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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
After more than four decades in the hobby, I believe the answer is yes—but perhaps not in the way many people expect. Over the last few years, I've attended a number of wargames shows where I've noticed something that would have been far less common when I first entered the hobby. The crowds seem broader. There are more families, more younger gamers, more women, and a wider mix of people enjoying tabletop wargaming than I remember seeing twenty or thirty years ago. More importantly, the atmosphere has been incredibly positive. The enthusiasm for history, miniature painting, tabletop battles, and the social side of the hobby is every bit as strong as it has always been.
In this video, I reflect on those observations and ask whether these changes might actually be one of the best things to happen to historical wargaming. Rather than focusing on controversy, I wanted to look at what I've genuinely experienced while attending recent shows and speaking to fellow hobbyists.
One of the biggest conclusions I've reached is that new players don't replace the traditions that many of us have loved for decades. They add to them. Every newcomer brings different interests, fresh ideas, new projects, and sometimes introduces us to campaigns or historical subjects we may never have explored ourselves. That's one of the great strengths of tabletop gaming. The hobby grows not because it abandons its past, but because each new generation builds upon it.
The routes into historical wargaming are also changing. Where many of us discovered the hobby through clubs and magazines, today's players often arrive through YouTube, podcasts, board games, fantasy gaming, or social media before finding their way to historical miniatures. The destination remains the same: a shared passion for history, creativity, modelling, painting, and rolling dice with friends.
One thing I didn't include in the video because of time constraints was my theory that maybe Covid and lockdowns have accelerated a process that has been happening for a while now. Lost of 'new' gamers rediscovered a hobby they had played when they were younger during this period. But there are also a lot of other new wargamers who seem have entered the hobby since 2020. I don't know if there is any actualy data to support this, its just anecdotal evidence and what I think I can see at shows. Maybe a new generation of wargamers had their perspectives on what was important, and what wasn't during those long lockdowns. As a society we seem to have a better appreciation of metal health and welbeing following the Pandemic, and a social hobby like wargaming, with painting and creativity at its core, fits perectly with that mindset. Maybe that is drawing new people into the hobby? Or maybe I'm imagining it? 🤣
Ultimately, this isn't a video about politics or changing the hobby into something different. It's about recognising that every thriving hobby needs new people, new ideas, and new enthusiasm if it is going to flourish for decades to come. From my perspective, after forty years of gaming, that's exactly what I'm beginning to see.
I'd love to know whether you've noticed the same changes at your local club or the shows you attend. Do you think historical wargaming is changing? If so, do you see those changes as positive? Join the discussion by watching the video and sharing your own thoughts in the comments. The conversation is always better when more voices are around the table.
One of the biggest differences between real warfare and tabletop wargaming is information. In most games, we enjoy a perfect view of the battlefield. We know where every enemy unit is located, where reserves are hiding, and often what our opponent is planning to do next. Real generals never had that luxury. So in this week's video, I take a look at one of the most fascinating ways to add realism, uncertainty, and excitement to tabletop battles: simulating the fog of war.
The concept is simple. Instead of allowing players complete knowledge of the battlefield, information is restricted or concealed. This forces commanders to make decisions based on incomplete intelligence, just as their historical counterparts had to do for centuries. Even with scouts, observation balloons, reconnaissance aircraft, and dispatch riders, battlefield information was often inaccurate or out of date by the time it reached senior commanders.
Over the years, my gaming group, Posties Rejects, have experimented with several different approaches to hidden information. Some of our earliest games used a simple sheet hung across the battlefield during deployment, preventing either side from seeing where the enemy was positioned. Once the screen was removed, carefully prepared battle plans often collapsed instantly, leading to frantic redeployments and plenty of laughter.
We've also used the same technique for historical games. American Civil War armies advancing through dense morning fog and First World War dawn attacks became far more unpredictable when neither side knew exactly where the enemy was located. In some cases, random movement was added to represent units losing direction, creating wonderfully chaotic openings to battles.
Another favourite method is the use of blinds. Instead of seeing actual units, players see markers representing possible forces. These may conceal powerful formations, small scouting parties, or even nothing at all. This approach works particularly well for periods such as the French & Indian War, where dense terrain and limited visibility naturally support hidden movement and deception.
