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First Impressions: Trials of Maya (2026)

Check Out Trials Of Maya Crowdfunder (Gamefound)

When this monster-sized box showed up at my house, I was already pretty amped up by the sales pitch. An expandable, card-driven, MOBA-style game? Hello yes! I love MOBA games; god only knows how many hours I burned playing League of Legends, Heroes of Newerth, and DOTA.

Suffice it to say, this was a concept that spoke to me directly. In fact, it’s the sort of game I have been looking for so desperately that, in the absence of its existence, I tried to create one myself. I’m about as close to a target audience for Trials of Maya as you’re ever going to get.

What is a MOB? It stands for Multiplayer Online Battle Arena, a genre of gaming that involves players (typically 5 vs 5) running unique characters from a large roster all with special and unique abilities fighting on a map over a serious of towers and the ulimtate price, the opponents base camp. First team to blow up their oppossitions base camp wins.

League of Legends in particular for me was THE MOBA to play. Like most MOBA’s, it’s about the Champions first and foremost and all the crazy interaction between all their various powers. This is really what I’m hoping Trials of Maya gets close to as a game.

I should fully disclose before we get going here that this First Impression article is based on a single two-player siege mode game. This is not the review; That we will do later, but I felt, given that the crowdfunding for this one is going live next month, there are probably plenty of people out there looking it up.

Trials of Maya is here… I played it, and it’s time to talk about it.

Opening The Box

This box, and everything in it, feels like more than just a game. It’s a work of art, crafted with a clear focus on turning the simple act of discovering a new board game into a unique visual experience. I knew from the outset this wasn’t going to be just a box opening, and Trials of Maya did not disappoint.

Just the art in this game speaks volumes to the design team’s dedication, though I think this is not only expected, but demanded by MOBA fans. Art in MOBA games is part of the allure, so a board game trying to represent this genre would need to do the legwork. Fortunately, Trials of Maya does indeed pass this trial with flying colors.

Everything here feels as though it was created through the lens of an artist. Personal… designed from the heart. The illustrations, graphic design, components, books, colors, and physical presentation have all been tied together into a single piece of work with a singular vision. Combined, they create the sort of presentation most games don’t even strive for, let alone achieve.

There is an included novel that tells a story from the universe in which the game is set (Just getting into that), offering an inside perspective on the setting and theme. There is striking artwork, and a genuine effort to entice through elaborate, if not sometimes overproduced components. Mind you, I’m working with a prototype here. Even the smallest details seem carefully matched to everything around them, creating a unified whole that comes together almost like a painting.

Every detail in Trials of Maya feels like the result of countless hours of contemplation and creativity. It’s not always successful, but you can’t discount the effort here; this game is someone’s baby boy born from blood, sweat, and tears, that much is clear

To give you one particularly strange and wonderful example, the included novel has a cover that is itself a 3D art piece. The game actually comes with a pair of 3D glasses that reveal the full effect of the cover art.

Why? Why would anyone go through the trouble of doing something like that in a board game?

Supporting a board game with a novel is not unprecedented; in fact, we saw exactly this in Syncanite Foundation I reviewed earlier this year, but I find things like this make me giddy, especially if I’m really into a board game. I love exploring a cool new settings.

I think the answer can be found in the particular sort of nostalgia Trials of Maya is trying to evoke. The rise of MOBAs belongs to a generation of gaming that grew up surrounded by loud colors, experimental visual design, and a fascination with 3D entertainment. Movies, games, and advertising were constantly trying to leap out of the screen at us. Even the bright red glasses themselves fit perfectly into the color palette and visual identity of Trials of Maya.

It is nostalgia expressed through art, a kind of unnecessary cherry on top, but it speaks volumes to the love affair the designer/producers of this game have with it.

3d Movies were a bit of a gimmick, and I’m not sure it panned out quite how Hollywood hoped it would, but I remember it like it was yesterday, and it was pretty awesome!

I don’t think everyone will have the same reaction, but if you grew up during the rise of MOBAs and were deeply immersed in gaming culture at the time, there is something about Trials of Maya that may feel oddly familiar.

Yet for all that familiarity, this is certainly not another game drawing exclusively from the familiar well of Western fantasy. The Tolkien-inspired traditions and Appendix N influences that dominate so much of fantasy gaming are largely absent here.

Instead, Trials of Maya has a striking Indo Asian aesthetic, with characters, clothing, architecture, symbolism, and mythology that appear influenced by Indic and broader Asian artistic and cultural traditions. Combined with its science fantasy elements, it gives the world an identity that feels immediately distinct from anything else you will see out there.

I spend a great deal of time reviewing games, reading about games, and as a side effect reviewing artwork. We get all kinds, but for me personally, I love it when art is both really unique and exceptional, while still comfortable and familiar in a way. This definitely has a League of Legends Wukong feel to it and I love that.

I am going on and on here, but I think that is justified. So much effort has gone into the presentation of Trials of Maya that it deserves to be lingered over.

In a word, Trials of Maya is absolutely gorgeous. We are off to a really great start!

Setup and Components

While Trials of Maya is artistically impressive, we have to put the artistry aside for a moment because even in a First Impressions article, my job is to offer the reader a dose of reality. I don’t want to be all hype and no substance. Anyone interested in this game is going to want a breakdown of the game itself.

Eye candy is eye candy. The game is the game.

There is no question in my mind that in order for a modern, crowdfunded board game to do well, it must indeed be eye-candy. That is the visual advertisement, but in the end, once you get a game to the table, the game lives and dies by its gameplay.

My friend and I set aside half a day to sit down with Trials of Maya and play a one-on-one siege game, one of several game modes the system offers. The Siege Mode is, in effect, the base mode of what we think of as a MOBA game. Towers, minions, lanes of sorts, and the push.

Ahead of his arrival, I read through the rulebook and reference material, trying to get a handle on the game, and got everything set up so that we could dive straight in.

The Rulebook is laid out beautifully with very focused areas and clear language. I have read a lot of rulebooks in my day from independent publishers and crowdfunded games, and universally they are usually so bad they are barely usable; I was very pleasantly surprised that the Trials of Maya dev team did some quality, professional work here. It made a huge difference for our experience with the game.

Now, it’s important to mention for a second time that I’m working with a prototype of Trials of Maya. Keep that firmly in mind as a lens through which to view the following comments.

While the components look fantastic laid out on the table, and much of the physical design is exceptionally well conceived, even during setup I could see that Trials of Maya was going to be a fairly fiddly game.

The hexagonal battlefield is very tight, and there is a lot of stuff that goes onto it, leaving surprisingly little room for fat fingers to maneuver. Setup itself was not particularly complicated, albeit it took about 20 minutes. The physical components, while gorgeous through and through, were something of a mixed bag in the usability department, ranging from fantastic to …meh.

The player boards, for example, are really well thought out. Components fit snugly into designated spaces, and everything is organized in a visually accessible way. It was particularly convenient to be able to look across the table and, with a quick glance, understand the board state of my opponent. Critical to executing the game successfully and being fully informed.

I really loved the character cards; everything is well organized, has a clear purpose… every aspect of the tactile design aces the test, and it looks gorgeous to boot!

The cards were similarly successful. The iconography is relatively simple, and we adjusted to it quickly. Most of the cards we encountered during our game were clear, and whenever something was not immediately obvious, there was handy reference material included with the game that made answers easy to find.

My friends and I have all designed a lot of cards for our games over the years, and this is exactly what you want. Nice looking, clear text, clear iconography, and consistency. This is how you make cards for a card game. Well done!

Some of the physical components in this prototype, however, were clumsy.

Several pieces were easy to knock over and awkward to grab, resulting in quite a few frustrating fumbles during play. The stackable chips in particular, used to track the health of minions, while a good idea conceptually, had a tendency to topple over. The various spawn and upgrade markers had similar problems because they stood upright and were rather top-heavy.

You get a better sense of the board from the side here, but there is a lot of three-dimensional stacking here; those plastic chips are feather light, and even a tiny bump can knock a stack over. Don’t get me wrong, I think using chips to track health of units is clever and looks great, but if you’re going to use chips in a game like this where they get handled a lot, they need to have some weight to them like poker chips.

There was also a more practical issue with the battlefield itself. Many components completely covered the hex they occupied, making it difficult to see symbols or terrain features underneath them. Walls and other important battlefield information could effectively disappear once the board became populated. The board really could have been 20% bigger.

None of this is catastrophic, but in a game built around positioning and tactical information, where you’re constantly moving pieces around, physical usability matters.

There is still time before release to tighten some of these components up and, in fact, the designer has expressed a commitment to doing exactly that. Trials of Maya is clearly in the final stages of production preparation, and I would expect that a number of these details will change before the finished game reaches players.

For that reason, I would not personally count these issues against the game at this stage. This is precisely what prototypes are for.

Still, it’s worth mentioning because there is an important distinction here. A game needs to be both beautiful and easy to use. Trials of Maya has unquestionably nailed the first half of that equation. The prototype suggests there is still some work to be done on the second.

With everything finally set up, however, it was time to dive in.

Both my gaming partner and I were excited; I in particular was holding my breath because I desperately want this game to be good.

Gods! I need a good MOBA tabletop game, let this be the one!

Rules, Mechanics and Gameplay

As one might expect, right out of the gate we fumbled around with the rules and got a few things wrong. This is not particularly unusual with a brand new game, especially one that is a bit more complex and comes from an independent publisher clearly willing to experiment with new mechanics and ideas. I only mention it because the game came with a strong solution.

The rulebook was very well written. Whenever we discovered that we had misunderstood something, we were quickly able to find the answer, correct ourselves, and keep going. The reference booklet and reference cards reinforced this, and before long we were playing without needing to constantly stop and consult the rules.

This is big for me because I find universally that most independent crowdfunders have terrible rulebooks; Trials of Maya succeeded where most people fail, and this is such a critical element of getting off on the right foot with a new game. Big kudos to the design team!

After a couple of rounds, Trials of Maya started to come into focus.

We began to see the strategy, understand the rhythm of the game, and recognize how all of its interconnected systems were supposed to work.

The aha moment had arrived. It was time to get down to the business of crushing each other’s souls! We were itching for the action.

My gaming partner and I were pretty focused during the game, so we did not spend much time discussing our opinions while we played. We were too busy trying to successfully navigate our characters around the battlefield, uncover combinations between cards and abilities, manipulate minions, and control important areas of the board as we fought our way toward each other’s towers.

Because that is essentially the game.

Each round you gain energy from cards that slide off your tableau as well as play new cards. You then spend that energy executing actions from the cards in play in your tableau, moving your character, attacking enemies, and triggering various special abilities. Meanwhile, your character develops and becomes increasingly powerful as you complete objectives and gain XP.

