New original card games to try!

NEW CARD GAMES

I’ve been messing around with social games and card games for over 30 years now, and honestly, I’m constantly wondering—where does the innovation end? Just when I thought I had finally curated this perfect little collection of games, life throws me a curveball. I recently crossed paths with this group of card fanatics called Damjanicus, and I actually joined the club quite recently. That connection has totally blown my horizons wide open. These guys aren't just hobbyists; they focus exclusively on brand-new, original games, which they then stress-test and prove through actual play. As a direct result, we’ve got this game called Subros, which already has its own tournaments and championships going with about 30 registered players. I’ve gone through the theory on it, and man, it really doesn't hold a candle to Bridge—it actually holds its own. And aesthetically? It blows standard decks out of the water. This might sound a bit pretentious, but I'm telling you, it's true.
The whole point of these new games is to push a new deck featuring an American suit composition and a specialized hierarchy—we could just call them American cards since they were composed and designed right here. If you look closer, it’s pretty obvious they are way more intuitive and streamlined; you can basically play any traditional game with them. It lets the player focus entirely on the logic of the game and the reasoning behind their moves. To start, I'll provide a brief overview and comparison with a standard deck. However, since mass production hasn't kicked in yet, the game descriptions will use a standard deck, along with extra explanations regarding the logic and essence tied to this specific card format.
The deck consists of 32 cards, plus 1 Joker.
There are four suits: Rose (which corresponds to Herc), Quince (Diamonds), Green (Spades), and Pinecone (Clubs). The colors of these suits actually represent the colors that the standard symbols symbolize and originated from. Just as a reminder, the very first cards were just divided into four colors without any symbols at all.

Just so there's no confusion, the four upper Great Units are essentially what you'd call Jacks in a standard deck, because the cards are ranked 1, 2, 3, and 4 Great, so the Kings from a standard deck would be the appropriate Great Four. Regardless, the image above shows only the colors in the American composition versus a standard deck.
As for the ranks, things work a little differently here. We have 8 ranks split into the Upper (Great signs) and Lower (small signs) House. It’s similar to face cards and numbered cards, but unlike a standard deck where you have numbers from 7, 10, and face cards, here both Houses contain four cards: 1, 2, 3, and 4. That’s exactly why it’s easier—the player only has to deal with the four smallest numbers, and instead of memorizing letters, you just keep track of whether they are Great or small.
So, the full sequence in one suit looks like this:

Looking at the image, you can see the strength order is reversed. While the American cards run from weakest to strongest from left to right, a standard deck is arranged in descending order. The strongest card is the Great Four, which is analogous to the King, followed by the Three-King, the Two-Queen, and the One-Jack. It's the same deal with the small cards. The small Four is the Ten, the small Three-Nine is the Nine, the small Two is the Eight, and the small One is the weakest card, the Seven.
On the other side of every small One, there are 5 more symbols, and on the small Four, there are 10 symbols, since in certain games, that's how they are counted or assigned value.

Labeling these cards is also straightforward. There's always a number and a small or capital letter representing the suit. So, a small Three-Pinecone is marked 3p, while the Great version is 3P; a small Two-Rose is 2r, a Great Two-Rose is 2R, and so on. Throughout the game descriptions, I'll always refer to these cards first, but because they're hard to get your hands on right now, the instructions will still use standard deck terminology.
Right now, there are 32 games available. Most of them are completely original, while some are variations of known games like Preferans, Bridge, or Skat. Each game is symbolized by a card from the deck, and each has a special role in play. But before that, we have two games that served as the precursors to this whole endeavor and were the very first ones played. Practically speaking, everything started with Rose and the great satirist.

great satir

The "great satir" is this homegrown concept that popped up about 20 years ago right here in the States—and honestly, thanks to the little instruction manual that comes with a standard deck of cards, it actually managed to spread way beyond our borders. It was actually this specific idea that inspired the Damjanicus group to start cooking up all sorts of new, original card games.
Now, the 52-card deck used for the great satir is pretty unique because it leans into the idea that the original suits—Herc, Karo, Tref, and Pik—actually represented real colors. So, in this version, we’re looking at red, yellow, blue, and green, which symbolize Fire, Sun, Ice, and Leaf. The whole logic behind the great satir comes from nature itself: ice can't burn, and while the Sun can melt ice if it's cranking hard enough, leaves just soak up the rays. It's all connected.

