Sunday, July 30, 2023

Flash Review — The Barracks Emperors





Players: 1-4
Works well with just 2: Fine
Solo quality: Puzzle-like
Age: 14+
Playtime: 30-120 min
Complexity: 4.5/10

It's from GMT and it's a large box and there's a big board and it looks serious as all get-out BUT it's a fairly simple trick-taking game, and a fun one at that.
Hear me out.

The goal of this three-round game is to capture as many emperor cards as possible: each is worth 1 point, plus 3 points for each set of three emperors (blue-red-yellow) you manage to assemble.
Random emperor cards start the game already on the board, in the following configuration: 

Only colors matter: text on emperors just historical info

On each round, players take turns playing square-shaped influence cards, which are numbered from 1 through 8 in the three colors mentioned above. A card goes next to an emperor, on the side the player was assigned. So the Sword player can only play on the Sword edge of an emperor card, while the Laurels player can only play on the Laurels edge of an emperor, and so on. But the board layout makes it so that playing to the right of one emperor will also often mean playing to the left of (or above, or below) another emperor.
An emperor is resolved when it's surrounded by four cards: cards of equal value cancel each other out, and among the cards left, the highest value matching the color of the emperor wins (or else the highest-valued card, if none of those left match the emperor's color). The winning card is removed, and the emperor goes to the player whose edge the winning card had been played on. In other words, if the winning card happens to be on the Laurels edge of the emperor being resolved, the emperor goes to the Laurels player—no matter who actually played the card that ended up winning.

Each card also sports a special ability that allows for some funky moves such as flipping another card face down (cancelling it), moving a card away, or adding an emperor to the board. You'll learn them by heart eventually, but I wish GMT had gone with a simple iconography instead of text, as well as a background of a different color for ongoing effects.

Yes, that’s my luggage combination

The cool thing here is that all of a rounds tricks are "available" on the table from the start, so you're playing on multiple ones every time you add a card to the board (because it'll likely touch more than one emperor). The system might prove brain-twisting at first, but give it time and it'll become second nature.

I highly recommend the game at the 3- or 4-player count, but it loses some of its charm with only two—although it's a great way to learn the rules. The solo version feels more like a puzzle than a tactical game, but it works pretty well.

Most easily forgotten rule: Barbarians can deploy AND move only to spaces adjacent to emperors.




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Saturday, July 22, 2023

Boardgame review — Mr. President

The Toughest Job in the World

Designer: Gene Billingsley
Player count: 1
Publisher: GMT Games


Ever heard the call of a higher duty, or felt the pull of the Resolute desk?
If you believe you might cut it as the leader of the free world, now’s the to time test your mettle: the year is 2000 and you’ve just been sworn in as President of the United States.

Mr. President is not an election game: you’re already sitting in the Oval Office while your country awaits your guidance, and the world your leadership. From now on, crises will rule your every waking moment. Environmental catastrophes, terror attacks, White House scandals, media blunders, legislation snafus—it’s all in there, and so much more.

The solo game unfolds over four turns, each of them representing a year of governance, and each requiring two or three real-life hours to complete. Yes, this makes for a roughly 10-hour-long commitment. (And you can double that if you get reelected.) What, did you think being President would be easy? Of course, few people will steel themselves to take that much abuse in one sitting—although I can tell you right now the game’s fascinating enough that I’m tempted to go for it.

If a game ever deserved the “not for everybody” label, it’s Mr. President. You’ll need three essential things to emerge unscathed from all of this: a table that can hold about 3’ by 6’ of gaming materials, a room where you can leave said table fully loaded for a few weeks, and enough grit to power through nested procedures within nested procedures until you reach a conclusion. Interestingly enough, having the patience to read the 50-page rulebook isn’t a requirement in this case, because you don’t need to read much of anything in order to get started.

