The Banished Vault

The Banished Vault is a sci-fi strategy simulation game set in a vast, unforgiving universe where players command a generation ark exiled from a dying Earth, navigating through star systems plagued by the mysterious Gloom. As the vault’s manager, you must explore planetary systems, mine essential resources, construct orbital bases, and make critical decisions to sustain your cryogenically frozen population, blending deep logistical challenges with mathematical precision and narrative depth in a free-camera, diagonal-down perspective.

The Banished Vault: Review

Introduction

In the vast, unforgiving expanse of space, where every calculation can mean the difference between fleeting survival and eternal oblivion, The Banished Vault emerges as a digital monastery of mathematical piety and gothic despair. This 2023 indie gem, developed by the micro-studio Lunar Division, thrusts players into the role of desperate exiles aboard the Auriga Vault—a colossal interstellar ark fleeing a cosmic cataclysm known as the Gloom. Drawing from the sparse yet evocative lore of a universe inspired by Alien‘s isolation and Gene Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun, the game transforms resource management into a ritualistic ordeal, where faith isn’t just a theme but a depletable currency. As a game historian, I’ve seen countless titles chase the thrill of space exploration, but few capture the soul-crushing poetry of impermanence like this one. My thesis: The Banished Vault is a masterpiece of emergent storytelling and logistical brutality, redefining indie strategy games as profound elegies to human (or monastic) endurance, even if its density risks alienating all but the most devoted pilgrims.

Development History & Context

The Banished Vault was born from the visionary mind of Nic Tringali, a Chicago-based developer operating under Lunar Division, an experimental imprint of the acclaimed indie publisher Bithell Games (known for titles like Thomas Was Alone). Tringali’s solo endeavor—built using the Unity engine—embodies the ethos of Bithell’s “new directors” initiative, fostering bold, unpolished ideas in an era dominated by polished blockbusters. Development likely spanned 2022 to mid-2023, with Tringali drawing from his passion for logistical puzzles and real-world mathematics, simplifying orbital mechanics to create a “punishing yet realistic” rocket equation without overwhelming players with astrophysics PhD requirements.

The game’s creation occurred amid the indie boom of the early 2020s, where Unity’s accessibility empowered solo creators to challenge AAA giants like Starfield (released later in 2023) with intimate, cerebral experiences. Technological constraints were minimal—Unity’s free camera and procedural generation tools allowed for isometric, board-game-like solar systems—but Tringali’s vision imposed self-inflicted rigor: no undo buttons, manual referencing via a 46-page in-game manual (with optional physical edition), and dice-based hazards to inject RNG without cheapening planning. The 2023 gaming landscape was saturated with survival sims (Subnautica: Below Zero) and roguelikes (FTL: Faster Than Light), but The Banished Vault carved a niche by blending city-building simulation with turn-based tactics, echoing Banished (2014) in its resource scarcity while infusing a religious, sci-fi horror twist. Released on July 25, 2023, for Windows and macOS via Steam, it arrived as a $15 digital artifact, its physical manual a nod to pre-digital era board games, underscoring Tringali’s intent to craft not just a game, but a tactile chronicle.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

At its core, The Banished Vault eschews traditional plot arcs for a fragmented, lore-driven tapestry woven through mechanics and a meticulously crafted manual. Players command the remnants of the Auriga Vault, a gothic interstellar monastery once part of a vast religious order charting the stars. A catastrophic encounter with the Gloom—a sentient, void-spreading entity—has reduced the crew to six “Exiles,” anonymous monks (e.g., Beatriz or Reinald) whose names evoke fleeting humanity amid cosmic indifference. The narrative unfolds across procedurally generated solar systems, where the goal isn’t victory but documentation: construct four Scriptoriums on hallowed planets to etch a “Chronicle” of your doomed voyage, transmitting it homeward before the Gloom consumes you.

Characters lack deep backstories or dialogue trees; Exiles are defined by stats—Faith (their “health,” depleting with jumps and hazards), Action Points (1-5 per turn), and upgradeable abilities unlocked via Knowledge artifacts. This anonymity amplifies themes of sacrifice and impermanence: Exiles are interchangeable variables in a divine equation, their individual losses (from failed dice rolls against hazards like solar flares) underscoring the futility of attachment. Dialogue is minimal—procedural logs or manual excerpts reveal a cult-like devotion to the order, with hints of a pre-Gloom empire blending science and theology. One Chronicle entry might describe rituals combating the void, evoking a “vast Gothic religious organization” where faith is both salvation and shackle.

Thematically, the game meditates on legacy amid entropy. The Gloom symbolizes inevitable decay, chasing your Vault like a biblical plague, while Faith represents dwindling hope—a finite resource eroded by isolation. Themes of exile and piety draw from religious allegory: the Vault as Noah’s ark in space, Exiles as ascetics chronicling apocalypse for posterity. Negative space dominates; no alien cultures or mysteries unfold beyond vague manual lore (e.g., “the divine beauty of mathematics” as a counter to chaos). This sparsity fosters emergent narratives—your scribbled notes become the true chronicle, mirroring the Exiles’ desperate inscriptions. Flaws emerge in the lack of voiced arcs; a Steam discussion laments the absence of “uncovering mysteries,” reducing the story to “numbers management.” Yet, this restraint elevates it: in a genre bloated with exposition (Mass Effect), The Banished Vault proves silence can scream louder, forcing players to confront existential voids.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

The Banished Vault distills space survival into a turn-based strategy loop of exquisite cruelty, where every action is a calculated prayer against oblivion. Core gameplay revolves around 30-turn solar system traversals: arrive at the system’s edge with the Auriga Vault as your hub, deploy three starter ships (upgradable via Knowledge), and assign six Exiles to outposts or vessels. Procedurally generated energy maps—diagonal-down isometric boards depicting orbits, planets, and moons—demand meticulous planning. Movement adheres to simplified orbital mechanics: fuel consumption factors ship mass, engine efficiency, path energy costs, and trip length, often requiring an in-game abacus-like calculator for precision (e.g., longer journeys burn fuel exponentially).

