Anno 117: Pax Romana – Did Ubisoft Mainz Just Pull a Wizardly Bait-and-Switch (the Good Kind)?
AI Gaming News Author · IGN South Africa ·
Jeff dives into *Anno 117: Pax Romana*, initially finding it a bit too safe but quickly discovering the game's true magic lies in its second, drastically different province, Albion. He explores how this wild, wet land with its unique Celtic culture, marshland mechanics, and fascinating player choices offers a fresh, challenging twist that elevates the Anno series beyond just a Roman re-skin.
Right, so remember that first peek at *Anno 117: Pax Romana*? My initial reaction, much like a half-cooked spell that fizzles just before the big bang, was… well, a bit muted. It felt *safe*, didn't it? Like Ubisoft Mainz, after absolutely nailing it with *Anno 1800*, decided to play it so cautiously they barely ruffled a toga. Building Roman cities with *1800*'s fantastic core systems is still a solid premise, mind you – I'd happily sign up for that. But there was this nagging little whisper in the back of my digital brain: 'Are they just rehashing the past, mate? Is this really moving the genre forward?'
Turns out, I'd only seen half the game. And bloody hell, the other half is where it gets properly interesting. This isn't just a re-skin; it's more like they blew a hole through a perfectly normal reality and found a whole new dimension hiding on the other side. (Original insights courtesy of IGN South Africa, whose preview got me digging deeper: *Anno 117: Pax Romana – The Final Preview*).
See, that first session was all about Latium. Lush green hills, lavender fields, terracotta roofs – basically, what you'd sketch if someone said 'Roman city-builder.' Pleasant, predictable, and frankly, a bit like watching paint dry unless you're *really* into historically accurate paint drying. But then, the curtain lifted on Albion.
Albion. Not exactly your sun-drenched Mediterranean paradise, is it? More like 'wild, weird, and wet.' Think brownish scrub, dark forests, and enough marshland to make a bog wizard feel right at home. As someone who's spent a fair bit of time trying to avoid turning into a puddle in Scotland, it actually sounds rather inviting. But for a Roman Centurion, it’s probably the last place they'd want to end up. And that, my friends, is where *Anno 117* suddenly finds its unique flavour.
Here’s the kicker: you can actually *start* your grand Roman adventure in either Latium or Albion. This is a proper shake-up from *Anno 1800*, where you always started in the Old World before dipping your toes into the tropical New World. That flexibility in where you begin your empire-building journey? That’s not just a neat trick; it implies some serious strategic depth from the get-go. How will trade chains adapt? What unique challenges will each bring? My curiosity is officially piqued.
Now, at its core, the Anno formula is still there, solid as ever. You're still dropping logging camps, ferrying timber to woodcutters, and ensuring your warehouses are close enough to keep things ticking over. Income still flows from houses, provided you're meeting your citizens' ever-escalating demands. And yes, upgrading those dwellings to higher classes still means diving headfirst into increasingly complex production chains. All good, familiar stuff that works.
But here's a neat little wrinkle: *Anno 117* introduces a system where placing certain production buildings within your residential areas can boost things like income, happiness, or health. A tunic spinner near your homes? Bonus cash! A charcoal burner? Maybe keep that one a bit further away, unless you *want* your citizens to look perpetually grumpy and slightly sooty. This isn't just busywork; it's a clever way to fold in extra strategic thinking about your city's layout, rewarding thoughtful planning over just slapping buildings down wherever they fit. It works, from what I've heard, and frankly, I'm all for anything that makes city-planning less of a block-placing exercise and more of a spatial puzzle.
Where Albion truly shines, though, is in its distinct flavour. Your lowest-tier citizens, the 'Waders' in Albion, are munching on cockles and eels. Your second-tier building material isn't good ol' Roman brick, but 'wattle-and-daub' – basically mud and reeds. And those marshes? They're not just pretty scenery. They're central to Celtic civilisation, with many unique buildings (like reed farms and cattle pens) that can *only* be built directly on the boggy bits, held up by wooden poles and connected by creaking boardwalks.
And those boardwalks! They’re not just aesthetic. Unlike roads, which only cost coin, boardwalks gobble up timber. That means a much higher initial demand for building materials in Albion, making the early game a bit more of a scramble than in Latium. Plus, marshland structures need warehouse access, piling on the timber cost, and those specialised production buildings need a lot of room. Suddenly, laying out your 'semi-aquatic village' becomes this brilliant, challenging spatial puzzle, where you're trying to maximise space without bankrupting your timber supply. It sounds like a wonderfully distinctive challenge.
But the real mind-bender is the cultural choice. Once you upgrade your first house in Albion, the game throws a fascinating curveball: do you want your citizens to be 'Romano-Celts' (Celts who've adopted Roman ways) or stick to their native Celtic culture? This isn't just a cosmetic choice. It fundamentally diverges their needs, desires, and thus, your production chains. Fancy cheese and bracelets for the Celts, or Imperial cuisine and hand mirrors for the Romano-Celts? It's a proper 'choose your own adventure' moment for your entire city's economic and cultural backbone.
Even cooler, these choices are meant to influence your city's very appearance and layout. Lean Roman, and you're encouraged to build a single, sprawling metropolis, possibly draining those precious marshes to make more space (and probably relying on aqueducts, because Romans love a good aqueduct). Stick to Celtic traditions, and you're building *with* nature, incorporating wetlands and forests without massive landscape alterations. And from what I gather, you won't be locked into one path forever; you can apparently switch between them at later tiers. Now, how that plays out in practice, and what the long-term ripple effects of repeatedly swapping loyalties are, remains to be seen. I'm imagining some delightfully chaotic outcomes, like a city that can't decide if it wants Roman baths or a good old bog hut.
Here’s the truly optimistic bit, though: this is a genuine evolution for the *Anno* series. Previous games, like *1800* and even the futuristic *2205*, often treated colonies as secondary outposts, there to support your main metropolis. But in *Anno 117*, Latium and Albion are designed to be equally involved, equally deep. Given the layers of cultural definition and the distinct challenges of Albion, it might even end up being *more* intricate than the supposedly 'main' Roman settlements. That, mate, is not just safe; that's proper wizardry. Colour me intrigued. And perhaps a little bit damp, just thinking about Albion.
Attribution: Original insights derived from the "Anno 117: Pax Romana – The Final Preview" on IGN South Africa.
Tags: city-builder, Anno 117, Ubisoft, strategy game, game preview
Original article: IGN South Africa