This lo-fi roguelike deckbuilder is like if someone made a version of Slay the Spire for when you’ve got a hangover

There’s a lovely simplicity to a name like Dog Witch. Straight to the point: you play a dog that is also a witch and that’s that. No colons or dashes or unnecessary subtitles.

That’s Dog Witch in a nutshell really. Its take on roguelike deckbuilding is minimalist, streamlined, and charmingly chill.

In each round of its turn-based battles, you roll a handful of dice, with different faces granting you different effects. The friend symbol, for example, lets you summon a little minion to fight with you, while a bone grants you armour against an enemy hit. As you choose and apply effects, at any point you can choose to re-roll all of your dice up to twice, to fish for specific ones you need. And… that’s kind of it.

There is some gentle nuance to it. Wands, for example, let you apply damage directly to an enemy, but need to be charged with books to gain damage. Mana stacks up until you have enough to cast a spell, at which point all mana faces become your equipped spell instead, freely cast until the end of the turn. And stopwatches have a chance to stun enemies, or else reduce their resistance for a better chance to stun them next time.

Between fights, you can upgrade your die faces to gain new effects—such as turning your minions into durable trolls, or replacing your wand with a pitchfork that deals splash damage to adjacent enemies—or gain jewelry that offers passive bonuses.

It’s just enough to get the gears in your brain turning, without ever offering too dense a strategic puzzle. Combining simple synergies is effortless—there’s room for cleverness, but it’s a far cry from the complexity of crafting a killer deck in Slay the Spire.

That does make Dog Witch a little shallow, of course, but I think that’s very much the point. It’s a palate cleanser of a roguelike, far less mean, intimidating, or time-consuming than its genre-mates—the perfect thing to dip into for a chill 15 minutes at a time.

That’s complemented nicely by the bizarre but low energy atmosphere of the game’s world. The three prosaically named zones (Forest, Desert, and Mountain) are home to dream-like creatures that bop along to the lo-fi beats of the background music while you play your turn. So far, my opponents have included a milk carton vending machine, nesting dolls with handguns, and a TV set playing a montage of real life footage of wild squirrels.

It’s got the kind of sense of humour that you’d struggle to explain to someone if they asked you why it was funny. No matter where you are in the game or what menu you’re in, clicking on your dog makes them bark—I could not tell you why that makes me laugh every time. Ditto being able to stack witch’s hats (the powers of which work as modifiers for your runs) into big towers on my tiny dog’s head.