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Please consider adding your quick impressions and your rating to the game entry in our Board Game Directory after you post your thoughts so others can find them!
Please start new threads in the appropriate category for mini-session reports, discussions of specific games or other discussion starting posts.
Cave Evil Re-Release Gaming / Live Show in SF
13 Jan 2025 03:02 - 13 Jan 2025 03:34 #343302
by Virabhadra
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Nate Hayden’s games feel mythic—portals into something raw and strange. As a cult designer known for unforgettable, niche experiences, he’s sought after not only by fans of his unique style but also by hobbyists seeking rare, out-of-print treasures. Much of his early work was released in handmade editions so intricate that "reprinting" one would consume his entire focus, so tracking one down can feel like a quest in itself. For folks attuned to his sensibilities, though, the effort is almost an afterthought. I’ve followed his work for over a decade, and finding my first edition copy of Cave Evil was a years-long process that felt like unearthing an heirloom. In a world where "culling" collections is all the rage, I’ve always kept mine small out of necessity—constant moves and limited space. But Nate’s games have a permanent place on my "grab first if the house is burning down" shelf.
When I discovered the Cave Evil Re-Release Gaming and Live Show announcement, it felt like receiving a coded message for those who thrive on the strange and fantastic. I’d never attended a board game event or convention before, but this wasn’t either. "Live show?" I found the event post amid the chaos of prepping for a new academic term, and it wasn’t something we could miss.
The venue, the Center for New Music, was a small but vibrant rectangular space with stage lighting rigging at the far end and a giant projector screen displaying a mesmerizing visual loop. The projection, created by Commode Minstrels in Bullface (an event organizer and longtime Cave Evil artist), was a time-lapse of images of demons, skeletons, and writhing monstrosities that dissolved into one another. It felt reminiscent of Frank Frazetta’s dark fantasy artwork, but the time-lapse gave the impression of cursed organic forms twisting and reforming before your eyes. It was hypnotic and fit the mood perfectly.
Eerie and alive, the dungeon synth soundtrack floating through the space also set the perfect tone. I assumed it was from KVVL Radio until Nate later mentioned that he’d cobbled the playlist together himself after a last-minute scramble for cables. Somehow, that made it feel even more fitting.
The event was limited to 24 players—six tables of four. When we arrived, about 45 minutes after the event started, the place was already buzzing. At the front, a table was packed with six people playing and watching a game in progress, while a full four-player game raged in the back. Nate was bouncing between tables, answering rules questions and getting people set up. Most of the attendees hadn’t played Cave Evil before, but everyone was eager to learn.
Desi and I arrived ready for a low-key match against each other if needed, armed with a tote packed full of every Nate Hayden game we owned. But before we could sit down, Nate appeared, introducing himself with an easy calm. After years of following his work and the occasional email exchange—like when I tracked down The Mushroom Eaters and asked about missing pieces—it was surreal to meet him in person. We quickly set up a three-player game with Nate at our table, and I tried very hard to avoid being a gushing dork. Since we already knew the rules, Nate could slip away between turns to answer questions and help other players keep their games running.
As the game continued, more people arrived. The group at the back table (who hadn’t played before) started calling their friends to come check out the event. The room began to buzz with even more energy as attendance doubled, and it felt like the event was teetering between chaos and excitement in the best way. Tables became crowded with curious onlookers, but instead of feeling overwhelming, it created a lively, electric atmosphere. One of the newcomers asked to join our game, and Nate let him simulate his first couple of turns to catch up. He picked it up quickly—it turns out he worked for Asmodee, which explained his knack for strategy.
As more players joined, Nate passed his spot in our game to a new player and set up the second tournament round at the other tables. This round used a smaller map with constant monster spawns and a brutal scoring system where your final score was based on your lowest stat (Gore, Shadowflame, Metal, or Kill Points)—classic Cave Evil chaos.