The video also explores systems that we haven't personally used, including double-blind gaming. Popular in Kriegsspiel-style games, double-blind systems rely on an umpire and separate maps so that neither side can see the enemy until contact is made. While potentially more demanding to organise, these methods can create an incredibly immersive command experience.
Ultimately, the goal is not necessarily to make games more complicated. Instead, it's about creating uncertainty, surprise, and memorable stories. Some of the most enjoyable games are not those where every plan works perfectly, but those where unexpected events force players to adapt and think on their feet.
Tabletop wargaming has long struggled with visual spectacle and mechanical clarity, and few topics highlight that tension more clearly than the use of tokens, markers, and tabletop gaming aids. In todays video, I take a closer look at whether these tools enhance or detract from the immersive experience that draws so many hobbyists into miniature wargaming in the first place.
The discussion originates from a viewer who observed that early photo's of playtesting of our 1812 Retreat from Moscow rules introduced a range of counters and markers onto the tabletop. While entirely functional, it was noted that these elements sometimes “spoil the visual effect of the armies.” That observation opens up a much wider question that that I wanted to discuss today: how much visual clutter is too much?
So today I briefly discuss some of the major categories of wargaming tokens used across historical and skirmish systems. These include casualty and wound tracking markers, activation and turn order counters, status and condition effects such as pinned or suppressed, and tactical resource tokens like command points or ammunition tracking. Each serves a practical function, reducing bookkeeping and helping players manage increasingly complex rule systems without constantly referencing notes or rosters. These markers can enhance gameplay, but with a visual trade-off.
Historical wargaming is built on atmosphere, with painted miniatures, carefully crafted terrain, and cinematic table layouts forming a key part of the hobby experience. When that battlefield becomes crowded with brightly coloured counters and reminders, some of the illusion can be lost. The question is not whether tokens are useful (they clearly are) but whether their implementation can be improved. The video also explores practical solutions for hobbyists who want both clarity and aesthetics. One approach is integrating tokens into the visual language of the table itself. Instead of generic plastic markers, players can use scenic elements such as equipment piles, smoke effects, terrain-integrated counters, or themed objective markers. These subtle changes can preserve immersion while still providing the clarity needed for smooth gameplay.
One of the most interesting things about tabletop wargaming is how often the games we remember most are not necessarily the closest victories or the most historically accurate battles, but the ones that created memorable stories. The desperate last stand. The heroic cavalry charge. The incompetent commander (usually me) who somehow survives despite clearly being cursed by the dice gods. Narrative has always existed in wargaming, even if we do not always consciously think about it.
In this video, I explore how my early experiences with role-playing games shaped the way I now approach scenario design and campaign gaming in tabletop wargames. Long before I became heavily involved in historical miniatures gaming, I spent years building fantasy worlds, writing adventures and creating stories for RPG campaigns. Although I have far less time for full-scale worldbuilding these days, many of the same storytelling techniques are still incredibly useful when creating engaging and immersive tabletop battles.
The video looks at how concepts such as character development, backstory, atmosphere and consequence can dramatically improve our games. Not just through complicated mechanics, but through simple ideas like giving commanders personalities, creating meaningful objectives, using written briefings, or linking battles together into ongoing campaigns. I also discuss how places, landscapes and even armies themselves can become “characters” within a narrative, helping battles feel more believable and emotionally engaging.
Another major focus of the discussion is the structure of storytelling itself. Every memorable narrative contains a beginning, middle and end. In wargaming terms, that means establishing a backstory, creating compelling protagonists, allowing dramatic action to unfold on the tabletop and ensuring the outcome has meaningful consequences. Once those consequences begin influencing future games, individual battles naturally evolve into campaigns, and campaigns are often where tabletop wargaming becomes truly special.
As always, I would love to hear your own experiences and opinions. Do you prefer narrative campaigns or more competitive standalone battles? Have RPGs influenced your own approach to wargaming? And what are the most memorable stories to emerge from your tabletop battles?
