Final Fantasy III didn’t make it over to the US the same way the other Famicom Final Fantasy games did. It didn’t get a Wonderswan remake, which means there was no basis for a PSP or GBA port. It wasn’t until 2006 that a 3D remake was released stateside on the Nintendo DS. I’ve never had access to this game before, so I was actually kind of excited to play it. I’ve at least tried almost every other mainline Final Fantasy game, even if I’ve dropped them after only a handful of hours. Embarking on a wholly new story was an exciting prospect for me.
I made it half-way through Final Fantasy III, about 15 hours in total. Then I suffered a total party KO against the Fire Dragon boss, and apparently the last time I saved my game was when I was barely 2 hours into the game. I’m sorry, Final Fantasy III, I’m not replaying 12 hours of a game I didn’t like to catch back up to my progress.
But let’s back up. I’m still playing on my Retroid Pocket 4, which is not an ideal Nintendo DS emulator, on the account of only having 1 screen, but it was serviceable. Final Fantasy III doesn’t really use the second screen very much anyway, so having one of the two screens much larger, and a button to swap screens is totally serviceable. The 3D models are laughably ugly, but I was able to smooth that out by upscaling the game 4X, which was a wonderful improvement.
Final Fantasy III brings back the class system from the first game, allowing you to specialize your partys abilities to suit the challenge of the moment. Unlike Final Fantasy II, where everyone was a jack of all trades, now if you want to use a sword, you’ll need to be a warrior. If you need magic, someone is going to need to change classes into a black, white, or red mage. As the game progresses, you unlock more classes, apparently 22 in all, but when my adventure ended 15 hours in, apparently I was on the cusp of unlocking the next set.
Unlike the 2D games, the number of enemies you can encounter has been reduced from 9, to 3. To offset this, the power of each enemy you face has been scaled up, including bosses, who also get to attack you twice per round. Should you fail and experience a total party KO, you’re kicked back to your last save file, whenever that was.
The games story begins with the main character, Luneth, as they plummet into a cave from above. You walk him out, then pick up your friend Arc from the nearby town. The next town over, you encounter Refia, who was hiding from her father because she didn’t want to be a blacksmith, but in doing so, narrowly avoided a curse that rendered the whole town as a ghost. A little further on, you pick up the knight Ingus, and thus, the party is formed. Each of these characters are orphans, who have been choses to be the 4 heroes of light. Throughout your adventure, you’ll pick up some guests who will follow behind you and aid you in battle every few rounds, which is delightful. Each guest also has 2 or 3 lines of dialogue that you can view to give their characters a little more flesh.
While bringing back the class system, Final Fantasy III, the magic system has also been changed from a pool of MP, to a spell charge system. Spells are broken into tiers, and each character can cast a certain number of spells per tier. I actually like this system a lot. Usually with MP systems, I reserve all of my MP until I get to a boss so I can unleash my wrath upon it, meaning for the majority of the encounters in a game, my black mages are just spinning their thumbs and bonking baddies with their staff for minimal damage. This spell charge system encouraged me to use the tier one spells throughout the dungeon, taking advantage of the mobs elemental weaknesses, while saving the tier 3 and 4 spells for the dungeon’s final encounter.
Final Fantasy III wants you to swap the classes on your party. Some dungeons have gimmicks, like requiring you to cast Mini on your party, rendering physical attacks nearly useless. The game is pushing you to have a party of mages at this point. From what I’ve read, a few other bosses later in the game also encourage you to build out your party in a specific way. One downside of this class system, however, is that all of your classes start at level 1. So swapping into a class that your character hasn’t touched yet, means grinding up the job level so they can be used effectively. It’s an ambitious system with fun ideas, and having different party combinations make each dungeon feel quite a bit different, but the penalties for switching made it more frustrating than freeing.
While I’m glad the characters have names, and little snippets of dialogue, the interactions between them are still fairly flat. Arc’s only character trait is that they’re a little cowardly. In the first 15 hours, none of the characters really grew beyond what you learn when you first encounter them. Even with names and small bits of dialogue, Luneth and friends never really grow or interact in meaningful ways, Which kind of leads me into the retrospective part of this journey.
