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At Experience Point, we love tabletop games: be they boardgames, card games, or pen-and-paper rolepl Remember terrible boardgames like Monopoly and Risk?

Remember how, despite the fact that they would often pack only a half-hour of fun into three long hours of waiting for someone to just win and put everyone else out of their misery, you would still go back to them time and time again because there was something special, something almost magical, about gathering around a table and playing boardgames with your friends and family? What if I told you

that boardgaming has recently gone through a Renaissance of its own, and that modern boardgames have not only managed to capture that exact same sense of magic and wonder that classic games used to invoke, but also improved it in every imaginable way, shape and form? What if I told you that instead of having just a half-hour of fun in three hours of gameplay, modern boardgames manage to pack an hour's worth of fun into just a half-hour of nail-bitingly tense gameplay? What if, instead of pasted-on themes that saw you moving shapeless tokens up ladders and down snakes, you could play a boardgame that had you and your friends take on the roles of desperate submarine captains, cunning Roman senators, heroic firefighters, or Machiavellian characters from A Game of Thrones? At Experience Point, we love tabletop games: be they boardgames, card games, or pen-and-paper roleplaying games, as long as they can be played on a table, we love them (and probably have them in our library of 100+ games). We would love for you to experience the same joy and wonder that we felt when we first encountered the modern boardgaming revolution; and, at just $3 per hour (to a maximum of $10 per day!), there's really no reason why you shouldn't.

08/04/2025

The Queen made to take the child, but Ciesis’ mother—brave woman that she was—cried out in alarm and desperation. And the Queen saw the love that her son’s mother bore for him, and smiled a terrible smile at her, and drew a knife from her bodice and threw it at her son’s mother’s feet, saying, “if you cannot bear to be apart from him, then walk through the three doors and forget.” And, saying so, the Queen took Ciesis and departed.

It is said, by the people who were there, that Ciesis’ mother bled for three days and three nights upon the pristine snow before she finally died; and that the spot where she died would never be rid of bloodgrass, which grows every Summer in her memory.

31/03/2025

And the wheel spun from the force of their exit, and four of its spokes broke and fell into the gaps, and became as tinder to the fire that burned in the garden, feeding it and nursing it.

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29/03/2025

“In my dream,” he said, “I saw a dragon: a beast so large that it would have barely fit in my throne room, armoured in gold, and draped in perfumed silk. Its eyes were heavily-lidded and painted with crushed malachite, its breath was sweet with cinnamon and unnameable spices, its septum was pierced with a large gold ring and studded with precious gems all along its rim. When it spoke to me, its voice was low and dulcet, and although it was not loud, it shook the stones of the floor beneath me."

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20/03/2025

In the light of the new day, the heroes girded themselves for war. Stout Mariam—who the smallfolk called the Sea-Treader, and whose hairless skin was as beaten bronze—masked herself in loss and regret, and took up her axe which was called Wave. Wild Leja—whose form was as mutable as the Moon, and who once rent the skies asunder with her claws as a she-bear—took the form of a wild lioness, and clad herself in the cool dark of Deep Shadow.

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11/03/2025

Thus did they lay, side by side, skewered by iron, undone by leather and stone, until the Hours found them. And the Hours wept, and wailed, and beat their breasts, and the world knew their pain and grief so intently that the Sun Itself dimmed, and the Moon had to avert her eyes.

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07/03/2025

"I did not need to cheat, my brothers, for the way to victory in this game is obvious. It is not the suppliers who profit most, although they do by means of knowing that they already have a customer waiting to buy what they are making. Nor is it the buyers who profit most, although they do by their ability to hedge against a bad year of production.

"I tell you this truly: it is rather the traders, the clearing houses and speculators and investors, who make the most profit from this game. By trading the contracts that are posted on the market upon a secondary market, one can make money from nothing but time and shrewdness."

