The story of Tabannusi: Builders of Ur is deeply rooted in the personal journey of its co-designer, David Spada, and the creative environment that surrounded him in Italy. Before entering the world of tabletop design, David’s career followed an entirely different path, moving from cooking to programming, fields that on the surface may seem disconnected from game creation. Yet, each of these backgrounds offered unique skills that would later prove valuable in his design philosophy: the creativity and improvisational mindset of a chef, the logical structuring and problem-solving abilities of a programmer, and the natural curiosity that drives someone to move from one world into another. His transition into game design was not a small step but rather a leap into the unknown, as he himself described it, “a plunge into darkness.” This phrase encapsulates the courage and risk inherent in attempting to transform a hobby or passion into a career, where success is uncertain and the challenges are immense. Still, like many creative journeys, it was not undertaken in isolation. Italy has long cultivated a thriving community of designers and enthusiasts who not only create but also support, critique, and elevate one another’s work. This fertile ground allowed David to grow, experiment, and eventually collaborate with some of the most respected names in modern board game design.
Italian game design has a reputation for producing inventive, mechanically tight, and thematically integrated works, and this is not by chance. Figures such as Carlo Rossi, Paolo Mori, Martino Chiacchiera, Walter Obert, and, most directly in this story, Daniele Tascini, have helped foster a culture of mentorship and openness. Events like IDEAG, the Italian convention network for designers, play a critical role in this system. IDEAG is not simply about showcasing polished games to publishers; it is about bringing ideas, prototypes, and half-finished concepts into a public, collaborative space where feedback is immediate, often critical, but always aimed at growth. This type of community interaction accelerates the learning process for young designers, allowing them to avoid common mistakes and to push their work further than they might in isolation. It was in this environment that David first brought early ideas for Tabannusi, a game that would grow through feedback, iteration, and the merging of multiple design voices. Without such a network, Tabannusi might never have evolved beyond a modest prototype, but in this fertile ground, the project had room to breathe and expand.
The initial inspiration for the game stemmed not from a desire to recreate Mesopotamian history, but from a fascination with mechanisms. David, at the time, was experimenting with dice and components from other published titles, notably Marco Polo by Tascini and Luciani, and Nippon by Sentiero and Soledade. Both games held qualities that intrigued him: Marco Polo with its innovative dice-drafting and contract fulfillment, and Nippon with its sense of industrial momentum and strategic escalation. From these sparks, David began tinkering with dice in a mancala-like structure, crafting a system where choice and movement were intertwined. The original form of Tabannusi in 2018 was relatively light compared to the eventual published version, with six city actions, eighteen dice, and a central meeple navigating the available choices. What mattered most at this stage was not theme or narrative, but the kernel of an idea: how to combine resource selection, action determination, and forced movement into a structure that remained dynamic and compelling. This type of experimentation is typical for designers who often begin with mechanics, later layering theme and narrative to provide a home for the systems they have created.
By 2019, the game had already shifted in scope and ambition. It became less about being a light dice experiment and more about creating a system of strategic race and progression. Players now picked dice not only for the value but also for the actions attached to them, linking decision-making with inevitable movement across locations. This evolution gave the game tension and a sense of forward momentum, essential qualities for long-term replayability. It was around this time that David gained the courage to show his work to Daniele Tascini, a designer known for his mastery of dice-driven eurogames such as Tzolk’in, Teotihuacan, and Marco Polo. Presenting a prototype to such a seasoned creator was daunting, yet it was precisely the step needed to elevate the project beyond its initial framework. Daniele immediately saw potential in the mechanism, and from their conversations grew the decision to co-develop the game. This collaboration was not a matter of one designer handing ideas to another but rather a merging of approaches: David bringing fresh enthusiasm and original mechanics, Daniele contributing experience, thematic anchoring, and refinement.
Together, the two began shaping the project into something greater. The decision to ground the game in a historical setting was important, particularly for Daniele, who often insisted that his games include a clear theme and, interestingly, titles beginning with the letter “T.” The working title at first was “Tizqar,” but once the focus shifted toward the ancient Mesopotamian city of Ur, the identity of the game solidified as Tabannusi. With theme in place, the designers aimed to weave gameplay and narrative into a coherent whole, where the choices players made reflected aspects of city-building, urban planning, and the flourishing of one of humanity’s earliest civilizations. Strategic planning had to matter, yet tactical flexibility was equally vital, ensuring that no two plays unfolded in the same way. This balance between long-term goals and immediate decisions became a cornerstone of Tabannusi’s design, setting it apart from other dice-drafting games and rooting it in its own identity. The journey from a handful of dice and a moving meeple to a historically inspired city-building eurogame illustrates how collaboration, community, and iterative development can transform a simple spark into a fully realized creation.
