A printable Concordia score sheet lives or dies on a step that happens after every number at the table has already been counted: the multiplication. Concordia does not score your board. It scores your board once per god — provinces, houses, goods types, colonists — and then multiplies each of those counts by the number of cards you hold of that god, including the cards sitting in your discard pile that half the table has forgotten you own. That is why the argument in Concordia is never really "how many provinces are you in." It is "Saturnus is worth nine, not twenty-seven — you don't get it three times," said with complete confidence by a player who has scored the game wrong every time they have played it. Or "Minerva is worth two a city," about a specialist card whose printed value nobody read before the totals started. Or the Vesta pile rounded up, because thirty-seven sestertii feels closer to four points than three and the fractions rule is the first casualty of a close finish. Or the seven points for ending the game, awarded twice, or not at all, because nobody wrote down who actually built the fifteenth house. Every disputed Concordia finish is the same dispute in different clothes: six multiplications, performed once, in heads, from a board and a card collection that both stop existing the moment the houses come off the map. That is the seller this vertical rewards. Not the seller with the prettiest Roman artwork, because the map comes in the box and your buyer already owns it. The seller whose sheet records the game in the order the rules score it — a condition count, a card count, and a product, per god, per player, with the Minerva value copied off the card itself and the end-game trigger written down before the totals make it matter. Nobody refunds a score sheet because a game was long. They stop reordering when a winner flipped on a Saturnus recount and the sheet had one total box and no record of how anyone got there. This guide walks through what a serious printable set actually contains, the rules every buyer assumes your sheet enforces, a worked game with the arithmetic checked the hard way, what the main channels really take from a low-priced set, the delivery failures specific to a game scored by multiplication, and the setup that prevents each one — including the honest cases where you should stay exactly where you are.
What a printable Concordia set actually contains (and why the multiplier needs a grid, not a total)
A serious set contains five things, and the first is the one most sellers skip because a single total box looks cleaner: a god-by-god scoring grid, with four columns per god — the condition count, the points that count is worth per card, the number of cards the player holds of that god, and the product. Concordia's entire score is six of those rows, and a row is the only unit a dispute can be settled in: "Saturnus, nine provinces, one point each, three cards, twenty-seven" ends an argument in one sentence, while two bare totals of seventy-seven and seventy-one start one. Second, a card inventory taken before any scoring begins: every player gathers all of their cards, hand and discard pile together, and sorts them by god, and the sheet tallies that sort — because the forgotten discard is where multipliers go missing, and a Saturnus card that spent the last hour face-down under a Tribune is worth exactly as much as the one in your hand. Third, a Vesta worksheet, because Vesta is the only god whose per-card value is itself a calculation: the goods in the storehouse are valued at their printed prices and added to the player's cash, and only then is the total divided — the sheet needs a line for the cash, a line for the goods value, a line for the sum, and the per-card result written as full tens only, so the ignored fraction is visible instead of argued. Fourth, a Minerva transcription line: Minerva is the one god whose value is not in the rulebook at all, it is printed on each specialist card, so the sheet must force the scorer to copy that number off the physical card, city type and points together, before counting cities — a sheet that pre-prints a Minerva value has invented a rule. Fifth, the two one-line records that decide close games: who triggered the end and took the seven-point Concordia card, entered when it happens, and who holds the Praefectus Magnus at the finish, because that card — not most provinces, not most cash — is the game's only tie-break. Around those five, the supporting pages are the ones this game actually generates demand for: a series sheet for standing groups, with god totals carried across games so a season's Saturnus habit is visible; an intermediate-scoring page for groups who still use the optional first-Tribune scoring the rules describe for new players; and a map line on every sheet, because the map is a scoring fact, not a decoration. Print the grid, the inventory, and the trigger line on the sheet itself, every time. A single total box with the gods listed above it is not a scoring system; it is a rumour with good handwriting.