I died first in our first match, in spectacular fashion. My necromancer marched into the center pit to slay an undead dragon—and succeeded—only for us to realize that the dragon was standing on an astral bomb. I asked Nate if it exploded after combat. He paused, then explained that the monster could use the bomb if the player controlling it chose to. The player running the dragon looked hesitant, but I told them both, “Honestly, it’s way funnier if I just blew myself up.” The table erupted in laughter, and I proudly accepted my fiery end. After that, I hung out and helped answer rules questions while watching the rest of the game. It came down to a tense double-overtime moment where one of the new players cornered the evil old black goat and killed it with a knife. It was awesome.
Our opponents were fantastic—regulars from D&D and local gaming groups in San Francisco who had the same laid-back, joke-cracking vibe as our home group. Some seemed to want to invite us to future gaming get-togethers, though unfortunately, we live about an hour north. Still, the sense of camaraderie and fun was undeniable. Everyone at the event seemed to be having a great time.
Our second game was with two players from the first game and a third new player fresh from D&D. We ran the smaller scenario, and even the first-timer picked it up quickly. Dense rulebook can be intimidating but the game is remarkably easy to pick up with someone actively explaining it. Our first game lasted a long time, and we had to cut the second one short so they could clear the tables for the live music. The new player won by eviscerating his friend’s monsters in the final round—a fitting end to a Cave Evil tournament.
At the end of the gaming session, Nate handed out awards. The secondary prize was a patch for the player at each table with the most Kill Points. I knew I had racked up a lot of points, but it was clear that nobody else at our table had been tracking theirs. When Nate asked who had the most, someone pointed out, “Well, this guy killed the evil old goat,” and I agreed that he should take the award—as much as I love limited-edition swag, it felt more important that the new players walked away with a win and some fabulous prizes. I believe they all bought tournament copies of the new edition afterwards.
Nate stayed after the games to thank everyone personally and help with transactions at the merch table. I was grateful to catch him during the lull before the music started. I’d brought a few things to have signed—Cave Evil first edition, The Mushroom Eaters, and the Thee Serpent's Slave necromancer card (my Reddit handle). Nate didn’t even flinch when we had to scramble for a marker in true DIY fashion, and he signed everything with a Sharpie we rustled up from the venue's office. We also traded tapes and I gave him a Z-Man edition of Magical Athelete thinking that maybe he could crack what makes it shine.
The music began at 8 PM and felt more like a ritual than a concert, an immersive performance blending synthesizers, percussion, and even some occasional guitar and cello. The performers' handmade masks and costumes added a surreal, theatrical element, and I was surprised to see Nate take the stage and fold seamlessly into the soundscape. Although I don’t know the names of the acts, the experience was captivating in its delightful strangeness. We stayed as long as we could, soaking in the spectacle and leaving after the music but before the venue shut down (due to Desi’s back bothering her.)
If I'm being honest, I had walked into the Cave Evil event feeling a mix of hype and unease: still haunted by the memory of a disastrous "official" Warcry tournament experience from a couple of years ago. I arrived at that Warcry event excited and well-prepared—I painted a new warband, packed extra terrain, and invited my home group to fill the tables. The store manager had agreed to host and advertised it for months, but when the day came, there was no organized play kit, no sign-up sheets, no support, and no prizes. The half-painted terrain felt like an afterthought. What should have been a proper tournament became an impromptu teaching session for a handful of new players. It wasn’t their fault—I was happy to introduce them to the game—but I left drained and disappointed, like the event had fallen apart before it began.
By contrast, the Cave Evil event had all the same potential challenges: a small space, players unfamiliar with the game, and a need for someone to step up and lead. And yet, everything came together seamlessly. Even when things got chaotic—new people arriving mid-game, tables crowded with curious onlookers—the event felt alive rather than disorganized. Nate’s calm, generous presence kept everything rolling, and the attendees’ energy made the experience better, not more challenging to manage.
DIY events thrive on passion and community rather than perfection. Meeting someone whose work has inspired me for so long reinforced why I love this hobby—it’s about the people who show up and create something special together. More than celebrating the reprinted edition of a cult classic boardgame, this event was a reminder that inspiration can move you to create, connect, and bring ideas to life in ways you never expected. I can’t wait for the next one.
