This Ain't No Parade
Most scholars agree that the titular snakes were probably druids who maintained the pagan faith that was prevalent throughout Ireland until the 5th century. Another element they agree upon is that around 400 AD, right when the Western Roman Empire was falling by the wayside, the figure of St. Patrick well and truly existed. His dedicated work—and that of other like-minded individuals—led to most of Ireland converting to Christianity.
Banish the Snakes casts 1 to 6 players back to that rarely gamed moment in history, and invite them to recreate the exhausting exploits of several saintly figures in their religious, cooperative quest. Oh, your starting saint will die—it’s only a matter of when and where. But a follower will pick up the staff (in some cases, literally) and keep the faith (also literally).
The
game board displays the four provinces of Ireland, each divided in two or three
areas. At the start of the game, every area is populated by a druid, a chief,
and between three and five “regular” people—all of them pagan, and in need of a
good conversion. A High King keeps tabs on four (lesser) Kings, each of which
presides over his own province. This hierarchy creates a cascade of influence
that players will try to manipulate in order to achieve their pious goal.
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| Stuck in Osraige with a crappy relic, but I've seen worse |
On
your turn, you flip the top card of the event deck and brace for impact. Because
while some of them will resolve in your favor, most will trigger happenings your
saints could have done without—with wars pushing Kings off their seats, tearing
down freshly built churches, and replacing converted populations with new
individuals raised in the pagan faith.
Once
the event is dealt with, you can take as many actions as the current zeal level
of your saint will allow (between 2 and 4). Move to a neighboring area, build
or upgrade a church, transform a tomb into a relic (a surprisingly effective
move under the right circumstances) and—most importantly—convert an unsuspecting
member of the community to Christianity.
Or
rather, attempt to convert the guy.
Each individual is affected by a handful of factors that determine how difficult the conversion attempt will prove to be. Add the negative and positive modifiers together, and you get your target number: if you roll—on a six-sided die—higher than that number, the conversion was successful. Roll equal to the target number and nothing happens. But roll lower than the target number and your saint loses one zeal—which will eventually mean his or her death. (A dead saint is replaced by another saint card you might have obtained, or else by an acolyte—a sort of sub-saint with limited capabilities. But hey, he doesn’t eat much.)
The hierarchy evoked above will invariably create waves in the proceedings. You see, while lowly people will sport a negative modifier between -6 and -1, the chief will add (negatively) to that number with his own pagan rating. So you might want to deal with the chief first, hoping that when you convert that official (and flip the block that represents him), he’ll contribute a positive modifier to your subsequent attempts at convincing the people under him that their way is not the right way. Should you go that route, however, the province’s King will contribute his own negative modifier to your attempt at converting one of his chiefs. So perhaps you’d be better off converting the King himself? Well then the High King will want a word with you. And who’s keeping the High King grounded in paganism? His druid, of course.
Hungry
for some good news?
Before
you launch into a conversion attempt, each action you spend “preparing”
modifies your target number by +1. And if you play your cards right, other
effects (your saint’s special abilities, a bonus conferred by an artifact, the
actual tomb of a previous colleague) will also contribute positive modifiers to
your target number.
You
just weigh the plusses and minuses, say a quick prayer, and roll the bone.
The
game ends in one of three ways: when all people in Ireland are converted, when the
event-powered Paganism marker reaches the last spot on its track, or when an
acolyte gives up the ghost. Enough points will make your victorious—and revered
for centuries to come.
WAR PRODUCTION
Banish the Snakes is right up there with the best-looking games in the GMT stable, starting with its evocative box cover. Inside, a host of wooden blocks (stickering time!) stand for the individuals of Ireland, and make for easy manipulation when flipping them and moving them around.
The game board is mounted, large and beautiful, with plenty of breathing space for all the components. The event cards are printed on thick and sturdy stock, and the big six-sider is a nice-looking, hefty custom item—although I wish the shamrock stamped in the plastic replaced the 6 instead of the 1.
