G&G XX - Racers on Wheels, Flippers for Reals

For those of you just joining us: back in 2006, I invited my friends over to my new house for a weekend of dedicated gaming, with most sleeping over so no one needs to count their drinks. Two came from out of town, which added significance to the gathering. It was close to St. Paddy’s Day, so we called it Gaming & Guinness. I made t-shirts with deskjet iron-on transfers as a lark, and at the end, Island Mike said, “next year, my place.”

And we’ve kept it up every year since, even when COVID meant doing it virtually, and this year was our twentieth.

 

G&G XX got off on kind of the wrong foot this year though. There were a few participants whose plans were in flux, so we didn’t end up setting a date until much later than usual. And wouldn’t you know it, the week after we picked the last weekend in May, two expected out-of-province memorial services for Earls' relatives landed on that same date. Pete offered to host at his home, nicknamed the Crystal Palace, which would provide the most space we have had to date.

Knowing that Earl would only be able to attend three evenings of our three-and-a-half day get-together demoralized me more than I had expected. After all, work or other commitments have held members of the core group out before, so I am unsure why this felt so impactful. But it gave those of us who were in town and available on Tuesday night an opportunity to prime the pump a little with shawarmas from Sunbake Pita and Jackbox Games on the TV before the main event began the next day.

Troublesome airline schedules and a nationwide NAVCAN outage meant we weren’t fully assembled until later Wednesday evening, but in the afternoon, seven of us got in a game of Dungeon Kart, a new game to us I’d found that very day. A hex-based racer that blends characters from the Boss Monster game with some mechanics from video games like Mario Kart (better spells (power ups) for those further back in the pack). 

Dungeon Kart boasts clean rules for the most part, top notch components and a lot of replayability through not only the combination of differing cars and character abilities but also tremendous permutations of the tracks. 

Our first race saw Rob beat Scott over the finish line in a real nail biter, and once Island Mike completed our group we moved on to Fantasy Solutions to Modern Problems – an Apples to Apples/  Cards Against Humanity clone that not only has tremendous writing and art, but spices things up with spells and curses that make other players howl on command, take deep inhalations of another’s breath, or freeze them in place with rigor mortis.

Player 1: I hope you didn’t need to pee.

Player 2: Oh, I can still pee.

As a means of strategic competition, FSMP is only so-so, but as a source of laughter, I think it was unmatched over the entire event. There were chuckles, hoots, snickers, guffaws, belly laughs, table slapping and at least one confession about the difficulty of bodily function control. Wiping our eyes, catching our breath, we were all grateful for the release that deep, heartfelt laughter brings.

To commemorate his impending retirement next month and our 20th convocation, Rob had brought a very special bottle of 18-year-old Glenmorangie to share. Some with whisky and some with cream soda, we all shared a toast.

There are still two drams left, only to be drunk at G&G and never by oneself.

Thursday began with some impromptu Timeline, followed by another Dungeon Kart race so Mike could experience it, and this time Scott teleported himself to a clear victory.

After that it was on to Wits & Wagers, a trivia game that lets you bet on other people’s answers instead of your own. We’ve been supplying our own questions for years now, and Scott, Pete and Mike brought some real dandies.

Following that, we gathered for our group photo, displaying both sides of the wonderful t-shirts Jeff and Pete designed the best that we could.

After dinner (generous servings of Pete’s amazing chili verde!), it was on to one of our marquee events, Circvs Maximvs. This year some of us went with heavy chariots, which took us out of contention for the trophy but gave us tremendous latitude to wreak havoc. Alas, Jeff and I found ourselves largely ineffective in this role, but Pete managed to kill three horses, a new record. Rob won this race too!

Earl left for BC the following day, but being the generous soul he is, left his shiny new 10th Anniversary edition of the Firefly boardgame so we could break it in for him. It is an absolutely gorgeous re-rendering of a very decent game system, and the many, many supplements and expansions that have come in the past decade. So many, in fact, that a four-player game can now support up to ten players!

It took quite a while to get all the counters punched, ships assembled, and rules sussed enough that we could play a game without having to use every rule from every expansion. The game also has the largest footprint of any game I have ever played (the table above is 4x8) – and I am a wargamer! Luckily we found a “blitz” set up that sees each captain collect as many supply cards as there are players, which gets things off to a much faster start.

Even with this innovation though, it still took us over five hours to play the scenario to its (shortened!) completion with seven players (with Jeff triggering the endgame and Pete emerging as the winner). But no one complains, because time spent in that ‘verse is time well spent, especially with friends.

Jeff had also smoked a brisket overnight and served it up to us for supper, which I paired with a Crown Float (Guinness and Strongbow).