Historical tabletop wargaming is built around recreating battles, campaigns and military history in miniature form, but one thing often missing from our beautifully crafted tables is the ordinary civilian population caught in the middle of those conflicts. After attending the Partizan recently, I found myself fascinated by the small civilian vignettes hidden among the demo games. Refugees fleeing along roads, villagers watching marching soldiers pass through their towns, frightened civilians sheltering in ruined buildings. Tiny details that added atmosphere, realism and storytelling to the tabletop battlefield.
In this video, I explore the pros and cons of including civilians in historical tabletop wargaming. Should battlefields include refugees, townsfolk and civilians caught in the middle of warfare, or is that a step too far for a hobby that is still fundamentally about entertainment? Historical gamers often strive for realism and authenticity, yet many games portray battlefields as strangely empty places populated only by soldiers. In reality, civilians were frequently present during battles throughout history, from Napoleonic campaigns to the Second World War and beyond.
One of the biggest advantages of civilian miniatures is the storytelling potential they bring to a game. Small scenic details can transform a battlefield from a gaming surface into a living world. Civilians can make terrain feel inhabited, create emotional context and remind players that wars affected ordinary people as well as armies. They can also influence gameplay itself by acting as obstacles, objectives or narrative complications. Refugees clogging roads, villagers requiring evacuation or civilians caught between opposing forces can all add unique tactical challenges to a scenario.
At the same time, there are valid concerns about where the line should be drawn. Some players prefer to keep tabletop wargaming focused on military history and tactics rather than civilian suffering. Others feel uncomfortable mixing entertainment with the realities of war, particularly when dealing with modern conflicts or sensitive historical events. This video explores that balance between immersion, realism, sensitivity and storytelling.
I also discuss how civilians feature directly in the upcoming 1812 Retreat from Moscow Battle Chronicle skirmish campaign rules, developed in collaboration with Paul from Pazoot. In the campaign, civilians and displaced people help reinforce the desperation and chaos of the retreat itself, becoming part of the wider narrative experience rather than simply background scenery.
Whether you’re interested in narrative scenarios, historical authenticity, terrain building, miniature painting or wider hobby discussions, this video tackles one of the most thought-provoking and surprisingly emotional subjects in tabletop historical wargaming.
One of the longest-running debates in historical tabletop wargaming is the question of realism. How historically accurate should a wargame actually be? At what point does realism improve immersion, and when does it start to make the experience slower, clunkier, and less enjoyable?
Historical wargamers are passionate about authenticity, and rightly so. Many of us are drawn to the hobby because we love military history, historical tactics and recreating famous battles on the tabletop. But there’s an important problem sitting underneath all of this: no tabletop game can ever be a perfect simulation of real warfare. The moment history becomes a game, compromises have to be made. Real warfare is chaotic, confusing and often deeply unfair. Troops spend long periods inactive, communication fails constantly, and battles are rarely balanced. If a ruleset recreated absolute realism perfectly, would it actually still be enjoyable to play? Or would it simply become frustrating?
In this video, I explore the uneasy balance between historical accuracy and playability. |I discuss why some gamers love deeply detailed simulations filled with charts, modifiers and granular mechanics, while others prefer smoother, faster systems that focus on atmosphere and decision-making instead of bookkeeping. I also discuss the “illusion of accuracy” that sometimes appears in historical rules design. More complicated mechanics do not automatically create a more authentic experience. Every ruleset contains abstractions. Morale, fatigue, terrain, command and communication all have to be simplified to some degree if a game is going to function in a reasonable timeframe.
So what actually creates a believable historical feel? For me, it often comes down to encouraging historical behaviour rather than simulating every tiny detail literally. Good rules encourage players to make believable tactical decisions while still allowing the game to flow naturally. Smart abstractions like morale systems, command friction, and scenario design can often create a stronger sense of history than endless calculations and overly complicated mechanics.
Ultimately, there probably isn’t a single “correct” answer. Some players love hardcore simulations. Others want a relaxed evening with friends and beautifully painted miniatures. The beauty of our hobby is that it is broad enough to support all of these approaches. So where do you stand? Do you prefer realism or smooth gameplay? Can a simple game sometimes feel more historical than a detailed simulation? And have you ever stopped playing a ruleset because it became too complicated?