Replied by Virabhadra on topic Cave Evil Re-Release Gaming / Live Show in SF
Nate Hayden’s games feel mythic—portals into something raw and strange. As a cult designer known for unforgettable, niche experiences, he’s sought after not only by fans of his unique style but also by hobbyists seeking rare, out-of-print treasures. Much of his early work was released in handmade editions so intricate that "reprinting" one would consume his entire focus, so tracking one down can feel like a quest in itself. For folks attuned to his sensibilities, though, the effort is almost an afterthought. I’ve followed his work for over a decade, and finding my first edition copy of Cave Evil was a years-long process that felt like unearthing an heirloom. In a world where "culling" collections is all the rage, I’ve always kept mine small out of necessity—constant moves and limited space. But Nate’s games have a permanent place on my "grab first if the house is burning down" shelf.
When I discovered the Cave Evil Re-Release Gaming and Live Show announcement, it felt like receiving a coded message for those who thrive on the strange and fantastic. I’d never attended a board game event or convention before, but this wasn’t either. "Live show?" I found the event post amid the chaos of prepping for a new academic term, and it wasn’t something we could miss.
The venue, the Center for New Music, was a small but vibrant rectangular space with stage lighting rigging at the far end and a giant projector screen displaying a mesmerizing visual loop. The projection, created by Commode Minstrels in Bullface (an event organizer and longtime Cave Evil artist), was a time-lapse of images of demons, skeletons, and writhing monstrosities that dissolved into one another. It felt reminiscent of Frank Frazetta’s dark fantasy artwork, but the time-lapse gave the impression of cursed organic forms twisting and reforming before your eyes. It was hypnotic and fit the mood perfectly.
Eerie and alive, the dungeon synth soundtrack floating through the space also set the perfect tone. I assumed it was from KVVL Radio until Nate later mentioned that he’d cobbled the playlist together himself after a last-minute scramble for cables. Somehow, that made it feel even more fitting.
The event was limited to 24 players—six tables of four. When we arrived, about 45 minutes after the event started, the place was already buzzing. At the front, a table was packed with six people playing and watching a game in progress, while a full four-player game raged in the back. Nate was bouncing between tables, answering rules questions and getting people set up. Most of the attendees hadn’t played Cave Evil before, but everyone was eager to learn.
Desi and I arrived ready for a low-key match against each other if needed, armed with a tote packed full of every Nate Hayden game we owned. But before we could sit down, Nate appeared, introducing himself with an easy calm. After years of following his work and the occasional email exchange—like when I tracked down The Mushroom Eaters and asked about missing pieces—it was surreal to meet him in person. We quickly set up a three-player game with Nate at our table, and I tried very hard to avoid being a gushing dork. Since we already knew the rules, Nate could slip away between turns to answer questions and help other players keep their games running.
As the game continued, more people arrived. The group at the back table (who hadn’t played before) started calling their friends to come check out the event. The room began to buzz with even more energy as attendance doubled, and it felt like the event was teetering between chaos and excitement in the best way. Tables became crowded with curious onlookers, but instead of feeling overwhelming, it created a lively, electric atmosphere. One of the newcomers asked to join our game, and Nate let him simulate his first couple of turns to catch up. He picked it up quickly—it turns out he worked for Asmodee, which explained his knack for strategy.
As more players joined, Nate passed his spot in our game to a new player and set up the second tournament round at the other tables. This round used a smaller map with constant monster spawns and a brutal scoring system where your final score was based on your lowest stat (Gore, Shadowflame, Metal, or Kill Points)—classic Cave Evil chaos.
