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The Big Board Gaming Weekend – 2025

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

The Fellowship of the Ring: Trick-Taking Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vampire: The Masquerade – Vendetta

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raise The Goblets

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

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

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

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

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

Blood Rage

There are games and then there are symphonies.

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

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

You might wonder why the devotion?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Valor and Villainy: Minions of Mordak

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viticulture

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

There are two reasons why.

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

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

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

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

Oath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Empires: Age of Discovery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang The Dice Game

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

Make of that what you will.

Red Rising

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dead of Winter

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

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

But it’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lords of Waterdeep

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

Gaming Articles, Role-Player Game Reviews

In Theory: The New Generation of Dungeons and Dragons

One of the unexpected perks of hurtling toward the half-century mark, aside from creaky knees and reading glasses, is having grown up with the world’s greatest roleplaying game: Dungeons & Dragons. For as long as I can remember, this game has been a part of my life, sometimes in the background, sometimes front and center, but always there, like an old friend ready to spark the imagination.

And one of the greatest joys of D&D is passing it on to others and watching them discover the game as I did in my youth.

This summer, my family escaped to the sun-drenched hills of Tuscany, where we rented a villa nestled among vineyards and olive groves for two blissful weeks. It was an Indian summer, the air thick with heat, our days melting away by the pool. But as the sun dipped behind the cypress trees and the cicadas finally fell silent, a new tradition emerged. Dungeons & Dragons by moonlight.

My players ranged in age from 12 to 20, kids from my extended family, including my own, and for many of them, this was their first taste of the game. We cracked open the Essentials Kit and plunged into Dragons of Icespire Peak. Our first evening began with character sheets and dice, laughter and name-picking, as we stepped into the legendary Forgotten Realms on a quest to slay a dragon.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure how it would go. This is a generation raised on iPads and X-Boxes, a digital world of instant gratification. I half expected eye rolls or short attention spans.

What I got instead was lightning in a bottle.

From the very first session, the spark caught. D&D didn’t just become part of our vacation routine; it became the reason to clear dinner plates faster than ever before. The excitement was palpable. The story, the characters, the dice rolls, they were hooked. It was electric.

For them, it was magic. For me, it was something deeper. Watching them discover the wonder of tabletop storytelling in real time was like watching fireworks go off behind their eyes. There’s something incredibly moving about seeing a new generation fall in love with something that shaped your own youth.

In a word, Pure magic.

A Game About Rules You Don’t Follow

When introducing Dungeons & Dragons to a new group, especially adults or seasoned gamers, there’s a sacred ritual: session zero. You take your time. You explain the rules. You build characters thoughtfully. You lay down the groundwork for the campaign like a careful gardener planting seeds.

But when your players are kids?

They just want to fight the dragon!

Their impatience was a jolt, a glorious, chaotic reminder of what D&D really is. Yes, it has rules. Yes, there are mechanics and modifiers and sourcebooks full of fine print. But none of that matters if you’re not having fun pretending to be a sword-swinging, ale-guzzling hero with a questionable moral compass.

There have been a few different starter sets for 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons, but I think the Essentials Kit is one of the most complete and arguably the most flexible. It includes rules for creating your own characters, a campaign that takes players through 6th level, and has additional material like cards and a DM Screen. Most importantly it’s an adventure about fighting a dragon, which I think is sort of on point with new player expectations.

The kids didn’t care about encumbrance. They didn’t ask what armor class was or how spell slots worked. What they did care about was choosing the coolest-looking helmet (even though modern D&D doesn’t have rules for helmets) and ordering a frothy mug of tavern ale (because pretending to be drunk is, apparently, hilarious).

They wanted to dive headfirst into the fantasy and so we did.

We built 1st-level characters lightning-fast: 4d6, drop the lowest, straight down the line. Four classic classes—Fighter, Rogue, Cleric, Wizard. No agonizing over feats or backstory minutiae. In less than 20 minutes, we were on the road from Neverwinter, headed toward the sleepy frontier town of Phandalin, backpacks light, coin purses jangling, stomachs growling.

I told them they were running low on rations, poorly equipped, and unprepared for the dangers ahead. They ignored all of it. Naturally. Because five minutes later they stumbled upon the corpse of a murdered merchant, Orc tracks leading off into the woods and that was all the motivation they needed.

They were in.

There is a new starter set coming out later this year called Heroes of the Borderlands based on the classic 1st edition adventure Keep on the Borderlands. This robust set clearly targets a younger audience and looks like it will be quite perfect for introducing new players to the game with lots of visuals and extras to help make the introduction as easy as possible.

They didn’t know the rules. They didn’t need to. What they did know was that something had happened. Something bad. And these make-believe heroes were going to chase those orcs into the forest and make them pay, because they knew what Orcs were, they had all seen The Hobbit.

It was everything D&D is meant to be: danger, mystery, and bold, messy heroism.

Every face was locked in. Eyes wide, pencils nervously chewed, dice clutched tight. When I asked, “Who’s tracking the orcs?” and introduced the very first Survival check, you could feel the energy spike like a lightning bolt hitting the table.

The Rogue rolled a natural 20.

They followed the trail right to a clearing where a band of orcs sat around a campfire, drinking and laughing. Before anyone could strategize, the Fighter slammed their fist on the table and shouted, “I attack the Orcs with my Axe!”

One of the other players protested, but it was too late.

“The Fighter takes off running. The rest of you better catch up”, I told them.

Boom. Chaos. Laughter. Screams of delight.

Pure D&D magic.

What is D&D?

When I first sat down to write this article, I wasn’t sure what it was going to be about. I just wanted to tell the story, because even the act of writing it out stirred something in me. A kind of quiet, emotional tremor. Watching those kids, my kids and nephews, discover Dungeons & Dragons the way I once did was more than just heartwarming. It was life-affirming.

