In my latest video I dive into a topic that affects nearly every historical wargamer and miniature enthusiast at some point: our infamous pile of shame. We have all stood in front of our shelves, staring at stacks of unopened boxes and metal blisters, wondering if our relentless accumulation of unpainted plastic and lead is a harmless quirk of the hobby or something that actively detracts from our enjoyment of tabletop gaming.
As historical wargamers, we are naturally drawn to new ranges, fascinating eras, and rulesets that spark our imagination. History offers an infinite buffet of conflicts across thousands of years, meaning that unlike gamers tied to a single fictional franchise, we almost inevitably end up building multiple armies across different scales and periods. Between the constant pull of fear-of-missing-out on limited releases, our tendency to overestimate our free time, and the sheer dopamine hit of buying a shiny new box versus the dozens of hours required to actually assemble and paint it, our backlogs grow rapidly. But having a substantial lead mountain isn't entirely bad. In many ways, our stashes act as emotional comfort blankets, personal hobby shops where we can browse for inspiration, and financial hedges against rising prices and out-of-print ranges. A varied stash gives us the freedom to pick a project that matches our mental energy on any given day, while providing a massive repository of spare parts for conversions.
Yet, we cannot ignore the heavier side of the scale. Excess accumulation frequently breeds hobby paralysis, where the sheer volume of choices leaves us unable to pick up a brush at all. The constant visual presence of unbuilt boxes can create a low-grade hobby debt that turns a relaxing pastime into a source of quiet anxiety. Furthermore, this collective habit creates ripple effects throughout our gaming culture. When local clubs are dominated by unbuilt armies on the table or haul posts on social media, the focus shifts away from creative expression and shared play toward pure consumerism. It can intimidate newcomers who feel priced out, send false demand signals to manufacturers, and even lead to total hobby burnout where gamers dump their collections and walk away entirely.
Balancing these two sides is essential if we want to keep our creative passion healthy and sustainable. I invite you to check out the full video to see where you land on the spectrum. Whether your backlog feels like a cozy library of potential or an overwhelming burden, understanding your relationship with your lead mountain is the best way to keep rolling high at the table.
Today I tackle a question that has been bugging me every time I slide my painted regiments across the wargames table: have movie directors subtly corrupted the way designers write charge mechanics? We have all spent years absorbing cinematic epics where thousands of digital warriors break rank, sprint across wide fields, and crash together like runaway freight trains. It looks fantastic on the big screen, but when those exact visual tropes bleed into our rulebooks, it completely distorts our understanding of historical battlefield doctrine.
The fundamental issue for me is that Hollywood treats a charge as an unstoppable physical battering ram powered by kinetic speed and unbridled aggression. Cinema routinely depicts foot soldiers shedding their tight formations to dive into chaotic, one-on-one sword fighting mosh pits, while cavalry gallops recklessly into wall after wall of bristling bayonets or direct artillery fire. In reality, breaking formation was a death sentence for ancient or black-powder infantry, whose survival depended entirely on mutual protection and rigid discipline. Furthermore, horses are intelligent prey animals that actively refuse to impale themselves on solid walls of steel or leap into cannon smoke. Historical shock tactics were often psychological; a charge succeeded when it destroyed the defender’s nerve, causing them to break and run before physical contact ever occurred.
When we look at how game designers translate this to the tabletop, we see a fascinating tension between cinematic fun and historical fidelity. Many casual systems handle charges as offensive power-ups, granting extra movement, attack bonuses, and guaranteed contact regardless of defender readiness. But from a strict historical standpoint, granting massive movement boosts or automatic combat dice rewards player aggression over proper positioning and fire support. An advancing unit accelerated only over the final twenty to thirty yards to minimize exposure, not to sprint half a mile. Real historical charges were tests of moral courage, where pre-contact discipline checks, defensive closing fire, and unit cohesion determined the outcome long before weapons clashed. If defenders held firm behind bayonets or pikes, the momentum of a charge could evaporated instantly upon arrival.
Balancing cinematic excitement with true historical friction is one of the toughest challenges in tabletop game design today. While cinematic rules can lead to explosive tabletop moments, leaning too heavily into movie tropes risks rewarding reckless play over genuine historical command decisions.
There is nothing quite like the atmosphere when the Posties Rejects gather in the shed-o-war. Yesterday, the dice were rolling, the banter was flowing, and the freezing Russian winter of 1812 was laid out across the tabletop for our latest grand wargame. This outing marked the fourth "Big Battle" variant of Sharp Practice we have run for the group. The last time we set up this specific collection was for our Demo Game at Broadside, where the hard work paid off massively and we bagged Best in Show. Having thoroughly covered the crossing of the Berezina in our previous games, Ray and I decided to shift gears this time around. We moved away from strict historical reproduction and built a custom, fictional scenario set a few days earlier along the bloody retreat from Moscow.
The Ambush at the Village
The tactical situation for the French was grim from the outset. A shallow, fordable stream cut across the field, and a small, dilapidated village bisected the only major road leading to safety. Looking through the frozen fog toward the village, the French commander could see enemy forces deployed, though they were a far cry from the Tsar’s elite regulars. The Russian defense was mostly a cobbled-together mix of Opolchenie militia, dismounted and mounted Cossacks, and local armed civilians. The only regular infantry unit on the field was a single detachment of Line Jäger stationed in the center to bolster the fragile militia line.
Most of these weak defensive units were taking cover behind little more than wooden livestock fences. Only the Russian artillery in the centre held a position behind a more substantial barracade. The Russian Cossacks were split across the flanks: on one side, foot Cossacks supported an aging 3lb gun mounted on a sled; on the other flank, three units of mounted Cossacks waited in the snow to harass the French advance.
On paper, the French held every advantage. Their force was a predictable mix of desperate retreaters, but at their core sat several elite infantry units. These veterans were guarding a seemingly innocuous wagon, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be Napoleon Bonaparte himself, wrapped in furs inside a horse-drawn sled. Behind the Emperor stretched a long line of supply wagons containing his personal baggage. The French objective was simple but high-stakes: break through the village, clear the road, and escort Bonaparte off the opposite board edge. Sitting right in the middle of that road, however, nestled tightly between two ruined buildings and sheltered behind a massive, hastily constructed barricade, was a small Russian gun manned by Opolchenie militia.