I died first in our first match, in spectacular fashion. My necromancer marched into the center pit to slay an undead dragon—and succeeded—only for us to realize that the dragon was standing on an astral bomb. I asked Nate if it exploded after combat. He paused, then explained that the monster could use the bomb if the player controlling it chose to. The player running the dragon looked hesitant, but I told them both, “Honestly, it’s way funnier if I just blew myself up.” The table erupted in laughter, and I proudly accepted my fiery end. After that, I hung out and helped answer rules questions while watching the rest of the game. It came down to a tense double-overtime moment where one of the new players cornered the evil old black goat and killed it with a knife. It was awesome.
Our opponents were fantastic—regulars from D&D and local gaming groups in San Francisco who had the same laid-back, joke-cracking vibe as our home group. Some seemed to want to invite us to future gaming get-togethers, though unfortunately, we live about an hour north. Still, the sense of camaraderie and fun was undeniable. Everyone at the event seemed to be having a great time.
Our second game was with two players from the first game and a third new player fresh from D&D. We ran the smaller scenario, and even the first-timer picked it up quickly. Dense rulebook can be intimidating but the game is remarkably easy to pick up with someone actively explaining it. Our first game lasted a long time, and we had to cut the second one short so they could clear the tables for the live music. The new player won by eviscerating his friend’s monsters in the final round—a fitting end to a Cave Evil tournament.
At the end of the gaming session, Nate handed out awards. The secondary prize was a patch for the player at each table with the most Kill Points. I knew I had racked up a lot of points, but it was clear that nobody else at our table had been tracking theirs. When Nate asked who had the most, someone pointed out, “Well, this guy killed the evil old goat,” and I agreed that he should take the award—as much as I love limited-edition swag, it felt more important that the new players walked away with a win and some fabulous prizes. I believe they all bought tournament copies of the new edition afterwards.
Nate stayed after the games to thank everyone personally and help with transactions at the merch table. I was grateful to catch him during the lull before the music started. I’d brought a few things to have signed—Cave Evil first edition, The Mushroom Eaters, and the Thee Serpent's Slave necromancer card (my Reddit handle). Nate didn’t even flinch when we had to scramble for a marker in true DIY fashion, and he signed everything with a Sharpie we rustled up from the venue's office. We also traded tapes and I gave him a Z-Man edition of Magical Athelete thinking that maybe he could crack what makes it shine.
The music began at 8 PM and felt more like a ritual than a concert, an immersive performance blending synthesizers, percussion, and even some occasional guitar and cello. The performers' handmade masks and costumes added a surreal, theatrical element, and I was surprised to see Nate take the stage and fold seamlessly into the soundscape. Although I don’t know the names of the acts, the experience was captivating in its delightful strangeness. We stayed as long as we could, soaking in the spectacle and leaving after the music but before the venue shut down (due to Desi’s back bothering her.)
If I'm being honest, I had walked into the Cave Evil event feeling a mix of hype and unease: still haunted by the memory of a disastrous "official" Warcry tournament experience from a couple of years ago. I arrived at that Warcry event excited and well-prepared—I painted a new warband, packed extra terrain, and invited my home group to fill the tables. The store manager had agreed to host and advertised it for months, but when the day came, there was no organized play kit, no sign-up sheets, no support, and no prizes. The half-painted terrain felt like an afterthought. What should have been a proper tournament became an impromptu teaching session for a handful of new players. It wasn’t their fault—I was happy to introduce them to the game—but I left drained and disappointed, like the event had fallen apart before it began.
By contrast, the Cave Evil event had all the same potential challenges: a small space, players unfamiliar with the game, and a need for someone to step up and lead. And yet, everything came together seamlessly. Even when things got chaotic—new people arriving mid-game, tables crowded with curious onlookers—the event felt alive rather than disorganized. Nate’s calm, generous presence kept everything rolling, and the attendees’ energy made the experience better, not more challenging to manage.
DIY events thrive on passion and community rather than perfection. Meeting someone whose work has inspired me for so long reinforced why I love this hobby—it’s about the people who show up and create something special together. More than celebrating the reprinted edition of a cult classic boardgame, this event was a reminder that inspiration can move you to create, connect, and bring ideas to life in ways you never expected. I can’t wait for the next one.
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