Defend your castle. Drain theirs. Beware the duck.
Be first in line when the drawbridge drops.
If you can draw a card, you can defend a castle. The six-year-old at your table will prove it.
Take a card from the deck. Maybe it's a Moat Segment. Maybe it's a Kraken. Maybe it's a plumber. Every draw is a tiny drama.
Build a piece of your moat, post a monster to guard it, or launch an attack at the player who's getting a little too comfortable.
First castle fully surrounded by all four Moat Segments wins. Everyone can see how close you are. Nobody will let you finish quietly.
Monsters that guard, attacks that sting, magic that flips the whole table upside down.
Guards a Moat Segment and complains about it the entire time. Blocks one attack, holds a grudge forever.
Eats one incoming attack card whole. Then falls asleep on the job. Classic goat.
Lives under your drawbridge, blocks all Drawbridge Down cards, charges a toll in riddles.
Protects your moat. Also protects the player to your left. Nobody asked. He just loves everyone.
Steal an unprotected Moat Segment from any player. Best played the moment someone says "I'm about to win."
Lower a rival's drawbridge, peek at their hand, and walk out with any card you like.
Every Moat Segment on the table gets shuffled and dealt back out at random. Screaming is part of the rules.
Does nothing. Worth nothing. Unless a Whirlpool hits while you're holding it, and then you're untouchable. Hoard the duck.
Every great family game has that one card. The taco cat. The dog that jumps over the queen. In Magic Moat, it's a duck that has no powers, no points, and no purpose, right up until the exact moment it saves your entire kingdom.
Someone at your table will yell "I HAVE THE DUCK." That's when you'll know the game has become a family tradition.
Join the launch list for early access to the first print run, playtest invites, and duck-related announcements of national importance.