In other words, pretty much exactly what you would expect and I hoped from a MOBA board game.

Very much like actual MOBA’s, pushing forward and controlling the forward position is key to the game. You want to be fighting closer to your opponent’s tower so that when an opportunity opens up you’re within striking distance. As such, controlling neutral spawn points is a major point of contention in the game.

This is a card-driven tactical game about fighting with your character and controlled minions, pushing toward the enemy tower and trying to pull off various gambits and shenanigans as you outmaneuver your opponent.

Each character felt genuinely unique, with clearly defined strengths and weaknesses. Some were fast, some excelled at range, and others were built to stand their ground and absorb punishment. There were only four characters available in this prototype, but it was not difficult to imagine another thirty.

There is no question that Trials of Maya feels infinitely expandable in this area, and I suspect that discovering new characters and learning how to exploit their unique abilities is going to be a big part of the long-term appeal of the game. In fact, like a MOBA, I would expect in groups where the game is played often, META’s will form as they would in League of Legends or DOTA, with homebrew tournament rules undoubtedly forming.

The Trials of Maya prototype came with four characters, each with their own deck of cards, abilities, skills, and stats. Even with just four characters, there is plenty to explore mechanically, but you can see how very obviously, more is better! I haven’t mentioned the quality of the sculpts here, mainly because I find pictures tell the story for the most part. I can say that the miniatures in my box were actually a lot nicer and more detailed than the ones depicted in the marketing material. These are very paint-worthy minis

The customizable card decks add another layer to that potential.

You can essentially create your own version of each character by modifying their deck. We did not experiment with deck construction during our first game, choosing instead to use the recommended starting decks, but halfway through the game I already had strong opinions about which cards I wanted to remove and what sorts of cards I would want to replace them with.

That’s a very good sign.

The potential here is exceptional and, more importantly, I would argue the game is already very fun in its current form. There are several other game modes still to explore, and I strongly suspect that a four-player siege game is going to be considerably more chaotic and exciting than our one-on-one match. Though I am deeply concerned about the game’s length. Our two-player game stretched well into the 3rd hour, and while we were new and a slow first game is understandable, I worry that a 4-player game is going to be a pretty extended affair.

I personally thought Trials of Maya succeeded in bringing the MOBA genre to life on the tabletop, though I would argue it felt a bit slow. Perhaps the most accurate description of the experience came from my gaming partner. At the end of the match, he looked up from the board and uttered a sentence that perfectly encapsulated what both of us were thinking.

“This was a really fun game, but it had some jank.”

I completely agree. That statement, however, requires some explanation.

First, I will remind you once again that this is a First Impressions article about a prototype game. After a single play, I would not feel comfortable being held to account for any definitive conclusions about its finer mechanical details; these are gut instincts firing here. We are going to tackle the depth of this game in the review later after having a few more plays under our belts.

Think of what follows less as criticism and more as an advisory observation from two people who have spent an ungodly amount of time designing and playing prototype games ourselves, desperately trying to get the jank out of our own designs.

It’s experience shining through and, perhaps more importantly, an acknowledgement of just how difficult it is to truly streamline a game.

Jank, for lack of a better term, is what happens when a game is clearly on the right track and has a fundamentally good design, but still has mechanics or physical elements that need refinement. It’s a kind of threshold for a game. It’s when a game is so close to its final version that you can taste it, but there are still little pieces of friction getting between the players and the experience, which can turn a fun game into a frustrating one. Typically and perhaps most commonly, Jank causes games to be longer than they should be.

Jank is the demon every game designer eventually has to tango with, but perhaps more problematically, crowdfunded games are famous for leaving the Jank in on release. Something I’m always weary of.

I think that is exactly where Trials of Maya is in this prototype, and I really hope it’s not too late for the designers to address and fine-tune this game further.

Some of the jank comes from the components themselves, as I have already described. The game is simply a bit too fiddly right now, slowing it down and making it feel a bit clumsy.

These strike me as very solvable problems.

In fact, the next time I play Trials of Maya I will probably just use my clay poker chips for tracking minion health, for example, as a solution to chips toppling over all the time. Clay poker chips are designed to stack, they stay put, they are easy to grab, and they are smaller in diameter. In a game where moving stacks of chips around the battlefield is a constant activity, you want this part to be smooth as silk.

Anyone who has ever played poker with plastic, rather than clay poker chips, will instantly know what I’m talking about when I say light plastic chips do not stack and fall over all the time. It’s why in poker you use heavier, clay chips. I can’t even describe how huge of a difference this would make for Trials of Maya.

There was some mechanical jank as well, though this is where I become much more cautious about drawing conclusions after a single game.

Both my partner and I felt that something about the handling of allied minions was still a little off.

During the game, the neutral minions that begin on the battlefield are quickly converted into allied minions controlled by the players. This part we liked, but we soon discovered that stacks of allied minions die quite quickly and, almost immediately, those same minions begin spawning back onto the battlefield.

The result was a revolving game of attrition where minion deaths primary impact on the game was slowing it to a crawl.

Minions were returning as quickly as we could kill them, you really couldn’t “clear the lane” for those familiar with MOBA terminology. Movement is fairly limited for all but the most mobile characters as it is; the battlefield is extremely tight, and the sequence of play allows minions to spawn at the beginning of a player’s turn and then act during that same turn, often in the same turn they died.

As a result, the board state could collapse and rebuild itself in one swift sequence of actions during the same turn. There is little breathing room, in one turn you achieve success, in the very next it’s all undone, and there is not much you could do about it.

This attrition results in the game being a lot less decisive with really heavy attrition and, as a consequence, a lot longer than I think it needs to be.

Something about that rhythm felt off to both of us.

I definitely want to play Trials of Maya a couple more times before making any stronger judgment about it. There may be, in fact, likely are aspects of the minion system that we simply failed to appreciate during our first game, and I suspect a four-player game could reveal considerably more nuance. Not to mention that the custom deck building I think is going to become a key feature of the game on repeated plays. Even after a single game, I felt quite ready to build my own deck.

We were slicing and dicing minions by the handfuls; they were leaving play and returning at breakneck speeds. It was fun at first, but this attrition really slowed the game down to a crawl and extended its overall playtime quite dramatically.

What I had considerably less trouble forming an opinion about was the card play.

I loved the card powers and the mechanic of sliding cards off your tableau to generate energy. There was a clear strategy and rhythm to it. It quickly became clear that every card had subtle benefits and drawbacks. There were cards I desperately wanted to get into play, while others seemed less useful until some unexpected situation or coordinated combos suddenly transformed them into the most important card in my hand.

That was really fun.

Even better was discovering some of the funky shenanigans possible when certain cards and abilities started interacting.

At one point I suddenly realized that a particular combination of cards in play would allow my character to essentially shoot across the entire battlefield, bypass the enemy forces and make a direct assault on my opponent’s tower.

I caused devastating damage in short order and nearly pulled off a win right then and there. That was the first time the game felt responsive, less about attrition and more about action. And in that moment, Trials of Maya did exactly what I wanted it to do; it felt like I had hoped it would.

I think in a way, the overarching jank in Trials of Maya is that it’s too slow most of the time; when the action exploded like that, it was the first time the game felt really good, and I think that is what this game should be. A quick 30-45 knife fight in a phone booth of moves and counter moves, not a slow strategic game of attrition.

For a moment, it felt like a classic League of Legends tower rush. Like a proper MOBA game, and I think that is precisely what this game should be striving for. MOBA’s are not thinking, strategic games, they are action games that require quick thinking and quick decisions.

First Impression Conclusion

I don’t particularly like writing first impression conclusions.

There is a sort of finality implied by the word conclusion when the reality is that I’m only just beginning to explore Trials of Maya. If there is one thing I have learned from reviewing games over the years, it’s that my opinions can change wildly during that process.

I remember playing Lord of the Rings The Card Game for the first time and absolutely hating it. A year later, it held the number one spot on my Top 10 Best Games of All Time list, a position it would hold for nearly a decade.

Never judge a game by the first time you play it, over the years, I have learned this lesson many times over. From Lord of the Rings, the card game that I hated the first time I played and became one of my all time favorite games, to Eclipse that I hailed as the next coming and now I can’t even stand to look at. All games deserve at least 2-3 plays before you judge (says the game doing a First Impressions article after one play!)

I have seen games go the other way too.

The point is that first impressions can be wrong. Sometimes spectacularly so.

After my first game of Trials of Maya, however, there are three things I feel reasonably confident saying.

First, it was fun.

That sounds like an almost insultingly simple observation, but ultimately it is the most important one, and I think the designer would agree; those are magical confidence-building words to the ears of a person who spent half a decade working on a passion project. Trials of Maya is a game I genuinely cannot wait to get back to the table. It’s beautiful, strategic, highly customizable, and filled with possibilities that I have barely begun to explore.

Even with some prototype jank and a few mechanical questions lingering in my mind, when we packed the game away I was already thinking about the next match.

That matters.

Second, I suspect Trials of Maya may be at its best with four players.

Our two-player Siege game occasionally felt a little isolated. With only two heroes running around the much smaller battlefield, it seemed like there was space in the design waiting to be filled. It kind of felt like an introductory game, with depth that simply wasn’t there for us to explore to keep things simple. I’m very curious to see what happens when four heroes are unleashed on the battlefield with custom decks, creating more combinations, more threats, and presumably considerably more chaos.

In fact, before even getting four people together, I’m tempted to try a two-player game in which we each control two heroes just to see how dramatically that changes the experience. I just wonder about the playtime: how long is a 4-player game going to take?

Third, and perhaps most importantly, I think Trials of Maya has layers that we barely touched.

Toward the end of our game, I started catching glimpses of tactical possibilities that simply had not occurred to us during the opening rounds. Movement, positioning, pushing and pulling characters around the battlefield all seemed considerably more important than we initially understood. The relationships between cards, heroes and minions began revealing opportunities for combinations and clever plays that our basic starting decks only hinted at.

Strategy games, especially customizable card games ones usually have a lot of subtle nuance that may not be evident in a first playthrough. I suspect Trials of Maya definitely falls into that category. It definitely requires more exploration.

That is ultimately what excites me most and may also quell my criticisms. Trials of Maya did not leave me feeling like I had figured it out.

It left me feeling like I wanted to figure it out.

Maybe the game is, in fact, much faster once you know what you’re doing. Maybe that feeling of slow-paced attrition was just the impression of a newbie still trying to come to grips with the game’s strategies.

When that enormous box first arrived at my house, Trials of Maya sounded like the sort of game I had been waiting for. An expandable, customizable, card-driven tactical game that attempts to capture the characters, combinations, battlefield positioning, and tower assaults of a MOBA on the tabletop.

