Dice for Non-Mathematicians - 301

Besties
The the previous two posts, we've talked about how adding dice together changes the weight of different kinds of rolls.  But what if we AREN'T adding the dice together? What if people roll several dice and keep only the best roll?

Let's assume you have a game where a player rolls 1d6 and scores a point if it's a 4 or higher. What are his chances? 50%: [1,2,3] don't score and [4,5,6] do. Same as flipping a coin, right? So what would happen to his chances if you let him roll 3 times and keep the highest roll? Would his odds of scoring improve?

Dice for Non-Mathematicians - 201

Rolling At Leasts
Let's imagine a game where you I roll 1d6 and you roll 1d6 and have to tie or beat me.  So, I roll a 5. Sweet. What were the odds that I would roll a 5? Well, obviously 1 in 6.

Now, what are the odds that you will tie or beat me? Your possible roll table is [1,2,3,4,5,6], meaning out of 6 possibilities, you have 2 chances. Ergo, your odds are 2-in-6 (33%).

You probably could have worked that out without a roll table. What you probably didn't do, but is at the heart of this topic, is to add together the individual chances for each winning roll... but that's exactly how it works.

Dice for Non-Mathematicians - 101

Six Times Two Doesn't Equal One Times Twelve
When I was in college, I had a conversation with a friend of mine who was insistent that one 12-sided die was equivalent to two 6-sided dice.

He was adamant. I was... trying to be patient.

If you don't immediately see why he and I disagreed, that's okay. You've probably never been introduced to ideas like "roll tables." You maybe never had a statistics class (actually, neither did I).

That's okay. This isn't complicated.  In fact, when you actually see it, it's pretty intuitive.

Prototyping Skatepark Legends

I have been working (whenever I can steal a free minute) on a new project for the Time Challenge contest on TheGameCrafter.

While not all of the features are fully realized yet, I am pleased to share a look at the current prototype. I think I would go as far as saying this probably marks the turn from alpha to beta.

Prototype Board with Papercraft models!

The basic gameplay is a risk/reward mechanic, where players must manage their speed and movement efficiently, while still throwing down the most challenging tricks they think they can pull off.

Only one player is active at a time, and I may address that in a formalized way, but I want to see if the social component of the game (i.e. watching your friend's run, cheering them on, trying to talk them into risky tricks, etc.) are compelling enough to leave it alone. I suspect it might be... I hope so, honestly, because that keeps it more in line with the spirit of competitive skating.

As an aside: you'll notice I've included little "papercraft" models. They are purely ornamental, and do not change game play - but they sure make the board look cool. I plan on shipping the game with the templates in the box on nice glossy paper for folks to make their own.

I heard quite a bit of skepticism about papercraft components when I pitched the idea to some peers - principally because of how fragile they would be. But I designed them with durability in mind, and because of their small size, they've stood up pretty well so far.

And of course, downloads of the template will be available, so the models will be inexpensive to replace, if need be.

8-Bit Royale - Beta rolls on

I played through the current beta of 8-Bit Royale at a local gaming group. Definitely needs some refinement. On the plus side, people seemed to really respond well to the art work. Also a plus, the drafting style of team building seems much better.

 

On the negative side: some pacing concerns, power balancing (which I expected), and currency imbalance need to be addressed. The overall effect was not a slam-dunk play experience.

A few tweaks to the rules about taking and spending coins will probably address the largest issues. Power balancing is still a little nebulous, though. We'll see how things change after the next rule revisions.

 

 

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Concrete versus Abstract

Philosophically, I find that there are many parallels between games and literature.  Some games are very explicit in their narrative (such as most role-playing games) while others are a bit more esoteric.  Chess, for example, has an implicit narrative, though it is not much explored in the scope of the game.  It is simply a given that kings war with one another, and the motivation therein is largely irrelevant.

