“7 Wonders: Architects? More like 7 Blunders: Annoy-itects.”

So the humans took their big clever game 7 Wonders—with its cards and combos and ancient bragging—and said, “Let’s make it simple so everyone can play!” Well, congratulations. They made a version even my cousin Zarg (who thinks dice are edible) can understand.

What’s the deal?

Each goblin gets a half-built wonder plopped on the table. On your turn, you grab a card from one of three piles: the one to your left, the one to your right, or the face-down common pile. That’s it. Collect resources, build your wonder stages, nab science for progress tokens, or pile up military to smack your neighbors. First goblin to finish their wonder usually drags the game to an end.

Why it makes me growl:

  • Too quick, too shallow. Strategy? Ha! You’re just flipping piles and hoping your neighbor doesn’t nick the card you wanted.
  • The Wonders are uneven. Some feel shiny, others feel like they were glued together from spare cave planks.
  • Military nonsense. You build up, war happens, tokens flip, then it all resets. It’s like goblin headbutting competitions: noisy, but not much progress.
  • Feels random. If you want a game of clever planning, play the original. This one’s more “grab shinies and hope.”

But fine, it’s not all rotten fungus.

  • Fast and accessible. Any goblin—big, small, or missing half a brain—can play.
  • Pretty bits. The wonder pieces slot together nicely, and I’ll admit it’s satisfying to finish your monument and lord it over the others.
  • Good for mixed groups. Got humans and goblins of all skill levels? This one works without a rulebook brawl.

Grumpy Goblin Verdict

Pros:

  • Quick setup and play.
  • Lovely chunky components, good table presence.
  • Great entry game for new or distracted players.

Cons:

  • Too shallow for scheming goblins who like depth.
  • Wonders not always balanced.
  • Random draw luck can steal your plans.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 rusty goblin hammers.
A fine shiny toy for beginners, but veteran goblins will be backstabbing in the full 7 Wonders long before this one hits the shelf again.

By High Chief Jugbite the Grim

Jugbitе earned his name the old-fashioned way—by biting a jug. Not once, but many times, until the jug shattered and half his teeth went with it. Instead of shame, he wore the scars proudly, declaring, “If a jug can’t bite back, it deserves to be chewed.” From that day, the goblins called him Jugbite—and none dared mock him unless they wanted a pottery shard in the eye. He’s a hulking goblin by cave standards—stooped, scarred, with a face like a smashed lantern. His eyes are yellow and perpetually squinted, as if the world itself irritates him (which it does). He wears a patchwork cloak stitched from banners looted off human adventurers, and a crown made of twisted spoons, because he says “metal tastes better than gold.” Known for his grim demeanor, Jugbite doesn’t laugh. Ever. When other goblins cackle and scheme, he just grumbles, spits, and plots in silence. His voice is gravel in a stewpot, and when he growls an order, goblins obey out of sheer unease. Yet he’s clever—too clever. Jugbite organizes raids with military precision, striking caravans at night, vanishing before dawn. He’s also a ruthless collector of shinies, especially anything ceramic—cups, pots, jugs. Rumor says he keeps a cavern piled high with them, gnawed and cracked, trophies of his endless grudge against pottery. To his followers, Jugbite is both terrifying and oddly inspiring: a goblin too stubborn to die, too mean to smile, and too cunning to overthrow.

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