The collaboration between David and Daniele was a cornerstone of Tabannusi’s growth. Working together meant not only merging creative visions but also maintaining constant communication across distances. Tools such as Discord and Tabletop Simulator proved invaluable, allowing the designers to test, revise, and debate ideas without needing to be physically present. David often recalled long nights spent on his phone while traveling with his partner, watching the others test the game remotely and joining in on discussions despite the unconventional setting. This flexibility highlights the modern reality of game design, where digital platforms can bridge geographical divides and bring together collaborators from multiple countries. In the case of Tabannusi, international playtesters from Spain, England, the Middle East, and Germany all contributed feedback during the digital testing sessions. Such diversity of perspectives enriched the design, ensuring that the game did not cater only to the sensibilities of a single cultural group but could resonate with a wide range of audiences. Without these digital tools, the process would have been far slower, possibly requiring three times as much time to reach completion.
In addition to remote playtesting, in-person sessions with trusted peers also shaped the game’s development. Playtesting with notable designers such as Dávid Turczi, Fabio Lopiano, and Federico Pierlorenzi brought in fresh insights from individuals who understood both the artistry and the commercial realities of the industry. These colleagues were able to challenge assumptions, identify balance issues, and suggest refinements that less experienced testers might have overlooked. For example, the maximum building size in the early prototypes was four, but feedback revealed that this cap limited player creativity and reduced the sense of accomplishment in urban construction. Adjusting this limit created more dynamic possibilities and better reflected the grandeur of ancient city-building, aligning mechanics with theme. Similarly, the decision to shift gardens from communal to player-owned resources helped inject additional layers of competition and personalization into the experience. These refinements may seem small individually, but collectively, they illustrate the cumulative impact of hundreds of thoughtful adjustments made across years of development.
The Origins of Tabannusi and the Journey into Game Design
The origins of Tabannusi: Builders of Ur cannot be explained without first exploring the personal journey of its co-designer, David Spada, and the context that allowed his creative ambitions to grow. Unlike many designers who enter the board game industry directly from careers in graphic arts, mathematics, or publishing, David’s path was more unusual and meandering, beginning in the kitchens of Italy where he worked as a cook before moving into the world of computer programming. On the surface, these professions appear distant from the craft of tabletop design, yet each provided him with skills and insights that would prove invaluable later. Cooking requires an intuitive sense of timing, balance, and creativity, skills that mirror the delicate act of designing an interactive system where each element must contribute to the overall experience. Programming, meanwhile, demands logical thinking, structure, and an ability to anticipate multiple outcomes from a single decision, qualities that align naturally with the construction of rule systems in games. David himself described his leap into board game design as “a plunge into darkness,” a poetic phrase that captured both the uncertainty of leaving behind stable work and the thrilling risk of following one’s passion into uncharted territory. This plunge was not one of reckless abandon but of deep curiosity, driven by a love for puzzles, creativity, and the shared experiences that games bring to the table.
One of the most crucial aspects of David’s journey was the Italian design community in which he immersed himself. Italy has, over the past two decades, cultivated one of the most vibrant ecosystems for board game creators, producing some of the most innovative eurogames recognized worldwide. Names such as Carlo Rossi, Paolo Mori, Martino Chiacchiera, and Walter Obert have become synonymous with sharp, elegant design, and their willingness to mentor others has been instrumental in shaping the new generation. The collaborative spirit in this community stems from a belief that ideas grow stronger when tested and challenged by peers rather than kept private. IDEAG, a network of conventions dedicated to board game prototypes, embodies this philosophy. Unlike consumer-focused conventions where finished products are showcased, IDEAG serves as a laboratory where rough concepts are dissected, critiqued, and rebuilt. For emerging designers like David, this space was a treasure trove, a nursery where inspiration could flourish and the craft of design could be sharpened through honest dialogue. It was within this environment that David gained the courage to bring his early projects forward, exposing them to feedback that would shape his growth. Without such a nurturing culture, his ideas may have remained personal experiments, but in Italy’s design community they became seeds that could grow into professional works.