Final Fantasy I, II, and III were all released on the NES between 1987 and 1990. The first game had a staff size of 5, the second had 8 people working on it, and III had 18 professional credits listed. For a small team to pump out 3 games in 4 years is a feat in itself, but each one of these games feels unique and distinct. Each one an adventure with turn based battles, but each game features wholly district systems and features that wildly shake up the experience. It’s fascinating seeing the lessons they took from each game and how they applied it onto the next one, making each one feel unique, and not just the same game with a new coat of paint.
While Final Fantasy is an epic tale, telling a grand story of a world about to fall into ruin and the heroes who save it, I’m left disappointed by the story in each of these games. The main characters are all nameless, faceless protagonists, save for a few lines of dialogue each. None of these characters experience growth or are fleshed out in any meaningful way. The villains, are much more interesting, from Garland being thrown back in time to become Chaos, who sends the four fiends forward in time, creating a time loop paradox, to The Emperor, who when defeated by the heroes, conquers hell itself and comes back with a vengeance.
I recognize and realize that I’ve been playing remasters and ports, and not the original games. I know there were significant limitations on these games that aren’t apparent when playing a remake, and that I have the benefit of 35 years of hindsight here. But if I were talking to a new JRPG or Final Fantasy fan in 2025, I wouldn’t suggest anyone start their Final Fantasy journey at the beginning. These are games I’m glad to have played, not ones I’d readily recommend, and that difference has defined this early part of the Final Fantasy journey.
Young’uns might not inherently know this, but back in the day, video games came with instruction manuals. These manuals included a ton of information that are not found on the cartridge themselves, as well as including concept art. It’s fascinating to see the inspirational artwork for a video game, compared to the pixels it gets translated into. This goes doubly so for Final Fantasy, as the concept art is beautiful, high fantasy art, evoking feelings of melancholy and terrifying battles against monsters of epic scale. But when you encounter the situation in the video game itself, it’s just another little beast for you to smack your sword against.
I wonder if I’m playing these games wrong. I wonder if the real charm of Final Fantasy I and II come from the imagination, and sitting with a game for longer than a week at a time. Again, back in the day, there were much fewer video games, so when you managed to get your hands on a game, it ended up being the only game you played for months. Then you’d swap cartridges with your friends, and talk about the adventures you both experienced. When you sit with a game for a long period of time, you start to impart weight and importance on specific moments of the game. Like walking across the bridge to challenge Timat. As a kid, that moment would have had my heart in my throat, after the weeks of working towards the battle, the set-backs of more than one total party KOs forcing me to reset to my last save to try again and again. On my modern device, I have save states and 2x speed to smooth out and rough edge, as my time is more valuable than replaying a dungeon just because I forgot to save before getting jumped by a mob of cockatrices and my whole party succumbed to stone.
Another aspect I’m left wondering if I’m missing out on, is the imagination. Like going to a dungeon and seeing the grey tiles, and imagining metal walls. Seeing the black background with blue specks and the NPCs talk about seeing stars or the earth below, and really imagining the situation. I’m reminded of playing Pokemon on by Game Boy when I was 10, and drawing some of the most exciting battles as they happened in my head during class, talking with my friends on the playground about the secrets we found, and piecing together where to go next from all of our collective knowledge. Having that time and space between play sessions for my imagination to fill in the gaps of the story are important, and something that is really missing from my life right now, which makes me think that my Final Fantasy experience isn’t as magical as it should have been. Just something to keep in mind while playing old games with a modern mindset.
I will continue on my quest to play all the mainline Final Fantasy games, they are entertaining at the very least. The next entry, Final Fantasy IV, I’ve long held in my heart as my favourite Final Fantasy game. It’s the first game that was developed for the more powerful SNES, and by this point in Square’s life, Final Fantasy had become a crown jewel franchise, meaning more and more resources were poured into each game. I’m quite excited to see how well this entry holds up.
I have to admit something. Uwe Rosenburg has always been one of my favourite board game designers. From simple classics like Patchwork, to resource management farm simulators like Agricola and Caverna, and even weird hex tile placement games like Applejack. That said, I haven’t gone out of my way to play everything he’s ever designed, but if a board game box has his name on the cover, you can be sure I’ll be at the very least, interested to try it.
Ora et Labora is Uwe Rosenburg’s big game from 2011. It’s a resource conversion game at heart, which you might realize when you see the 450 double-sided resource tiles sprawling across the table. Beyond the mess of cardboard, Ora et Labora features a large resource wheel overloaded with large wooden tokens, and each player has a flimsy, thin player board with a couple of cards covering some of the spaces.