The more abstract a game is, the more obscure the narrative... or the more non-fictional it becomes.  For example, poker seems to have no narrative at all, yet watching people play can be very engaging because the players themselves are the narrative.
Perhaps that approach is insufficient as well.  Perhaps it is not a linear gradation, but a planar one.  There are some games, such as "capture the flag" that have a concrete objective as well as a non-fictional narrative.

Below is a chart to illustrate the point.  As I was working on it, I had trouble coming up with anything for the extreme Fictional/Abstract spot.  Perhaps this is just a short-coming on my own part, but I think perhaps it is illustrative.

I was tempted to put immersive "sandbox" games (like WoW or Little Big Planet) in this spot, but I had to resist on these grounds: When the game becomes narrative (for instance, when the player in WoW gets involved in the plot), it does so to introduce concrete objectives.  This is most often done in the form of "quests," but - as in the case of WoW - an expansion may have a larger narrative, the concrete goal of which is usually to kill the "Boss" of that expansion.

LBP on the other hand, is in some sense, immersive, but it really occupies a spot between fictional and non-ficitional, because there is no real narrative that drives the game.  It is about the interaction of the player (as the player or even as a level designer) with the fictional sack-people.

What does this tell us?  I think that for a game to exist, people need cognitive anchors.  The more the game exists in "our world" the more abstract its goals can be.  However, a highly narrative without a concrete goal simply leaves the player saying, "Okay... so... now what?"

There is more to discuss about the value of "representation" in making cognitive anchors, which we will explore in later posts.

Nalpha 2.1, the Learning Curve

This past week I had the privilege to test Nalpha in its current state with two folks who had not yet played it.  One (let's call him Terry) was familiar with DnD as well as MtG.  The other (let's call him Carl) had no experience with RPGs broadly, though he told me he had played MtG years back.

As I have intimated before, I believe Nalpha falls in the gap between traditional pen-and-dice tabletops and TCGs, which was borne out in comments from Terry.  So, it seems that both would have a general sense of game mechanics rather quickly.

What I observed was almost exactly what you'd expect, but I found it fascinating to witness it first hand in such a marked fashion...

Terry picked up the game very quickly.  He understood basic strategy almost right away, and throughout the couse of the campaign he made good choices for himself, as well as being able to counsel Carl well.

Carl, by contrast, had only a faint and distant recollection of TCGs and virtually no RPG experience at all.  His eyes darted from card to card rapidly on his turns, and you could almost feel his struggle to keep tabs on what was going on.  That is not to say that he was learning slowly.  I'd say he was learning at a somewhat typical pace.  It was just more pronounced when compared to someone closer to the target demographic.

All in all, the game went well, and both had a good time (though I dare say Terry had a great time), even though we lost.  I learned a few things about the campaign (it's farther behind in development than the Player Character core of the game) that will make the next edition a little better.

The biggest take away for me was that I think the game does what I want it to for the target audience.  It was more-or-less intuitive once some basic rules were established.   The bulk of game time was spent playing, not explaining.  To me, that marks an elegant system and ups the fun-factor significantly.

Nalpha: Emergence of a Subgenre

So, Nalpha is clipping along nicely.  I'm on the cusp of rolling out the next edition of beta.  Not nearly the huge core changes in this edition that we experienced in the last, but it's still pretty comprehensive.  Or to put it differently, I'm not quite to the point of fretting over the balance of each individual card yet, but those days are not so distant.

I was a bit dumbfounded to discover that, not counting the special "Character" cards, I had tasked myself with the creation of no less than 84 cards for the "Starter" version of the game.  Now, mind you, that is 84 discrete cards - no duplicates at all.

Which brings me to the topic I will be exploring: What do you do with a game that does not fit quite into an existing genre?


To understand my quandry directly, I'll talk a bit about what Nalpha is.

Nalpha (not the real name of the game, for you new readers), is sort of like a trading card game.  I have been clearly and heavily influenced by Magic: the Gathering as well as a few others in the genre.

