Quo Vadis was a 1992 game about ‘politics and intrigue in ancient Rome’, and boy. Does it look like a game from 1992. A flat marble texture on the front, faded stock image of people in white robes, and a graphic design that looks like it was created directly in Microsoft Excel.

Thankfully, in 2023 Bitewing Games crowdfunded a reimplementation, Zoo Vadis, ‘politics and intrigue in the animal kingdom’. And I’ll be honest, I never really gave this game a second look. Even knowing the designer was Reiner Knizia, I just am not interested in heavy negotiation games. Any game that features wheeling and dealing, or swindling, or even just loose trading rules don’t interest me. I hate the idea that my game can be hamstrung by someone else’s pure refusal to barter with me. I so much prefer games where the actions and consequences are clear and well-defined.

And yet, I’m smitten. In Zoo Vadis, players control an animal faction as they slowly move from the bottom of their zoo cages to the very top. The only way to move along these paths, however, is with the blessing of the pen that you’re currently in. Each pen has a number of spaces, and in order to move ahead, you need votes equal to the majority of your pen. So if your pen has 5 available spaces, you’d need 3 votes to move your animal out of that pen. If you control 3 of the animals in that pen, then it’s easy. You give yourself the thumbs up and move along peacefully.

But that’s very unlikely to happen. Instead, you’ll need to broker deals with those in your cage. The rules for this exchange are wonderfully loose, but also, non-binding. You promise favours, create mutually beneficial situations, and set the price for every single vote, but anything that cannot be transacted on this specific turn, becomes non-binding. If you agree on 2 votes for movement right now, there’s no taking that back. But if you promise to give someone votes later, there’s nothing holding you to that promise (other than the shame of being untrustworthy, of course).

Between each pen are victory point tokens, and the animal who moves along the path gets to scoop up that token. The animals who did give you a vote also get one point from the bank, presumably it’s the karmic benefit of being an aggregable party.

Each player also has their own special faction ability, but there’s quite a twist. In Zoo Vadis, you may never use your own player power. Instead, it’s a bargaining chip for you to dole out to your opponents. A rule-breaking, potentially game swinging feather in your cap. It’s a wonderful twist on the system, giving players somewhat intangible benefits to trade with instead of only the victory points and positioning.

All this is wrapped together in a beautiful package, with amazing art by the talented Kwanchai Moriya and thick, sturdy ani-meeples. It’s an attractive game, with rules that are simple enough to be taught quickly in the midst of a crowded convention hall. Which is perfect because Zoo Vadis shines at the higher player counts.

The goal of the game is to amass the most victory points. But if you yourself don’t manage to get one of your meeples into the pen at the top of the board, you are ineligible for victory. It may be tempting to fill up the bottom of the board with all of your meeples so you can influence every movement, but neglecting to move yourself will spell disaster. Conversely, greedily rushing up the board may get you into the prize pen, but you’ll have a lot less influence among the bottom of the board.

Now, because you can’t always rely on your fellow players to play nicely, there’s a neutral party in play. The peacocks. They sit on spots, and you either pay them 2 points for a vote, or, chose to move them up the tracks, taking up precious spots further up the chain.

Zoo Vadis ends when the prize pen is full. And there’s a delicious ramp up to the end of the game. After the first two or three meeples make their way into the pen, new players won’t feel the jaws of defeat closing in on them. Little do they know that it’s not uncommon for three or more players to rush those neutral peacocks into position, and then use special powers to suddenly fill up the final slots, bringing Zoo Vadis to a sudden conclusion.

I can only speculate, but I have to assume that Zoo Vadis will play differently with different groups. If someone is being a jerk, then players will leave the game with bad feelings. If someone just refuses to participate, again, the experience will suffer. I don’t think the onus is on the game to facilitate a good experience, but it’s something to be aware of. If you have a group of friendly, but loudmouthed people who like to haggle, then Zoo Vadis is a pretty special experience.

Unlike most modern euro games, Zoo Vadis is pure player interaction. Nothing really happens unless other players allow it, and if someone is doing something the whole group wants to prevent, then there are plenty of ways to stymie their progress. You can negotiate with multiple parties at the same time, make promises for future favours, and trade those favours away. The player powers don’t necessarily feel balanced, but because everything is up for negotiation, Zoo Vadis is almost self-balancing. Some powers are obviously attractive and sought after, while others will require that players sell the possibilities to the others.

It’s almost a crime, how good Zoo Vadis is, compared to how simple the rules are. There’s not much more than a board and victory point chits, and yet, Zoo Vadis has left a strong impression on me. Zoo Vadis hasn’t converted me into a negotiation gamer, but it has convinced me that, in the right hands, negotiation can be brilliant. I feel like Zoo Vadis is the exception, not the rule when it comes to negotiation games, but I will say that I am happy to have finally found a negotiation game that elicits joy in my heart.