As daunting as the game may look—and photographic evidence does paint a scary picture—GMT made it easy on us mere mortals by deciding to go with a flipbook. (A first for them, as far as I can tell.) That’s a spiral-bound book telling you exactly what to do for each of the 50+ steps that make up the turn sequence. So no need to worry about actual rules: your first act as commander-in-chief will be to set up the massive board with its myriad gauges and levers. Where’s the State of the Economy track? What’s a UN Goodwill marker? Since you’ll need to figure out what everything is and where it goes, it’s not unusual for your very first setup to take upwards of an hour. (Which is its own fun, if you’re the sort of gamer who’ll enjoy this game.) And then you’re off, taking your first steps under the guidance of the flipbook.

Turn sequence in full swing

The turn sequence is organized in four activation phases that each allow you, the player, to proceed however you see fit, while also leaving ample room for the game’s various bots (Russia and China, of course, but also a host of US allies and adversaries) to do their own things. When it’s your turn to spring into action, you’ll find yourself torn between repairing damage done to the word and working towards your objectives—and never accomplishing quite enough of either.

What happens during a typical turn? You have access to a wide menu of options: domestic, diplomatic and military. Each involves its own procedure where you check on various aspects of the game state (stability level in the Middle East, your cabinet effectiveness, the health of China’s economy, etc.) and input that data into the computation of what you’re trying to accomplish. The result—most often obtained with a die roll after all is said and done—leads to the adjustment of yet more gauges around the board, in a sort of domino effect where everything can be bright and shiny one moment, and dark and rotten the next. Do be careful.
When the “others” get an opportunity to act, they follow their own, mostly automated procedures and either wreak havoc (in the case of enemies) or provide assistance when it comes to allies. Then again, if a friendly country like India finds itself under too much pressure (given form in the game by an actual stack of scary red counters), it might do something reckless that will not necessarily help matters. That’s one more aspect you’ll have to manage.

Several of the turn sequence boxes—the brown ones—have you draw a crisis chit at random. In turn, that chit triggers a problem you’ll need to solve, and which is established either through a dedicated procedure, or by revealing crisis cards from a face-down deck.
That deck is prepared ahead of time, with a sprinkle of natural disasters, a peppering of terrorism events, a smidge of cascading events (that you might need to deal with over and over again), and also a few positive things liable to give you just the boost you need to get up in the morning. There is one crisis deck for each year of your presidency, and unused cards from the previous year are shuffled into the deck for the next. Remember that devastating terror attack you knew was in deck 1 but which never popped up? Don’t worry: it’ll be waiting for you in deck 2.

Some crisis cards are friendlier than others.

A reckoning takes place at the end of each turn, where you and the bots reap what you have sowed throughout the year—and let’s be honest, the harvest usually stinks. This sets you up for a subsequent year with your work more than cut out for you, and where you can only hope you’ll be up to the challenge.

You tally up your score after four years, aiming for a sufficient total of legacy points in the core scenario or else trying to hit specific targets if you’ve gone through one of the historical scenarios on offer. (Yes, re-election is a possibility.) You’ll find out whether you win or lose but it’s really more about the journey, as cliché as this may sound.

RULES

Before we get any further, let me state for the record that Mr. President was one of the easiest complex games I ever learned to play.
Good? Okay. Now I can say that the box comes with 10 rulebooks.
However, the only one you’ll probably read cover to cover is the slim “How to Play” booklet that provides a general overview of what makes Mr. President tick, what you’re trying to accomplish, and the fact that the game will keep you up at night with fifteen different ways to lose. Other than this, the flipbook is your friend. Just sit down and do what it says. It’s as a simple as that.
The other rulebooks cover scenarios, examples of play and designer notes, as well as a variety of charts and procedures you’ll reach for in order to make sense of whatever the world throws at you. But each time, you’ll be told what section you need to look up and when. No need to read it all ahead of time.
Lastly we have the actual rulebook—termed “Governing Manual”—which I recommend you don’t read until you have at least one full game under your belt. By then most things will make sense and you’ll just add a detail or two to your repertoire of international best practices.

Rules? Where we're going we don't need rules!

I can’t stress enough how helpful and powerful that flipbook is. What I love the most about it is not only that it makes learning the game an easy and engaging experience, but also that when I pick up Mr. President again after playing other games for a while, I won’t have to spend an afternoon relearning everything. I’ll just crack the flipbook open and get going.