The rules every buyer assumes (and the checks that enforce them)
Your buyer assumes the sheet knows this game scores the same board six different ways and then multiplies, so start there. When the game ends, each player gathers all of their personality cards — the ones in hand and the ones in the discard pile, no exceptions — arranges them by god, and scores in the player-aid order, Vesta first for everyone, then Jupiter, and so on. For each god, the player works out what one card of that god is worth from the board, then multiplies by the number of cards they hold of that god. Vesta: add the value of every good in your storehouse, at the usual price printed for it, to your cash; you receive one point per full ten sestertii — fractions are ignored, so thirty-seven sestertii is three points a card, never four — multiplied by your Vesta cards. Jupiter: one point for each of your houses in a non-brick city, at most fifteen points a card, since fifteen houses is all you have, multiplied by your Jupiter cards. Saturnus: one point for each province in which you have at least one house — provinces, not houses, so three houses in one province is still one point — at most the number of provinces on the map, twelve on the Imperium map and eleven on Italia, multiplied by your Saturnus cards. Mercurius: two points for each type of goods your houses produce, and there are five types, so at most ten points a card, multiplied by your Mercurius cards. Mars: two points for each of your colonists on the game board — on the board, not in the storehouse — at most twelve points a card, because six colonists is the most a player can field, multiplied by your Mars cards. Minerva: for each city of the type named on the specialist card where your houses stand, the number of points printed on that card itself — the value differs from specialist to specialist, and any sheet, summary, or memory that gives Minerva a single fixed value is wrong for at least some of the cards in the box. The end of the game is triggered in exactly two ways: a player buys the last personality card from the display, or a player builds their fifteenth house. The player who triggers it receives the Concordia card, worth seven additional points — flat, once, not a god and never multiplied — and then every other player takes one final turn before anyone tallies. Most points wins, and the finish, printed where the totals are: a tie is won by the player holding the Praefectus Magnus, or, if none of the tied players holds him, by the tied player who would receive him next in the course of the game. None of this is trivia. Each line is a place where a real table, scoring from memory and momentum, produces a different winner than the rules do — the unmultiplied Saturnus, the rounded-up Vesta, the Minerva value recalled instead of read — and the sheet is the only player who multiplied.
A worked game, and the arithmetic, checked the hard way
Three players finish on the Imperium map. Ben built his fifteenth house on the last round, so the trigger line — filled in at the time — gives Ben the Concordia card for seven points before any god is scored, and the Praefectus Magnus line shows Ana holding him, which matters only if the totals tie. The inventories come first, discard piles included: Ana holds two Vesta, one Jupiter, three Saturnus, one Mercurius, one Mars, one Minerva. Ben holds one Vesta, two Jupiter, one Saturnus, two Mercurius, one Mars, one Minerva. Cleo holds one Vesta, one Jupiter, three Saturnus, one Mercurius, two Mars, no Minerva. Now the grid, god by god. Vesta, scored for everyone first: Ana's cash and storehouse goods total thirty-seven sestertii — three full tens, the seven ignored — three points a card, two cards, six. Ben totals forty — four a card, one card, four. Cleo totals twenty — two a card, one card, two. Jupiter: Ana has eleven houses in non-brick cities — eleven a card, one card, eleven. Ben has thirteen — thirteen a card, two cards, twenty-six. Cleo has nine — nine. Saturnus: Ana is in nine provinces — nine a card, three cards, twenty-seven. Ben is in eight provinces — eight a card, one card, eight. Cleo is in ten provinces, the widest presence on the map — ten a card, three cards, thirty, the biggest single row of the game. Mercurius: Ana produces four goods types — eight a card, one card, eight. Ben produces all five — ten a card, two cards, twenty. Cleo produces three — six. Mars: Ana has five colonists on the board — ten a card, one card, ten. Ben has four — eight. Cleo has all six colonists out — twelve a card, the maximum, two cards, twenty-four. Minerva, with the values copied off the cards themselves: Ana's specialist pays two points per city of its type and she has three such cities — six a card, one card, six. Ben's specialist pays one point per city of its type and he has four — four. Cleo holds no Minerva card — zero, and the grid shows the empty row instead of a guess. The totals: Ana, six plus eleven plus twenty-seven plus eight plus ten plus six, is sixty-eight. Cleo, two plus nine plus thirty plus six plus twenty-four, is seventy-one. Ben, four plus twenty-six plus eight plus twenty plus eight plus four, plus his seven for triggering the end, is seventy-seven. Ben wins by six — the player in the fewest provinces at the table, beaten on Saturnus by both opponents, beaten on Mars by Cleo's maximum — and the sheet can show exactly where the win lived: not on the map, but in the card counts, thirteen Jupiter houses multiplied by two and five goods types multiplied by two, two solid conditions held twice each. Check the whole game the hard way, the way the grid forces it to be checked: score Saturnus the way the confident player at every table wants to score it, once per player with no multiplication, and Cleo falls to fifty-one, Ana to fifty, and Ben still wins — but now Cleo's thirty-point row, the honest reward for ten provinces and three cards, has been stolen by a method, and at a different table that same error crowns the wrong player. Every condition was counted off the board before the houses moved, every card count came from a sorted inventory that included the discards, every Minerva value was read off a physical card, and the seven points were on paper before the totals were. That is a normal Concordia finish — a multiplier game won in the multiplication — and it is unexplainable from three bare totals. From the grid, it re-walks itself.