After one game, I am not prepared to tell you that Trials of Maya has completely fulfilled that promise.

I am prepared to tell you that I desperately want to play it again.

For a First Impression, I cannot think of a better conclusion than that.

Review: Tembo – Survival On The Savanna

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer has surprisingly little to do with elephants.

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

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

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

Tembo delivers exactly that energy.

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

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

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

Finally, I want games that earn their victories.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Overview

Final Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star(3.85) Great Strategic Puzzle

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

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

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

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

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

Then there’s your energy supply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s where Tembo really shines.

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

For all of those reasons, I absolutely adore Tembo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Components

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_star

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

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

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

Tembo is a perfect example of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a relatively minor complaint, though.

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

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

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

Theme

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_star

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

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

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

Tembo is no exception.

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

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

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

The artwork deserves particular praise.

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

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

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

Then the game proceeds to repeatedly crush your spirit.

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

That contrast is strangely endearing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gameplay

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

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

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

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

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

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

Those games always get my attention.

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

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

Tembo ticks both boxes.

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

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

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

Then I lost. Again. And again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every Puzzle Feels Different

The first is the dynamic map.

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

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

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

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

Information Is a Resource

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

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

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

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

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

Resource Management Is Everything

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Replayability and Longevity

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t mistake approachable rules for an easy game.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Review: Epochs: Course of Cultures – 2025

Designer: Jeffrey CCH

I do enjoy a good civilization game. In fact, if one were to casually browse my gaming shelves (an expedition not unlike cataloguing a particularly nerdy wing of the British Museum), one would find no shortage of grand historical ambitions neatly packed into cardboard. Titles such as Through the Ages, Western Empires, and Nations just to name a few sit there rather smugly, silently judging lesser boxes. One might even say, though only after a modest pause for dramatic effect, that I am something of a connoisseur.

I know, more or less, what I want from a civilization game, but I do delight in being surprised by games in this genre, providing something unexpected. This is precisely where Epoch: Course of Cultures emerges, like a well-dressed time traveller stepping out of a slightly unreliable machine. It presents a civilization-building experience that feels comfortingly familiar, yet curiously novel, an impressive feat that would likely earn a small, approving nod from Sid Meier himself. I would even argue this game has done more for the genre itself than the latest PC disappointment, Civilisation 7, though that is not as extraordinary feat as you might imagine it to be. A topic perhaps for another day.

Overview

Final Score: christmas_starchristmas_star christmas_star(3.6 out 5 Stars)

Epoch: Course of Cultures is, at its heart, an action selection civilization builder, which is a wonderfully polite way of saying, “you will spend a great deal of time making big key decisions and then immediately wondering if they were terrible ones.” Beneath the surface, it carries many of the familiar mechanical bones of the genre, but with just enough curious mutations and original ideas to keep things feeling fresh, competitive, and pleasantly tense in that “I may have just doomed my people” sort of way.

Now, civilization games do have a reputation for being… Chronologically challenged. In that context, Epoch sits comfortably in the middle ground. When compared to titans like Through the Ages or Western Empires, a four-hour playtime feels almost refreshingly restrained, like a historical epic that politely ends before your snacks run out. That said, it’s quite the affair compared to your standard board game play time, especially at the preferred 4 player count.

One of the central concepts behind a good civilization game in my opinion, is that it should feel massive, epic.. sprawling even. That approach however, usually comes with several drawbacks, the time needed to play often being one of the primary reasons you rarely get to play them. I love my Western Empires, but getting 5+ players together for a 12+ hour game is exceedingly rare, so it becomes a beloved dust collector instead.

What Epoch does rather cleverly is take a seemingly simple action structure and quietly turn it into something far more devious. On your turn, you’ll do something wonderfully straightforward: play a card representing a development in your civilization, and then choose an action, settling new lands, advancing culture, investing in science, and so on. All very reasonable, yet that play of a card leads to all the actions that include all the core ideas of civilisation building. Production, technology, construction, trade, etc.. All very civilised. And yet, beneath this calm exterior lurks a deeply strategic, wonderfully thinky puzzle that will have you staring at the board as though it has personally offended you.

And there is quite a lot of board to stare at. The game comes with an impressive collection of pieces, icons, tracks, and other paraphernalia that suggest great complexity. But in truth, mechanically speaking, especially by civilization game standards, Epoch is surprisingly approachable. It’s less “arcane ritual” and more “well-organised chaos.”

There is so much built into your action selection card play in Epoch that it feels wonderfully intuitive and powerful each time you pick something. It’s a decision that will pay out over the course of the entire game, making each action central to a larger, grand strategy.

What truly elevates the experience, however, is how tight it feels and how interactive it is in a way modern games in general have been gradually pulling away from. Every action matters. Every decision nudges your civilization forward in a way that feels tangible and earned, with an impact on the other players directly. This subtle but blatant interaction makes you constantly aware of your opponents, because unlike many modern civ builders, Epoch is not afraid to let you go to war. In fact, escalation towards war is one of the core features of the game. Each player’s choices ripple into yours, shaping your next move, whether you like it or not, it’s really only a matter of time before you clash. This is a refreshing change from many civilization games, which can sometimes feel like a group of people politely playing solo games in the same room, with occasional brushes like “oh no, you took the card I wanted”. Here, the interaction is real, the tension is present, and the consequences are just inconvenient enough to be delightful.

Civilization: A New Dawn shares a lot of similarities as a design with Epoch, both games feature an explorable terrain board and an action selection system that drives the game forward, but unlike Epoch, A New Dawn landed rather flat with me and it was the shortage of meaningful interaction between players that I would blame as the root cause for it.

In its own way, Epoch will challenge classics like Through The Ages, though the question remains, where does it rank in the great scheme of this very robust genre? I don’t think you can get away with making a Civilization builder without comparisons, so we will be doing a bit of that in this review.

Components

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_star

Pros: Very flashy and usable.  Things are easy to find the iconography is exceptional.

Cons: There are a lot of pieces to this game, and you’re going to need a larger-than-standard table to play it, especially 4 players.

I consider component quality to be important in a civilization game only because these games are, at their core, sprawling puzzles masquerading as historical progress. You are expected to maintain a bird’s-eye view of everything at all times, an impressive feat, given that your brain is already busy calculating the long-term consequences of a decision you made fifteen minutes ago involving what seemed, at the time, to be a perfectly innocent grain surplus.

Analysis Paralysis is not just a possibility here, it’s more of a lifestyle choice. When a single action can ripple five to ten turns into the future, you need clarity. You need visibility. You need iconography that doesn’t require a degree in interpretive archaeology to understand. In short, you need the game to communicate with you clearly, ideally without muttering cryptic symbols like an ancient alien artefact.

Traditionally, this clarity comes from strong, simple rules, but equally important is how the components themselves convey information. After all, if the board looks like a tax form designed by chaos theorists, no amount of good rules will save you and this tends to be the case in many civilisation-building games.

Fortunately, this is where Epoch positively beams with competence. From the cards to the player aids, from the iconography to the general visual presentation, everything is crisp, readable, and, dare one say, rather attractive. It carries a certain aesthetic familiarity that fans of Sid Meier’s work will recognise immediately, as if the game itself quietly aspires to be invited over for tea with Civilization and not embarrass itself.

And it succeeds. This is a production that balances beauty with functionality in a way that feels almost suspiciously well thought out. You will, after all, be staring at this game for several hours, possibly long enough to begin assigning personalities to your resource tokens, so it’s rather important that the experience is visually pleasant. (There are, one suspects, entire galaxies that have been abandoned for less.)

There is no question that Epoch is a sprawling game with tons of “things” on the board, which can be quite intimidating for the average board gamer. This is rather misleading because, despite the very busy board, Epoch is a pretty straightforward game you might compare to your average Euro in terms of complexity.

Like most civilization games, Epoch isn’t something you’ll casually throw onto the table on a whim. It demands time, attention, and a willingness to explain rules to your friends that may, at some point, sound like you are describing the tax policies of a small but determined nation. However, thanks to excellent organisation and intuitive design, the learning curve is far gentler than it could have been. The same game with lesser components would have been far more complex.

In fact, during my very first play, I already felt surprisingly in control, an unsettling sensation in a genre that usually delights in making you feel like a confused ruler shouting at maps. By the second play, it was all strategy, all the time. And much of that ease comes down to components that are not just well-designed, but designed for use.

Well done indeed. Top marks here, no need to consult the Guide on this one.

Theme

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_star

Pros:  It nails civilization building with class while including things that are often omitted in other Civilisation-building games.

Cons: It’s missing historical figures, with technological progress being a heavily abstracted concept that has little impact on the game beyond resource collection.

I suspect this section can be handled with the sort of efficiency normally reserved for highly competent civil servants and improbably well-organised galaxies.

The theme of Epoch: Course of Cultures is civilization-building and history, and I’m pleased to report that it achieves this with very little fuss and a reassuring amount of success. It looks like a civilization game, it plays like a civilization game, and, most importantly, it feels like a civilization game while you’re sitting at the table making questionable long-term decisions. In short: it does exactly what it says on the tin, which is more than can be said for a surprising number of things in the universe.

That said, there is a small crack in the otherwise polished marble.

One of the great joys of the genre is the sense that each civilization has its own identity. That playing Persia should feel meaningfully different from playing Egypt, beyond simply having a different colour and a slightly more exotic name to mispronounce.

Epoch gestures in this direction, offering each nation a minor, slightly quirky advantage you can develop over time. It’s a nice touch, pleasant, even, but its impact on the actual gameplay is… modest. So modest, in fact, that you may find yourself forgetting who is playing what entirely, which is rarely a good sign in a game about civilizations and their supposedly rich identities.

These differences don’t meaningfully steer your strategy, nor do they create distinct playstyles. You won’t find yourself passionately debating the merits of one civilization over another, or dramatically declaring, “Ah, but you see, this is exactly what the Persians would do.” Instead, everyone is essentially playing the same game with very slightly different accents.

There is also a noticeable absence of historical figures. No great leaders, no visionary scientists, no wildly overconfident generals making bold claims about invading Russia in winter. It’s a small thing, perhaps, but these human elements often provide a strong sense of connection to history, anchors that make the experience feel less abstract and more alive.

I think Through The Ages is the king of themes when it comes to Civilization builders, mainly because it’s so all-inclusive of the tropes that you hope to find in a Civilization building game. From the people, wonders, techs and buildings, everything has that Sid Meier feel to it, and this is despite the fact that the game doesn’t feature a map at all.

Here, the world of Epoch is curiously… people-less. Civilizations rise, expand, and occasionally go to war, but they do so without the guiding presence of anyone you might recognise from a textbook, or indeed, from a particularly enthusiastic documentary narrator.