Of course, you see people playing with standard decks way more often, since these specialized ones are still kind of a rarity—plus, the word about how to play spread much faster than the physical cards themselves ever could.
NUMBER OF PLAYERS: The great satir is designed for four players, sitting across from each other in pairs. There are also versions for three or two people where everyone is out for themselves, which I'll break down a bit later.
THE CARDS: You're using a standard 52-card deck with the usual hierarchy: Ace, King, Queen, Jack, 10, 9, 8, and so on, down to the 2, which is your weakest link.
But hold on, we need to talk about the suits. In this game, each suit has a permanent trait that stays consistent throughout the entire hand. Unlike most games, they aren't ranked by strength—they're different.
-Herc (Red, Fire) is your constant trump/ace in the hole; you use it to "cut" when you're running low on a suit.
-Karo (Yellow, Sun) is what we call the "JOKER-SUIT"—yeah, that's a thing now. If you're out of a suit and out of trumps, you can play a Karo, but only if you feel like it. To win a trick with a joker-suit, it has to be at least equal to or stronger than the highest card already played. And just like any other suit, you can use a joker to beat a trump if it meets that same rule.
-Tref (Blue, Ice) is just a regular suit, but it's built on the idea that ice doesn't burn—so fire can't touch it. Basically, if someone leads with Tref, even an ace/trump can't do anything to it. This makes Tref the "TRUMP-KILLER." Anyone forced to cut a Tref lead basically loses their trump in the process. On the flip side, the Sun can melt ice if it's bright enough, so you can take a Tref trick with a Karo, provided it's equal or higher.
-Pik (Green, Leaf) is another standard suit that can be cut by trumps, but it's totally immune to the Joker-suit (the Karo). Since the Sun is actually good for a leaf, the Karo can't do anything to it. That's why we call this suit the "JOKER-SLAYER."
It’s pretty clear that Herc and Karo are basically rivals. A Karo can be cut by a Herc, but only if the Herc is stronger; otherwise, the trump loses the trick. Conversely, if a Karo is trying to outplay a Herc, it just needs to be equal to or higher than whatever the biggest card played was.
DEALING: The dealer hands out 5 cards to everyone, then another 3. Only the first player picks up their cards and makes the call, choosing one of these:
-Closed,
-Active,
-Passive.
Everyone grabs their cards, and then the dealer gives everyone another 5.
-Closed means everyone grabs all 13 cards immediately and the game kicks off, with everyone keeping track of their own points.
-Active is a setup where Player 1 thinks they and their partner can pull more tricks than the opponents. They announce that whoever takes more tricks gets double points for their team, hoping it'll be them. If they miss the mark, there's no massive penalty—they just end up doing a huge favor for the other team, who gets to write down those doubled points, while Player 1 ends up in the same spot as if they hadn't called for it at all.
There's also a variation where everyone only takes the first 8 cards dealt, while the remaining 5 are flipped face-up in a fan on the table, so you can see the top card, the next one, and so on. In this version, everything is out in the open.
So, Passive play is basically this weird-ass game where your whole goal is to walk away with as little as possible—it's all about damage control, really. Basically, whichever side ends up taking more stuff has to write their result down as a negative score, while the opponents get to tally up their points like normal. It’s played exactly the same way as Active play, too—you still have five cards laid out face-up on the table in front of each player. Same setup, just a totally different vibe when it comes to how you actually win.
Let's just get straight to the game already.
GAME RULES: Look, it’s played just like any other trick-taking game you’ve ever encountered—super straightforward, nothing fancy about it. Honestly, it's pretty basic. The guy on the right kicks things off, and he's the one who explains exactly what kind of game we're running. Once that's settled, everyone else basically has to follow suit:
Basically, you gotta play a card that matches the suit of the first one dropped—keep it simple.
Look, when you’re staring down a hand with zero cards in your open color—and we’ve all been there, right?—you basically have no choice but to cut with an ace. It’s not even a debate at that point; you’re forced to play the Herc.
Look, when you're staring down a hand with zero color and no trump cards to save your skin, you basically end up playing whatever garbage you can find just to stay in the game. It’s desperate. But hey, if you're feeling lucky—or just plain crazy—you can pull out the Karon now. It basically acts like a Joker for the suit, giving you one last shot at something meaningful.
Look, these rules are set in stone—period. It doesn't matter what color is currently on the table or which one just opened up; the deal stays the same.
So, here’s how the whole Active and Passive play thing works—you gotta drop one card from your hand every single time. Once the round wraps up, everyone just grabs their top card from whatever ended up on the table. You stick to that routine for the first five rounds, and once you're through that, everyone’s sitting on exactly 8 cards, so you just carry on with the game like normal. Simple enough, right?
Look, since there are 13 tricks in total, everything hinges on who manages to snag that 7th one—that’s the magic number to secure a lead over the opposition. In an active game, it just means their score gets doubled and we keep things moving normally. But if you're playing a passive game? Yeah, that’s where it gets messy—their score gets recorded as a negative, the game drags on, and obviously, everyone starts playing like hell just to avoid taking any more tricks.
A little something to chew on: So, here’s how the whole thing actually works—and don't get me started on how confusing people make this. Basically, everyone plays one card, right? The strongest card in the suit sets the lead, and then that same player gets to go again. But before all that madness kicks off, if we're playing one of those two specific games we talked about, everyone has to flip over a card during those first five rounds. Now, let's be real: half the time you aren't even going to have all four cards matching the same suit, so you really need to break down exactly how the pile works if you don't want to lose your mind.
Look, Herc should always be played first. Honestly, everyone needs to follow the lead on Ace-high strategy and just stick to playing the Herc cards. If you don't have a single Herc in your hand, fine—you can play whatever junk you want. But listen, if you decide to go with the Karon, which basically acts like the Joker of the suit, you might actually pull off a trick with it—provided it’s the highest card out there, or at least ties with the strongest Herc in the mix.
Diamonds are the top tier here—they're the absolute priority. Everyone’s gotta play Diamonds first, period. And look, if you’re running low and don't have any left? Fine, you’ve got to drop a Herc to keep things moving. But just a heads-up so nobody gets confused—that Herc only actually takes the trick if it manages to outpower the strongest Diamond already sitting on the table. Otherwise, it's just a wasted move.
Spades are basically the king of the deck—they’re the first thing you look for. Everyone’s gotta play Spades whenever they can, and if you're stuck without them, you better hope you've got a Herc up your sleeve to cut the trick. Honestly, any single Herc will absolutely crush any Spade out there and snatch the win right from under you. If you're truly bottoming out and don't even have a Herc? Well, then you're just throwing trash cards to the wind and hoping for the best. And just to remind everyone since we touched on this earlier—Karon is just a regular suit. Spades totally run circles around them, so don't go getting it twisted.
Clubs kicked things off. Look, everyone’s out here playing the Clubs, but if you find yourself without them—well, you're stuck playing the Hearts. But here’s the kicker: Clubs are totally immune to Hearts, which basically turns a Club into just another piece of junk you toss out there; it’s got zero chance of actually taking a trick. Now, if you’re sitting there with absolutely nothing—no Clubs and no Hearts—then you finally get to play whatever else is in your hand. That could even be a Karon, which basically acts like a Joker at that point. If that Karon happens to be the highest card or ties with the strongest Club, then yeah, you snag the trick.
This goes for all thirteen rounds of the game.
BANNING: Look, the rules are pretty straightforward—every single person on the team sticks to their side, no exceptions. Once the game finally wraps up, both sides just sit down and count up the cards they managed to scoop up—it’s all fair play, everyone counts equally. Then, you take that total number and divide it by five, since we’re playing where every five cards equals one point, and whatever is left over stays as the "Resto." You just write it down as the points, add a dot, and then tack on the remainder. Simple as that.
So, look—if one side manages to snag 16 Diamonds, that works out to 3 points with one single card left over, right? In that case, you’d just write it down as 3.1. You can really see how this logic plays out when you're looking at an entry showing a few different Divisions in a row.

So, that Division round ended up being Closed, and Team A managed to snag 28 Diamonds—that works out to 5 points and a remainder of 3. Meanwhile, Team B walked away with 24 Diamonds, which lands them 4 points and a remainder of 4. That’s how you log it, too—just write it all down and underline the final score.
So, looking at the math for the second Division—this player who was claiming he was playing "actively" or whatever—well, Team A ended up doing basically all the heavy lifting. Because they carried so much more weight, their score jumped from a 6.2 (which was 32 cards) straight up to 12.4. Meanwhile, the opponents only managed to scrape together a standard 4.0 points for their 20 cards. When you add that to the previous round's tally, the final result after the second Division sits at 17.7 to 8.4 in favor of Team A. Just goes to show, talk is cheap when the scoreboard is doing the real work.
So, looking at the results from the third Division—the guy who kicked things off actually called for Passive play. Since Team A managed to snag 7 carries, which works out to 28 cards total, they’re getting slapped with a negative 5.3 on their record, which gets docked from their previous score. Meanwhile, Team B pulls in a standard 4.4 for their 24 cards. That leaves us sitting at a total score of 12.4 to 12.8 after this third Division round.
When you're tallying up the wins or subtracting points—even when doubling down—just remember to treat the remainder like any other regular decimal number. It’s only once you hit 10 that you actually carry over a single point.
We handle corrections if one team somehow slips into the negatives. Since we don't allow anyone to be underwater here, we take that negative value and add it to both sides. That way, the players in the hole get bumped back up to zero, while their opponents see their score climb accordingly.
A single round keeps going until someone hits 50 points or more.
The whole Match consists of winning three rounds, though honestly, man, that can drag on forever.
PENALTIES: Since this game can get pretty intense and people tend to pull back sometimes, you’ll occasionally run into a situation where a player doesn't respond with the right suit. If it turns out they played, say, a joker-suit when they actually held an Ace, the current > is killed immediately and a penalty for the violation is slapped on right then and there.
If this happens during Closed Play, the opposing team gets credited with 10.0 points.
If anyone breaks the rules during Active Play, the opponents get a cool 20.0 points.
But if the screw-up happens during Passive Play, the opponents get +5.0 points, while the team that messed up takes a -10.0 hit straight off their current score.

So, here’s the deal—we’re stripping the deck down to just 40 cards. Basically, we’re tossing all the Twos, Threes, and Fours right into the trash where they belong.
So, here’s how the deal goes—everyone gets handed a 5+3 card split, right? Then, you take five more cards and set them aside next to those initial eight you were dealt, and that final lone card? That goes face down right in the center of the table. Now, if the first player to the dealer's right decides to call out an Active or a Passive game, they get to grab that middle card and swap it out for whatever they want from the side pile—just toss the old one aside, no biggie. But, if they decide to go with a closed game instead, everything just gets tallied up against the side pile immediately. Either way you slice it, the winner of the last trick is the one who walks away with the loot.
So, here’s how the scoring works in Active play—it’s kind of a trip. Basically, if you’re the first one to snag five tricks, your points get doubled for that round. And get this: you don't even have to be the top player of the trio to pull it off. You just have to hit that five-trick mark first, and boom—you’re walking away with double the points while everyone else is just playing catch-up. But then you switch over to Passive play, and the whole vibe shifts. It’s almost like the game is punishing you for being too fast. In that mode, if you’re the first person to grab those five tricks, your score actually gets pushed into the negatives for that deal. Meanwhile, the other players? They just get their usual standard points. It’s totally backwards, honestly.
So, here’s how it works around here—every four cards you pull gets you one point, and everything else? Well, that’s just leftovers for the Restaurant.
So, here’s how the scoring shakes out—it’s kind of a grind, honestly. If someone manages to hit the 50 mark or even pushes past it, they snag 3 play points, the runner-up grabs 2, and the third person walks away with just 1. But—and this is the kicker that always sucks—if one or even two people fail to hit at least 25 points, they're basically just wasting their time; they finish the round with zero play points. Total bust.
The match keeps going until someone hits 10 play points—or honestly, it could go way past that if things get messy.

