I have a bit of a history with designer Daniele Tascini. I bounced off Teotihuacan years ago (although can’t quite remember why), and while I initially disliked Tzolk’in: The Mayan Calendar, I have to admit that it has grown on me more each time I’m coerced into playing it. Tascini’s games tend to feel like intense cerebral puzzles. Dense and demanding, but rewarding to those willing to put the work in to gain some mastery. So when I sat down to play Tekhenu: Obelisk of the Sun, I braced myself. Would it push me away again, or pull me in?
Let’s start with the obvious: Tekhenu: Obelisk of the Sun is a looker. A towering plastic obelisk dominates the board, casting a literal shadow across the action spaces, and in doing so, dictates which dice are pure, tainted, or outright forbidden. It’s an immediate table presence, big and weird in the best way. It kind of serves a gameplay purpose, but it kind of feels like it just exists to create that table presence. As the sun shifts (the obelisk rotates every two turns), so too does your ability to draft dice. This mechanic is actually a decent metaphor for the game as a whole, what’s good now won’t be good later. you’ll need to adapt, or be left behind.
The core loop of Tekhenu is a six-action dice drafting puzzle. Each turn, you take a die from around the spire, and either generate resources or activate the associated action space. The value of the die affects how many resources you gain or the potency of the action you’ll take. Adding to that, each die also has moral weight, giving your soul points toward the pure or tainted side, and must be placed on your karmic scales before the end of the round. Lean too far toward imbalance, and the game will punish you. Strive for harmony, and you’re rewarded with points. It’s a clever twist that keeps you constantly recalibrating all of your decisions.
And you’ll need to be constantly adapting. Tekhenu is a game about forward planning in a system that refuses to cooperate. That perfect plan you spent 10 minutes building? Gone, because the die you desperately needed turned forbidden, or someone else snatched it first. Tekhenu demands backup plans, backup backup plans, and when all else fails, throwing caution to the wind and just taking the action that you gut says ‘feels best’. It’s a brain-burning experience that constantly asks you to throw your plans out and pivot.
The actions will have you building statues for passive bonuses, erecting pillars in a shared temple grid, expanding your city with buildings that boost your income and end-game scoring, and throwing lavish festivals to increase the happiness of your population. There’s a card market featuring cards that give you either end-game scoring benefits, or ongoing gameplay effects, and your ability to access those cards is tied directly to how happy your people are. The interconnectivity of the actions here is impressive, like a gear from Tzolk’in, everything touches everything else. Make one good decision, and it pays dividends. Make a bad one, and the whole thing wobbles like a Jenga tower.
I don’t think there’s that much theme to the actions here, but I don’t really mind. It’s Ancient Egypt in aesthetics only, lots of sandy browns and beiges on the board, but that boring-ness is offset by bright player pieces in purple, pink, orange, and blue. The dice are chunky and satisfying, and the graphic design of the board helps players compartmentalize the actions very well. Tekhenu has a rhythm, every four turns, there’s a karmic Maat phase. After two Maat phases, a scoring round. Then repeat, and the game is over. This cadence, once learned, feels smooth and intuitive.
By the end of each game, I was exhausted, and impressed. Tekhenu is one of those games that doesn’t show you its brilliance upfront. You need to unearth it’s brilliance. At first, it feels like a mashup of mechanics you’ve seen before. But over time you start to feel the harmony. If you like games where you’re constantly wrestling with your own plans, desperately trying to keep Plan A alive while Plan B, C, and D scramble into action, Tekhenu is for you. It’s crunchy. It’s tough. And it’s immensely satisfying. It’s my favourite game from the T-series, but I’m alone in that opinion. Everyone who’s played this with me prefers Teotihuacan or Tzolk’in, but that’s okay. They’re all great games in their own right, and I’m just happy that I found one that really sings to me!
Following up on Final Fantasy I, I chose to move right into Final Fantasy II to see how much changed from game to game. Released just a year after it’s predecesor in 1988 (still before I was born), Final Fantasy II at its core retains very little from the first game. The leveling mechanics, the party construction, the magic system, everything was tweaked and changed.
First, that fun bit of trivia, Canonically Final Fantasy II was the second Final Fantasy game. However, neither Final Fantasy II nor Final Fantasy III were originally released outside Japan, so when Final Fantasy IV came to North America, it was packaged and released as Final Fantasy II. I do think it’s worth mentioning that I played the GBA remake, not the original Famicom edition of the game. There are some gameplay differences, but the big improvement for me is the pixel art, which takes its art direction more from the SNES titles, which is much more to my preference.