It’s not a dealbreaker by any means. The theme works. It lands. But it never quite reaches that smile-inducing moment where everything clicks and you feel like you’re part of a grand historical tapestry. It doesn’t have that “role-playing” aspect of running a personality.

It’s more… a very well-organised spreadsheet of history. Perfectly functional. Just missing a few memorable personalities and faces.

Gameplay

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Solid, streamlined framework that makes the game easy to teach and learn, making it a far more approachable civ builder than the vast majority of its competition.

Cons: It doesn’t really compete with the classics, it’s a fun alternative, but it’s not going to replace anything.

A proper civilization game, in my view, must achieve three things, rather like a good cup of tea, except vastly more complicated and with a higher likelihood of military conflict.

First, it must deliver a genuine sense of growth and expansion. Not just numbers going up (though we do love a good number), but a feeling that your civilization is becoming something distinct. Your choices should matter. Your path should diverge. You should feel, at least in some small but satisfying way, that you are carving your own slightly questionable decisions into the annals of history.

Second, it ought to feel grounded in history, or at least in something that politely waves in history’s general direction. Playing as different civilizations should feel different. Whether you lean into military dominance, technological supremacy, or industrial might, there should be a strategic identity to your choices, and ideally a way to feel quite smug about them when they work.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, it needs to hold up over repeated plays. A civilization game that can be “solved” is about as useful as a guidebook that confidently tells you the restaurant is at the end of the universe but forgets to mention it’s closed on Tuesdays. There must be room for variation, for adaptation, for strategies that evolve based on circumstances rather than habit. There has to be a way for a local meta to form, and the game must have built-in ways to challenge and reforge that meta without expansions. That is the only way to get replayability long-term with a Civilization game.

Now, achieving all of this in a single board game is, frankly, a bit unreasonable. But that is the burden of the genre. When you are competing with giants like Through the Ages and Western Empires, the inevitable closing line of any review tends to be, “It was very good… but X or Y Civ Builder does it better.”

So, where does Epoch land? Well, rather respectably, actually.

It doesn’t kick down the doors of the genre and declare itself emperor, but it does bring enough interesting ideas to justify its place at the table. One of the most notable things it does is reintroduce something many modern civilization games have quietly abandoned: the map.

Not having a map as part of a Civilization building game was a trend created by Through The Ages, and for a time it caught on, which included games like Nations and Age of Innovation, for example. A map brings a much higher level of design complexity, eliminating it is a clean way to avoid some of those traps. It works for some games, but it does feel like something is missing from the experience, even when it works.

It is not just a decoration here. This is, gloriously, a game about actual presence, about being somewhere, owning territory, and occasionally sending small, determined groups of people to stand on it and argue with other groups of people. Much like Western Empires, there is very much a “dudes on a map” experience.

This is important because somewhere along the way, designers occasionally forget that Sid Meier’s Civilization, the grand inspiration for much of the genre, is, in many ways, also a war game. Position matters. Resources matter. Territory matters. And, crucially, these things can be taken away from you by someone who has decided your empire looks a bit too comfortable.

Epoch understands this, it embraces it.

War is present, impactful, and, importantly, expensive. Starting a conflict is not something you do lightly, unless you are either (a) winning and feeling confident, or (b) losing and feeling vindictive. Both are valid historical precedents.

Dudes on a map are handled quite simply with cubes in Epoch, as the actual military strength elements are driven by cards you can purchase. This makes the execution of war simple, but the strategy behind it, when you should do it, how you should do it etc.., that is an entirely different question. Even after several plays, it was not clear to me where war falls in Epoch so far as strategy goes.

There are two main approaches: a more measured declaration that gives your opponent time to prepare, or a full “I have made a terrible decision and will now commit to it immediately” war-monger stance that lets you attack anyone at once. Both options carry consequences, both reshape the board, and both inject the game with a delicious sense of tension.

Now, a brief warning: Epoch has what might be described as an “old-school personality.” Player interaction can feel… direct. Occasionally pointed. At times, even a bit mean. If you are accustomed to modern board games where conflict is more of a polite disagreement than a full-blown geopolitical incident, this may come as a shock. Personally, I think it’s wonderful. But consider yourself warned, this is less pillow fight, more street brawl conducted with spreadsheets.

Perhaps the most elegant part of the design, however, is how it condenses the entire 4X experience, explore, expand, exploit, exterminate, into a single, streamlined core game loop.

You play a card. You take an action. That’s it.

And yet, that one action encapsulates everything: production, development, technology, expansion, trade, governance, and the general sense that you are somehow both in control and one poor decision away from ruin. Each move feels significant. Each turn alters the board in a meaningful way. You are not idly passing time; you are doing things, and they matter.

I especially liked the handling of government in Epoch. Each government type comes with unique benefits ot the exclusion of other possible selections. It’s a tough choice and needs to be made in cohesion with the rest of your general strategy. There is no going back and making a mistake here can be quite costly.

It’s immensely satisfying.

More importantly, it’s intuitive. Unlike some of its more illustrious cousins, Epoch doesn’t require a lengthy lecture on “how to actually play well” after you’ve learned the rules. You understand what you want to do almost immediately. By your second game, you’re strategising with confidence rather than fumbling through historical guesswork.

This is, frankly, one of its greatest strengths as it is often a key weakness in even the best of the civilisation-building genre games. I love my Western Empires, but unless you have played it a dozen times, I’m going to crush you so badly you’re going to think the game is broken, and there is no shortcut to that education but repeat plays. Epoch is clever enough to avoid that problem.

Randomness, another traditional troublemaker in the genre, is handled with a commendable degree of restraint. Yes, the map can favour some players over others (as maps, and indeed life, tend to do), but the advantages are never so overwhelming that you can predict the winner from the opening placement. The game provides enough tools for clever play to overcome a less-than-ideal start, which is exactly how it should be.

That said, no civilization game escapes compromise, and Epoch is no exception.

The most noticeable absence is the tech tree, that beloved web of dependencies where one discovery unlocks another in a satisfying chain of progress. Here, technology is far more abstract. You invest in it, you gain benefits, but you’re not building toward specific unlock paths in the traditional sense. There’s no “research pottery to unlock granaries” moment. It’s more fluid, less structured, and for some players, that will feel like something is missing.

While I was not a huge fan of Fantasy Flight Games, Sid Meiers Civilization, it did include the tech tree in a hierarchy, and that felt quite right to me. You got a strong sense of progress, and “tech advantage” was a concept built into the game.

Wonders, too, lack a certain… well, wonder. Rather than grand, multi-turn projects that define your civilization, they are more transactional, appearing, being purchased, and providing benefits without much ceremony. There is no standing atop your cardboard empire declaring yourself a golden god of architecture. It’s all a bit more… efficient.

War, while excellent in concept, also carries an interesting limitation: it is often too expensive to be used as a precise strategic tool. Instead, it tends to emerge at the extremes, either from a dominant player pressing their advantage, or from a struggling one lashing out in desperation. The nuanced, tactical “check your opponent” war is less common, simply because your resources are usually better spent elsewhere as this is still a game about victory points.

And yet, despite all of this, it works.

The game remains deeply strategic, richly interactive, and thoroughly engaging. Resource management is meaningful, positioning matters, and the sense of building something over time is both tangible and rewarding. It ticks a remarkable number of boxes for a 4X civilization game, even if it approaches some of them from unusual angles.

There is certainly room for expansion, perhaps a bit more depth in certain systems, a touch of refinement here and there, but what’s already here is compelling.

In short: it’s a civilization worth building again.

Replayability and Longevity

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Plenty of reasons to play it several times, lots to explore.

Cons:  There is a cap somewhere, some limit before you shelv it and never come back to it,  this is not an instant repeatable classic.

It may not be entirely fair, but civilization games carry with them a certain grandeur. They are not simply games; they are events. And when you reach for one on the shelf, you are not just picking something to play, you are making a decision of mild historical importance.

That decision, in my experience, is governed by two variables:
How much time do you have, and how many players are involved?

Tell me those two things, and I will tell you which civilization game to play with the quiet confidence of someone who has spent far too long thinking about this.

Many of these “slots” are already occupied by titans.
Large group, plenty of time? Western Empires, no hesitation.
Small group, plenty of time? Through the Ages, a masterpiece.
Large group, limited time? Nations will do the job admirably.

The awkward gap, the one that has always been a bit of a problem, is small player count with limited time. This is the Bermuda Triangle of civilization games, where ambition goes in and slightly disappointing “filler” experiences come out. Sadly, Epoch doesn’t quite solve this particular cosmic mystery either.

Instead, it settles into the 3–4 players, ample time category, which places it in direct, and rather bold, comparison with Through the Ages and Nations, just to name a couple.

Now, this might sound like a dangerous place to be, but here’s the interesting part: Epoch holds its ground surprisingly well.

In fact, it has a distinct advantage. Games like Through the Ages, as brilliant as they are, can be notoriously unforgiving to new players. Your first few games often feel less like building a civilization and more like being politely but firmly dismantled by someone who understands the system better. Nations can suffer from a similar issue.

Epoch, on the other hand, is refreshingly approachable. It’s intuitive. New players can sit down, grasp the flow, and feel competitive far more quickly. With a bit of light strategic guidance, you can have a genuinely good experience right out of the gate, which is, frankly, a rare and valuable trait in this genre.

It also tends to run a bit shorter than both Through the Ages and Nations, making it a strong candidate when you want something substantial, but not life-schedulingly so. And compared to other games attempting to fill this niche, such as various adaptations of Sid Meier’s board game, it stands out as the more compelling option.

Epoch is a very busy game with a lot of levers, it certainly falls into the “heavy” category by most people’s standards, but I would argue for how involved the game looks, it’s considerably simpler than that. If you’re accustomed to playing Heavy Euro’s, you’re not going to find this game complicated at all. It’s actually pretty straightforward.

So yes, there is absolutely a place for Epoch on the shelf.

The more difficult question is: how long does it stay there?

After three plays, I found myself in an interesting position. I hadn’t exhausted the strategic possibilities, nor had I identified any clearly dominant paths to victory. The game is dynamic enough to keep things engaging, but at the same time, the overall experience didn’t vary as dramatically from session to session as one might hope.

The map provides the most noticeable variation, but not to the extent that it fundamentally reshapes your approach. You adapt, certainly, but you don’t reinvent.

My instinct, always a slightly unreliable but occasionally insightful companion, suggests that after perhaps six to ten plays, the game may begin to lose a bit of its novelty.

Now, to be fair, that is not a damning criticism. Most games do not survive more than a handful of table appearances. In fact, if a game sees five plays, it is already outperforming a significant portion of the hobby.

