis Protocol, in a way, is a worse offender in the absence of theme, setting, and story connection as a game. There is literally an unlimited amount of story material on which to build events, missions, and stories for the game. For them to settle on abstract objectives, completely disconnecting the game from this potential, is, I would argue, inexcusable.
Both games, I don’t want to say, feel soulless, but lack a certain commitment to simulating and supporting the theme and the cinematic spectacle you hope to discover when you play them. That’s a harsh critique, I know, but it’s the one thing that keeps me from diving into either of them; no matter how good the sculpts look or how tight the mechanics are, these games more or less boils down to a game of positioning. There is no story, induction of Star Wars or Marvel events, or a meaningful way in which the setting’s epicness comes to the surface.
Is it a fun game? Is it a good game?
Those are relative questions, and when it comes to Star Wars: Shatterpoint, the answer depends entirely on what you think makes a miniature game fun or good in the first place. There’s no objective measure here. It’s all a matter of personal taste, and that’s the exact crossroads where I find myself.
From my perspective, Shatterpoint is a well-designed game. It’s streamlined, it runs cleanly, and there’s very little rules ambiguity. The tactical puzzle is real and rewarding, especially if that’s the kind of game you enjoy. And if you’re the type who thrives on smart plays, tight decisions, and clever planning, then yes, it’s fun. In that regard, it delivers.
And I do enjoy it, at least to a degree. There’s something undeniably satisfying about seeing iconic Star Wars characters brought to life on the tabletop. I’m not completely opposed to brainy, tactical games either. Shatterpoint challenges you to think ahead, adapt, and outmaneuver. It’s a solid mental workout.
But for me, the experience falls short in one crucial area: the connection between game and setting.
Yes, the game has objectives, but they are abstract, disconnected from the world they’re supposed to represent. I love a good mission-driven game, but only if those missions feel rooted in the narrative. If Shatterpoint had objectives that tied into iconic Star Wars moments or scenarios, or even just leaned harder into the drama of its duels, I think it would go from an “interesting game” to a great experience.
Instead, it stops just short. It teases greatness, but doesn’t quite land it. It’s missing something vital, and tragically, that something happens to be the only thing that truly matters to me. The one and pretty much only thing I care about when I play a miniature game.
A good story.
And so ends the anxiety over whether or not I will buy into Shatterpoint.
Over the past year, I’ve scribbled my fair share of articles about the world of miniature gaming, dissecting battlelines, praising plastic warriors, and waxing poetic about the clash of dice and destiny. Most of these musings were met with nods of agreement and the occasional slow clap. But one article in particular, Miniature Game Theory: Picking The Right Game For You, drew a bit of well-deserved ire and blood.
You see, amidst my ramblings on tactical titans and strategic skirmishes, I made one glaring, unforgivable, pitch-cleat-to-the-face omission.
I forgot Blood Bowl.
Now, before the angry mobs of orc coaches and elf cheerleaders throw me into the dugout pit, let me offer a half-decent defense.
To me, miniature gaming has always meant clashing armies, measured movement, and the kind of tactical geometry that gives you flashbacks to high school math class. Blood Bowl, on the other hand, always felt like something… different. It straddles the line between board game and miniatures skirmish, with equal parts playbook planning and pure, glorious chaos. And let’s not forget, it’s a sports game. A violent, foul-heavy, ref-bribing sports game, but a sports game nonetheless.
Still, none of that excuses the omission. The critics were right. Blood Bowl deserves a seat at the table, preferably next to the Apothecary and the guy with the chainsaw. And that’s what we’re going to fix today.
So strap on your spiked shoulder pads, roll for kickoff, and prepare to finally give the neckbeards favorite pastime the column inches it deserves.
What Is Blood Bowl
Blood Bowl, for the uninitiated (or recently resurrected), is best described as a tactical miniatures game that takes the bones of American Football and Rugby, grinds them up, and feeds them to a Chaos Ogre. Then it tosses in a generous helping of gladiatorial carnage and calls it a sport. It’s a game where bribery is encouraged, fouls are strategic, and fatalities are not only possible, they’re frequent. And frankly, it’s glorious.
Blood Bowl is not your typical miniature game, in fact, there is nothing out there quite like it so when I describe it to people I don’t have that “its like X game” option.
But beneath the splattered turf and broken helmets lies something more: a legacy game in disguise. That’s right, while Blood Bowl thrives on short-term brutality, it’s also built for long-term storytelling. Using a term borrowed from the board game world, Blood Bowl has legacy elements baked in from the very start. The core design encourages players to form leagues where teams grow, change, and suffer (often hilariously) over time. A broken arm in Game 1 becomes a permanent stat penalty in Game 2. That rookie Goblin who miraculously scored a touchdown? He might become a local legend, until a Minotaur eats him.
Each coach manages a team roster, complete with gold to spend and experience to earn. You can hire new players, upgrade existing ones, or blow your hard-earned winnings on apothecaries, cheerleaders, assistant coaches, rerolls, and, let’s be honest, illegal enhancements. Managing a Blood Bowl team is as much about off-the-field decisions as it is about on-the-pitch mayhem.
And it’s this long-form play, the drama, the rivalries, the heartbreak of losing your star player to a troll’s critical hit, that gives Blood Bowl its soul. It’s also what fuels the thriving community around the game. Thanks to excellent digital versions of Blood Bowl (complete with online leagues and tournaments), the connection between tabletop and digital play is stronger than a Black Orc on protein powder. Online play allows coaches to test builds, strategies, and teams before diving into physical leagues, and sometimes, it even helps keep local scenes alive between game nights.
