An Archivist’s Dream – A Recounting of John Company, the Megagame

It’s 1710 and the world is in turmoil. Maybe. I’m not sure, as the Company and the state of its affairs are sprawled out on a massive table on one end of the room, and I’m at the other surrounded by my peers. My family. Good Hastings men and women.

It’s loud and chaotic. I have a headache. It’s my third day at Gen Con and I’m haggard. My exhaustion is due to insomnia and lack of proper nutrition. But India beckons.

A flurry of activity occurs. In an instant I’m standing at the front of the room. I mumble and try to parse what’s happened on that giant map. It feels as though time is short and the pressure is high. Cole bangs a gavel. The room goes silent.

Cole breaks the stillness: “the Chairman has an announcement.”

“Shitttt.” That’s not what I say, it’s what I’m thinking.

“The Company will not be paying dividends at this time.” That is what I say. I probably should have just said “shitttt.”

The 50 souls occupying the room erupt. I’m pelted with boos and displeasure. It’s bedlam and I’m the villain.

Roughly an hour later I had to make this announcement a second time. It was worse.

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On August 1st, in the year of our lord 2025, three people put on The Archivist’s Dream. This was a special event run by Cole Wehrle, Drew Wehrle, and Non-Breaking Space (NB for short). The second of its kind, this was a session of The Company Archives, which is John Company: Second Edition with a familial RPG experience layered atop the game’s existing mechanisms. However, unlike the first occurrence of this event in 2024, this new iteration was a megagame with a participation of over 50 attendees.

How the hell do you play John Company with 50 players?

Yes, how the hell, indeed.

I signed up for the event with the explicit purpose of answering that question.

This event was held in a hotel attached to the Indianapolis convention center. I arrived 15-minutes early, as I wasn’t sure exactly where the room was and I didn’t want to be late. Luck was already sneering in our direction, as logistical difficulties resulted in a delayed entry to the room. Cole came out at one point to greet the attendees and tell us what was going on. At this time, I was already in awe of how many people were waiting in line. The Gen Con listing was posted with a player count of 25. I believe I’m fairly certain I was the first person to sign up, catching the announcement on social media. Yeah, I had a fire in my gut and I was ready to go.

So, I was puzzled to see what looked like, well, substantially more than 25 people.

How the hell do you play John Company with this many people?

I was about to find out.

We were split into various families, each sitting in a circle of chairs occupying a nook of the room. There were five such groups, mimicking the format of a five-player game of John Company. At the far end, opposite my family’s homestead, was an enormous board. I could make out huge miniature ships, oversized pawns, a ton of really impressive componentry. It was the type of thing typically reserved for those descending into the dark alleys of crowdfunding. It was impressive.

My family was Hastings, the blueys if you will.

This was a funny thing. While I was attending Gen Con with a group of friends, none of them were as enamored with the idea of this event. So, I was navigating these choppy waters solo, ready to win some hearts and stab some backs. It was John Company, I expected it to get messy.

What’s interesting is that I’m a somewhat reserved individual. I’m an introvert at heart, often quiet and unsure of myself around people I don’t know. My expectation was to feel this out, observe, and help my family where I could.

Then the head of our family decided I was going to be the company Chairman.

“Shitttt.”

I don’t blame him. In fact, now I’m thanking him. Believe it or not, the majority of folks attending this event had not played John Company: Second Edition. Ever. I laughed too when I realized this. What a hell of an introduction.

But first, Chairman. This is one of my favorite games. It occupied the 11th slot in my top 50 games list this year. I’ve played it a half dozen times since its release, and I have double-digit plays of the first edition. Sadly, it had been almost a full calendar year since my last session, so I was quite nervous being made Chairman. Lots of little details were foggy such as how many pounds do you receive from a loan, how much does it cost to outfit a ship, and how does opening closed orders work for the Director of Trade?

Whatever, I can wing it. Most of these people don’t even know what a family action is, and they still probably don’t after this event.

This was perhaps the most interesting aspect of this megagame. Each player was the equivalent of a family member in John Company. One of those oval tokens you set on the board to occupy a position. I was the Chairman, but another Hastings chap was the commander of the army of Bengal. Another two were writers. The heads of each family did have a character, but they weren’t represented by a piece on the board. The family together, consisting of several participants, constituted the equivalent of a single player in a standard game of John Company.

Each of us received a bespoke RPG character sheet. We were encouraged to fill in a few vital statistics such as birth year, and later retirement and death years, as well as a rudimentary biography. This was a group exercise within your circle, where players were firing creative ideas and riffing off each other, such as “I’ll be your nephew, running the army of Bengal to further our family’s standing”. I ended up with a nephew and a niece among the group, and the head of our family became my father. I was struggling with creative inspiration due to fatigue. The best narrative kicker I could come up with was that I took this role begrudgingly, at the behest of my father. It seemed wryly humorous, reflecting my own position of being thrust into the role unwittingly.

There was virtually no time spent teaching the game. The event required no experience or familiarity, and a major question I had was how this many people could receive an adequate instruction without the process eating up a significant chunk of the relatively short playtime. The solution was not a dedicated instruction at the forefront of play, but rather to offer explanation and advice to players as they performed actions. You didn’t need to know how a Governor worked ahead of time. When you were called to the front of the room, Cole and Drew would walk you through it and provide suggestions if needed. While messy, this was certainly the best approach as it allowed for time to be spent more wisely and for everyone to receive the attention they needed, in the moment.

