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Halji: the North trudges back into the mists of time…
Phil rings Roger to confirm that there is a session. Roger offers ‘Galaxy’ (as yet untried) but Phil extols the virtues of Liberte. Phil and Roger agree on Liberte. But they are wrong.
Spread out and awaiting Phil, Dave and Roger’s arrival is … The Battle of the Halji. This hasn’t been seen for quite some time, but Ian was ‘thinking about it on Monday’, and so here it is. Ian has one or two rules ideas for consideration. Roger, as ever, decides that neither will work, and so to the game.
Halji (Phil reads at a later point in time) was designed in 1987 by a certain C. Hunt – alas - Chris, not Colin (Fast Show reference - Ed), and his friend Jake (surname forgotten). The game was financed (allegedly) through some cunning ploy of getting a loan on the strength of a loan. Or something like that. A jig-map mounted mapboard, nice counters and stands, lots of reference sheets and one of the most entertaining rulesbooks around (Phil’s rules for the ‘Backpacks’ rules were inspired by this).
The game involves existing on an alien planet, unpleasant and inimical to virtually every form of life. Each player has a Halji. Halji are huge plant-like creatures that descend periodically from the atmosphere. You can spot a Halji – they have three feet. These three feet are placed in alternate hexes around a central hex. They have no natural predators. However each Halji has its own creature. This creature loves to go and nestle against the feet of someone else’s Halji, whereupon it explodes, disappears, takes the unfortunate feet with it, before re-animating as a completely different creature. David Attenborough - eat your heart out.
Now the fun part of the game is how these creatures survive. Or rather, don’t. Sometimes they acquire diseases, sometimes the possibility of disease, sometimes parasites. And if they’re very lucky, they get rained on. And then explode.
But to battle. The Southern Ragnars are renowned for the fact that they can read the same rulebook three times without ever actually getting the rules right. The northern Ragnars do generally read rules successfully. The game then gets played on numerous occasions, until another game is tried. When the game resurfaces (X years later, as now), it is taken for granted that everyone remembers the rules – that there is a folk-memory of how things work. (Sheep can apparently cross cattle grids throughout North Wales by doing something similar). Ian and Roger are certain they remember how to play, Phil knows he has really no idea, and it is some consolation when Dave mutters – ‘it’s not coming back’.
Undaunted, here we go. Halji are dutifully placed, creatures doled out and it’s game on. On seeing the game set out, Phil develops a queasy suspicion that there were reasons why this game hadn’t resurfaced. This hardens into certainty as the first turn wears on. In Halji, there are dice-rolls for everything. You want to smell an enemy? Roll the dice and consult the table. A change of wind direction? Roll the dice and check the table. You want to walk through some scrimble? Acquire some black markers, roll several dice, add them together and then consult a table. Sometimes you even consult a table, which then tells you to consult another table. Slow is the word.
Phil moves three hexes with his Wugrot, is hit by a snooze spell from Roger, and falls down asleep. Hilarity. The rains come and - of course - Phil’s wugrot explodes. More hilarity. (There is a chance of dodging the rains – you have to roll some dice and get a certain number – but not, of course, if you’re asleep. You are a sitting duck. Or in the case of a wugrot, a sort of sleeping bath mat). The pace is still slow ("it will speed up when we get into it") but everyone else seems to be fairly happy.
"When do I dice for another creature?" says Phil. Good question. It turns out that it’s when it’s Phil’s turn to be Great Halji. Bad news. Simon is also playing (Ian’s eldest son) and it will be in three turns time.
"That will be about half-nine then," quips Phil. (It is quarter past seven). But as Confucius says, only a fool jests about how long it will be until his next turn. Half an hour later it is Phil’s turn to be the Great Halji. It is revealed that there is actually only a 30% chance of getting a new creature on. Phil – of course – rolls somewhere in the high eighties. It is going to be a long evening. Correction. It is already a long evening, and it’s getting longer.
Phil drifts off and begins to itemise comparable ‘bad gaming experiences’. And here are the Top Five (Halji is still going on, so is not in contention).
At Number Five – Red Empire (or Red Death as it came to be known). A cardgame about the Soviet Union. It should have been good, but had one of those self-destruct rules. The Ragnars spent a long, wet afternoon in the Lakes trying to put this one right. Unsuccessfully.
At Number Four – Medieval Empires. A shocker from S&T about the difficulties of building nation states in Medieval Europe – you struggled against each other, against religion, nationality, barbarians, virtually everything. By the end of a very long game it was apparent that not only was it difficult to build a nation-state, it was well nigh impossible. Indeed, Eastern Europe actually devolved as we watched.
At Number Three – A mighty fortress. Again – politics in 16th century Europe driven by a Napoleon-at-Waterloo CRT. Phil - of course – lost Paris (he was France) and then spent the rest of the evening unsuccessfully trying to roll a 1,2 or 3 to retake it. Dismal.
At this point, Phil actually rolled low enough to be given a second creature. The game to be fair did now speed up, but for the wrong reasons. Virtually every creature had been either killed or exploded against a Halji, and the turns fairly raced around as players tried to roll their 30% to get another creature on.
What a curious way for the game to develop. Every so often a creature would appear, rush maniacally to the nearest Halji, explode itself and disappear.This went on until someone got enough points to win. Dave probably.
The post-mortem was cursory. Dave didn’t join in which said volumes. Ian put the pizza in to cook. Roger suggested some possible tinkering that could be done. Phil listened politely.
Supper followed the tone of the post mortem. Which job was the worst – writing computer software (easily), working in the DHSS (variable – just about OK) or being a teacher (holding up surprisingly well).
And Phil headed for home, mulling over the important things in life. Which game session was the worst ever? And where did that leave Halji?
On the way home, Virgin radio featured two men discussing Tom Waite’s latest musical outpouring. It was about Lewis Carroll’s obsession with the girl who became Alice, and the dark under-belly of Victorian society. It somehow seemed appropriate.
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