I’ve spent my life playing games. Role-playing games, miniature games, board games, you name it. And if you’re like me, you know the looks you get. The raised eyebrows. The half-smirks from people who have never had a gaming table in their lives. Even my wife, who’s known me for over 25 years, has often looked at me with a kind of affectionate confusion.

Why does a grown man care so much about all this?

But this time… I saw something different in her eyes.

She watched what was happening around that table, not just the game, but the way the kids leaned in, eyes wide, hanging on every word and I think, for the first time, she really got it. And then something happened that neither of us expected.

One day, the adults decided to go on a wine tour through the Tuscan countryside. It was going to be a long day of vineyard-hopping and child-free relaxation. No D&D that night, the kids would be left to their own devices. There was some grumbling, of course, but we kissed them goodbye and set off for a day of indulgent day-drinking.

When we returned, we braced ourselves for the usual post-unsupervised chaos. But there was no chaos. No screens. No locked bedroom doors.

Instead, the kids were all gathered around the table again, playing Dungeons & Dragons, on their own.

Dungeons and Dragons in my day was a big mystery; it was not a very approachable game, but the vivid art combined with that mystery of discovering the game through the many books printed for it was absolutely irresistible to me.

My son had taken the mantle of Dungeon Master. Despite barely knowing the rules, he was narrating a story, guiding the others through improvised adventures. They were telling tales, fighting monsters, completely immersed in a world they’d decided to build together.

No one told them to do it. No one handed them a script. They just wanted to.

They’d even drawn portraits of their characters, hoping, of course, to earn some extra XP from me when the campaign resumed. And before I could even step fully through the door, they were on me with rapid-fire questions:

“Why didn’t you tell us about Saving Throws?”

“There’s a Paladin class? What about Barbarians?, Why didn’t you tell us!?”

“Why didn’t you tell us about D&D Beyond!?”

It was… stunning. These screen-savvy, digital-native kids had unplugged themselves. They weren’t mindlessly scrolling, or zoning out, or retreating into the isolation of algorithms and apps. They were creating. They were collaborating. They were lighting up a part of their brains and their hearts, which too often lies dormant in today’s world.

And that, right there, is what D&D is. That’s what it’s always been.

It’s not just dice and rules. It’s freedom. It’s pure creative expression. It’s a primal kind of joy, something ancient and instinctual that lives inside every person. Some people find it in books. Some in painting, or sculpting, or dancing. But when you sit down at a table, look your friends in the eye, and say, “What do you do?”, you’re unlocking something sacred.

D&D is a release valve for the imagination. A bridge to wonder. A reminder that we are all still storytellers, no matter how old we get.

So, if there’s a takeaway from all this, it’s simple.

Play Dungeons & Dragons with your kids.

It’s good for them.

It’s good for you.

It’s good for the soul.

Gaming Articles, On The Table

Warcrow: Gameplay Review

After a month of being neck-deep in all things Warcrow, from the lore to the miniatures and everything in between, it’s finally time to bring it all together and deliver the final verdict. I knew from the get-go that reviewing a full miniature game would be a monumental undertaking, and it turns out… I was absolutely right. But here we are, finally at the end in the final article, and if you have been following along with Warcrow March Madness, I hope you found it informative and useful. I’m genuinely satisfied with the result.

To recap, we’ve already published two dedicated reviews among a series of other articles: one diving into the rich and immersive Warcrow lore, and another focused entirely on the miniatures—both crucial aspects of any tabletop wargame. But let’s be honest: when most people think “miniature game review,” what they really want to know is, “How does it actually play?”

That’s exactly what we’re going to cover today. The gameplay, the mechanics, the experience at the table- this is where Warcrow truly proves itself.

So, settle in. This one’s going to be a bit of a deep dive with a few side tracks.

Overview

Warcrow, at its core, is a tactical skirmish wargame that represents the next generation of miniature gaming design. It stands out for its commitment to streamlined mechanics, unambiguous rules, and a clear focus on balance, hallmarks of a system designed for both competitive integrity and ease of play.

Warcrow excels as a game that zooms in on the battlefield, focusing on the unique individuals that make up your units. Each warrior, mage, hero, and villain is defined by unique abilities and roles that contribute to a broad range of tactical options and unique dynamic gameplay. These elements interact in a cohesive system that rewards strategic planning and synergy without being bogged down by excessive complexity or overburdening you with complex list building.

One of the game’s most notable strengths is the clarity and structure of its mechanics. There are virtually no exception-based rules or ambiguous interactions. What’s outlined in the core rulebook is exactly how the game plays, providing a reliable and consistent experience from one match to the next. There is no “eye-balling it” in this game.

As mentioned in the lore review, there is a strong narrative integration between the game’s setting and the mechanics. The spells, weapons, and abilities, and characters used in gameplay reflect the world’s rich high fantasy background, resulting in a game that feels both tactical and cinematic. Every action on the table contributes to the story being told, as well as the action being resolved.

The design space itself is impressively robust. Even at this early stage, it’s clear that Corvus Belli has created a flexible foundation capable of supporting a wide range of future content. As additional factions are released, the depth and complexity of the game will continue to expand. We are only beginning to see what the full scope of the system can deliver.

Even with the current roster of factions, Warcrow offers compelling choices. It is intellectually engaging, well-balanced, and rich in tactical decision-making.

In short, Warcrow delivers a refined and thoughtful gameplay experience, built on a foundation that supports competitive play, narrative immersion, and long-term growth. It is already a standout in the miniature skirmish genre, in my view, with much more still to come.

There are three questions I aim to answer in this review, three important and relevant questions I think any miniature war game fan would ask.

First and foremost, how does it compare to games we are already playing? For many, if not most, Warcrow won’t be your first rodeo and you are no doubt already spending gobs of money elsewhere and want to know how this game compares to the games you already love and play. Taking on a new miniature game is always a bad financial decision; everyone knows this. For many, doing so means giving something else up so I understand the relevance of this all-important question.

