by Michael
"When a man with a 0.45 straight meets a man with a rifle three-of-a-kind, you said the man with the pistol's straight’s a dead man. Let's see if that's true. Go ahead. Load Shuffle up and shoot draw."Sorry to any film aficionados, you’ll survive though.
Rattlesnake is a two-player duelling card game, lightly inspired by deck-building games. Players start the game with identical decks of cards, numbered one to five, and a central market (The Saloon) between them that holds cards for purchasing. They take turns purchasing cards and attacking each other (or not) by placing runs (sequential numbers) or sets (the same number) face down on the table, then comparing. Defenders take a Hit card to their discard pile if the attacker wins, and when a player has no Hit cards left, they lose the game. At any time in the game, from the moment the game starts, players can play a card in their hand for its ability. The downside however is that card is removed from their deck permanently afterwards! As cards are bought from the Saloon, events come out that change the rules of the game permanently, and slowly push the players into finishing things. The game has an ebb and flow to it that tries to create the tension and stress of actually being in a pistol duel in a run-down western town.
[heading]Prologue[/heading]
A little about me. I am an Australian/British/soon-to-be-Italian game designer, who lives in The Netherlands. By day I am an engineer, so working with systems, whether mechanical, electrical, or cardboard-based is all the same to me. I have been making games for a few years as a hobby/fun activity with friends, but this is the first game I actually decided to publish. More accurately, the first I felt was actually worth publishing. More on that later. What I like though, is telling stories. Board games are not ideal for this, but I try my best to fit a narrative into my designs in some way. The narrative might not be obvious at first glance, but Roland’s art definitely helps it stand out more. By the end of this design diary, I hope you can see the narrative in the game, and it brings it to life just a little bit more.
[heading]Act 1: We pass time between funerals and burials[/heading]
I was watching
For A Fistful Of Dollars while my wife was away one week: the original spaghetti western (Western movie made by Italian directors), directed by Sergio Leone. This is where the story of
Rattlesnake starts. I was moved by the music, the cinematography, the style, and the simplicity of it all. So of course, I thought, let’s make a game about this. Naturally. What you interpret from that is “oh, he wants to make a game about people shooting each other, easy, seen it before”. I am not so shallow, and there are games that do duelling much better for those things (
Kiri-Ai anyone?). I wanted to make a game that tells the story of two people who are stuck in a duel, hiding behind some scrap of anything, desperately trying to figure out how to not die. The same, yes, but also different.
The obvious link is poker. To preface, this was all started way before Balatro was released. Board games take forever to publish. The first step in developing a prototype, normally, is to experiment and fail a lot really fast. So I started researching the history of card games in the Old American West. It made sense at the time. Several Wikipedia rabbit holes later I emerged, bleary eyed, tired, and unaware of where I was, or what I was doing. So the next day I just grabbed a deck of French suited playing cards, and then made a second deck of ability cards, with random scribbled abilities on them. I wrote whatever I felt would be appropriate or just sounded cool.
Four hours pass by and the tattered remains of two playing card decks litter my desk, and my paper waste bin is overflowing and begging me to stop. This is what progress looks like. I had gone through about 20 or so versions of the possible game in a single evening. That’s a new game version every 12 minutes on average. I had also ruined several fine felt-tipped pens in my haste. No time for funeral processions, or even digging the proper hole, just bury the past iteration as fast as possible. Whatever is not dead will climb out of the hole. Eventually, I actually accomplished some design work, and I came up with this bizarre system of two decks, where one would have traditional playing cards, albeit slightly modified, and the other would be full of crazy abilities and bonkers things. I nicknamed this second deck “The Michael Bay Deck”. Players could then choose to draw from either of their decks on their turn. I used spreadsheets and a program called NanDeck to rapidly print out digital versions after this.