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02/03/2025

"This offering you shall place upon the altar beside my chair with your own hands, and you shall say to the offering: 'Unto you I give my sin.' And I shall rise from the chair, and take a tenth portion of the sacrifice, and enter within the tabernacle, where I shall place it within the fire that burns perpetually beside the empty throne. And the nine-tenths that remain shall be distributed as prasad amongst the community, who will consume your sin and take it into themselves; for the sin of the individual is the failure of the community, and it shall be borne by all."

Art credit: .devika

27/02/2025

In the long ago, when iron was still soft, and clay not yet moulded, a child who should not exist was being born. As they began crowning, a girl who should be dead - hearing the cries of the child's mother - grew curious, and drew close to the threshold of their house, where she peered in. And when the child was born, the midwife cried out, for the child had five heads. And the girl, knowing that this was her fault, crept away to weep bitter tears in grief.

Over the next few heartbeats, the child began to grow, until they were old enough to walk and speak in the manner of men; and all this while, the girl stayed away, daring only to peer through the maize that grew in the garden of the child's mother.

But the child had the gift of true knowing, and saw the girl, and gestured for the girl to approach. And the girl who should be dead shyly approached the threshold of the child's house, and lingered by the eaves. And the child rotated one of their heads to face her, and smiled at her with a smile that was open and friendly.

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24/02/2025

When Bashir and the Harvestmen march to the Slums of Ekta, they find it guarded only by a single banner of children. They stand before the walls of the city, trying their best not to quiver in their ill-fitting armour before the war drums of the Harvestmen, clutching their spears with white-knuckled fervour. From somewhere high up in the battlements, Bashir hears a chord being struck on the Round-Bellied Lute. That, it seems, was the signal to advance. Beardless sergeants march up to the front and, raising their prepubescent voices, command the soldiers of the First Children's Crusade to march.

Bashir does not shy from meeting them in battle, but it is a grim thing to do, even for the Harvestmen. When the first children fall to the vanguard of the clay men, the rest begin to rout, and Bashir does not have the heart to command his men to chase them down. Instead, he focuses on the source of the lute, and eventually—after dispatching her guards—finds her in a room atop the battlements playing the lute. She looks up at Bashir and smiles, a sad longing smile. She is radiant, even though she is not much older than the children in her command, and her beauty moves Bashir to tears. Still, he draws his knife. Still, he approaches her, and slides his knife between her breasts, through the scar that was left by Alkali, all those months ago.

Except, this time, there are no healers to bring her back.

20/02/2025

For four heartbeats he stayed with them as a guest, and they laid reeds harvested from the river of the mountain to make the cold earth warm. They slaughtered two bulls—one black, one white—and made a feast of their meat and bones, and a cloak and a blanket from their skins. Their eldest gave him a knife that was made of whispered secret and starlight, and their youngest gave him a name that made him laugh. For four heartbeats, the people feted him, and honoured him with song and praise and sacrifice.

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18/02/2025

Neither moves for a moment: they both know that speed will not serve either of them here. Instead, they circle each other, moons orbiting a distant star, describing strange constellations and astrological cycles whose meanings only Fate can know. Huso lifts her forepaw in salute, in a feint, in an obvious telegraphed pounce across that invisible horizon. And then, she moves, a blur of fur and claws and biting bone.

Alkali throws his blade across the room at her, and his aim is true. The tip of the sword drives deep into Huso's left eye, and the she-wolf lets out a strangled cry as her pounce is violently truncated. She collapses into a heap on the floor, skidding across the marble, hind legs twitching, body spasming as she vomits blood onto the rose-gold inlay of an ancient nameless saint. The sword in her eye twitches with each spasm.

Art credit: .devika

05/02/2025

So did Gethos and the boy walk through the city, until they came to the palace that the king of the city—a mighty woman, whose ascension was prophesied by multiple gods, and whose birth was attended to by several thrones and powers of the world—ruled from. And Gethos, whose envy of the city had since turned to contempt, walked up the seventeen marble steps to the palace, and none dared to stop them.

