 Riftborn Tactics
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Riftborn Tactics is a two or four-player fantasy-themed deckbuilder where each card you play becomes a part a shared tactical battlefield. You'll summon creatures, cast spells, and equip weapons and armour to clash with your opponent in a strategic battle to bring them down.
Thousands of years ago the Worldscar opened, unleashing a flood of Undead and Demonic hordes led by the seven Old Gods. The native forces of the world rose to combat this threat, discovering that their swords and magic were useless against the endless numbers of their enemies and their abilities to resurrect their armies.
Faced with impossible odds, the scholars of the age invented Sigils, devices in the shape of cards that bind the souls of creatures that can then be summoned back into the world by specialized arcane energies. When killed, summoned creatures return to their Sigil, giving the allied mortal forces their own immortal armies to fight back against the invasion.
The scholars eventually discovered that their Sigils could be used offensively and began trapping the souls of enemy creatures, preventing them from being resurrected by the dark magic of the Old Gods.
The war was fought to a stalemate, as the Old Gods could not be killed by any mortal means. After pushing the war back to the Worldscar, the scholars managed to seal away a portion of each of the Old Gods souls, trapping a portion of them in this world but weakening them enough that they were forced back through the Worldscar, which was then closed and sealed behind them.
The Sigils containing the partial souls of the Old Gods were divided among the 7 continents and sealed by powerful magic, preventing the Old Gods from ever returning, so long as at least one of the Seals hold.
Today, the Seals remain intact but the former mutual partnerships of the combined mortal forces have cracked. Skirmishes between factions spark across the world and masters of the arcane arts have collected and created more Sigils to aid their own sides in the battles. Peace and war rise and fall like the tide with no lasting alliances between factions.
Meanwhile, nefarious forces move in the shadows, seeking to further upheave the mortal factions and bring back the Old Gods to complete their dominion over this realm.
Since the sealing of the Worldscar, primordial energies previously dormant began to bleed out of the ground, coalescing in each major continent before coming to rest once more. These essences defined the laws that created the world and are now influencing, and being influenced by, the factions inhabiting these lands.
It's unknown how the influence of these essences will progress, but for now they rest in a steady slumber continuing to feed and be fed upon.
A region of crystalline mesas and floating isles, supporting large cities and arcane schools.
Shattered plateaus, arcane storms, and rivers of raw mana fill this land and magic behaves with rigid precision.
Home of the Prismarine Shard, a tower of crystal that refracts both light and the arcane energies of the continent, and the Lattice Fields, an experiment gone wrong resulting in a huge web of rock and metal surrounded by a storm earthern shards.
Vast forests, endless roots, moss-covered ruins, and living groves that are forever shifting position.
Deepwood jungles cover most of the continent and are home to a number of nature-attuned factions. The Verdant Maw stands tallest among the trees, with its colossal roots reaching as far as the Worldscar, while the Whispering Paths ensure few errant travellers ever make it to their destinations without permission from the souls of the forest itself.
A broken highland, pitted with mud and shattered rock.
Like the spine of the world itself, the Titansteps find their home here, a seemingly endless mountain range that has claimed more lives than time itself. The Warwind covers the continent, a storm of infinite power that hasn't stopped moving since the Worldscar first opened, with nowhere safe from it's touch.
A volcanic archipelago, dotted by mountains of cooled molten rock.
The Molten Crown, home to the ancient dragons that lay claim to this territory, stops erupting for a single day out of every year, attracting people from all around to dive into its depths in hope of finding their fortunes.
The Emberforge Citadel was built upon one of the islands within the Molten Crown and uses its fire to forge weapons of incredible strength that are said to hold the memories of the land itself.
A land of twilight marshes and crumbling cities.
Valleys drenched in fog, rivers blackened by decay, and ruins half-sunken into the earth, the Umbravale houses the decrepit, diseased, and forgotten.
From the Gloam Mire, a swamp where the sun never fully rises, to the Veiled City, a towering metropolis that only appears after sunset, everything about this continent feels just a bit...wrong.
Golden deserts, cities sculpted from marble, and long roads used for pilgrimage to the Worldscar.
Mesas rise from the land and provide life-giving shade to the inhabitants of this hot and arid land, blessed by the power of the sun itself. A strange magic permeates through the sands making lies more difficult to speak aloud.
The Dawnspire standing at the center of Luminaris, the capital city, acts as a marker for thousands of miles around, guiding lost souls to the safety of its walls. Outside of the city a large ampitheatre called the Chorus Steps was carved directly into one of the mesas and acts as a house of justice, though no-one knows who built it.
A land of corruption, abyssal sinkholes, and blighted swamps.
Forests of fungal growth rise from the broken and muddied ground of the Mawfen, a swamp that seems to grow further outward as time goes on. Near the center is the Black Spiral, a seemingly bottomless put that legends say descends to the hells though no-one has been brave enough to check.
