Stryker looked over his shoulder at his tattered, grimy ‘Jacks, upon whose crumbling weaponry the fate of the entire Cygnar race depended. One had a wonky arm where the superglue had failed to set, another was painted in an amateur manner, a third had trodden in dog-poo.
“We are fucked” he said.
So began the Privateer Press official tournament at Wigan Wargames
and as luck would have it, I got paired off in my first game against the
“ringer”, a nice bloke who we shall call “Ste”, because that is his
name, who hadn’t previously attended the club with his shiny, extremely
well painted Khador monsters (he has since attended though, so we’ll let
him off).
Immediately he raced over to the table, surveyed the terrain and chose a defensible position behind a wall with his snipers. It’s only a game I said to myself in my head as I looked over the expanse of open terrain on which I was about to get my arse shot clean off.
You know when you get that sinking feeling and you just want to get things over with? Well Stryker had that. He rushed into the trees and took a couple of pot-shots at Kommander Sorscha, missing wildly but frazzling a couple of snipers. Sorscha immediately popped her feat, freezing the Cygnar in place and vaulted over the wall. She strode up to Stryker, who had a moment to think: Hmmmm, she’s a bit tasty, before she chopped him into insignificant fragments.
We had an hour to play this scenario, and I’d lasted seven minutes. Warcaster dead.
Dead,
but not down! The Cygnar fired up their cryogenic chambers and grew
another Commander Coleman Stryker for the next battle – a tussle with…
Commander Coleman Stryker!
WHAT?? Who is this impostor? He must be destroyed!!
Martin’s Cygnar had been blasted to smithereens in his first game so this was potentially the wooden spoon game and we lined up defending one flag and trying to capture our opponent’s.
Characterised by Ironclad ‘Tremor’ special attacks and Strykers ‘Earthquake’ spell, this battle saw most of the combatants on their arses more often than not. I obtained a ‘point’ when I captured Martin’s flag by blasting the heads off every single one of his foot soldiers in a fine grey spray of brain-mist as they huddled around the flag like maggots round a tramp’s ringpiece.
So that was that. I finished the game comprehensively by filling the fake Coleman Stryker with so much lead he developed his own gravitational field and set myself up for a grandstand, top-three-finish finále.
OK, so I wasn’t going to finish top, but Stryker was confident he
could easily wipe out Alex’s mercenary scum in the final battle to
finish in a respectable position. Things didn’t exactly go to plan
however with my Ironclad being overrun early on and the Cygnar warjacks
fighting for their rusty lives. The idea of the last scenario was for
the Warcaster to always remain within a preset boundary, which meant
Stryker had to advance into battle without the nebulous protection of
grunts his opposite number was enjoying.Immediately he raced over to the table, surveyed the terrain and chose a defensible position behind a wall with his snipers. It’s only a game I said to myself in my head as I looked over the expanse of open terrain on which I was about to get my arse shot clean off.
You know when you get that sinking feeling and you just want to get things over with? Well Stryker had that. He rushed into the trees and took a couple of pot-shots at Kommander Sorscha, missing wildly but frazzling a couple of snipers. Sorscha immediately popped her feat, freezing the Cygnar in place and vaulted over the wall. She strode up to Stryker, who had a moment to think: Hmmmm, she’s a bit tasty, before she chopped him into insignificant fragments.
We had an hour to play this scenario, and I’d lasted seven minutes. Warcaster dead.
Dead,
but not down! The Cygnar fired up their cryogenic chambers and grew
another Commander Coleman Stryker for the next battle – a tussle with…
Commander Coleman Stryker!WHAT?? Who is this impostor? He must be destroyed!!
Martin’s Cygnar had been blasted to smithereens in his first game so this was potentially the wooden spoon game and we lined up defending one flag and trying to capture our opponent’s.
Characterised by Ironclad ‘Tremor’ special attacks and Strykers ‘Earthquake’ spell, this battle saw most of the combatants on their arses more often than not. I obtained a ‘point’ when I captured Martin’s flag by blasting the heads off every single one of his foot soldiers in a fine grey spray of brain-mist as they huddled around the flag like maggots round a tramp’s ringpiece.
So that was that. I finished the game comprehensively by filling the fake Coleman Stryker with so much lead he developed his own gravitational field and set myself up for a grandstand, top-three-finish finále.
The battle ebbed, and ebbed a bit more with the Cygnar being pressed back. The casualties of the battle meant that sadly the mighty Cygnar had lost but at least Stryker was still alive.
“2 minutes to go” said Barry. I didn’t want Alex to have another go so I went through my turn leisurely.
“17 seconds” said Barry. I passed the turn to Alex thinking that the game was over, but unbeknownst to me he’d been working out exactly what he needed to do to win outright: “OK” he began, “this ‘jack walks over here, he needs to roll 14 on three dice to throw Stryker” he rolled the dice and his Warjack picked up Stryker by the head and threw him clean over a building and out of the boundary, probably ripping his head off in the process.
There was much merriment until Barry pointed out that line of sight was required to the target, so Alex threw him over a hedge instead. Then Barry pointed out Stryker would scatter, and joy of joy, he landed well within the boundary, on his feet, without a scratch on him.
In your face, filthy merc’ plebeians.
Final Standings:
2. Mike (Menoth) 11 40
3. Ste (Khador) 11 37
4. Alex (Mercenary) 11 22
5. John (Menoth) 7 23
6. Russ (Cryx) 7 21
7. Me (Cygnar) 7 15
8. Martin (Cygnar) 3 7
Many thanks to Barry for organising this, and as a volunteer for Privateer Press he had a prize for Chas: some funky scatter templates. Well played Chas.
Tournament Pts Army Kill Pts
1. Chas (Khador) 15 242. Mike (Menoth) 11 40
3. Ste (Khador) 11 37
4. Alex (Mercenary) 11 22
5. John (Menoth) 7 23
6. Russ (Cryx) 7 21
7. Me (Cygnar) 7 15
8. Martin (Cygnar) 3 7
Many thanks to Barry for organising this, and as a volunteer for Privateer Press he had a prize for Chas: some funky scatter templates. Well played Chas.
