☙ The Vulgarian Rules Restore Vigour and Honour to a Timeworn Table Game ❧
From our correspondent in the Smoking Parlour at Dreibach House
In this modern age—where leisure is too often squandered upon trivial pursuits and flimsy diversions—a curious and most welcome revival has taken root amidst the lamp-lit parlours and pipe-smoke salons of the Order. The ancient game of dominoes, long relegated to the realm of idle pensioners and rain-day lodge meetings, has re-emerged in a form both ruthless and refined. Its name? Vulgarian Dominoes.
Here, no quarter is given. There are no teams. No alliances. No soft landings for the half-committed. The game is played for blood—figuratively, one hopes—and for the satisfaction of besting one’s peers not through trickery, but through steel-nerved calculation and strategic clarity.
A Contest of Wits, Not Fellowship
“Every player for himself!” cries the motto of the game, and woe betide the soul who arrives seeking companionship over competition. “This ain’t your uncle’s parlour sport,” remarks one grizzled veteran of the Veiled Hand, thumbing a lacquered box of double-nines with grim affection. “If you want a victory, best burn that hand clean and swift.”
Each Knight stands alone. Victory is solitary. Defeat, likewise, is private and complete.
The Structure of the Draw: Measured and Merciless
Unlike the lazy, house-ruled variants that have diluted the discipline of traditional dominoes, the Vulgarian Rules observe a precise and unyielding framework for tile draw and deployment—adjusted always for the number at table.
Using the Standard Double-Six Set (28 tiles):
- 2 Players: 7 tiles each. May draw up to 3 mid-game.
- 3 Players: 6 tiles apiece. May draw 2.
- 4 Players: 5 tiles. Only 1 draw permitted.
Using the Double-Nine Set (55 tiles):
- 5 Players: 7 tiles each. May draw 4.
- 6 Players: 6 tiles. Draw up to 3.
- 7 Players: 5 tiles. Draw 2.
- 8 Players: 5 tiles. A solitary draw permitted.
Should one’s hand prove untenable, one must knock—politely—and pass the turn. There shall be no endless rummaging in the boneyard, nor the ignominy of tile-hoarding. The tempo of the table must be upheld.
Scoring: No Consolation for the Coward
There is but one path to glory: the complete exhaustion of one’s hand. Only the player who empties their tiles may claim the pips of others. If none succeed and all are blocked? Then no score is awarded, and the round is declared a draw—just as cold and absolute as the rules themselves.
Play continues in this fashion until a single player achieves one hundred points. At that moment, the match concludes, and the victor’s name is entered into the informal annals of the Order with the solemn rattle of spent tiles and a chorus of reluctant admiration.
A Game of Purpose, Not Pastime
“These are not rules for the idle or faint of heart,” notes Archivist Voller of the Collegium, peering over his spectacles. “Each tile is a blade, and each draw a wager of honour. It is not simply a matter of play—but of character.”
Indeed, it is a duel by digits, a contest of minds honed not by luck but by nerve. One does not pass the time in Vulgarian Dominoes. One defies it.
So dust off your set, steel your gaze, and find yourself worthy adversaries. For in the Order, as in life, the only thing worse than losing… is never having dared to play.