Tabannusi itself began as one such seed in 2018, emerging not from a carefully researched theme but from mechanical tinkering and inspiration drawn from existing titles. While experimenting with components from Daniele Tascini’s The Voyages of Marco Polo and feeling deeply influenced by Nippon, a title designed by Nuno Bizarro Sentiero and Paulo Soledade, David began constructing a system around dice and actions. Marco Polo fascinated him with its dice-drafting, where values were not merely random results but resources that shaped strategy. Nippon, meanwhile, impressed him with its sense of escalation and careful pacing. Inspired by these qualities, David played with dice in a mancala-like arrangement, creating a structure where choices were linked to inevitable movements. The earliest version of Tabannusi was a light design by comparison to what it would eventually become. It consisted of six possible city actions, eighteen dice, and a meeple that traveled along the board to determine which options were available. At this stage, theme was little more than a placeholder; the heart of the game lay in the mechanism of picking a die, using it, and then being pushed forward to the next area. Like many early prototypes, it was a sketch of potential rather than a complete experience, but within this sketch lay the spark of something greater.
By 2019, that spark had grown into a more ambitious system. The lightness of the early draft gave way to a design with stronger momentum, a sense of progression, and an emerging competitive framework. What had begun as a simple dice-and-movement puzzle began to resemble a race, with players not only selecting dice but also considering how their decisions shaped future turns and positions. The mechanism of picking a die for its value and then moving to the location indicated by that value gave the game a rhythm unlike many others in the genre. This constant movement across locations introduced tension and forced planning: players could not simply camp in their favorite district, but were instead compelled to explore the city and adapt to changing circumstances. This mechanical heartbeat gave Tabannusi its identity and provided fertile ground for deeper strategic layers to be built upon. It was during this stage that David gathered the courage to show the design to a figure he admired greatly: Daniele Tascini. Known for his mastery of dice-driven eurogames like Tzolk’in, Teotihuacan, and Marco Polo, Tascini had already established himself as one of the most respected names in the industry. Approaching him was no small act of bravery, but it proved transformative for the future of Tabannusi.
When David presented the prototype to Daniele at an IDEAG event, their discussion revealed the potential that lay within the design. Daniele, who had a particular knack for shaping dice mechanisms into elegant structures, recognized the promise of the system. Rather than offering only casual advice, he proposed collaboration, suggesting that they work together to refine and develop the game further. This partnership was not simply one designer handing over an idea to another; it was a true merging of talents. David brought fresh enthusiasm, creativity, and the seed of a unique mechanism, while Daniele contributed experience, a deep understanding of eurogame structures, and a vision for how to integrate theme and mechanics. Together, they began to shape Tabannusi into something far greater than its initial form, blending their skills into a harmonious creative process. For David, this was not only a validation of his work but also an opportunity to learn from one of the very figures who had inspired his own design journey.
The question of theme became central as development continued. While the earliest versions of the game had been purely mechanical experiments, Daniele emphasized the importance of grounding the design in a historical or cultural context. His games often embraced rich thematic settings, and he held a personal quirk that his titles usually began with the letter “T.” Thus, while the working title of the game was initially “Tizqar,” the collaboration quickly steered it toward a theme that would anchor the mechanisms in narrative. They chose the ancient Mesopotamian city of Ur, one of the cradles of civilization, where the construction of monumental ziggurats, bustling districts, and waterways defined the identity of urban life. This choice was more than cosmetic; it provided a framework for interpreting the game’s actions. Picking dice became an act of planning resources, movement across locations mirrored the dynamics of city-building, and projects reflected the layered process of urban development. With the theme in place, the game was no longer just a puzzle of dice and actions but a representation of humanity’s earliest steps toward organized civilization.
As the design grew, so too did its ambition. The designers aimed not merely to create a clever mechanism but to craft a system where every element connected meaningfully, where replayability emerged from shifting dynamics, and where both tactical adaptation and long-term strategy mattered. This was not an easy balance to strike. On one hand, the game needed to reward foresight and planning, allowing players to construct engines and pursue strategies with depth. On the other, it had to remain responsive and flexible, forcing players to adjust to circumstances and to one another’s choices. In the dance between these two qualities lay the heart of the design. It was in this tension that Tabannusi found its identity as a deeply strategic yet highly interactive eurogame. By aligning mechanics with theme and grounding it all in the spirit of collaboration between two designers, the project evolved from a modest experiment into a work that carried both personal meaning and universal appeal. The journey of Tabannusi’s origins thus illustrates how creativity, community, and collaboration intertwine to transform a spark of inspiration into a game capable of leaving a lasting impression.