Final Fantasy II is quite different from its predecessor. First things first, there’s actually a somewhat coherent story to follow. Your party consists of 3 main characters, Firion, Maria, and Guy. Maria’s brother, Lyon starts the game in your party, but in the very first battle you’re subject to a total party KO, and Lyon is immediately separated. What follows is a tale of rebellion, as the party assists the Princess Hilda in her efforts to reclaim her throne from the clutches of the evil Emperor. Filling out that 4th chracter slot, however, is a rotating series of characters who will join and leave the party as they progress through the story.
These characters often adhere to specific archtypes, like Minwu, the white mage, or Josef, the Monk, or Ricard, the lance wielding Dragoon. These characters will join your party for a dungeon or two, then more often than not, sacrifice themselves, so the main party can escape and continue on their quest to take down the empire. There are some surprisingly emotional moments, especailly as you encounter their loved ones after their sacrifice. It gives the story weight and consequence, a much needed improvement over the first game.
Speaking of archtypes, Final Fantasy II completely abandons the job/class system from the first game. Now, every character can equip any piece of equipment, and learn any spell. There are no official or specific levels to each character, but now the more you use a specific equipment or spell, the more proficient that character becomes. You will find your characters naturally falling into roles, like the character who casts Cure the most raises their spirit, which improves their healing potency, but there’s absolutely nothing stopping you from teaching your brawler some spells, and then grinding up their skill to a point where they’re viable.
This level system isn’t bad, by any stretch, but I did find it quite jarring, especially with my background knowledge of how the Final Fantasy series embraces classes and jobs in some of the later entries. On one hand, I really appreciate the flexibility. I liked teaching Life to all my characters so they could help out in a pinch, while having one character as the designated ‘healer’. On the other hand, it made each of the characters feel less distinct. Guy, whose art is depicted with huge muscles can take the daggers and be a speedy little guy, and you can give Maria dual axes, and she’ll stop everyone who crosses her path. This system created a little bit of dissonance for me.
I found Final Fantasy II to be much more difficult than its predecessor. From what I understand, there is a cap on your equipment levels, as they grow depending on the level of monster you’re attacking, somewhat limiting your ability to grind. I did run into one difficulty spike where my normal attacks were doing nearly 0 damage due to the monster’s high defense, so I relied on my magic to get me through the normal fights, but I couldn’t make my way through the whole dungeon. I ended up sailing around looking for late game towns, bought much better equipment, then flew through the rest of the game with my MP stat now over-leveled.
The dungeon layout this time around was a bit more frustrating. The sprawling labyrinths are still here, but now they’ve added a dozen empty rooms to each one. When you go through a door and end up in these empty rooms, it only takes 3 steps to get out, but these rooms have their monster spawn rate cranked way the hell up, resulting in at least one, sometimes two battle encounters per empty room.
The world map is also more of a problem, especially compared to the first game. While Final Fanasy gated your progress so you could only explore certian areas until you got the next mode of transportation, Final Fantasy II lets you wander into zones that are way beyond your level. This is especially egregious as you’re told to walk around a lake outside of the starting area, and going just a bit too far west can result in a near instant total party KO. Go ahead, ask me how I know.
There’s also more back tracking. It felt like after every dungeon, you need to trek your party all the way back to the starting area to report back to the princess to get the next clue on where to go next. on that note, it was generally easier to know where to go in this game. Another quirk of Final Fantasy II is that occasionally, someone will speak a keyword, that you can ‘learn’, then ask your keywords to many of the game’s main NPCs. Between each dungeon, most of the local NPCs would almost explicitly where to go next, and only a few times did I need to look up which keyword I had to use on which NPC. I kind of like this system, I imagine it would have been much more impactful in 1988, making the NPCs feel more alive and living through the story instead of just delivering the same line throughout the entirety of the game.
Strangely, Final Fantasy II doesn’t feel like a Final Fantasy game. Sure, all the common hallmarks are there; Bombs and Malboros, Cure and Fire, Potions and Phoenix Downs. But so many of the systems feel removed from what Final Fantasy later established as their hallmark features. Now, I know every Final Fantasy is different in its own way, from Active Time Battle Systems to Gambits, to Materia, and so on. Each entry in the Final Fantasy series has aspects that make them unique, but I’d argue that from all the Final Fantasy games I’ve played, Final Fantasy II feels the least like a Final Fantasy game.
Trying to put myself in the mindset of 1988 without the literal decades of hindsight, I’d say that Final Fanasy II is a bold new direction for a sequel, but for all its ambition, it kind of loses some of the magic that made Final Fantasy an instant classic. Not to say that it’s a bad game, it’s a great JRPG, but as Final Fantasy game, this was just okay for me. I didn’t love it, but I’m glad I can finally say that I’ve played it.