The second is, who is this game for? Who is the audience this game targets, and how does it do so? Miniature war games have many sub-genres and playstyles, so identifying where Warcrow lands is critical as we all have our own personal tastes, and this is often not reflected in the quality of a game but rather based on the design. This means a game can be great but not a good fit for you , nonetheless. Proper categorization is important.

The natural assumption when making comparisons to Warcrow is to choose the most popular fantasy miniature game out there, which might be Age of Sigmar, but just because a game is fantasy doesn’t mean we are comparing apples to apples. Genres, plastyles, and design intention are far more important than themes.

Finally, I will talk about my personal tilt, answering the questions for myself. As a miniature game fan with a dozen games on my shelf and an ungodly amount of money already spent on miniature games, I think my personal take counts for something. I believe firmly that gamers love to hear from other gamers, their unfiltered opinions and you will definitly get that before this review is done.

The Depth Of Interaction

If there’s one thing that truly stands out in Warcrow’s design, it’s how incredibly dynamic the game’s interactions are. Especially when it comes to the diverse unit abilities and their impact on the battlefield.

Each unit is crafted with purpose, clearly defined, and easy to grasp, making it intuitive to deploy them in the heat of combat. But as you dive deeper into how these abilities play out across various matchups, it becomes clear that there’s more beneath the surface. While every unit has a core design intent, their versatility shines differently depending on your opponent. Many units boast multiple abilities, some of which might seem underwhelming against certain armies or army lists, yet prove devastating against others. Even something as simple as a unit’s speed or attack type can suddenly become a critical advantage or a glaring weakness, all based on who you’re facing. This built-in layered dynamic means you don’t just think “this unit is good at X,” but rather evaluate its value based on the unique conditions of each battle. No two encounters feel the same as a result, even when using the same army list.

It’s a subtle but brilliant piece of game design that doesn’t reveal itself right away. You need to play through several matchups with the same list to fully appreciate it, but once you do, it becomes impossible to ignore.

The card profiles can seem complex at first and arguably are complex, but the game is intuitive, turning this complexity into a worthwhile architecture to learn. You get used to it, and once you do, you will appreciate the genius of it.

To me, all great miniature games have this design effect, and when it’s absent, it’s very noticeable. I’m reminded of games like Star Wars Armada and Star Wars X-Wing, which also had this great dynamic effect where any single unit could be used in a dozen different roles depending on the sort of upgrades you put on it. The nice thing with Warcrow is that you don’t have to fuss with the extra complexity of matching upgrades with a unit to get this effect; it’s sort of built-in.

Warcrow reminds me a great deal of the reasons why I love Star Wars: X Wing. Each unit had value in a wide range of lists with lots of different uses, creating this exploration effect where you would try out different approaches. Finding a unique way to use a unit and surprise your opponent with a new, unexpected tactic is an extremely gratifying experience.

This makes the entire list-building process a whole lot simpler, yet this depth of interaction is left uncompromised. I think it’s my favorite part of Warcrow because I think, no matter who you are, you are going to appreciate this aspect of Warcrow. It’s a universal benefit and a product of great game design.

Pacing, Activation, and Initiative

If there’s one common flaw across most miniature games, it’s that they almost all, without exception, suffer from pacing issues, usually tied directly to how activation and initiative are handled.

Take Warhammer 40k, for instance, where players take alternate turns, executing every action for their entire army before the opponent gets a chance to respond. This often results in entire units being wiped off the board before they can even act.

Or look at Star Wars: Armada, where having more ships grants you more activations—a significant advantage that lets you stall and outmaneuver your opponent simply by doing more, later.

The initiative wheel is a bonus here because not only is it great for tracking effects, initiative, and turn order, but it plays into the design by allowing the game to have timed effects, which is something that I suspect will be liberally used in the future as more narrative scenarios are introduced.

I could rattle off a dozen more examples where initiative and activation create balance problems, leading to all kinds of pacing breakdowns, list building shinaningans, and other problems that bog down gameplay. Any experienced miniature wargamer knows exactly what I’m talking about here.

Warcrow, on the other hand, is one of the rare games that completely sidesteps this issue, and it does so with one elegantly simple rule: each round, both players get exactly five activations. That’s it. It doesn’t matter who has more units or who goes first, nothing messes with this flow of play.

In fact, it’s the first game I’ve played where going first or second doesn’t feel like a default advantage or disadvantage, nor how many more units you have or any other decision made during list building.

This mechanic liberates list-building since you’re not pressured by activation math or outnumbering tricks.

The result is a game with brilliant pacing, where matches move quickly, decisions feel meaningful, every activation carries weight, and none of can be broken by any means.

Power Plays & Other Big Moves

When you play a miniature game, there’s often a strange contradiction at play, we want to feel powerful, to pull off epic moves and dramatic power plays, but ironically, those moments don’t always translate into a fun or balanced experience at the table for everyone.

Take Warhammer 40k, for example. Blasting a tank off the board in one shot feels awesome. It’s cinematic, it’s impactful, and it shifts the momentum of the game instantly. But when you’re on the receiving end, watching a key unit disappear before it can do anything, that “wow” moment quickly becomes a “why bother” moment, especially when the entire outcome hinges on a single lucky die roll with no opportunity for countermeasures or reactive play.

I will say upfront and be honest that this does not bother me personally. I love big epic moments, but only where appropriate. Warhammer 40k is a war game, not a tactical miniature game. There is a difference, and we will talk more about that in a bit. There are also games like Battle of Middle-Earth Strategy game and Battletech, for example, that I also would consider exceptions to this rule, each for their own reasons. I know, however, that for many players out there, this can be a real deal breaker, and I get that.

Needless to say, a good game should make everyone at the table feel engaged, regardless of whether they’re winning or losing. It’s frustrating to have your match derailed by one overblown dice spike, especially if it removes any hope of a fair comeback.

