You’d think that, being a games designer, I’d be playing games all of the time. And in a way, that’s true. For my day job, I spend an enormous amount of time standing around a gaming table, testing rules, refining mechanics, and thinking about how games work. But the process of writing and creating games is very different from sitting down with your friends to actually play one. One is work, even when it’s enjoyable. The other is where time slows down, conversations wander, and, looking back on 2025, it’s where I’ve been reminded why I fell in love with this hobby in the first place.

2025 has been a funny year for my tabletop gaming. Not in a bad way, but in a reflective one. It’s been a year where I’ve realised that the hobby isn’t really about rulesets, or miniatures, or even beautifully crafted tables, as important as those are to me. It’s about people. Time. And the stories that only really come alive when shared across a table with friends.

I’ve spent plenty of hours this year thinking about games rather than actually playing them. Like many of us, I find personal time increasingly precious. Work, family, commitments; modern life has a way of filling every spare moment. That reality has shaped how I’ve approached tabletop gaming in 2025, and it’s also why 2026 feels like a year where I want to consciously reclaim some of that time and spend it playing games.

Games That Framed the Year

This year, my gaming has revolved around a small number of systems, each for very different reasons.

The Barons’ War has been especially meaningful to me. In 2025, the second edition was released, and with it came the opportunity to refine the game into something even closer to what it was always meant to be; quite simply, the game I would choose to play. The second edition reflects my own personal taste as a gamer, favouring flexibility over complexity, narrative over abstraction, and moments at the table that feel earned rather than engineered.

That process wasn’t about chasing trends or adding layers for the sake of it, but about honing the experience: tightening the rules, clarifying intent, and ensuring that what happens on the table feels authentic and satisfying. At its heart, The Barons’ War has always been about shared history and grounded storytelling. There’s something deeply rewarding about medieval conflicts played out with friends who appreciate both the period and the narrative weight behind it. Every game feels like a fragment of a larger chronicle, shaped as much by who’s standing around the table as by the dice themselves.

In 2025, seeing that vision crystallise in its second edition felt less like finishing a project and more like reaffirming why I design games in the first place.

Warhost, on the other hand, has been my creative anchor throughout 2025. My first introduction to tabletop gaming was through the fantasy genre, and in many ways, this project feels like a full-circle moment. Warhost is where ideas flow most freely, where the world can be expanded, factions given purpose, and battles framed as meaningful events rather than isolated clashes on a table.

This is very much my heart project. It’s the place where imagination takes the lead, where background and narrative aren’t an afterthought but the foundation upon which everything else is built. Being able to use The Barons’ War as its base has been hugely important. It’s given us a proven game engine to build over, one that already supports the kind of play experience I value, freeing creative energy to focus on world-building, atmosphere, and the stories that emerge from play.

Even during periods in 2025 when I haven’t had the time to play as much as I’d like, Warhost has been quietly growing in my head. Ideas accumulate, connections form, and the setting deepens, waiting patiently for the moments when time allows me to sit down and start turning those thoughts into something tangible.

And then there’s Gangs of Rome. Just a slice of it, here and there. Smaller story-driven games, shorter commitments, but no less rich. Gentle reminders that even brief sessions can deliver memorable moments when played with the right people.

Creating and Collecting Miniatures, Building Stories

Creating and collecting miniatures remains a constant joy for me. It’s not just about ownership or completion; it’s about potential. Every model represents a future story, a battle yet to be fought, a moment waiting to be shared with friends around the table.

Painting and collecting are often solitary pursuits, but they’re always done with a social goal in mind. I don’t have armies painted to sit on shelves. I have them to be used, discussed, admired, and occasionally cursed when the dice don’t go my way. Miniatures are invitations: to games, to conversations, to time spent together.

Why the Table Matters

When I do get the time, a top-quality gaming table matters deeply to me, and not just for aesthetics. The table sets the narrative. It tells players, before a single die is rolled, that what happens here matters.

When terrain is evocative and thoughtfully laid out, players lean in. They care more. They remember moments: last stands on a hill, desperate charges through streets, improbable victories snatched from defeat. A good table doesn’t just host a game; it frames a shared experience. In a world where time together is rare, I want those moments to feel special.

Looking Ahead to 2026

If there’s one theme that’s defined 2025 for me, it’s the scarcity of personal time. Tabletop gaming has helped me become more intentional about how I spend it. Fewer games, perhaps, but better ones. Games played with friends, unhurried, meaningful, and remembered long after the miniatures are packed away.

That’s what I want to carry forward into 2026.

My plan for my downtime next year is simple, even if finding the hours isn’t. I want to spend more of my own time expanding the Warhost universe. The ideas are already there: background, cultures, conflicts, and stories waiting to be told. The only thing holding them back is the quiet, practical challenge of finding the time to sit down and turn them into words at the keyboard.

More than anything, though, I want more moments around the table. More shared afternoons and evenings, more dice rolled in good company, more stories that only exist because friends made time to be in the same place at the same moment.

If 2025 taught me anything, it’s that those moments don’t happen by accident. So heading into 2026, that’s the promise I’m making, to myself, and to the friends who make this hobby what it is.