How to Win as Iago

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If you love and/or hate making friends, Iago is the captain for you! The silver-tongued Iago faces a unique challenge in Captain’s Gambit, but interesting opportunies as well. Avoid a handful of common traps and you’ll find yourself sailing to victory.

Unlike many other captains, Iago faces a challenge in that he has a very particular schedule to keep. Other captains have the luxury of Networking a bunch, alternating between Drains and Shields, or Fortifying everyone at the table. Meanwhile, the first rule of Iago is to attack whenever you can - this relegates nearly half of your actions towards Striking others. And since those Strikes require energy, Iago spends nearly half of his remaining turns Charging or Overcharging for the next volley.

And yet, Iago is one of the more popular captains to pilot, and becomes more complex to play the more accustomed your table gets to Captain’s Gambit. Iago’s intrigue primarily comes from an implication in his victory condition: as long as he’s not marked for assassination, Iago can win with a huge majority of the captains at the table. This makes him an ally to many, and because he has a propensity for attacks, you’ll quickly find a lot of captains asking you for favours to target one person or another.


Goals

Iago’s first design was not it

Iago’s first design was not it

If you’re piloting Iago, you can expect an enjoyable social game where your main focus is forming an alliance with anyone who doesn’t want to murder you. Your secondary focus is weaving together a convincing list of reasons to prevent an early victory, ideally preventing attacks for a round so you can take the blood lead.

Since most captains grow closer to victory when their opponents have low health, Iago’s victory condition of bloodletting actually makes him far less of a target than one may expect - if you’re Hamlet and Iago is offering to bring your target into kill range, of course you would happily let him do so.

The only downside of Iago’s blood requirement is that he is sometimes unable to win during the early rounds of the game, meaning your alliance is contingent on giving him enough time to loose a few Strikes.


Quick Summary

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Overall though it’s pretty easy though, right? Just Overcharge and Strike a bunch, tell everyone it’s fine because you’re Iago, and win?

…Well, this is in fact actually true in some circles!

In gullible groups, you can net a win by simply declaring “Hi I’m Iago let’s team up” on round 1. If your table is naive enough to believe the first person to claim Iago, victory is assured while everyone fights over your favour. Sit back, fire lasers around, get lots of blood, and die to an assassin.


Problem #1: Snipers

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…Oops, the presence of Portia specifically means your life will not be quite as easy as you’d hope. The better you’re doing in blood, the harder Portia will fight to eliminate you. And because you need more blood than anyone else to win, there is no way to ever win with Portia: you two are enemies forever.

Luckily, unlike Portia, you can win alongside other captains pretty easily. Most captains would prefer an Iago + Them victory over a Portia + Not-Them victory, so your solution is to simply lean even further into convincing everyone of what a nice and cool Iago you are. Essentially, your best play is to remind the table of Portia’s presence and make them fear bringing you into kill territory.

So Portia constantly gunning for you is a small problem, but one that can be fixed by mobilizing the table into protecting you. However, this does lead us to the next issue in the way of a simple Iago victory.


Problem #2: Doubt

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At some point the players at your table will Get Good, and that’s when you may finally hear a contender: round 1 turn 1, another player says “Hi just wanted to say I’m Iago and I’m willing to team up with anyone other than Portia”.

But you’re Iago. Who the heck is this?

The biggest challenge to your victory is doubt. If players start to worry that you’re not actually Iago, then “player who constantly attacks others and has a lot of blood” points to decidedly non-ally captains instead like Romeo+Juliet, Titus, and Lady Macbeth.

This can be one reason you may want to take a break from attacking for a turn, just to cool off the natural hostility that you’ll get from smacking others.

If the table loses faith that you’re Iago, they’re going to start ignoring your deals and aim for victory even before you have the blood you need. Worse, sometimes they’ll just try to kill you outright under the assumption that you’re someone like Titus or Lady Macbeth. It doesn’t help that there will probably be a Portia will be cheering on such accusations.

Generally the best response to such accusations is to find ways to continue gaining blood with actions that are generally agreeable to the whole table - I wouldn’t bother getting defensive, since that just continues to put the spotlight on yourself.

Some decent things are shrugging and attacking high-health targets with Strike, making sure that you never Barrage, and threatening to shield low-health captains if you don’t have enough blood. The more you can make actions that clearly only make sense to a true Iago, the more believable you’ll be.


Problem #3: Early Victories

The next problem is captains who have a pretty dang good shot of winning before you have enough blood to win with them. Assassins tend to be great candidates for early victories, especially Portia (More Portia problems!).

Your best counters to early victories are:

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  • Drain aggressive captains to prevent them from landing two Strikes in a row, while also netting yourself a bit of blood.

  • Barrage defensive players. Defensive players may respond to your Strike with a Barrage (“That’ll show you for attacking me!”) - but if you Barrage them, it’ll get them worried about their health and will make them spend their energy on a Fortify or Shield instead. You can actually exploit their fears by Barraging them every few turns - this will lock them out from an early victory, since defensive players often can’t focus on winning until they’re at a comfortable health value.

