Sneaky tile placement wrote:The church bells tolled the witching hour as the knight waded through the undercity sewers. His torch guttered in the fumes, illuminating the arches of crude brick in an ever-shifting orange and black hemisphere. He kept his watering eyes up, away from the lumpy thickenings that clung briefly to his ruined armor and then slid away into the darkness behind. Standing watch be damned, he thought as he held his dinner in check, someone's dead at the end of this.Know that I abandoned Carcassonne in 2003 after only a handful of plays—it was unique, sure, unlike anything the American Experience had yet produced; but it had no teeth, and little to recommend it beyond bright colors and timid forms suitable only for children to engage with in parallel play...
Fast-forward through a decade of ever-increasing crankiness and fatigue with games games GAMES—in truth I grew tired of the Cult of the New years ago, much preferring the Cult of the Old and "depth gaming". We should, all of us, be so lucky as to "wear a game out" and actually become something like an expert at it; to do so with an entire group of likeminded souls is something most gamers will never get to experience. But I digress.
I came full circle and decided to pull out the ur-games, play them to death, whether that meant three or 300 plays—we would see how far they could march before succumbing and being trampled into the mud of never again.
First up was Carc, hitting the table with a thud. We will play this and tire of it, I figured, as four-year-olds tire of the sand table, resorting to hair-pulling for variety and then snacks and naps...
O GLORY OF BEING WRONG
The "kids" are now grown and at university and the games we played were at first sweaty, then bruising, and finally, wholesale slaughter—every tile a tea-bagging, every follower a disaster—who knew something as adorable as a "meeple" could stand in for domination, ruin, ethnic cleansing?
This list is an agglomeration of my game comments on the vagaries that make up Carc—a record that chronicles my evolving views on this truly Great Game... But it also stands as a psychic ward against all the trauma and bad beats, like a stickman totem buried atop a mass grave of hobo bones to hold them at bay in the deepest of nights.
And hey, if anybody else gets a kick out of it, so be it—with apologies if it's to the head or groin.
- [+] Dice rolls