These days Blood Bowl is more commonly known as a PC game rather than a table-top game, but even the PC game is essentially a perfect replication of the table-top game.
Blood Bowl originally hit the pitch back in the mid-1980s, and while there was a brief two-decade hiatus in official support, the game is now back in full swing. Games Workshop has returned to the sport with renewed vigor, offering modern rules, fresh miniatures, and a starter box that’s actually worth its weight in warpstone.
One of the most charming aspects of Blood Bowl is its timeless design. Believe it or not, if you bought a team back in 1988, be it Elves, Dwarves, or Undead, you can still field them today. Try saying that about your 6th Edition Bretonnians. The rules are also mostly unchanged, amounting to minor improvements at best.
Like many of Games Workshop titles, its origin story takes us back to the 80’s when miniatures were more comedic and less detailed. Unlike most of of GW’s other titles, collecting classic Blood Bowl miniatures is considered prestigious. These guys hold a higher value than modern released versions, they are collectables.
Games Workshop offers a fantastic line of new miniatures (and they look great), and the barrier to entry remains blessedly low. In most cases, all you need is a team box and a willingness to watch your star player trip over his own feet in front of the endzone. It’s affordable, accessible, and hilarious, even when it hurts, which is a lot more than you can say about most miniature games.
Does Classic Mean Old?
When it comes to the preservation of classic tabletop games, think Dungeons & Dragons, Battletech, and other old-school titans, you’ll often find that the rules carry the unmistakable scent of their era: crunchy, clunky, and sometimes downright arcane. And hey, there’s charm in that… for some.
Take Battletech, for instance. A glorious monument to heat sinks and hex maps, sure, but its ruleset has remained largely untouched since the ’80s, and it shows. For modern gamers raised on sleek mechanics and intuitive design, jumping into Battletech can feel a bit like learning a programming language written on punch cards. There’s depth, yes, but also baggage. I would best describe it as fun, but slow and inefficient. It’s not the sort of game that someone would design and release today.
I love my Battletech! But despite the modern miniatures updates that give the game the appearance of a new game, these old rules have not held up particularly well.
Now here’s where Blood Bowl laces up its cleats and punts expectations right off the pitch.
Despite its age, Blood Bowl was surprisingly streamlined even in its earliest incarnations. The rules were (and still are) built for speed and clarity. Sure, a few tweaks and refinements have improved component handling and smoothed out some edges, but the core mechanics have endured with little change, and they still hold up. In fact, if Blood Bowl: Season 2 (the latest edition) dropped today with no prior legacy attached, most gamers would likely assume it was a brand-new design. That’s how ahead of its time it was.
Where many games of its era are now museum pieces dusted off by nostalgics in denim jackets, Blood Bowl feels fully at home on the modern tabletop. It’s not a crusty relic propped up by rose-tinted memories. It’s a lean, mean, dice-fueled machine that still delivers tight gameplay and absurd fun.
That said… who’s it actually for?
Well, not everyone, I think.
I wouldn’t say Blood Bowl is for the “typical miniature gamer”, especially not the ones who take their grimdark lore and optimized builds very seriously. This isn’t a game about carefully measured movement and flawless tactical control. Blood Bowl is a chaotic, violence-riddled sports comedy with rules, where Nuffle (the in-game god of dice) laughs at your plans and your best-laid strategies are one skull roll away from disaster.
It’s a game that knows it’s silly, and leans hard into it, but it’s also definitely a sports game and loving competative sports, especially any variation on football, is kind of a must.
Yes, long-time coaches will rightly tell you that there’s deep strategy involved. And they’re not wrong. But that strategy is built on risk management, not total control. Blood Bowl is as much about gambling as it is about game theory. You’re constantly calculating odds: “Should I go for it on a 2+ with a reroll?” “Is that 33% dodge worth it to get the ball loose?” Every turn is a little bet, a tiny act of defiance against the statistical gods.
Blood Bowl Leagues are serious business for fans, there are leagues that have been ongoing for years to such a degree that some of them had to introduce character ages to force star players to retire. There is a lot of love that goes into these things.
The critical mechanic of this game, The Turnover, is why these calculations are so critical. You have to know your odds because a single failed roll during your turn can results in your turn ending and being turned over to your opponent. This unpredictable element is key to the game and what makes it such a chaotic and unpredictable monster players struggle to wrangle in. It’s in part, a push your luck game.
This is part of what makes the game so addictive. It creates a shared language among coaches, a constant mental flowchart of odds, modifiers, and dice probabilities. It’s part sports simulator, part board game, part bad day at the office for your troll. This is also what makes it such a niche product that isn’t comparable to anything else out there. You can’t say that Blood Bowl is like X or Y game, there is no equivalent, the only way to know if Blood Bowl will work for you is to play it a few times and see.
Blood Bowls blend of humor, stats, and drama is why the community around Blood Bowl is so strong, and so enduring. Despite being a niche within a niche, it boasts one of the most active organized play scenes in all of miniature gaming. Leagues flourish, tournaments abound (both online and offline), and new players are constantly drawn into the mayhem.
To put it plainly: Blood Bowl isn’t some dusty throwback clung to by aging grognards in spiked shoulder pads. It’s a vibrant, living game that continues to thrive because it’s fun, smart, and brutally entertaining.
Getting Into The Game
Like most miniature games, the best way to get into Blood Bowl is the old-fashioned way: find a friend who already plays. Nothing beats seeing two fully painted teams clash on the pitch, dice flying and players dying, while someone explains the rules mid-chaos. A quick exhibition match on a proper tabletop is still the most natural, and frankly, the most Blood Bowlian, way to get started.