Great satire for two players.

So, we’re playing with a 28-card deck here—basically, we just toss out everything lower than an eight and call it a day.
It goes down exactly like the previous versions, except you’re left holding two cards at the end. Both of those cards act as the Starter—they decide whether things go Active or stay Passive. If you're playing a closed game, though, you just toss them straight to the side immediately.
In the end, everything just goes to whoever manages to snag that final verse.
So, here's how it works—you take three cards to make one point, and everything else? It's just Restaurant.
It’s a best-of-three situation—so you gotta grab three sets to take the whole thing—and each set plays out pretty much like standard play, running up to 50 points or whatever it takes to close it out.

Great satire — great anarchy.

So, this is basically a variation of the Great Satire set up for a quartet—but honestly, the pavilions are tweaked just enough to make things way more intense. It makes the whole thing much tougher to navigate, though I'll admit it adds a little bit of that chaotic energy we all secretly love.
The only thing they actually changed was the rule about how you wear your pins.
It honestly doesn't matter what card kicks off the trick. If a trefoil shows up at any point during the hand, those Herzegovina guys are basically just a basic suit. Same goes for the spades—they’re essentially useless since they’re constantly being overshadowed by the King.
So, here’s how it goes down—it’s kind of wild if you think about it. Let's say the first player leads off with a spade. Then the second guy? He’s totally out of spades, so he just cuts in with a high King. Now the third player is also sitting there without a single spade, but they don't have a King to play either. Even so, they can still bail out their partner by tossing out any random trefoil—and just like that, the King that was played suddenly turns into nothing more than a regular suit. It's all part of the game.
By playing it this way, you’re basically cranking the number of possible variations up by like a hundred times—which sounds cool on paper, I guess—but honestly? It makes reading the board almost impossible. Everything just starts blurring together until the whole thing feels like one big, messy, great anarchy.
Everything else is exactly the same as the Great Satire.

Great satire in rainbow colors.

So, check this out—this is another variation of the Great Satire meant for a quartet, and honestly, it brings a totally different vibe and energy to the table. If you’ve got the original cards described at the start of the game—you know, the ones where the suits are split into four distinct colors—there's a little trick you need to know about the backs. They actually come in four different designs. To make this work, you're gonna need four separate decks. Here’s the breakdown: from the red-backed deck, you pull only the thirteen Kings; from the yellow one, grab all thirteen Hearts; from the blue deck, take the thirteen Trefoils; and from the green one, snag the thirteen Spades. Once you mash them all together into one big pile, you end up with a complete 52-card set where you can tell exactly what color is on the back just by looking at it. It’s a bit of a setup, but man, it changes the whole dynamic.

It’s honestly exhausting—players just stare at each other constantly, tracking every single move like they're trying to solve a math equation in real-time. When everyone knows exactly who's holding what, the whole idea of a good bluff or a lucky break basically goes out the window. You lose that thrill, you know? Instead of playing the player, it just turns into this endless, grueling grind of pure combinatorics. It’s all just numbers and probability after that.

Look, besides the fact that everyone already knows exactly how the opponent’s color scheme is laid out, there's basically zero room to mess up here—and honestly, that's the problem. If you slip up even an inch, the opposition isn't just going to notice; they're going to jump all over you immediately. It's like playing a game where the rules are transparent, but the consequences for a single mistake are instant intervention. No margin for error, no breathing room, just straight to the fallout.
This is actually a pretty wild way to play—if you happen to have four different decks lying around with totally different back designs, honestly, it doesn't even matter if the colors clash or look like a mess. You can just make any of them work. I’m telling you, give it a shot; it's worth it. As far as the math and the logic go? It feels like you're playing a completely different game entirely.

minor satire

So, as the symbol for minor satire, we’re using the 1d-small unit of Dunja—which, let's be real, is the absolute powerhouse card in this whole setup; nothing else can touch it. But since most of you guys are probably just going to stick to a standard deck, the closest thing you'll be playing is the 7-Ace.
The game is set up for 4 players, with partners sitting across from each other.
We're working with a 32-card deck. They follow the usual ranking rules, with one big exception: Sidney is the strongest in every suit and sits right ahead of the Ace. In the quince suit, the order goes like this:

The suit properties are basically identical to the great satire. Hercules acts as the permanent trump, but here's the catch—it can't "cut" or lead a trick if the round started with clubs. Still, if you're out of clubs, you have to play it that way, even if it means losing the trick. And if you're forced to play Hercules because there's no quince left, it has to be strong enough to actually take the trick.
Quince is the Joker-color. Basically, you only step in if you don't have the suit that was led, provided you have a trump. If you do, you can overpower the current high card, but you have to be at least equal to the highest card played so far, or higher. Meanwhile, if the round kicked off with spades, and you're out of spades, you usually cut with a trump—but if you don't have Hercules, the quince doesn't count as a joker. If the round starts with Hercules, obviously you have to play Hercules, and if you don't have it, the quince can jump in and beat it, provided it's at least an equal value.
Clubs is the AUDUTELIMINATOR. That means if you're out of the led suit, you have to cut, but the trump can't carry the trick. If you don't even have a trump? Well, then the quince can still swoop in and win.
Spades is just a regular suit; you cut it with trump like normal, and it doesn't care about the Quinces.
Everything is explained in much more detail over in the great satire.
THE DEAL: The dealer hands out 5 cards to everyone, and then gives each player 3 face-down cards to put in their talon.
The first player to the dealer's right calls the game type:
-Closed
-Active
-Passive
In the other two modes, three cards are flipped face-up in a fan shape and left on the table.
If you're playing Closed, the players grab those face-up cards immediately.
GAMEPLAY: You have to follow suit based on whatever the first card played was.
If you don't have the suit that started the round, you have to cut with a trump.
If you don't even have a trump, you just throw down whatever.
After each of the first three rounds, players pick up the top card from those three sitting on the table.
SCORING: Once the dealing is done, you just count the cards. Every 5 cards equals 1 point, and any leftovers are called Resto. For example, if you took 24 cards, you write down 4.4 points—that's 4 points and 4 cards Resto.
In Active play, if a side hits their fourth trick first, they get double points, even if the final count ends up being a 4:4 tie. The opponents just get whatever they managed to score.
In Passive play, the first side to hit their fourth trick actually gets a negative score, while the opponents get their usual points. So, the whole goal is to take as few tricks as possible, though the basic rules for taking tricks stay the same.
If anyone breaks the rules, the hand stops immediately, and the opponents are credited with 6.0 points for that deal. If it was Active play, that jumps to 12.0, and for Passive, it's 2.0; meanwhile, the side that messed up loses 6.0 points.
A match goes until someone hits 50.1 points—meaning you have to cross that 50-point mark by at least one single card.