Thankfully, Warcrow avoids this pitfall almost entirely. I won’t go so far as to say it never happens; this is still a dice game, after all, but overwhelmingly, matches tend to be far more stable and tactically driven, with few exploding situations.

I’d describe Warcrow as a game of attrition, where true breakthrough moments usually don’t occur until the final rounds. It’s rare that a single attack completely changes the game’s outcome. That’s because most units come equipped with tools, abilities, defenses and status effects that help mitigate or respond to threats. You are rarely left with no options for a reaction. The biggest factor here is the all-important stress resource.

Stress is a controllable resource; you typically only gain stress when you choose to. Usually, as long as you have not spent all your stress, you have options; those big breakthrough moments typically only happen at the end of a match because units have reached their stress limits and can’t respond.

And that’s not to say the game lacks big moments. Quite the opposite, every activation can feel like a big moment. But instead of “I rolled all sixes, game over,” it’s more like, “I just put real pressure on you for 3 activations in a row, and now you’re in real trouble on this flank because all of your units are stressed.” It’s dynamic without being volatile.

I have to confess that I never tried this game at a lower (starter) point count. My friends and I dove straight into the full game, so I’m not sure if this “stability effect” works with lower points, it might not.

Dice still matter, of course, but the odds are tight, and poor tactical decisions are far more likely to hurt you than bad luck. In our experience so far, most games are decided by a margin of just 1–2 points—and many end in a draw.

The result? A game that feels consistent and fair. Important decisions happen every round, and every activation matters, but those crushing “this game is over” moments are few and far between, typically delegated to the final rounds of the game. And that’s a beautiful thing, a direct result of fantastic game design.

Rules Density, Tracking Stuff and Components

I want to say Warcrow is simple to pick up and easy to play—and to a large extent, that’s true. The core rules density is quite manageable, and the game does a solid job of organizing effects with a relatively intuitive system for how abilities interact and inform your strategic decisions.

That said, I’m not sure everyone will feel that way right out of the gate. Warcrow includes several subsystems, each with its own timing quirks and layered effects. There are a lot of tokens that represent effects for a miniature game, not to mention a wide range of unique abilities across units and factions. While it’s not hard to track your own army, you’ve got the cards, the tokens, resources, and everything laid out in front of you, it’s a very different story when it comes to parsing on the fly what’s happening on your opponent’s side of the table.

This becomes even more obvious as you face a wider variety of factions and lists. In my games, I often found that when an opponent explained all the things their units could do, it barely registered into my strategy. There was just too much to take in. A constant stream of, “Oh, this guy can also do this,” and, “Don’t forget, he has this keyword that modifies that ability which affects this other unit’s timing,” can start to blur together. It’s already a challenge to internalize your own army’s suite of tools, and keeping track of your opponent’s full kit in real time can feel overwhelming.

Of course, that’s not unusual. In fact, it’s fairly standard for deep miniature games. Over time, you’ll naturally build familiarity by facing the same factions and units repeatedly. But Warcrow has so many dynamic interactions and layered mechanics that gaining true mastery will take a serious amount of play—and probably a good amount of study.

If Infinity, Corvus Belli’s other miniature game, is any indication of what is coming for Warcrow, we are going to see a lot of releases. The environment is going to get more and more complex with each release. I don’t think it’s fair to suggest that Warcrow is unfriendly to new players; that is not the case, but I think it is fair to say that Warcrow is a deep and complex game that targets players who love depth and complexity.

In a word, it’s easy to get started, simple enough of a game to learn, but it’s a deep and complex game under the surface, packed with unique abilities and intricate interplay. It’s clearly designed with the experienced miniatures gamer in mind. This isn’t a lightweight skirmish game, it’s built for seasoned players who enjoy absorbing the nuances of faction identity and unit synergy.

That’s not good or bad, it just is. It speaks more to the target audience. Much like Corvus Belli’s other title, Infinity, this game goes deep and rewards those willing to dive in with both feet. Casual gamers need not apply, this one is aimed squarely at the veteran gamers.

Comparing The Experianace

It’s only natural for players to ask the big question: how does this compare to X or Y game? A full breakdown could fill an entire article, but I can offer one piece of high-level guidance.

At its core, Warcrow is best understood as a tactical miniature game, not a war-scale miniatures game. That distinction matters. Many popular games, like Warhammer 40k, aim to simulate massive battles with sweeping movements and grand strategies. These games are about positioning large forces, making broad-stroke plays, and hoping your overall game plan holds together against the onslaught of buckets of dice that will be rolled over the course of a match.

In war-scale games, you attempt things with limited control and discover what happens. In tactical games like Warcrow, you plan things and execute decisions with a clearer understanding of likely outcomes. There are surprises sure, but things are considerably more controlled.

Perhaps a better comparison to Warcrow might be a game like Warhammer 40k: Kill Team. This, too is a skirmish tactical game, and while I would still argue they are quite different in their approach, the scale and size of the battle is part of what makes the difference between a miniature war game and a tactical miniature game.

Tactical games emphasize action-reaction mechanics, tighter resource economies, and fewer decisions—but each decision carries more weight. In Warcrow, with just 15 total activations per game, every move matters.

It’s a bit like the difference between playing Chess and playing RISK. Chess is tactical, you can anticipate counters, calculate your path, and react to threats with precision. RISK is strategic; you make plays and hope the dice and positioning go your way. There’s a reason it’s called RISK.

Again, I have to say that this is neither a positive or a negative thing, it just is, and it’s more about knowing what sort of game you prefer which takes me to the final and perhaps most important part of the review.

My Personal Tilt

I’ve been dreading this part of the review—and you’re about to understand why.

Warcrow is, without question, an excellent miniatures game. It’s razor-sharp in its design, beautifully produced, and brimming with smart mechanics. If you love tactical skirmish games, this one’s a homerun, especially if you’re drawn to competitive play. That’s my objective take, my assessment of the game with preference playing no role in it.