My wife and I recently had the opportunity to check out a new board game café that opened near our house. I love going to new board game stores and seeing what weird or unique games they have on their shelves. I generally assume the majority of the games come from the owner’s personal collections, or at least the ones that aren’t the owner’s absolute favourites. I suspect that’s how IOTA, designed by Gene Mackles and published by Gamewright in 2012 made it onto this shelf. The sole reason my wife picked it off the shelf was because it was JUST SO SMALL!
IOTA contains a deck of 66 cards. 64 of the cards are unique, displaying a symbol, colour, and number. Each player takes 4 cards into their hand, and on your turn, you play cards onto the shared play area to create lots, which are rows or columns where every aspect of the cards in a particular row and column are either completely the same, or completely different. A row can contain cards that all have the same colour, but different shape and number, or they can be the same number, and colour, but have different shapes, you get the picture.
Each time you play cards, you score all the lines you create or extend by the value of the cards. If you happen to complete a set of 4, it doubles your score for the round. There are 2 wild cards that will assist, but other than that, every card will appear only once. So if you’re holding out hope for that blue sqaure with a 3, and you notice it’s on the table somewhere else, well. You’ll be waiting for a long time.
The game that immediately sprung to mind when playing IOTA was Qwirkle. The similarities are immediately obvious, playing lines of shapes and colours that either all match or don’t match to score points. IOTA adds a 3rd dimension for players to consider with the value on the cards as well. It creates some depth, especially when it comes to scoring. Playing two cards next to a 4 is better than playing three cards next to a series of 1’s. IOTA pares down the symbols from Qwirkle‘s 6 shapes to 4, which is both a blessing and a curse. There are less shapes to keep in your head, but now all the lots are stubby. You’ll likely end up creating tiny staircases that sprawl all over your table.
The whole reason IOTA even made it onto my radar was because of it’s comically small tin. The tiny square cards don’t feel great to hold, and more than once we had to awkwardly slide the entire shared play area so that the game didn’t run off the table. For a game that comes in such a tiny tin, I did not expect it to be such a table hog. Furthermore, the shorter rows and columns made it surprisingly difficult to expand the play area at times, if you just so happened to not be able to play off anything. If you and your opponent have been competitive and pairing cards off well, not being able to strike off into a different direction is frustrating.
While my wife was a pro right from the start, I had a strange amount of trouble figuring out how to play my cards. I kept trying to play a series of cards that were not completely the same or different in all aspects. Adding that third element really seemed to throw me off my game. A lot of “I’m going to put these down right here, except I can’t do that!” “How about over here? Nope, can’t go here either!”. It’s no fun having the wind constantly taken out of your sails.
As more cards got played and the number of lots grew, the analysis paralysis grew in turn. There were more and more places to play cards that were worth almost the same amount of points each. I kept checking over and over for which lots needed that fourth card to get a double score turn, only to realize that a lot of the necessary cards were already on the table. It slowed the game down to a crawl, and I’m sure if we were playing more than 2 players, the wait between turns would have been atrocious.
At the end of the day, IOTA offers a more cerebral experience than Qwirkle. The potential for huge turns is much higher, if you manage to play 3 cards in a turn, and complete a lot, doubling your score for the whole round. But it’s less satisfying to play. Tiny cards are annoying to hold and likely to slide around, versus wooden blocks that are a joy to touch and click together are obviously the superior component. IOTA was more frustrating, as so frequently the cards in my hand just didn’t fit anywhere because one of the three elements were wrong. The scoring was much more mathy, which slowed the game down when players are trying to puzzle out which placement will earn them the absolute most points. These points of frustration all prevent me from really ever recommending IOTA. It should be said that I would like IOTA quite a bit more if Qwirkle didn’t exist. IOTA tries to build on the foundation that Qwirkle built, but misses the simple joy and charm that made Qwirkle such a hit to begin with.
I’ve often said that my biggest gap in my gaming experience is that I’ve still never played a single TTRPG. I’ve never played Dungeons & Dragons, or any of the many other role playing games that keep coming across my attention (mostly thanks to Mark over at the Omnigamers Club Podcast). I’ve even barely touched games based on the D&D system like Neverwinter Nights or Baulders Gate, it’s just a complete blindspot in my gaming history. So when Roll Player, designed by Keith Matejka and published by Thunderworks Games in 2016 is pitched as a whole board game based around the experience of creating a character for a TTRPG, it doesn’t exactly excite me. What does excite me is that in the (nearly) decade since Roll Player came out, it’s spawned its own universe that many of Thunderworks Games have been set in ever since (Cartographers and Stonespire Architects are the ones that come to mind).