On the other hand, Nalpha is, by virtue of its design, not a trading card game.  There really is no reason to trade anything.  The cards aren't collectable in any sense.  There is no such thing as a rare card.

For this reason, I have in mind a different idea of "expansion" and enduring marketability.  Forgive me if I don't disclose those to you (and the rest of the universe) here.

To me, the idea innovating a subgenre is exciting, and probably the only way a nobody-indie like me has a prayer and getting published but on the flipside, who do I approach about publication? 

Established TCG companies are a possibility, but they tend to be monolithic and chances of catching their attention seems remote.  Moreover, I don't know if they'd likely deviate from the established pattern of rare-card driven booster sales, since they have a formula that presumably works.  If I don't go that route, then who do I go to?  Table-top publishers?  I'm just not sure.

And that's the rub, isn't it?  As innovation increases so does unfamiliarity.  It's a bit of a double-edged sword.

Still, I have some time before I need to really look into the business end of things.  Maybe I'll have some answers by the time I'm ready to submit proposals.

Nalpha 2.0: First Look

A buddy and I gave the reworked Nalpha a shot and let me tell you: it was better.  Much better.

Now, the game was far from "all that I could have hoped for."  It still certainly has a way to go.  Moreover, what we did was a simple duel.  Dueling is an okay activity in the game, but I think it will never compare to any gamestyle with more than one member per team.

One one level, the metagame is about selecting the appropriate cards, but I think the larger metagame is about assembling a team.

On the whole, variation in gameplay is not as high as I would like.  Down the road I may increase the number of cards a player can use at once but, as I say, that is down the road.  For now, I'm simply pleased that the game is working at the most basic level.

Nalpha: Why it sucked.

So, my wife gracious tested "Nalpha" with me this weekend.

It was awful.  Simply dreadful.  It's not that the idea that it has grown from was bad, but the implementation was.  Gameplay was marked with tedium, and on any given turn (which should be the high point of "fun-having"), it felt as though the game played itself, rather than you played it.

My wife is honest with her words, but much more so with her posture, facial expression, and overall fidgetiness.  I was convinced that the game was bad.  And that is why I am so grateful to have had her try it out with me.

So where do we go from here?  Well, here's the process I went through:

First, I tried to be sure I understood what precisely wasn't working.  In this case I saw two major issues: tedious physical action (particularly when it wasn't my turn) and lack of options.

I try to look at troubleshooting and redesign in a medical kind of way: is the problem a symptom or is it the actual disease?  In this case, it seemed to me that the first issue was a symptom, and the second an actual disease.

A disease is usually easier to correct; you can address it head on.  Symptoms, by contrast, can be simply treated head on, but that may not really fix the problem.  So, you have to root out the actual cause.

I identified the root of problem #1 as being one of the core mechanics of the game.  That kind of sucked, but in a way I always knew I was unhappy with it; I just couldn't admit it to myself.  Altering it would mean losing a fair amount of the "class-diversity" I had intended for the game.  Nevertheless, a diverse game that's not fun is still not a good game.

So I wound up axing the old mechanic, but I did work out a new one that was simpler, faster, and less tedious.  A little tweak to the format of each turn helped save the class-diversity I was afraid of losing.

As for the lack of options, that was pretty easily addressed by simply lowering the cost of many cards so that more actions were available more often.  A rebalance of the potency of those cards was also necessary, but that wasn't terribly difficult.

So, I've printed a new Nalpha set.  Now, I just need to play a few games and see if the changes take.

Nalpha: Gimmick versus Optimization

I have been working on a few games concurrently, and one of them is a genre-mash-up somewhere between a TCG and a tabletop RPG.  For the sake of discretion, let's give this project a codename: Nalpha.

So, I've been working on this project for a couple weeks, and there was a bit of a gimmicky hook to the play action; the cards were used in a physical way as a game element that cards usually aren't.  Yes, I know I'm being guarded with my description, but bear with me.  I wouldn't probably be talking openly about this game at all, if not for the developmental crossroads I find myself at.