But subjectively? It’s not really my kind of game.

I come from the chaos-loving side of the hobby. My favorites are Battletech, Star Wars: X-Wing, and Warhammer 40k—games that thrive on wild dice rolls, hidden moves, and the kind of unpredictable madness that turns a game night into a story you’ll laugh about later. These games are messy, swingy, and not particularly balanced… and that’s exactly why I adore them.

Warcrow isn’t that. Like A Song of Ice and Fire or Star Wars: Armada, it rewards mastery, foresight, and discipline. Player skill trumps randomness. It’s elegant, structured, and built for those who want to study, refine, and win through pure tactical brilliance. In many ways, it’s an objectively better game than the ones I usually play.

But on any given Sunday ask me what I want to play and I’m far more likely to pick something like Battletech or Warhammer 40k than Warcrow.

Not because Warcrow does anything wrong, but because it asks more of you. It’s a game you can’t half-ass. You need to know your units, your synergies, your list and strategy etc.. etc.. That’s awesome if you’re ready to go deep, but less great if you’re just here to unwind with some dice and a drink.

Will I still play? Probably. If my group’s into it, I’d rather be part of the fun than sit out. And honestly, I do respect the hell out of the design. But for me, Warcrow doesn’t quite scratch the itch I’m usually looking to satisfy with minature games.

Final Verdict

Let’s keep this short and sharp, because Warcrow deserves that kind of clarity.

This is, without a doubt, one of the best-designed miniature games I’ve encountered in the past twenty years, going all the way back to the spark of the modern miniatures era with Mage Knight in 2000. It’s got the full package: a rich setting, stunning miniatures, and a rock-solid core ruleset that feels laser-focused on tactical excellence.

Mage Knight, the game that kicked off the HeroClix revolution, was the first to truly challenge the traditional mold of miniature wargames. It dared to ask, “What if we did things differently?”—and in doing so, it ignited a new era in miniature gaming.

This is a design space bursting with potential, and I firmly believe Warcrow has a bright future, especially in the competitive scene. But here’s my hope: that Corvus Belli doesn’t stop there. They’ve laid the groundwork for something bigger, and it would be a real shame not to build on the game’s narrative promise.

Look, I’ve seen this arc before. Star Wars: X-Wing began life as a tight, competitive, match-play system. But what kept me coming back were the scenarios, the cinematic moments, and the rich storytelling that emerged later. That’s what turned it from a good game into a beloved one. Warcrow is sitting at that same crossroads right now.

Yes, that’s personal preference, but objectively? This game is a triumph. Some may quibble about the plastic, but honestly, those concerns are minor and easily overshadowed by the strength of the design.

Warcrow has the mechanics where it matters most, the table, and more importantly, it has heart. Whether you’re a tournament grinder or a lore junkie looking for your next obsession, there’s something here worth watching… and worth playing.

The Verdict

Final Score: 4.5 out of 5 Stars!

Pros: Fantastic lore, miniatures and tactical gameplay. It is an example of how to produce a modern miniature game and a true stand-out in the miniature gaming market. The complete package.

Cons: While easy to learn, the game is deep and complex, making it a poor choice for casual play. Some negative quirks with plastic and lack of customization will turn off art-focused hobbyists who care less about the game and more about the tinkering.

Gaming Articles

Warcrow: The Miniatures Game – Models Review

Before diving into the models themselves, I want to make something clear: I love the hobby side of miniature gaming. There’s something genuinely satisfying about assembling tiny warriors, painting them up, and proudly showing them off to your friends like a dragon hoarding painted plastic instead of gold. It’s a core part of the tabletop experience for me.

That said, I’m not a perfectionist, and I’m certainly no artist. I don’t spend hours obsessing over paint blends or examining every tiny detail of a sculpt with a magnifying glass. I admire the craft, but I don’t approach it with a museum curator’s eye. If the miniatures look cool on the table and don’t fight me during assembly, I’m good.

In short, I’m a hobbyist of the “get it built, make it look nice, and play the game” variety. I want the journey from sprue to tabletop to be smooth, not soul-crushing. So when I talk about the models in Warcrow, it’s from that perspective—a practical hobbyist who values ease of assembly and visual appeal over technical perfection.

That said, I’m fully aware that a large part of the miniature gaming community loves customization, originality, and artistry, and though I may not count myself among them, I have no trouble looking out for their best interests. I know what this community is after.

The Sculpts

Let’s not kid ourselves; no one needs me to say this, but since this is a review, I’ll say it anyway: the sculpts are absolutely stunning. Honestly, they were one of the main reasons I was drawn to Warcrow in the first place. I might not fully grasp the arcane artistry that goes into sculpting miniatures, but I do know when a model looks jaw-droppingly cool, and these miniatures are showstoppers. Corvus Belli has poured fantasy, elegance, and dynamic energy into every pose and silhouette, and it shows.

The latest reveals from Corvus Belli show how they go beyond the call of duty here. The new Syenann miniatures are jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

That level of quality, though, comes with a certain intimidation factor. From the moment I opened the box, I felt a twinge of hobbyist anxiety, something I think many of us have experienced. You hold this gorgeous, hyper-detailed mini in your hand and think, I really don’t want to mess this up. And hovering somewhere in the back of your mind are the official paint jobs—those pristine, studio-quality masterpieces you know you’ll never replicate.

But that’s not the point, is it? For me, the goal is always progress. If my latest mini looks as good or better than my last one, then I’m doing just fine. Still, there’s that quiet moment before the first brushstroke, staring at a perfectly primed miniature, thinking: Okay… here we go. I hope I can pull this off.

And with models of this caliber, you want to do them justice. These aren’t the kind of minis you rush through. They’re the kind you linger over, pouring in time, patience, and every ounce of skill you’ve picked up along the way. Each one feels like a small piece of high fantasy art, practically begging you to bring its details to life. They’re exquisite, with no weak links, no lazy poses, no half-measures. Just captivating, characterful designs across the board. And painting them, while daunting, is an incredibly rewarding part of the Warcrow experience.