The first playtests went well. The testers reported that the game was “a little too swingy” and other quotes like “wait, let me read that card again” and “does this really do what I think it does?”. A resounding success. The cards were built around spending your traditional playing cards (symbols on the left of the ability cards) like a resource to play abilities, but also using traditional playing cards to attack your opponent in a kind of hand comparison game (like poker, ish). Everyone did have fun though, which was a huge positive. The game was more broken than politics, but people were laughing and enjoying it. Great! BURY IT!
I churned through so many prototypes of this that I lost count. I keep almost every version of each prototype I make in general. Version control started at version 0, but each version had decimals. Even the decimals had decimals after that! There were three separate characters, each with their own ability decks, and they were all around different themes and play styles. You’d think with around 20 cards to each character, multiple copies in each deck, that it would be easy actually. But no. In the end, we were just optimising a dead horse. Don’t optimise, just bury it and move on.
[heading]Act 2: Sometimes the dead can be more useful than the living[/heading]
What if, now hear me out…the abilities were
on the playing cards? It took much longer than I will admit to reach this conclusion. It was really quite simple, I just added numbers from two to seven, plus the face cards, to the ability cards, and then one entire deck was gone. Buried! Instantly half the components! Seriously, this was a game changer, literally and metaphorically. People went from “oh, that was alright” to “shut up Michael, I’m playing here!”. Great success. I kept very, very detailed testing notes after every single game and had a wealth of info to look back through and try spot the issues.
Most feedback has value in it, if you can find the nuggets of truth buried deep within. The note that helped me the most was “there are too many cards and decks”. Insightful I know. But it took about 10 sessions before someone said that out loud. Before then, it was always some arbitrary problem, a feeling they couldn’t describe or explain. I was swimming in a vast lake of vague expressions and blind design suggestions, until someone just shouted “why are you wearing two snorkels?”. Obvious isn’t it? Remove the excess and bury it.
The game was finding its footing more and more with each revision. Five card hands, both players are refreshing at the end of any turn, and abilities are one-time affairs before they disappear forever. The keyword for removing a card from the game was of course, “Buried”. My testing notes document was swelling and gaining self-awareness, consuming and digesting copious quantities of feedback and test data. Every week there was a slew of new prototypes. Monday I would test with my closed group, Tuesday I would fix it and test solo, Wednesday I would semi-blind test with another local design group, then Thursday I would fix and solo test again. The game was starting to feel more and more like two idiots hiding behind barrels and overturned tables, trying to figure out the next move in an actual western stand off, and less of a “I play this card for X” kind of game. The downside is that I have never heard so much swearing in pubs before, and I grew up in Australia. This game brought out the worst in people. This is how I learned to curse better in Dutch as well though, so free language lessons I guess? It meant that I had tapped into the part of the brain I was searching for, poking the right neurons and getting closer each time.
Something was not right still though. So, I did what I normally do, grabbed a shovel and I buried most of it. Gone were the unique character decks, unique abilities, and also after much complaining, the black and white card design. Head play tester, and fellow game designer
Steve van Bennekom, summed it up perfectly, “It looks like a spreadsheet threw up on a card game. Put some artwork on the cards please”. The Dutch are often criticised for being rude, but they just cut out all the filler words native English speakers use. Straight to the issue. There is never any “would you kindly” or “have you considered”. They make great play testers. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease though.
DISCLAIMER: Although I used AI art during the prototyping process to help with playtesting, no AI was used in the production of the final game.
Roland MacDonald did all the art, which you will learn about later, I promise.
The game was now very similar to what you will see and play today, albeit with more cards and worse artwork. Symmetric decks numbered two to seven, a central market with the “face” cards, and of course wound cards. The Aces were considered as both ones and tens, depending on the hand of cards. This is what some might call the core concept. I can’t remember how many months it took to get to this point, but it was not quick. Balance was always a concern, but Steve, again, solved it in an evening's work one night. He wrote a python script that ran simulated hands both as the player and the opponent, and worked out the possibility of winning based on every single hand combination in the game. It keeps going. He then wrote me a full report, three pages long, detailing his findings, the outcomes, and where the likely overpowered combinations are. I paid for the drinks at the next test session.