So, you want the lowdown on Subrosa? Alright, buckle up, because I’m about to give you the crash course—no fluff, just the raw reality of how this whole thing works. Basically, we’re diving into the deep end here. If you’re coming into this thinking it’s some polished, corporate-sanctioned nonsense, you’ve already missed the point. It’s messy, it’s complicated, and honestly, it can be a total headache if you don't know where to look—but that’s kind of the charm, right? Or the curse. Depends on how much caffeine you've had. Think of it as a massive, sprawling web of connections and hidden layers. We aren't just looking at the surface stuff everyone else is obsessing over; we’re digging into the grit underneath. It’s about seeing the patterns that most people miss because they’re too busy staring at the shiny distractions. It’s cynical, sure, but someone’s gotta call it like it is. I’ll be laying it all out—the players, the moves, and why certain things matter more than others. Just a heads-up: it isn't always pretty, and I won't sugarcoat anything for your comfort. We’re going deep, we’re going wide, and we’re doing it our way. Let's get into it.
I’ve spent the better part of the last thirty years obsessed with collecting, documenting, and basically deconstructing social games and card games—yeah, I know, sounds like a thrilling life choice, but here we are. Over all that time, I’ve had to tweak and adapt a ton of stuff just to make it actually work for the way we play things here in the States. Honestly, that constant tinkering ended up sparking a bunch of my own ideas, and I eventually transitioned from just a student of the game to actually designing some of my own stuff. Anyway, there’s this dedicated circle of card enthusiasts and hardcore fans of those original Damjanicus games, and I recently joined their ranks. Because of that, they’ve actually given me the green light to start publishing all my new projects through them.
Look, if you want to talk about the absolute peak of what Damjanicus has achieved, you have to talk about Subrosa. This isn't just some quick hobby project, either—it’s the result of years upon years of grinding and constant fine-tuning. Honestly? When you look at the sheer complexity and the insane level of combinatorial depth, I’m convinced it actually blows Bridge out of the water. I’ve actually sat down and poked around the mathematical models myself, and yeah—I’ll go out on a limb here—it’s arguably even more advanced than Bridge. Now, obviously, launching a new game requires serious capital, and since nobody is out there throwing massive amounts of cash at it, people don't realize that Subrosa is actually playing on a global stage. It deserves to be right up there with the big hitters based on its content alone. We already have a solid community of about 30 players over in the States, and we're already running tournaments and full-blown championships. It’s legit.
So, before we even get into Subrosa, I’ve gotta tell you about Rose—this predecessor that basically paved the way. Honestly, it was launched as this super chill, yet surprisingly heavy and genuinely engaging card game. It’s essentially the foundation everything else is built on, and since it just adds a few extra layers of rules to create Subrosa, most people end up playing it while they're still trying to wrap their heads around how the main game actually works.
Give it a shot—honestly, I think if you hang out with Rose, you’re in for some seriously good times you won't forget anytime soon.

Rose

So, here’s the deal with Rose—it’s a four-player game where you sit across from your partner in two sets of pairs. Basically, you and your buddy are on one team, staring down the other duo sitting directly opposite you.
CARDS: So, we’re playing with a stripped-down deck here—just 32 cards total. They follow the usual hierarchy, though: you've got your 7s, 8s, 9s, 10s, Jacks, Queens, Kings, and the Aces. Simple enough, right?
The only thing that actually gets any credit around here? Just the Pictures. That’s it. That's the whole game.
Officer, that’s one point for me.
The Queen, down by two points.
King, 3 points.
Ace, 4 hearts
So, there’s a total of 40 points up for grabs here. Every single circle you manage to land nets you an extra point—pretty straightforward—plus, if you can pull off taking that final trick, you’re looking at a sweet little 5-point bonus on top of everything else.
So, we're looking at a split where there are 53 points up for grabs.
The dealer sticks to a strict 3-2-3 rotation—simple enough, right? Everyone ends up with an 8-card hand. The guy sitting directly to the dealer's right kicks things off. Once that round wraps up, the dealer shuffles everything back together and deals out the next set. There’s just one little catch, though: at the end of a round or when you're starting a fresh game, if the current dealer happens to be on the winning side, they actually skip their turn to deal. Just a little quirk to keep things moving.
The rules of the game: So, the first move goes to the player on the right of the dealer—and they can play whatever card they feel like.
Everyone else just plays their strongest suit—you know, that same "dominating" color—or they go all in with the Joker-color. If you’re paying attention, you’ll see this whole Joker-color thing acts a lot like a trump card, but let’s be real: it’s fundamentally different from a standard trump. It’s its own beast.
First off, she only plays when she feels like it—there’s zero obligation to step up to the table. And if she's trying to use that Joker-color to outplay whatever was played before, it’s gotta be at least equal to or stronger than the previous card. You can't just "cut" someone using a weaker hand, which is exactly what happens with an Ace.
Right at the start of the game, the Joker-color is always set to Heart—no question about it—but keep your eyes peeled because someone can totally flip that around during the first round.
Basically, everyone just keeps topping whatever was played before—as long as you're playing the same suit, or if you've got that Joker-color to pull out and crush them. That's how the game works.
Look, if you don't have the stones to outplay someone—or if you just flat-out refuse to step up your game—you're basically just playing on the house's dime. You’re just tossing whatever card happens to be sitting next to your last move onto the table. It’s what we call "discarding." And once you go down that path? Forget about it. You’ve effectively forfeited your right to fight for the pot. You're out.
Look, at the end of the day, every single round has to wrap up—period. It’s simple math, really. Everyone’s gotta play by the exact same rules, holding the same number of cards. No shortcuts, no playing favorites. We all deal from the same deck.
Look, at the end of the day, nobody actually owes anyone anything—none of us have any real obligations here. You can play whatever you want, whenever you feel like it, just based on your own damn whims and whatever mood strikes you. It’s all up to you.
So, look—a trick can actually span multiple rounds. Basically, once all four players have tossed their cards down, the turn swings right back to the first player. If nobody has "stomped" him—meaning, if his highest remaining card still holds the top spot—he just sweeps up all four cards and keeps the momentum going to lead the next trick.
Look, if his partner is the only one who actually managed to outplay him in the first round—then that whole deal is already wrapped up, period. The win belongs to the partner, plain and simple.
Look, here’s how the deal actually works—and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If someone from the opposition manages to "crush" the play, the lead player has to keep the momentum going into the next round. Basically, if you stomp on someone else's move, you're essentially gifting yourself a fresh chance to keep playing. You can't just stop mid-stream either; once a round kicks off, you've gotta see it through to the bitter end. So, yeah, everyone ends up tossing one more card onto the pile. A trick only officially belongs to the person who played that last winning card—but there's a catch. When we talk about "played cards," we're strictly talking about the ones sitting in the center that were actually fighting for dominance. All those other cards people toss out just because they have to? They still go into the winner's pile, sure, but they aren't part of the actual battle. They're just sitting there on the side, basically destined to be scavenged by whoever wins the fight. It's kind of brutal when you think about it.
Look, if you fold early, you're out of the running—period. It doesn't matter if you're holding a monster hand or the best cards in the deck; once you toss them, you lose your chance to make any moves in the next round. You're done.
Get this—I’m looking back at one specific stretch of absolute chaos that dragged on for four whole rounds:
Player I Player II Player III Player IV