One of Warcrow’s biggest advantages—and something that really sets it apart—is that, with very few exceptions, every miniature you paint is a one-time deal. You’re not going to be painting duplicates. Each model brings its own unique sculpt, personality, and visual flair to your army.

One added bonus here is that a full Warcrow army amounts to around 15-20 miniatures, which in most other games would be like one or two units out of several dozen. You have fewer things to paint, so you can spend more time with what you have.

The Plastic

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no master builder, and I know even less about the nuanced world of miniature plastics. I couldn’t tell you the difference between polystyrene and PVC if you put them side by side. But I can tell you how the plastic feels to work with, and in Warcrow’s case, it’s… unique.

The best word I can come up with is “chippy”—and yes, I’m inventing that term for this review. What I mean is, you don’t really scrape mold lines, or clip excess plastic off these minis the way you might with traditional plastic kits. Filing doesn’t seem to do much, either. Instead, it’s all about precise cutting. When you hit the right spot with a sharp hobby knife or clippers, the excess plastic seems to just pop off cleanly, almost like there’s a natural break point baked into the model. The plastic, however, is quite brittle and easy to break, so if you apply too much pressure, it can and will snap, and the amount of pressure is less than you might expect.

This has its pros and cons. On the plus side, you can get very clean cuts with almost no residue, which is satisfying in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve done it. On the downside, if you’re even a little off, the knife might dig too deep, leaving behind a shiny scar where the plastic sheared. It’s not catastrophic, but it’s noticeable. You have to be deliberate and careful, being sure never to put too much pressure on the plastic.

Most of the miniatures are thick, well-constructed pieces that come together pretty easily. Building this commander was as simple as snapping two pieces together with a bit of glue.

Assembly-wise, the minis are mostly intuitive. Each piece has an obvious connection point, so even without instructions, you’ll rarely be left scratching your head. That said, the joints aren’t always as snug as you’d hope. I found myself shaving down some pegs or trimming the occasional edge just to get pieces to sit flush. It’s nothing major, but it does require a bit of attention.

I’d peg the overall assembly difficulty at a solid “light-medium.” There’s enough room for error that mistakes can happen, but nothing here is so fiddly that it’s frustrating. If you’ve put together any modern wargaming minis, you’ll feel right at home. In fact, compared to your average multipart sprue nightmare, Warcrow is practically a breeze.

In short, while the plastic might take a little getting used to, it’s ultimately a very workable material, especially for the average hobbyist who just wants to get models together and looking good without sweating every microscopic detail.

Units with elements that stick out like swords need to be handled carefully during the assembly processes. You don’t want to put too much pressure on the sword or anything that sticks out; it can snap very easily, as I discovered while putting this guy together.

These are mono-pose models, so your army is not going to look any different from anyone else’s other than the paint job, and I would argue there is not much room here for customization given the nature of the plastic. Especially since the way the pieces fit together aren’t split into natural joints. You don’t glue on arms, legs etc.. together. There are clean cuts that come together. For example, a torso piece with the head and part of the shoulder is glued onto the body.

Suffice to say, customization here is at the very least going to be difficult; for a hobbyist like me, I wouldn’t even attempt it. I worry and suspect that the wider hobby community, especially the kit-bashers and customizers, are going to find working with this plastic frustrating. It’s nature is to chip and break. It’s not something you want to drill, cut, or otherwise alter too much. I don’t want to say it’s impossible, but I would argue it’s not designed for it and probably not recommended.

Fragile Miniatures

I touched on this already, but it’s worth repeating: Warcrow miniatures are fragile. My gaming group and I found this out the hard way, and let me tell you: these minis do not pass the drop test. Not even close.

Now, to be fair, most miniatures aren’t exactly built to survive a tumble off the table. We all know the pain of watching a freshly painted model hit the floor. But here’s the difference: with most minis, a fall usually results in a joint popping loose—an arm comes off, a head rolls away- but it’s usually a clean fix. Just re-glue the part, and you’re back in business.

Not so with Warcrow.

Because of the somewhat brittle, “chippy” nature of the plastic, these minis don’t just separate at the glue points. Instead, they’re prone to snapping in unexpected places—mid-limb, across a weapon shaft, through delicate ornamentation. The break is likely to be clean, so fixing it, I suspect, won’t be too difficult, but obviously this can and will be a frustration players will have to contend with.

To me, this is one of the few real drawbacks of the material. The sculpting is beautiful, and the detail is incredible, but the cost of that elegance is durability. These are not minis you casually toss into a pile between games or let rattle around in a soft foam tray. They demand careful handling, thoughtful storage, and a little extra respect during transport.

In short, if you’re clumsy, have sausage fingers like me, or if your gaming table has a known gravitational anomaly, handle Warcrow miniatures like fragile relics, because they kind of are.

Missing Parts & Customer Service

Unfortunately, my Winds From the North set arrived with a small but noticeable issue: one of the miniatures was missing a hand. Now, I don’t consider this a deal-breaker. In any large-scale manufacturing and packing process, the occasional oversight is bound to happen. It’s not about whether problems arise; it’s how the company handles them that really counts.

And since I’m reviewing the product, it seemed like the perfect chance to see how Corvus Belli handles customer support.

They’ve got an online form specifically set up for missing or damaged parts, which I filled out on March 16th, 2025. The process was straightforward: describe the issue, attach a photo, and click submit. Within seconds, I received an automated confirmation email. So far, so good.

Missing parts in your toy box can let some of the wind out of your sails. The best feeling I know is when you have a problem and the customer service guys tell you, “Don’t worry, we are going to fix this for you right away.”

However, as of this writing, March 29th, a full 13 days later, I haven’t received any further communication. No follow-up, no confirmation of shipment, no “we’re on it” email. Just… silence.