  • Don’t Barrage aggressive players. Some people don’t care about being at 6 health and will reply with Barrages of their own, leading to a potentially early game even if they die in the process. Do Strike them though, nobody deserves 10 health. Except you, of course.

  • Network for full permit sets. If you suspect you gain full information on a permit, you’ll be in a great position to call bluffs - and each successful bluff is the cancellation of a full action. I did just spend 75% of this guide talking about how many Strikes you’ll have to do, but early on you may want to consider holding back if you think someone might win from it.


Problem #4: Titus

If you suspect Titus is in the game, kill that bucko as soon as you can. That guy is terrifying on his own, but he also makes it really tough for you to get ahead in blood.

I guess look out for Domination captains in general, but that’s not really Iago specific. Titus is specifically scary for Iago though. Even the mere potential presence of Titus in the pool will make things harder, as everyone will think you’re a mass-murderer when you’re merely an innocent manipulator.


Have Fun

Overall, Iago is an enjoyable character to pilot for his distinct feel compared to other captains. His actions are essentially locked in to a narrow set of abilities, since he needs to Strike so often, but in exchange he enjoys a lot of conversational flexibility - have fun shaping the direction of entire games with your promises and bribes.

Keep an eye out for those who want you dead, but as long as you can successfully come across as a trustworthy and helpful friend, you should be well-positioned to stroll into victory.

 
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Tales from the Mountain: Intro

Salem squinted at the flags on the horizon, the half-buried checkpoints that marked their journey across the frozen plains. She had roamed for as long as she could remember - first following trails as a child, then once her parents passed, leading them as a guide. But of all the places she travelled, nothing emanated presence the way this mountain did.

The two of them - Salem, and her caravan copilot Iba - had not intended to run this route more than once or twice. But recently, droves of folk from all over the map began to congregate up north. All of them searching for an escort, and many offering some impressive coin.

Just a few more trips like this and Salem could retire somewhere on the opposite side of the world. Somewhere with grass and trees, ideally. Though uncharacteristically silent these past few weeks, Iba had mentioned that he looked forward to doing the same.

Well, at least there were no bandits out here. Just lots and lots of snow. It weighed on fields and fields of frozen earth. It piled up at the base of every jagged stone formation they passed. And most days, it battered against two small caravans squeaking their way from frozen flag to frozen flag, threatening to throw them off-course.

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Today was less windy than usual, granting the pair some welcome reprieve. The setting sun would look wonderful if it didn’t cast such a blinding glare on the snow.

Iba was leaning over the side of the caravan, peering at the party behind them and tilting the creaking crate that served as their home. “Hear much about this latest group?”

Salem nodded. “Nomads, right?”

“Heard they’ve been roaming the wasteland for generations,” Iba said.

“That doesn’t sound so different from us,” Salem replied. She reached into her pack and offered her companion a bottle of golden broth. “Soup?”

Iba glanced again at the caravan in tow. The music from before had stopped. “I guess they’ve been looking for this one specific mountain all that time.”

Salem sighed and sipped her broth. “They want to study the Machines too? Feels like we meet a new artisan every second trip.”

Iba picked at one of his horns, a bad habit from warmer days in the salty marsh. “Far as I can tell, they’re coming for the mountain itself.”

“Huh. They’re just gonna climb to the top, sing their songs and come back down again?”

“Figured they were gonna dig, actually.”

“Bad idea,” Salem laughed. “They’ll get a nasty surprise if they do.”

Iba didn’t reply. They’ve spoken about this before.

“I’d give it a day before they get torn apart by those exiles,” Salem continued.

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“I don’t know,” Iba said. “They seem nice enough to me. Seems like they all just want to get away from… wherever. Every one at the tavern sounds like they’re having a great time.”

“They act nice, sure.” Salem adjusted her posture. The caravan creaked and the ropes holding it together groaned. “But I wouldn’t trust anyone who follows rumors about a lawless mountain commune and decides that’s a good thing. Dancing around in the dark, making those masks for each other. They were exiled for a reason, you know?”

Iba gazed at the looming grey shape ahead of them. The wheels rattled beneath their seats.

As they drew closer to the mountain, a new tune sprung up behind them. The lyrics these Nomads sung were indecipherable from this far ahead, but the song was clearly a marching anthem of some kind.

“Well,” Iba said, “I’m curious to hear what these Nomads are about, anyway.”


They arrived at the base of the mountain, nightfall now, caravan torchlight flickering against frost and stone. Even as a human, Salem felt an undisputable presence in the air. In the ground, too. Makes sense why so many people would head out here.

Salem turned to the other caravan to help unload its passengers and their gear, but the group already stood astride, staring up to the misty summit. “I can’t believe it,” one of them said, “After years of searching, we’re finally here.”

“I’m glad we’re in this together,” another replied.