Now, technically, there’s another option: the digital version.
And while I admit it’s tempting, especially when it’s sitting right there on Steam, promising instant games and zero glue fumes, I do not recommend starting your Blood Bowl journey digitally.
Here’s why.
There’s nothing more damaging to the tabletop experience than discovering the ultimate life-hack shortcut: a fully automated app that plays the game for you. Suddenly, you start asking dangerous questions like, “Why would I buy a $100 box set, spend hours assembling miniatures, then weeks painting them, just to play something I can click through in five minutes?”
The new starter set revitalized Blood Bowl as a table top game, but the digital version (Blood Bowl 3) is still considered the premiere way to run leagues with a larger audience.
And just like that, the magic dies.
For me, trying a game digitally before ever touching it physically almost always kills my interest in buying in. I can’t explain it entirely, but something about the immediacy, the convenience, the cleanliness of digital versions just flattens the anticipation and wonder that comes with setting up a real tabletop game.
That said, and here’s the kicker, Blood Bowl’s digital version is fantastic.
Blood Bowl 3, the latest digital edition, is a faithful, pitch-perfect adaptation of the tabletop experience. Every rule, every team, every hilarious misstep is there. Team management? Yep. League play? Absolutely. Injuries, star player points, stat tracking? All of it. It’s not a watered-down spin-off, it’s the same game, just rendered in shiny 3D with animations that let you see a goblin get punted halfway across the pitch.
Most miniature games wish they had a digital version this good. Many don’t have one at all, or rely on awkward virtual tabletops that take hours to set up and feel like spreadsheets with dice rollers.
But even with Blood Bowl 3 being that good, I still say: don’t start there.
Why? Because you only get one “first” experience. And Blood Bowl is a game meant to be played in-person, across a board, preferably while yelling at your opponent and shaking your dice like they owe you money. Once you’ve played the real thing, the digital version becomes a brilliant complement, letting you dive into more matches, meet other coaches, and explore league play without sacrificing the charm of the tabletop.
So where should you start?
The Season Two Starter Set. Yeah, it’s a cliché answer, but clichés exist for a reason.
Games Workshop nailed it with this one. The box includes two excellent beginner-friendly teams: the tough-as-nails Orcs and the well-rounded Imperial Nobility. You also get a high-quality cardboard pitch, all the templates and tokens you need, a full set of dice, and most importantly, the hardcover core rulebook, which alone is worth more than half the price of the box.
These aren’t watered-down beginner teams, either. Ask any Blood Bowl veteran what teams are great for new coaches, and these two will come up nearly every time.
What makes Blood Bowl especially refreshing is that unlike most miniatures games, you’re usually one or two purchases away from a full collection. A single team box is, in most cases, all you need. No sprawling codex collections. No dozens of units. No plastic terrain filling your closet like you’re prepping for diorama doomsday. Just a team, a pitch, and some dice.
Yes, there are extras you can buy, alternate star players, fancy dice, deluxe pitches, custom dugouts, but they’re exactly that: extras. Optional bling. The hobby equivalent of end-zone dances. You don’t need them to enjoy the game.
Lets Talk About The Game
Okay, weird header, I know. I’ve spent most of this article already raving about Blood Bowl’s rules, gameplay, and culture. But now I want to get a bit more practical. Let’s talk about the experience: what actually happens when you sit down to play? What should a new coach expect?
Blood Bowl is a game drenched in chaos, yes, but beyond the fumbled balls and crushed skulls, there are some real-world considerations players always ask about:
How long does it take?
How complex is it?
Is it balanced?
How often do the rules change?
Let’s tackle those one by one, starting with the most common question:
How Long Does a Game of Blood Bowl Take?
Simple question. Not-so-simple answer.
On average, a game takes around 2 to 2.5 hours. A fast match between experienced coaches might clock in at 90 minutes, while a slow-paced or rule-heavy game (especially with new players or heavy league play) can stretch up to 4 hours.
Why the wide range? Blame it on one of Blood Bowl’s most iconic mechanics: the Turnover rule.
In Blood Bowl, each player gets 8 turns per half, 16 total. But here’s the twist, your turn ends the moment you fail a key action. That failed dodge, botched handoff, or mistimed block? Boom. Turn over. Your opponent’s turn starts immediately.
This is pretty much everything you need to play. Two teams, the pitch and some dice. The modern starter set comes with various cheat sheets, templates and of course the book which just makes the game easier to manage on the table, but even these things most would consider unnecessary extras, bonus bling!
That means some turns might see a coach moving and acting with every player on their team, setting up clever plays and scoring touchdowns. Other turns might end after the very first roll. So the game’s pace is wildly variable, equal parts strategy, suspense, and slapstick comedy.
You don’t always have to play every turn.
In casual games, especially one-off exhibition matches, it’s common to call the game early if the score’s out of reach and the outcome is inevitable. This isn’t something you’d do in a league (where every touchdown and casualty could affect the standings or your team’s progression), but for friendly matches, early concessions can easily shave an hour off the game.
Blood Bowl isn’t exactly a “quick lunchtime skirmish” kind of game, but for what you get, the time investment is more than worth it. Every game is a full-blown story, packed with dramatic comebacks, heartbreaking dice rolls, and more than a few moments of “Did that really just happen?”
Complexity
From the perspective of your average miniature wargamer, Blood Bowl sits comfortably in the low to mid-range of complexity, depending entirely on how deep you dive.