I’m not here to make snap judgments, but I have to admit: I’m a bit disappointed. A simple acknowledgment or update would’ve gone a long way. At this point, I expected at least a “Hey, we’re sending out your replacement part” or some indication that the issue is being addressed.

It’s a small issue, but it left a dent in what was otherwise a very polished experience. Call me disappointed.

Painting The Miniatures

I’ll be upfront here: my motivation to paint these miniatures hasn’t quite kicked in yet. That’s not a knock on the game or the models themselves, it’s just the reality of hobby life. Painting miniatures is one of those deeply personal parts of the experience, and for me, it tends to come in waves. Sometimes, I’m painting every night like a man possessed, and other times… weeks go by with my brushes gathering dust. It mostly depends on what’s going on in my personal and work life.

That said, I did manage to get one miniature painted, which I think is enough to offer a few thoughts. To keep it simple: I had fun. And really, that’s the heart of it. Painting should be enjoyable, and this mini delivered on that front. There was nothing about these miniatures that hindered the experience, just nice, clean, easy-to-spot details and the excitement of seeing your miniature come alive with color.

I had hoped for this part of the review, I would have painted something new to show off, but I have been distracted a bit, and painting just hasn’t been in the cards, so here is my little orc I did a while back again. I think he came out great and illustrates how nice these mini look with some paint even in these novice hands.

The sculpts are highly detailed, and the quality is excellent, so there’s nothing to complain about. The miniature took paint beautifully, and I’m genuinely looking forward to diving into the rest of the army when the inspiration hits.

So while this part of the review is admittedly a bit surface-level, I’ll sum it up like this: These are great minis to paint, and when the mood strikes, I know I’ll be back at the painting table, happily working my way through them.

Conclusion

Warcrow miniatures are, without question, beautiful. They’re well-sculpted, easy to assemble, and practically beg to be painted. On visual design and accessibility alone, these models deserve a perfect score: a solid 5 out of 5.

I want to say this one more time for good measure. These miniatures are amazing, and if we are just talking aesthetics, to me, they are a perfect smash hit across the entire miniature line.

However, I feel it’s only fair to dock a few points due to one significant issue: the fragility of the plastic. The material used, while capable of capturing fine detail, is brittle and a bit too unforgiving. These are mono-pose miniatures with no alternate parts or customization options included, and it’s clear from handling them that they aren’t intended to be modified beyond the basic assembly.

Now, that’s fine for hobbyists like me—I tend to build miniatures as-is, straight from the box. But the wider miniature community thrives on creativity. Customization, kitbashing, and personal flair are not fringe aspects of the hobby; they’re central to it. And when a line of miniatures doesn’t leave room for that kind of expression, it excludes a part of the hobby that many people love.

To be clear, Warcrow is not alone in this approach; more and more companies are embracing mono-pose design and simplified builds, even giants like Games Workshop. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about it and call it out for what it is: a reduction in options for customization. If we let customization quietly fade from the hobby space, we risk losing something valuable.

There was a time, not long ago, when you would buy a model kit and end up with a whole bunch of extra pieces. This is because optional construction was once a standard in miniature sets. More than that, kit-bashing and customization were just assumed to be part of the normal process of building miniatures.

That said, for those of us who just want to build our armies, get them painted, and get them on the table for a great game, Warcrow miniatures hit the mark. They look fantastic, they’re mostly easy to work with, and they bring a lot of character to the battlefield. They might not be for every type of hobbyist, but for many of us, they’re more than enough.

The Verdict

Final Score: 3.5 out of 5 Stars!

Pros: Gorgeous miniature with fantastic dynamic poses, simple assembly, and amazing attention to detail all combine to make Warcrow the miniature game a stand-out product.

Cons: Brittle plastic makes these miniatures very fragile, no customization options, not well suited for kit-bashing and custom work.

Gaming Articles, On The Table

Warcrow Wednesday: March Madness Continues

It was Wednesday…on Wednesday, which means it was Warcrow night once again as Warcrow March Madness continues!

I originally considered writing another detailed after-action report, much like my last article. But as I continue working on parts 2 (Miniatures) and 3 (Gameplay) of this review, I found myself less fixated on the play-by-play of my latest match and more enthralled by the bigger picture that is the miniature game Warcrow. Instead of diving into the nitty-gritty tactical breakdowns, I want to step back and reflect on what’s hitting for me in Warcrow—and what is not based on this last session.

The Miniatures

The deeper I go into Warcrow, the more admiration I gain for the miniatures. With each session, my appreciation for their craftsmanship and artistry grows. These aren’t just game pieces (obviously); they’re stunning, dynamic sculptures brimming with character and detail. To be expected from a miniature game, but not all miniature games make such a grand effort.

As my gaming group steadily brings their miniatures to life with paint, the battlefield is transforming before my eyes. Gone are the stark, gray figures of an unpainted army—now, vibrant colors and intricate details are emerging, adding a whole new dimension to the experience. It’s inspiring, to say the least. In fact, seeing the work of my fellow gamers has sparked an itch in me to finally dive into painting my own force.

I have to admit, I have been hesitant to start, partially intimidated by the level of detail of these miniatures, but perhaps also a bit undecided about the paint schemes and approach I want to take. It’s part of the process for me personally, but I find that the best way to get excited about painting is to play and Wednesday’s session I think was the push I needed.

I’ll be showcasing my personal painting progress in the next part of this review (which, fingers crossed, should be out next week). But before that, I have to take a moment to highlight the incredible work my friends have already done.

For a miniature gamer, setting up some beautifully painted miniatures like this for a photo-op is one of the joys in life. To see an army coming together is very satisfying. These guys look amazing on the table.
Here is another one from a different angle.