In Roll Player, players are crafting a character. The whole experience starts with each player taking a character board, dictating their race, giving them a +2 bonuses in one stat, and a -2 in another. Then, you’re dealt a class, which includes some attribute goals to work towards, a background which gives you a loose blueprint on where certain colours of dice should go in your attribute rows, and an alignment goal. None of these you really get to choose, you just get to play with the cards that life dealt you. A quick seed round in which all players pull handfuls of dice to roll and place, then the game can properly begin.
Each round, the start player rolls dice, one more than the number of players at the table, and arranges them on initiative cards, from lowest to highest. Then, the first player drafts a die, taking the initiate card into their control. They place the die into one of their attribute rows, and takes the corresponding attribute action, which generally will let you modify a die. Either flipping it, swapping it with another one, or bumping the pip value up or down once.
The rest of the table follows suit, drafting a die and an initiative card, then, in initiative card order, each player can buy one card from the market. The market cards include traits, skills, weapons, and armour that will give you special abilities, end game scoring objectives, or even just straight points. Once the market phase is over, you clean up, pass the dice bag to the left, and do it again, until all the empty slots on your player board are full. Highest score is the winner.
I strangely remember Roll Player being quite popular when it came out. Some people proclaiming that creating a character is the best part of a D&D campaign, and how awesome it is that a dice game captures that feeling. I always thought that was more of a scathing indictment of D&D as a game than a compliment for Roll Player, but then again, I am an RPG luddite, so what do I know?
Roll Player feels fairly devoid of agency. You’ll roll the dice, pick the best option, and hope for the best. There’s about 5 different places to earn points from, each one pulling you in a different direction. Sometimes you’ll be holding out for a blue 4 to put into a specific spot, but if it never comes up, there are ways to manipulate your tableau of dice to make things work. As the game comes to a close, your options close up as well. Placing a 3rd die into any attribute row locks it up, shutting you out from that attribute action for the rest of the game. In the last few rounds, it’s not uncommon to only have one or two rows that have empty spaces, making the choices available to you dramatically smaller than what you were presented with at the start of the game.
You’ll buy cards almost every round, provided you have the coins to do so. They’ll give you a small action or ability, but nothing so earth-shattering that it’ll really affect your round. There also isn’t really a great sense of progression or growth, the first round largely feels the same as the last round, except often worse, because in the last round you’re totally hemmed in, stuck with the consequences of all your decisions up to that point.
The only interaction in Roll Player is hate drafting. Each armour sets offers a single bonus point to two different class colours, so if an opponent is playing one of those colours, you’ll compete for the armour set and that’s about it. If you happen to need the same colour or number as another player and take it before they do, it’s just happenstance. There’s no thrill to Roll Player, no excitement. Sometimes you’ll feel a spark of delight when you manage to get one of your attribute rows to the perfect number, but that’s about the extent of it.
Speaking of the attribute goals, they’re pretty mundane goals to strive towards, but they slant the value of dice to needing higher numbers fairly dramatically. The lowest attribute goal is 14, and with only 3 dice to hit that, you’ll need to be placing a lot of 6’s to reach all your goals. Of course, you’re not going to achieve every goal, you’ll need to have a dump stat. But beyond hitting those attribute goals, a few other cards will reward you for having under 8 in a stat, or having all the same number in a row. If you don’t grab those cards though, any number less than a 4 is pretty pointless.
The entire time I was playing Roll Player, I was wishing I was playing Sagrada. At first glance, Sagrada should have a lot of the same complaints as Roll Player. Featuring a shrinking decision space and the only interaction being hate drafting, but Sagrada is a joy to play. The number and colour restrictions are fun to work around, and Sagrada finishes much faster than Roll Player does. Not to mention the beautiful translucent dice and stained glass artwork is so much prettier than the muddy, generic fantasy artwork featured in Roll Player.
Honestly, it’s weird for a game to fall so flatly for me. I’m usually a pretty good judge of what I’ll like, and if a game doesn’t appeal to me, it doesn’t get played (and therefore, doesn’t get reviewed). I’ve played Roll Player a few times now, and I’m not seeing the spark that makes anyone love it. Perhaps an expansion really improves the experience, but Roll Player won’t be sticking around my collection for me to find out. From now on, any game in the “Roll Player universe” is going to be from the “Cartographers Universe” instead.