The story of Tabannusi’s beginnings is, in many ways, a microcosm of what makes the board game industry so unique. It shows how individual passion can intersect with collective support, how mechanical tinkering can blossom into thematic depth, and how collaboration can turn uncertainty into confidence. For David, it was the fulfillment of a dream born out of curiosity and courage, nurtured by a community that believed in sharing rather than hoarding ideas, and realized through partnership with a mentor turned collaborator. For Daniele, it was another chance to apply his expertise to a fresh idea, shaping it into something robust and enduring. For the players who would eventually experience Tabannusi, it became an invitation to step into the ancient city of Ur, to plan, to build, and to compete within a system crafted through years of iteration and dedication. Thus, the origins of Tabannusi are not merely about a single game but about the broader spirit of creation, risk, and community that drives the evolution of modern tabletop design.
Prototyping, Collaboration, and the Growth of the Game
The transformation of Tabannusi from a light dice experiment into a complex and deeply strategic eurogame was not the result of sudden inspiration but of a long, deliberate process of prototyping, feedback, and refinement. Early versions of the game revealed both promise and flaws. For example, players originally had access to only one action per turn, a structure that quickly showed itself to be too limiting. A single action felt restrictive, failing to provide enough momentum for players to pursue layered strategies or feel fully engaged during their turns. It also reduced the tempo of the game, making progress toward larger goals slow and often unsatisfying. Likewise, the system of building projects initially required three distinct steps: laying down a project, turning it into a plan on the track, and finally building it. While this seemed to capture the gradual process of construction, in practice it stretched out gameplay unnecessarily and dampened the sense of accomplishment. Too often, players found themselves waiting through multiple turns before they could see meaningful results. Recognizing this, the designers streamlined the process into two steps, ensuring that progress was both tangible and rewarding without sacrificing depth. These changes highlight one of the great challenges of design: the need to strike a balance between realism and playability, between simulation and engagement.
Feedback from playtesters became the lifeblood of Tabannusi’s development, shaping its evolution in significant ways. Designers often grow attached to mechanisms they have spent time developing, but outside perspectives can reveal weaknesses that otherwise remain invisible. One area of early concern was the handling of boats, which at first were personal assets. The system surrounding them felt disconnected from the core gameplay, lacking interaction and failing to generate the excitement that other areas of the design provided. Rather than ignoring this feedback, David and Daniele embraced it, redesigning the boats so that they integrated more meaningfully into the central dynamics. A similar issue arose with the ziggurat district, which, in its early form, was largely isolated from the rest of the game. While it offered an alternate scoring path, it felt optional, detached, and thematically thin. This lack of integration risked making the district irrelevant for many players. Through redesign, the ziggurat was reimagined not as a side strategy but as an essential part of the city’s fabric, linking more closely to other mechanics and reinforcing the game’s thematic identity. These adjustments demonstrate the iterative nature of design, where criticism becomes an opportunity for growth and where the willingness to change is often the difference between a mediocre game and a great one.
Digital platforms played an unexpectedly central role in the growth of Tabannusi. Much of the early testing and refinement was conducted on Tabletop Simulator, a tool that allowed the designers to collaborate and test with people across different countries without the constraints of physical distance. For David, this meant long nights of watching playtests unfold remotely, sometimes even during personal trips, with discussions running into the early morning hours. By using digital tools, the team was able to accelerate the process dramatically, conducting many more sessions than would have been possible through in-person meetings alone. David and Daniele estimated that the game might have taken three times as long to finalize without the efficiency that Tabletop Simulator offered. Moreover, this platform opened the door to international playtesters from Spain, England, the Middle East, Germany, and beyond. Each brought unique cultural perspectives and expectations about gameplay, helping to shape the game into one that could resonate with a wide global audience rather than being confined to the tastes of a single region. This diversity of voices ensured that Tabannusi’s design avoided cultural narrowness and instead offered appeal across borders.