What the channels actually take from a low-priced set
The arithmetic of selling this set is the arithmetic the worked game teaches: the sticker price is the condition count, and what you keep is decided by the multiplication the channels apply to it. On Etsy, a low-priced printable pays the listing fee, the transaction percentage, and the payment-processing percentage on every sale, and the regulatory and offsite-ads charges can apply on top depending on the shop and the buyer's route in — so a set priced at the bottom of the search results can clear barely half its sticker after fees, before you count the time spent answering "does Saturnus count houses or provinces" messages that a missing grid guarantees. On a marketplace that takes a flat ten percent plus a per-sale amount, the per-sale amount punishes cheap products hardest, exactly as it does in every fee table in this series: the smaller the price, the larger the share the flat component eats. Selling from your own storefront inverts the problem — the platform percentage drops or disappears, but delivery, download limits, file updates when a clarified edition changes a scoring line, and the buyer who cannot find the email at midnight all become your job, which is the honest trade this whole category is built on. Price the set for the table it serves: Concordia buyers are hobby-game households and clubs who will play this game for a decade, often as a standing group with a running rivalry, and a score set priced like a party-game afterthought signals that the grid is probably missing — and in this vertical a missing grid is the one unforgivable defect, because the grid is the product. The bundle is the natural unit — the scoring grid, the Vesta worksheet, the card inventory, and the series tracker — because the buyer who needs one page needs all of them across a season of games, and a bundle raises the order value above the level where per-sale flat fees do their worst damage on every channel. What does not work is competing on page count. A forty-page set with one total box loses, in reviews, to a six-page set that multiplies in the open, copies Minerva off the card, and writes down who ended the game. Buyers say so, in those words, in the reviews that sell the next copy.
The three delivery failures specific to a game scored by multiplication
First failure: the buyer prints the set, plays once, and the sheet asks for one total per player, so the table does the natural thing — counts each god once, in heads, adds six numbers, and scores a game whose entire design is the card counts with the card counts left out. This is the unmultiplied failure, and it is fatal because it does not look like a delivery problem; it looks like your product cannot score the game it is named after, and the review says "our Saturnus player lost thirty points to a sheet with no multiplier column," which is the one sentence no reply can undo. In this game the multiplication is the score, and a sheet that lets it be skipped has failed at the only job it had. The fix is at the file level: the four-column grid printed on the sheet itself — count, per-card value, cards held, product — so the layout performs the multiplication instead of requesting it, and an empty product cell is visibly unfinished in a way a bare total never is. Second failure: the download arrives as a single combined file and the buyer's printer, phone, or print shop mangles the one page they need; Concordia groups print at home, at work, and at copy shops, on two paper systems, and a grid sized for one of them will clip on the other — and in this game the clipped columns are not decoration, they are the card counts, the half of every row that turns a count into a score. Ship separated files as well as the combined one, size the grid for the narrower paper, and keep each player's full grid — all six gods, the inventory, and the trigger line — together on their own pages, never split across a page break; a Saturnus row separated from its card count by a page turn will be totalled from memory by someone, somewhere, in a way that costs them a game. Third failure: the file is updated — a clarified note that Saturnus ceilings differ by map, a corrected line that Minerva's value comes from the card — and past buyers never receive it, so two versions circulate and a series group scores the same finish two ways from two printouts of your product. Version every file in its footer, date it, and deliver through a system that re-serves the current version to past buyers instead of freezing the file at purchase; a score sheet is a rules document, and rules documents are judged on whether both players at the table are holding the same one. All three failures share a shape: the file arrived, the payment cleared, and the product still failed, because in this category delivery is not the download — delivery is five people, three hours later, holding identical, unclipped paper that still remembers how many Saturnus cards the quiet player was holding.