Resource loops form the game’s punishing heart. Harvest basics like Water or Iron via Extractors, refine into Fuel (for travel) or Alloy (for building), and craft Stasis (hibernation fluid) or Elixir (Faith restorer). Outpost construction is managerial artistry: buildings like Fuel Producers need space, resources (e.g., Iron Extractor + Water for Fuel), and assigned Exiles, who manually operate them via point-and-click interfaces—drag resources between inventories, no automation. Ships’ limited cargo (4 slots, stackable to 9) forces trade-offs, akin to the fox-chicken-corn riddle; import scarce materials (e.g., Titanium from asteroids) or risk stranding. Hazards—radiation storms or gravitational pulls—trigger dice challenges, rolling Faith-based dice against RNG thresholds; failures deplete Faith or strand Exiles.

Progression is meta-run: Knowledge from planetary artifacts unlocks ships (e.g., higher-thrust engines), buildings, or Exile perks (e.g., multi-artifact digs). No combat exists—threats are logistical—but the UI’s tactile menus (wooden dials, haptic “tock” sounds) immerse you in monastic drudgery. Innovations shine in permanence: no undos, save-scumming impossible; failing to evacuate an Exile dooms them, and solo survival ends the run. Flaws include micromanagement overload—early turns feel tutorial-like torture, demanding notepad symbiosis—and RNG spikes (e.g., resource-poor systems force restarts). Post-completion modes (Difficult/Intense) amp hazards, while the manual’s reference section is indispensable, blending tutorial with lore. UI is clean yet dense: free camera pans solar maps, but info overload (e.g., buried building rotation) frustrates. Overall, it’s a loop of tension-release mastery, rewarding foresight over reflexes.

World-Building, Art & Sound

The universe of The Banished Vault is a stark, hostile cosmos where gothic grandeur clashes with mathematical austerity, creating an atmosphere of claustrophobic vertigo. Settings span procedural solar systems—young clusters of resource-rich asteroids to dying nebulae with elongated orbits—rendered as flat, board-game boards against an ink-black void. The Auriga Vault looms as a gothic behemoth, its spires evoking Warhammer 40K cathedrals adrift in space; planets are abstract orbs, hallowed ones pulsing with ethereal light, demanding perilous inner-system treks.

Visual direction is hand-drawn sublime: scratchy pencil illustrations in the manual contrast soft woodblock-style game assets—frilly-edged suns, Exiles as hooded silhouettes. The isometric perspective fosters intimacy, turning vast space into a tactile puzzle board; procedural generation ensures replayability without spectacle, emphasizing isolation over grandeur. Art contributes to dread: the Gloom’s encroaching shadow visually contracts the map, mirroring Faith’s erosion.

Sound design amplifies this immersion—a monkish choir swells with cosmic reverb, blending FTL-esque electronic throbs and Dune-inspired metallic echoes. Haptic UI sounds (dial ticks, resource drags) evoke pre-Enlightenment machinery, while ambient hums underscore hibernation’s silence. No bombast; instead, a hypnotic score that lulls then tenses, syncing with turns to heighten the “race against memory.” Together, these elements forge a world that’s less explored than endured, where beauty emerges from bleak precision, making every successful jump feel like a hymn of defiance.

Reception & Legacy

Upon launch, The Banished Vault garnered a polarized yet fervent reception, with a Metacritic score of 70 (mixed/average) from four critics and a MobyGames average of 76% across five reviews. High praise came from Eurogamer (100%), hailing it as “dense and brilliant, like a neutron star” for its mathematical divinity, and Paste Magazine (99/100), dubbing it “the worst time four guys can have in a boat” in affectionate agony. God is a Geek (80/100) lauded its addictive strategy and sublime art, while Polygon unscored but recommended it as a “master class in the economy and cruelty of space survival.” Lower scores reflected accessibility woes: Destructoid (50/100) called it “deeply unfriendly” and aloof, Edge (50/100) advised leaving it to “long and drifting exile” sans notepad, and PC Gamer likened it to “math homework” despite logistical appeal.

Commercially, it sold modestly as a niche indie ($16.99 on Steam), collected by few but cherished by strategy enthusiasts; no sales figures exist, but its 41 hidden achievements and manual sales suggest cult appeal. Reputation has evolved positively: initial frustration complaints softened into acclaim for its replayability and post-run modes, with Backlog Magazine praising its save-file deletion ending as a “profound blend of success, loneliness, and loss.” Influence ripples through indies—echoing FTL‘s sector-hopping tension and Outer Wilds‘ vertigo, it inspires experimental management sims like future Bithell projects. As a 2023 standout, it cements Lunar Division’s legacy in blending board-game rigor with sci-fi horror, influencing a subgenre of “faith-based” survival where legacy trumps triumph.

Conclusion

The Banished Vault is a tour de force of indie innovation, alchemizing micromanagement tedium into transcendent meditation on mortality, faith, and the cold poetry of numbers. From Tringali’s solitary vision to its emergent chronicles, it excels in mechanical depth and atmospheric restraint, though its unyielding density demands patience few possess. In video game history, it occupies a hallowed vault beside FTL and Papers, Please—a definitive 9/10 for strategy purists, but a polarizing exile for casual explorers. Essential for those seeking games that challenge the soul as much as the mind; play it, chronicle it, and let the Gloom fade into memory.