Runebound adventures come in two different flavors – in a big box (covered in part 4) and in a little box. This part will look at the latter.

While most of Runebound's many expansions come as a small deck of cards, Runebound also has a number of more traditional 'big boxed' expansions as well, which come with lots more cards, miniatures, tokens and board overlays.

In this final part we will take a look at these.

 This is my first shot at something like Photoshop.    

(Ed. Note:  You did fine, Mr. Bailey.  You did just fine.)

When I was just beginning to write about board games on a regular basis, I had a conversation with a friend of mine about a particular piece I had written. I expressed my desire to become at least something of a notable personality in the hobby, and he told me that if that was something I wanted I would do well to create a video series that explained complex games. I have never had a ton of use for video board game content, so I explained that I only really had the time and inclination to stick to the written word. That was what brought me into the hobby, and that was where I wanted to contribute.

An interesting question Phil Gross recently asked is why low-interaction games are so popular these days. Even though I'm not really sure whether these types of games are actually popular nowadays, I do wonder why people like games with very little player interaction. So in this article, I want to look at the attraction of games that are either completely multiplayer solitaire or provide very little opportunity for players to interfere with each other's game.

A discussion on drama, tension and why I still love this hobby. 

The definitions of Ameritrash, thematic, and narrative driven gaming all seem to blend together and coalesce into an obscure creed that is more about espousing a particular attitude than any specific mechanics or structure.  Limiting the scope of these terms and trying to box them into discrete informative descriptors is a monumental waste of time in the fusion menu of the current scene.  I'm no prophet or authoritarian and won't pretend to have any sway in reforming thought to align the contemporary industry with a certain way of thinking, but I think we need to strip off the enormous mounds of chrome, miniatures and flavor text so we can get back to discussing why these games truly stimulate our brain and shove our hypertension off a cliff. 

I consider myself an Ameritrash gamer; a proponent of moxie, trash talking and a militant terrorist to heads down number crunching and optimization.  The main tenet that weaves like a gazelle pounding through the gestalt of gaming in my universe is drama.  Dramatic tension in the form of bursts of alternating hushed intensity and shouts of ferocious emotion is my jam.  Memories about this intrinsic connection of equal parts affection and despair stick in my brain and if you aren't partaking in something that warrants remembering then you're wasting the few precious moments of your waning life.

Games foster drama from two distinct vectors: social and mechanical.  The social aspect shifts the burden of fabricating enjoyment from specific mechanisms to participants colliding and trading mental jabs.  This can be a result of negotiation as well as deduction via verbal sparring.  Negotiation is a trait that is inherent in some designs but is more of an attitude and approach to tackling the challenge of victory.  My groups tend to jabber away and go overboard, piling on peer pressure to gang up on the leader and bullying each other into making aggressor perceived sub-optimal moves.  Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't but universally the result is interesting and impactful. 

Games like Cosmic Encounter and Sons of Anarchy set the pitch to bring this duel of wits to the fore.  By including mechanisms that require social engagement while leaving the door open to backslide it shoves participants into each other like the trash compactor walls in unit 3263827.  The victims become flush with anger and threats are issued and for a brief moment everyone forgets their miserable life and leaves their iPhone tucked away quietly in their pocket.  Emotion is the most direct path to the brain and the poignant response elicited is worth more than any grail game you have collecting dust on a Kallax.

Deduction is the other side of the social coin and has arisen like a leviathan the past few years, claiming a large host of cultist followers.  Releases like The Resistance and One Night Ultimate Werewolf have ushered in an era of prominent betrayal and complex social dynamics with minimal fuss and miniscule playtimes.  The impact of a traitor among a group of allies is a powerful tool and one that immediately manufactures persistent attention and witty scrutiny.  When Steve's sitting next to me in a game of Nexus Ops I might call his mother a lady of the night but if we switch things up and we're running Spyfall, well then I could care less about his immediate family and am more worried about protecting the soft flesh of my lower back.  Suspicion and paranoia fill the gaps of downtime and captivation becomes the overriding noun. 