If you’re just dabbling, grabbing some stock teams and playing casual one-off exhibition matches, then Blood Bowl is a low-complexity game. The core rules are intuitive, clearly written, and easy to pick up. Most players find that after a single match, they no longer need to reference the rulebook for basic play. It’s a streamlined, fast-flowing system that gets out of your way and lets the carnage happen.
But if you step into league play, where Blood Bowl truly shines, then complexity ramps up over time.
As your players gain experience, develop new skills, suffer injuries, and maybe even get maimed or eaten, the rules begin to expand. You’ll deal with special abilities, team development strategies, inducements, sponsorships, star players, and more, all layered on top of the core mechanics. The gameplay stays fast, but your decisions off the pitch start to carry more weight.
To be clear: this isn’t complexity for complexity’s sake. This is earned depth, the kind of slow-burn growth that makes you feel invested in your team. It’s part RPG, part sports sim, part beautiful mess.
Complexity is a judgement call, but by any standards that I’m aware, Blood Bowl is a relatively simple game. Most of the complexity of Blood Bowl is optional.
And even then, if you break it down, most of the advanced rules are tucked neatly into team management and league play. If you’re just playing a one-off match? You’re using maybe 30–40% of the full rulebook, tops. The rest lives in the realm of long-term campaign play, where the true flavor of Blood Bowl emerges.
Is The Game Balanced?
It’s a widely accepted consensus that Blood Bowl is the most balanced game in Games Workshop’s arsenal, but, as with most things, this comes with a few caveats. Some aspects that may initially appear as imbalances tend to fade as player knowledge and experience increase.
The first thing to understand about balance in Blood Bowl is that teams are definitively not “equal” to each other, but that’s by design. The game doesn’t aim for symmetry. Instead, it uses mechanics to compensate for inequality between teams.
When two teams meet for a match, they compare Team Value (TV), a number that reflects the total value of the team, including players, rerolls, staff, and other assets. The team with the lower TV receives inducement gold, which can be spent on temporary, one-match bonuses.
These inducements can include:
Star Players (mercenaries who join just for the match)
Bribes to influence referees
Wizards who cast spells from the stands
Extra coaching staff
Additional rerolls
And other quirky, strategic upgrades
This system is intentionally designed to level the playing field when teams of different strengths clash, especially in long-term leagues where team values diverge.
However, inducements are only as effective as the player using them. Knowing your team’s strengths and understanding your opponent’s weaknesses is critical to making the most of these one-off advantages. This kind of strategic decision-making can’t be “balanced” in the traditional sense, player skill is always a factor, and as expected, more experienced coaches tend to win regardless of built-in mechanics.
Another layer of balance comes from team design itself. While you might hear arguments that Team A is “better” than Team B, the reality is more nuanced. Every team in Blood Bowl has distinct strengths and weaknesses:
Some teams excel are running the ball, others passing, some use gimmicks and tricks, while others still go for pure brutality. Their various hybrids as well.
There are currently 24 teams in Blood Bowl, so there is more than a fair share to collect and most Blood Bowl players are not satisfied to simply own one team. The nice thing about Blood Bowl is that’s its one of those games where you don’t have to build armies. Any team box comes with pretty much everything you need.
There are many teams in the game, and each has its own internal logic and playstyle. Part of the strategic depth of Blood Bowl is learning how to counter those styles, choose the right players for the matchup, and build your team to thrive over time.
In league play, things get even more dynamic. As teams grow, injuries mount, and players improve, team values can vary wildly. It’s not uncommon to see dominant teams rise and others falter, but that’s part of the point. Leagues are about long-term management as much as on-the-pitch performance. Winning the league isn’t just about winning individual matches, it’s about managing your team’s growth, budget, and roster across the whole season.
Leagues usually start with an even playing field, but as they progress, natural rises and falls occur, and that ebb and flow is a core part of the Blood Bowl experience.
Rules Changes and Errata
As mentioned already, Games Workshop has largely maintained a consistent ruleset since the original release of the game. Barring an occasional rules addition, clarification or minor streamlining the game remains pretty much the same.
Most Errata comes in the form of rules clarifications, actual rules changes are quite rare. This is a game that if you learned it 5 years ago, is not going to feel different today. You might come across some minor adaptation to a team here and there, but this is mostly done out of community demand or as a response to things that transpire at major Blood Bowl events to help improve the play experience.
In short, rules changes are quite rare, additions are more common, new star players for example.
Conclusion
Personally, I think Blood Bowl is one of those unique staple games that I love having in my collection. I tend to play it most often with friends who are sports fans and dabble in tabletop gaming, people who appreciate the chaos and strategy but might not be full-time wargamers. In a way, I think it’s a bit more niche than it deserves to be.
In my core gaming group, most folks lean more toward traditional miniature wargames than sports-themed games, and that’s totally fine. Blood Bowl has become something of a personal secret weapon in my collection. It doesn’t hit the table very often, and I mostly play it in online leagues these days, but when I do engage with it, I always have a blast.
It’s a fun, chaotic sports game with deep strategy and a sense of humor that’s uniquely Warhammer. It definitely earns its place in my collection, and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves American football in particular and wants a tabletop experience that captures that competitive, unpredictable energy with a twist.
Ok, I hope that is sufficient to quiet the trolls out there. Blood Bowl!
This blog has always been a colorful tapestry of wildly different gaming topics, by design, not by accident. But even within that eclectic mix, clear dividing lines emerge. One of the most distinct is the rift between the broader board gaming community and the niche but passionate world of historical strategy and war games. These aren’t just different genres, they’re almost different cultures within the hobby.