Gameplay is very simple. On your turn, you take one action. You can either place one of your three pawns on one of your buildings to activate it, pay someone else to put a pawn on their building to reap the rewards, or harvest resources from one of the cards on your tableau.
Right off the bat, Uwe shows off his nonintuitive yet elegant design chops. Players take turns clockwise around the table, but to move the ‘first player’ advantage around the table, each round has the start player take two actions. In a 3 player game, it goes A, B, C, A, then round shifts, so B is the first player. B takes their turn, then C, A, and B again. It sounds complicated and obtuse, but in gameplay, it’s a pretty smooth way to keep the flow of actions moving around the table.
At set points during the game, new buildings are added to the supply. Similarly, a pair of resources aren’t available right at the beginning of the game, but get introduced a bit later. Some buildings do give you access to those resources, but they’re prohibitively expensive. If you can make it work to get access to stone early, I’m sure it would pay dividends, but never in my plays have I had the gall to chase down early access to stone.
There are just under 20 resources to play with. Some, like wood, stone, clay, and straw are used to build new buildings. Wood, peat, straw, and coke provide heat. Wine, sheep, mutton, wheat, flour, and bread all provide food. You may have caught that some resources carry double duty as both a building resource and heat source. Most of the buildings will have you spending certain resources to generate new ones, with the end goal generally being to create resources that generate the most victory points.
Ora et Labora is a sandbox that lets you choose which mix of the 20 resources you want to goose to generate the most points possible. You and your opponents can all chase different paths, and end up at nearly the same space. The freedom to choose which way can be a bit overwhelming, however. During our first play, we all spend a fair amount of time reading over each of the cards, and trying to piece together some kind of engine to chase. While there are two different sets of cards depending on the mode you choose to play (French or Irish), all the cards come out every game, so if you find an engine you particularly enjoy, you can run it in future games fairly reliably.
Interaction between players appears in two ways. First, when you take a resource, you move the resource token on the central dial. The number of rounds since that resource has last been actioned on. There is that feeling of playing chicken with your opponents that’s palpable in Uwe’s other games, such as Agricola. The pile of wood is growing larger and larger each round, how long can you let it build before using your action to take it?
The other point of interaction is the worker placement mechanism. What sets Ora et Labora apart is that everyone has the option to use everyone elses buildings, in a nice twist of friendly player interaction. Just because someone else stole the building that would be the linchpin to your engine, you can always just toss a coin or two their way and use the building anyway. There is a bit of tempo to consider when you use someone else’s buildings, however. Because you only get to take back your workers when all 3 have been deployed, choosing when to use someone else’s building to tie up their workers can be the difference between victory and defeat.
It’s kind of fascinating, returning to some of Uwe Rosenburg’s older titles. Ora et Labora features ideas and mechanics that have been reworked, reimagined, and fleshed out in newer games. The resource wheel getting an upgrade in Glass Road or Black Forest, or the dozens of resources coming in from Le Havre. These familiar mechanisms have a very distinct style to them, a brand that when you interact with the mechanism, it’s like greeting an old friend. I think Le Havre is the closest cousin to Ora et Labora, specifically with the emphasis on building buildings to give players access to a confusing tech tree of resource conversion that after 17 turns, manage to turn a lump of coal into something resembling victory points.
I really enjoyed playing Ora et Labora. At the end of each play, I felt satisfied, my brain not completely cooked, but feeling well-worked. I enjoyed building an engine, mathing out the best possible locations for my buildings, and cutting off my opponent’s access to actions or specific resources a moment before they were going to leap on them makes for some very satisfying moments. And yet, Ora et Labora doesn’t demand to be replayed. Because it feels very Uwe Rosenburg, if I have a craving for his style of game, I’m still much more inclined to pull Agricolaor Le Havre off the shelf. Ora et Labora lacks features that make it unique, it doesn’t stand out from the crowd of farming themed resource management Euro games that Uwe Rosenburg has filled the niche with, all by himself.
As a conclusion, Ora et Labora is a fine game, a good game. But it doesn’t do enough to get out from the formidable shadow of Uwe Rosenburgs titans, especially Le Havre. I do think Ora et Labora stands the test of time, at no point during my plays did I feel like “this feels like a 15 year old game!”. The only thought that came through my brain was comparing how each of the mechanisms that make up this game have made appearances before and after Ora et Labora‘s initial debut.
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.