There are other things that make the game unique and - in my estimation - fun and interesting, but this is particular facet makes handling the cards feel different.

There are a couple downsides to the format, however.  For one, this implementation requires special play surfaces (a mat of sorts) that both takes up a fair amount of table-space, as well as mandates extra hardware (the mat itself) to play the game.  These in turn reduce the portability of the game; it is not very travel-friendly.

One of the things I love about TCGs is the ability to throw a deck in your backpack, purse, or pocket.  It's not a cheesy "travel-version" of the "real game;"  the real game is travel friendly.  You can take it to school, or the coffee shop, or a friend's house easily.  Pull out your deck and in under a minute you are playing the game.

I could redesign the game components (without changing game mechanics) to address all of these problems, and even give a few intuitive improvements to some cards.  But if I do so, then I eliminate the physical hook that gives you the "Whoa" impression when you first see the game.

Ultimately, I think either format will feel similar once you have learned the game (with a slight edge to the "redesigned" Nalpha), so it comes down to other factors.  The question I'm grappling with is simple, really:

Is having a strong (visual/physical, not mechanical) gimmick more or less valuable than designing components for optimum playability?

Marketing is a factor, but fidelity to the player (not merely the consumer) is important, too.  This question was posed in a different way by Arcade over at Learning Game Design, which I posited my two cents on.  But now that it's my crisis and not his, I'm finding it more difficult to sort out the issue.

The Learning Curve

This week I had the privilege of demo-ing my card game with a friend of mine I only see occassionally.  After the game I thanked him for testing for me and his response was this: "No problem.  I think I make a good tester because I am a slow learner."

I thought his comment was at once endearing (there was no hint of false modesty in his face or voice) and instructive to me.  He had fun playing... not merely because the game ran well but because, by his estimation, he understood the game well by the second or third turn.

I took this to be a good sign for a game that is meant to be light-weight and casual.  What I thought was even better was watching over the course of four games or so, he made consistently better plays.  His skill level increased as his experience increased.

There is, I think, a fairly low ceiling for how good you can get at the game.  It doesn't offer the strategic depth of something like Magic: the Gathering or interpersonal skills like Poker.  But there are choices and in most cases there are poor, fair, and good decisions that can be made.

I think that's the strength of my card game (I can't go into much by way of specifics if I hope to get published), but the gist is that the rules are minimal but comprehensive and the cards are fairly easily understood.  You can know everything there is to know in just a couple minutes.  But there is a "feel" to the game, a heirarchy of decision making that comes with experience.  Anyone who has played two games is unlikely to spend more than a minute on even the most labored turn, because cards are easily and situationally prioritized.

I've been told that my game lacks a "ground-breaking inventive mechanic."  I think that's true, but I'm going to continue to pursue publication for a while anyways because I believe it is worth it.  It's novel.  It's a joy to play.  It's a good product.

Hmm... I meant to spend more time talking about the role of "learning" a game than I actually did.  Perhaps I'll tie-in to this in a separate post later.

Just a brief update...

I got my first rejection letter!  I know, I know.  You're all very proud of me.  Well, I'm proud of myself as well.

Truth is, I didn't expect my first submission would be a success, and the critique offered was justified.  To be transparent, I identified the objections raised before I ever thought about sending my game off for publication.

But, the gentleman who I corresponded with could not have been more courteous and encouraging.  My supervisor at my actual job described the letter as "The nicest kick in the nuts" he'd ever read.  I'm heading to the next company with my game, so we'll see.

Again, in the interest of honesty (since this is my blog after all), I may never get this game published and that'd be okay with me.  I'm learning about how the process works, how the industry works, and just trying to keep my head up.  I've never tried to get published before, so this is a big step up from just playing with friends and then shelving the present game when I make a new one.

When I have more time, I will go a little deeper into what might be between me and publication.