That said, I’m living proof that this divide is more imagined than real. Like many supposed boundaries in gaming, it’s built more on perception than truth. While it’s easy to think of historical war gamers as a cloistered sub-group with their own sacred tomes and hex-filled rituals, the reality is far more fluid. Just as many historical gamers dabble in mainstream modern board games, there’s a growing curiosity among general board gamers about the mysterious and complex world of historical strategy.
But let’s be honest, crossing the bridge from mainstream games to historical war gaming can feel like stepping into another dimension. It’s far easier to move from heavy war games to general board games than the other way around. This is because historical games tend to be deep, dense, and unapologetically complex as a default. What a seasoned wargamer might casually call “light,” most hobby gamers would label “brain-melting.”
Take complexity ratings on BoardGameGeek as a perfect example. Twilight Imperium, a game known for its epic length and interstellar sprawl, clocks in at a weighty 4.33 out of 5. That’s pretty high, unless you’re a historical war gamer. Compare that to Empire of the Sun, a game steeped in the Pacific Theater of WWII, which sits at a 4.39. At first glance, a marginal difference. But in practice, these two games are judged by entirely different standards. Empire of the Sun isn’t just complex, it’s an Everest of a rulebook, dense with nuance and requiring perhaps a hundred hours of study even for experienced players. Its 45-page manual is printed in a font size small enough to make a lawyer squint, functionally the equivalent of a 90- to 120-page standard rulebook.
Twilight Imperium is an exceptional game, and I would easily quantify it as an amazing war game, but it does not fit into the historical strategy/war game genre as historical war gamers define their own genre. Being about a war is not enough.
To a hardcore historical gamer, Twilight Imperium might feel like a breezy afternoon diversion, perhaps a 2 or 2.5 on their personal scale of complexity.
My point is this: complexity and depth are relative concepts, deeply tied to experience and exposure. The world of historical war games isn’t just more intricate, it’s built differently, with its own traditions, expectations, and design philosophies. From minimalist components to standardized presentation styles, these games often look arcane and intimidating, which, let’s face it, they are, but there’s a strange elegance beneath the surface.
Today, I want to share a bit about my own journey into this fascinating world and offer some practical advice for those curious enough to dip their toes into the deep waters of historical strategy and war games. Whether you’re a seasoned Eurogamer looking for a new challenge or a curious newcomer intrigued by the lore of real-world conflicts, this one’s for you.
Some Encouragement & Reality
Speaking as a fairly typical board gamer who took the plunge into historical strategy and war games, let me offer a little encouragement and a dose of reality.
First, if you’re going to dive into this subgenre, you’ll need to be self-sufficient. These games often require solo setup, self-directed learning, and more than a few hours of quiet study. This isn’t a genre where you crack open the box, skim the rulebook, and dive in with a buddy over pizza and drinks. Technically, sure, you could try, but you’re more likely to spend the evening fumbling through obscure mechanics, wondering why nothing makes intuitive sense.
But here’s the twist: that’s part of the fun.
There’s something uniquely satisfying about deciphering a complex historical war game on your own. You’ll set it up, stumble through turns, cross-reference rulebooks, and gradually bring the simulation to life. It’s a solo endeavor at first, almost like reading a dense but rewarding novel. Once you understand it, you’re ready to teach it, not from the rulebook, but from experience. And if that doesn’t appeal to you, it’s probably a sign this genre may not be for you. This hands-on, slow-burn learning process is the hobby.
Twilight Struggle is perhaps the most famous example of a cross-over hit that lives in the historical strategy/war game category and is beloved by serious war gamers, yet has found considerable popularity in mainstream gaming. It’s an exceptional game.
Second, and this is crucial, understanding the actual history behind the game is often key to understanding the game itself. Most historical war games fall into the “simulation” category. That means the mechanics aren’t just arbitrary, they’re grounded in real-world events, logistics, and military doctrine. At first glance, some rules might seem bizarre or even unnecessary. But once you dig into the history, why that mechanic exists, what it represents, it starts to make sense. The design isn’t just about gameplay; it’s about reenactment, grounded in research.
In this way, learning a historical war game often involves learning history. If you find yourself fascinated by the “why” behind a game’s structure, why supply lines matter, why political will ebbs and flows, why reinforcements arrive late, that’s a good sign you’re in the right place. If that level of engagement sounds exhausting rather than exciting, though, you may want to reconsider.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, these games exist in a kind of ecosystem. There’s a lineage of mechanics, design principles, and influences that connect them like branches on a tree. The most complex games often build on systems introduced in earlier, simpler titles. There’s a generational progression, what some call “design DNA.”
For example, jumping straight into Empire of the Sun might be biting off more than you can chew. But games like Washington’s War or Paths of Glory share many of its core mechanics in more digestible forms. They act as stepping stones, easing you into the deeper waters with familiar rules and systems. You’ll find that learning one game helps you understand the next, especially when they come from the same designer or design school. This might be a familiar concept to general board gamers because in kind of works the same way in the mass market. We sometimes call certain games “good introduction games”, for example, Ticket To Ride or Settlers of Catan are often mentioned as good first dives into the larger world of boardgaming. The only difference is that in historical strategy and war games, this tends to be a lot more specific to the target game you want to reach.
That’s why doing a bit of homework goes a long way. Look into game families, designer interviews, and community recommendations. You’ll often find that designers openly discuss their influences, and discovering these connections can help you choose games that fit your current skill level and interests, driving you towards your target game. It’s like crafting your own war gaming curriculum.
In short, historical strategy and war games reward research, patience, and a thirst for learning. If that excites you, then you’re in for a deeply rewarding journey, one filled with rich history, complex mechanics, and a surprising sense of discovery. Your path into the genre won’t just be about finding good games, it’ll be about uncovering stories, systems, and strategies you might never have encountered otherwise.
