It's not often I feel compelled to recount the activities in my adventures into board games, but the other night deserves some commentary, simply because it was epic: I won. First, a little history of me and risk. I don't like it. I played once or twice as a kid, as I'm sure everyone does, because when I found myself confronted with friends in high school, I "knew" how to play it. The strategy game is so classic that it has permeated everybody's knowledge, just like Monopoly:
anybody can sit down and start playing the game. Because you're playing the game doesn't mean you're actually
playing it though, and this couldn't be more true for Risk, simply because there is some degree of strategy involved. I guess my previous statement could be negated: you don't necessarily need strategy, but as I think about playing, I become overburdened with the stress of preemptively determining a strategy, and the stress comes from not being a strategist at all.
So we would play the vanilla edition of Risk in high school, and while I remember playing the game, I don't remember it being an ordeal or anything; I couldn't tell you if I was good or not. We played a few times in university but not without a fight. I can recall playing once, an edition of Risk I had not experienced, with naval routes and whatnot, and actually coming out on top simply because I was so inept at the game. You don't heed the underdog that much, and in the sake of gamesmanship, you don't want to knock somebody clear out of the game early on and I think the pity went far into my eventual return to conquer, in that case, at least. I wonder how often this "strategy" works for Risk players.
And that's always been a problem with Risk: knocking people out, and having them observe for potentially hours afterwards as the game continues. Same thing with Monopoly; a game that can go on for what seems like infinity, where not everyone gets to play. Recent board games would go onto rectify that situation, and Risk, getting long in the tooth and wanting to get modern, released a couple of new variants, one of which is
Godstorm. There are plenty of modifications from the core game, but the big one is the number of turns, or epochs in this case: there would only be five. It doesn't sound like much, but our game last night was three and a half hours long, and there were comments thats turns were going about quickly. They managed to find a happy medium where everybody was occupied, keeping their minds busy and thinking about the game but not how long it was going on for. You can strategize a couple of turns in advance if you wanted, but every turn was new: with the additions of cards you can obtain, the game can take a turn in any direction very quickly.
Now, it's not completely random, of course, because you have to choose carefully when to "cast" your cards: some destroy random territories, armies, or provide an extra die in combat, adding surprise defenders or attackers, or even swapping all the armies in two territories. If your opponent has cards, you must be prepared for just about anything. And because there are only five turns, your hand is forced into action almost every turn: if you don't move, your opponent will, and before you know it, the game has ended. And as always, stretch yourself too thin and you'll find yourself with a severe lack of territories. There are some interesting dynamics which take experience to learn, and the more I play this game the more I like it. There are god units you control, which have different effects, such as winning on all ties, or re-rolling 1's on the die, and of course, when two gods clash, you have yourself a god-war.
Now, to spare you much of the intricacies of the game, I'll just get right into last night's outing. I'm always a firm believer in randomly assigning territories: it just seems fair. It so happens that I ended up with the belt of Europa at the very beginning, as well as a few scattered regions. You can see the board taking shape, and once everybody starts placing the rest of their units, things get interesting. Already the strategy wheels are present: somebody is making a clear run for Atlantis and Asia Minor; Hyrkania is plague-ridden and questionable, but somebody could make a move for it. As always, Germania will be a hotbed of action, and Europa was largely, left alone. I put a lot of armies in there, but it's not a strategy that I like: I don't want to be the focus. Instead, I typically try to stay strong with smaller regions. Europa is worth the most in the game, at 7, and is typically impossible to hold.
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| Click on the map for a more detailed view of the game board |
This game was no different. In a couple of turns I had managed to capture Europa, but a rather valiant run through the plague lands coming from Hyrkania meant I would not get the bonus. With a big target on my back, my temple in Graccia was overrun and in just one turn, I was completely powerless. There was no way to come back from this, and for a time, I was without hope. Now, I'm not sure why my attacker didn't proceed with the wipeout, but it probably comes from the pity I mentioned earlier where you want to be fair and not take somebody completely out of a game, but they also did not want to spread themselves too thin, or the next superpower could just waltz in. With only two turns left, I didn't have much to do but fortify, build armies in Roma and bide my time, hoping something happens. Then, I pick up a card that would be the basis of strategy. I don't think I'm a strategist, and in Godstorm you never know how things are going to work out, but this card would give me a chance.
I had three gods out, a decent number of armies and my opponents were making a run for control of continents as the five epoch was underway. The underworld was rife with battle and insanity as the board was mostly cleared of armies: indeed, many territories only had a single defender sitting on them. This is typical in the last epoch, as there is not a lot of sense in keeping armies around for the next, and netting territories and continents is what gives you the points needed to win the game at the end (winning is based on a tally of victory points for various things in the game, the most coming from the territories you are in). Also, every epoch, you determine play order through a bidding system, and I needed to go last. Because on my turn, once everyone was spent and had ruled me out, I played a card that would reverse time: we were going back an epoch. This meant to everyone: insanity. They had spent themselves dry, thinking it was the last turn.
It was almost like my opponents were confused at to what to do: they weren't getting enough armies in the last turn to do anything of note, and they knew it. They finished up some battles and vendettas that were started earlier in the game, but I was left to take back Europa. It wasn't easy, of course, as the dice were not in my favour for most of the evening. I believe it came down to a one on one battle for control of the last territory, and my opponent is known for rolling incredibly well. Not this time: I roll a four, and he rolls a two. Victory in Europa. I had managed to take it back, and in being the last one to go, I knew retribution was non-existent. A skirmish in the underworld secured another couple of points towards my victory.
The four of us playing could talk for hours on what happened during the course of the game, and therein lies one of the best aspects of the Risk series: retrospect. We could talk about this game for ages, just as I like to talk about Cale's epic run through
two plague lands to take away my control of Germania, from a game ages ago. There is a certain elegance in the simplicity of the game, as the core mechanics make it deeper than it seems at first. If you are able to get a good group of people together, you are in for a good time.
What we get is a pretty interesting, and true story. Apparently these events did happen, and the two lions were killed in the end (ok, spoiled) and are on exhibit at Chicago's Field Museum (they may have been moved to Africa since). I was there just two years ago and don't remember seeing them, but there's a good chance I glazed over them like I did most of the exhibits (the fossil and rocks sections were the best). But this is great: apparently the only thing that was 100% fictionalized for the film was Douglas' hunter character: Patterson was so bad ass in real life he killed the lions on his own. He went on to write a series of books about them, which could have easily been exaggerated, but they seem to be the best accounts we have to go on. It's estimated these two lions killed a hundred or more humans in a relatively short amount of time. We see a cave full of human bones and remains in the film, and the horror should set in as this is not behaviour of lions we come to expect.