The Slaughter at the Barricade
That single, unassuming barricade would prove to be the absolute undoing of the entire French effort. Knowing time was against them, the French launched immediate, aggressive assaults to clear the central bottleneck. They made multiple attempts to melee the militia gun crew, but the terrain rules proved brutal. Fighting across such a substantial obstacle cost the attacking French a quarter of their melee dice. Furthermore, because the defensive barricade was so wide, the Russian defenders received extra dice to represent their fortified advantage.
What followed was a series of surprisingly even, bloody melees. The lowly Opolchenie gun crew held their ground with unbelievable tenacity. They fought off two separate, full-blooded charges from French scouting cavalry. Time after time, the French horsemen failed to dislodge the stubborn militia, losing momentum and taking casualties in the process. It was only on the third desperate attempt that the French finally managed to overrun the position, but the damage to their battle plan had already been done.
While the French were banging their heads against the central barricade, the rest of their army was slowly being whittled away across the field. Units were systematically broken, worn down by Russian fire, or destroyed in attrition battles. Under the Sharp Practice engine, every single unit loss triggers another roll on the unforgiving "Bad Things Happen" morale table. As unit after unit faltered, French force morale began to plummet into dangerous territory. Sensing the collapse, the French commanders redoubled their efforts, racing fresh troops forward to apply maximum pressure on the fragile Russian lines. But it was far too late. The cumulative shock and casualties overwhelmed the French command structure, their morale collapsed entirely, and the game ended in a dramatic Russian victory.
The result was a total shock to everyone around the table. At the start of the battle, the Russian defenders totaled just 42 points of troops facing down a massive French force of over 90 points. On paper, it should have been a steamroller; on the table, it became a heroic Russian stand.
Personal Miniatures and System Reflections
Beyond the dramatic narrative on the table, this game was a brilliant opportunity for Ray and me to get some specific models onto the field that we simply couldn't fit into our Broadside Demo Game. I was eager to finally field my Opolchenie militia (though I fully expected their time on the board to be brief and tragic) and Ray was keen to deploy Napoleon Bonaparte alongside some of his newly painted ad-hoc French units.
The game also gave us a chance to test our house rules for running large-scale games with this rule set. A few weeks ago, following the Broadside show, I posted a video talking about the challenges of upscaling Sharp Practice for big, multi-player battles. Ray and I have managed to make the rules work for these large scenarios, but if I'm being completely honest, the system isn't ideal for battles of this size. Sharp Practice is a fantastic rule set, but its mechanics are designed around tight, detailed skirmishes featuring four or five units per side. When you attempt to push the engine to accommodate nearly 20 units per side, the sheer level of detail creates friction. Certain rules simply don't translate smoothly to a grand tactical scale, and the turn flow can slow to a crawl.
Because of this, I’m fairly confident this will be the last time we use Sharp Practice for our Retreat from Moscow games. Ray and I are already in discussions about where to go from here. We are looking at either writing a streamlined, bespoke set of rules specifically tailored for our big shed battles, or searching for an established set of grand-skirmish rules that can handle high unit counts without losing the narrative friction we love.
One thing is absolute: this will not be the last time you see this 1812 collection on the table—no sir! We have far too many painted troops and incredible terrain pieces to leave them packed away in boxes. But as far as Sharp Practice goes, this epic Russian upset feels like a fitting, dramatic swan song for the system in our shed-o-war.
In my latest video discussion, I explore a simple question: can co-operative and umpire-led games generate authentic command tension? While traditional head-to-head matches rely on direct human opposition to fuel tactical stress, shifting to a co-operative format fundamentally changes where that tension originates.
Standard competitive wargames excel at creating intense psychological pressure through an intelligent adversary who bluffs, adapts, and punishes every mistake. However, real historical commanders were rarely engaged in balanced, symmetrical chess matches on flat terrain. They spent as much time fighting appalling weather, treacherous ground, miscommunicated orders, and logistical failures as they did fighting enemy formations. Co-operative wargaming embraces these asymmetrical, messy realities by shifting the focus away from point-calculating tournament play toward shared narrative experiences. It lowers the barrier of entry for newcomers and enables massive multiplayer battles where players take on distinct roles within a larger army.
Critics often argue that automated rule mechanics and AI movement tables inevitably become predictable once players learn their patterns. Without strict pressure or hidden mechanics, co-op games can occasionally collapse into dry committee meetings where players pause the action to collectively optimize every move like a puzzle. While a poorly designed scenario can certainly cause command tension to plummet, a well-constructed co-op game proves that battlefield stress does not require a human opponent across the table.
True command tension has always stemmed from uncertainty, scarce resources, time pressure, and incomplete information. By incorporating hidden enemy deployments, random events, and restricted communication, co-operative games aggressively mirror the real fog of war. They also introduce internal command friction, as players controlling different parts of an army argue over conflicting priorities, resource allocations, and defensive decisions under mounting pressure. Having a dedicated umpire elevates this dynamic even further, acting as a living simulation engine that introduces dynamic visibility, courier delays, and moral dilemmas that static rulesets cannot replicate.
Ultimately, co-operative wargaming is neither better nor worse than traditional player-versus-player play. If your primary goal is a pure test of tactical wit against another mind, competitive matches remain unmatched. But if you want to experience the chaotic operational headaches faced by real-world officers leading troops into the unknown, struggling against the battlefield itself offers a deeply authentic tabletop experience.
If you are anything like me, your days are dominated by tight schedules and packed diaries. And this means that fellow creators and hobbyists often discover that their cherished pursuits have transformed into overwhelming commitments. The traditional concept of work-life balance fails to capture this struggle because it treats everything outside of employment as passive relaxation. In reality, everyday life carries its own heavy workload of domestic chores, family obligations, administrative tasks, and social duties.
