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When you see Reiner Knizia’s name on a small two-player abstract, you probably already have a picture in your head. Clean rules, tight decisions, and a game that looks simple… until it absolutely isn’t. Ichor fits that picture pretty well, but with a mythological coat of paint and some sharp one-use powers that make the whole thing feel a lot more intense than its size suggests.
At first glance, Ichor feels very approachable. A cloth board, a handful of standees, some wooden tokens. You could explain the basics in a few minutes. And honestly, that’s part of the trap. Because once you start playing, it quickly turns into a duel where every move feels like it carries consequences. Positioning, blocking, timing your powers, all of it stacks up fast. You’ll have turns where everything clicks, and others where you realise you’ve quietly boxed yourself in. The gods don’t always forgive.
👥 2 players, ages 10+
⌛ Playing time: 40 minutes
📝 Designers: Reiner Knizia
🎨 Artwork: Tyler Miles Lockett
🏢 Publisher: Bitewing Games (review copy provided)
Gameplay overview
In Ichor, one player controls the gods and the other controls the monsters. The rules are the same for both sides, but each figure has a unique power that breaks those rules once per game. The goal is straightforward: be the first player to get all your tokens onto the board. Those tokens are your progress, your pressure, and eventually, your problem.
The game comes with a 6×6 and a 7×7 board. The rules suggest starting with the 6×6 side and moving to the larger board once players are more familiar with the game or want a different feel.
On your turn, you either move a figure or use its power. A normal move is simple: slide a figure in a straight line, horizontally or vertically, as far as you want, as long as the path is empty. You can’t move onto or through other figures, and that rule alone shapes the entire game. Wherever the figure travels, it leaves a trail behind. After moving, you place your tokens on the starting space and every space you passed over. If there’s an opponent’s token, you replace it. If it’s your own, nothing happens.
One important detail that trips people up early: the space where your figure ends never gets a token. A figure and a token can’t share a space. If there was already a token there, it gets removed and goes back to its owner. It sounds small, but it matters a lot once the board starts filling up.
Instead of moving, you can activate a figure’s power. Each power can only be used once, and when it’s gone, it’s gone. Some powers change how you move, some mess with tokens, some reposition figures, and a few can completely flip the board. If a power removes a figure, that figure doesn’t leave a token behind. No trail, no consolation prize.
The game ends when a player finishes their turn with all their tokens on the board. You can even move farther than your remaining tokens allow, which sounds pointless until you realise you’re still wiping out your opponent’s tokens as you go. There’s also a hard stop loss condition: if you can’t move or use a power on your turn, you lose immediately.
For match play, the rules suggest playing two games, switching sides after the first. You add up scores from both games, and the higher total wins. It’s a good way to balance the asymmetry and, honestly, it makes risky plays more interesting. Winning by one token doesn’t always feel like enough.
Artwork and components
Visually, Ichor goes hard. Lots of reds, golds, and blues, very myth-heavy, very theatrical. The box looks like a frozen moment from a divine brawl, and that tone carries through to the table.
The cloth board is the star here. It feels nice and gives the game a bit of character compared to standard cardboard. It also helps that the grid stays clear despite the busy background. Nothing gets lost, which is important when you’re staring at lines and corridors for ten minutes straight.
The standees are bold and easy to read. Gods and monsters are clearly separated by colour, and the art leans more stylised than realistic. It works. You always know what’s what, even when the board gets crowded.
Tokens are chunky wooden discs with printed symbols. They’re simple, tactile, and satisfying to move around. You’ll spend a lot of time picking them up, putting them back, and quietly undoing your opponent’s progress, so it helps that they feel good in hand.
Overall, the production does its job. It supports play, looks distinctive, and doesn’t get in the way. No complaints there.
Our experience
For us, Ichor is a fast duel where momentum can swing hard in a single turn. The rules are short, but the decisions aren’t. Most of the game revolves around movement geometry. Where you can move now matters less than where you’ll be able to move two turns from now. And where your opponent won’t.
Early turns tend to be cautious. You test lanes, try not to block yourself too early, and keep options open. Tokens are the goal, sure, but mobility is the real currency. A player with fewer tokens but more movement options is usually doing better than it looks.
As figures start blocking each other, the board tightens. Corridors form, escape routes disappear, and suddenly a single repositioning power feels massive. Those powers don’t just gain space, they rewrite the board. That’s where the game really wakes up.
Replacing opponent tokens creates huge swings. You’re moving forward and pulling them back at the same time. Late game, denial often matters more than growth. Sometimes the best move isn’t the one that helps you most, but the one that hurts them just enough.
After a few games, a psychological layer creeps in. Unused powers become threats. You start asking yourself what your opponent is holding back, and whether you’re about to walk into something unpleasant. Mirror-style powers add to that pressure. Big plays don’t always feel safe, because they can come right back at you.
The game follows a pretty natural flow. Careful opening, cramped midgame, then a counting-heavy endgame where every token off the board suddenly matters. Getting locked out and losing outright is always looming, and yes, it’s brutal the first time it happens.
That said, the game really shines when both players are at a similar level. There’s almost no randomness to soften mistakes. A stronger player will usually stay ahead, and early games can feel slow as players double-check powers and think things through. Once you’re past that, though, it becomes sharp rather than slow.
Our thoughts
Ichor is best for players who enjoy direct, tactical duels where mistakes stick. It’s not gentle. It rewards disruption, timing, and a willingness to play a little mean. If you’re expecting a calm abstract about building territory, this might feel harsher than it looks.
The one-use powers are the game’s biggest strength, but they can also be a sticking point. They create great turns, but they also mean a badly timed power can haunt you for the rest of the game.
The asymmetry gives each side its own identity without turning the rules into homework. You’re still playing the same base game, just with different tools in hand. Over time, certain powers will stand out as favourites, and others might feel situational. That’s fine. It becomes part of learning the system rather than a balance problem to solve.
It’s also worth saying that Ichor doesn’t hide skill gaps. If one player is much stronger, the game won’t pretend otherwise. Early turns can feel abstract-heavy for newcomers, and the most emotional turns are concentrated around power plays, which means incremental turns can feel a bit flat in comparison.
Still, as a compact two-player game, it does a lot with very little. It’s thinky, memorable in short bursts, and sometimes a bit cruel. The drama doesn’t come from luck or chaos, but from watching the board slowly turn against you because of one small decision you made three turns ago. Which is, I guess, very on-theme for Greek mythology. Hubris and all that.
📝 We received a copy of the game from Bitewing Games.