But civilization games are not most games.

This is a genre where longevity is king. Where titles like Through the Ages can be played a hundred times over a decade, and Western Empires, despite requiring what feels like a small lifetime to complete, still returns to the table again and again because of that glorious grandeur.

By that standard, Epoch may fall just short of true immortality.

It is absolutely replayable. It is enjoyable. It earns its place.
But whether it will still be called upon ten years from now, with the same enthusiasm reserved for the genre’s greatest legends, I find unlikely. It lacked that true… umpf! A terrible description, but fans of Civ games know what I’m talking about here.

Conclusion

Epoch: Course of Cultures is, without question, a very good game. If what you’re after is an engaging, strategic experience wrapped in a historical civilization-building theme, and you don’t necessarily feel the need to compare everything to the sacred texts of the genre, then this is an easy recommendation. Particularly for Euro game fans, it delivers exactly the sort of tight decision-making, meaningful trade-offs, and competitive race for victory points that keeps the brain pleasantly occupied and occasionally mildly distressed.

It is thoughtful. It is strategic. It is, in all the right ways, a game that asks you to care about what you’re doing.

However, and this is where we gently adjust our monocle, if you are a full-fledged civilization-building enthusiast, the sort who speaks reverently of Through the Ages and Western Empires as though they were ancient and slightly temperamental deities, then Epoch may feel like it falls just short of true greatness.

Not because it does anything wrong, but because it doesn’t quite ascend to that rarefied level of “instant classic.” It is not, at least not yet, a card-carrying member of what can only be described as the Civilization Building Illuminati, a shadowy group of games that have achieved long-term dominance over gaming tables everywhere, and possibly influence global events (though this is difficult to verify).

That said, there is something important to note: I still very much want to play it again.

Epoch is a very engaging puzzle; there are plenty of moving parts that create depth in the strategy to keep you invested. I think its a good civilization game. It does not, however, dethrone any of the classics in my opinion. It’s kind of doomed to be an alternative to other Civ games I would rather play, given an allotted amount of time. No objections to playing Epoch, but if you ask me “What Civ Game do you WANT to play”, by default answer is not going to be Epoch.

After multiple plays, it hasn’t worn out its welcome. It hasn’t been solved, shelved, or quietly judged. It remains engaging, inviting, and, perhaps most importantly, fun. And in a genre that can occasionally take itself a bit too seriously, that counts for a great deal.

In fact, I would go so far as to say that Epoch feels almost tailor-made for digital play. A platform like Board Game Arena would suit it perfectly. Its streamlined action system, relatively low mechanical overhead, and clean structure would likely translate into a smooth online experience, one where a full game might be completed in about an hour, rather than requiring the careful scheduling of one’s social calendar and possibly a packed lunch.

And really, any civilization that can be built in an evening, or a very long lunch break, is doing something right.

So no, Epoch may not rewrite the history books of the genre. But it absolutely earns its place among them, and for many players, that will be more than enough.

Review: Kingdom Legacy – Feudal Kingdom

When my review copy of Fate: Defenders of Grimheim arrived in the mailbox, the folks over at FryxGames slipped in a little bonus: a low-footprint solo legacy card game from 2024 called Kingdom Legacy: Feudal Kingdom.

Naturally, that caught my attention immediately. Not only is it another Jonathan Fryxelius design (love!), but it’s actually part of a whole series of games. I love a good game series with lots of expansions. There is nothing quite like finding a game you enjoy and then having lots of avenues to explore!

Now, before we go any further, I should disclose something: I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder when it comes to legacy games.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the legacy games conceptually. But I also have a long-standing beef with one of their core components, which puts me in something of a philosophical quandary.

I adore the sense of discovery: opening secret packs, unlocking new rules, and watching the game evolve over time. That part is fantastic. What I don’t love is the idea of marking up boards and cards, tearing components apart, and ultimately playing through a game once before tossing the whole thing in the trash.

Ever since my experience with My City, which, incidentally, is one of my favorite legacy games to date, I’ve made it something of a personal mission to find ways to “cheat the system” and turn legacy games into replayable ones. In other words, I try to enjoy the legacy experience while quietly circumventing its main gimmick.

So when I opened Kingdom Legacy, the very first thing I did was exactly that: figure out how to bypass the whole “play it once” concept.

The most obvious and easiest way to circumvent the whole one-and-done legacy thing is to sleeve the cards and use a whiteboard pen instead of stickers. That effectively turns this legacy game into a replayable…for the lack of a better word, normal game.

My issue with disposable legacy games is really twofold.

First, if I discover a game I genuinely like, for which Kingdoms definitely qualifies, I’m probably going to want to play it more than once. As I learned with My City, simply buying another copy isn’t always an option. Games go out of print, sell out, or become difficult to find. Discovering a game you love, playing it once, and then being unable to replace it can be a frustrating experience.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, it just feels wrong to throw games away. It’s not really about the money; that part is mostly irrelevant to me. But there’s something inherently wasteful and eco-unfriendly about creating a product that is intentionally designed to become garbage. It’s the equivalent of putting bananas in plastic shrinkwrap. Why people? Why? Is there some kind of race to see how fast we can blow up our planet or something that I don’t know about?

Board games already require a fair amount of material to produce; the entire process is very ecosystem-unfriendly. There’s cardboard, paper, ink, plastic, shipping, the whole production chain has a pretty shitty footprint, especially since most things are made in China. Designing a game specifically to be destroyed after one playthrough feels… a little out of step with the spirit of the 21st century. There is enough crap going into the dump without us creating games with that sole purpose.

Alright, rant over.

The good news is that most legacy games aren’t particularly difficult to adapt if you want to make them replayable. Personally, I suspect the “destroy it as you play” concept is more of a marketing trend than a design necessity, and one that will fade over time.

With that said, let’s talk about Kingdom Legacy: Feudal Kingdoms.

I say that with a slightly raised eyebrow, because reviewing a legacy game is always tricky. A big part of the experience is exploration and discovery, uncovering new rules, cards, and surprises as you progress. Spoiling those elements in a review would unravel that fun, and I don’t want to do that.

So instead of giving away details, I’m going to focus on impressions and sensations. Think of this less as a traditional breakdown and more as a guided glimpse into what the experience feels like, without ruining the surprises.

With that in mind…

Let’s get into it.

Overview

Final Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star (3.15 out 5) Good Game!

I always love it when I come across a game that’s difficult to compare to anything else. That usually means we’re dealing with a genuinely original idea, and Kingdom Legacy fits that description remarkably well.

At its core, it’s a solo card game, which on paper might not sound particularly groundbreaking. But the elegance of the design and the flow of the gameplay elevate it into something truly special.

The premise is simple: you are building a feudal kingdom from what feels like its absolute earliest beginnings, essentially planting a flag in the wilderness, and gradually developing it into a thriving micro-empire.

The game begins with a humble deck of just ten cards. Each round, you draw and play four cards face up, deciding how to use the resources on them and whether to upgrade one before they are all discarded. Then you draw four more and continue until your deck runs out.

These are your starting 10 cards as you open the box, which includes 139 cards. It’s a humble begining but before too long, these empty fields and forests are going to be a thriving feudal empire filled with people, structures, and much more.

Once the deck is empty, you reshuffle and begin a new cycle. But this time things are different. Some of your cards may have been upgraded, and two new cards have been added to your deck from a hidden stack, let’s call it the legacy stack.

And just like that, your kingdom grows.

Throughout the game you’ll also discover additional cards from the main hidden box, steadily expanding your deck and unlocking new possibilities. Each cycle through the deck represents another stage in the growth of your kingdom as you develop buildings, resources, people, and capabilities. The goal of the game is to score points, but there is no victory condition; you are effectively competing against everyone else playing the same game in a sort of ladder, which you can review online.

On the surface, the system is incredibly simple.

But once you start playing, you quickly realize that every decision, every card played, every upgrade chosen, every new discovery, nudges the game in a different direction. And thanks to the many surprises hidden within the legacy box, the experience becomes wonderfully varied and highly decision-driven, and quite personalized. Your experience can and will be quite different each run through.

In fact, the idea that this is a “play it once” legacy game, considering how dynamic things are, struck me as almost absurd after my first session.

I don’t just find playing Kingdom Legacy one time an absurd concept; I find that to be true with all the legacy games I have played. My City is one of my all-time favorites. I have played it through the campaign at least a dozen times. I don’t really understand the appeal of making games that you are supposed to play once and then toss. I love these games!

On the very first day I had the game, I had already completed a second run. By the end of the week, I had played through it four times, and I still wasn’t even close to feeling finished with it. A great sign for the game’s addictive nature, not particularly good as a legacy concept. With legacy games, I want to play them once, be satisfied, and be done with it. For it to feel unfinished, which is almost certainly going to be the case here, as if I’m missing out on something, that is a feel-bad moment.

This is a game that I simply could not put down. It was addictive, surprising, and consistently engaging. Even after multiple playthroughs, I was still discovering new cards and exploring different strategic approaches. I can’t imagine anyone being satisfied playing this game through just once.

Simply put, this game is quite brilliant.

I loved it from the word go, and I’m extremely glad I found a clever way to sidestep the “play it once” limitation (sorry, FryxGames!). If I hadn’t, I might have needed to buy this game ten times just to satisfy my curiosity, and even that might not have been enough.

There are quite a few mini and larger expansions for the game, so plenty to explore is already available for this one.

In fact, I actually think it would have negatively affected this review had I only played it once. The first go felt very unsatisfying. I realized a bunch of things about the game, and I was eager to correct my mistakes. Had I finished with the game at that moment, I think that addictive aspect would have waned into something I did once and moved on, which is what I usually do with games I don’t like.

This is a legacy game that begs to be played again and again. It’s clever, engaging, and endlessly fun. Even now as I write the review, I think I rather be playing it.

Without question, it’s one of the most enjoyable solo gaming experiences I’ve had in quite a while. Really great discovery.

Components

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Good quality cards, far better quality than you would expect for a game you are intended to play through once.  These cards will last.

Cons: It would have taken very little effort to un-legacy this game; it’s an unnecessary gimmick.

Since Kingdom Legacy is essentially a card game, there isn’t a huge amount to say about the components themselves, but what’s here is perfectly solid.

The card quality is more than adequate for the job, in fact, arguably, these cards are as good as any collectable card game you could buy. The artwork maintains a reasonably consistent aesthetic across the deck, and the rulebook is clear and easy to follow.

One particularly nice touch is the inclusion of a QR code that links to a tutorial video. The video is exceptionally well done and walks you through the basics quickly and clearly. After watching it, you’ll be more than ready to start playing.

Fryxgames does bang up job of supporting their games, the tutorial is one of the best I have seen for a game in a really long time. After watching it, you won’t need a rulebook.