This is a topic I have discussed before, but recent comments on the channel made me realise I needed to dust off the conversation and tackle it again. I belive that pastimes like watching television or scrolling social media allow us to mentally disengage after a demanding day, but genuine hobbies require active participation, skill development, and creative effort. Hobbies ask more of our time and energy, so maintaining them alongside routine responsibilities sometimes requires intentional effort rather than passive expectation. In short, our hobby can become another stress inducing chore if we don't curate our time carefully.
Todays video on the channel argues that a key element of protecting the balance needed for wellbeing, is developing the discipline to sometimes say no to new projects. Accepting every opportunity degrades the quality of output and turns a rewarding outlet into just another source of anxiety.
When a French attack column crashes into a defended line on the wargaming table, few mechanics trigger more heated debates than supporting fire from adjacent friendly units. While 18th-century military doctrine explicitly built defensive formations around mutual support, historical evidence and period mechanics show that static infantry could only deliver a tiny fraction of their full firepower to aid a neighbor.
Period tactical manuals, clearly demonstrate that no unit was ever meant to fight in isolation. Defensive arrays relied heavily on interlocking fields of fire. For instance, hollow infantry squares deployed in a checkerboard pattern (échiquier) spaced 100 to 120 paces apart created lethal crossfires against charging cavalry, a layout that proved crucial along the Mont-Saint-Jean ridge at Waterloo. Similarly, line infantry relied on enfilade fire (tir d'enfilade) to catch attacking column flanks in a funnel of crossfire, a tactic Arthur Wellesley famously deployed at the Battle of Talavera in 1809.
Despite the foundational doctrine of secours mutuel, static infantry in a shoulder-to-shoulder line faced extreme physical constraints that prevented them from bringing anywhere near full firepower onto a target charging an adjacent unit. Standing two or three ranks deep with men spaced just 21 to 24 inches apart, soldiers could physically swing their musket barrels only 15 to 20 degrees to either side without endangering the comrade next to them. Consequently, an adjacent static regiment could bring only 10 to 20 percent of its total musketry to bear, as only the few platoons on the immediate inside flank held a clear line of sight. Furthermore, as the charging column closed within 50 yards of the target unit, the firing angle for neighboring static troops became so acute that continuing to shoot risked hitting their own allies in the side, dropping static supporting effectiveness to zero at the moment of impact.
To deliver significant supporting fire, adjacent infantry had to physically maneuver by wheeling their end companies inward to form a concave bracket or L-shaped trap. This maneuver could raise firepower effectiveness to 30 to 50 percent or higher, but it required strict drill discipline under dense black powder smoke and left the wheeling unit's outer flank completely exposed to secondary attacks.
Artillery operated under entirely different physical rules. Guns were spaced six to ten yards apart to allow crew movement and pivoted on a single axle. A gun crew could easily traverse a cannon carriage 30 to 40 degrees in seconds without altering the unit's overall formation alignment. This mobility allowed adjacent batteries to routinely deliver 60 to 100 percent of their full firepower across a neighbor's front. At ranges over 300 yards, batteries poured solid roundshot down the flanks of advancing columns. As the target closed within 300 yards, gunners loaded devastating canister shot, switching to double-canister under 50 yards to sweep away entire ranks in a single blast.
Commercial wargame designers heavily reflect these historical realities across popular rulesets. Systems such as General d'Armée, Field of Glory: Napoleonic, and Bataille Empire penalize static adjacent infantry fire by roughly 50 percent through arc and dice-pool modifiers, while keeping flank artillery canister fire at full lethality. Black Powder caps all closing fire to a single die per unit, limiting supporting infantry to roughly 33 percent effectiveness. Empire V and VI restrict fire strictly to the physical figures falling inside a narrow 45-degree cone, while Lasalle abstracts the process entirely by forcing players to spend command momentum on Interrupt actions rather than granting free charge support.
When our umpire umpire steped in, it was to correct a mistake of his own making in his home brew rules. His mid game correction capped defensive fire of static neighboring infantry during a charge, and history it seems, was firmly on his side. Period commanders actively relied on mutual support, but allowing static infantry to pour full firepower into an adjacent combat ignores the geometric realities of linear musketry. To achieve high-potency supporting fire on the battlefield, a commander either had to maneuver their companies into an angled position ahead of time or anchor the line with a dedicated battery of artillery loaded with canister.
Thinking about turning your passion for tabletop historical wargaming into a YouTube channel? Whether you want to share battle reports, review rulebooks, or showcase your painted regiments, starting a channel is one of the best ways to connect with fellow hobbyists worldwide. I have had opportunities, experiences and connections that simply wouldn't have happened if I hadn't decided to put my passion for the hobby on YouTube. In my latest video, I break down the practical equipment, channel strategies, and essential lessons learned from six years of building a wargaming community.
Here is a summary of the core strategies you need to launch your channel without blowing your miniature budget.
1. Define Your Channel's Purpose First
Before spending a single penny on tech gear, take a step back and define what you want to achieve. Having clear boundaries stops you from wasting money on unnecessary studio equipment:
Establish a Format: Decide on concise topics (such as 10-to-15-minute discussions) or longer-form content like full battle reports.
Focus on Community: Aim to foster genuine discussion with viewers rather than aiming for overly slick commercial production value.
2. Camera & Mounting Equipment
You do not need a multi-hundred-pound vlogging camera to make your first video. Most modern smartphones take excellent HD video, which is more than enough to test the waters. However, stable footage is mandatory:
Standard Tripods: A basic, lightweight tripod works perfectly for fixed-position sit-down videos.
Boom Arms & Heavy Tripods: Essential for positioning a camera directly over a wargaming table for battle reports without getting in the way of dice rolls.
Desk Arms & Monopods: Articulated desk arms keep your hands free over the painting bench, while monopods provide instant stability when filming at crowded wargaming shows.
3. Audio & Acoustic Considerations
Bad video is tolerable, but bad audio will drive viewers away faster than anything else. Built-in phone and camera microphones struggle with room echo and ambient noise.