My one nitpick would be about wars, where I thought the whole sequence could have been clearer. All of the required info is in there somewhere, but I ended up looking for clarity online. Which doesn’t take anything away from the fact that GMT bent over backwards to ensure everyone could hit the deck running with this.
So rest easy: you’ll be juggling West Wing scandals and rogue states wielding weapons of mass destruction in no time.

FUN FACTOR

Even though I’d been waiting for Mr. President for a long time, I wasn’t convinced I’d find it all that fun. I mean, it’s a lot of procedures. And sometimes procedures within procedures within procedures. On its own, each of them is no more complicated than what you’d expect from a bot opponent in your average solo game; but since we’re talking about the whole world reacting to your actions here (and initiating a bunch of stuff on their own), it’s a lot of problems you need to resolve with tables and charts.

And yet, despite all of the above, the game is thrilling, frustrating, fascinating. It’s damn addictive, too: I’ve gone to sleep way past my bedtime on several occasions since that big blue box entered my life. You start playing, and before you know it, you’ve been sitting there for four hours without moving. (“I can’t come to bed, honey—there’s just too much crap going on in Eastern Europe right now!”)

Africa wasn't faring much better, to be honest.


Mr. President is as much of an experience as it is an actual game. It offers more than enough agency for players to plan out a strategy (or try to), but the fact remains that I had even more fun with the game I lost on year 2 when a rogue state detonated a WMD in Israel, than with the early game I won ‘cause I was such a great president. (I was playing on easy difficulty, while die rolls and crises decided to be very nice with me. Won’t happen again, I’m sure.) The story the game unspooled was just more compelling when everything went to hell in a handbasket. 


PRODUCTION

Mr. President ships in the biggest box I’ve ever seen for a GMT title, a massive trunk that holds the 10 aforementioned rulebooks, plus two mounted boards (along with two smaller, cardstock ones), 180 sturdy cards, a couple of dice, and markers galore.
Once all laid out, the game makes grown men whimper and women swoon. 

The game ain’t exactly small. 

Despite the display’s impressive footprint, all of the information becomes easy to find once you’ve grown familiar with it—which happens surprisingly fast. (Kudos to the graphic designers who, somehow, made this possible.)

I’ve seen online complaints about errata, and sure, Mr. President is not immune to that plague. But given the sheer amount of documentation required to play the game (over 200 pages), I’m amazed even more mistakes didn’t slip in, and with much more dire consequences. I played a couple of games before even looking at the errata, and once I did I kind of shrugged. Sure, I’ll incorporate those moving forward, but I’m not convinced they would have altered the outcome of my games so far.

PARTING SHOTS

There are two different ways to play Mr. President: going into the core “sandbox” scenario where all the crisis cards are potentially in play, or opting for one of the four historical scenarios, each of which requires a specific crisis deck construction and operates according to special rules and unique victory conditions.
Both approaches and valid and interesting, but I think I slightly favor the core scenario. While I’m intrigued to face a specific geopolitical context (let’s pretend 9/11 just happened—what do you do?), I love not knowing what lies ahead and letting the gears and cogs of the game engine create a unique landscape for me to navigate. There’s an emergent quality to the whole thing that really talks to me.

I rarely go for a “one of the best” turn of phrase, but I feel forced to say here that Mr. President is indeed one of the best solo games I’ve experienced, and I’ve played several of those contraptions (going so far as creating a couple of them myself). With a scope and ambition that boggles the mind, the game was clearly a labor of love for designer Gene Billingsley, who finally realized a vision he’d been carrying around for decades. And the work’s not done: GMT has already put up a new scenario on their website, with a promise to provide more of them down the line.

I can only hope the game is successful enough for Mr. President to spawn an actual series. After all, this volume does bear the subtitle “The American Presidency, 2001-2020.” Can you imagine taking the wheel in 1960 and dealing with the impending Cuban Missile Crisis? Or in 1860, on the eve of the American Civil War?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to wipe the drool off my keyboard.