Even more data in hand, I was refining more and more. This is also where the real work started. It was time to get serious. I needed more help. So I did what most normal people would do, and I started asking strangers. One such stranger was Roland MacDonald. I met him once, but didn’t know who he was at the time. I’m just going to paste some of the email I sent to him at a later date:
“We met a while back at a game design night, and you tore a friend’s prototype game to pieces (metaphorically). Are you around anytime for a chat and/or a drink?”
That’s really all it took. Turns out he lived 10 minutes from my house. We met up at a local pub, along with the friend who made the mentioned prototype (it was Steve, again). After many drinks, a long chat, we eventually tested out my game. Testing with experienced designers is a different world. Regular players give you a kind of “vibe”, while hobby designers and testers might start telling you a solution already. With actual designers and industry veterans, words sharper than razor blades is what you get. Not cruel, but precise, they cut down to the bone of the issue in a few words, leaving a huge, gaping wound that your ego, hopes, and dreams can ooze out of before you have time to blackout. It wasn’t that bad really, but you’re never prepared the first time. It feels worse, hearing these things the first time. Good feedback, would do it again. But it highlighted something I had forgotten in all the mechanisms and gameplay focus. It lacked something, some kind of spark or thing that really made it special. It was just…fine. Fine is a word you use when someone asks how you are and you want to be avoidant, not to describe something you actually like.
[heading]Act 3: You shoot to kill, you better hit the heart[/heading]
Progress slowed for a little bit as I dealt with some work things, Christmas, and regular life. This would eventually result in me taking off several months from work. Complete happenstance, but Roland also found himself without a project for the first time in a long while. So we did what British people do best, and we went to the pub…..a lot! This wasn’t game design or anything, just two guys enjoying a drink while the rest of the world was at work. It was what I imagined the feeling of zen must be like…but I am probably remembering it wrong.
Problem is, both of us are the type of people that cannot sit still. I had begun guzzling art lessons like a dehydrated dog and revising my graphic design skills while stuffing publishing information into the remaining gaps in my brain, trying to prepare for any outcome for the game. Roland however, was bored. He had gone from full-time, non-stop projects for several years, to watching me twitch uncontrollably as I struggled to find mental space for everything. I got a text one day that just said “Do you mind if I draw some artwork for your game”? The answer is obvious. The ramp up from here on was intense. Roland and I were meeting maybe two to three times a week now, always at a pub, and we would playtest, discuss his latest card art, discuss the next changes needed. I don’t want to think how much money we drank these months.
I really hope Roland does a write up on the card art and the process he went through from initial sketches to final card art. It was really eye-opening for me, but also really shows you why it costs to buy art. The process can’t really be copied that easily, because you’re targeting human feelings, and that’s hard to do with an imitation. By now, we had cut the decks down to their current numbers, with only cards numbering one to five. Eventually, we would even remove one each of the four and five cards from each player’s starting deck (players started with three copies of each card). Even the Saloon cards would be changed to match this number scale, allowing much more freedom to players to craft a play style they like. Changes now were small and gradual. A fine rasp to take the sharp edges off, rather than the surgical shovel used in the early stages.
One problem remained though. Roland hated westerns. After Western Legends, he was sick of it. I think he tried for about four weeks to find a different theme that fit the game. Sci-fi, boxing, fencing, medieval sword fighting, and other weird ideas. Eventually Roland gave in, having found no suitable replacement, and I quote “if I’m going to draw it, then I’m going to draw it how I want!” This was still a man who had asked me if he could draw the cards. What came out of this though, was a look back at the art of the period. The colours of the Old West were not fifty shades of brown, but a colourful expression of a wild landscape that played with the sun and sky. This is where the colour palette used in the game came from, and it is all the better for it!
On the plus side also, pushing him into an uncomfortable style that he didn't want forced him to come up with one of the best card backs ever!