Microphones: Invest in a decent external lavalier or camera-mounted microphone once you know you are committed to the channel.
Room Acoustics: Voice reverberation off hard walls ruins sound clarity. Add soft furnishings like rugs, heavy curtains, or acoustic panels to deaden room echo.
4. Lighting & Video Editing
Consistent lighting is critical for miniature photography and video. Natural window light shifts constantly due to cloud cover, ruining visual continuity.
Softbox Lighting: A single, inexpensive photography softbox light provides soft, even illumination for both video recording and painting bench work.
Editing Software: Start with free or low-cost editors built into your phone or PC (like Windows Video Editor or mobile apps) before upgrading to subscription suites like CapCut as your editing skills develop.
Building a wargaming YouTube channel is a journey of continuous learning. Focus on clear sound, steady footage, and engaging discussions—and let your gear evolve naturally as your community grows!
I recently had the privilege of spending a day in Brighton with Henry Hyde, playing an Imaginations wargame in the famous Loftwaffe. The game itself was memorable, but what made the day particularly special was the opportunity to play with some genuine pieces of wargaming history. You can watch the full story in the accompanying video, but there is plenty here to explore if you’re interested in the history of our hobby, vintage miniatures and the way old school wargaming continues to influence what we do today.
I’ve known Henry for several years, mainly through encounters at shows such as Salute and Partizan, along with an appearance on his Battlechat podcast. This visit gave us considerably more time to talk about the hobby, alongside a game using Henry’s own Shot, Steel & Stone rules. The rules were originally introduced in The Wargaming Compendium before being developed into a standalone system. Designed for the horse and musket period, they are deliberately flexible regarding miniature scale and basing, while placing considerable emphasis on command, control and battlefield friction.
For me, the real highlight was the miniatures themselves. Henry has a remarkable collection of figures and books, including miniatures that once belonged to influential pioneers of the hobby. Among them are Spencer Smith 30mm plastic eighteenth century figures, including the famous Ostergotland Regiment associated with Charles Grant. What makes these figures particularly fascinating is their history. They date from the early decades of modern miniature wargaming with the Ostergotland Regiment appearing in Charles Grant’s seminal 1971 book, The War Game.
Spencer Smith figures were designed to be simple, elegant and easy to mass on the tabletop. Their proportions give large regiments a wonderfully old school appearance. Henry's collection is partly painted by him, and partly origional regiments that belonged to hobby Legends like Grant and Asquith. Rather than being preserved as museum pieces, Henry has restored these older miniatures and continues to use them in games. And for me there was something genuinely special about seeing figures with that kind of history being used for their original purpose. They weren’t simply objects from the past. They were still wargaming.
The game formed part of Henry’s long-running Imaginations campaign. I commanded the Grenouisse army, pursuing the retreating forces of Borgenmark after the Bataille des Deux Fermes. My task wasn’t to destroy the enemy outright but to harass the retreating column and delay its progress towards the defensive positions around Vustœr. My light cavalry proved effective at disrupting the Borg advance, forcing enemy units to halt and face the threat.
There was, however, a price to pay. Light cavalry are not particularly well suited to taking on disciplined eighteenth century infantry, and several of my cavalry regiments were forced to withdraw. Fortunately, my Casseurs de Pied and their supporting light gun performed extremely well, helping to destroy two Borg cavalry regiments. Whether I had delayed the enemy sufficiently for the main Grenouissian army to catch up remains to be seen.
That, of course, is the beauty of a campaign like this. The story continues beyond a single game, with the consequences of one battle influencing the next. For me, though, the real victory was simply being there. Playing a wargame with miniatures that have survived for decades and formed part of the history of our hobby was a privilege I won’t forget in a hurry.
Nothing kills the excitement of a tabletop battle quite like a lengthy rules argument. In my latest video, I explore some practical ways that historical wargamers can resolve disagreements quickly while keeping the game enjoyable. If you haven't watched it yet, you can find the full video below, but I wanted to expand on some of the ideas here because rules disputes are something I expect almost every wargamer has encountered at some point.
Every ruleset has grey areas. No matter how carefully a game has been written, unusual situations will eventually arise where two players interpret the same rule differently. Sometimes it's something as simple as whether a unit can see another unit through a particular piece of terrain, while at other times it might involve charge distances, cover, movement or some obscure interaction between two different rules. It can happen with virtually any ruleset, because no rulebook can anticipate every possible situation that two imaginative wargamers might create on a tabletop.
Where it becomes particularly frustrating is during a friendly game where the objective is simply to have an enjoyable afternoon with friends. Most of us aren't sitting down around the table because there's a trophy at stake or because we're desperately trying to climb a tournament ranking. We're there to play with our miniatures, enjoy the history, tell a story and spend time with other people who share the same hobby. When a fifteen minute argument develops over whether a regiment is half an inch inside or outside a particular boundary, that social experience can disappear remarkably quickly.
One way of dealing with these situations is to agree before the game that the Rule of Cool has a place in your gaming. Rather than automatically choosing the interpretation that provides the greatest tactical advantage, players can agree to favour the outcome that creates the most exciting, dramatic or historically satisfying moment. Imagine a cavalry unit charging an enemy whose flank is exposed by the tiniest of margins. You could spend several minutes measuring every angle and debating the wording of the rules, or you could simply decide that the cavalry has caught them in a dramatic charge and see what happens. The important thing isn't that one player has gained an advantage. It's that you've created a memorable moment that everyone can enjoy.
Another option is to involve an impartial third party. If another club member, game organiser or spectator is nearby, explain the situation to them and ask for a ruling. The key is agreeing beforehand that whatever decision they make will be accepted without further debate. This can be particularly useful because sometimes two players become so invested in their own interpretation that neither can see a way out of the disagreement. An outside opinion can break that deadlock almost instantly.
