REVERIE
A tarot roguelike about cards that remember, patterns that answer, and a game that slowly begins to feel like it is reading you back.
Reverie is a dark occult card roguelike where tarot is no longer just a theme on top of math.
The tarot is the machine.
You build a deck. You cast cards. You collect relics. You chase points and multiplier against escalating supernatural pressure. At first, it feels familiar: a roguelike scoring game about making the number bigger.
Then the patterns start.
A card keeps returning at the wrong time.
A strange phrase unlocks in the Grimoire.
A certain set of cards begins behaving differently from the others.
A run starts to feel paranoid, mournful, watchful, or dreamlike.
The math still works, but it starts to feel interpreted.
The question stops being:
“How do I score more?”
And becomes:
“Why did that happen, and can I make it happen again?”
THE CURRENT FOUR-SET SLICE
For now, Reverie is focused around four active tarot sets.
That was intentional.
I had more sets planned and prototyped, but the game became stronger once I narrowed the playable slice.
Four sets gives Reverie enough variety to show the core idea while keeping the game readable, testable, and polishable.
Each set is not just a visual skin. The long-term goal is for each set to feel like a different symbolic faction — a different way the game thinks.
The Silver Nitrate Dream

Old silent film, haunted cinema, damaged frames, lingering exposure.
This is the first set where the idea really started becoming mechanical. Silver cards can create Second Exposure, replaying part of what was already cast. Strong Silver castings can leave behind an Afterimage, letting the player choose which image remains and place its ghost beside the next cast.
The set does not just look like old film.
It behaves like old film.
It preserves.
It replays.
It haunts the next scene.
The Imperial Augury
Ancient Rome, prophecy, empire, banners, soldiers, monuments, and divine authority.
This set is about order, conquest, ceremony, and fate being turned into state machinery. It gives Reverie a harder, more imperial symbolic language: power, command, hierarchy, omens interpreted by institutions rather than individuals.
Where Silver feels haunted and fragile, Imperial Augury feels declarative.
The cards do not ask.
They decree.
The Harvest Covenant

Folk horror, rural ritual, seasonal debt, fields, bells, offerings, and things buried under tradition.
This set brings Reverie into cycles: planting, reaping, sacrifice, return. It should feel older than the player, older than the rules, like something communal and agricultural that has been happening long before you arrived.
The Harvest Covenant is not clean horror.
It is obligation.
Something was promised.
Something is due.
The Disclosed Form

Anatomy, medical plates, exposed systems, sacred geometry, and the body treated like an occult instrument.
This set turns the human form into a diagram. It is clinical, strange, precise, and inhumanly organized. It feels less like mysticism and more like being studied by something that has mistaken anatomy for prophecy.
The Disclosed Form is not about gore.
It is about revelation.
The body opens.
The pattern underneath answers.
WHAT YOU ACTUALLY DO
In Reverie, you cast tarot cards into scoring patterns.
Cards generate points.
Relics bend the scoring rules.
Spells trigger when certain card phrases appear.
Multiplier turns small readings into explosive ones.
Boss-like Omens interfere with the run.
The Grimoire records the spells you discover across attempts.
The current playable loop moves through readings, shops, branching route choices, and a final threshold. Between rounds, you spend currency, buy relics, adjust your build, and decide which path through the reading to take next.
The goal is simple enough to understand:
score enough to survive the reading.
The obsession comes from everything underneath that.
THE GRIMOIRE REMEMBERS
Reverie’s spells are not all handed to you up front.
You discover them by casting meaningful card combinations. Once found, they enter the Grimoire. The more you play, the more the game’s symbolic language starts becoming legible.
Some patterns are clear.
Some are hinted.
Some are felt before they are understood.
That is the heart of the game.
A normal card game tells you the rules and asks you to optimize them.
Reverie gives you enough rules to play, then lets the rest emerge through repetition, suspicion, and discovery.
A ROGUELIKE THAT WANTS YOU TO BECOME SUPERSTITIOUS
Reverie is built around a specific feeling:
Players enjoy systems they can understand.
Players obsess over systems they can almost understand.
The best version of this game is one where players start developing private beliefs:
“This card always saves me.”
“This set is cursed.”
“Moon cards make the run weird.”
“Silver keeps showing up when the game wants to remember something.”
“I swear the game knows what I’m doing.”
The game should never need to fully confirm that feeling.
It just needs to keep making the feeling possible.
THE BIG IDEA
Reverie is not trying to be loud horror.
It is trying to be intimate, strange, symbolic, and quietly alarming.
It is a roguelike about building power, but also about building meaning.
It is a card game where the deck becomes personal, where runs develop moods, where repeated symbols start to feel like messages, and where the player slowly learns how the game thinks.
By the end of a run, the player should not only remember the score.
They should remember what appeared.
What repeated.
What answered.
What felt like a sign.













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