Solo wargaming has long carried an unfair reputation within the tabletop hobby, often seen as a second-best alternative to playing against a live opponent. But for a growing number of tabletop wargamers, historical gamers, and miniature painters, solo play has become not just a fallback, but a preferred way to engage with the hobby. In this video, I take a fresh look at solo wargaming and explore why it’s more popular, more accessible, and more rewarding than ever before.
Drawing on real experiences and community feedback, I examine the practical reasons why many players turn to solo gaming. From busy work schedules and family commitments to geographic isolation or the simple challenge of coordinating games, solo play allows hobbyists to stay active and engaged when traditional gaming isn’t possible. But beyond convenience, there are genuine advantages. Solo games offer the freedom to experiment, learn rules in depth, and develop tactical thinking without pressure. They also create opportunities for immersive storytelling and scenario-driven gameplay that can be harder to achieve in competitive settings.
A key part of making solo wargaming successful is the ability to “automate” the opposing force. This video explores a range of methods, from classic rule-based systems like the well-known “Mr Babbage” approach, to the enduring influence of programmed wargame scenarios pioneered by Charles Grant. These systems introduce structure, unpredictability, and narrative tension, transforming solo play into a dynamic and engaging experience.
I also discuss modern innovations, including how newer rulesets are integrating built-in automation mechanics, and how we’ve approached this challenge in Battle Chronicle: The Retreat from Moscow. By combining structured decision-making systems with flexible gameplay, it’s possible to create an opponent that feels responsive without becoming overly complex.
Finally, the video looks at the growing role of AI in solo wargaming. While still a topic of debate within the community, AI tools offer intriguing possibilities for generating decisions, adding narrative flavour, and enhancing immersion. At the same time, they raise important questions about consistency, control, and the role of technology in a traditionally hands-on hobby. By examining both the opportunities and the concerns, this discussion aims to provide a balanced perspective on where solo wargaming might be heading next.
Whether you’re completely new to solo play or already experimenting with your own systems, this video offers practical ideas, inspiration, and a fresh perspective on one of the most flexible and creative aspects of the wargaming hobby.
For many tabletop wargamers, 28mm has become the default scale, so familiar that it’s rarely questioned. But how did we get here, and what might we be missing by sticking to it? In today’s video, I take a deep dive into the evolution of miniature scales in wargaming, starting with my own early experiences painting true 25mm fantasy figures from classic ranges like Ral Partha and early Citadel. These slimmer, more delicately proportioned miniatures represent a very different era of the hobby. One where scale was less about spectacle and more about practicality, and where the focus was firmly on getting armies onto the table rather than individual figures stealing the spotlight.
From there, we trace the gradual shift toward 28mm and the rise of “heroic scale,” where exaggerated proportions made figures more visually striking and easier to paint. While this change helped define modern wargaming and undeniably made the hobby more visually appealing, it also subtly reshaped how games are played, often favouring smaller, more narrative-driven encounters over large-scale battles. In many ways, the scale itself began to influence the kinds of stories we tell on the tabletop.
But scale isn’t just about size, it’s about experience. Drawing on my time playing Epic-scale games in true 6mm (roughly 1/285–1/300), along with dozens of later historical 6mm games, I explore why smaller scales remain my personal favourite for mass battle gaming. At that level, the focus shifts away from individual figures and onto formations, manoeuvres, and battlefield tactics, offering a very different, and arguably more “historical”, feel. Instead of a skirmish, you get something that genuinely resembles a battle, with space to think, plan, and react at a higher level.
I also touch on more recent experiences with 10mm miniatures, particularly from Pendraken, which sit in an appealing middle ground between detail and spectacle. They offer enough visual character to satisfy the painter, while still allowing for battles that feel expansive and dynamic. And while I make a strong case for smaller scales in gameplay terms, I’m equally clear about the strengths of 28mm, especially when it comes to painting, where larger figures offer more room for creativity, experimentation, and expression. There’s a reason so many of us keep coming back to it, even if we occasionally wander off into smaller scales.
