Even though Nobles & Glory isn’t out in the world just yet, I know that when people eventually sit down with the rulebook, the first reaction might be something like, “Whoa, this is a lot.” And they’d be right. There’s a lot going on. Multiple phases, roles, suit effects, court structures, and plenty of thematic layers woven throughout. But the complexity isn’t there to be clever for the sake of it. It’s there because that’s the kind of game this is trying to be.
From the start, I knew Nobles & Glory wasn’t going to be a fast, throw-it-on-the-table kind of card game. I’ve made games like that, and I enjoy them. But this project was always meant to be slower and deeper. Something you sit with, turn over in your mind, and keep coming back to. I wanted every card in the deck to matter. Every decision to feel like it belonged in a real medieval kingdom.
Even though the rules are many, they all have a reason to exist. They’re tied into the game’s world. Whether you’re activating a Chamberlain, defending your court, or launching a Crusade, it’s not just about effects and numbers. You’re playing through a story that mirrors how medieval rulership worked. That’s what I was aiming for. Something that doesn’t just feel like a game, but like you’re governing something that could just as easily unravel as thrive.
Compared to something like Dungeons & Dragons, I don’t think this game is more complicated. It’s just different. You’re not rolling dice or managing spells, but you are managing systems. A Royal Court, an evolving population, card suits with allegiances, and an opponent who’s playing just as tactically. The more you play, the more it clicks. And like any good strategy game, the rulebook is your companion at first. You’ll reference it. You’ll forget little details. That’s all part of it.
One mechanic I really enjoy is how suits subtly affect Actions. A Heart might tilt an Action toward something philosophical or moral, while a Diamond might skew it toward wealth or pragmatism. At one point, I had every value of every suit producing completely different outcomes for every Action. It sounded great in theory, but it made the game harder to learn and harder to remember. So I pulled it back. That was one of those “kill your darlings” moments; painful at the time, but absolutely the right call. Now the variations are still there, but they’re more focused. The suits still bring flavour without overwhelming the mechanics. And some of those more complex ideas have been saved for other parts of the game, or maybe for future expansions.
I usually design games with minimal moving parts. But this time, I deliberately took the other path. I wanted to make something full. Something with scope. But I also didn’t want it to become bloated. Every rule in Nobles & Glory had to justify its place. If something felt like it was adding more friction than flavour, it didn’t stay.
This isn’t just a game for players. It’s also for readers. I know not everyone feels this way, but I really enjoy reading through rulebooks. Imagining how things will play out. Making little notes. Getting lost in the systems before I’ve even set anything up. That’s part of the fun for me. So I wanted the rulebook to be something you could enjoy reading, even if the cards aren’t on the table. There’s history in it. There’s atmosphere. There’s something to sit with.
Nobles & Glory can look intimidating. But once you step in, there’s a coherent world underneath it. One where every rule, every Action, and every card has a reason to be there. Whether you’re playing or just flipping through the pages, I hope it draws you in the same way it’s drawn me in all these years.
— Jonathan