Whispers to do great evils can be heard on the winds, and the chasms themselves seem to breathe as the ground pulses like a slow, steady heartbeat.
Nestled in enchanted valleys and atop windswept cliffs, the Bardic Colleges are sanctuaries of melody, lore, and arcane artistry. Each college cultivates a unique tradition; whether through haunting ballads, raucous tavern tunes, or symphonic spellcraft. Members are more than performers; they are chroniclers, illusionists, and diplomats whose voices can sway hearts or unravel enchantments.
The Beastmen are primal avatars of nature's fury: horned, clawed, and defiant. Born of ancient wilds and bound by tribal law, they thrive in rugged terrain where civilization dares not tread. Each member is a living weapon: shamans channeling ancestral rage, warriors wielding bone-forged steel, and hunters striking from shadowed crags. Their society is brutal but bonded, ruled by strength, ritual, and the howl of the wild. To face the Beastmen is to confront feral unity, relentless instinct, and the raw pulse of the earth itself.
Arcane mastery meets institutional intrigue. The Circle Sorcerors are a diverse fellowship of spellcasters: elves, orcs, humans, and more—bound not by blood or creed, but by their relentless pursuit of magical knowledge within sprawling arcane academies. From candlelit libraries to celestial observatories, they navigate the politics of power, the mysteries of the multiverse, and the occasional faculty feud. Whether deciphering ancient glyphs or debating spell theory over enchanted tea, these sorcerors wield magic with precision, purpose, and a touch of academic flair.
Born of the Worldscar and bound by blood, the Demonic Horde is a relentless tide of infernal power. From cunning imps to towering warlords, its ranks seethe with malice and fury. These fiends thrive in chaos, forging pacts, waging wars, and reveling in torment. Their battlefield is a scorched realm of fire and shadow, where cruelty is currency and strength is law. To summon the Horde is to unleash a storm of destruction that obeys only hunger.
High above the shattered peaks and mist-laced valleys, the Dragon Riders reign as masters of the skies. Bound by ancient pacts and forged in fire, each rider shares a soul-deep bond with their draconic companion. Their strongholds cling to the cliffs, fortresses of roosts and watchtowers where dragons perch and riders prepare for battle or celebration. Whether patrolling the borders, diving through stormclouds, or tending to hatchlings, the Dragon Riders live in motion: fierce, proud, and untethered.
Hidden deep within the ancient groves, the Druidic Enclave thrives as a sanctuary of harmony, ritual, and primal wisdom. Its members channel the life force of the forest through herbcraft, beast communion, and elemental rites. Each druid is a conduit of balance, whether tending glowing flora, communing with sacred beasts, or invoking the spirits of stone and stream. They weave together healing, transformation, and terrain manipulation, making the Enclave a faction of quiet resilience and overwhelming natural force. Opponents who underestimate their calm will soon find the forest itself rising against them.
Elusive and enchanting, the Fae dwell in the liminal spaces between moonbeam and moss, where magic breathes and nature listens. Their realm is a living tapestry of bioluminescent flora, shimmering streams, and ancient trees that hum with forgotten songs. The Fae weave trickery, transformation, and elemental harmony: each member a guardian, a mischief-maker, or a muse. Whether dancing through dew or vanishing into mist, they bend the battlefield with grace and guile, never quite where you expect them.
Born of mountain, storm, and flame, the Giants are elemental titans whose bodies echo the primal forces of the world. Each one embodies a distinct aspect of nature's fury and resilience. Though massive and awe-inspiring, they are not mindless brutes; they live in harmony with their terrain, shaping it as much as they are shaped by it. Whether forging weapons from molten rock, conjuring frost from the air, or rising from rivers with ancient wisdom, the Giants are a force of balance and power. To face them is to confront the earth itself.
A faction of brilliant, eccentric tinkerers who believe every problem in the world can be solved with enough gears, sparks, and questionable optimism. The Gnomish Inventors thrive in cluttered workshops where half-finished prototypes hum beside world-changing breakthroughs. Their creations range from elegant clockwork automatons to wildly unstable contraptions that probably won’t explode this time. Driven by curiosity and an unshakable faith in innovation, they're equal parts genius and chaos—pioneers of progress who push the boundaries of what's possible, even when the rest of the world begs them to stop.
In the shadow of shattered peaks and smoldering crags, the Goblins thrive on chaos, cunning, and crude ingenuity. These goblins are not mere pests; they're anarchic artisans of destruction, scavengers turned siege engineers, alchemists of fire and filth. Their encampments reek of smoke, oil, and ambition, where blades are forged from rusted steel and bombs are brewed in cracked cauldrons. Led by war-chiefs with more scars than sanity, the Goblins revel in disorder, launching raids with reckless glee and celebrating each explosion like a sacred rite. They don't march; they swarm, skitter, and cackle, turning the battlefield into a playground of mayhem.