In addition to remote testing, in-person playtests with experienced colleagues also had a profound impact on development. Designers such as Dávid Turczi, Fabio Lopiano, and Federico Pierlorenzi, each with their own acclaimed works, provided feedback that combined creative intuition with an understanding of commercial realities. Their critiques often cut to the heart of balance issues or structural weaknesses that less experienced testers might not notice. For instance, the original maximum building size was capped at four, a limitation that constrained creativity and reduced the grandeur of the city-building theme. By increasing this cap, the designers created room for more ambitious strategies and better reflected the historical scale of Mesopotamian architecture. Similarly, early versions treated gardens as communal, lacking a sense of ownership or competition. Changing gardens to player-owned resources injected fresh tension, as players now had a reason to vie for control and develop them strategically. These refinements, though seemingly small in isolation, collectively strengthened the design and made it more cohesive, interactive, and satisfying to play. The role of trusted peers in this process illustrates how no game emerges from a vacuum; it is always a collaborative act shaped by many hands.
Through hundreds of playtests, Tabannusi gradually transformed into a finely tuned system. The sheer number of tests—estimated at over three hundred—might seem excessive, but for a eurogame of this complexity it was necessary to achieve the delicate balance that players expect. Each playtest served as both validation and revelation, confirming what worked and exposing what still needed attention. Over time, the accumulation of small adjustments created a design that flowed smoothly, with every district, project, and action contributing to a larger whole. Remarkably, despite the exhaustive process, David never grew tired of playing Tabannusi, a rare outcome for designers who often become fatigued by their own creations after so much repetition. This enduring enthusiasm speaks not only to the strength of the design but also to the designers’ passion for the craft. For David, every play was another chance to explore new strategies, to witness how players engaged with the system, and to refine his own understanding of what made the game compelling. For Daniele, it was an opportunity to apply his experience to elevate a fresh idea, blending innovation with refinement.
At the heart of this collaborative effort was a philosophy about what games should achieve. David often reflected on the purpose of games as experiences that leave impressions on players, whether by lifting their moods, challenging their perspectives, or creating memorable stories. He emphasized that games are not created solely for their designers but for the people who gather around the table to play them. In Tabannusi, he and Daniele sought to emphasize both competition and collaboration, reflecting the dual social urges that Alex Randolph once described: the desire to be together and the desire to compete. This philosophy manifested in mechanisms that encouraged interaction, in thematic elements that invited immersion, and in structural choices that balanced fairness with unpredictability. The collaboration was not only about making a marketable product but about crafting an experience that could bring joy, tension, and satisfaction to those who played it. By keeping the focus on the audience, the designers ensured that Tabannusi would be more than a clever puzzle; it would be a meaningful social encounter.
The growth of Tabannusi from a modest prototype to a published eurogame was therefore as much about process as it was about product. It required the humility to accept feedback, the perseverance to test and retest, and the creativity to reimagine elements that were not working. It was shaped by digital tools that enabled unprecedented collaboration, by peers who lent their expertise, and by the designers’ shared belief in the power of games to create lasting impressions. Every revision brought the game closer to its final form, and every playtest infused it with new insights. What emerged at the end of this journey was not just a polished design but a story of collaboration, community, and resilience. Tabannusi’s development reminds us that great games are not the work of solitary genius but the result of collective effort, where each adjustment, critique, and play contributes to the creation of something that feels inevitable in its final form, even though it was anything but inevitable in its making.
From Vision to Reality: Final Refinements and Thematic Depth
As Tabannusi approached its final stages of development, the focus shifted from broad structural revisions to delicate refinements. The core systems had been tested and retested hundreds of times, yet there remained a constant drive to polish the details. Even seemingly small decisions, such as the number of resources available in specific districts, the pace at which players could acquire tiles, or the timing of scoring triggers, had enormous implications for balance and replayability. Every change required careful consideration, as adjustments in one area inevitably rippled outward, influencing strategies and incentives elsewhere. For example, altering the cost of gardens by even a single unit could tilt the balance of power toward players who focused heavily on urban beautification rather than ziggurat construction, thereby undermining the intended equilibrium between multiple scoring paths. These refinements demanded not only mathematical precision but also a sensitivity to player psychology—understanding how choices felt, not just how they calculated. For David and Daniele, the late-stage work was less about invention and more about harmony, ensuring that all the moving parts resonated together without one dominating the experience.