Afterwards we pivoted to shorter games like Heroes of Barcadia - a drinking-themed dungeon crawling game that uses beverages for hit points and has the best pun names for the monsters you encounter, like the Sipogriff and the Phoenix Colada. Sadly, the end goal appeared very early in the game so it didn’t run as long as I would have liked, but hey, at least I won?

JenG&Ga has been a featured game at previous G&Gs, usually on the first night, but with our schedule in disarray it made the scene on Friday instead. The “make a rule” block appeared multiple times, meaning that at some points, players were pulling blocks with their non-dominant hands with one eye shut and standing on one foot and singing their favourite song. And in between turns, you couldn’t use proper names or point. Despite these handicaps, Pete got us to a new record of 32 levels before it collapsed!

There was just enough time before bed for us get in two games of Bang! The Dice Game, a long-time favourite. We payed with expansion cards that gives each role (Deputy, Outlaw, Renegade) special rules but only if the player reveals what they are. My recollection is that both games went to the Outlaw faction, but it was pretty late by then, and besides, I was el Renegatto in the second game anyways.

Despie our collective fatigue, the hard-chargers (Island Mike, Pete, Totty and I) went until 3:00 am with Timeline Twist, a collaborative version that saw us score 35 points, but we were not as successful with The Mind as we were a few years ago.

Saturday was a beautiful sunny day, so we made the most of it by driving to a dimly lit retro-arcade in Sherwood Park called Arkadium. Kidding! The upstairs is generally well lit and features an astonishing array of pinball machines which we used to hold a short tournament. 

This matchup saw us playing on Jaws, Dr. No, and Kiss machines before Island Mike and I moved on to the final on Pulp Fiction, which he won handily.

It is a flat fee, licensed establishment that hosts competitive pinball leagues but has lots of other great machines too, such as bubble hockey and this crazy Taito game called Ice Cold Beer. This novelty sees you balancing a physical ball bearing on a metal bar that you can raise each end of independently with two joysticks as you navigate a maze of holes.

It was entirely too compelling and I will need to return at some point to get to level seven.

(my personal high score, in case I forget)

Before we knew it we had spent four hours lodged in the amusements of the past (which for a $20 admission is a hell of a deal, really, even compared to 1980s prices), and returned to the Crystal Palace. We ordered in Malaysian food from Tropika and played cribbage (on the amazing D&D board Audrey commissioned for my birthday!) and crokinole while we waited for it to arrive.

For the finale I had chosen an old-time favourite that I had not played in years – Talisman. A fantasy quest game with neat player-vs-player mechanics, we got rid of the corner expansions and shortened the experience requirements, but it was still pretty late when Rob finally slew the Dragon King and claimed the Crown of Command with his Shaman - his third big victory this week!

Despite how long it took, it was great to see my old miniatures getting used again.

And that was G&G XX – an event that teeters between overscheduling and anarchic improvisation to compensate for games that run longer than anticipated. Luckily it is saturated with strategy, luck, laughter and a deep and abidingly sincere appreciation for the friends who continue to come out every year for this silliness and who put so much into it!

May you all find a crew as good as this - but these ones are mine

IntroD&Duction

Some time ago, a friend at church told me that her nephew had expressed an interest in Dungeons & Dragons, and this aunt expressed shock that her relative was unaware of my longtime interest in and passion for this game. I told the aunt I would be only too happy to talk to them about it and perhaps even play a game if the opportunity presented itself. Maybe we could even have it a rainy day event at our annual May Long Weekend Family Camp at Rundle's Mission. 

The planning for an event like that never came to pass but I told the aunt I would bring along some of my stuff just in case, and she and her mother could perhaps make our subject aware of this, as I didn't want him to feel any pressure from me, just opportunity. I was a teenaged boy myself once, after all, and am keenly aware of the variety of dynamics at play here.

Saturday was a pretty grey day indeed, so I spent part of the afternoon upstairs in the lodge by a window cleaning and assembling a unit of Greatswords for my Warhammer army. An entirely different nephew approached me and asked if the models I was working on were for D&D. I explained they were more for wargaming, but coincidentally, had brought some D&D items along and would be happy to show him if he was interested. He thanked me and went about his day while I completed my task (deliriously happy to find myself using these models after they languished unpainted for nearly two decades!).

The next day I got up early to help with preparations for the traditional Sunday breakfast, and helped with serving following a lovely outdoor service. When I was relieved from my duties, I enjoyed a hearty serving of pancakes and sausages with my family, and had just pushed away my empty plate and was cotemplating some horizontal self-care when this same curious individual from the day before tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned and saw that he had brought three other teenaged and teen-adjacent individuals with him, and he informed me, "Hey, so we're ready to play D&D whenever you are."