One of the key topics covered is the often confusing difference between wargaming scales and traditional model scales. While model makers use precise ratios like 1/72 or 1/285, wargamers tend to rely on approximate figure heights, and even then, we can’t quite agree whether that’s measured to the eye line or the top of the head. The result is a system that’s flexible, but not always consistent, and it’s something that has caused confusion for generations of hobbyists trying to mix ranges or understand what they’re actually buying.
In fact, it’s exactly that confusion that led me to create a dedicated scale guide on my blog many years ago, which has remained one of the most consistently visited pages ever since. If you’re curious, you can find it here. It compares wargaming scales alongside model-making and model railway standards, and judging by how often people still land on that page, it’s clear this is a topic that continues to puzzle hobbyists across all corners of the miniature world.
Ultimately, this isn’t about declaring a “best” scale. It’s about recognising that each scale offers a different way to experience the hobby. Whether you prefer the detail and character of 28mm, the sweeping scope of 6mm, or something in between, scale is less a hierarchy and more a toolbox, one that gives you the freedom to shape your games, your projects, and your enjoyment of the hobby in whatever way suits you best.
Can tabletop wargaming really help us understand history, or are we simply creating the illusion of insight with dice and miniatures? This video explores the idea of wargaming as a form of “living history” and asks whether the hobby offers something that books alone cannot provide.
For many historical wargamers, the appeal of the hobby goes far beyond painting miniatures or playing games. It is about stepping into the role of a commander, facing the same kinds of decisions, uncertainties, and pressures that shaped real historical events. Unlike reading, which presents history as a structured narrative, wargaming allows us to interact with it. It turns history into a problem to be solved rather than a story to be absorbed. Through gameplay, we encounter friction, imperfect information, and the unpredictability that defined real battles, offering a different perspective on events we may already know well.
At the same time, this video takes a step back and questions whether we sometimes overstate the value of that experience. Wargaming relies on rules, abstractions, and models that simplify reality. While these systems can help us explore historical ideas, they can also create a false sense of understanding. It is easy to feel like we have “solved” a historical problem after a successful game, but real battles were shaped by factors far beyond what can be represented on the tabletop, including human emotion, political context, and logistical complexity.
The discussion also explores the limitations of focusing on battles alone. While wargaming can deepen our understanding of tactical and operational decisions, history itself is much broader, shaped by culture, economics, and long-term societal change. This raises an important question about how much wargaming can truly teach us about the past as a whole.
Ultimately, the video argues that wargaming is at its most powerful when combined with reading, research, and discussion. Rather than replacing traditional study, it enhances it by encouraging us to ask new questions and engage more actively with historical material. It is not about finding definitive answers, but about exploring possibilities and developing a deeper appreciation for the complexity of the past.
One of the fascinating things about the tabletop wargaming hobby is how the smallest details can spark surprisingly passionate discussions. In this latest video, I take a closer look at one of those deceptively simple questions: Should we be using clear bases or scenic bases for our miniatures?
The topic was inspired by an email from Harry, also known as the Glasgow Warhog, who asked a straightforward question that many hobbyists have probably considered at some point: Should we move to clear bases? His argument was simple and practical. Clear bases allow miniatures to blend seamlessly into any battlefield terrain, whether that’s grassy countryside, desert landscapes, urban ruins, or the interior of a factory. From a gameplay perspective, the idea makes a lot of sense. But like many aspects of miniature wargaming, the answer isn’t quite that straightforward.
In the video, I reflect on how basing has evolved over the decades, starting with the very earliest miniatures I painted more than forty years ago, when bases were often little more than a quick coat of green paint. From there, hobby techniques evolved into textured bases, flock, static grass, and eventually more elaborate scenic basing. Along the way, I even experimented with the legendary “oregano basing technique,” where dried kitchen herbs doubled as convincing dead grass for early miniature armies.
As painting skills improved, basing became an increasingly creative part of the hobby. Today, many miniature painters treat the base as a tiny diorama, adding multiple scenic elements such as rocks, tufts, debris, and vegetation to create a more natural and immersive look. In the video, I talk about the “three-element basing rule” I often follow, which helps create visually interesting bases that feel like small slices of the battlefield.