There’s also an additional website that provides a card-by-card explanation of the entire deck. It’s almost overkill in terms of support, but it’s certainly appreciated, especially if you run into a card interaction that makes you pause for a moment.

All things considered, it’s a very competent production.

Theme

Score: christmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: The flow of time and empire building engine support the feeling of progression.  The card effects and thematic elements of the cards are on point.

Cons:  The use of A.I. art is going to annoy people; this is effectively an A.I. art-generated game; there is nothing original here.

The theme in Kingdom Legacy: Feudal Kingdoms is surprisingly strong for such a small card game. As you progress through the deck, you genuinely get the feeling that time is passing and your tiny outpost is slowly evolving into a functioning kingdom. That steady sense of growth taps directly into the addictive appeal of civilization-building games.

Each new round feels like another step in the development of your realm. You shuffle up, draw your cards, and start experimenting, trying to find clever ways to make your engine run just a little more efficiently. When everything lines up, and your kingdom starts humming along, it’s incredibly satisfying.

The game offers a surprising number of directions you can take your civilization. There are many ways to generate victory points and multiple development paths to pursue. In my experience, the most effective kingdoms tend to become broadly capable across several areas while leaning into one or two specialties.

Over repeated plays, I suspect most players will naturally gravitate toward their own preferred style of kingdom-building.

Even after several playthroughs, it’s difficult to say exactly how far you can push the scoring ceiling, but the important part is that the scoring system feels tightly connected to the theme. You are often faced with the classic “do I advance my engine or do I score points?” dilemma. In most cases, efficient expansion is the path to scoring more points, but eventually, you need to finish projects, which are the main way to get points. Growth and victory are closely intertwined, which reinforces the sense that you’re building a thriving realm rather than simply chasing numbers.

The artwork does a perfectly adequate job of representing the theme, though it’s obvious that all of it was generated using A.I. tools. The styles vary quite a bit, and the level of detail can fluctuate from card to card. The obvious is obvious here.

I’ve been fairly vocal about my position on A.I. art in games, and in short, it doesn’t bother me much. From a practical standpoint, it doesn’t impact gameplay. In a card-heavy game like this, hiring a team of illustrators would dramatically increase production costs, I get it. As it stands, Kingdom Legacy sells for around ten dollars. With fully commissioned artwork, that price could easily triple.

People are quite vocal about A.I. art, to the degree that if a game is discovered to be using it, people will not buy it on principle. While I personally don’t care, it doesn’t detract from my enjoyment of a game; I would not recommend it for professionally published games. A.I. Art is for freeware and print-to-play stuff; it’s for amateurs, not professionals.

Some people feel very strongly about the issue, and that’s fair. Personally, coming from an IT background, I tend to view A.I. as another step in technological evolution, something that will either find its place or fade away over time. Either way, it’s not a battle I feel particularly compelled to fight.

That said, from a purely artistic standpoint, A.I. art does tend to cap the ceiling a bit. At its best, it’s mediocre, but rarely exceptional. And because of that, it does have an impact on the overall presentation of the game.

I think the answer to A.I. art is, if you’re a publisher of professional games, don’t use A.I, period. Find another way.

Gameplay

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Excellent card-building engine, very addictive, hard to put down, big design space to expand into.

Cons: You’re not going to be satisfied playing this as a legacy game once, like most legacy games.

At the heart of Kingdom Legacy is a deceptively simple idea: draw four cards and try to do something clever with them. But as the game unfolds, that simple premise gradually blossoms into a web of interesting decisions and opportunities.

Each round begins with those four cards, which represent the resources, actions, and opportunities available to you at that moment. Your goal is to combine them in ways that allow you to upgrade cards, expand your kingdom, or unlock new elements from the hidden deck.

One of the key decisions each round revolves around the Advance action. The catch is that whenever you upgrade a card, everything else in your hand is immediately discarded. That means a lot of the resources you generate in a turn will often go unused.

However, the Advance action lets you draw two additional cards into your pool. You can repeat this action multiple times if you wish, expanding your options, but the trade-off is that the more cards you draw this way, the fewer you’ll ultimately be able to use efficiently.

This simple decision point ends up driving much of the strategy. Ideally, you want to accomplish upgrades using only the original four cards. The more often you can do that, the more efficient your kingdom-building engine becomes.

When you play your opening hand at the start of the game, it’s not hard to imagine where the game is going. The coins on the top left are resources you have to spend, and the middle right shows you the cost to upgrade the card, which allows you to flip it for the improved version of it. This is kind of the core procedure in the game. The catch is that, regardless of how many resources you have, you can only upgrade 1 card, and then everything is discarded.

Another fascinating aspect of the design is how the card pool is structured. Roughly half of the cards in the game are not part of the standard legacy draw deck. While you might encounter around seventy cards during the normal flow of the game, the rest can only be accessed through specific upgrades or special effects.

In a typical playthrough, you might only acquire a third of those cards. That means if you play the game once and move on, as the traditional legacy format suggests, you’ll never even see a huge portion of the content.

Which is exactly why the “play it once” idea feels a bit absurd here.

There are 139 cards in the deck, but in an average game, you might see around 100 of them. If you played this game only once, you would be effectively throwing out close to 40 cards you never even saw or used. That is so strange to me, I can’t get my head around it.

Even after my sixth playthrough, I was still discovering cards I had never seen before.

On top of that, each card has four possible upgrade levels, and they’re not always linear. Some upgrades branch left or right, forcing you to choose between different development paths. Because of this branching structure, it’s practically impossible to see every upgrade chain in a single game.

This is why I described the game earlier as a kind of card-based crack. Once you start discovering new cards and exploring different upgrade paths, it becomes very hard to stop. I ended up playing 3-4 hours at a time.

Another important element of the game is the appearance of enemy cards in your deck. Without spoiling anything, these cards represent threats to your kingdom and can seriously hinder your development if left unresolved. Having a plan on how to deal with them is crucial to success.

The good news is that there are often multiple ways to deal with them. The game rarely forces you into a single solution. Instead, you’re constantly weighing different approaches and considering which path will serve your long-term strategy best.

And that’s really the beauty of the design. Very rarely are you staring at only one or two possible actions. Most turns involve several viable choices, each with its own risks and rewards.

For me, this is exactly what I want from a solo game: something thoughtful, puzzle-like, challenging, and highly replayable. Kingdom Legacy: Feudal Kingdoms absolutely nails that formula.

There is one minor issue worth mentioning, though it’s more of a physical component quirk than a gameplay problem.

The orientation of cards in your deck actually matters. As a result, when shuffling, you have to be careful to keep every card facing the same direction. Inevitably, at some point during play, you’ll drop a few cards, or perhaps the entire deck, and when that happens, it can be difficult to remember which way everything was facing.

Late in the game, especially, that can be a bit of a headache.

It’s not a major problem, but it does mean you’ll want to shuffle carefully and treat your deck with a little respect.

That small quirk aside, from a gameplay standpoint, Feudal Kingdoms is superbly designed.

Replayability and Longevity

Score: christmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_star

Pros: If you circumvent the legacy gimmick, this game is highly replayable with lots of expansions you can get into.

Cons: Like all legacy games, replayability is technically not a thing at all.

Feudal Kingdoms is an addictive game for all the classic reasons that empire-building games tend to be addictive. There’s that familiar “one more turn” feeling, the excitement of resetting and trying a different approach, and the satisfying sense of time passing as your tiny settlement slowly grows into something resembling a proper kingdom. All of that works together to make the game very easy to play repeatedly.

That said, this is a legacy game. If you strictly follow the intended “play it once and retire the game” philosophy, then the replayability score is effectively zero.

So this puts me in a bit of an awkward position when it comes to scoring replayability in the review.

If you approach the game the way I do, finding a way to keep everything reusable so you can play it multiple times, then the replayability is outstanding. Under that approach, I would easily rate it 5 out of 5 stars.

If, however, you follow the traditional legacy model and treat the game as a one-and-done experience, then what you really have is a 5–6 hour campaign. After that, the game has essentially completed its life cycle. Under that interpretation, the replayability score drops dramatically, probably to a 0 or 1 at best.

Even then, it’s worth noting that the value proposition is still pretty good. It’s honestly hard to think of many ways to entertain yourself for five or six hours for around ten bucks. So it would feel a little unfair to judge it too harshly purely on that basis.

In the end, I decided to split the difference. I scored it a 2, but applied a tilt of 1 so that the overall review isn’t overly penalized by a design choice that is, in many ways, inherent to the legacy format itself.

Conclusion

Whether you buy into the legacy model or not, for 10 bucks, this game is an absolute steal. I have already gotten more enjoyment out of it than most of the 40-50 dollar games on my shelf; it’s a fantastic value and an awesome night’s entertainment.

I do, however, think that circumventing the legacy thing is something you will want to do so that you can enjoy this game over and over again, and I do think most people will want to. It’s a great game, and it deserves repeated plays.

High recommendation from me, especially if you like empire-building games and don’t have any sort of affliction about playing a solo game. For me personally, it triggered an almost immediate response to buy up all of the other expansions for this game series, of which there are several.

Great game, great time

Review: Fate – Defenders of Grimheim

If you read this blog with any regularity, you already know that my relationship with co-op games is… complicated. Hot and cold might be the best way to describe it. If I’m being honest, I’d estimate that about 70% of the co-op games I try land somewhere between “pretty abysmal” and “tolerable”.

For a typical group looking for a fun Friday night game, this one really sticks the landing. I think it’s a great family game.

But every now and then a co-op game comes along that, for reasons I can’t entirely explain, just clicks. When that happens, it tends to turn into a full-blown love affair.

A couple of prime examples are Spirit Island and my beloved Lord of the Rings: The Living Card Game. I don’t just like these games, I love them. I quite literally own everything ever printed for The Lord of the Rings card game, and when it comes to Spirit Island, I’m ready to play anytime, anywhere.

I try very hard not to be a hardliner; I don’t want to say “I hate cooperative games”, because I know there are always exceptions, so I’m always ready and willing to try anything. The truth is, however, I have very few co-op games in my collection, and I think that says a lot about where I usually stand with them. Lord of the Rings: The Living Card Game is such an exception. I absolutely adore this game.

Because of this somewhat turbulent relationship with the genre, I usually avoid reviewing co-op games. I like to keep things positive on this blog as much as possible. I simply don’t see myself as the ideal target audience, so why would I offer an opinion on one?

I made an exception for Fate: Defenders of Grimheim for one very important reason: the designer is none other than Jonathan Fryxelius.