So, here’s the hand I’m looking at—it’s a total mess, honestly. We've got the 7 of Spades, the 8 of Spades, that 8 of Hearts acting like a Joker, and then the 9 of Hearts. Just a complete disaster of a spread.
Round two—I’ve got the 10 of Spades, toss the 9 of Diamonds... actually, scrap that, I'm ditching the 9. Throwing in the Ace of Diamonds too. Leaving me with the Jack of Spades.
Round three—the spread is looking like K-spades, 8-clubs, Q-clubs, and A-spades.
Round 4—Ace-heart, 10-spades, King-diamonds, 7-diamonds.
So, basically, the trick belongs to Player I. They just keep tossing down new cards to grab the next trick, and it just keeps going like that—round and round we go.
Look, anyone can play any hand they want—there’s zero obligation to stick to anything. But if you actually want to stay in the fight for the pot, you’ve gotta outplay whatever was played before. You need to top it with a matching card or hit them with that Joker-color—and again, I'm not saying you need one or both, just that it works. If you just toss your cards and bail, sure, you can jump back in during the next round, but you'll be playing against whatever the strongest card happens to be at that moment—which basically means you're just throwing your hands up and opting out of the real action.
OFFER: So here’s how the situation plays out—it's one of those annoying spots where even if it’s finally your turn to play, some opponent decided to "step on" someone else during the previous round. Since the trick hasn't been officially called yet, we have to push straight into the next round. Now, if the dealer doesn't have the cards to "step on" them—or honestly, just doesn't feel like dealing with the headache—they can just toss a card aside, but that effectively burns one card from the deck right then and there. You only actually open up the trick if it's crystal clear that the play is going to run its full course through the end of the round; if that happens, the card counts as played. Otherwise? You just tuck it right back into your hand.
I’m looking at an I-9 spade; II-10 spade; III-10 heart—that Joker-color vibe—and then a IV-9 diamond, though honestly, that last one is just trash.
So, now we’re looking at Players I, II, and III in the mix—since Player IV basically bailed, and honestly, if they ever get called up again, they’ll probably just flake out all over again. If Player I decides they aren't feeling the vibe to reinforce, they can just slide a card face down. Player I is passing for now, but there's a real chance we won't even see a second round happen. If Player II doesn't want in, or simply doesn't have the stones to push through, they can just tap it and call it quits—leaving Player III as the only one left standing, which pretty much hands them the trick on a silver platter. In that scenario, Player I just takes that face-down card right back into their hand.
If Player II crushes it, that face-down card is toast—it’s flipped wide open immediately and treated like it was discarded from the jump.
It’s kind of like how I play my hand—I can offer up options I or II, provided that III and IV are still out there on the table waiting to be dealt with. But here’s the catch: if III ends up getting crushed, both of those previous moves just get tossed aside—completely dead in the water.
By the end of the second round, the whole thing works exactly the same way—it’s just about looking at whether the verdict is final or if we’re all just dragging this mess along to the next stage.
Look, if he’s the first one up to bat—and let's assume the only people getting stepped on here are the opposing players, maybe just one or two of them—if he doesn't feel like making some big, aggressive move to overpower the situation, he can just tap the table. Simple as that. The whole pot goes to whoever was the last one to step on someone. It's basic stuff, really.
shimmering : If one side manages to sweep all eight rounds, people say they totally "shimmered" their opponents. It’s not even about stacking up points for the individual rounds or grabbing that final trick—it's way more brutal than that. Instead, they just bank a flat 40 points for the card values, while their opponents get slapped with a nasty -30 point penalty.
BREAK : Look, the Break is basically what makes the game actually worth playing—it adds this layer of flavor that keeps things from getting stale. Here’s how it works: when you've got players sitting in those second and fourth spots in a suit, and they start going head-to-head, if they manage to overpower one another while completely bypassing the guy caught in the middle, they just snatch the whole thing right then and there. No extra rounds, no drama, just instant victory. So, yeah—it’s always the side that *isn't* the one leading off the suit that ends up grabbing the win.
The break over the third player is painfully obvious here. Basically, Player II just steamrolls through, Player III tosses it away, then Player IV ends up crushing their own partner—which leaves Player I totally stranded and unable to keep the momentum going in the next round. At this point, Player IV is basically carrying the whole lead.
So, here’s how the Break over Player I actually plays out—it gets a little messy. If Player IV is the last one to go, and then Player I throws out an offer, Player II can step up and trump their own partner (Player IV), which triggers another Break situation. At that point, Players III and IV both have to toss out one more card just to wrap up the current trick. Meanwhile, Player I's partner is totally stuck—they can't throw a trump because Player II already snatched the trick with that Break.
The Joker-color is changing: Look, in just the first round of the game, anyone can pull out their trump card—and since we’re talking about that specific suit, we’re looking at the Joker-color split. You only get one shot at changing it during the deal, and once you blow that right, that’s your suit for good. It’s locked in. And hey, you don't have to be the first person to act; you can trigger the change whenever it suits you mid-turn. Once that happens, the new Joker takes over immediately. Now, if someone played a Heart before the switch, they technically "stepped on" the previous play, but they still hold the upper hand—unless the suit runs again in the next round, in which case they can go back to stepping on people... though this time, they'll be doing it with the new Joker-color.
Look, if someone drops an Ace-heart right out of the gate in the first round, the whole distribution goes down without any Joker-color involved—it’s what we call EGALITI.
Look, if you’re the player who decides to flip that Joker card—you know, change the Joker-color—you’re basically signing a contract right then and there. You’re taking on this massive responsibility to make sure you and your partner walk away from that deal with at least one point more than the other team. In a standard game, we're talking about hitting a minimum score of 27 to 26, but honestly, that number can shift depending on how things play out down the road. It's all part of the grind.
The team that calls the color gets a little extra sweetener:
+8 points, plus you get to log the first letter of whatever color is active in that round
+20 points, if we're playing a hand without the Joker-color.
If things go south and the call fails, the calling team takes a -30 point hit—while the opponents just keep whatever they actually managed to grab.
OPEN PLAY: Basically, at any point during the game, a player can decide to lay down their remaining cards—as long as they’ve got at least 3 left. Once they pull that move, their partner basically becomes a spectator, just sitting there passively while the player tries to carry the whole load to the finish line. After that, the opponents can also open up their hands, and the "open play" phase kicks in.
If the player actually pulls it off, the winning side grabs some bonus points based on how many cards they dumped:
3 cards......................6 points
4 cards.....................10 points
5 cards...................15 points
6 cards...................20 points
7 cards...................25 points
8 cards...................30 points
Just a heads-up though—you've gotta watch out for a Break during this stage, so don't get too cocky when opening. Since your partner isn't really playing anymore, the door for a Break is always wide open.
If you blow it, the team whose player opened doesn't take an extra penalty, but all the cards played from the moment they opened go straight to the opponents.
And if someone opens mid-trick, everything currently on the table from that specific trick goes to the opposition too.
SCORING: A single hand goes until someone hits 301 or more, and a full match is decided by whoever wins three hands.
If anyone's score starts sliding toward the basement—specifically, if it drops below -200—we do a correction. We bump both teams' scores up just enough so that the trailing team sits right at exactly -200.

