Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought another box of colourful, glossy cardboard into my domain. From what I can gather through their excited chattering, this is an "expansion," meaning it makes their previous noisy-cardboard-ritual even more complex and capable of accommodating *more* loud humans. It introduces concepts like "Curses" and "Artifacts," which are utterly meaningless unless a curse involves the treat bag becoming permanently empty or an artifact is, in fact, a sunbeam of exceptional warmth. It promises to make their five-minute frantic hand-waving sessions more thematic. While it's primarily a tool to distract them from their core duties of feeding and adoring me, the new, smaller cards do look eminently bat-able, and the box itself appears to be a prime napping dimension.
Key Features
- Join forces with a new pair of heroes, the Druid and Shaman; Now you can play with up to 6 players!
- Prepare to face a whole new type of challenge: Curses! These pesky cards change the rules of the game in crazy ways and stick around to vex your party
- The dungeon has changed! Each boss now has its own special set of Boss Cards to make each dungeon uniquely themed
- Wield the power of 6 powerful artifacts that can turn the tide of battle for your team! But choose carefully when to use them - each one can only be used once per dungeon!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The humans called it "Curses! Foiled Again!" A presumptuous title. As they shuffled the new, slick cards into the old deck, their voices buzzing with anticipation, I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, judgmental twitch. They spoke of pesky cards that would vex their party and change the rules. How quaint. They had no inkling of what a true curse was. I decided it was time to provide a practical demonstration. My first target was the loud one, the one who always wears the scratchy sweater. He was designated the "Shaman," a role he clearly lacked the dignity to embody. As the timer started and the chaos began, I executed a maneuver of liquid grace, leaping silently onto the center of the table. I wasn't just on the table; I purposefully sat directly upon the "Dungeon" deck. I was now the Curse of the Unyielding Gatekeeper. They could not draw new challenges without disturbing my regal repose. They hesitated, their hands hovering, their five minutes evaporating. The Shaman made a foolish attempt to slide a card from beneath my formidable weight, and I rewarded him with a glacial stare that froze his very soul. Their pathetic "party" was in shambles. They were trying to coordinate attacks on some paper goblin, but their primary obstacle was a soft, gray, tuxedo-clad embodiment of inconvenient truth. One of them mentioned using an "Artifact," some bauble that could supposedly turn the tide. As they reached for it, I unfurled my tail and, with a flick of exquisite precision, swept the Artifact card clean off the table and directly under the radiator. Let them turn the tide with that, I mused. They were so focused on the game's imaginary curses, they were utterly blind to the real one orchestrating their failure. In the end, their five minutes expired in a flurry of groans and accusations. They had been foiled, utterly and completely. My human, finally grasping the situation, sighed and scooped me into her arms, murmuring apologies for the ruckus. She offered me a sliver of roast chicken as a peace offering. I accepted it, of course. My point had been made. This game, this "Curses!," was a worthy addition to their collection. Not for its flimsy rules or silly drawings, but because it provides an unparalleled stage for me to remind them who truly holds the power in this household. It is an excellent training tool for my staff.
