I’ve played Eldritch Horror a bunch. Late nights, tea mugs, and a table full of tokens. It’s weird and it’s fun. And sometimes it scares me a bit, in a good way. If you want the full blow-by-blow of that particular showdown, I wrote about it here.
Setting the scene
We set the big world map on the table. I like that board. It looks like an old travel chart your grandpa would keep in a trunk. We grabbed dice, clue tokens, and those little ship and train tickets. The rulebook is thick, but don’t panic. After a few turns, it clicks.
My cat tried to eat a gate token. Classic.
If the sight of a curious kitty turning game night into a comedy routine sounds familiar, you might appreciate the playful gallery over at Je montre mon minou where proud owners share light-hearted snapshots of their own “minou” stealing the show—perfect for a quick grin and some relatable pet-tabletop chaos inspiration.
If you ever crave more pulp-soaked lore to spice up your next session, take a peek at the compendiums over at All Flesh and thank me later.
How it actually plays (simple and real)
Each turn, I move to a city or sea. Then I take actions. I buy gear. I rest. I trade with a friend. I get a boat ticket because I know trouble will pop up in the ocean. After that, I read an encounter card for where I stand. The story bits shine here. Sometimes it helps me. Sometimes it hurts.
Then the Mythos card hits. That’s the one that makes us all groan. Doom drops. A gate opens. A rumor starts. Monsters move. The little red icon means “Reckoning.” When that shows up, bad stuff on cards wakes up. Debts come due. Curses bite. I’ve learned to watch that icon like it’s a storm cloud.
You roll six-sided dice. You want fives and sixes. A Bless makes it easier. A Curse is awful. With a Curse, you only hit on a six. I’ve rolled five ones before. I just stared at them and laughed. What else can you do? (If you want a step-by-step breakdown of a full turn, Gaming Trend has a clear play-through and review that helped me the first time I taught new players.)
Real moments that stuck with me
-
Paris deal gone wrong: I was the calm bookish type who reads spells. I met a shady guy in Paris to buy a relic. I took a Debt card to pay for it. We thought we were so smart. Two turns later, a Reckoning hit. I flipped the Debt. A “collector” showed up. I lost the relic and got a leg Injury. I still tell that story.
-
Tokyo gate panic: A gate opened in Tokyo and pulled a monster through. I had a ship ticket ready, so I hopped the sea path and got there fast. I passed the Lore test to close the gate, but I failed the Will test first and took a Madness card. That card later made me lose clues whenever someone near me took Damage. It felt like the game whispered, “You’re brave, but now you shake.”
-
Rumor in the Amazon: A Mythos card started a rumor deep in the jungle. If we didn’t fix it, Doom would drop every Reckoning. My brother rushed down with extra supplies. We needed three clues. He had two. I had one. I barely made it through a poison test by spending that last clue to reroll a die. Nailed a six. We cheered like kids.
-
The sea is not your friend: We faced the big one with tentacles. The sea got weird. My neighbor tried to clear a sea space with a harpoon and a lucky rabbit foot. He rolled all misses. Next turn, he got Cursed. He still talks about that curse. He did remove it later with a Blessing, but it took work.
-
The cat and the doom: My cat swatted the doom marker down to 2. We laughed, because it felt true. Doom does drop fast in this game. We moved it back, but honestly, it felt fair.
What I loved
-
The story pops. Every card feels like a pulp page from a dusty book. You go to Rome, or the desert, or a ship deck at night. The text is short, but it sticks. It sticks the same way a tense radio play like Pontypool does—short, sharp, lodged in your brain.
-
Team talk matters. We plan routes and share gear. “You take the gate. I’ll grab clues. Meet me in Shanghai.” It sounds like a movie. A messy, chaotic movie.
-
The dice feel right. You roll. You hold your breath. A six shows up, and your table goes wild. Simple joy.
-
The art and bits look great. The board is clean. The card backs tell you what they are. It helps once the table turns into a token garden.
What made me grumble
-
Setup takes time. Sorting the decks, picking the Ancient One, building the Mythos deck—yeah, it’s a process. I use small trays now, and it helps.
-
Rules bumps at first. We had to look up “Rumor,” “Reckoning,” and “Delayed” a few times. It’s not hard, but it can slow play.
-
Swingy luck. Great for stories. Rough if you hate randomness. You can plan and still lose to two bad rolls.
-
Long haul. With four people, our games run 2.5 to 3 hours. I like it. Some folks don’t.
Small tips that saved our sanity
-
Start with the big, sleepy world-eater as your first boss. It’s a clear teach.
-
Three or four players is the sweet spot. Solo works, but it’s a lot to track.
-
Keep a tiny dish for each token type. Tickets in one, clues in another.
-
Don’t hoard clues. Use them to reroll a key die on a key test. Spend brave.
-
Read the back of Condition cards when Reckoning hits. Flip them only when it says so. That surprise is part of the fun.
-
Stand up when someone fights a big monster. It sounds silly. It makes it hype.
Side quest IRL: Investigators in Eldritch Horror hop from Arkham to Buenos Aires, and I’ve done my share of real-world convention travel too. If your own tournament trail ever lands you near Illinois Route 159 and you’re looking for some low-key nightlife or friendly company to round out the evening, the discreet classifieds at Backpage Collinsville can point you to local meet-ups and last-minute companionship—perfect for turning an otherwise quiet hotel night into a mini-adventure before the dice start rolling again.
Who will love this
-
Fans of spooky stories, pulp travel, and team play—especially if a snowy, slow-burn haunt like We Are Still Here is your idea of a perfect movie night.
-
People who like big box co-ops where you feel a little doomed, but you push back.
-
Folks who can enjoy luck with a grin.
Who won’t? Players who want short, tight puzzles with no chaos. Also, if you hate sorting cards, you’ll fuss.
My verdict
I keep Eldritch Horror on my shelf for stormy nights and Halloween. It turns a table into a weird tale that we make together. Yes, setup is slow. Yes, luck stings. But the stories? They land.
Score: 4.5 out of 5. It’s a keeper for me. For yet another take—complete with pros, cons, and component photos—the folks over at Co-op Board Games reach a pretty similar conclusion.
And you know what? I still hear those dice in my head. Little clacks. Little prayers. Then a six.