For situations where there simply isn't time to find an answer, there's always the dice off. Roll a die, decide which result corresponds to which interpretation and carry on playing. You can always look up the correct answer after the game. It might sound rather arbitrary, but if the alternative is spending twenty minutes searching through a rulebook while everyone else waits, a thirty second temporary solution can be far more valuable. The same principle applies to what I think of as the sanity check. If the rules technically allow something that makes absolutely no sense within the historical setting, perhaps common sense should take precedence. If a smoothbore musket can somehow fire through the corner of a solid brick building or target a unit through dense woodland because of an unintended interaction between rules, most historical gamers would probably recognise that something has gone wrong.
Another useful principle is giving the benefit of the doubt to the defender or the non active player when a situation is genuinely too close to call. If you're arguing over a charge distance that is right on the limit, or whether a unit is fully protected by cover, having a pre agreed convention can prevent the discussion from becoming personal. Similarly, there are situations where splitting the difference makes more sense than choosing between two extreme interpretations. If nobody can agree whether a hedge provides full cover or no cover at all, perhaps treat it as light cover for that particular turn and carry on. It isn't necessarily the perfect answer, but it is a fair compromise that keeps the battle moving.
One of the approaches I particularly like is making a temporary ruling and noting the question down for later. Instead of stopping the game to search through FAQs, forums and old posts from the rules designer, write down the problem and carry on. Once the game has finished, you can investigate it properly and establish what the rules actually say. If the official answer still isn't clear, your group can agree on a house rule for future games. Over time, these little decisions can become part of the shared understanding within a gaming group and prevent the same disagreement from occurring repeatedly.
Ultimately, all of these approaches come back to one simple principle: the flow of the game matters more than the exact ruling. That's not an argument for ignoring rules or allowing one player to take advantage of another. It's about recognising the difference between a genuinely important rules issue and a minor ambiguity that doesn't deserve to bring an entire game to a halt. A quick decision made in good faith keeps everyone engaged, whereas a prolonged argument can destroy the atmosphere for everyone around the table.
For me, this is particularly important because historical wargaming is about much more than rules. It's about history, miniatures, painting, terrain, modelling, storytelling and, perhaps most importantly, spending time with other people. The rules provide the framework that allows the game to happen, but they shouldn't become more important than the people sitting around the table. Some players will naturally prefer a very strict interpretation of the rules, while others will be much more comfortable with a flexible, narrative approach. Neither is necessarily wrong. The important thing is that everyone understands what sort of game they're sitting down to play.
Every club and gaming group will inevitably develop its own culture and its own way of dealing with disagreements. Some will prefer an umpire, others may use dice, while some groups will simply make a ruling and look it up afterwards. What matters is finding something that works for your group and, ideally, agreeing on the approach before the inevitable rules question appears. Because let's face it, the rules question is coming. It always does. Somewhere on that beautifully prepared tabletop, surrounded by lovingly painted miniatures and carefully constructed terrain, there is a tiny ambiguity waiting to derail the battle. The trick isn't eliminating those moments because that's probably impossible. The trick is making sure they remain moments rather than turning into twenty minute arguments.
So how does your gaming group deal with rules disputes? Do you have a house rule, an umpire or perhaps a completely different method for breaking a deadlock? Have you ever used a dice roll to settle an argument, or do you prefer to make a temporary ruling and check the rules afterwards? I'd love to hear about your experiences and the approaches that have worked for you, because some of the best solutions to these little problems come from the wargaming community itself.
A couple of weeks ago I shared something I don't do particularly often on the channel, an unboxing video. The game in question was Swords & Stones: Dark Days, an ambitious fantasy tabletop strategy game that had been sent to me to take a look at. Having now had some time to sit down with the beta rulebook and read through it properly, I thought it was time to share some of my thoughts on what is an interesting and rather different approach to tabletop gaming. I've also put together a video looking at the rules in more detail, but I wanted this article to stand on its own as an introduction to what Swords & Stones is trying to achieve.
What attracted me to the game in the first place was the idea behind it. Swords & Stones is inspired by classic real time strategy computer games such as Age of Empires, Stronghold and Battle for Middle-earth, but instead of sitting in front of a computer screen, you're doing all of this on the tabletop with miniatures, terrain, dice and tokens. As someone who has spent many years playing tabletop wargames, I find that idea particularly interesting because it takes some familiar concepts from computer strategy games and asks whether they can actually work around a table with a group of friends.
The setting is also rather different from your typical fantasy wargame. Rather than starting with established kingdoms and huge armies, the game takes place after a catastrophic flood has effectively destroyed civilisation. You begin with a small group of survivors in a world where food and other resources are scarce, disease is widespread and hostile raiders are never far away. Your first priority is therefore survival and rebuilding rather than immediately marching off to conquer your neighbour.
That is probably the thing that stood out to me most as I worked my way through the rules. This isn't simply a game where you put your army on the table and then spend the next few hours trying to destroy somebody else's army. There is a whole process of building your kingdom around the fighting. You gather resources, construct buildings, recruit units, develop your settlement and expand your influence. Eventually, of course, you're going to have to fight, but the fighting is part of a much bigger picture.
As a long time wargamer, I rather like that approach. One of the things I enjoy about our hobby is the story that develops around a game, and having the ability to build that story from the very beginning of a kingdom's development is an appealing idea. Your army isn't simply appearing on the table fully formed. It is the result of decisions you've made during the game, and those decisions can potentially have consequences several turns later.
The basic turn structure is actually remarkably straightforward. Each turn is divided into three phases: Harvest, Advance, and Move and Combat. During Harvest you collect resources, Advance is where you spend those resources on buildings, units and upgrades, and then Move and Combat is where your forces take to the table and things inevitably start getting rather more violent.
I was pleasantly surprised by how concise the core rules are. Looking through the rulebook, the three basic phases take up only around seventeen pages. The rulebook itself is considerably larger than that, but much of the additional material deals with the various buildings, units, technologies and special rules that come into play as your kingdom develops. I think that's an important distinction because it means you're not necessarily expected to learn everything before you play your first game. You can learn the basics and then gradually discover the more advanced elements as your kingdom grows.