Social deduction and negotiation are powerful and smooth tools for a design to casually integrate for maximum influence on the table's dynamic, but there's a whole other spectrum of designs that wield an altogether different wicked implement for maximum violence.  Concrete mechanisms are about guiding the users towards an intended experience by enforcing a small degree of control.  It's a delicate balancing act as squeezing too tight will choke the life and personality out of a system and leave you with a frowny Euro-dude running his fingers across wooden cubes of varying color like Matthew McConaughey pulled from his Lincoln into a game of Caylus.  Going the other way and letting things ride like the wild Autobahn results in formless meandering that leads to frustration - which is NOT the type of drama we're angling towards.  Yes, that's you I'm kicking in the sack Betrayal At House On The Hill.

The main away to smoothly transmit tension and intensity is by allowing varying outcomes and swings of power that are contained just enough to feel fair.  Resolution systems that employ dice or cards are the most prominent solution but more clever systems exist such as board states and force pools that shift to create openings and opportunity.  All of the great Ameritrash titles allow for unexpected reversals and daring gambits primarily because they strike that rich vein of emotional gold that always lingers at the surface of our conscious. 

Designs gravitating towards this connection can certainly be extremely well designed and full of thoughtful integration.  An underlying current of arrogance seems to be permeating portions of the industry as proper hobby games are deemed to feature multiple cross systems of shifting quantitative and mathematical challenges providing the framework for a large decision tree stretching into the caverns of the mind like a berth of Henry Ford assembly lines stretching into the abyss of greatness.  Games focused on less rigid structures of emergent challenge can be deemed elementary and relegated to the sidewalk like a popcorn stand with a broken wheel dwarfed by the gigantic steak house puffing its chest in the background.  The truth is inherent randomness and variety of perceived outcomes in no way constitutes lazy principles of design or mechanisms of an inferior variety.  When implemented well, these systems pound your skull with a verifiable flood of intense imagery like Alex strapped to a chair with his eyes forced open by a crude contraption.  I'll take that stiff broken leather seat every day of the week.

Drama, tension, passion, and intensity - these are the guiding principles of my hobby and why I'm still as enthusiastic as ever. If you want a seat at my table you best come willing to bear the truculence and take the abuse like a catcher without a mitt.  Just be aware that should the tides turn and your wall of ferocious warriors stand atop my broken army, I will be the first to slap you on the back and cheer you on, right after I've gathered my senses and wiped away the salty crimson tears.

Take that, Ken B., I've scored my own interview with an international boardgaming celebrity designer. You got pwned, I'm in ur base killin ur dudes, and so forth. So here's a little email interview I did with Corey over at FFG regarding the STARCRAFT board game, which as we all know Frank already has and we don't. Of course I don't own a copy of SHEER PANIC so I guess that balances everything out in the end.

OMG Zerg Rush on over to Gameshark.com!

This is a copy of an article originally published on the old F:AT blog. Read original comments.  

Have you been making excuses for not painting the miniatures in your game collection?

So, the original plan was to have this article go out around the same time as the Warcry release, and with the recent birth of my son you've probably all now figured out how well that panned out. Yep.

In a recent Trashdome Shellhead mentioned that he wouldn’t play QUEEN’s GAMBIT because the movie it’s based on is utter crap. That got me thinking: we always say that good AT games tell stories, but what games actually tell good stories? And more importantly: why? A look at the dramaturgy of board games might give some answers.

Just how linked are Ameritrash and Sports games?

The last two years have seen a seismic change in the way the community interacts with games. As the Covid 19 pandemic shut stores, closed conventions, locked down local meetups, and put a finish to us visiting our friends, we turned to the virtual to scratch our tabletop gaming itch.

When Z-Man published Tales of the Arabian Nights, they left out the Adventure Variant from the original game. In my personal opinion this means they left out the game part of the game. As Zev has pointed out to me, it's my own fault, since when he was asking for input on how to overhaul the game, my peeps and I never spoke up. I'm making up for that now by giving you this variant so you can put the game back into Tales of the Arabian Nights

Maybe someday Z-Man will release this as a small card expansion. If that ever happens, I will take down this article and the attached file. It's a pretty ugly looking file anyway, and it would be nice to have pretty cards instead. Plus, I left out one quest, so it is not complete. I hope Zev doesn't mind this being up here. I also hope that it will add a bit more zing to your game of Tales of the Arabian Nights and lessen the whining about there being no meaningful choices in Tales of the Arabian Nights.