Of course, scenic bases come with their own challenges. A beautifully grassed base might look perfect in a rural battlefield, but perhaps less convincing inside a ruined building or on a paved city street. That’s where the appeal of clear acrylic bases becomes obvious. They adapt instantly to whatever terrain lies beneath the miniature. Clear bases offer flexibility and realism during gameplay, while scenic bases add character, storytelling, and a finished aesthetic that many modellers find deeply satisfying.
Ultimately, this isn’t about deciding a “right” answer. Like so many aspects of the hobby, it comes down to personal preference and what you enjoy most, gaming practicality or modelling creativity.
One of the interesting quirks of the tabletop wargaming hobby is that our rulebooks often serve two very different purposes at the same time. On the one hand, they’re instruction manuals that explain the mechanics of the game. On the other hand, they’re often part history book, part lore compendium, and sometimes even part art book designed to inspire players. That combination raises an interesting question: how much fluff should a wargame rulebook really contain
Today, my video explores the balance between background material and rules mechanics in tabletop wargaming rulebooks. Some gamers love diving into rich lore and historical explanations, while others just want to find the rules quickly and get miniatures onto the table. That tension between storytelling and practicality can shape the entire reading experience of a rulebook.
The discussion becomes even more interesting when you compare fantasy and science fiction games with historical wargames. In fictional settings, everything about the universe has been created by the authors, from the factions and technology to the basic assumptions about how the world works. Lore isn’t just decorative in those games; it helps players understand the setting itself. Without background material explaining the world, the motivations of its factions, and the nature of its technology or magic, the rules can feel disconnected from the setting.
Historical wargames approach the problem from the opposite direction. The setting already exists in the real world, and players have access to countless books, documentaries, and historical studies if they want to explore the period in more detail. That means rulebooks don’t necessarily need to carry the same burden of explaining the world. A little context can provide flavour and help explain design choices, but too much history can start to feel like unnecessary page filler when players already have other resources available.
Of course, the balance isn’t always easy to strike. Too much background material can make a rulebook difficult to navigate during a game, while too little flavour can leave the system feeling dry and mechanical. Somewhere between those extremes lies the sweet spot where rules clarity and thematic immersion support each other perfectly.
For most tabletop wargamers, a collection of miniatures is far more than a pile of painted figures or boxes of unbuilt kits. It represents years, sometimes decades, of enthusiasm for history, gaming, modelling, and creativity. Every army tells a story. Every painted regiment represents hours of careful work. Every terrain piece, rulebook, or campaign folder carries memories of games played with friends around the table. But there is a question that many hobbyists quietly avoid thinking about. What happens to those collections when we are no longer around to look after them?
This video was prompted by a message from a viewer who recently helped the family of a friend sort through a huge model kit collection after that friend passed away. The collection contained well over a thousand kits. What began as an act of helping out quickly turned into an enormous task of sorting, valuing, organising, and deciding what should happen to a lifetime’s worth of hobby items. It is a situation that many of us could easily leave behind without realising it.
For people deeply involved in the tabletop wargaming hobby, collections tend to grow steadily over time. Armies accumulate for different periods and rulesets. Boxes of miniatures build up in cupboards and lofts. Painting projects wait patiently for their turn on the workbench. What feels like a perfectly normal hobby collection to us can look overwhelming to someone who does not share our interests.
That raises a practical and emotional question. Is it fair to leave the job of sorting through everything to family members who might not understand the value, both sentimental and financial, of what they are dealing with?
In this video, I explore the idea of legacy collections and how wargamers might start thinking about the future of their armies and hobby materials. We talk about why it is important to communicate the meaning of the collection to family members, how organisation can make a huge difference when the time eventually comes, and whether downsizing is something worth considering as we get older.
There is also a wider reflection on the role of the hobby in our lives. Historical wargaming is a mentally stimulating and socially rewarding pastime that many of us intend to enjoy for as long as possible. Planning ahead for the future does not mean giving up the hobby. It simply means recognising that the collections we build are part of a larger story.
Ultimately, this discussion is not about being morbid. It is about respect for the time, passion, and creativity that goes into building a miniature wargaming collection, and about making sure that the legacy of those collections is handled in a way that honours the hobby and the people who loved it.