Subrosa

The term Subrosa actually comes from Latin, meaning "under roses"—you know, like that old-school concept of a deep secret shared only between best friends. In this context, we’re talking about sending coded messages to your partner through nothing but card play, because—let's be real—any verbal agreement is strictly off-limits. In a deck from Mexico, the symbol for this is the 4R, or the 4 Great Rose, which acts as the ultimate Joker card; in a standard American deck, its equivalent would be the Ace-heart. If you find yourself getting hooked and playing more intensely, honestly, you should probably hunt down an original deck, because the whole vibe feels completely different.
Subrosa is basically the evolution of Rose. It’s the exact same game as Rose, just with one major upgrade:
TITLES: What turns Rose into Subrosa is the introduction of Titles. During any given deal, each player is allowed to declare just one Title. However, if that Title is made up of multiple cards, you also get credit for the "inner titles" tucked inside that big one. There are three types in this game, but again, you only get to claim one of whatever you've got:
-Small Titles, up to 30 points,
-Great Titles, over 30 points,
-Core Great Titles.
For the Small and Great ones, they both fall under the umbrella term "Pure Titles."
TITLES UP TO 30 POINTS: You can announce these Titles at any point during the game, provided you do it while playing the very first card of a trick. Just a heads-up: a single trick can drag on for several rounds, but you can only declare a Title during that initial first round. Once that window closes, you have to wait for the current trick to wrap up before you can try announcing it in the next one—and again, only during the opening round of that trick.
1. Sequences—at least 3 cards in a row of the same suit. These can be "bridge" sequences too, like K-A-7.
-3-card sequence... 6 points
-4-card sequence... 10 points
-5-card sequence... 15 points
-6 cards of the same suit (doesn't have to be a sequence)... 20 points
On top of those points, you add the values of any Great cards included in the set, which gives you the actual total value of the Title.
2. Poker hands—4 cards of the same rank.
-20-point Lower House poker... 20 points (except Sevens)
-Upper House poker... 30 points (except Aces)
3. 8 Greats—all 8 cards are face cards or Aces, with no specific requirement for rank or suit. This Title is worth 25 points, plus whatever inner titles are buried within those 8 cards. So, you could end up with two colored sequences or even a Face card poker hand.
Every Title has to be confirmed by winning the trick. If things turn into Shimmering, the Title's value is totally voided.
TITLES OVER 30 POINTS: The defining thing about these Titles is that they fundamentally change how the game is played. Also, if you announce multiple Titles over 30 points, they all count as long as the announcer validates them, though you follow the rules of whichever Title is the strongest. You don't necessarily have to call them out immediately; you can announce them in any trick, provided it's the first round. That said, anything involving 8 cards *must* be announced right away. If you hesitate and play another card, you miss your chance to show the Title. We'll go in order of strength, starting from the weakest:
35 points—8 Small Cards (numbered cards). This completely flips the script. Card strength no longer matters; it's all about matching the suit, and a Joker-color can be played instead. You can only beat a card with another card of the same suit, regardless of what number is on it. Of course, if a stronger Title is declared later, the rules shift again from that moment on.
40 points—4 Aces (Small Coup). All Sevens in their respective suits jump ahead of the Aces in power and are worth 5 points each. This bumps the total game value from the standard 53 points up to 73.
45 points—Rainbow Sequence (8 cards, doesn't matter the suit). In this mode, card strength is irrelevant; you just play higher values over lower ones. The only exception is that a Joker-color card can always be played.
50 points—the 7-Card Great Revolt. Basically, the Lower House sits right on top of the Upper House here, meaning the 10 is the absolute powerhouse, followed by the 9, 8, 7, Ace, King, Queen, and Jack. Plus, since those 10s are worth 10 points each, you’re looking at a base game value of 93 points.
If any of these titles are called under Egalite—which happens after someone shows a Jack-heart, so we're playing without trumps—their value jumps by 20 points, turning them into 55, 60, 65, or 70 point plays.
75 points—the 7-in-suit. Everyone flashes their titles, the cards get shuffled and redealt, all by the same player. You don't show any new titles, and you can't change the suit in the first round because the Joker-color is locked in as Heart. Whatever card was missing becomes the strongest in its suit, kicking off the new hierarchy. For instance, if the Jack was the one missing, the power ranking shifts to J, 10, 9, 8, 7, Ace, King, and then the Queen is the bottom of the barrel. Also, that suit becomes the Special Suit during the redeal. It can crush any other suit during any trick, and once that happens, that suit rules until the end of the trick.
The 8-in-suit is a Title where you show your hand and immediately win the whole round. But hey, you've got options: you can take the win right now, or you can opt to register a win for a future round while extending the current one. If you choose to extend it, that title counts for 45 points.
Now, watch out—if a player calls a Great Title and then their side gets shut out—meaning they don't take a single trick—they don't just lose -30; they lose the full boosted value of that Title, like -45, -50, and so on. It sucks.
CRAPPY GREAT TITLES: Titles worth over 30 points can be called even if you're missing one, two, or even three cards. To pull this off, you just take any other card from the deck, flip it face down, and slot it in for the missing one. You can only call this during the first round, and unlike previous moves where you just need to win one trick, this requires some serious muscle:
-You have to beat the opposition by the end of the deal if you're missing 1 card,
-You have to be twice as strong as the opponents if you're missing 2 cards,
-And if you're calling it with 3 cards missing, you better shut them out completely—your side has to take every single trick.
Once a Crappy Great Title is called, the suit won't change anymore; whatever the Joker-color is at that moment, that's what you're stuck with. A stronger Title that would change the gameplay can still be called later in the deal, but only if the hand is "clean." Other stuff that doesn't affect the play but just racks up points? Yeah, you can still call those whenever.
SCORING: At the end of the deal, you tally everything up:
-40 points for the card values,
-8 points for the tricks,
-5 points for the last trick,
-Points for a suit change, or an Egalite if there's no Joker-color,
-Points for any card reveals,
-Points for the Titles.

You might end up in the red—a negative score—if:
-A shimmering occurs,
-The suit changes but you fail to outscore the opponent,
-You call a Title while missing one, two, or three cards but fail to win enough tricks, or fail to shut the opponents out entirely.
When a team hits the floor at -200 points, we do a correction. Basically, everyone gets enough points added so that the losing side lands exactly at -200. It's a way to keep things from spiraling too far into the abyss.
A round goes until someone hits 501 points, and a full match is played to the best of 5 rounds.

Two-Headed Lion

Look, Two-Headed Lion is basically just adult poker played with a different set of rules—it’s all about that high-stakes bluffing. The whole deal hinges on this one thing: if you actually win the bidding and seize control of the round, you get to call the trump suit, but there's a catch. You have to physically show your "Key Card" to prove you've got the goods. It’s not like some amateur game where you can just wing it; if you don't have a legitimate card to lay down, you shouldn't even be thinking about stepping up to the table in the first place. Don't be that guy.
Player count: So, here’s the deal with how this game actually works—it’s designed for a four-player setup where you’ve got two teams of two sitting across from each other, basically like a standard doubles match in pickleball or something. But, if you don't have a full squad, it still holds up—you can play it with three people or even just two, though in those versions, it’s every man for himself, strictly solo play.
I don't know about you guys, but I am absolutely losing my mind over these maps... honestly, looking at this stuff is just giving me a massive headache. It feels like everything is just... messy? I can't even put my finger on it, but staring at these layouts is making me feel like I’ve been staring at a flickering fluorescent light in a DMV office for six hours straight. Just total chaos. So, check this out—I've got a standard deck of 32 cards here, all lined up by rank with their point values clearly laid out in the image. In a legit set, those little 4s and Aces are worth 10 and 5 points respectively... but wait, I just noticed something—how many symbols are actually printed on the back of these cards?

