X-Wing: Moments of Awesome, Moments of Agony
ChahDresh reflects on how the maneuver dial mechanic creates moments of high drama.
X-wing is a game of drama. Suspense and anticipation are built into the structure of the match. Some of that comes from rolling dice: a random element always adds a little spice, and the gap between when you know you have to roll dice and when you see the results gives a spike of dramatic tension.
In X-Wing, though, there’s another source of such dramatic moments, a more important source of tension: the mechanic of maneuver dials. You set your dials with the expectation that reality will turn out like so. Then you have to wait, suspended, to see if things actually turn out that way. That gap creates tension and natural drama. The importance of maneuvering in this game increases the stakes, and so the tension. The actual revelation of the dial is the climax of its own miniature storyline.
And here’s the kicker: because you have total control over your maneuver dial, the drama is personal. Your dice will betray you at any moment with no warning, but your maneuver dial is ever-faithful. Stupidly faithful, perhaps, but faithful. That means the reveal of your dial, and whatever good or bad results spring from it, is entirely your doing. In that moment, a brilliant maneuver might make you feel like a savant of plastic spaceships—or a blunder can plunge you into a personal Sarlacc pit of despair.
These are Moments of Awesome and Moments of Agony, and they come in several different flavors.
Moments of Awesome
The plan comes together, a.k.a. “I have you now”: You move after your enemy. You see what he’s done. You know you’ve got him because you know your dial. He doesn’t know—not yet. But he will in a moment, and until then, you’re just trying not to spoil it with maniacal laughter. Then the actual moment arrives, you flip the dial, and you *hear* your opponent’s hopes die. That’s when you can truly say, “I have you now.”
“Never tell me the odds”: Your maneuver was bold. Maybe a little too bold. It’s really close to that rock, or that bad guy, or maybe the other good guy. Or maybe the bad guys moved in your way, but not exactly in your way, and you can’t tell with eyeballs alone if you’re clear. Whatever the cause, your maneuver is laden with risk, and you know it before you even turn the dial. You flip it, and adrenaline surges through you. You inhale. You don’t exhale until after you’ve placed the template, and the ship, and…
It fits. Then you take a big, triumphant sniff, tuck your thumbs into your armpits, and say with a laugh, “Never tell me the odds!”
The delayed reaction, a.k.a. “Stand by… BOOM!”: You flip your dial, and you hear your opponent react. He moves, or groans, or flips the table… maybe not that last one. But your move set you up in the right spot. It was a gamble, but it looks increasingly like a good one with every dread-filled motion your opponent makes. You reached for a block, or sprung a surprise, or you went the other way from the way that made sense… and when your foe flips his dial, you know you got him before he even moves the ship, and the rush is oh-so-sweet.
Moments of Agony
But the Star Wars universe is nothing if not dualistic. For every Moment of Awesome, there is a soul-crushing inverse—a Moment of Agony.
“Your overconfidence is your weakness”: You’re higher pilot skill than your foe. You’re a better ship with a better pilot, and you can dictate the terms of the fight from here on. Until… the enemy flips his dial. No way. No. Way. He saw through your plan and got into gorgeous position, and there’s no helping it… or avoiding it. You’re going to get smoked, you know it, and the moment you flip the dial your opponent will know it too. But there’s no way to get around it or avoid it. You’ve fallen prey to your weakness, and it’s plain for all to see.
“That’s not how the Force works”: Your maneuver was bold. Maybe a little too bold. It’s really close to that rock, or that bad guy, or maybe the other good guy. Or maybe the bad guys moved in your way, but not exactly in your way, and you can’t tell with eyeballs alone if you’re clear. Whatever the cause, your maneuver is laden with risk, and you know it before you even turn the dial. You flip it, and adrenaline surges through you. You inhale. You don’t exhale until after you’ve placed the template, and the ship, and…
It doesn’t fit. You bump, or you just miss your arc, or you rock, and it’s a disaster. You exhale in despair. “The Force is not with me today,” you sigh. Your opponent replies with a vicious grin: “That’s not how the Force works.” And then you start picking up models.
“I’ve got a problem here”: You feel sick about the situation. You’re moving first, and that’s bad enough, but the enemy has an edge, and the only way you’re escaping is if your enemy cooperates. And what makes it worse is that now that you’ve moved you can already see other maneuvers that would have been better, but it’s too late to change anything, and all you can do is wait and hope you don’t get punished for your stupidity.
You’ve got a problem here. How big a problem? Can you hold it? The enemy’s dial flips… No. Nope. You truly did screw up, and now your opponent is about to help you plow into the Death Star. Good job, Porkins. You weren’t even good enough to get shot down, you got killed by the ground. Why do I even play this game? How much does this stuff go for on E-Bay? I suck.
~Tell us about your most memorable Moments of Awesome & Agony