If that name rings a bell, it should. Fryxelius is the mastermind behind Terraforming Mars, which I consider to be one of the best competitive board games ever made. It still sits comfortably at number 12 on my Best Games list, an impressive feat considering it was released back in 2016, which has given the entire gaming industry 10 years to come up with something better, and while there have been a couple I could argue for, it stands strong. It also took home the Gamersdungeon Award for Best Game of the Year.

Terraforming Mars is one of the best competitive board games ever made, in my humble opinion, but I also consider it an absolute masterpiece in game design.

Suffice it to say, I’m a fan of Jonathan’s work. While he has spent the past decade steadily pumping out Terraforming Mars expansions, most of them excellent, I’ve always been curious to see how versatile he is as a designer.

So what happens when the man behind Terraforming Mars, one of the best competitive games ever made, decides to tackle the co-operative genre?

Well… that’s exactly what we’re here to find out!

Overview

Final Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star (3.95 out 5) Great Game!

The premise of Fate: Defenders of Grimheim is refreshingly simple. Players take on the roles of Viking-inspired fantasy heroes tasked with defending the town of Grimheim from an assortment of mythical monsters attacking from all sides.

The core game comes with four heroes, but there are two additional heroes (Sindra & Finkel) available in an expansion that is already out now.

At its heart, the game is an endurance battle. One, you technically have no hope of winning. But that’s fine, because victory doesn’t require you to defeat the invading hordes. You simply have to survive long enough for the timer to run out.

That timer comes in the form of a fixed number of turns, and most of the game revolves around plugging holes in your defenses and responding to threats before they get too close to town. It’s all about squeezing the most efficiency out of every action turn. Whenever the heroes fail to stop an enemy, one of Grimheim’s buildings is destroyed. Think of the town itself as a pool of hit points, and when those buildings are gone, so are you.

Fate can be quite brutal if you are not paying attention, this is not a simple dice chucker; there is a fair amount of strategy and tactics to this game. Failing to deal with the swarm of enemies coming at you can cause a collapse in short order.

Running parallel to this defensive struggle is the game’s progression system, which is arguably the real engine driving the experience. Your heroes begin the game relatively weak, armed with limited abilities and modest gear. As the game progresses, however, they gain new equipment and abilities that make them increasingly efficient at doing what heroes do best: killing monsters. That will sound like a relatively familiar game loop to most gamers, it quite literally describes every adventure game ever made.

It’s a simple but addictive concept built on one of the oldest traditions in gaming, a game loop that dates all the way back to the early days of Dungeons & Dragons: kill monsters, gain experience, level up, and become better at killing monsters.

Like Dungeons & Dragons, each hero (think class) comes with unique strengths and weaknesses. Success requires coordination, planning, and careful positioning between players to leverage the strengths of each hero. A little luck certainly helps, too.

The primary luck factor comes from the attack dice. Much like the classic D20, a good roll can turn a desperate situation into a heroic victory, while a bad roll can leave your carefully laid plans lying in the snow. That said, the game does offer enough tactical flexibility that clever play can often mitigate the whims of fate.

Luck does play its part in Fate. The dice are certainly a major component of that luck, but you also have the monster deck, which describes which monsters come out and where. This can create some wild board states, creating a wide range of interesting puzzles to solve.

In many ways, Fate feels a bit like a tower defense game. You’re constantly trying to eliminate monsters as efficiently as possible before they break through your defenses. The key difference is that you’re not trying to wipe out the invading force; you’re simply trying to outlast it.

Given the strategic depth of Jonathan’s Terraforming Mars, I’ll admit I expected something a bit heavier from him. I’m not entirely sure what I was hoping for, but the core gameplay loop here felt a little simpler than anticipated, I would say, kind of predictable.

That’s not to say the game is easy, it definitely isn’t. There are plenty of tactical decisions that will determine whether you win or lose. This isn’t a “roll some dice and hope for the best” kind of experience. There’s enough strategy here to chew on for a while.

The problem is that the puzzle begins to reveal itself fairly quickly, especially to seasoned gamers. After a few plays, veteran gamers will start to see the optimal approaches emerge.

After my first playthrough, I was quite satisfied. The game was fun, engaging, and held my attention. By the third or fourth session, however, the primary challenge began to feel less about solving the puzzle and more about managing the luck of the draw.

Because enemies enter play via card draws, sometimes the game simply overwhelms you. Other times, the threats line up in ways that allow careful planning to shine. In the long run, I suspect this is the kind of game where repeated plays will eventually leave players wanting new scenarios, new monsters, and new challenges to keep things fresh.

And in fairness, the design almost feels built for that. Fate seems perfectly positioned for expansions. If you enjoy the core gameplay loop, it’s easy to imagine eagerly awaiting additional content. There’s plenty of design space here for new enemies, new mechanics, and creative twists on the formula.

While the game does include ways to adjust the difficulty, I don’t think Fate has the near-infinite replayability of Terraforming Mars by contrast. That said, it’s certainly good for several enjoyable evenings at the table.

Which brings me to my general point and core issue I have with co-op games. They have a way of reaching the end of the fun. At some point, you solve the puzzle, and it feels kind of finished. That doesn’t diminish your experience of solving that puzzle, but I think the reason I prefer competitive games is that the puzzle is the other players strategy, which by its very nature is a new puzzle each time you play a game.

Cooperative games, even ones you play through just one time, can still make for an amazing experience; a game’s success is rarely tied to replayability, and I think in the case of Fate that is very true. It’s a fun game that you will experience and feel content that you got your money’s worth, very much as the case might be with something like Gloomhaven.

I suspect the game may have more staying power with a younger audience. Younger players tend to live in the experience of playing “a fun game” more than someone like me, who is dissecting the game. There’s quite a bit of fun to be squeezed out of this particular Viking cow if you simply enjoy pushing miniatures around, fighting monsters, rolling dice, and leveling up. It’s all quite satisfying from that perspective.

For me, however, the experience never quite reached the point where I was eagerly planning the next game night just to get Fate back on the table.

It’s a fun and interesting distraction, a perfectly solid take on cooperative gaming, and certainly a game I might pull out among some fresh-faced youngsters. But like many co-op games I’ve played, it ultimately landed in that familiar category of “that was fine, let’s move on.”

Better than many co-op games I have tried, certainly, but not really of the caliber that holds my interest long term.

But it also reinforced a conclusion I’ve reached many times before: cooperative games just might not be my thing. And even an excellent designer like Jonathan Fryxelius wasn’t quite enough to change my mind on that front.

Components

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: Exceptional component quality, fantastic presentation, solid interface for enhancing the efficiency of play.

Cons: You could go bigger with a box full of miniatures, but I think they did that in the Kickstarter.

When it comes to components, Fate: Defenders of Grimheim delivers exactly what I expect from a $50–$60 board game, and then some. The production quality is excellent across the board.

The artwork deserves special mention. It’s crisp, colorful, and full of personality, immediately selling the theme the moment the game hits the table. That matters a lot in a game like this, especially if your target audience is a younger crowd. When you’re fighting mythical monsters as Viking heroes, the visuals need to carry some weight, and Fate absolutely does.

The game is gorgous laid out on the table, a visual feast that will attract attention.

Just as importantly, the components aren’t just attractive, they’re functional. A lot of thought clearly went into making sure the design supports the gameplay. Information is presented cleanly and logically, allowing players to understand what’s happening at a glance and make informed decisions without constantly reaching for the rulebook.

I’ve always believed that one of the hallmarks of great game design is when you can look at the board of a new game you have never played before, make an educated guess about what things do, and turn out to be right. When that happens, it means the interface is doing its job.

That’s very much the case here.

The main board itself looks like a terrain map straight out of a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. It’s not only visually appealing, but also communicates key information clearly. Enemy movement paths, terrain effects, and automated enemy behaviors are all easy to understand just by looking at the board.

The player boards, cards, and miniatures follow the same philosophy. They strike a near-perfect balance between aesthetics and usability. The cards in particular are excellent: the iconography is clear, the layout is intuitive, and it’s immediately obvious what each card does and how it fits into your strategy. At no point did anyone ask, “What does this card do?”

I barely mention the miniatures in the review, and that’s a bit criminal on my part, but they are nice, certainly something you could paint up. Packaged into pairs, they come in a nice protective case so that you can keep your cards and minis safe.

That clarity becomes especially valuable in a game like this, where the table can quickly fill up with heroes, monsters, tokens, and abilities. When a game has a lot of moving parts, clean design isn’t just nice, it’s essential.

The tokens and components themselves are also high quality, with sharp iconography and solid production values throughout.

Put simply, from a component standpoint, this is about as good as it gets. I genuinely tried to find something to nitpick here, if only to avoid sounding overly enthusiastic, but came up empty.

The truth is, the component execution is pretty much flawless.

Theme

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_star

Pros: The fantasy Viking theme is a nice aesthetic choice, and I really like the comic book art style.

Cons: The theme here is kind of arbitrary; you could have put just about anything in here. I think it’s a missed opportunity to do something really original.

The theme in Fate: Defenders of Grimheim is fun, engaging, and well executed, but it’s also the kind of game where they could have swapped out the theme without fundamentally changing the experience.

You could just as easily imagine this system wrapped in a Star Wars, Star Trek, or Samurai epic, and it would function just as well. The underlying mechanics are fairly theme-agnostic, the core concept quite basic. Defend the base with your heroes.

And that’s not necessarily a criticism. It simply means the theme isn’t doing the heavy lifting in the design. In a way, I think it’s a missed opportunity to do something weird/cool/gonzo, aka original. Simply picking a theme and wrapping it around a mechanic is fine, but it kind of becomes less relevant to the game experience at the table.

I often get challenged on my comments about theme. What constitutes an original theme? It’s hard to point to it exactly, I just know it when I see it. Root is a great example. It’s a war game, they could have used Vikings, Samurai’s or whatever else, but creating original factions, wrapped up in there own seting with truly original art this is what an original theme looks like. It’s so good they ended up having to make an RPG out of it.

That said, the Viking setting chosen here works very well. I’ve always had a soft spot for Viking mythology, and Fate blends Norse flavor with fantasy elements in a way that feels natural and cohesive. The monsters, heroes, and abilities all fit together logically, and nothing ever feels out of place or forced.

If anything, the real star of the show here is the artwork. The visual style is consistent, atmospheric, and full of personality. It does a tremendous amount of work in selling the world and giving the game its identity.

Beyond that, there isn’t much more to say. The theme is well implemented and enjoyable, but it isn’t a defining pillar of the game’s design.

It’s a solid execution, just not a critical ingredient.

Gameplay

Score: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: The mechanics are a master class in game design, smooth as silk. 

Cons: Veteran gamers might find the game a bit too easy.

Gameplay, the real engine under the hood of Fate: Defenders of Grimheim, is where the game distinguishes itself. There’s some subtle but genuinely clever design at work here.