A few weeks ago, on one of their first escorts, Salem advised one group about the huge cave entrances spread around the base of the mountain. Back then, she had told that group about the Machines waiting within each, whirring endlessly, yet locked in some kind of hibernation. Talking like some kind of tour guide.

Today, Salem said, “Don’t be too hasty to dig.”

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The group turned to Salem. Some of them had been humming a vague melody that warmed their hands, casting a soft yellow glow over the group. They stopped now and met her with expectant silence.

“It’s… dangerous in those caverns,” Salem finished, suddenly forgetting how she intended to phrase herself.

An older Nomad smiled. “Thank you, friend, though we need our rest first, anyhow.” This was clearly an important individual, speaking with such presence in a crowd. “We’ve waited generations,” they continued. “We can wait a few more days, or weeks, to plan our course of action.”

Salem watched a few younger members purse their lips in response to the comment, visible even in the flickering dim of torchlight. Perhaps this elder was not as important as she assumed.

“It looks to be a frosty night,” Iba said, walking up beside Salem. “Maybe we should all head to the Tavern before the wind picks up again.”

Salem suppressed a sigh. The two of them had survived much worse in their caravan. Iba used to be all business until they started running this mountain route. It couldn’t be helped, though - everyone was already moving through the ancient stone opening to the only real shelter at the base of this mountain.


Once the guests were arranged, Kit greeted the pair of caravan escorts with drinks in hand. "Wow, looks like a windy night. Your caravan gonna be alright out there?”

Iba grinned. “Eh, seems like your tavern is the place to be. If the caravan breaks, I’ll just take up residence here. Scrub mugs for a living.”

“It’s gone through worse and survived”, Salem said. “Iba, you’re not quitting that easily.”

Kit and Iba laughed.

“…Looking forward to the next story night,” Iba said, after a sip.

“That’s every night,” Kit replied.

“And I love it.” Iba gazed out to the small crowd, all huddled around their flames and murmuring with quiet anticipation. “Who knew so many people would want to come here. From so many places, too.”

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Kit placed their hand against the cracked stone wall. “We all feel the pull, though, don’t we?”

Iba followed, pressing his hand on the counter with closed eyes, no doubt feeling for the subtle thrum perpetually welling up from the ground.

“It’s good business for sure,” Salem said, cutting through the silence, “But at least for me, I don’t feel a big enough pull to run away from my life for the sake of some funny dreams.”

Iba placed his mug on the counter as gently as he could and looked Salem in the eyes.

Salem met his gaze.

“Be right back,” Kit said, bowing out to check up on the newest arrivals.

Salem looked away from Iba to stare at her mug. “What?”

She felt Iba take a deep breath. But he didn’t say anything, and Salem had to take her own breath in response. He has to know how she hates it when he stares like that.

“…I know you want to go,” Salem said. This ox of a man was not the subtle type - he practically radiated energy. Whether or not he tried to hide his feelings, it was not particularly hard to follow his threads.

“I just like the stories,” Iba replied, picking at one of his horns.

“Mm.” Salem blinked and took a drink. “Well, looks like they’re about to start with the stories right now.” She watched his eyes involuntarily light up. “Let’s just find a good seat,” she sighed.

Iba started to stand, then paused and raised an eyebrow at Salem. “Hey. Salem. You know I wouldn’t just leave you, right?”

Salem looked back. “Thanks.”

“Not without warning. I know how much you care for the caravan.”

“…Thanks.”

Salem could feel Kit staring from across the room. She stood and looked for a seat near the outer edge of the Pit, and Iba followed.


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The Pit was a collapsed part of the building, a series of lucky drops that made for a decent set of benches. In the middle burned a fire, its smoke routed through a dug-out tunnel in the rubble. This was a prime spot for storytelling and song.

There were plenty of familiar faces, but mostly new folk - it seemed like most people who entered the mountain stayed there. Or died, maybe? Salem never asked, and nobody seemed interested in sharing that element of their expeditions.

Storytelling was never quite a formal event. Not anything listed or planned, anyway. But almost every night since Kit set up here some few weeks ago, at least one person would emerge from nowhere with a new tale - so compelling that you couldn’t help but listen.

It always started with a casual remark, an offhand comment, but one that turned heads at all the surrounding tables. One by one, all the regulars would grin and start beckoning the sorry sap to take a seat in the Pit. And start from the beginning, they’d say.

Salem had to admit that the Pit had some kind of crackling excitement about it. And she wasn’t alone, apparently. Even those exiles, looking like monsters with their animal masks, lingered around the pit and listened in with the rest of the tavern. Did they really leave their tunnels just for this?

Salem’s thoughts were interrupted with a pang of recognition almost as soon as the story began. The speaker’s appearance would have fooled her - they looked like a total stranger, now - but that voice was unmistakable. Salem glanced at Iba, and her heart sank when she saw his eyes. Iba knew exactly who this was.



To be continued





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