This type of disposability is certainly not a new concept – Pandemic: Legacy and Risk: Legacy have Gloomhaven beat by a number of years – but it is a novel addition to the dungeon crawler genre. This constant introduction of new content turns the game into a meta-puzzle: players must determine how each reveal benefits their characters, while simultaneously trying to unlock shared objectives with the rest of the group. As soon as you think you have a grasp on what’s going on a new location, ability, quest, or item enters play and you’re left scrambling to figure things out. It is almost impossible to settle into a gameplay rut because you never fully understand all of the moving parts. Like a rocketship casting off portions of its hull to hasten its ascent, Gloomhaven delivers new content to its players while expending the old. Yet despite many players’ reluctance, this iterative destruction is absolutely essential. For a gaming audience that long aspired to keep their toys in austere condition, every irrevocable change to the board seems like a transgression – a blemish on an otherwise pristine game.
Even some of the less aggressive mechanics, such as opening envelopes full of new content or placing stickers on the board, may seem sacrilegious for those who grew up playing Clue or Monopoly. Whereas experienced board-gamers are accustomed to removing elements from play temporarily or shuffling cards back into the deck, Gloomhaven adopts the nuclear option: tearing parts of itself into pieces. Players can also expect to rip up a lot of pieces of paper. Over time, players accumulate wealth and experience, grow in strength, and flesh out an ever-expanding game world. These outcomes can lead to rewards, penalties, or new options to pursue within the game.
When faced with a dilemma, usually provided through an event card or a quest objective, players have the option of picking from a pair of possible outcomes. The decision-making in Gloomhaven is akin to old school text adventure games. By co-opting the town-travel-quest dynamic prevalent in roleplaying games such as Dungeons and Dragons, Gloomhaven creates a comfortable rhythm for adventure.
Despite its impressive total campaign length – estimated at around 100 hours – each play session is divided into a series of distinct quests. This progress can manifest itself as new adventuring locations, marked increases to shared objectives, and even the destruction of certain game elements (such as the dreaded ripping of cards). Cut from the same cloth as Pandemic: Legacy and Risk: Legacy, players enact persistent changes to Gloomhaven’s world as they slay monsters, complete quests, and level up. Gloomhaven is a tactical board game in which players control a party of adventures within a sprawling medieval fantasy setting. Placed at the corner of the gaming gable, it served as a reminder of our lack of killer instinct. Unable to take part in the willful destruction of a board game, a compromise was made: a card graveyard (in actuality a small cardboard box) in which all “ripped” cards were lain to rest. “What if someone else wanted to play the game after us?” “What if we needed the card again later?” These questions swirled around our heads, fueling our reluctance. Gloomhaven made a request of us that none of us were willing to complete – a blasphemous task that flew in the face of all of our previously acquired board game etiquette. Over the first two play sessions of Gloomhaven, my group found themselves completely incapable of following one of the game’s core rules.