Look, everyone knows the basic hierarchy of the cards is pretty standard, but here’s the real kicker—the Key Card is what actually flips the script and turns the weakest hand into a powerhouse. It's all about that pivot. Like, if you pull a little Two, suddenly that big Major Two becomes the absolute king of the hill, and then everything else just follows that rank. Honestly, this is exactly why I always tell people it’s worth every penny to just go out and grab an official, legitimate deck from the start. You don't want to be messing around with knock-offs when things get intense. That being said, if you're stuck playing with a standard off-the-shelf set, these are the ones that usually end up being compatible:
I can't even begin to wrap my head around these numbers—it's like looking at some kind of scrambled code from a broken vending machine or something. Honestly, I feel like I’m staring at a math problem that someone gave up on halfway through just to spite me. It’s all just a jumbled mess of digits and letters that doesn't add up to anything remotely useful... total chaos.
So, just to clear things up for everyone—the total score in the deck adds up to exactly 100. Simple enough, right?
Alright, so here’s how this works—it’s kind of a weird twist. If the Key card ends up being a Joker, then the 7 becomes the absolute powerhouse, and everything else flips on its head. Basically, the hierarchy of strength—starting from the top dog—would go: 7-A-K-Q-J-10-9-8. But, if that 7 actually shows up as the Key card instead? Then the whole damn order shifts again, and you're looking at: J-10-9-8-7-A-K-Q. Just another way to lose your shirt, I guess.
At the end of the day—no matter how much the world spins or how much everything changes around us—certain core values just stay exactly where they are. They don't budge. It’s kind of wild, actually, thinking about how much noise there is out there, all this constant shifting and rebranding, yet the fundamental stuff? It’s still right there, holding steady.
Look, let’s be real—the color of that key card is basically the ultimate trump card when it comes to getting everyone to actually split things up. It’s like the one thing that finally shuts people up and gets them to cooperate.
DELJENJE : So, here’s how the deal actually goes down—and it’s a bit of a process, honestly. The dealer hits you with two separate rounds of three cards each, then tosses out another two cards that just sit there face-down on the table in front of everyone for a bit. Once that's settled, everybody grabs their initial six-card hand, and then—of course—the bidding madness begins.
The bidding starts now! So, here’s how the whole thing kicks off—the guy to the right of the dealer starts the bidding, and then everyone just goes around the table in a circle. Each player calls out a number representing the total points they think they can snag alongside their partner. But, you can't just throw numbers around blindly—you’ve gotta keep that Key Card in the back of your mind, because if you actually win the bid, you’re going to have to lay it on the table for everyone to see.
It’s always the same damn thing—everyone just sits there waiting to outbid the last guy by a tiny margin, or they just go totally silent and freeze up. It’s exhausting. Just a heads-up for anyone trying to play along: if you call "next" or say you're still in, you aren't magically jumping back to the front of the line—you can only jump back into the fray once it actually becomes your turn again. Don't get ahead of yourselves.
So, we’re basically bidding with free throws now? I mean, seriously—everyone just starts throwing out whatever random number of points they feel like. It’s total chaos.
The winner is just whoever happens to be holding the ball when you hit "Next" three times in a row. It’s basically luck of the draw at that point—pure chaos.
So, look—if all four of you guys decide to play it safe and pass during the first round, you just go ahead and scoop up those last two cards sitting there on the table, then we just reset for another showdown. It’s basically a do-over, but with a slightly emptier deck.
So, here’s how the whole thing goes down—once you win the auction, you gotta cough up that final amount, and it gets logged straight into your team's column immediately. No waiting around. Then, after we run the split, if things actually pan out and you clear it, we toss a plus in there—but if it all goes south? Yeah, you’re getting hit with a minus. Simple as that.
So, once you've finished logging all those obligations—and trust me, it’s a total grind—the player pulls out the Key Card. This thing basically dictates the whole vibe of the round; it sets the trump suit and identifies the absolute heavy hitter at the top of the hierarchy, based on everything we just went over earlier.
Now everyone who used to sit on the fence or play both sides is suddenly being forced to pick a side on the Contra situation—it’s like they can't just stay quiet anymore.
Look, if we’re talking about a Contra, then the crew on the ground better step up and tell us if there’s an actual Recontra in play—it's that simple.
What kind of games are we even talking about here? Give me the details—I’m ready to dive into the weeds on this one. So, here’s how it kicks off—the first move always belongs to the player holding the Malo-2—you know, that two-headed lion card in Spades—which basically functions like an 8-treff in a game of Euchre. They don't just slam it down immediately, though; they usually just flash it for a split second to let everyone know they've got the goods, and then they just play whatever they want to get the ball rolling. After that, the lead shifts to whoever managed to take down the previous trick.
Look, here’s the deal with the rules—you gotta play based on the color of that first card dealt. Period. And if you find yourself stuck without one? Well, then you absolutely have to cut with an ace. It’s not optional, it’s just how it works. Just don't go thinking you always have to overpower the hand—that's definitely not a requirement.
So, look, if you run out of open colors or trumps—which, let’s be honest, happens way more often than anyone wants to admit—you’ve got to ditch something else. But around here, we don't call it "discarding," we call it PAYING. It’s a total pain, really. Basically, you’re forced to toss the highest-scoring card straight from your hand, and—get this—you actually have to announce its point value out loud while you do it. Yeah, just like that. Super fun stuff.
I haven't seen any posts here yet—looks like we're still waiting for someone to actually kick things off. Just sitting here staring at an empty thread... feels like waiting for a bus in a rainstorm that never ends, you know? Anyway, if you've got something to say, just lay it out there. I'm ready when you are. So, picture this setup—it’s basically a three-column layout. You’ve got the left side and the right side representing the two sides that are absolutely at each other's throats, and then smack in the middle, you have the Neutral Zone.
So, once the bidding war finally dies down, the winner basically drops their final hammer—they state their closing offer and log that value in their column. Now, if things get messy and someone pulls a counter-bid, you just jot that same amount down right under the previous entry. If we hit a full-blown re-counter? Well, then you’re writing that value down for a third time. It’s kind of a weird quirk of the game, honestly—you can see how the math works out where a re-counter counts for three instead of four. Just one more thing to keep track of in this chaotic mess.
So, if you pull off a bid using just the first 6 cards—just a heads-up here—you’re looking at 25 points for the Neutral Zone, 50 if it's a Contra, and if things get really wild with a Recontre, you're hitting 75 points.
Once the deal is over and everyone's hands are empty, you start tallying the damage. If the declarer side actually pulls off what they promised—meaning they hit their target or better—you slap a plus sign in front of their score. But if they choke and fail? That's a minus. For the opponents, you just write down whatever points they actually managed to grab. Now, if there was a Contra or Recontre involved, and the declarers mess up, the opponents' score gets doubled—or tripled in a Recontre case. If the declarers actually succeed, though, you just record the opponent's points normally, like nothing crazy happened.
Then, you take those Neutral Zone points and hand them to the declarers if they won, or give them to the opponents if the declarers crashed and burned.
And look, if anyone ends up with a negative score, you gotta fix that immediately—basically, you adjust the numbers so the losing side just hits zero. No sense in being in the hole.
ZONE POINTS: Okay, here's where it gets intense. If the bid is huge and the opponents' total points climb north of 90, we say the declarers have "entered the Zone." For every single point they score above that 90 mark, they get an extra 10 points. And just so we're clear, the Contra and Recontre multipliers don't touch these specific points—they stay fixed.
The opponents can snag some bonus points too, but only if they manage to grab more than 50. If they do, they get an extra 10 points for every point past that 50 threshold.
THE TWO-HEADED LION'S TAIL: If everyone keeps shouting "Pass" during the second round of bidding when everyone's holding 8 cards, you're playing "The Two-Headed Lion's Tail." There is no trump card in this madness; the hierarchy stays standard. Basically, the Ace is king, then the King, Queen, Jack, 10, and so on.
You absolutely have to follow suit based on that very first card played. If you can't? Well, you're paying the piper. Mandatory.
In this version, only the side that manages to scrape together more than 50 points gets anything, and they earn 10 points for every point exceeding that 50 mark.
END OF THE GAME: A single game goes until someone hits 1000 points. Once you cross that line, you've won the round, and any leftover points carry over directly into the next one. We play until someone wins 5 rounds.
There's another way to end things: the "Stranglehold" rule. If you manage to shut the opponents out of winning a single trick 10 times, that's it. You mark a tally every time they fail to take a trick. Hit 10 tallies, and you've bagged a round.
When the whole match finally wraps up—no matter how it went down—you tack another 1000 points onto the winners' total, sum up everything from all the rounds, and see what the final point spread looks like.

So, Fortune Brands is a game designed for three players.
THE DEAL: The dealer splits things up in two rounds—three cards at a time—then tosses two face-down onto the Talon, followed by four more to everyone. Players grab their 10-card hands, and we’re good to go.
STARTING THE GAME: The whole point is to either grab every single trick or, if you're feeling gutsy, take absolutely nothing. Players go around the circle deciding whether to jump in, and whether they're going all-in or playing for nothing—you won't actually know until after that first trick is played. They show one card, which sets the Joker's Ace. Basically, all cards of that rank become Jokers, and its suit becomes the Ace.
Card ranks are pretty standard. You can drop a Joker whenever you want, and just so we're clear, it beats the Ace. All four Jokers basically act as their own separate suit.
That same player then swaps two cards with the Talon, and once they ditch two useless ones, the first player kicks things off. In the next round, that same person shuffles and deals.
If all three players say "Faraway" during the first round of bidding, everyone tosses two cards from their hand, and we move to a new round where everyone is holding 8 cards.
If nobody wants to risk it even with 8 cards, everyone dumps another two, and we have a new round of bidding with 6 cards in hand.
Keep in mind, if someone decides to take the lead with 8 or 6 cards, they don't get the right to swap out the Talon.
If we hit a third round of "Faraway," we just reshuffle and deal again.
PLAYING THE GAME: You've gotta follow the suit of the first card played. If you don't have it, you're forced to play an Ace. If there aren't any Aces either, you can just throw down whatever. And yeah, you can play a Joker anytime.
If the round starts with an Ace suit, everyone has to play Aces, except for the Joker's Ace—it doesn't have to be played and acts just like a regular Joker in that case.
If someone leads with a Joker, everyone else has to play Jokers too. If two or three Jokers pop up in a trick, whoever played the highest one takes it.
A trick lasts for one or maybe two rounds.
If the first card isn't beaten, the trick is over once the round ends.
But if that first card *is* beaten, the guy who played it can try to push it further in a second round by trying to beat the opponent's card. Here's how that works:
-if his current score is up to 10 points, he can extend the game into a second round with any card higher than the previous one.
-if his score is between 11 and 20, he can only extend the second round using an Ace or a Joker.
-if his score is between 21 and 30, his only hope for survival in the second round is if he's got a Joker to play.
-if the player is sitting exactly at 30 points, he's stuck—no second round for him.
The exact same rules apply if you're playing for zero—basically trying to avoid taking a single trick. And always look at who led the trick to see whose turn it is.
SCORING: Only the solo player gets the points. For a Pass:
-with 6 cards, 1 point
-with 8 cards, 2 points
-with 10 cards and swapping the Talon, 4 points
-with 10 cards without swapping the Talon, 5 points
In the event of a Fall, the player takes a -3 point hit.
If the card shown as the Joker's Ace is Fortune (the King of Clubs, or Big 3-Spades), the points double. That means you're looking at 2, 4, 8, 10, or if you fall, a -6.
A player can announce Fortune, which basically means they're calling out an opponent to hand over a specific card in exchange for a mystery card from the player, and then they officially declare Fortune. After that, they decide whether to play without swapping the Talon (9 points) or with the swap (7 points). A Fall is -6 regardless.
TRACKING SCORES: Points are recorded in each player's vertical column. To reach the winning mark of 31, which is how long a game usually lasts, you have to hit three consecutive milestones: 10, 20, and 30 points. Essentially, you've got to hit 10 first, then push for 20, and finally 30.
Up to 10, you just record points normally. So, if a player has 8 points and earns 4 more, you don't write down 12; you write 10+2. Those extra 2 points act as a buffer—if they end up with a negative outcome in future rounds, those points are the first to be deducted.