The game also gives players two very different routes to victory. You can win by Sword, which essentially means defeating rival kings or forcing them to surrender, but there is also victory By Stone. This involves constructing a monument and keeping it standing for fifteen turns. I particularly like the inclusion of that second option because it means the game doesn't automatically reward the player who is most aggressive. Someone who prefers a more defensive or economic approach has another way of trying to win, which should make for some interesting strategic decisions.
There are also several factions to choose from in the initial release, each offering a different approach. The Avalonians are technologically advanced and worship a single god, while the Paganites take a rather different path, relying more heavily on martial prowess and being less enthusiastic about technology. Then there are the Damned, who begin as another faction but can embrace dark rituals and necromantic magic. There are plans for additional races and factions as the game develops, so this is clearly intended to be the beginning of something much larger.
Another aspect I find interesting is the flexibility in how the game can be played. Swords & Stones supports solo play, cooperative games and larger competitive games, with the rules designed to accommodate anything from one player through to twelve. That's quite a range, and I think the solo and cooperative options are particularly worth mentioning. Finding a regular group of opponents isn't always easy, so I always think it's a positive when a game gives you more than one way to enjoy it.
The mechanics themselves are also fairly easy to understand. The primary resolution system uses ordinary six sided dice, with two different colours being used for different purposes. Most rolls involve trying to beat a particular target number, with a roll of one being an automatic failure. Combat follows a similarly straightforward process of determining attacks, rolling to hit, rolling to wound and then allowing the target to make its saves. Once a unit has accumulated enough wounds, it is removed from play.
I'm not going to go into the rules in much more detail here because the Swords & Stones Studios YouTube channel has produced a series of excellent tutorial videos that explain the game far better than I could in an article. What I was really interested in when reading the rulebook was how well it was structured, how clearly the mechanics were presented and how easy I thought it would be for a new player to actually get into the game.
On that front, I came away reasonably impressed. The rulebook is clearly laid out and the table of contents are colour coded, which makes finding specific sections relatively straightforward. The introduction does a good job of explaining the setting and the overall concept, while the simple three phase turn gives players a solid foundation on which to build their understanding of the game. The complexity comes as you start adding buildings, technologies, units and special abilities rather than being dumped on you from the very beginning.
That gradual increase in complexity is something I particularly appreciate. I've been playing tabletop games for a very long time and I've certainly encountered rulebooks that seem determined to make you understand every possible situation before you're allowed to move a single miniature. Swords & Stones doesn't appear to take that approach. The basic game is relatively easy to understand, but there is plenty of additional depth waiting for players who want to explore it.
It's also worth mentioning the work that has already gone into developing the game. From my conversations with Luke, it is obvious that Swords & Stones has been in development for quite some time, and feedback from early players has already resulted in changes to both the rules and the miniatures. There are also plans for additional buildings, factions and other content as the game develops.
For those with a 3D printer, there is another interesting incentive. The existing buildings, terrain pieces and tokens are being made available as free STL files as part of the crowdfunding campaign, with more content planned for the future. For a hobby that increasingly combines traditional miniature painting with 3D printing and terrain building, I think that's a very appealing addition.
Ultimately, what interests me most about Swords & Stones is the ambition behind it. It is trying to combine miniature wargaming with the kingdom building, resource management and progression that many of us will recognise from classic RTS computer games. Whether it can successfully translate that experience to the tabletop remains to be seen, but having now read the rules, I think there is certainly enough here to make me curious about playing it.
The next big step is the Gamefound crowdfunding campaign, which launches on 26th August. Like any crowdfunding project, its future depends upon reaching its funding goal, but if it does succeed then it looks as though Swords & Stones Studios has plenty of ideas for where the game can go next.
If you'd like to know more, I'd recommend taking a look at the Swords & Stones Studios YouTube channel, where you'll find the tutorial videos explaining the game in much more detail. You can also keep an eye out for the Gamefound campaign when it launches. Whether you're interested in fantasy miniatures, tabletop strategy games, 3D printing, kingdom building or simply seeing somebody try something a little different with our hobby, I think Swords & Stones is certainly worth watching.
And for me, that's probably the most interesting thing about it. We have plenty of established fantasy wargames to choose from, but it's always good to see somebody trying to take the hobby in a slightly different direction. Whether Swords & Stones ultimately becomes a game that develops a large following will depend on the players, the community and the support it receives, but the foundations certainly look promising.
If you're thinking about getting into historical tabletop wargaming, or you've recently made the jump from fantasy or science fiction gaming, my latest YouTube video shares the ten pieces of advice I genuinely wish someone had given me when I started. Rather than being hard-and-fast rules, they're lessons learned through years of collecting, painting, gaming and researching history. You can watch the full video below, but if you prefer to read first, here's a summary of the key points.
Historical wargaming is unlike any other branch of the tabletop hobby. While it shares many of the same elements as other miniature games, it also combines military history, strategy, modelling and painting into one rewarding pastime. Making the transition can feel daunting, but it doesn't have to be.
The first thing I would say is to start small. Don't feel pressured to recreate Waterloo on your first day. Skirmish games such as Bolt Action or Saga provide an excellent introduction without requiring hundreds of miniatures or complex rules. Just as important is choosing a period you genuinely love, because your enthusiasm will last much longer if you pick an era that truly fascinates you. Whether that means Ancient Rome, Napoleonics, medieval warfare, World War II or the English Civil War, following your own interests is often far more rewarding than simply collecting what everyone else is playing.
It also helps to learn some history. Understanding the tactics and battlefield methods of your chosen period makes games more immersive and often improves your decision making on the tabletop. Alongside that, it is worth investing in quality where you can. Good miniatures and terrain enhance every game, so buy the best quality you can reasonably afford, don't overlook scratch-building terrain, and take the time to learn what good craftsmanship looks like before trying to replicate it yourself.
Painting your armies is another important part of the hobby. Adopting a "no bare miniatures" approach encourages steady progress and improves your painting over time. Nobody starts as an expert, and every completed unit builds confidence. It is equally important to learn the rules properly. Spend time reading the rulebook instead of relying entirely on quick summaries, and make use of tutorial videos, online forums, experienced local players and club demonstration games to help you get to grips with the system.
