Blog Archives
Queen of Lies
I’ve said before that Salt & Pepper Games is doing some of the finest work in the industry, especially when it comes to historical titles that draw in newer and veteran players alike. Queen of Spies pairs Liz Davidson with David Thompson, who produce a handsome, if uneven, solitaire perspective on resistance and spycraft in the Great War.
Syphilitics
Moving to Paris to embrace my inner bum/artist has always been one of my life goals, so Jasper de Lange’s Bohemians was a safe bet. Set in the drowsy days and smoky nights of Paris-That-Was, this is a love letter to the wanderers who set out to thumb their noses at society and create timeless works of art, and sometimes even did, but spent more of their time sleeping in, strolling the streets, and spreading syphilis.
Did I mention that Bohemians is also a deeply funny game? Top comedy, this.
Neither Board Nor Counters
I remember the first time I felt doubt. It was the night my little sister was diagnosed with type-1 diabetes. Mom figured it out at the grocery store — we’d been through this once before — and was sharp with us, but she let me buy a treat and for a while on the ride home everything seemed okay.
Then she said it. “I think Em has diabetes.”
There’s that pang even now. That lurch. Em was three. At home, we already had the equipment from my other sister’s diagnosis. The glucose monitor. The ketone strips. Mom was crying. Em was crying. I couldn’t tell which was worse, my mother’s grief or my baby sister’s wails. I went upstairs to my room and shut the door and prayed so hard it felt like my stomach would roll into a ball and fall out. Please, I said. Please, Heavenly Father, give it to me instead.
Nothing. No miracle. I didn’t really expect one, even as a ten-year-old. But no comfort, either. I cried, then went into the bathroom and nearly vomited, then crawled into bed and cried some more. When I looked out from the cocoon I’d built around myself, there was the treat from the store. Sugar. Something my sister would have to avoid from now on. I threw it in the trash and fled back to my blankets and that’s where the memory stops.
The Great Commission, designed by Simon Amadeus Pillardo and Paul Snuggs, is sometimes about doubt. Not often, but sometimes, and not always in a way the game seems to understand. Set during the early years of the Christian Church — strictly speaking before there were Christians or churches as we conceptualize them today — it is preoccupied with the evangelizing mission that Jesus commanded after his resurrection. Or rather, a particular interpretation and portrayal of that mission.
The New Dog-Ears
Storyfold: Wildwoods isn’t the game I was expecting. It isn’t the story I was expecting. If we want to be a little more crass, it isn’t the product I was expecting, either.
Fetch-Building
To quote the Holy Bible, John D. Clair keeps trying to make fetch happen. That isn’t an insult. If anything, I admire the guy’s persistence. Unstoppable is his latest attempt to master the “deck-building but also you’re building the cards by sticking other cards into increasingly overstuffed sleeves” system that he kinda-sorted invented (provided we ignore Keith Baker’s Gloom), following up on Mystic Vale, Edge of Darkness, and Dead Reckoning. This one is a solitaire outing, and it’s the most expansive expression of Clair’s approach to card-layering yet.
Which isn’t to say it doesn’t have some pretty big hangups, unfortunately.
All Workworkwork and No Play
By the time my brain was being compressed like fine pasta out through my ears, my self-confidence had taken more than one impact and, although this may reveal too much about the ailing functions of my inner ear, I had suffered a few vertiginous moments that bordered on nausea.
This is Workworkwork, the latest effort from Blaž Gracar, the madman who gave us LOK and Abdec and All Is Bomb. Like the first pair of those titles, Workworkwork is a puzzle book, comb-bound and packaged with a transparent plastic sheet for doodling on with a dry-erase marker. Unlike your average sudoku or crossword, this is a necessity. There is no solving these puzzles on your first go. Instead, it takes practice, experimentation, and failure. So much failure.
How Was the Gameplay, Mrs. Lincoln?
I know it’s far removed from today, but the assassination of Abraham Lincoln makes me sad in a way that most historical events do not. Thanks to my father’s interest in the topic, the Civil War was my first real foray into both history and wargames, and the Gettysburg Address was the first speech I ever memorized. Not original for an American schoolkid, I know, but still.
There is some small upside: playing Wes Crawford and Ryan Heilman’s The Pursuit of John Wilkes Booth, I had that extra motivation to nail the bastard. Some part of me approaches the subject reluctantly. It’s a game about the early history of American policing more than anything, staffed with military detectives and Pinkerton agents and Secretary of War Edwin Stanton pulling strings to put more federal cavalry under my command. Like the Civil War that had ended only five days before the traitor’s bullet found its mark, this is America’s Old Testament period, its belly fired with vengeance and fury. I know the problems. I have my hangups. And yet there is nothing I want more than to catch the assassin before he crosses some remote frontier.
Manifest Sudoku
Manifest Destiny, the sprawling, brutal comic by Chris Dingess, is a tough read. Pitched as an alt-history version of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, one where minotaurs and head-snatching pterodactyls pose as much of a threat to the survival of its battered Corps of Discovery as starvation or the weather, it’s both a rollicking adventure and a mouth-covering gasp at the westward roll of genocide. And if those elements don’t sound like they blend as smoothly as chocolate and peanut butter, you’d be right on the money.
But I’m not here to review the comic. Corps of Discovery: A Game Set in the World of Manifest Destiny is the third title from Off the Page Games, Jay Cormier and Sen-Foong Lim’s follow-up to both Mind MGMT and Harrow County. As a game — and in terms of quality — it hobnobs more with the former than the latter, presenting one of the best exploration puzzles I’ve ever witnessed. As an adaptation of the comic, unfortunately, it leaves the tale only half-told.
Gastrotheism
There’s an old anthropological theory that religions naturally develop from polytheistic to monotheistic. Like many anthropological models, this one is outdated and hated by pretty much everybody. Religious folks dislike the theory because it implies their religion evolved over time; everybody else notes that there are plenty of modern polytheists, not to mention religions that defy the monotheist/polytheist rubric altogether. Anthropology: uniting theists and doubters since 1647!
Despite producing some rather bad science, the notion of a pantheon gradually winnowing itself down from a whole extended family to a singular daddy-god is the topic of Monotheism, a deck-in-hand card game designed by Frank Brown Cloud and illustrated by Jennie Plasterer. It’s delightfully unhinged.
Skyblivionrockmarsh
Way back in 2011, Todd Howard let it slip that Skyrim would have “unlimited dragons,” dragging surprised reactions from the internet. Don’t believe me? Here’s pre-People Make Games, pre-Shut Up & Sit Down Quintin Smith’s press release on the matter. It’s pleasingly sarcastic. Because, you know, “unlimited nouns” has always been the Elder Scrolls’ whole thing. This is the fantasy series that made volume its defining metric. Depth? Nah. Enjoyment? Get outta here. Kelvins? Only if you’re talking about Lord Kelvyn, the Redguard Knight of the True Horn. No, really. Like I said, unlimited nouns.
Which brings us to The Elder Scrolls: Betrayal of the Second Era, Chip Theory’s adaptation of not only Skyrim, not only Oblivion, not only Morrowind, not only those other ones nobody talks about anymore, but the whole dang universe with its boundless recreations, provided your recreational interests are limited to hoofing across fantasy landscapes and murdering fantasy gobbos. It comes with a bazillion components, weighs so much that it should have a team lift warning on the box, and costs as much as twenty-five burritos from my favorite local burrito place.
You heard that right. Despite my policy on the matter, this thing is so pricey that I think it warrants some discussion. First, though, I want to walk you through the shape of an average TES:BOTSE campaign.
SPACE-BIFF! 