15/01/2025

In his cave, far from sunlight and moonlight and starlight and firelight, Teyth caught a fish, and from the fish’s guts he made six strings. In his cave, Teyth grew a tree, and for six years the tree grew, watered only by his love and affection, until Teyth cut it down and used its heart to make a lute. And he looked upon his work, and knew that it was good.

10/01/2025

The throne of the chakravarti is empty: only the Queen of Emptiness sits in audience, alone in the great hall. She gazes upon Urbarri dispassionately for several long heartbeats before speaking. "You speak of omens." Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence of the hall like a knife. "How little you know of omens." Her eyes are as hard as diamonds, and they glitter with the will to do harm.

But. She sighs then, and the tension leaves her voice and the room. She makes a mudra of apology. "Forgive me. I should not take it out on you. You are only doing as your lord wishes; as am I." She stands, and her shadow blocks out the glittering light of the stars in the window behind her. Urbarri does not dare look too long at her shadow: she has heard the tales of its hunger, and what happens to the unwary who express too much curiosity in the Queen's train.

"You and your lord ishvara can do nothing for our king. It is His duty, and He will see it done. He only wishes to know, before He goes forth and does it, that His kingdom will be well-cared for after He is gone." The Queen directs her gaze at Urbarri then, piercing her soul, flensing her spirit, laying her mind bare before her. "Will it? Does your lord ishvara have the sword-will to do what our king prepares Himself to do, even now? To stare death in the face and, rather than send another, face it Himself?" The Queen crosses the five-span distance between her and Urbarri in a single heartbeat; up close, she smells of the cold, of Winter itself. "Does your ishvara dare to seize the Wheel, that it may be turned?"

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06/01/2025

Battle was truly enjoined then, as the king drew his sword and cast about himself with both blade and spell. Rabila’s hawk was snatched from the air and dashed against the stones at the foot of his throne, and Rabila himself was thrown off the mountain by a single blow from the king. Eilbroon roared a thunderous cry, and although the throne was shattered, neither the king nor the co**se of his mother was harmed. Marnita caught the king’s sword with a chord, but the strike was not halted, and both she and her harp was cleft in twain.

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04/01/2025

I'm not even going to dignify this with a caption.

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01/01/2025

They turned then to their eldest sister, who still held the hand of the mother, and said to her: “What of your gift, sister?” And their eldest sister said to them: “To her I shall gift the genius of the sword, and the many lessons contained therein.” And the sisters murmured amongst themselves, and said to each other that this was a great gift indeed.

21/12/2024

When Jahaan pulls up alone on his destrier, Inarash nods to herself, pleased, and mobilises the Red Banner. "From now till sunset, do not enter any doors or windows, or cross any thresholds if you can avoid it. All of you will be responsible for dealing with that man on the horse; Inarash and I will handle the beast that hides in his shadow."

The battle between the Red Banner and Jahaan turns out to be a protracted and bloody one—one that sates even Thujun's spear—but it is no match for the battle that takes place between Inarash and Qyhnir, who emerges from Shadow and wields its hunger as a cudgel; Qyhnir, whose body in the Real is a doorway, whose many mouths cry out in discord with one another, whose roiling form tears open the very fabric of reality with its every movement. But its opponent is Inarash, whose will is steel, who has been tempered by a thousand battles, who shares a mind and body with her sword.

With each cut and slash, the warrior-general strides easily between the Real and the Shadow. Her every move is precise; but no matter how precise one is, against a creature like Qyhnir, whose hunger is all-encompassing, it is impossible to avoid everything. Qyhnir's roars of rage slowly turn into whimpers of fear as more and more of its limbs are shorn off by Inarash, until it is reduced to nothing more than a single doorway with a crooked lintel and a splintered doorjamb. It has long lost its capacity for coherent thought or speech, yet still, Qyhnir begs for its life. But Inarash is a blade, and blades have no mercy. With three quick strokes, Inarash ends the existence of Qyhnir.

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