Editions and occasions are different products
The neighbouring edition is the first segmentation trap in this vertical: Concordia Venus is not a reskin, it is a different scoring game wearing the same map — it adds a seventh god, Venus, who in individual play pays two points for each province containing at least two of your houses, up to fourteen points a card, and its team mode scores Venus differently again, by provinces the partners share. A base-game sheet has no Venus row and cannot score a Venus game; a Venus sheet carried into a base game invents points that do not exist. The edition belongs on every sheet, not as branding but as a rules statement. The map is the second trap, and it is printed on the base game's own board: the Imperium side and the Italia side differ in the one number Saturnus cares about, twelve provinces against eleven, so the same three Saturnus cards have different ceilings on different sides of the same board — a sheet that does not name its map has left its most-multiplied row ambiguous. Solo and two-player occasions hold up better — the scoring is unchanged — but a sheet for a two-player game that gives both players a full grid on one page serves that table better than a five-player spread, and buyers can tell which table a layout was drawn for. Series and league play is a third product, not a footnote: Concordia's length makes it a standing-group game, and the series tracker — god totals per game, cards-of-each-god trends, end-game triggers across a season — is the page those groups reorder for, because it is where a rivalry actually lives, and where the player who always buys Mars cards becomes a known quantity. Even before the variant, the honest segmentation is by scoring situation: games lost in the multiplication, games decided by a maxed god, games tied and settled by the Praefectus Magnus. A sheet range that names the situation it covers sells to the player who has lived it. What does not segment is colour. The same correct sheet in five marble palettes is one product wearing five thumbnails, buyers can tell, and in a vertical where trust is the entire offer, they price that tell correctly.
The setup that prevents all three (and when to stay put)
The setup is boring, which is how you know it is the setup. Keep one master file per edition and per map — the base game and Venus never sharing one, Imperium and Italia ceilings never sharing a row — versioned and dated in the footer, and generate every channel's copy from it so no marketplace listing can drift a rule behind another. Deliver separated files alongside the combined one, sized for both paper systems, with each player's grid, inventory, and trigger line intact on their own pages. Deliver through a system that gives the buyer a lasting, re-downloadable copy of the current version rather than a link that expires into a support message — this is the unglamorous job FileFreight exists to do for digital-download sellers, flat-rate delivery with proper download handling, though be honest about its edges: it does not handle your taxes or act as merchant of record, it is not a Shopify app, and there is no importer yet, so a seller whose problem is tax handling should solve that problem instead. Test the actual buyer path before you scale the listing: buy your own set on a phone, on hotel Wi-Fi, print it on the other paper system, and score the worked game above from the printout alone — if the grid, the Vesta worksheet, and the Minerva transcription cannot be performed from the paper without the rulebook, the product is not finished, whatever the file says. And the staying-put cases, stated plainly. If your current pad already multiplies per god in the open, inventories the discard pile, and records who triggered the end, you do not need this set and neither do your buyers — say so in your own listing if it is true of a rival, because tables remember who told them. If your group plays Venus exclusively, a base-game set serves you worse than the Venus pad you already own. If your group house-rules Saturnus to count houses instead of provinces, be honest that no sheet in this vertical is built for that finish. The sellers who last in this vertical are the ones whose sheets survive a recount after a close game, whose multiplications can be re-walked row by row, and whose buyers discover — the first time the widest player on the map loses to two quiet Jupiter cards — that the paper in front of them already knew. That is the whole product. Everything else is artwork.
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