Historical wargaming is at its best when shared with others, so joining the community can make a huge difference. Clubs, online communities and gaming groups offer advice, inspiration and opportunities to enjoy larger games and campaigns. At the same time, it is worth remembering to balance accuracy with enjoyment. Historical authenticity matters, but the goal is still to have fun, and small adjustments that improve everyone's experience are perfectly reasonable within your own gaming group.
Recording your games can also be incredibly rewarding. Battle reports, photographs and videos create a lasting record of your hobby journey while helping you improve as both a player and painter. Finally, never stop learning. History is an endless source of inspiration, and books, documentaries, museums, conventions and conversations with fellow gamers continually add new ideas and perspectives that enrich the hobby.
There is no single "correct" way to enjoy historical wargaming. Every hobbyist arrives from a different background and develops their own interests over time. Hopefully these ten tips provide a useful starting point for anyone considering the move into historical gaming, but they're certainly not the only advice worth sharing. I'd love to hear what tips you would add, so feel free to leave a comment on the video and join the discussion.
Who is Paul Brook from the Pazoot-Wargaming Channel? I've been collaborating with him since the start of the year, culminating in the release of our 1812 The Retreat From Moscow narrative skirmish campaign rulebook at the end of May. So I decided it was high time we got together so I could ask him a few questions to discover who Paul from Pazoot really is. So this is a longer video than I normally do but hopefully you will enjoy it as I ask Paul about his gamer origin story, how Pazoot came about, what's next in the Battle Chronicle series and where he see's Pazoot-Wargaming going in 2027.
This week's video tackles a fascinating question from a viewer: how do you design an asymmetrical tabletop wargame that is genuinely enjoyable for both players? It is a challenge every historical scenario designer eventually encounters because history is rarely fair. Battles were often won before the first shot was fired through superior numbers, better positioning or overwhelming resources. So how do we recreate those battles without creating an equally one-sided gaming experience?
The first step is recognising that balance and enjoyment are not the same thing. Many scenarios become less interesting because designers try to make both armies equal, even when history tells us they were anything but. Instead, the focus should be on giving each player a different challenge that reflects the role their historical commander actually faced.
Victory conditions are often the biggest factor. Rather than asking both players simply to destroy each other's armies, scenarios become much richer when objectives reflect historical reality. A smaller force may only need to delay an advance, protect a withdrawal or hold a key position for a limited time. The larger army may have to achieve its objectives quickly while limiting casualties or maintaining momentum. Different objectives create different strategic problems without altering the historical imbalance.
Terrain also becomes a powerful balancing tool. Forests, rivers, villages, hills and prepared defences all allow a weaker force to offset superior enemy numbers in believable ways. Combined with hidden movement, ambush opportunities and uncertainty about enemy positions, terrain creates tension and meaningful decision-making for both sides.
Scenario-specific mechanics can add even more depth. Morale rules, command friction, limited resources, changing weather or unexpected reinforcements all help recreate the uncertainty of real battles. Rather than introducing artificial bonuses, these mechanics model the problems real commanders faced and often become the moments players remember long after the game has finished.
Replayability is another important consideration. Variable objectives, different deployment options and random events can ensure that the same historical battle offers fresh tactical challenges each time it is played. Good scenarios encourage experimentation without abandoning historical authenticity.
Perhaps the most important lesson, however, is that no scenario is ever truly finished until it has been thoroughly playtested. Players will always discover unexpected tactics, loopholes or unforeseen problems. Careful testing and refinement allow designers to adjust objectives and mechanics until both sides enjoy a satisfying and engaging experience.
Historical battles were rarely fought on equal terms, and our tabletop games do not need to be either. The goal is not equal armies but equal opportunities for interesting decisions. When scenario design succeeds, even a hopeless last stand or desperate delaying action can become one of the most memorable games players ever experience.
Introducing new rules to a tabletop wargaming group can often be more challenging than learning the rules themselves. Every hobbyist has likely experienced the moment where excitement for a new system meets hesitation from other players who aren’t familiar with the period, the mechanics, or simply don’t know what to expect. This video explores practical, proven ways to bridge that gap and turn reluctant players into engaged participants.
Rather than overwhelming players with complex explanations upfront, one of the most effective approaches is to start with simplified or “quick start” versions of the rules. By focusing only on the core mechanics such as movement, shooting, and combat, players can begin interacting with the game immediately. This helps build confidence and understanding through play, rather than through long explanations that are quickly forgotten once dice start rolling.
Narrative is another powerful tool. When rules are embedded within a story-driven scenario, they become easier to understand and far more memorable. Instead of thinking in abstract terms, players are drawn into situations such as desperate defensive actions, surprise attacks, or critical battlefield objectives. This transforms mechanics into meaning, helping players connect emotionally with what is happening on the tabletop.
Visual presentation also plays a crucial role. A well-prepared table with clear terrain, organised units, and accessible reference materials can immediately capture attention and reduce cognitive load. Combined with demonstration-style teaching, where rules are introduced as they become relevant during play, this creates a natural learning flow that feels intuitive rather than instructional.
Mentorship and table atmosphere are equally important. A relaxed, welcoming environment where mistakes are treated as part of the learning process encourages experimentation and reduces anxiety. Experienced players can guide newcomers without overwhelming them, offering support while still allowing space for independent decision-making.
Historical context, when used lightly and effectively, can also help bring meaning to scenarios, while feedback from players ensures that teaching methods continue to improve over time. Ultimately, introducing new wargame rules is not just about transferring knowledge, but about creating engaging experiences that players want to return to. When done well, even complex systems become accessible, enjoyable, and memorable.
I'd argue that tabletop wargaming is one of the most diverse and rewarding hobbies available today, blending tactical gameplay, artistic creativity, and strong social connections into a single shared experience. In this video, I take a closer look at what makes the hobby so compelling for historical wargamers, miniature painters, and tabletop strategy enthusiasts, and why so many people stay engaged with it for years, or even decades.