I
have only one additional minor quibble: I would have loved for the package to
include a pronunciation guide so I could not
sound like a complete idiot when I tell the guy next to me I’m moving Ciaran to
Eoganacht because the druid in Osraige is too powerful.
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
This is a simple game. (Not to be confused with boring! More on that later.) Accordingly, the rulebook clocks in at 13 nicely laid out pages, with large illustrations. Even the most rulebook-resistant among us will have no problem parsing the Banish the Snakes instructions and get cracking in no time.
That said, a couple of rules are left a bit vague, which in this case really feels like those responsible for the document were just so familiar with the game that they couldn’t see the fog creeping over some of the basics. Specifically, the rule for converting people and leaders is never stated; rather, its workings are implied with “Unlike People and Leaders, you do not know the value of a Druid when you first try to Convert him.” Now if you look at the examples right after this in the rulebook, the whole sequence clicks into place; but it would have been nice to have an actual rule to refer to.
Another
slight omission involves the large wooden blocks placed under the various Kings
of Ireland. The blocks are used as visual supports—literally like thrones—to make
the Kings pop up on a map that can get pretty busy, but they are never
mentioned in the rules per se, which
had me and other apprentices wondering what happens to those big blocks at
different points in the game. (Spoiler: nothing.) The large blocks are not even
mentioned in the setup section, although you can spy them on the large
illustration if you do look for them.
Other
than that? Fantastic stuff all around. I’m talking detailed index, which is
something I rarely expect in a game of such low complexity, plus a long example
of play. And let’s not forget my favorite feature: over 10 pages of historical
background, mixing legends and facts in a pleasant prose you won’t put down
until you’ve consumed the entire thing.
FUN FACTOR
I’ll be honest: When I finished my first game of Banish the Snakes, I figured I’d play it a couple more times and be done with it. I mean, it’s so simple, right? There can’t be much meat on the bone. So I played it a second time. And immediately played it a third time. And then talked my girlfriend into playing it with me. (Now she wants to play it again.) Six games in, I’m looking for an excuse to set up that big green board again.
The thing is, once you’ve figured out the whole web of conversion influences, you find yourself doing pretty much the same thing over and over again. The decision space is a bit on the narrow side: move around, give yourself a handful of bonuses, then attempt to convert. And that’s it.
Ah—but this is when the mechanics get completely out of your way and you start wondering what you could have done better to smooth things out. Should you start with the High King? I mean, he’s just a -2 right now so he’d be an easy convert—but do you need him? Some of the current Kings could also be pushovers, and by the time you get to the tougher cookies, the High Dude might have been replaced anyway. Now about that -6 druid in Laigin…
I experienced something similar with the events, most of which feel similar to each other—usually switching out converted blocks for pagan ones, or bumping off some King to trigger a chain of replacements that shuffle leaders around the board until all thrones are occupied once again. Two games in, I didn’t care for the events. But just one session later, I was trying to use them to my advantage, and even pinning some tactical hopes on specific cards. “If we could just get a solid invasion from Scotland, that bugger on the Ulster throne would likely be replaced by someone I can actually talk to.”
Banish the Snakes is a game of
fine-tuning. Give it time: it’s an experience somewhat akin to Patience, and
I’m not saying this like it’s a bad thing. The locks are randomized, and it’s
up to you to turn them all in the right position so that the door to
Christianity can swing open, slowly but surely.
PARTING SHOTS
The
game runs on a brilliant event selection engine that made me wish I’d come up
with it. (I swore out loud when I saw how it worked, and started laughing as I
shuffled the cards. The men in white lab coats can’t be far, now.)
Each
card features up to five variations on the same event, and the variation you get
is determined by the position of the arrow printed on the previous card.
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| Green level for today's event? I can live with that. |
How cool is that? Not only does it introduce variety in the most organic manner (so much better than, say, rolling a die), but it also allows you to plan for the road ahead, because you have a good idea of just how closely the next card flip will be flirting with disaster.
Banish the Snakes is the furthest thing from a wargame, and it’s all the better for it. So grab a saint (or six—the game plays just as well solo as multiplayer), get out there and convert those unwashed masses.
Just watch out for banshees.
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