Themes and Flavor

I am currently developing a casual-style card game ("Exchange"), and I have to say that it is shaping up nicely.  The mechanics are simple, the learning curve is shallow, but there is a discernable level of strategic play.  Play testing has been pretty good so far.

But I was hung up on a different level: Theming.  It's interesting to me that the core of the game (let's say the "game engine") can be nicely tuned and working great, but without a proper theme it can still feel lacking.

At first, I chalked up the notion of theming as simply a marketability issue.  And even now I will say that for the most part it is.  I have to say that I kind of frown when I try to picture someone walking through a game store (or game aisle in a big-box store) and look at my product.  What is going to make them want to play it?  Not much, yet.  Not because the game isn't enjoyable or well tuned, but because I haven't made something that stands out.

But let's take it past marketability.  There is something else that theming does to the game; it facilitates the emergence of a subculture.  Theming, at the most basic level, provides a discrete language (jargon, if you prefer).  

Now, indulge me in a short aside.  I am wary of jargon in most of my socialization, game design included.  It can be a barrier.  For instance, I have in my game used the words "withdraw" and "spend" in the place of "draw" and "discard" respectively.  Is it awkward at first?  A bit.  But, the game instructions explain the terms rather plainly, and ultimately I think it will serve the game.  Nevertheless, it is unabashed jargon for its own sake.

Jargon is the language of exclusivity.  And while most games don't aim to exclude potential players, exclusion can be a means of draw.

I know.  It sounds counter-intuitive.  Well, it IS counter-intuitive, but consider this: if you could not differentiate players from non-players would you want to become a player?  Would you even know there was a game?

Any group that would like to grow should be both exclusive and inviting.  What I mean is, there is a division between being in and out, but it is a line not a wall.  If you want to be "in," you can be "in."

There may be multiple levels of "in"-ness (consider the acrimony between casual gamers and hardcore gamers), but they will all share in the same sub-culture at some level.  A casual player may not have facility will ALL jargon, but he will have facility with some.  He will grasp the basic tenets, even if the minutia escapes him.

Can a game have no theming at all?  I don't think so.  I think a community who plays will spontaneously discover their own jargon, their own rituals, their own narratives.  But by intentionally theming a game, a designer has a guiding hand in the process (which is not, strictly speaking, a positive thing).  However, this guidance should facilitate the rise of culture.  Proper theming can, in some cases, even help bridge the gap between nominal interest and excitement.

So, as you may have guessed, I did work out a theme (though the question is by no means settled in my mind).  I've decided to use a world currency theme, and use some very basic economics terminology.  Verbally, I think it hangs together satisfactorily.  Visually, I'm not there yet, but I can see some potential.

Guess we'll find out when I print out v1.03 (hopefully soon).

Across the Table: Gaming as a Communal Experience

When I mention that I make games as a hobby, the first question I usually get is, "Like... video games?"  The answer is no.  Not, mind you, because I oppose them in principle.  I am an avid video gamer and I would be very amenable to the idea of working on one.


On the other hand, the answer is no not because I don't have the resources or know-how.  I have moderate flash skills and my own copy of the software.  I could be making (and have made) computer-based games.  There are some real limits on what I could do, but not really any more so than are imposed on me by not using that medium.


The answer is no because I want to sit at a table with someone.  I want to hold the cards or roll the dice or move the pieces.  And even as I write on this ephemeral, ethereal idea that is a blog on the internet, I have to say I like to get away from my computer screen.


People behave differently in person than they do remotely.  This should not be news to most of you.  In person, people are generally more patient, more gracious, more considerate, and more reasonable.  Playing is more of a cooperative endeavor when there is no artificial mediator.  On a computer, players seldom have to work through interpreting a rule; reaching mutual agreement about "fairness" is a non-issue in that setting.  The remotely mediated gaming experience implies naturally less ownership than the cooperatively administered game.


More and more, modern gaming is about getting together, not getting away.  I think this goes beyond merely wanting to have multiple players.  I think the trend is toward hanging-out while playing.