We have a group that plays big games of Talisman with every expansion a few times a year, and I like to get my own games together from time to time.  Our big games always have all the Adventure Cards mixed together into one giant deck.  I decided for my games I'd rather have a smaller and more coherent decks centered around various themes.

It was a filthy, awful hole. The furniture was ancient, the carpets torn and the wallpaper peeling. There was food mouldering in the fridge when we moved in. But it was cheap and so it was home. It consisted of two rooms. One was a kitchen diner with a bed in it. The other, mine, was a bedroom with an en-suite toilet. I used to lie in bed in the mornings, listening to my flat-mate take a dump while I smoked cigarettes to cover the smell.

My small collection of games lived on a high shelf in the airing cupboard. It was all I could do to keep them from the nightmare of the rest of the place.

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about team games.

I mean "team" in its most literal sense. How many board game are there where you and another player truly share the win or loss through shared effort, without reservation or caveat? If you're talking cardboard the list is pretty doggone short.

Nearly a quarter of a century ago I visited Historicon for a day, more to gawk at the beautiful miniatures than to engage in the gaming itself. As I was walking through the main room late in the day a man looked at me and said, "John, thank God you're here. We've taken the liberty of setting up your units so you'd be ready to go." I was wearing a name tag -- I'd never met the man, and as I eased into the chair and told him he had the wrong John he said, "if you're breathing, you're the John we're looking for. The rules are easy OK? You'll have the simplest part. Your job is here -- to hold the center of our position." His finger was pointing at the middle of a big line of expertly painted minis. Byzantines, I was a big slice of infantry with a bit of cavalry on each end. On both my left and my right was the big armor -- knights on heavy horse that would be controlled by my two teammates, men I had met just 30 seconds prior. In miniature wargaming having a pulse may be all that's necessary to be welcomed into a game group, especially if you're more interested in catapults than lasers canons.

Team gaming. This odd moment in my history is what found its way to the top as I considered the concept. I was driving my daughter home from softball practice at the time. I had coached the jobs of all the positions in a throw-down play, and the importance of them working as a team. Softball and indeed virtually every athletic-endeavor on Earth have this foundational game concept -- team play. It's what we do. Even solitary games like golf and tennis assemble teams for special events, often the most anticipated moments in their respective sports. Yet boardgaming seems all but unaware of the concept. I've likely spent a thousand hours playing since the late 80s, but that moment at Historicon was the one that came to mind as I struggled for an example. I had been part of a team, and that had made a difference. It was a long time ago, but I had really enjoyed the play.

True team play in board games is pretty hard to find. It's not a crisis, but I'd kind of like to know why. I find it's absence perplexing. I don't pretend to be talented enough to design games so I'm not well qualified to place judgement on those who do. But either the market has chased everyone off the concept or there's some philosophical barrier to the idea multiple players sharing their fate, be it victory or loss. With very few exceptions it's just not done. Heck, we don't even like games with ties.

So I started to stew on it. I started to go looking for titles. Find the games with true teams, none of that unknown-allies bullshit that's so in vogue right now, no cooperative-play, no find-the-traitor or temporary-alliance-for-common-gain stuff. I'm talking matching-shirts kind of teams, one against another. I stumbled on just a few, and they pretty much fell into four categories:

• A few games with largely independent, homogeneous players such as Nexus Ops (with the optional team rule) Starcraft (also optional rule) and a few bang-head games a la Rush 'n Crushwhere getting one team member across the finish line first counts as a win for all. Much of the team concept here seems to be bolted onto a chasis designed for individual play.

• Some Bridge-family trick-taking games, though even Bridge dissolves one of the teams once a bid it taken. Double-Deck Pinochle is a clear team game. These games provide avenues to assist your teammate or work to their strengths. It also keeps one score for both of you.

• Some wagames such as Wooden Ships & Iron Men where large discrete units facilitate the concept. Wings of War is a more modern example. These games work the concept well because of the geometric nature of their play -- the movement mechanics give players good options to work in concert with each other. They also provide opportunities for strategy and tactics discussions between turns, coaching as well. But -- most wargames don't check this box. "For Two Players" is the general rule, so this category is thinner than it may first appear. The true beauty of the two titles above is that virtually any number can play, establishing as many teams with as many teammates (or none at all) as the players are interested in. They also clearly delineate team affiliation.