At its core, wargaming offers a unique form of strategic challenge. Every game becomes a test of planning, adaptability, and decision-making under uncertainty. Whether you’re manoeuvring historical regiments across a Napoleonic battlefield or coordinating modern skirmish units in a tactical scenario, the satisfaction comes from seeing your ideas unfold on the table. Of course, things rarely go exactly to plan (especialy for me!) and that unpredictability is part of the charm. Dice rolls, opponent decisions, and unexpected battlefield developments all combine to create memorable moments that no two games ever replicate.
But the hobby doesn’t end when the game does. For many players, the modelling and painting side is just as important, if not more so. Building armies, painting miniatures, and designing terrain allows for deep personal expression. Each figure becomes a small creative project, and entire forces can reflect historical accuracy, imaginative flair, or personal storytelling. The process itself can be relaxing and immersive, offering a different kind of satisfaction compared to the intensity of gameplay. Seeing a fully painted army on the table is often described as one of the most rewarding milestones in the hobby.
Then there is the social dimension, which I think underpins everything else. Wargaming naturally brings people together in a shared space where conversation, storytelling, and friendly competition happen organically. Over time, regular opponents become friends, and gaming clubs become communities. Campaigns stretch across weeks or months, and the stories that emerge from those games often become as important as the outcomes themselves. It’s a hobby that encourages interaction, shared experiences, and a sense of belonging that can be difficult to find elsewhere.
This video explores all of these elements and asks a simple but important question: what do you find most rewarding about tabletop wargaming? Whether it’s the tactical depth, the artistic side, or the community itself, every player experiences the hobby differently, and those perspectives are what make it so rich and enduring.
Today I wanted to look at an intriguing new Kickstarter project called Pocket General: Waterloo, a portable historical wargaming system that replaces traditional miniatures with beautifully illustrated playing cards. While the video explores my first impressions after speaking with creator Brandon Fisichella, the wider discussion raises some interesting questions about accessibility, affordability and the future of introducing new players to historical tabletop gaming.
Historical wargaming has always been a rewarding hobby, but it is also one that demands a considerable investment of time, money and space. Building opposing armies, painting hundreds of miniatures and collecting terrain can be immensely satisfying, but it can also appear daunting to newcomers. Pocket General approaches that challenge from a different direction. Instead of asking players to assemble large collections before enjoying a battle, it provides complete armies represented by high-quality illustrated cards that are ready to play straight out of the box. The result is a system that can easily travel in a pocket, making it ideal for holidays, weekends away or simply gaming where storage space is limited.
Importantly, Pocket General is not presented as a replacement for traditional miniature wargaming. Rather, it offers another way to enjoy the hobby while lowering the barriers for those taking their first steps into historical gaming. By making classic battles such as Waterloo more accessible, it may encourage newcomers to discover the wider hobby before eventually moving on to painted miniatures and larger collections.
Another aspect that makes the project stand out is its visual presentation. The card artwork captures the energy and movement of Napoleonic battlefields with an expressive style that conveys the smoke, confusion and drama of combat. The creators have also committed to commissioning only original artwork from human artists, with no AI-generated imagery used in the production of the game. The Kickstarter campaign is focused primarily on funding these commissions while ensuring the artists are paid fairly for their work.
The initial release focuses on the Battle of Waterloo, providing French and British forces, with plans to expand into Prussian, Dutch and Hanoverian contingents as additional funding becomes available. Future ambitions also include terrain cards that would allow players to build more detailed battlefields while retaining the system's remarkable portability.
Whether Pocket General becomes a regular feature on gaming tables remains to be seen, but it is certainly an imaginative attempt to make historical wargaming easier to access without sacrificing its historical flavour. Anything that encourages more people to explore our hobby deserves consideration, particularly when it is supported by original artwork and a genuine passion for history.
One of the things I enjoy most about making these videos is that so many of them begin with questions from viewers. This week's discussion was inspired by Tony Wentworth, who asked a deceptively simple question: should historical wargame rules do everything possible to produce the "correct" historical result?
Most of us want our games to feel authentic. We want armies to behave as they did historically, commanders to face the same challenges, and the battlefield to reward historically sensible tactics. But at the same time, we're still playing a game. If every battle is predetermined because history tells us who won, where does that leave the players?
My own view is that a good ruleset should always be capable of reproducing the historical outcome. If the rules accurately represent troop quality, command, morale, terrain and weapon effectiveness, then the historical result should be one possible outcome. The important word, though, is "possible" rather than "guaranteed."
History is full of battles that seem almost impossible to recreate without some additional help from the rules. Agincourt relied heavily on terrible ground conditions, French overconfidence and the effectiveness of English longbowmen. Thermopylae depended almost entirely on geography until betrayal changed everything. Rorke's Drift was shaped by carefully prepared defences, disciplined rifle fire, leadership, fatigue and the pauses between successive Zulu attacks.
Without acknowledging those unique historical circumstances, generic tabletop rules often produce results that look nothing like the real battles. That's where carefully designed scenarios and special rules become valuable. They shouldn't dictate the outcome, but they should recreate the conditions that made the historical outcome possible.
For me, that's where the real challenge of historical game design lies. A scenario should encourage players to make the same kinds of decisions their historical counterparts faced, while still leaving enough uncertainty that skill, judgement and luck can produce different results. After all, if players have no meaningful choices, they're simply acting out history rather than exploring it.
That's what makes this such an interesting subject to discuss. There probably isn't a single right answer. Some players prefer tightly scripted historical recreations, while others enjoy seeing history take an entirely different direction once the first dice are rolled. Wherever you fall on that spectrum, I think we can all agree on one thing: the best historical games are the ones that leave both players feeling they had meaningful decisions to make and a genuine chance to influence the battle.
I'd love to know where you stand. Should historical rules prioritise historical accuracy above everything else, or should player agency always come first? Join the discussion in the comments below and let me know your thoughts.