Consider what Xbox Live has done to gaming.  You'd think being able to play against people all over the world would be a matter of satisfying the hardcore, best-in-the-world types.  But when you really think about the Xbox Live experience it can be (and usually is) more about finding partners and teammates, talking (or even video conferencing) with friends, and "hanging out," than it is about ladders and rankings.  The whole notion of achievements is built around the idea that people are interested in other people as people beyond their function in a particular match.

This struck me acutely as I watched a stream of Blizzcon.  Blizzard has been in the business of matchmaking for their games for well over a decade now through a service they call Battlenet.  One of the big reveals (in fact it tool up the bulk of one of their panels on the long awaited StarCraft 2) was a total overhaul to Battle.net.

What caught my attention was when the presenter was talking about the places they looked for ideas and inspiration for how the new Battle.net would work... and things like Facebook and Google Chat were mentioned.  That little tidbit gave me a great deal of pause.  What sort of implications does that have?  It seemed both perfectly natural, and perfectly surreal that the Battle.net changes are not aimed primarily at improving gameplay (such as improved stat tracking and ranking algorithms, though I'm sure they have been working hard in those areas).  The renovation is moving to a trans-gaming community experience.

Conceptually speaking, the game is ceasing to be "the thing as such" and is becoming (or perhaps returning to being) the vehicle for a communal experience.

Sure there are still games that we can play in isolation.  I hope that developers will always make games with "campaigns" and single-player content.  After all, sometimes I game because I do want to get away.  But such times for me are much more the exception than the rule.

Which is why, as a designer, I still like dice.  I still like sitting across the table from a person.  I like the burden of hashing out an agreement on rules.  I'm just old-fashioned like that.  Or progressive.  Take your pick.

Questions for Testers: Designer Debriefing

In my previous post, I suggested a design philosophy that I try to incorporate in my games: Simplicity of Play and Depth of Strategy.


It should be noted that this is not the template for making "a good game."  Lots of "good games" don't adhere to this philosophy at all.  For instance, D&D does NOT aim for simplicity.  You need several books, tons of peripherals (maps, multiple types of dice, miniatures, informational sheets, etc) and one expert (the DM) to basically mediate the entire experience.  Is it a good game?  Absolutely.  In fact, not only is it testing well in longevity, but it has served as the template and inspiration of multiple genres.  I don't think it is a far stretch to say that D&D did for gaming what The Lord of the Rings did for fictional literature.


But, I digress.  The point is, the above philosophy is somewhat narrow and personal.  If you're interested in making good games, you don't have to adhere to that standard.  So, I thought I'd share some more "universal" tools for evaluating a game-in-process.


I think the best metric for the health of a game design is enjoyment.  The only way to gauge enjoyment is to ask people who have played the game.  The challenge here is that "enjoyment" is an effect, not a component of the game.  So to really dig out what is working (or not working) in a game, it is good to see what elements are contributing or detracting from the enjoyment of the game.  I find that a quick debrief with testers after the game can be vital to tuning a game from okay to good to "when can we play again?"


Caveat: No game appeals to everyone.  Some people you may test with might not like the game because it's just not their kind of game.  Figuring out what kinds of gamers will like your game is crucial in making good design choices.

Alright, so here is a list of some of the types of questions I ask of my testers to determine what is making the fun and what is killing the fun:

How was your overall experience? This may not always get the most honest answers if your testers are friends.  They may try to be nice, and that's not always helpful.  Still though, this is a good warm-up question, and once people are used to offering critique will in the long-run become more helpful.

Was anything in the game unclear? This is a technical question, and it's important that you listen to it as such.  However, this is also a way of targeting frustration (which I consider the prime enemy of enjoyment in gaming).

What felt particularly good?  What didn't feel quite right? These are not necessarily technical questions.  But, over all, these are the most important ones because it really helps separate what works from what doesn't.  Sometimes they are mathematical ("I think the barbarian is just hitting too hard"), sometimes they are aesthetic ("I really like the new counters.  Much easier to read.").  Sometimes, they will be maddeningly unhelpful ("I dunno... I just didn't like it that much").  