Let’s detour for a second and talk about the organizers of this event. Cole and Drew Wehrle run Wehrlegig Games, the publishing house of John Company: Second Edition. They’ve produced some of my favorite titles, including Molly House and Pax Pamir: Second Edition. Cole of course is responsible for Root, Oath, and Arcs. I had never met the Wehrle brothers before, but I have chatted with them a little online.

This added to my nervousness. Very early in the whole thing Cole hammered his gavel and requested the Chairman come to the head of the room. One of the downsides, or perhaps benefits, of working with the written word is that no one knows what you look like. So, I hastily introduced myself before quickly performing my role of allocating company funds. It was a quick meeting for the game was afoot and the pace was necessarily quick.

I was unsure of how aggressive to be, my own plays of John Company commonly resulting in company failure. I did not want to do a disservice to all of these people and steer the company wrong, so I asked for advice. Cole and Drew were quick to suggest I take three loans and make some adjustments in how the money was allocated. This was all quick and dirty. Much of this game was quick and dirty.

The whole thing was, to some degree, chaos. Anyone hoping to accomplish strategic aims was outright misaligned. This was John Company by way of Werewolf or Blood on the Clocktower. It was a mess of people and chatter. I spent more time getting up and talking to people than I did observing or interacting with the board. And I was the Chairman for two of the three turns.

While no was barred from walking up to the oversized game board and having a gander at the current state of the game, it wasn’t exactly within the spirit of this thing. As a result, I spent much of the game in the dark. I didn’t know until the next round how successful our trading had gone. Much of the information was delivered by word of mouth, “we seized Bengal” and “we had massive trading woes”. It was as if news was traveling from India to the mainland. This was incredibly neat from a perspective of immersion.

This RPG element should not be dismissed. This leads me to the third organizer of the event, Non-Breaking Space. NB, designer of GMT’s upcoming Cross Bronx Expressway and Combat Commander: Vietnam, was the captain of the soul of this newfangled way to play John Company. I’d go so far as to say this was the most crucial element of the event.

Every so often, NB would walk over and pull you aside. You’d be asked to write a letter to a loved one, a newspaper, or a friend in England. NB would prompt you on the purpose of this letter. “You just gained a spouse during the London Season, why don’t you write a letter and talk about this marriage.”

And then you’d head to a counter in the back of the room, take an aged piece of paper, and handwrite a missive to someone special. This was incredible. It was also difficult to spontaneously summon creativity. Maybe I’m a harsher critic of myself than others, but I struggled at times to come up with something that I felt was worthy. Regardless, this was an inspiring sub-system of the game, something which worked as a linear thread of storytelling forcing players to reflect and crystallize their thoughts from a first-person perspective. It was brilliant as a device to marry both portions of the game and unify ambition.

There is a lot that can go wrong in an event like this. Of course, a lot did. Anyone who is a stickler for rules would have been appalled. After purchasing my prize when I retired at the beginning of the third round, I forgot to buy a card from the London display. The head of my family reminded me after I returned to our area, but this was several minutes after retirement had been completed. This meant I was left with the final card as the other two had been chosen already. This was my fault and not a big deal at all, but it’s the type of niggling mistake that likely happened all over. This was a very loose game, centered on the moment-to-moment interaction and turmoil of human incentives colliding.

The Parliament phase was another area of the game undergoing construction. Cole and Drew were still trying to feel this out and determine the best way to handle it. It changed from round one to round two, with the Prime Minister being given time to walk about the room and lobby for votes ahead of time. This was a smart alteration, as it allowed for more nuanced political positioning and for a more meaningful Parliament.

This discussion happening away from the board was fascinating. I can’t overstate how wild it felt in contrast to a standard session of John Company. Typically, you’re hunched over the board, scrutinizing every action, looking for an opening to apply pressure or nudge a player decision. Momentary alliances and agreements are forged, sometimes players are betrayed. Here, actions could only be scrutinized in hindsight, and determining who was the agent and what they were thinking was a side-quest all its own.

For instance, I had favored the Presidency of Bengal when assigning company funds, as I was hoping for military conquest due to our eager Hastings commander. At the end of the second round, I was confused to see so much coin still left unspent in the Presidency’s coffers. This led to several minutes of walking about the room and trying to find out who actually was the President of Bengal. But time always felt short. Everything felt rushed. Not in a way that was detrimental to the experience, but in a way where the stakes felt heightened. There was an undercurrent of tension that could not be ignored.

Another example of the obfuscated game state was my second declaration of no dividends. I was unable to pay out to the shareholders as the company was one pound short of meeting the threshold. No one knew this. I tried to explain the situation to the room, but the incessant booing could not be quelled. This wouldn’t happen in the standard format where the Presidents responsible for trade rolls would be taken to the gallows. I didn’t even know who the Presidents were at the time, so it was my neck in the noose.

Ultimately, the company failed in the third round. Heeded by a French invasion of India and our own feeble attempts at conducting trade, the room was collectively in disarray with at least one family unable to pay the upkeep on a prize. The Hastings family remained dignified, retiring to a luxurious set of estates built atop stolen wealth and plundered riches. We came in second by a single point.

No matter how I describe the process of play or the emotional payouts, it doesn’t feel enough. Just as when I wrote those letters to my father, to my mother, and to “whom this may concern”, it seems as though I’m unable to properly convey the enchantment of the moment. This was among the best gaming experiences I’ve ever had. I was hesitant to write even this article due to the inherent difficulties. But it needed to be done. More people need to know about this. I’m wishing I was in that room right now, spellbound. Cole, Drew, NB, and anyone else so lucky, I will see you there next year.

 

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