• Truly team-oriented gaming a la Memoir '44 Overlord. Now we're talking. In Overlord each side is a four-person team with a single Commander in Chief and three subordinate Generals per team. This is a great example of the concept, remarkable considering it's built as an afterthought out of 2-player game parts. A hierarchical relationship, there are two different roles in the mix on each side of the board and players have the opportunity to act in support of each other. Conceptually it's true team play. Each General is on the hook to succeed, but can and indeed must continue to contribute to the joint effort even if his position is collapsing. Success or failure is based upon the total success of all playing.

We spend our lives playing athletic games in teams. We accomplish our greatest triumphs in groups, taking joy from the camraderie. Indeed the concept is woven into the fabric of our ancient myths, where the forces of good must cooperate to defeat evil. It's harder to name competitions that don't play out in teams. What happened to boardgaming? Even kid games don't have it very often.

Back to Byzantium for a moment. Here's why that session stuck with me. One of the rules was that communication between players could only occur between turns, and it was limited to three words. I kid you not. In 950 AD battlefield communications were sent via horns and flags. More detailed messages could be delivered (too late) by messengers, but that wasn't very effective. This three-word message limitation was designed to reflect that. The let me ask about the rules, but not the battle. Finding this out was a bit intimidating since I hadn't so much as read the cover of the rulebook, and at the end of turn one I was already getting my ass kicked. The guy to my left had been forced to give ground early and an unlucky die roll had moved much of his force behind mine instead of straight backwards. My troops had been "shaken" -- unable to react effectively to conditions and with no clear ground behind me I couldn't pull back to regroup. Frankly, I didn't know what to do and in the face of a pretty dire circumstance I sent my teammates a message so concise I had a word to spare -- "now what?" I clearly recall one of the responses I received was "hold hold hold," and that was key. That's when the team thing came in. His message was short but it said more than three words. It said help is available. Keep contributing. Stay on the team. We can win this.

That was a great message to someone new to a game and in a jam. As it turned out our right flank began to deal solid damage and advance, so as the line of battle wheeled around in a counter-clock circle my troops got a bit of breathing room. They managed to regain their footing. They turned to keep facing the enemy -- apparently no small feat for a pre-gunpowder army, as I needed to make a tough roll of the dice to do it. I managed to hold the center, taking heavy damage and retreating ever so slowly. I was making mistakes, but I was doing some things right too. The enemy didn't break through. As our right came around the enemy was caught in a swinging door and had to retreat or risk being slammed into itself. A marginal victory due to our losses (minis people appear none too concerned about clearly-defined winning conditions either) but a win nonetheless. It wasn't mine; it was ours. I took joy in sharing the moment with two other players. Good gaming.

I've toyed with the idea of half-assing a team play out of existing titles, where each of three players sits down to a different game and the scores are somehow combined. Three games of Settlers, or a Settlers a Carc and a Kingsburg, that kind of thing. The trouble is that the plays would be largely or completely decoupled. Adding scores is just addition, not team play. In an open-field combat game your teammates come to your support, covering your flank, moving troops to your control or even stepping into harm's way to eat damage intended for you. You do the same for them. That coupling forms cohesion. It builds comraderie through shared risk and reward, and enhances the interpersonal aspect of the experience, likely with little or no addition to the size of the ruleset. It's foundational to the team concept too, regardless of endeavor. Weak players lift their game to give an unexpected edge, strong players take leadership roles. Everyone works to contribute because others are depending on them. Everyone plays harder.

So with 50 or 100 strategy games coming out per year in support of 2-4 players, why aren't designers trying to go after the 6+ slice of the market by working teams into the mix? Do we not like playing on teams? That's a serious question. Am I strange? Am I the only guy with interest in this kind of thing? It seems a natural place for some designers to go. But in a hobby designed to encourage human interaction and to nurture relationships, teammates may just step a bit too far over the line.

S.

Sagrilarus is a monthly columnist for Fortress: Ameritrash.

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