I’ll try not to get overly long-winded… though as a fan of the designer, I may fail spectacularly at that goal.

The first thing that stands out is how smooth the mechanics are. The flow of the game is remarkably efficient, keeping everyone at the table engaged almost constantly. In fact, the sequence of play is so clean that the game doesn’t even need a player’s aid. After each player completes their first turn, everyone at the table will understand exactly how the system works.

Jonathan Fryxelius makes it look easy, but anyone who has ever tried to design a game knows how hard it is to make something both fun and mechanically elegant. Achieving this level of clarity without sacrificing engagement is genuinely impressive. From a structural standpoint, it’s a masterclass in game design.

At its core, the game gives you a village to defend. The problem, of course, is that you’re defending it with a handful of heroes against what quickly feels like an endless swarm of monsters approaching from all directions. That imbalance is the heart of the puzzle.

Although Fate is cooperative, the reality is that each player largely ends up responsible for defending one direction of attack. You can occasionally assist one another, but even with four heroes on the board, covering every approach is nearly impossible.

Interestingly, this structure solves one of the classic problems of cooperative games: the dreaded “alpha player.” Because there’s simply too much happening in too many places, no single player can realistically dictate the optimal move for everyone else. Each hero has their own situation to manage, which keeps decision-making personal and engaging.

It might look like these two heroes are fighting side by side, but three spaces away might as well be a different zip code. These heroes are in the trenches fighting their own battles.

The overall goal is to leverage your hero’s strengths against enemy weaknesses while developing your character into a more efficient monster-slaying machine. But there are complications.

Heroes will take damage, sometimes a lot of it, and eventually they’ll need to retreat back to the village to heal before returning to the fight. Every action matters, every movement counts, and even a small miscalculation can result in losing a building or two. If a hero actually gets knocked out, it’s an absolute disaster!

The margin between victory and disaster is razor-thin. That tension creates a constant sense of pressure, and within that pressure lies the excitement.

In fact, losing in Fate can be almost as entertaining as winning. When you win, everyone celebrates and congratulates themselves on a job well done. When you lose, the post-game conversation tends to be much more animated as players dissect the moment things went wrong, debating mistakes, bad luck, and missed opportunities before inevitably suggesting, “Alright… let’s try that again.”

Thanks to the game’s streamlined mechanics, these discussions rarely devolve into rules debates. The system is clean enough that players spend their time thinking about strategy rather than arguing about edge cases. When the game ends, win or lose, you know exactly which decisions led you there.

A major part of the gameplay revolves around three different types of hero cards.

First are the Quest and Equipment cards. These function as small missions that reward you with new gear once completed, essentially the board game equivalent of finishing a side quest and receiving a magical item.

The catch is that these quests often require you to do something inefficient, such as traveling to a specific location or defeating a particular monster type. Pursuing equipment can therefore, pull you away from more urgent threats. Chasing powerful gear can be tempting, but if you get too greedy, you might doom the entire group. On the other hand, ignoring upgrades entirely can leave you underpowered in the late game. It’s a beautifully designed tension that forces players to make imperfect decisions.

Equipment cards are crucial to success, but also typically the most difficult to get because of the quest requirements. It’s a good balance between risk vs. reward.

Second are the Event cards. These are one-shot abilities that can dramatically influence a turn, granting extra movement, healing, bonus attacks, or additional damage. They’re powerful tools that reward clever timing and creative combinations. A well-played event card can turn a desperate situation into a heroic moment.

Even cards are less reliable since they are one-time use, so it’s all about timing. By the way, how about this art? So good, I mean, I know I complained a bit about the originality of the theme, there are so many Viking games these days, but man, you can’t complain about the originality of this art, so amazing, I love it.

Finally, there are the Ability cards. These are purchased using gold (which also doubles as experience) earned primarily by killing monsters. Ability cards represent permanent upgrades to your hero and are arguably the most reliable way to grow stronger over the course of the game, though this can be a slow process.

Many of the more powerful abilities require charging before they can be used, meaning you might only unleash them every couple of turns. But when the moment is right, they can produce spectacular results.

Abilities have big effects on the game, things like Suppressive Fire can completetly shutdown an enemy movement, for example. Stuff like that is the difference between winning and losing in Fate; these are key progressions, must-haves to win the game.

In many ways, the game becomes a race to unlock your stronger abilities before the board state spirals out of control. Event cards alone won’t carry you through the late game; you’ll need a solid combination of equipment and abilities if you hope to survive the final rounds.

Each hero begins the game with a unique ability and piece of equipment that effectively defines their class. Some heroes are stronger, some are tougher, some are faster, and others rely on trickery. It’s a very classic design philosophy, straight out of the old Gygaxian playbook, but it works extremely well here. Each hero feels distinct and useful without any of them feeling clearly superior.

The game also includes several setup options that adjust difficulty and length. Importantly, none of these add extra complexity; they simply make the same game harder.

The time tracker offers both short and long game options, though in practice, Fate will usually take a couple of hours unless the players lose early. The tracker mostly affects how long the game lasts when you actually manage to survive.

Another option I strongly recommend is the Monster Dice variant. This die is rolled during the monster phase and introduces small, unpredictable twists to enemy behavior. Once you become familiar with the base system, this rule adds a welcome bit of chaos that keeps things from becoming too predictable.

I think the monster die is probably one of the most effective ways to disrupt game mastery that I think most people will attain on repeat plays. An unscheduled charge or push, for example, can create a whole lot of unexpected chaos, and I think that is really good for this game. It’s a vital part that keeps the players on their toes.

The monster AI itself is straightforward. Enemies move and attack according to clear rules, advancing steadily toward the village. They appear faster than you can realistically eliminate them, which creates the constant feeling of being overwhelmed.

At its heart, Fate is a game about damage control. You’re managing a crisis that is slowly spiraling out of control while trying to survive inside what feels like a steadily tightening pressure cooker.

It’s a compelling system that keeps everyone thinking, planning, and adapting. That said, there are a couple of observations worth mentioning.

For my group, the difficulty wasn’t especially great. On our very first play, we used the highest difficulty setting along with the Monster Dice variant. The game came down to the final turn and the final die roll, a dramatic finish that had everyone cheering when we pulled off the win.

The surprising part was that this was our first game. I was expecting to get crushed.

We had just learned the rules and already managed to beat it at maximum difficulty? For my group, that made the challenge feel a bit soft.

To be fair, my gaming group is extremely competitive and very experienced with strategy games. Designing a cooperative game that truly challenges players like that would probably make the game nearly impossible for everyone else.

And when I later played the game with my daughter and her friends, we were crushed almost immediately.

Their reaction was simple and immediate:
“Wow… this game is so hard.”

So in the end, the difficulty really depends on who’s sitting at the table.

All said and done, I found little to complain about when it comes to Fate other than my own personal bias against cooperative games. I’m clearly not the target audience here, and that is not an issue with Fate; that is just a preference thing. I think this is a really well-designed cooperative strategy game, and I think fans of the genre and this style of play, will find that Jonathan’s take on it is exceptionally well done and polished.

Replay-ability and Longevity

Score: christmas_starchristmas_star
Tilt: christmas_starchristmas_star

Pros: The game is easy to teach and learn, making it an attractive choice with a younger crowd or even potentially as a sort of quasi-party game.

Cons:  Once you find the groove and win a few games, the fire will die down.

Even if you’re a big fan of cooperative games, I think it’s fair to say that Fate: Defenders of Grimheim has a somewhat limited shelf life. After you’ve beaten it a few times, the urgency to jump back in starts to fade. That’s not necessarily a flaw of this particular game, it’s simply the nature of many player-versus-AI designs.

There are, of course, exceptions. I mentioned The Lord of the Rings: The Card Game earlier, and one of the reasons that game has such extraordinary replayability is the sheer mountain of content available for it. With countless expansions and new quests, every play session can feel like a completely different experience.

Fate, on the other hand, largely offers a single core scenario. The specific circumstances of each game will vary, the enemies drawn, the dice rolls, the choices players make, but the overall structure of the experience remains largely the same.

That said, the design clearly leaves a lot of room for expansion. In fact, the core box almost feels like the starting point for what could easily become a broader game line. New monsters, heroes, scenarios, and objectives could dramatically increase the longevity of the system.

As it stands, I ended up playing the game about half a dozen times with my daughter. Most of those games were losses, and interestingly enough, that actually fuels replayability. Nothing motivates another round quite like getting crushed by a swarm of monsters and wanting revenge.

Until you start winning consistently, that competitive itch will probably keep pulling you back to the table.

Overall, I do think Fate offers enough replay value to justify its price. It’s simple enough to teach quickly, yet engaging enough to satisfy experienced gamers. In fact, the game has a bit of a “party game” energy to it, winning is fun, but losing can be just as entertaining thanks to the post-game analysis and table chatter.

For that reason, I can easily see it occupying a nice niche spot on the shelf. It’s the kind of game you can pull out with a mixed group or a younger audience without worrying about overwhelming them with complexity.

And in that regard, it worked wonderfully with my daughter.

Conclusion

One of the main reasons I like my review system is the use of Tilts. It allows a game to push through to a strong overall score if it excels where it truly matters, even if it’s a little weaker in areas that aren’t as critical to the experience.

I don’t usually explain that in the conclusion, but this review is actually a perfect example of the system working exactly as intended. And I’ll admit, I’m rather pleased with myself about that, because the final score reflects my feelings about this game very accurately.

Yes, the replayability and theme fall a bit into the “perfectly fine, nothing spectacular” category. But that’s not really where this game lives or dies. The real strength of Fate: Defenders of Grimheim lies in its gameplay and its presentation.

This is an incredibly approachable game. It’s easy to get to the table, easy to teach, and within minutes, everyone is rolling dice, fighting monsters, and having a good time. The visual presentation does a lot of heavy lifting here, the artwork, board, and components make the game instantly inviting, and the clarity of the design keeps things running smoothly once the action starts.

While the mechanics are simple to grasp, the game still presents a respectable challenge for the right group. I probably wouldn’t break this out very often for my veteran gaming crew, they’d likely solve the puzzle fairly quickly, but for a typical group looking for a fun Friday night game, this one really sticks the landing. I think it’s a great family game.

And it clearly works well with younger players too. As I’m writing this review, my daughter is already asking if we can play again. Last night we got absolutely crushed, and she’s apparently been developing a new strategy that she’s convinced will win the game “for sure this time.”

So credit where it’s due.

Jonathan Fryxelius is a brilliant designer, and Fate: Defenders of Grimheim is a genuinely fun addition to the cooperative genre. I have a strong feeling that a lot of people are going to enjoy this one.