For the 25th Anniversary of the original beer & pretzels roleplaying, Kobolds Ate My Baby got an upgrade! Same dumb jokes, even simpler rules!

Kobolds are bad at everything they do, except for cooking. This is quite ironic since they are marvelous when cooked! Kobolds are silly, chaotic, and short - much like their lives - and no one really likes them very much (especially not Vor, the Big Red Angry God). 

In this game, you are a KOBOLD! You will most likely die a few horrible deaths. You will probably get eaten, possibly by your friends. You may be slain by chickens. You may burn up in a town (you probably started that fire). You may even explode into tiny chaos particles after causing a paradox involving 3d6, a wizard's wand, and some gas station sushi!

The cult-classic, crowd-pleasing, hysterical RPG of Kobolds behaving badly is back! This new version is faster, easier, and deadlier than ever before! All Hail King Torg!

My Little Kobold is orange, fuzzy, hungry! You can have your very own kobold. 8 inches of hungry cuteness! 

Sentai & Sensibility brings together the childlike abandon of Sunday morning tokusatsu with the profound joy of regency romance novels. 

What if Jane Austen wrote Power Rangers? It's Bridgerton meets Kaiju!

You play Gentlefolk — gentry in a British Regency That Never Was. Your life is country parties, social dances, and strolls on the promenade in a new dress — until a Kaiju appears and ruins the afternoon. You and your Sentai of Rangers will transform (aka Henshin) into a unit of suited heroes. Each week you will defend society from the monstrous organization known as The Syndicate; who never seem to take your social engagements into account before attacking! It's hard to find a suitable spouse when you are always punching things from inside your Giant Mecha.

Kobolds are fearless (and hungry). But in the deepest and darkest depths of teh cave, the less stupid prophets of vore speak of the coming of the end. The end of the road, one for the ditch! Eventually, someone has to pay the bill for this endless buffet that kobolds call life.

On that day, all the food will be gone, and the only thing left to eat will be KOBOLD.

Ye tiny ragnarok.

The amouse bouche of apocalypses.

Oh armageddon entree.

Cry, culinary cataclysm.

De Smörkås Borg cometh.