The theme of ancient Mesopotamia also grew increasingly important during this phase. Early prototypes had focused more heavily on mechanisms, with the historical context serving largely as a backdrop. But as the design matured, the team recognized that the theme needed to do more than decorate the gameplay; it had to inform it. The story of Ur was not just one of bricks and buildings but of human ambition, social competition, and the struggle to leave a legacy. By embedding thematic cues into the mechanics, the designers deepened immersion. The ziggurats, for instance, came to represent monumental cultural achievements, while gardens symbolized prestige and beauty within the cityscape. The boats became lifelines of trade and exchange, binding districts together in ways that mirrored Mesopotamian commerce. In this way, the theme did more than justify the actions—it elevated them, transforming abstract strategies into narratives that players could inhabit. When a player laid down a project tile, it was not merely a move toward points; it was an act of shaping the city, of leaving a mark on Ur’s history. This integration of mechanism and theme gave Tabannusi its distinctive identity and ensured that players felt connected to the world they were building.
One of the greatest challenges in bringing the game from prototype to publication was addressing accessibility without sacrificing depth. Eurogames thrive on complexity, but they also risk alienating players if the rules become too overwhelming. Early iterations of Tabannusi sometimes leaned toward opacity, with multiple tracks, tokens, and exceptions that could leave new players adrift. Recognizing this, the designers and developers worked to streamline rule presentation and player aids, ensuring that the core flow of the game was intuitive even if the strategy was intricate. Actions were rephrased to emphasize clarity, components were color-coded to reduce cognitive load, and the layout of the board was refined to guide player attention naturally. For example, the decision to visually separate districts on the board created a sense of place while also helping players understand their options at a glance. Similarly, the iconography was redesigned multiple times to strike the right balance between clarity and elegance. These efforts reflect a broader truth in design: that complexity must be supported by accessibility, so that players spend their energy on strategy rather than deciphering rules.
Production considerations also came to the forefront as Tabannusi neared completion. Unlike digital prototypes, physical components introduce constraints of cost, material, and manufacturing. Wooden pieces, cardboard tiles, and printed boards each carried limitations that had to be reconciled with the designers’ ambitions. The choice of colors had to account not only for aesthetics but also for colorblind accessibility, ensuring that no player would be disadvantaged by visual limitations. The thickness of tiles mattered, as flimsy pieces could undermine the sense of weight and permanence that the theme demanded. Even the shape of resource tokens was scrutinized, with the goal of making them tactilely satisfying while still practical for mass production. Every decision balanced artistry with pragmatism, aiming to create a product that was both beautiful and feasible. The collaboration with artists and publishers thus became as vital as the design itself, transforming Tabannusi from a clever system into a work of material culture that could sit proudly on a shelf.
The playtesting community continued to shape the late stages of development, but their role evolved from exposing major flaws to fine-tuning balance and flow. Testers were now less likely to report broken systems and more likely to highlight pacing issues, thematic dissonance, or opportunities for greater engagement. One recurring piece of feedback concerned the game’s ending, which in early versions could feel abrupt or anticlimactic. Players sometimes found themselves cut off just as their strategies were blossoming, leaving a sense of incompleteness. To address this, the designers experimented with alternate end conditions, testing variations that allowed for more organic closure. The final design struck a compromise, creating a predictable structure that still offered space for late-game tension and surprise. This refinement exemplifies the role of playtesters not just as critics but as co-creators, their experiences helping to sculpt the emotional arc of the game. By listening to these voices, David and Daniele ensured that Tabannusi would not only function well but also feel satisfying from beginning to end.
Philosophically, the late development of Tabannusi also reflected deeper reflections on what games are meant to achieve. For David, the process reaffirmed his belief that games are more than puzzles; they are cultural artifacts that reflect human desires and social structures. In building Ur, players were not simply moving tokens but reenacting the timeless pursuit of legacy, prestige, and communal identity. The competition for space, the balance between private ambition and public good, and the tension between immediate gains and long-term projects all mirrored the dilemmas faced by ancient builders and modern humans alike. This thematic resonance gave the game a richness that transcended mechanics. For Daniele, the experience reinforced the value of collaboration in design, a recognition that even the most inspired ideas require the insights of others to reach their potential. Together, they saw Tabannusi not only as a game but as a statement about the creative process itself: iterative, collective, and deeply human.