First Venture
If you’re curious about diving into historical war games, my strongest recommendation is this: start solo. In fact, consider beginning with a game designed specifically for solo play. There’s no better way to test the waters and see whether this niche is more than just a passing curiosity for you.
Thankfully, historical war gaming has a rich and well-established subgenre of solo titles, offering a wide selection of accessible, thematic, and deeply rewarding experiences. Many of these solo games are purpose-built for solo players, meaning the learning curve is often smoother, the rulebooks more forgiving, and the gameplay tailored to your pace.
Even better, these solo titles tend to hover at the lower end of the complexity spectrum, making them a fantastic entry point into the genre. You’ll find more flexibility in terms of theme, length, and mechanics, letting you ease into the broader world of historical strategy gaming without being thrown into the deep end. The best part of solo play is that you can just leave your game up and pick it up whenever the mood strikes you, and that is a huge advantage over trying to put a game night together.
A perfect place to begin is Dan Verssen Games (DVG), a publisher renowned for its high-quality solo-only catalog. DVG has something for almost every historical interest and play style. Want to explore the Age of Exploration? Try the brilliant card-driven 1500: The New World. Curious about command-level warfare? Look into their Leader Series or Field Commander Series, where you take the reins of historical figures or tactical roles across conflicts ranging from the Napoleonic era to modern-day battlefields.
Field Commander Alexander is a fantastic example of a straight to it solo historical war game. It gives you the sensation of control over vast armies as you attempt to achieve conquest in the footsteps of one of the greatest war generals in history.
Whether you want to be a fighter pilot flying missions in the Pacific, a WWII submarine captain, or Napoleon himself masterminding a campaign across Europe, there’s likely a DVG game that covers it and does so in a way that feels personal, strategic, and surprisingly educational.
The key benefit to this solo-game approach is that whatever game you pick, you’ll be laying the foundation for future success in the genre. You’ll learn how historical rulebooks are structured (spoiler alert: they’re different), how to use playbooks and reference sheets effectively, and how certain core mechanics, like zones of control, operational cost cards, influence conflict, supply lines, and turn-based simulation tend to repeat across games. This familiarity becomes invaluable as you graduate to more complex titles and multiplayer experiences.
Starting with solo war games, I think is the best way to go, but let’s talk about the alternative starts, low complexity multiplayer games.
Entry Level Historical Strategy and War Games
One of the most common misconceptions about historical strategy and war games is that they’re defined solely by their connection to real-world events. But in truth, it’s not the historical theme that sets this genre apart, it’s the design philosophy, mechanical complexity, and simulation-based approach that distinguish it from the broader board gaming world.
Take Axis & Allies, for example. It’s a well-known game with clear historical ties, and while it shares some surface-level traits with war games, it doesn’t fully belong to the historical war game genre as enthusiasts define it. It straddles the line, a gateway, perhaps, but it’s ultimately a different kind of experience.
So, while it might be tempting to use cross-over titles like Axis & Allies or Memoir ’44 as stepping stones into deeper waters, the truth is that they offer relatively little in terms of preparing you for the complexities and conventions of true historical war games. These lighter games often strip away the very mechanics that define the genre: logistics, command structures, political abstraction, and long-term strategic depth.
Memoir ’44 is a great title and gives you a small taste of the historical war gaming genre but nothing you learn from this game will prepare you for a typical historical war game in the true sense of the meaning, at least as defined by fans of the genre.
Another important thing to note is that most historical war games are two-player experiences. While multiplayer options do exist, and can be excellent, they’re generally not ideal for beginners. Learning is much easier in a one-on-one setting, especially when both players are invested and focused. For that reason, nearly all the entry-level games I recommend fall into the two-player category. You’ll want a dedicated partner, someone who’s equally curious (or patient enough to let you teach them).
Now, let’s say solo play isn’t your thing. You’re ready to dive headfirst into the genre with a partner at your side. Great news, there are entry-level titles that can ease you in without sacrificing historical depth. In no particular order, here are a few strong candidates I wholeheartedly recommend…
Washington’s War by GMT Games (Designed by Mark Herman)
When it comes to introducing newcomers to the world of historical strategy and war games, Washington’s War is my go-to recommendation, and for good reason. It strikes a near-perfect balance of accessibility, thematic familiarity, and mechanical depth without overwhelming new players.
Here’s why it stands out as an ideal entry point:
1. A Familiar Conflict The American Revolutionary War is one of those historical topics that most people already have at least a basic grasp of. Names like George Washington, the 13 Colonies, and the Boston Tea Party are common knowledge, even for those who aren’t history buffs. That shared understanding smooths the learning curve and creates a sense of immediate connection with the game’s theme.
2. Elegant Simplicity From a complexity standpoint, Washington’s War sits firmly in the “low” zone, no matter who’s doing the judging. But don’t let that fool you; it’s rich in educational value. The game introduces several core mechanics found throughout the genre: point-to-point movement, influence/control mechanics, operational vs. event card play, the use of Generals, and Command Units (CUs). Each of these concepts is presented in a streamlined, easy-to-learn form, offering a solid foundation for more advanced titles down the line. These are concepts you’re going to run across in this sub-genre of gaming all the time.
3. Playtime That Respects Your Schedule Perhaps most importantly, Washington’s War is relatively short by historical war game standards. A full session typically runs about 2–3 hours, a far cry from the all-day marathons many games in this genre demand. That makes it easier to get to the table, easier to find opponents, and easier to revisit regularly.
