Alliance and Questor

Tuesday was supposed to be held at Joe's, but when Andrew and I both pulled out (I couldn't walk, thanks to gout) Joe charitably suggested we move the venue to my place, and Ian and Martin charitably agreed.

That was where the charity ended, though, as our first game was Root as requested by Martin and Joe and delightedly agreed to by me. Ian was curious - and amenable - enough after his play on Saturday to revisit.

Joe's birds (blue) begin to spread, whilst Martin's 

Alliance (green) have revolted

I won't give another overview as I've been writing about nothing else for the past two weeks, as previous posts will attest. But it's probably worth remembering that despite it's cutesy appearance, Root is as much a war game as something like Cuba Libre - possibly even more so.

With Martin there I was hotly anticipating which rules I'd been playing wrong, but fortunately there were only two minor corrections, and one glaring one concerning the Vagabond that went some way - not to take anything away from him, as we will see - to explaining Stanley's relentless parade of victories with this faction. Whilst I played the tramp himself, looking to complete Quests and possibly pick off the odd warrior, Ian reclaimed the Marquise de Cat, Joe played the Eyrie, and Martin was my personal favourites the Woodland Alliance.

We were off like a rocket - a kind of 1980's rocket, that made a big noise but didn't go anywhere, as Ian fell victim to the dreaded AP on his very first turn. He kept apologising, but Root is not a game where simple things necessarily suggest themselves. "Don't think too much" Martin told him, and Ian built a sawmill.

Ian, with me lurking behind

And so we began, and what also began was a procession of expletives from all corners of the table, with the exception of Joe, who remained sanguine throughout. The word fuck sailed through the air so many times I started jotting down who said what.

This game is fucking nuts - Martin, several times
Well, that's my infrastructure fucked - Ian, after I wiped out his sawmill
I should never have damaged that fucking hammer - me, regretting things
This decree is about to play out its last hurrah - Joe, admirably clean-spoken
This game is fucking mental - Martin, several times
That's me fucking fucked - Ian, after I wiped out two sawmills
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing - Martin, not necessarily telling the truth
Well, I'm fucking last then - Ian, victim again to our insurgencies

And the reason for all this profanity was the warfare playing out on the board, where the opening battles - Marquise versus Eyrie - were complicated by Martin's arrival in the form of some very cute little mice, with bombs. I - the Vagabond - was supposedly slipping in and out of the battle like a master tactician, gathering Quests and crafting some good shit. The thing was, instead of focussing on a particular type of quest - foxes, for instance - which would have been more rewarding, I was rather more scattergun, and hence less point-scorey. And I couldn't craft at all, because as previously noted, I'd damaged my hammer, and repairing it meant sacrificing a whole turn, sat in the woods on my furry arse.

Martin looks cute, but fools nobody

Ian's cats start the game as a natural target, as they have control over every clearing but one, and everyone hates the Marquise as a result. But Ian's brooding fatalism was somewhat in contrast to his march up the track, as mid-game he held a clear lead on the rest of us, and showed no sign of letting up with his many sawmills scattered across the board providing him with ample wood to build. He needed stopping, so I turned hostile and went on the attack.

Meanwhile Martin - as Ian kept reminding us - was building up to a big points haul in one fell swoop, but for Joe and I it was Hobson's choice, really - we knew Martin was going to hit jackpot at some point, but Ian was advancing with every build, and needed checking as well. We made an informal pact to take out both of them, despite the fact we'd been hostile since my second or third turn.

Martin on the verge of victory. Ian in second, but Joe about to play.

It got bleak. Ian tossed down his cards and said he didn't like the game. Joe went into Turmoil. I was languishing at the back on fairly minimal points, and glaring balefully at my broken hammer. Martin, despite his apparent bewilderment, and Ian's warnings, was gearing up for a win.

We focused our efforts on him, but Ian's two attacks ended in disaster - the first at the hands of an ambush, the second with a shitty role that favoured Martin (the Woodland Alliance are the strongest in defence, taking the higher roll when attacked). Martin told Ian to stop sulking. Ian said he wanted to sulk. Joe waded in on Martin, and so did I, but it wasn't enough: Martin crafted, spread sympathy, and disdainfully flicked Joe's home roost off the board as the cherry on his rodent-flavoured cake to hit the thirty-point mark.

Joe finished second whilst Ian and I - thanks to my hastily-formed coalition on my final turn, which I'm not sure Ian truly welcomed - were last third together. I would have been fourth if not for the coalition.

Martin!

Martin (Alliance) 30
Joe (Eyrie) 23
Ian and Sam (Marquise, Vagabond) 21

My dreams of a GNN group hug for Root look somewhat dashed, then, with Andrew and Ian far from convinced and Martin mostly bemused. At least Joe likes it! For me, I think it's the most fascinating new game I've played in a long time, one that always tells a story. It prompted much discussion afterwards, with even Ian conceding he'd play again - just not as the Marquise, who to be fair has probably the least gripping objective of building stuff - and without the tricky-but-interesting curio of the Eyrie's decree to accompany it. Martin was intrigued enough to revisit it too, and I'd definitely encourage that. As I've become more familiar with what's going on, the bafflement (if not the feistiness) drops away and you can focus on the tactical play much more... albeit I didn't do that particularly well myself last night.

Then, after Ian's spooner-related story about checking junk and spam folders, we played Lost Cities: The Rivals. A first play for me, and accurately described by Martin as Lost Cities meets Ra. I'm terrible at these bidding games because I play so conservatively, but it was fun all the same - a multi-player Lost Cities where you can force up the bid or play a single coin/token to force an auction - like having an optional 'one' token in Ra. Ian recovered from his Root experience to rack up a very convincing win, as Martin, Joe and I gnashed our teeth in despair.

Ian 44
Martin 36
Sam 33
Joe 32

And then we ignored Martin's protests and played Perudo. I'd love to say I played a blinder but to be fair I think there was only one instance where my dice were a jamboree - often I had a very helpful set of the same number, and often they were sixes or aces. Martin - to my left - kept dudo-ing and being utterly appalled by the failure of probability, as he lost die after die and was first out by some distance, leading to yet more coarse language. Next up was Joe, who while Palafico made an ambitious bid of two sixes. I had no sixes at all, so dudo-ed. Then Ian and I faced off and I dudo-ed again when he doubled my bid of a single four, and I had none.

Sam - wins!
Ian
Joe
Martin

Martin was keen on another game, but Joe was of a mind to go. Martin asked for a lift, and Joe said no. There followed a debate about how long it takes to drive to various destinations in Bristol, before Martin banged his fist on the table (metaphorically) and said he wanted a game or a lift, causing much mirth. They negotiated their way to a lift to the motorway, and we called it a night. A classic night. Thanks guys!