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POST SCRIPTUM

I can’t in good conscience stop before I provide new players with a few hard-earned tips.
 

  • Play the core scenario first. It’s got no special rules and the victory conditions are straightforward.
  • Play your first game on “easy.” You’ll have plenty on your hands, believe me. (The game offers some sort of “super easy” difficulty level where you get a -1 on most die rolls. I didn’t find this necessary.)
  • Don’t punch out all the counters to begin with. Perform your setup and punch counters as you need them. You’ll cut down on your digging-in-piles time.
  • Add two spare, brightly-colored pawns to your game equipment. I’m using one of them on the Prestige/Action Point track to remember the number of actions left (for you as well as for your allies and opponents), and the other on the world map to indicate where the current action/check/crisis is taking place. Together they speed things up tremendously.
  • In the big world region boxes, always put specific counters in the same spots. For instance, you could put the China influence counters in the upper left corner, the terror group counters at middle top, the civil war counters at bottom, and so on. Because the game will ask you to scan those boxes repeatedly (“For each civil war on the board…”), knowing where to look within each box will cut down on your playtime.
  • When you do move on to historical scenarios, you’ll be required to build the four crisis decks according to a precise roster of cards (listed by number). Picking each of them out of the shuffled deck is a pain, and so is reorganizing the entire stack in numerical order so you can then find the required cards more easily. What I do it divide the shuffled crisis deck into semi-sorted piles: one pile for cards 1 through 9, one pile for all the 1X cards (10-19), the next for all the 2X cards, and so on. Even though the cards won’t be arranged in order within each individual pile, this method makes it much faster to then assemble the listed crisis decks.
  • Spend a few minutes learning how to tell whether you’re holding a die-cut counter face up or face down from touch alone. That skill will come in handy for pieces like the tensions counters: you’ll be able to throw them in a cup and draw them randomly instead of trying to constantly shuffle them face down on the table. (Plus you’ll be able to use your new superpower in countless other games!)

 

The first thing you see when you crack the box open

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Friday, July 7, 2023

Designer's notes — Proteus

(This article was originally published in Steve Jackson Games' own Pyramid Magazine back in 2001, a faraway era when print publications still thrived. I thought I'd revive it here—in a slightly edited format—to celebrate the 2nd edition of Proteus, arriving this summer.)


“And Proteus began at once with his old tricks, first changing himself into a lion with a great mane. Then suddenly he became a dragon, a leopard, a wild boar; the next moment he turned into running water, and then, finally, he was a tree.”
Homer, The Odyssey, Book IV

I designed the basic mechanics of Proteus while waiting in line for the Back to the Future ride at Universal Studios, in California.
Seriously.

For some time I had been toying with the idea of playing a game with dice for pieces and the rules of chess for movement, but I had never sat down to figure out how such a game might work. I don’t really like chess: I find the frame of the game too restrictive (and I don’t mean the edges of the chessboard), but I’m fascinated by the movement possibilities of chess pieces. As a result, I oftentimes contemplate chess but rarely play it. I had tried my share of chess variants, but somehow I felt that my “dice chess” idea would create something interestingly different. If I could only figure it out.

Things stayed pretty much status quo for about two years. My brain might have been polishing up some 
concepts on its own, but I didn’t consciously work on the game until I found myself stuck in line at Universal Studios.
You see, I was alone in Los Angeles for work and, with a free afternoon ahead of me, the temptation of the Universal Studios demon proved too great to resist. So I went. At some point I ended up trapped in line at the Back to the Future ride, and since I had no one to talk to and hadn’t brought a book or a smart phone (we're talking 1999 here...), I thought it might be worth my while to start laying down the foundations of my dice-chess game. In my head. In any case, it would be a lot more productive than staring at the Hawaiian shirt in front of me for an hour. By the time I got on the ride, I already had a good idea of the inner workings of the game. And when I stepped out of my rigged Delorean (great ride, by the way), I couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel room and write everything down. But the day wasn't done yet, so I used the rest of my in-line waiting sessions to run a few mental tests and do some basic math.

