Dorfromantik: The Board Game

Dorfromantik: The Board Game, as you might be able to tell from the title, is an adaptation of the video game Dorfromantik: Doesn’t Actually Have a Subtitle Because It Was Made First. Admittedly, capitalizing every letter in the latter half of that last sentence was a stupid bit, but it’s about the quality that this writeup is going to have, so I’m keeping it.

I’m not sure I have much useful to add about Dorfromantik: The Board Game (a name I’m going to shorten from here on out). Both versions of the game have won a billion awards, and a sold a ton of copies. Instead, I’m just going to look at a few parts of the game that raise interesting points, and then wrap up.

First though, let’s talk about the gameplay. Dorfromantik: I’m Going To Misspell This is a co-op and singleplayer board game. On a player’s turn, they do a single thing: they pick up one hexagonal tile and place it connected to other tiles. This is the only thing they will do on 98% of their turns.

Before you decide that all you need to do to win the prestigious Spiel des Jahres award is buy a hexagonal holepunch however, know that there is slightly more to the game than that. There are two types of tiles: task tiles, and generic tiles. If there are ever fewer than three task tiles on the board, the player must draw a task tile on their turn. Otherwise it must be a generic tile.

When you place a task tile, you also place a score token on top it. This is the number of items that need to be connected to score that tile.

This image blatantly stolen from Gem Klub on BGG. Hopefully they’re cool with it.

For example, in the above image, the river has a 6-task on it. This means that you need a total of 6 connected rivers to score the task tile, and it currently has 4 connected rivers. The wheat on the left side however, only needs 4 connected wheat fields, and currently only has 2.

I’m skipping over a lot of ways of earning points, but this is the core gameplay. Pick up tile, play tile. Rinse, repeat, and try to maximize score by maximizing the number of score tokens you can remove before you run out of other tiles (among other unmentioned strategies). This brings up the first point: it’s kind of odd to me that this is considered a co-op game.

Don’t get me wrong. That’s not a bad thing. But Dorfromantik: The Are You Tired Of This Joke Yet is inherently multiplayer in the same sense that Sudoku is inherently multiplayer. There’s no individual resource, score or value whatsoever.

The game says it’s for up to six players, but there’s no difference in mechanics between a 6 player game, and a 60 player game, outside of maybe inconvenience. Unlike something like Beacon Patrol, Dorfromantik doesn’t even try to pretend to be a distinctly multiplayer experience.

The other interesting thing about Dorfromantik is that it’s a “Campaign Game.” It’s apparently not a “Legacy Game” because you don’t destroy the pieces.

In reality, all that means is that you unlock extra things, but you don’t get to eat any delicious juicy cardboard. While in theory you could put everything back into the tiny boxes it came with and start a new campaign, you’re probably not going to. Or at least I’m not going to.

Editor’s Note: Dorfromantik has put some thought into facilitating multiple campaigns at the same time by providing a pad of “campaign sheets” where different groups can track their respective campaign progress, but it would still be a hassle to sort out the unlocked components every time.

Look, I don’t see myself playing a board game 10-15 times, and then wanting to do it again but with none of the upgrades I spent the last 15 games earning.

I usually end these writeups with either a joke, or tying everything together, but I don’t really have either of those today. Dorfromantik for me is the perfect example of the 7 star BGG rating. “Good – Usually Willing to Play.” I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it enough to evangelize it. It deals with multiplayer and campaign setup in a way I haven’t seen before, but not one that’s unique or interesting enough for me to gush about it.

Dorfromantik: It Is Pretty Okay.

Idleon – The Idle MMO

This writeup is technically about Idleon. But it’s also about Universal Paperclips, Spaceplan, and Cookie Clicker.

These are all incremental or clicker games. It’s a somewhat nebulous genre primarily defined by clicking, and ‘number go up,’ but much like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart once said, “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Admittedly he was not talking about video games.

And you might have noted that I didn’t put in links to any of those games.

Mechanics

Since we’re talking about Idleon, I’ll give it the minimum amount of respect I feel obligated to give anything I write about: a discussion of its mechanics at least a bit.

Idleon is an idle game. You make a character and kill monsters to complete quests and open new maps. You also get loot to craft new equipment. You’ve got your traditional MMO skills. Get ore to smelt into bars to craft equipment. Cut tree to get wood to get more equipment.

Get better equipment, go to a new area to get better equipment to go to a new area repeat until the heat death of the universe.

Idleon’s unique mechanic that separates it from some other idle games or clicking crafting games coughRunescapecough is that the player unlocks the ability to make multiple characters. So one character can be tasked on cutting wood, while another mines, and another farms monsters. Of course, these alts also need their own gear, and sometimes quest progression, and crafting items and carry upgrades and….

On Idle Games

Okay, so mechanics explained. Time for opinions. I am annoyed by these types of games. It isn’t because they’re bad, or poorly made, or uninteresting. It’s because they consume my time like a black hole.

If I met someone who sold drugs to kids “ironically” to make a statement about art, I don’t think we would get along. I feel a similar way about idle games.

Again, I’m not calling them bad. Spaceplan is really neat. Universal Paperclips might be the best doomsday AI simulator ever. Idleon is interesting.

But I don’t think there are any other genres of games that are so blatantly disrespectful of the players’ time, even within the current live service trend. While those games limit player progression with weeklies, and dailies, and time gates, and check-in events, they aren’t doing what clickers do. Live service games try to demand your attention, and parcel out progression. But they don’t demand that you actively do nothing.

And I resent that. I opened Universal Paperclips yesterday to remind myself how it worked, and then I “played” the game for two hours. Two hours in which I clicked and waited, and clicked and waited, and that was it. Then I turned on the cheats menu, and pushed to the end of the game that way.