Long before I knew what “grinding XP” meant or knew what a Phoenix Down was, I was already deep into the world of JRPGs. Back then, I didn’t have a massive library of games available to me, so anything promising dozens of hours of gameplay instantly drew my attention. One of my earliest forays into the JRPG genre was Final Fantasy II on the SNES (It’s actually called Final Fantasy IV, but that’s a rabbit hole for another day). That game kicked off a lifelong fondness for the Final Fantasy series, even if I haven’t actually finished most of the mainline entries.
Well, that changes now.
Armed with my trusty Retroid Pocket 4 Pro, I’ve embarked on a mission: to play through every mainline Final Fantasy game it can handle. And I’m starting right where it all began, albeit with the 2004 Game Boy Advance remake, Final Fantasy I, from the Dawn of Souls anthology.
First Impressions from a Nearly Blank Slate
Aside from a vague memory of beating Garland once years ago, this was essentially my first real experience with Final Fantasy I. And right off the bat, I made full use of modern conveniences: 2x speed and auto-mapping the A button to the trigger so I could turbo through the many, long, repetitive battles. Let’s be honest, those random encounters feel relentless, so anything to streamline them is a blessing.
Final Fantasy I has you playing as a customizable party, and sets your party as the four Warriors of Light, each carrying a darkened crystal, and you’re tasked with restoring balance to the world. Or something to that effect. Like many NES-era games, the real story is half-buried in the game manual and whispered through snippets of NPC dialogue scattered across towns. Don’t expect cutscenes or lore dumps, this is old-school storytelling where you’re expected to connect the dots yourself and let your imigination fill in the gaps.
Lost Without a Guide. And That’s Kind of the Point
I made it about a third of the way through the game before caving and pulling up both a walkthrough and a world map. Final Fantasy I offers little in the way of direction. Instead, it leans on cryptic clues from villagers and a whole lot of trial and error. It reminded me of being on the playground, swapping secrets with friends about how to wake the elven prince or where to find that random witch who needs a magic eye.
It’s charming in a way. When you stumble upon the specific place you need to me is exciting. But it also means a lot of wandering interrupted by constant random battles. Exploration is a chore when every five steps you get warped into another pointless encounter. I know the newest remakes (Pixel Remaster) has an option that lets you turn off the random encounters altogether, but that wasn’t an option here. If you’re not following a guide and don’t know where to go, you MIGHT eventually find the right place to go. And you’ll be massively over levelled when you get there.
Dungeon Design Done Right
That said, I really enjoyed the dungeon design. They’re sprawling, treasure-packed mazes that feel rewarding to explore. Unlike later entries in the series where dungeons sometimes devolve into glorified hallways, these had nooks and cranies to explore. Finding new, powerful loot and immediately smacking a boss with it? Always satisfying.
Thanks to my turbo-boosted gameplay, I ended up over leveled without even trying. I didn’t grind on purpose, I just got lost a lot. By the time I reached each of the four elemental Fiends, they went down in 3 or 4 rounds. The real challenge came from resource management: making it through a dungeon with enough HP and MP left to survive the trip back to the nearest town. More than once at the start of the game, I limped out of a dungeon with my party barely clinging to life. Eventually, even that tension faded as my levels climbed.
Final Boss, Final Thoughts
The only minor roadblock was the final boss, Chaos, whose brutal AoE spells finally gave my White Mage something to panic about. Even then, I managed to beat him on the first try. When the credits rolled, my in-game clock showed 13 hours, and my party was hovering around level 61.
So… how does Final Fantasy I hold up today?
It’s tricky. Evaluating a nearly 40-year-old game with modern eyes is unfair, but inevitable. The magic system feels thin, the stats often feel meaningless, and gear is mostly just a numbers game. Most of the spells go unused, equipment lacks flair, and your Black Mage is either useless or a glass cannon depending on how full their MP bar is.
And yet, Final Fantasy was a revelation in its time. It pioneered mechanics and tropes that became the foundation for the genre. Games I’ve loved over the decades owe their existence to this one.
Should You Play It?
If you’re looking for a polished, modern RPG experience, this isn’t it. But if you want to pay homage to where it all began, to the roots of a genre that shaped generations of gamers, then it’s worth your time. Especially with some emulator tweaks to make the ride a little smoother.
I’m glad I finally checked this one off my list. Even with its rough edges, Final Fantasy still manages to shine. It’s a monument to what came before, a stepping stone in the evolution of RPGs. I may not recommend it to everyone, but I absolutely respect the ground it broke.
Now, onward to Final Fantasy II (The real Final Fantasy II, not the US version which is actually Final Fantasy IV).