At the end of the day, I drove back to the hotel with my head full of sketches and design notes. I knew that my game would be a two-player affair and that player turns would alternate. I also knew that each player would start with eight dice, that those dice would show a different chess piece on each face, and that the goal of the game would involve capturing several pieces (as opposed to neutralizing one particular target). Furthermore, a player would perform two actions on their turn: move a die and rotate a die (to change the identity of that piece) one step at a time. Most importantly (hey, we all have our fixations), I also had a name for the game: Proteus, the Greek god of ever-changing form.

I had trouble falling asleep that night, as Morpheus was always bumped by Proteus who thought some of his needs still had to be addressed.
And he was right.

First of all, I didn’t know how you were supposed to win the game. I entertained a vague notion related to taking out as many of the opposing pieces as possible, but somehow that felt wrong. Moreover, I still hadn’t found a balancing mechanism that would prevent powermongers from rotating all of their dice up to queens. There was also a delicate matter: I didn’t know what to do with the king. Since I was hellbent on eliminating the concept of checkmate from Proteus, did it make sense to keep the king in there?
I eventually managed to switch off, despite having resolved none of the above problems. I did try to refine and complement my notes the next morning on the flight back, but somehow I didn’t make much progress. 
Then, in one evening, I answers practically all of my questions.

For the sequence in which the chess pieces would "evolve," I chose to adhere to the traditional chess value sequence, with one exception: I placed the bishop in front of the knight, because I felt it would open up the game faster. That gave me pawn -> bishop 
-> knight -> rook -> queen. Still no idea about the king, though. But it became obvious that a player would have to move a die and then rotate a different die; infiltrating the enemy camp as a bishop and immediately transforming into a knight smelled of overpowered tactics.

Interestingly enough, the problems of game balance and victory conditions were vanquished at the same time, using the same solution. Back then I was playing the game with standard six-sided dice, remembering that the 6 was the queen, 5 the rook, 4 the knight, 3 the bishop and 2 the pawn (1 could have been the king, but meh). I thought it might be fun to win a game of Proteus by scoring the most points, with each piece being worth a certain number of them. In assigning point values to the pieces—I simply chose the number of dots on each corresponding die face—I discovered that such a scheme would also balance the game, because the stronger pieces would be worth more points upon capture.

Still, what about the king? Well, since you achieved victory through points, there was little incentive to keep it in the game. Without its essential function
—keeping you alivethe king just becomes a limping queen, and that’s just boring given the morphing nature of game pieces in Proteus. I could just have thrown the king away, but this was an opportunity to inject another new concept into the game. So instead of eliminating the king, I replaced it: the new piece would not move at all, but would also be impossible to take. I named that piece the fortress.

With these problems handled, I could sit down and play a few “real” games against myself. Everything was going rather smoothly: the game was simple, played fast, yet retained its potential for deep strategy. And then I hit a brick wall wearing an evening dress and a crown.
The queen.

Because of the mathematical progression of piece values, and because of the similar progression of their respective powers, the game was pretty balanced—except for the damn queen. The problem resided in the power of the queen being much greater than its point value. Between a rook and a queen, the difference in power is immense; yet the difference in point value was only one. That couldn’t work. One solution was to raise the point value of the queen, which meant assigning it some 
ridiculous valuesay, 12 points. But then a player capturing a queen would probably win, which would sort of take me back to the issue I had with the king in the first place. So instead I gave the queen a weakness: you could capture it by moving to the square right behind it—stepping on the queen's gown, as it were.
But would that work? I played some more test games and, sure enough, it did.
It was time to take Proteus out for a spin.

I brought my prototype to the Santa Rosa game store I frequented back then, and a couple of friends expressed interest in the game. We played it over and over again, and while I kept fearing that some obvious flaw would blow up in my face, no such thing happened. Then more people played it and the game still held up. We did toy around with a few things. For instance, we increased the number of pieces each player starts with (up to 12), but we only succeeded in creating quite a mess of a traffic jam, with games that would take more than an hour to completion, which was way too long for me
. We also experimented with fewer pieces for each player, but the game became boring and predictable. Eight—my original numberseemed to be just right.