The First Chink In The Armor

For any miniatures game, the figures are tiny works of art that we meticulously build, paint, and cherish. Naturally, protecting them is a top priority. We treat these plastic warriors like priceless relics, handling them with care and storing them with caution. But no matter how careful you are, one universal truth remains: at some point, you’re going to drop one.

And that’s exactly what happened tonight. Almost as if fate had scripted it, this accidental drop led me straight to a crucial question I would have had to address in my review anyway: How durable are Warcrow miniatures? Unfortunately, the answer—spoiler alert—is not very durable at all.

I’ve handled my fair share of miniatures over the years so I have a basis for comparison, and I’ve dropped plenty in the process (curse these sausage fingers). But what I witnessed tonight was something else entirely. One of our orc miniatures took a minor tumble—barely a foot and some change of the ground, a distance that would unlikely result in damage in most plastics—and the results were rather distressing. The model didn’t just chip or crack; it nearly shattered. The sword flew in one direction, and the arm quite literally broke and flew off in another, leaving us scouring the floor for ten minutes to recover the pieces. These weren’t just connection point breaks, these were actual cracks in the plastic.

Now, I get it—miniatures are delicate. We’re used to gluing the occasional broken limb back on. But Warcrow minis seem to take fragility to a whole new level. In a word, Warcrow miniatures are about as fragile as glass. If you drop it, it’s going to break.

This lack of durability is a disappointing flaw in an otherwise gorgeous product. Miniatures in a wargame need to withstand at least the occasional mishap, and Warcrow’s plastic seems to have little room for error. If you plan on playing with these figures, consider extra precautions such as avoiding adding extra weight to the bases in hopes of slowing the acceleration towards terminal velocity and oblivion.

The War Of Tricks In Warcrow

With disaster averted (thanks to a well-timed intervention from the holy elixir of miniature wargaming—super glue), it was finally time to hit the table. I stuck with my tried-and-true list from last Wednesday: The Hegemony of Embersig, led by the indomitable Drago The Anvil. Why? Because familiarity breeds confidence—and let’s be real, Drago is an absolute badass and so far as Warcrow is concerned I am not.

Commanders in Warcrow aren’t just decorative centerpieces; they’re the backbone of your army, influencing both mechanics and morale. Drago is no exception. His global willpower boost keeps my forces steady, and he’s no slouch in combat either.

This time, I faced off against the Scions of Yaldabaoth again, but with a vastly different list than my previous encounter. Gone were the regeneration-heavy swarms; instead, my opponent brought a more aggressive, tricksy force—one loaded with unpredictable mechanics. And that’s precisely what I want to talk about today.

“Trickiness” might not be an official term in wargaming, but it fits Warcrow like a glove. This isn’t a game where success boils down to raw numbers—where my unit’s attack power simply contends with yours. No, Warcrow is about clever positioning, debilitating effects, and outmaneuvering your opponent at every turn.

Every unit is unique, bringing more to the table than just stats and weaponry. Sure, there are more “standard” units like Bucklermen, but that’s not the norm. Most units come with distinct mechanics that demand strategic deployment. This means you’re not just lining up soldiers and rolling dice to see who wins—Warcrow is about using each unit’s quirks to maximum effect.

One of the things that attracts me to Star Wars Shatter Point besides my love for Star Wars, is that it too has that tricksiness aspect to it. I find that the more I play modern miniature games like Shatterpoint and Warcrow, the more I see the flaws of more traditional war games which can and often do boil down to your ability to roll dice well.

Holding objectives is a core element of Warcrow, but don’t expect a simple game of “park a unit and claim the point.” Objectives are hard to reach, harder to hold, and require some serious tactical footwork. I found in my match that I considered myself lucky when I scored points at all. When I outscored my opponent in a round, I knew I had truly outplayed them. It was not dice gods, but my brain working overtime that made it happen and I appreciate the game making this high-functioning idiot feel smart

I found that in our match the game naturally built toward a breaking point, which I think is going to turn out to be true about most games of Warcrow. At some stage towards the end of the match, one side inevitably wears down and outmaneuvers the other, with flanks collapsing, and the score diverging. Until then, the matches in Warcrow are tense, grinding battles of attrition—almost reminiscent of trench warfare, where every inch of the battlefield is fiercely contested. But again, less so because of actual melee’s and more like Jedi’s showing off their force powers in a display of fancy tricks on the field of battle.

This is something crucial to understand about Warcrow I think. Many of us dive into wargaming for the thrill of chucking handfuls of dice, unleashing devastation, and watching miniatures explode in a glorious spectacle of destruction (myself included). But Warcrow isn’t that kind of game. It’s deliberate, methodical, and deeply tactical—closer to chess than a war. I think it’s the general approach of modern game design.

Warhammer 40k is an example of a true war game. There are important individuals on the field and sure, plenty of units have special abilities too, but primarily this is a game of killing as much as you can. It’s a war and its resolved with dice!

In fact, rolling dice in Warcrow is often not about damage at all. Instead, dice rolls tend to more frequently be made to activate unique abilities, spells, or tactical effects that influence the battlefield in far more meaningful ways than simply punching an enemy model. Sure, charging into a fight and throwing hands is satisfying and certainly a part of Warcrow, but the true power of your army lies in leveraging debuffs, control effects, and positional advantages. The goal isn’t to kill so much as it is to position and score on objectives

In many miniature games, every unit is essentially an instrument of destruction. Warcrow flips that on its head. Here, your army is a finely tuned machine of unique and interesting effects, where victory isn’t dictated by who has the bigger gun, but by who makes the smarter play. I know I’m going to sound like the Monopoly guy, but it’s a more sophisticated miniature game for gentlemen and scholars.

Conclusion

This week’s game further opened my eyes to the possibilities within the design space of Warcrow. There is quite a bit to explore and I can see even now as I assess and think about the game, I still feel like a complete newbie. There are a lot of layers yet to peel back, but Warcrow Madness is not over yet. In fact, I fully suspect that Warcrow April Madness is going to be a thing.