Killa Kans and Cat Food
Today was an exhausting, but enjoyable day. I awoke at 8:00 AM, despite the cat's attempts to rouse me from 6:00 onward. With my parents gone for the week, I'm the designated cat food provider, and I have a more relaxed attitude toward breakfast than she does. I could have given in at the first plaintive scratchings on the door, though; didn't sleep all that much. I've been staying up until near-dawn far too often lately, so the necessity to get up in the single-digit morning hours was a hard adjustment. I managed to get through the morning, though, and with my gear all together I journeyed down to Rhode Island for a day of Warhammer 40k.
A lot went on down there, so I won't give a minute-by-minute account. There are a few highlights, though. Christmas came a bit early for me, with Simon's gift of a new Ork trukk (ANOTHER new Ork trukk, it should be noted; he is a font of generosity). Soon my Warboss and his cronies will ride in style. I'm thinking of putting his personal glyph in the side, so lesser Orks know not to filch it. As if this wasn't a good enough start to the day, Matt arrived soon after, and brought with him a gift from England: an Ork badass named Boss Snikrot. Think of every action movie star you've ever seen skulking through the jungle and taking down his enemies with cunning and brutality. Now imagine the kind of monster that would be hunting HIM. That's Snikrot. (As an aside, Simon pointed out today the cleverly disguised movie reference in another 40k unit: Guardsman Marbo.)
So already I was full of joy, and the day didn't get worse. We had homemade pizza, I got to put together another Ork Kommando (one of Snikrot's merry band of brutal killers), and I had the chance to show off my new collection of random, broken toys and knick-knacks, which may soon transform into brand new terrain pieces for the game. (Matt seems to be driven by some mad world-building spirit; I think the coming days will see him hauling together bits of scrap into a masterpiece of tiny architecture, and cackling maniacally.) Then Simon and I got to try out our 1750-point army lists on one another, a necessary step if we're going to bring the soldiers to TempleCon in February. Also, Simon had never played a real game of 40k before, so he was in dire need of some concrete experiences to pin down the words and numbers he's been devouring for months. So we set up a game on the living room floor, and it was a fun, close-fought battle. I failed to play to the strengths of my hammer and anvil strategy, since I split up the hammer to deal with several different threats, and rushed my anvil right into the heart of the enemy. I would make a terribly inefficient blacksmith. Simon had some obstacles to overcome, too: quite literal ones. One unfortunate side effect of throwing 13 tanks on the battlefield is that if the front line gets wrecked, the main body of the army is now stuck behind a flaming wall of twisted metal. Juggling that many transports has got to be a pain, and overall, I was impressed by how well he did. After five turns, the measure of victory was about 1/8 of an inch. Fortunately for me, it was enough; the Orks took the day by hanging onto their own objective and getting a grot in a Kan JUST close enough to contest the enemy objective.
We had to use strips of paper and borrowed models to represent our dream armies, but the fierce glimmer of potential is there. I think we've got a decent head start on the tournament. Also, once Simon gets comfortable with the game and with his list, I think he's going to be a terrifying opponent. As for me, I've got to learn how to use a mega-armored Warboss more effectively. He didn't even get to see the end of the battle, after he took a few anti-tank shots to the face. Ah, well. He'll be back.
What with a lot of rules research and slow decision-making (I don't know why it takes me so long when Orky tactics generally boil down to "WAAAGH!"), I didn't get back on the road until fairly late. That was bad, because the cat was at home, and I've been trying to get her used to a 6:00 PM feeding time. Hasn't worked yet; she still starts begging around 4:00. But even she doesn't deserve to be kept waiting until 10:30 PM for her dinner. When I finally arrived, she ran to the door, full of hope, brimming with promises to never do anything bad ever again. When I lowered her dish, she actually twitched a little, perhaps wondering is this was just another hunger-induced hallucination, and the moist offering before her would again vanish into mocking memories.
Five minutes later, and she was happily licking her paw, giving me the kind of dismissive look that says "Thank you, servant. You may return to your hovel for the evening." It's nice to be back to the familiar.
-Sam
A lot went on down there, so I won't give a minute-by-minute account. There are a few highlights, though. Christmas came a bit early for me, with Simon's gift of a new Ork trukk (ANOTHER new Ork trukk, it should be noted; he is a font of generosity). Soon my Warboss and his cronies will ride in style. I'm thinking of putting his personal glyph in the side, so lesser Orks know not to filch it. As if this wasn't a good enough start to the day, Matt arrived soon after, and brought with him a gift from England: an Ork badass named Boss Snikrot. Think of every action movie star you've ever seen skulking through the jungle and taking down his enemies with cunning and brutality. Now imagine the kind of monster that would be hunting HIM. That's Snikrot. (As an aside, Simon pointed out today the cleverly disguised movie reference in another 40k unit: Guardsman Marbo.)
So already I was full of joy, and the day didn't get worse. We had homemade pizza, I got to put together another Ork Kommando (one of Snikrot's merry band of brutal killers), and I had the chance to show off my new collection of random, broken toys and knick-knacks, which may soon transform into brand new terrain pieces for the game. (Matt seems to be driven by some mad world-building spirit; I think the coming days will see him hauling together bits of scrap into a masterpiece of tiny architecture, and cackling maniacally.) Then Simon and I got to try out our 1750-point army lists on one another, a necessary step if we're going to bring the soldiers to TempleCon in February. Also, Simon had never played a real game of 40k before, so he was in dire need of some concrete experiences to pin down the words and numbers he's been devouring for months. So we set up a game on the living room floor, and it was a fun, close-fought battle. I failed to play to the strengths of my hammer and anvil strategy, since I split up the hammer to deal with several different threats, and rushed my anvil right into the heart of the enemy. I would make a terribly inefficient blacksmith. Simon had some obstacles to overcome, too: quite literal ones. One unfortunate side effect of throwing 13 tanks on the battlefield is that if the front line gets wrecked, the main body of the army is now stuck behind a flaming wall of twisted metal. Juggling that many transports has got to be a pain, and overall, I was impressed by how well he did. After five turns, the measure of victory was about 1/8 of an inch. Fortunately for me, it was enough; the Orks took the day by hanging onto their own objective and getting a grot in a Kan JUST close enough to contest the enemy objective.
We had to use strips of paper and borrowed models to represent our dream armies, but the fierce glimmer of potential is there. I think we've got a decent head start on the tournament. Also, once Simon gets comfortable with the game and with his list, I think he's going to be a terrifying opponent. As for me, I've got to learn how to use a mega-armored Warboss more effectively. He didn't even get to see the end of the battle, after he took a few anti-tank shots to the face. Ah, well. He'll be back.
What with a lot of rules research and slow decision-making (I don't know why it takes me so long when Orky tactics generally boil down to "WAAAGH!"), I didn't get back on the road until fairly late. That was bad, because the cat was at home, and I've been trying to get her used to a 6:00 PM feeding time. Hasn't worked yet; she still starts begging around 4:00. But even she doesn't deserve to be kept waiting until 10:30 PM for her dinner. When I finally arrived, she ran to the door, full of hope, brimming with promises to never do anything bad ever again. When I lowered her dish, she actually twitched a little, perhaps wondering is this was just another hunger-induced hallucination, and the moist offering before her would again vanish into mocking memories.
Five minutes later, and she was happily licking her paw, giving me the kind of dismissive look that says "Thank you, servant. You may return to your hovel for the evening." It's nice to be back to the familiar.
-Sam