When the game finally reached its published form, it carried with it the traces of countless hours of play, debate, revision, and vision. It was the product of two designers separated by geography but united by passion, of a global community of testers who lent their time and perspectives, and of publishers and artists who brought it into physical reality. For players opening the box, the result is a seamless experience—a board, tokens, and rules that feel inevitable in their arrangement. But behind that inevitability lies a history of struggle, compromise, and discovery. Tabannusi stands as a testament to what can be achieved when creativity is paired with discipline, when vision is tempered by feedback, and when the joy of play guides every decision. Its story reminds us that games are not simply entertainment but the result of human endeavor, artifacts that embody the values, challenges, and dreams of their creators. In this sense, Tabannusi is not only a game about building a city in ancient Mesopotamia; it is itself a monument to the art of design, built stone by stone through the dedication of those who believed in it.
Conclusion
The journey of Tabannusi: Builders of Ur is, in many ways, the journey of game design itself. It began as a small spark—an experiment with dice that seemed modest in its scope but carried within it the potential for something greater. From that moment of inception to the long months of testing, refinement, and collaboration, the design was shaped into a project that grew far beyond its original boundaries. Along the way, it absorbed not just the mechanics of resource management, building placement, and area control, but also the history, culture, and symbolism of ancient Mesopotamia. In this process, the game became more than a collection of rules and components; it became an echo of human ambition, a reflection of the enduring desire to build, compete, and leave behind something meaningful. The conclusion of its creation was not just the release of a product but the completion of a story that had been co-written by designers, testers, artists, and eventually players themselves.
What makes Tabannusi remarkable is the way it embodies the principles of iterative design. No system, however clever, was treated as sacred. The designers allowed feedback to reshape their ideas, even when it meant discarding mechanics that had once seemed indispensable. The shift from single-action turns to a more dynamic sequence, the reimagining of boats and gardens, the integration of ziggurats into the city’s core fabric—all these were products of humility and persistence. The process reveals a truth about creativity: that it thrives not in isolation but in dialogue, not in perfection at first attempt but in the willingness to fail, adjust, and try again. By honoring this process, David and Daniele ensured that Tabannusi would not be a half-formed idea forced prematurely into the world but a mature creation honed by time and care. This, perhaps more than any mechanism or component, is what gives the game its enduring strength.
Equally important is the philosophical grounding of the design. Beneath the strategies and scoring systems lies a meditation on human nature. The city of Ur was not merely a backdrop but a stage upon which timeless dramas could be reenacted: the tension between individual ambition and collective identity, the pursuit of prestige through monuments and gardens, the reliance on trade and exchange to bind communities together. In playing Tabannusi, one participates in these dramas, even if only symbolically, and feels a connection to the broader human story of building and belonging. In this sense, the game reminds us of the cultural role that games can play. They are not trivial diversions but mirrors of who we are and who we have always been. When a player chooses to prioritize ziggurat construction over garden ownership, they are not simply chasing points—they are embodying a worldview, a vision of legacy, and an understanding of what it means to matter within a community.
The conclusion of the designer diary also underscores the communal nature of creation. While two names stand on the cover, the reality is that Tabannusi was born of many voices. The playtesters who pointed out flaws, the colleagues who suggested alternatives, the artists who captured the grandeur of Mesopotamia, and the publishers who balanced vision with practicality—all left their imprint on the final product. This layered authorship is itself fitting for a game about city-building, for just as no city is built by one hand alone, no great game is the work of a single mind. Every rule, every illustration, every tactile component is a brick laid by someone who believed in the project. When players open the box and begin to build their version of Ur, they are stepping into a space created by a community of dreamers and doers. The game becomes a bridge across time and space, connecting designers in Italy and playtesters in Germany with players at kitchen tables around the world.
Ultimately, Tabannusi: Builders of Ur is both a destination and a beginning. As a destination, it represents the culmination of years of labor, the closing of one chapter in the lives of its creators. Yet as a beginning, it opens the door to countless stories that players will tell as they engage with it. No two games will unfold in exactly the same way; each session becomes its own narrative of ambition, rivalry, and achievement. In this sense, the game lives on not in the rules that define it but in the experiences it generates. The conclusion of the design process thus becomes the prologue to countless evenings of laughter, tension, and reflection. For David and Daniele, the reward is not only in seeing their work published but in knowing that it will continue to create moments of meaning for others. For players, the reward lies in discovering that through play, one can touch both the ancient world of Ur and the timeless human desire to build and belong.