At that time I had just finished translating both Illuminati and Tile Chess into French for Steve Jackson Games, so it was an easy matter for me to tell Steve about Proteus. I briefly described the game and asked him if I should just publish the rules in a gaming magazine, or try to find a publisher. He asked to see the rules, and wrote back the next day with a question: "Would you let me me publish it?" In-house testing would take place, naturally, but he asked for only one change up front: 
that the fortress become the well known "eye in the pyramid" Illuminati symbol that also doubles as the Steve Jackson Games logo. And before I knew it, my game was on the list of upcoming Steve Jackson Games titles.
So I got to work.

You want dice? We got dice.

The thing was, I hadn’t really planned on selling Proteus to anyone; I was just playing around with the game for my own enjoyment. But now that it was going to be out there in the wild, I thought the door was wide open for a series of intriguing variations on the basic rules. So I designed and tested a handful of variants, four of which ended up in the finished game: Trade-Off, Russian Roulette, Wall Street and Polarity. That’s actually five if you count the two different setups for Wall Street. Steve also suggested an additional way to play, which we ended up calling Warhorses, for a total of six variants.
Where did the discards go? Right this way. 

RANDOM SETUP
This was the shortest-lived of the variants I came up with. Rolling your dice to see what pieces you'd start with was the dumbest idea this side of the sun, and it only survived for about half a setup phase—I realized pretty fast there was no way I could make this work. Still, the concept of rolling pieces (because they are dice, after all) appealed to me, and that eventually became the Russian Roulette variant.

PYRAMID
The idea here was that pieces could only capture opposing pieces that were of equal or higher value. So a pawn could capture everything (except the pyramid, but that’s a given), and a queen could only capture other queens. This didn’t work because no player wanted to upgrade to stronger pieces.
“So what if you have a knight? I’ll just stay with bishops and the only thing you’ll catch is a cold.”
I tried playing the Inverted Pyramid (capture downwards) but it only succeeded in destroying the effectiveness of the weaker pieces and handing a flak jacket to the stronger ones.

BLACK & WHITE
Whenever you capture a piece, its point value is the standard one if it was captured on a black square, but is whatever’s on the bottom face (or 7 minus top face) if it was captured on a white square.
Pretty inventive, right? This one I did send to Steve, but in the end it was not included with the rest because it didn’t add all that much to the strategy. Plus, the configuration of the Proteus dice would be different from that of regular six-siders in order to facilitate the upgrade/downgrade procedure, and that would throw the point balance out of whack.

There were other variant possibilities, but most of them involved complicated rules, and I didn’t want to burden Proteus with unnecessary weight.
There was only one thing left to do, and that was asking Steve for a favor: I wanted to dedicate the game to one of my oldest friends, whom I’d known since we were both nine years old, and with whom I’d shared a universe of close games, hot matches, and gaming disputes. I gave Steve two versions of the dedication, with the short one ending up in the game. Here’s how the long one read:

“This game is dedicated to my dear friend Alexandre "Le Brown" Boivin, who started bugging me about designing my own game over a decade ago and hasn't stopped since. I'm as happy to see my first game published as I am to finally shut him up.”

There is a final variant, which Steve came up with right after he played his first game of Proteus. It didn’t make it in the game because of space considerations, but since there’s no limit on electrons (yet), here it is:

DICTATORSHIP
This is played with regular chess pieces and two Proteus dice. Each turn, roll the two dice. You must move one of the two pieces showing on your dice (pyramid=king). If you can’t make a legal move with one of the indicated pieces, you don’t move.
If this is too hard, roll three dice to give yourself more options. Or play with a handicap: the stronger player gets only two dice, and the weaker player gets three.


Now, what about my next game? I do have a few ideas floating around in my head; I’m trying to arrange a trip to Disneyland to sort them out.

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P.S.: Just as I was about to push this article live, a delivery guy handed me my advanced copies of the new edition! So here is the new Proteus, in all its glory:

Yes, it now comes with a board!



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