This was now a production outfit. Roland was operating as artist, I was handling game design still as well as layout and publishing, and we both managed play testing. It must be stated, that you need to have friction when making anything. If you’re not disagreeing at least a little, something is wrong. This was not a problem for us! The best example and culmination of this was centred around the card that is now called “Dodge ’n’ Shoot”. The card ability originally was “Topdeck. If you win, ignore an Injury you are about to receive”. Topdeck just means both players reveal the top card of their deck and compare the numbers. Higher number wins, repeat ties until someone wins. This seems simple, right? Well, during a test with Roland and a friend of mine, this was the “discussion” after the Roland played said card to the table and starter dictating what was happening:
Michael: That’s not how that card works, Roland.
Roland: Yes it is.
Michael: What do you mean? I wrote the damn card!
Roland: It is! We both Topdeck, then combat is resolved by the Topdeck! It makes sense!
Michael: No! You just ignore an injury! That is literally what is written on the card.
Roland: The card is wrong, that is not what it says!
….
This continued for a while. The clock inched slowly over two minutes as we screamed at each other like an old married couple, in a crowded and busy pub, while my friend sat there awkwardly like a child in the middle of a divorce settlement. Eventually I stopped and tried to explain one more time what I had written on the card to Roland. The response eventually was: “Oh, I get it now….that’s dumb, why would it do that? It should just say what I said”. The table was silent for a few seconds. My friends eyes darting back and forth like he’s assessing the emergency exits. Then we just laughed after about ten seconds and continued playing as before. Like I said, you need friction, but maybe more important is the ability to resolve the friction. His version is in the final game by the way…
It is now March 2024, and the game is ninety percent finished. Artwork is mostly done, the rules have been ironed out to “clear enough”, and I had already started making the full 52 card print sheet. This is not normal. You should never, ever finish a game to this level before it is signed with a publisher (Kickstarter excluded). The awkward question I have been avoiding like the plague comes up, “So, ready to pitch the game now”? I am not given time to think however, as Roland most likely has already anticipated my response and simply says “Let’s go to UK Games Expo in May, it will be a good place to test it out”. I have zero excuses really, and I really should stop avoiding the part that is the most important. Flights, accommodation, travel companions, and wives are all organised in the week. Remember how I said the game was ninety percent complete? Well, that remaining ten percent would turn out to be around fifty percent of the work.
The following is a lesson in what you should not do. The artwork was finished, and I really do mean finished, and we spent maybe four weeks arguing over colours and fonts. I have a professional ink printer at home with proper, colour accurate cardstock, so naturally we spent a few days just printing out entire sheets of cards, artwork, boxes, posters, just to see and compare the colours. If you think that sounds silly, that’s okay. You’re wrong, but I don’t begrudge you for not wanting to go down that insanely deep rabbit hole. We made full art boxes, Roland cut and folded card inserts, I got all the cards professionally printed and cut, and I made full-art A4 sell sheets. All in all, we made about ten or twelve “prototypes” for giving away at the expo. The week leading up to UKGE I spent a minimum of twelve hours a day working on something, Roland was working on my desk next to me for about eight of those hours usually as well. It was also absolute overkill, and you shouldn’t ever do this!
So, UKGE rolls around… in Birmingham. The first day was all business. Roland dragged me around the expo, introducing me to publishers, sneaking some prototypes into their hands, other designers, and even a couple of pitch sessions he managed to organise last minute. I said little, just watched and learned, answered some questions when people asked me, and tried incredibly hard to absorb all of it. There was so much nuance to dealing with publishers. Nothing is ever a no, but it is an opening for another question though. The amount of info is overwhelming. Sometime in the afternoon Roland told our friend and I that he was off to have meetings for several hours, so we went off to actually explore the expo for the first time that day, and maybe even play a game or two!