In short, Washington’s War is a masterclass in approachable design. It captures the essence of historical conflict in a digestible, compelling format, making it, in my opinion, the ideal starting point for anyone curious about stepping into the world of historical strategy and war games.
A bonus here is that this is a Mark Herman game, a name you will become intimately familiar with as you explore this sub-genre of gaming, as he is one of the most prolific and influential game designers in historical war gaming, both past and present.
Sekigahara: The Unification of Japan by GMT, designed by Matt Calkins
In the realm of historical strategy and war games, there’s a subgenre-within-a-subgenre known as block games, and if you stick with this hobby, you’re bound to encounter them. These games use wooden blocks to represent military units, adding elements of fog of war, hidden information, and elegant visual design. Block games are a staple of the historical war gaming scene, and among them, Sekigahara stands tall.
Not only is it one of the best block games ever made (in my opinion), it’s also one of the best historical war games, period (again, in my opinion).
What makes Sekigahara so approachable is how streamlined and intuitive it is. It distills the core mechanics of block games into a clean, smooth-playing experience without drowning players in exception-based rules or overly complex interactions. Better still, it’s a card-driven block game, which makes combat resolution dramatically simpler than many of its dice-based cousins. There are no convoluted CRTs (Combat Results Tables), no constant rulebook flipping. Instead, combat unfolds through card play that adds both tension and strategic depth, all while keeping the gameplay fast and accessible.
And let’s not overlook the setting, feudal Japan, one of the most fascinating and dramatic periods in military history. Sekigahara puts you in the middle of the legendary struggle for control of Japan, fighting to become the next Shogun in a civil war that shaped the nation’s destiny. For anyone who loves samurai warfare, clan intrigue, or grand tactical decision-making, this game delivers.
Beyond the theme and mechanics, Sekigahara does something very important: it teaches you how block games work, the hidden information, the maneuvering, the structure of turns and battles, all in a digestible, elegant package. It’s the kind of game that draws you in with beauty and theme, then teaches you the deeper rhythms of the genre without you even realizing it.
If you’re curious about block games, or just want a fantastic two-player strategy game with historical gravitas and refined design, Sekigahara is an absolute must-play. It’s not only a superb introduction to block games, but it may be the best in the genre.
Holland ’44 by GMT designed by Mark Simonitch
If you’ve spent any time in the historical war gaming world, the name Mark Simonitch probably needs no introduction. He’s a legendary designer known for his brilliant card-driven classics like Hannibal & Hamilcar, Hannibal: Rome vs. Carthage, and Caesar: Rome vs. Gaul—games that blend historical drama with elegant card-driven strategic play. But Simonitch is equally renowned for his work in another cornerstone of the hobby: hex-and-counter wargames.
Among his acclaimed World War II series, which includes Normandy ’44, France ’40, and Ardennes ’44, among many others and my personal favorite is Holland ’44: Operation Market-Garden. It’s the standout title in a consistently excellent lineup.
There are three things that really make this game stand out in my mind as an excellent choice to explore hex and combat warfare on the tabletop.
First, the rules system is intuitive and elegant, especially for the genre. It features core mechanics like zones of control, step losses, terrain effects, and combat results tables, but without the kind of overwhelming complexity often associated with traditional hex-based wargames. It uses a familiar “I go, you go” turn structure, and everything is presented in a clean, logical format that helps you ease into the broader world of hex-and-counter design.
Second, learning Holland ’44 doesn’t just teach you this game, it opens the door to an entire series of similarly structured titles. Once you’ve grasped Simonitch’s system, moving on to other battles in the same line, not limited to but including Normandy ’44, Sicily ’43, Salerno ’43, and more, feels like a natural progression rather than starting from scratch. You’ll already understand the basic rhythms, and each game simply layers on new historical flavor and scenario-specific tweaks.
But the real heart of Holland ’44 is the fascinating historical battle it simulates: Operation Market-Garden, the bold Allied attempt to seize key bridges in the Netherlands in late 1944. The scenario is filled with tension, tight decision-making, and a delicate balance of aggression and caution. The interplay between airborne landings, armored thrusts, and critical chokepoints creates a dynamic and suspenseful experience.
This isn’t a quick game, it will take 4-5 hours so you’ll want to dig in, focus, and commit. But in return, you get a deeply strategic, highly replayable, and richly thematic battle that captures the ebb and flow of this ambitious WWII operation. There’s a unique narrative tension to it, driven by risky gambits and critical timing, especially around bridges and river crossings, that makes every session memorable.
If you’re even remotely curious about the hex-and-counter style of war games, Holland ’44 is a fantastic place to start. It’s approachable, richly historical, and part of a broader system that rewards your time and effort with an expanding world of connected titles. Simonitch’s series isn’t just a masterclass in design, it’s a gateway to a whole new level of historical gaming.
Conclusion
Hopefully, from this article, you got some advice, tips on a few good entry points to the sub-hobby of historical strategy/war games and perhaps found something to research further.
Game selection is, in the end, a personal thing, and I think it would be criminal for me to leave you with just entry-level options without slipping in some of my personal favorites. So in this final bit, I will leave you with a few more entries to consider. These aren’t exactly entry-level games so you will want some experience before diving into these, but I consider them absolute staples of the genre.
Imperial Struggle by GMT Designers Ananda Gupta and Jason Mathews
You’ve probably heard of Twilight Struggle, it’s a titan in the board gaming world, consistently ranked among the top 10 on BoardGameGeek. And while it’s a phenomenal game, it’s not my pick for newcomers to historical strategy games. Instead, I’d point you to a different title from the same acclaimed design duo: Imperial Struggle.
