DungeonQuest (2010)
For 1-4 Players
Single player games take about 30 minutes, and an extra 10 minutes for each extra player
The game elements are: One large board, a set of about 120 square carboard tiles printed with a variety of dungeon architecture, six plastic hero figurines, over 300 cards in 13 distinct decks, four dice, and sundry other bits for status markers, wound tokens, and so forth. The game has a "high fantasy" wizards and warriors theme; players acquainted with other FFG fantasy titles will notice that this remake of DungeonQuest has been transposed into Fantasy Flight's proprietary "Terrinoth" universe, in common with Runebound, Descent, and Runewars. To anyone not familiar with these other games, DungeonQuest's theme will appear indistinguishable from many other generic fantasy settings. The artwork is abundant and minutely detailed. The set quality is very high indeed, slightly better even than other FFG games I own (Arkham Horror plus expansions, Runewars). Everything is solidly constructed and evidently built with the anticipation that the set will see years of use.
The gameboard is presented as a nearly uncharted map of dragon's subterranean lair. The outer boundary of this lair is known; it is square, with impenetrable stone walls all around and towers at each of the four corners. Each tower has a door, admitting entrance into the lair. At the center of the lair, ominously distant from the corner towers, a large room packed with treasure is displayed: the dragon's hoard. The rest of the map is criss-crossed with faint gridlines marking out blank squares of territory: the mysteries that have been built into those blanks are waiting to be discovered by heroes willing to challenge the dungeon.
Each player selects a hero miniature and associated equipment, including a Hero Card listing the character's stats, a set of four unique combat cards which define character-specific combat abilities, and other miscellaneous markers. Each hero must start at a different tower in the corners of the map. Taking turns, the heroes will attempt to move through the blank portions of the board's map, overcoming obstacles and searching for Loot. Loot is designated by cards which usually have a listed Gold value. Once a hero finds Loot he may decide to either continue searching for more loot or begin trekking back to the exit. A hero may not leave without Loot; the player whose hero successfully escapes the dungeon with the most valuable Loot (in total Gold) wins the game.
The difficulties faced by the heroes (and by the characters) is of two kinds: They are hampered by having very little information about the dangers of the dungeon, or even the floor plan; and even if they possessed useful information about the dungeon's defenses, their capabilities are barely sufficient to survive them. Even with the dragon asleep the lair is a very dangerous place. They are very poorly prepared. To make matters worse, the heroes are time limited. The lair's doors are only open when the dragon sleeps during daytime, represented by a sun track along the top of the board; each turn, a sun token advances along the track. Once the sun reaches the end of its track and sets, the doors seal shut, the dragon awakens, and any hero trapped inside will die.
Each player's turn typically involves one or two decisions out of a very small number of available options. Players may Attempt to Move from their current square into an adjacent square: if multiple paths are open from their current square they may decide which direction they will try to move. In many squares players may choose to Search the room instead of moving. This decision takes place at the start of the turn; the rest of the turn is working out what happens to the player as a result of that decision. For instance, moving through an open doorway into a blank map space requires the player to pull a square dungeon tile randomly from a pile; the design printed on the randomly selected tile will determine what happens next, not the player. Many dungeon tiles prompt the player to draw a card from one or more decks which describe what the player confronts next, such as a trap, a body of a long-dead adventurer which the player can decide to search by drawing a card from a different deck, a crypt the player can decide to search by drawing from yet another deck, a monster the player can fight or attempt to evade, and more. Some tiles are inherently dangerous: there are a small number of "bottomless pit" tiles included, which forces the player to roll dice to survive (and the survival chances are low). Once these consequences have been worked out (or his character dies) the player's turn ends.
As the game spools out most of the player's interaction with his character does not involve much decision-making. You are allowed that one initial decision on each turn, Move somewhere or Search; once that proactive motion is set in place the machinery of the lair (and of the game) takes control. Since the information given the player in each situation is so limited even those choices are largely blind risks. You spend much of the game not even knowing the terrain you're about to step into, and the results of Searches and other encounters are always unknown before the fact, dependent on card draws and dice rolls. Because of this the personality of the game is strongly defined by the effects of the cards and the dungeon tiles. They are designed to be unusually capricious and deadly. While very little in the game will kill you outright, life and death is frequently decided by dice rolls at poor odds. The previously mentioned "bottomless pit" tiles, for instance, involve rolling dice against a character's pre-defined "luck" stat: the luckiest hero has about a 70% chance of surviving, and the unluckiest about a 20% chance.