Beer o’clock finally arrives (have you noticed the pattern yet?) and we head to one of the terraces outside the expo to relax and wait for Roland to catch up. It is sunny in England, serenity around the terrace, the dull patter of a nearby fountain and birds, and all is right in the world for a few minutes. Then Roland arrives and it begins. He’d been off with
Trevor Benjamin (one of the designers for the
Undaunted series, among other things) testing the game. Trevor liked it, and said he should show it to
Osprey. What a coincidence Roland had a meeting with them shortly! They liked it also apparently. To top it off, the person at Osprey who would likely review it later was a huge fan of Westerns. I made sure to point that out to Roland every single chance I got by the way. Remember exploring the different themes, Roland?! Remember! I know you will eventually read this! Long story short, Osprey were keen, and would review it internally and let me know at a later date. Business as usual.
You’ve seen the box art, and the title, and the BGG listing so you know they took the game. But the story isn’t over. This was just Friday at UKGE, and I had booked myself a table at UK Playtesting for Saturday afternoon, I think it was three hours long? If you don’t know who Playtest UK are, look it up. A really great, helpful community that organise playlists all over the UK. I arrived on time, setup a couple of copies on the table, put the marketing stands, sell sheets, business cards and posters up. I looked completely out-of-place. Most people show up with actual prototypes, rough drawn art, simple place holders etc. Here I was with full art posters and an essentially finished game. The Saturday afternoon slot is supposed to be quieter though, as people are already tired and looking to relax. Wrong. I had three small tables crammed together, technically enough for six people to play in three pairs. Those seats were full from start to finish, and then some more. I had three games running at all times, and I was usually playing in one of the games. People came here expecting prototypes, so they knew what they were getting into, but still they are all very understanding. Every single person filled in the feedback forms, and gave really positive comments. Two people tried to buy a prototype, and I exchanged a couple of business cards with different publishers wandering around, as well as chatting with one or two others who were’t looking for this type of game, but really wanted to know more. It drew too much attention.
At the end of the test session, my friends scraped my semi-conscious body off the tables and helped me pack up. A long, low wheeze was all that emerged from my mouth. I sounded like an orphan from Victorian times with black lung, unable to make more than simple sounds and grunts, indicating mostly through gestures and coughing. More than three hours of yelling over the constant roar of bustling people had taken its toll, and my voice was basically gone. The obvious solution was finishing for the day and going to the pub early. Seemed to work. The rest of the expo was less eventful, and I returned to actually doing fun things for the last day, if you don’t count the eight hour queue at the airport to leave….
[heading]End Credits[/heading]
Jeez, that is a huge wall of text and pictures. I wanted to give you all the actual story of the game development, rather than just the game changes with each iteration, etc etc. You know that the final game is the best parts of everything we tried, so those steps aren’t the real dev diary. Working with Osprey Games has also been quite painless. They would of course contact me in the first couple of months of their own testing, and ask questions about gameplay changes. However, remember all those test notes I took? Every time they asked for a possible design change I just told them the day and test result from that specific change, already tested. Eventually it became clear that we really had finished the game. They had a few artwork changes they wanted to make to meet their own guidelines and criteria, which is normal. Other than that we mostly argued about fonts and colours, and the rulebook of course…
It must be said, that without a lot of incredible people this wouldn’t be here today. My regular playtest group, mostly Steve van Bennekom, who played maybe over one hundred games in the course of development. He put up with my constant testing every week, and shaped so much of the game that you see today. Trevor Benjamin was a huge help, not just for his referral, but also advice and wisdom about the board game industry in the latter days of UKGE. Lastly of course, the game would not exist without Roland MacDonald. Not just because he drew pretty pictures, or knew the right people, or had the right experience, or pitched it to every man and his dog. He basically mentored me, without me knowing in the beginning, in a lot of aspects of creative design. More than that, he pushed me continuously, knowing that I needed a little push to really deliver. Hard work pays off, but you still need luck, and good friends. I know I was luckier than most people, but still had to do silly amounts of work. Hopefully my wife will read this and finally understand now that all her brilliant game ideas are not worth fifty percent of the money just because she thought of it, and that the real work is in the execution.
Hope you like the game at least!
Michael
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