How was the pacing?  This question may need to be asked in different ways, but what you are secretly asking is "did I ever let you get bored?"  In most cases, it is difficult to make a game too fast, but very easy to make a game too slow.  Also, it is worth noting that in most games, pace increases as player familiarity increases.  This may not be a helpful question in your first session, but it should always be on your mind.

Who do you think would like this game?  More than anything, if someone is able to answer this question you've probably done something right: your game has a flavor.  If the crowd they describe is different than the target you had in mind, you've hit a crossroads.  Either you need to change course to hit your target, or you need to redefine your target.  Whichever you choose, you'll probably be doing some revision before the next session.

Let me leave you with a few closing thoughts about this process:

• Don't make "knee-jerk" changes.  Sometimes players are unlucky or just don't grasp a concept immediately.  Look for patterns of problems rather than isolated cases.  Make small corrections rather than big ones until you hit the balance you're aiming for.
• The more specific the responses you receive, the better.  It's okay to ask testers to go a little deeper in their responses, but be gentle and considerate and don't make them feel bad if they can't come up with more.
• Finally, never forget that testers are doing you a favor. In all things be gracious to them.

Dragons, Go, and the new Tic Tac Toe

As a game designer, I strive in most of my efforts to adhere to this two part philosophy: Simplicity of Play and Depth of Strategy. This two-part maxim serves as a balancing force in my games. The easiest means of increasing Depth is to bloat the game: add more rules, more choices, more math, more... whatever. The easiest means of simplifying play is to make things arbitrary (either by lessing the consequences of choices, or by increasing Chance as a game mechanic).

Now, I try to pay due respect to those games that have lasted for a long time. I think longevity is one of the best benchmarks of how good a game is (regardless of how you define "good"). If people keep playing, you've done your job right.

Having said that, I have to say that I don't like Tic Tac Toe. Sure, it's been around for a very long time, but there is something unsatisfying about it. It certainly appeals to the principle of Simplicity, but it lacks any real Depth. The fact is, there is a means of mastering the game. When two "masters" play eachother, it is impossible for the one who plays first to lose. The fact of the matter is that the game is only satisfying for those who do not fully understand it.

For this reason, Tic Tac Toe is relegated to the realm of "children's games." There is nothing wrong with that, to be sure. But, the ease of play was very appealing to me. All you need to play is a paper, a pencil, and the most basic of fine motor skills. It's "a thing to do" when you're waiting, or bored. It's simple to pick up and the games are short.

So, I decided to craft a game that would maintain the positives of Tic Tac Toe, while attempting to address it's major short fall. Here's what I came up with:

Dragons

Players: 2

Objective: Make the biggest chains (dragons).

Instructions:

Draw a 6x6 grid (count boxes, not lines).

Each player is assigned 2 symbols. (I prefer player 1 to have A and B, player 2 Y and Z)

Players alternate turns. On each turn the player must fill one box with each of their symbols. Play ends when all boxes are filled. Like symbols that directly connect (i.e. NOT diagonally), are considered linked up (forming a dragon). A dragon can be any shape (you do not have to be able to make a circuit out of it. Touching means connection, period.)

Scoring:

Determine the longest dragon for each symbol; all other boxes are ignored for scoring. Players are awarded one point for each link in his/her longest dragons. The player with the most points wins.

So... The wording above is maybe more convoluted than I'd like. Unfortunately, it's the kind of thing that everyone seems to get after their first game. All the same, I'm pleased with how it plays. It was inspired in some part by Go, as it uses the same rules of connectivity, and the concept of "liberties" can be valuable in this game as well. In fact, "dragon" is a term for a very long group in Go, hence the name of the game.

Maybe I'll whip up a sample game in another post for illustrative purposes, but I am kind of disappointed that the instructions don't seem to quite stand on their own.