The overall result is a gambling game, really: Each turn you lay a bet with your character's life as the stakes, and the pot is Loot hidden randomly in the game's nest of cards. Well, not entirely randomly: In one place only the game's randomness in granting Loot falls away and your character is guaranteed to receive a share of the treasure he or she needs to escape. This is the room at the center of the lair containing the dragon's hoard. While there, you may freely take two pieces of loot from the Treasure Deck each turn. The gambling aspect is retained even here by risking awakening the Dragon, who will summarily barbecue everyone in the hoard room, drive you out, and force you to drop all of your Loot. On the upside, if you manage to leave the room with the dragon still slumbering, the Loot from the dragon's hoard is generally more valuable than what you receive anywhere else. On the downside, you have to fight all the way back out to the corners of the map before sunset to win.
The game features a few other interactive bits: Combat with creatures involves the active player pitted against another player controlling the monster with cards drawn from a Combat Deck. Battles are resolved by a system of card laying that's a hybrid of rock-paper-scissors and the simple playing card game "War". Even here, though, the player's strategic options are laced with risks and guesses, as any given move can be trumped by at least one possible play by the opponent. Battles tend to dominate the playtime of the game, since their are more decisions being made in a typical battle than in several normal turns together: Each round of combat involves one or more decisions about laying cards, and the typical battle will last from two to ten rounds. Some people may dislike the fact that fighting a demon takes up one round while attempting to open a door may take three, and that the door (with traps) may actually be deadlier than the demon, but this seems thematically correct to me. These fantasy heroes are the typical "trained killers looking for trouble" sort, so it makes some sense that they will be more challenged by tricky architecture than enemy combatants, and their ability to react to fighting situations far exceeds their abilities to react to cave-ins or dead ends.
So, who will enjoy a game that seems to intentionally minimize the player's role in determining what happens? Who wants a game that boasts a survival rate- the chance that any given hero will escape with any loot- of 15%?
I bought the game because I expected it to provide a taste of exploration, which is a gameplay element I prize very highly. When I look at the DungeonQuest board, with its blank map and random dungeon tiles showing little rooms connected with locked doors, traps, pits, and so forth, I necessarily associate it with exploration-heavy video games: specifically, the dungeons in the original Legend of Zelda. The experience of playing DungeonQuest solo is something like the experience of stepping into those early Zelda dungeons for the first time, wandering blindly into the black spaces on the overhead map, falling into pits or getting locked into a room with enemies you can barely survive, trekking toward a goal you can't locate yet. The difference, obviously, is that Hugo the Glorious never permanently improves his skills, he cannot gain new useful equipment, he cannot revive from a save point, and he can never learn the lay of the land from session to session as the dungeon is perpetually changing. Hugo is a failure at life compared against Link. Oh, and Zelda is designed with an intended progression in mind from dungeon to dungeon. DungeonQuest is designed to try to kill your character.
Despite buying the game with the intention of playing it chiefly solo, I hesitantly introduced it to part of my regular boardgaming group. I didn't expect a good reception: my expectations were proven wrong. They loved it, despite only one person surviving the gauntlet the first time through. Why, I wondered? I was certain it wasn't anything to do with pure exploration. After some thought, I've concluded the key to this game's appeal is that it provides gambling with a narrative. DungeonQuest, despite all the surface differences, has something in common with pure games of chance, like Blackjack. In Blackjack, you must take a risk of collecting more cards in order to have a chance at winning (taking too few cards will allow the House to beat you easily). However, each card taken risks breaking 21 and losing automatically. DungeonQuest is constructed on similar opposing risks of staying put (lower chance of Loot, chance for something horrible to happen) and moving deeper into the lair (high chance of Loot, even more chances for horrible happenings). There's very little you can do to ameliorate those risks in either game. People enjoy Blackjack because it offers rewards with the surface illusion of control over your fate. People enjoy DungeonQuest for similar reasons: the Hope that the next room, the next card, will grant you that elusive Loot rather than a plunge to your death. On top of this the multiplayer game can become an exercise in collective storytelling. Unlike Blackjack, you can lose DungeonQuest with style. You don't just break 21, you get trapped in a Round Room facing the dungeon wall just before you would have escaped with a diamond, or you get punctured by a Spear Trap after getting beaten senseless by a golem. It's the potential fun of losing colorfully that gives DungeonQuest life.
If you're considering DungeonQuest judge it against these three features. If you like raw exploration without expectation of success, this game was made for you. If you enjoy taking blind risks with the chance of scoring a big payoff, there's something here you can enjoy. If your gaming group enjoys fantasy settings enough that constructing on-the-fly disaster narratives sounds intriguing, check this one out.
Anyone who thinks games are ideally tests of skill, that winning is the only acceptable reward, that despises the idea of death by dice roll, or is allergic to a generic fantasy theme should avoid this like a deadly disease.