Deep within the ancient groves of the Heartland, where sunlight dances through emerald canopies and rivers whisper forgotten songs, the Wood Elves thrive in harmony with nature. Masters of archery, herbal lore, and forest magic, they are guardians of balance and tradition. Their lives are woven into the rhythm of the woods: crafting, hunting, and communing with the spirits of the land. Though peaceful by nature, they are swift and silent defenders when their sacred glades are threatened. To cross into Heartland territory is to enter a realm of quiet grace and fierce resolve.
Guardians of light and discipline, the Holy Order is a faction bound by unwavering conviction and sacred duty. Clad in radiant armor and guided by ancient rites, its members uphold justice through ritual, wisdom, and martial prowess. Their citadels crown mountaintops, where knights train beneath sunlit spires and clerics preserve the lore of ages. In battle, they are resolute and coordinated—each strike a testament to their unity and purpose. The Holy Order does not seek conquest, but clarity: to purge corruption, restore balance, and illuminate the path for all who dwell in shadow.
In the forgotten hollows beneath the world, the Old God Cult festers. Through blood and madness, its members are scholars turned zealots, priests turned heretics: humanoid vessels for whispers older than time. They do not seek conquest; they seek awakening. Their rituals are not for power, but for communion with the writhing truth that lurks beyond the Worldscar. They harness fragments of forbidden lore, a step deeper into the abyss. Working with them is to invite entropy, to trade sanity for revelation.
Brutal, proud, and fiercely communal, the Orcish Tribes thrive in the harshest wilds where strength and spirit forge survival. Each clan pulses with its own rhythm: some led by war-chieftains who carve dominance from blood and iron, others guided by shamans who commune with ancestral spirits through fire and bone. Their camps are alive with ritual, labor, and preparation, where every member, be it hunter, smith, or seer, plays a vital role in the tribe's enduring legacy. To face the Orcish Tribes is to confront a force that fights not just for conquest, but for kin, tradition, and the primal roar of the wild.
A loose confederation of cutthroats, con artists, and killers-for-hire, the Scoundrels thrive in the shadows of sprawling cities. They're not bound by loyalty or honor: only by opportunity. Whether slipping through alleyways, rigging dice games, or whispering poison into a noble's ear, each member plays their own game. Together, they form a chaotic web of schemes and betrayals, united only by their hunger for coin and chaos. Trust no one.
The Shieldbearer Dwarves are a stalwart legion of mountainborn defenders, renowned across the realms for their unbreakable discipline and fortress-like resolve. Forged in the echoing halls beneath the granite peaks, they believe a shield is more than armor: it is a promise. Each warrior carries a broad, rune-etched bulwark said to be blessed by the First Anvil, allowing them to lock formation into an impenetrable living wall. To outsiders, they seem stoic and immovable, but within their ranks burns a fierce, communal pride: no Shieldbearer stands alone, and no foe passes while even one remains upright. They are the first to hold the line and the last to abandon it, guardians of ancient vaults, sacred forges, and the deep roads that bind their clans together. Where the Shieldbearers march, kingdoms find safety. Where they plant their shields, the earth itself seems to steady.
Deep in the fetid swamps where sunlight dares not linger, the Trolls thrive in decay. Hulking, malformed, and steeped in ancient magic, they are creatures of instinct and ritual: gnawing bone, brewing curses, and spearing prey in the mist. Their society is primal but cunning, ruled by shamans who whisper to the bog and warriors who wear the skulls of trespassers. They do not build; they repurpose. They do not speak; they growl, hiss, and chant. To face the Trolls is to enter their domain: where the water is poison, the air is thick with rot, and the swamps are always watching.
Bound by necromantic pacts and eternal duty, the Undead Legion marches from the shadowed crypts of the Forgotten Vale. Once noble warriors, now twisted remnants of valor, they serve a deathless command beneath moonless skies. Their ranks swell with each fallen foe, and their grim discipline is matched only by their chilling silence. Whether sharpening rusted blades or weaving spells from bone and ash, they are tireless, unyielding, and utterly loyal to the will that binds them.
Once paragons of nobility, the Vampires now rule from shadowed halls, their humanity eroded by the curse that grants them eternal life. In their towering castles above darkened cities, they plot, feast, and revel in decadent power. Each member of the court, be it the brooding lord on his throne, the elegant countess sipping crimson from a goblet, or the silent watcher cloaked in dusk, plays a role in the intricate dance of dominance and desire. They embody manipulation, regeneration, and ruthless elegance, turning blood into power and enemies into pawns.
Masters of arcane academia, the Wizards Collective thrives within towering spires and labyrinthine libraries of ancient magical institutions. Bound by curiosity and disciplined study, its members range from eccentric professors to prodigious apprentices, each wielding spells honed through rigorous experimentation and collaborative research. Their power lies not in brute force, but in layered enchantments, clever counterspells, and the synergy of minds united by the pursuit of magical mastery. Whether debating metaphysical theory or conjuring planar gateways, the Collective is a living testament to the brilliance, and danger, of organized arcana.