Where Twilight Struggle distilled the Cold War into a tense, card-driven duel of influence, Imperial Struggle goes broader and deeper. It covers the century-long global rivalry between France and Britain, spanning four major wars from the War of the Spanish Succession to the American Revolution. This is a game of world-spanning conflict, military, political, and economic, played out across Europe, North America, the Caribbean, and India.
What makes Imperial Struggle such a strong entry in the influence control genre is how approachable and intuitive it feels, despite its enormous scope. The rules are tight, the turn structure clean, and the gameplay rhythm, once grasped, flows naturally. It’s the kind of game that feels complex in concept but smooth in practice. Within just a few turns, you’ll find yourself fully immersed in maneuvering fleets, shifting alliances, and managing colonial tensions without feeling overwhelmed. You’ll be thinking strategy, no rules absorption.
Even better, the mechanics aren’t overly esoteric. Even if you’re not a die-hard historical gamer, you’ll find the systems relatable and digestible, in many ways more so than its older sibling Twilight Struggle which relied heavily on deck memorization to play it successfully, creating a very high strategic learning curve. The decisions in Imperial Struggle are meaningful, the board state ever-evolving, and the replayability is immense thanks to shifting event dynamics and strategic depth.
I absolutely love this game. It’s one of the crown jewels of my collection, ambitious in design, elegant in execution, and endlessly rewarding to play.
Paths of Glory by GMT designed by Ted Raicer
An absolute classic in the historical war game genre, Paths of Glory was originally released in 1999 and has been consistently updated and refined ever since.
In this game, you command the entirety of World War I from start to finish, using a brilliant card-driven mechanic on a point-to-point map. The claustrophobic nature of trench warfare, the unreliable timing of allies, and the unpredictable escalation of the war are all captured with exceptional nuance; every session unfolds differently.
There are no set routines, no default strategies, no predictable scripts. This is a war you fight on instinct. Yet every decision, every troop movement, every card play, every offensive, is deeply impactful and often dramatic.
When you make a mistake, the consequences are disastrous. When you succeed, you feel like a genius. It’s a game that pulls you in emotionally, and I’ve never met anyone who played it just once. Paths of Glory is practically a self-contained hobby, thanks to its addictive, immersive nature.
It remains one of the finest historical war games ever made and one of the few that captures the full scale and horror of World War I.
Paths of Glory is to historical war games what Agricola is to Euro games, a sort of complex but timeless classic that you could almost say you should play at least once in your life.
The U.S. Civil War by GMT designed by Mark Simonitch
There are only a handful of games I would call a “complete experience” or the “final word” on a historical subject, and The U.S. Civil War is one of them. In my eyes, it’s a masterpiece: a sweeping, deeply nuanced simulation of the entire American Civil War, capturing both the complexity and the inevitability of its outcome.
This game fully embraces the asymmetry of the conflict, as both sides struggle with unsolvable logistical nightmares while fighting a war that often feels impossible to win. It’s not just a historical re-enactment, it’s a “what if” engine. The game asks you: What would you do differently? It gives you the freedom to try, and yet, the more you play, the more you find yourself making the same agonizing decisions the real generals made. It feels like history asserting itself, no matter what path you choose.
That’s the magic of The U.S. Civil War. It’s not only a strategic challenge, but an experiment in inevitability. The simulation is so tight and evocative, it teaches you why history unfolded the way it did, not by telling you, but by letting you live it.
It also happens to be an excellent solo experience. With no hidden information, it becomes a pure strategic exercise, where you’re simply trying to outthink yourself on both sides of the conflict.
This is one of my absolute favorite games. If you’re at all interested in Civil War history, this is the game to play. It’s the crown jewel of the genre.
Empire of the Sun by GMT designed by Mark Herman
The coup de grâce of historical war games, Empire of the Sun is nothing short of a masterpiece. Without question, it is, in my opinion, the greatest board game ever designed, across all genres. It is the final word on what truly brilliant game design looks like.
But brilliance has a cost.
Empire of the Sun is also one of the most complex, demanding, and mentally taxing historical war games in existence. It stretches the very definition of “depth” until it feels like there’s no bottom. A card-driven, operational-level, hex-and-counter simulation of the Pacific War, it pushes the boundaries of what is reasonable to ask of players.
And yet, if you persevere, if you navigate the labyrinth of rules and begin to grasp not just how the game works, but why, you reach a moment of sublime understanding that is unlike anything else in gaming. It’s not just rewarding. It’s transformative. Finding someone else who also knows how to play Empire of the Sun feels like discovering a secret society.
The simulation is extraordinary. Like The U.S. Civil War, you are free to rewrite history, but in Empire of the Sun, the possibilities are endless. You can change the war. Improve on it. Explore it. Reimagine it. The game practically dares you to study history, to go beyond the table and into the depths of books and documentaries, simply to keep pace with what it’s offering you, and each real-world discovery you will be able to apply the game. The simulation is so realistic that real-world knowledge applies.
It is, for the right player, pure bliss. But I won’t pretend it’s for everyone. In fact, I suspect most players will never make it through the rules—and that’s okay.
But if you ever find yourself searching for the ultimate challenge in historical gaming, Empire of the Sun awaits. One of the finest board games ever made, and a towering monument to what this hobby can achieve.
Hope you enjoyed the article, this one was for my historical war gamer readers who I’m almost certain will disagree with just about everything I said, but so it is with historical war gaming. Lots of opinions, lots of personal investment. Finding your own games and routines is a big part of the magic show, so go out there and explore!