Look, the photo pretty much tells the whole story here. Side A hit their first decade with 11 points—which gets logged as 10+1—then moved to the second decade at 25 points (20+5), and finally reached the third at 37 (30+7). Basically, once they snag that first winning hand, they're out, but they have to pull off the win without having to play through the second round. If things go south during the next attempt and they take a Fall, Side A would be recorded as 30+4, or maybe even 30+1, depending on how bad that Fall actually was. Since they still have that cushion left, they’ve definitely got a shot at clinching the final victory in the next split. In this specific scenario, they didn't list any Falls during play, so let's just assume nothing went wrong—and remember, you always shave points off the reserve first before touching the base score.
Most matches are played to 3 won hands.

So, look, Libera is primarily designed for a three-player setup—that’s really where it shines—but they did go ahead and throw in some rules for four players at the end of the manual just in case.
Division: So, here’s how the dealer runs the show—it's kind of a grind, honestly. They hand out four cards to everyone, then another four, and finally two... oh, and they stash those last four for themselves at the end. Everyone just grabs their first eight cards right off the bat, and we don't even touch the rest until after everyone's had their say and made their moves.
STATEMENT: Look, let's be real—every Player in this place is basically just trying to justify three specific things.
Adult color.
So, what are we looking at here—the Senate or the House of Representatives? Or maybe you’ve got some photos or a Numbered card to show off?
Look, the numbers from one to four—it honestly doesn't matter if you're talking small or large values. The only real headache here is if you aren't playing with a standard, legit deck. But even then, it’s easy enough to keep track of. Basically, the ones are the Sevens or the Sheriffs, the twos are the Octets or the Queens, the threes are the Trios, the Nines, or the Kings, and the fours are the Tens or the Kecevis.
So, here’s how the whole thing shakes out—it's pretty simple, really. The first Player picks one of the options on the table, then the second Player grabs one of the two left over, and finally, the third Player is just stuck with whatever last option is left hanging there.
So, here’s how you actually define that crucial card, The Liber. It’s basically this three-step logic thing—if the first guy picks Herz, the second goes with the Numbered card, and the third pulls the Torjke, then boom, you’re looking at the Nine of Hearts. Simple as that, really.
So, here’s how the math breaks down on this one—it's kind of a mess, honestly. The Liber is sitting pretty with 8 points, while the other three in her group are pulling 4 points each. Then you’ve got those 7 cards left in trump, which are worth 2 points apiece. After that, all the remaining cards from the selected Home—which would be 9 of them—are just worth 1 point each. If you crunch all those numbers together, you end up with a total of 43 points. Simple enough, I guess, if you're into that sort of thing.
PRIMARY REGISTRATION: Once everyone’s finished declaring, everybody grabs their remaining two cards, and then the dealer takes four—simple enough, right? Everyone tallies up their points and writes them down. You gotta hit exactly 43 to win. If someone accidentally calls out the wrong number—which, let's face it, happens more than you'd think—the cards get tossed onto The Table for a quick audit. Everything grinds to a halt immediately. The Player who messed up walks away with absolutely nothing—zero, zilch. Meanwhile, the other two players get to log their actual point totals, plus they snag an extra 16 points just for being right. It's brutal, honestly.
The rules of the game: Look, if everyone actually logged their points correctly—which, let’s be real, is a huge "if"—then the Player holding the three reds, specifically that Nine of Hearts, goes ahead and shows it. Then they just kick things off by playing whatever they want. But here’s the catch: before that first card even hits the felt, the dealer drops two cards face down onto The Table, just to make sure they’re sitting there with a solid ten in their hand too.
Here’s how the cards stack up:
First off, you gotta deal with the cards from the chosen Home, and then you move on to the rest of them. The biggest heavy hitter is always the one from The Liber—or whatever card matches its rank—and after that, everything just plays out like usual.
You can really see how this works if you just look at the example. Since we ended up with the Nine of Hearts, the rank order of the cards starts from the strongest down to the weakest like this: 9, 10, 8, 7, Ace, King, Queen, and Jack. So, basically, the rank is...
Ten, nine, eight, seven, Ace, King, Queen, Jack... or what?
It’s all down to whether you're looking at an Ace, a King, a Queen, a Jack, or even that 10, 9, 8, or 7—it really just depends on which House is being picked during the vote. And now, to top it all off, it looks like the cards from The New York Times are finally moving into first place.
Look, there’s a basic rule here you can't ignore—you've gotta answer the color of that first card played with the exact same shade. If that card isn't even there? Well, then you're basically forced to cut with an ace just to stay in the game. And by the time you hit the final stretch, you're looking at two face-down cards coming off the top of the deck to wrap things up.
Banning: At the end of the day, it all just boils down to counting the cards—seeing exactly how much everyone managed to haul in. There are 32 cards total, which translates to 32 points. You just tally up the points someone earned during the round and add them to whatever they already had on their tab before the game even kicked off. Simple enough, I guess.
So, if you crunch the numbers on the total points being handed out, we're looking at 43 plus 32... which brings us to a grand total of 75. Simple enough, right? Even for me.
So, look—if you crunch the numbers, the average score per player is sitting right at 25. Just a heads-up for anyone trying to make sense of this mess.
Finally—we’re actually doing it. From now on, we’re only logging the difference from 25 on The Table. You just slap a plus or a minus sign on there depending on whether a Player is sitting above or below the average. Simple as that.
So, here’s how the math works out—it's pretty straightforward once you get the hang of it. Let's say Player I hits 21 points, while Player II and Player III both land exactly at 27. In that scenario, Player I ends up taking a -4 hit on their score, whereas the other two—The Duo—each walk away with a nice little +2 boost. Simple enough, right?
The game runs for 12 rounds—or deals, if you want to get technical—and whoever ends up with the highest score at the end is the winner. Simple enough, right?

The Liber for four Players

So, here’s how the deal goes—it's a bit of a process, honestly. You get dealt three cards in two separate rounds, then you grab those last two at the end. The Players jump in and take the first six right off the bat to start the bidding and calling, and once that whole mess is settled, they go ahead and scoop up the final two.
So, here’s how the whole mess is shaking out—The Trio is currently busy making their pitches for one of the three available slots, while The Four is already looking backward, naming one of the former guys to step in as a partner for this whole split.
So, here’s how the scoring works—it's a bit of a mess if you don't look closely. You log the primary points individually for each hand, but when we're talking about what both members of a temporary duo actually walk away with, we aggregate those totals. That way, in the second half, you end up with 64 total points—mostly because, let's be honest, practically every single card gets credited to both players on that side. It's a lot of bookkeeping, but that's just how it goes.
The score sits at 108, mostly because that Nine of Hearts we pulled—which also bags you the right to lead the first hand—comes with a 2-point bonus. Usually, we're looking at an average score of around 27, so everyone just gets their individual difference from that average tacked onto their tally, marked with either a plus or a minus depending on how much they crushed it.