The Thaumaturge (2024, Windows) Review

WHERE FLAWS ARE CHERISHED

The Thaumaturge is a Polish interactive story from developer 11 bit studios that incorporates just enough gameplay systems to qualify as a CRPG. It features an isometric perspective, player choices, skills, leveling, and turn-based combat, yet while playing I often felt it would have worked just as well as a pure visual novel.

This is not a game for everyone. To appreciate it the way I did, you need to be comfortable with large amounts of reading and voiced dialogue. If you are, you’ll be richly rewarded: the writing is superb, introducing a cast of memorable characters and side quests so elaborate they are virtually indistinguishable from the main storyline.

The game exudes a heavy, oppressive atmosphere. Set at the dawn of the 20th century, The Thaumaturge depicts life in Warsaw as bleak and suffocating, with muted colors, muddy streets, gated mansions, and industrial brick buildings. The somber string-heavy soundtrack instills a sense of melancholy and quiet despair. You can almost smell the horse manure and feel the pollution of the Vistula seeping through the city’s refined façade. Workers revolt against their employers, women protest gender inequality, and people are persecuted for their religious beliefs. Something is rotten in the state of Russian-controlled Poland. 

Set in 1905, the mature, character-driven story follows the thaumaturge Wiktor Szulski. Against the backdrop of the early Russian revolutionary movement, he embarks on a deeply personal and open-ended quest connected to his late, estranged father. In his will, the old man left Wiktor a powerful grimoire—but it has gone missing somewhere in the city. Finding it becomes your primary objective.

You can play Wiktor as an arrogant aristocrat, fully embracing his privileged background, or as a more restrained and empathetic figure. The game operates on multiple levels, weaving politics together with intimate personal drama and psychological themes. Your choices shape not only Wiktor’s fate, but also that of his nation and the people around him.

One of the game’s most compelling ideas revolves around human flaws. Without flaws, how do we grow? How do we strive for anything if we already feel complete? In The Thaumaturge, characters carry their flaws like psychic scars, manifested as glowing red wounds within their souls. These wounds attract salutors—invisible demons that latch onto weakness and exploit it for their own amusement.

As a thaumaturge, Wiktor is uniquely capable of seeing and interacting with these beings. Throughout Warsaw, you investigate the flaws haunting certain individuals. Once uncovered, you can resolve the issue and recruit the salutor that fed on it. You can collect up to eight salutors, using them both in combat and in the game’s psychic detective mechanics.

One of the most prominent figures you encounter is Rasputin—yes, that Rasputin—who becomes deeply entwined with the plot. He is charming, manipulative, and endlessly fascinating, and whether he can truly be trusted remains an open question. When taming new salutors, Rasputin can assist you, ensuring his relevance throughout the entire narrative regardless of how you treat him. It’s an elegant piece of writing.

Combat is turn-based and built around careful planning: when to deploy each salutor’s abilities, and how to augment Wiktor’s own attacks. You can strengthen quick strikes, enhance slower but devastating blows, or layer effects like stuns and bleeding to disable enemies while their health slowly drains away.

Unfortunately, the combat systems are deeper than they are demanding. On standard difficulty, I quickly discovered a reliable strategy that trivialized most encounters, including boss fights. As a result, combat became more of a speed bump than a meaningful challenge. Players seeking resistance should likely choose a higher difficulty setting.

Thankfully, combat is only a small part of the experience. Wiktor’s psychic abilities make him a formidable manipulator and investigator, and this is where the game truly shines. By touching objects others have handled, he can read lingering emotions. If you doubt someone’s sincerity, ask them for a cigarette and read the feelings embedded within it. It’s easy to understand why thaumaturges are feared—no secret is safe around them.

This leads to deliciously playful dialogue, where characters attempt polite conversation while you already know they’re murderers, liars, or worse. The dialogue throughout is exceptional: concise, witty, and natural, never feeling like exposition disguised as conversation. Even item descriptions—clothing, tools, furniture—are written with care. I eagerly “read” every possession, as each one added subtle layers of characterization and subtext.

Wiktor’s voice actor, Maciej Nawrocki, delivers his lines in a languid, almost intoxicated manner. It’s an acquired taste, but one that suits the character’s aristocratic arrogance perfectly. Even in moments of mortal danger, his detached calm suggests supreme confidence: I have nothing to fear—I will destroy you. I was initially skeptical, but grew genuinely fond of Wiktor and his dry, understated humor.

The world itself is lightly interactive but richly detailed. Newspapers report on political upheaval, bulletin boards advertise questionable elixirs, and wanted posters foreshadow future encounters. Scattered clues reveal hidden activities—moonshine operations, gambling dens, football matches—that reward experience and deepen the setting. This is the game’s version of lore, but it feels grounded and relevant rather than ornamental.

My main complaint is that the detective work is somewhat over-automated. With a right-click, points of interest are highlighted by a flowing, burgundy-hued visual effect. After collecting enough clues, Wiktor automatically draws conclusions himself. While this robs the player of agency, the writing is so engaging that I often tried to solve the mysteries before he did. In a sequel, I would love to see the investigative mechanics expanded to demand more active reasoning from the player.

With character writing this strong—just wait until you meet Rasputin, Wiktor’s sister Ligia, Madame Samira, Abaurycy, and Uncle Voronin—and dialogue of such consistently high quality, it becomes easy to overlook how little traditional gameplay is involved. My mind was constantly engaged, tracing narrative threads and speculating where they might converge. The ending is excellent, offering a wealth of meaningful choices, and I found myself reflecting on its consequences long after the credits rolled.