I didn’t expect a slot machine to judge me, but CloverPit managed it in less than ten minutes. The game threw me into a rusty cell, handed me a lever, and basically said: “Show me how bad your decisions really are.” And I have to admit, after years of reviewing games, I thought I’d seen every possible flavour of roguelike nonsense. Turns out I was wrong. There’s a specific kind of shame that comes from losing to a machine that looks like it was pulled from the back room of a cursed roadside casino.
From the first spin, the game reminded me of those moments when you sit down to “just try a quick run” and suddenly it’s 3 AM and you’re arguing with yourself about multipliers. It has that unmistakable energy of a project built by someone who has stared too long into the blinking abyss of a real slot machine and thought, “Yes, let’s make this into a videogame, but also let’s imprison the player.”
And weirdly, it works. Almost too well.
The idea is simple. You pull a lever. Symbols spin. Money flies in or disappears. And somewhere in the dark a polite man calls you on the phone to offer “deals” that help almost as often as they ruin you. At first I felt like the game was gently shaking my pockets. By the third hour I was willingly handing it my wallet.
What hooked me most wasn’t even the gambling loop but the mix of charm synergy and rising pressure. Every run has you chasing bigger and bigger debts, turning the slot machine into something closer to a survival tool. You can grab Charms that boost symbol odds, bump multipliers, or twist rules in absurd ways like “cherries have a small chance to turn gold.” On paper it sounds chaotic. In practice, it is chaotic. But it’s the kind of chaos that keeps you muttering “one more spin” like someone trying to justify eating a fourth donut.
Compared to games like Balatro or Luck be a Landlord, CloverPit feels more raw. More instinct-based. Less forgiving. Balatro lets you express skill through careful combos. Here the skill ceiling is real but lower. Too often I felt punished for simply being unlucky. There were runs where the game refused to give me anything meaningful, and no amount of planning could save it. Watching a promising setup die because the Charm pool bloated with nonsense effects is frustrating. You feel like you’re progressing, but that progress makes the pool worse. A strange punishment for trying to get better.
But then you have moments where the stars line up and suddenly your sad little machine spits out numbers that look like a lottery win. Those moments hit hard. Better than a coffee at 3 AM. And the later deadlines genuinely deliver that thrill. Once the stakes climb into millions, every spin feels like deciding whether you want to live or explode.
I also appreciated the tiny environmental touches. Exploring the cell and finding amulets in ridiculous places, like a shattered toilet, made me laugh. The atmosphere is grimy in a good way. The sound design sells the “dungeon casino” attitude. And the price is fair, which matters when the game is built around losing.
Would I recommend it? Yes. But with a raised eyebrow.
CloverPit : CloverPit is addictive, stylish and clever. It’s also inconsistent and sometimes annoyingly random. If you enjoy roguelike slot games and don’t mind the occasional bad beat, it’s absolutely worth your time. Just don’t expect the strategic depth of Balatro. – Tom Henry
After a few days inside this cursed cell, I feel oddly satisfied. A bit tired. Slightly poorer. But satisfied.
Pros: great style, strong humor, tense progression, satisfying highs.
Cons: early game drags, randomness can smother strategy, Charm pool gets messy.
Best advice? Build synergies early, don’t get greedy, cash in before the deadline, and always check the toilet. You never know what’s hiding in there.