Idle games are artificial progression incarnate. You can have the most effective build, set up an auto-clicker, but you always have to wait. Idleon doesn’t require the auto-clicker part, but it does give reduced gains for having the application closed, so in theory the best way to play the game is to turn the game on, and then go do something else.

If I wanted to run my computer idle for 8 hours a day with no real benefit, I would mine crypto-currency.

I “played” a fair amount of Idleon. I didn’t get incredibly far, but when I saw that the number of players with the achievement for unlocking World 2 was about 14%, I realized I was ready to be done.

Hold Up, I’m Not Done Ranting Yet

I resent idle games because for whatever reason, they work on me. I am entirely capable of looking at them, understanding how the mechanics work, and what they are going to make me do, why they are exploitive, and then I play them anyway.

One of my long term life struggles has been dealing with what I call the Oreo Problem. If I have a pack of Oreos, I will eat all of them. Usually in one sitting! The same is true for a variety of junky food.

I know I’ll do this. I don’t want to do this. I like Oreos, but I would like to like them in moderation. I cannot eat a reasonable number of Oreos. Instead, I don’t buy Oreos. I don’t buy cookies. I don’t buy chips.

I have the understanding to recognize my behavior, but not the capacity to change it in the moment. So instead my solution is to just not engage.

Back to Idleon.

I can look at Idleon, and understand why the structure is exploitive, but I can’t stop myself from playing it.

Why does the game give better rewards for having the game open and running? My guess is because having the game running boosts hours played stats, and bumps the game in the ratings and Steam suggestions.

Why are shops limited in stock, and restock once a day? Well, because it slows down progression for quests reliant on buying large numbers of those items, meaning players have to log in over multiple days and build a habit.

Why are stack slots limited? Well, it means that players want to log in every 12 hours or so, so that they don’t lose items that they can’t carry with them.

Why can I only have one item in active production at a time, even if I’ve unlocked more? Well, because now I want to buy the gold hammer in the cash shop so I can do two instead.

I recognize all of this, and guess what? I still want to play. I still want to boot up my computer for that increased progression.

I’m not going to. After this writeup, I’m going to uninstall the game. I’m not even going to boot in one more time, because if I do, I might get dragged back in.

Conclusion

I don’t recommend Idleon, even though I want to play more. I don’t recommend Universal Paperclips, even though it’s a brilliant exploration of AI misalignment and a whole other bunch of fun sci-fi concepts like von Neumann probes.

I just can’t.

I honestly can’t quite decide what my ultimate opinion on these sorts of games is. I think it might be something like this: There are certain design patterns that, regardless of their implementation, can just short circuit certain types of brains. At their best, they’re something like nerd sniping. At their worst, they’re games that actively encourage their players to run their computers for no reason.

I think that if you use those sorts of patterns as the base of your game, even if it’s being done ironically, you’re being a bit of an asshole, and I’d like you to stop.

I can’t stop myself from eating Oreos, but I can choose to not buy them. I can’t stop playing clickers, but I can choose not start.

Hi, I’m a Stupid Person Who Gives Review Scores

In response to Mike Drucker.

Hi. I’m the stupid person who gives review scores! You might know me from the byline of a million terrible reviews on Kotaku, GameInformer, or other gaming media sites swallowed up into useless reviews, copy pasted guides, and SEO milking trash. I might also not be real, and be a product of Chat GPT, but it’s not like you would know.

I make useful, helpful things like this! I’m a contributing member of society.

Of course, when I say that I give review scores, that isn’t entirely true. See, I can’t actually give a super low score, because that would make us look bad to the companies that purchase a majority of our advertising. And I can’t give too high a score either. So really, the editor gets to give out the score. And edit my review to make it work.

Here’s my job: I play a copy of Starfield, or Armored Core, or what have you two weeks before release for 10 hours, and then I have to write 50 pieces of junk about it for the next three months. I bet you think you’d like that wouldn’t you? Well, I’ve spent the last eight hours writing about how Elden Ring could be in the Armored Core universe. It isn’t, but rent is due, and I need those clicks.

Sure, I do have to give out that 8/10, but it’s not like I have any real choice in the matter. And yeah, my actual job is churn out garbage at a rate high enough that the internet will be flooded with white noise, in an attempt to boost our pages over a fandom wiki.

You know, at one point in time I really liked games.

I miss that time.

But hey, it’s fine. It’s good that we gave it an 8. After all, it’s not like art is subjective, and review scores are an ultimately pointless attempt to access a complex series of functions, and provide little to no value. I can’t really even blame consumers for this one. It’s not like you woke up and hounded us to assign arbitrary numbers to every piece of entertainment media over the last thirty years.

Frankly, it’s probably pretty good that I can just act like it’s your fault for being upset. It was kind of awkward when everyone started asking questions about nepotism, and how industry connections worked, and who actually assigned review scores.

Bit of a lucky break for us that “Ethics in game journalism” turned out to be a dog-whistle for neo-nazi misogynists. If they’d been reasonable instead of being jackbooted fascists for even 30 seconds, maybe people would have listened to what they were saying. And maybe even asked some questions!

Questions like, “Wait, is all your advertising coming from the product you’re reviewing?” and, “Is all gaming news just an incestuous cycle of freebooting and regurgitating press releases?” Something, something, even a racist and women-hating clock can be right about journalism twice a day and all that.

But that didn’t happen, and now we can continue to blame you, the consumer, for being angry and stupid, while we do our best to turn your search results into the world’s least helpful internet thread when you try to look up where to find an item.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to put up 800 words on how Animal Crossing is coming to Pokémon Go, or my car gets repossessed. And if you could follow my twitter real quick, that would be great, since that’s where I put all of my real opinions about this hobby I used to love.