"Uh...yeah!" I stammered. "Sure thing! Give me a minute to grab my stuff and let's do it." I headed to the stairs so I could retrieve my D&D bag from my bunk, and apparently more than one person was moved to remark how I resembled either a parade marshal or the Pied Piper leading a cohort of teens to the upper floor. 

We quickly pulled a couple of tables together by the window, and I set up my DM screen at one end of it, then started laying out the rest of what I'd need. I was not completely prepared for four players by any stretch of the imagination, but not completely unprepared either. I had printed off five character sheets from the Phandelver starter set, having used them before and appreciated how much helpful info they contained beyond raw stats, including sample character names, a common stumbling block. I'd brought along some appropriate miniatures, including a couple of female iterations, which proved fortunate, as there was a female player present. She got first pick because of this, and the three fellows rolled off for first pick of the remaining characters. I handed out figures after they chose.

Tragically, I had only brought two sets of dice, which was not ideal, and had also forgotten that while the sheets did list some suggested spells, they did not contain any real details like ranges or damage and such, which was a real hold up for the wizard and cleric players. 

Instead of the bulky vinyl Chessex mat with a 1" grid I normally favour, I had brought along a set of dungeon tiles. These are great for improvising an environment on the fly, but much less useful for following an established dungeon, which I happened to be doing. Well, noted for next time, let's get at it, I thought.

I began by going over the character sheet, explaining classes, scores and saving throws (another note: next time, start by going over the array of dice - most people haven't worked with a full set of polyhedral randomizers before!).

This didn't take too long at all, and soon I found myself setting the scene for an Adventurer's League episode called The Dead at Highsun. Accepting a cleric's invitation to investigate a crypt in an ironically immaculate graveyard, Tim the Swordsman, Jim the Dwarven Cleric, Erich the Halfling Rogue and Navara the Elven Wizard (who actually played with a school group) very quickly found themselves trapped in a gas-filled chamber, but very quickly figured out the puzzle needed to not only save themselves, but also reveal a secret entrance to the unknown catacombs below!

Descending (mostly) boldly into the depths, they soon bested a trio of skeleton warriors, but the second room contained an unexpected challenge. In a lab-like setting with a cauldron, shelves of books and a table full of beakers, burners and bottles, a note read: "Raaxil. I have figured out how to complete the process. When you are ready, simply pour the contents of this blue pot into the cauldron and stir. The effects should be instantaneous, but DO NOT DRINK THE RESULTING POTION."

Reading this note prompted some wary glances amongst many of the group, but Jim's immediate question was, "Can I sip it?"

I blinked rapidly and shook my head. "Uh... well, yes, you can." I skimmed the room entry and noted that this would require a DC 20 Constitution save (ambitious even for a Dwarf with +3 Con, requiring a natural 17 or higher on a twenty-sided die) or Jim would take 6d6 poison damage. "Do you think you should though?"

From the other end of the table, two players expressed vehement opposition to this plan."Why would you do that?!" Navara's bewildered player asked. But not everyone was so opposed.

"He totally should," asserted Tim (Jim's player's brother). "Do it," he urged. "Do it!"

Erich spoke up. "Why don't we check out the rest of the room and these bookshelves first?" he suggested helpfully. Tim tried to indicate he can't read, but I explained all cleric roles require literacy, which I think he found a little disappointing.

They found a few more clues that eventually dissuaded the cleric from drinking a mysterious but undoubtedly malevolent liquid, but by that point Tim's curiosity was insatiable, so he grabbed the blue pot and headed towards the cauldron to pour it in to "see what would happen." I asked the other players what they were doing, and spent the next ten minutes improvising rules for a game of liquid keep-away, that saw Navara try to grab the pot from Tim and fail, but Erich managing to not only succeed, but also keep it away from Jim, whose inquisitiveness was similarly peaked and was grasping for it. 

When Tim stated his own intention to reclaim the pot, I looked at Erich and silently mouthed "smash it."

"Um, I smash the jar on the ground," he said.

"Aw," replied Tim.

I was so grateful that weapons hadn't been drawn that I completely overlooked an epic opportunity to reference Lonely Island's "Threw It On the Ground", but that was probably for he best anyhow. 

At any rate, the party advanced on to the final room, complete with a mock dragon hoard, teleportation circle and a number of inert bodies with a variety of dragon parts attached to them, which of course animated as zombies shortly after the adventurers began examining things.

The final fight scratched a lot of itches; the cleric got to heal the wizard after she dropped to a single hit point, the rogue got to sneak attack, magic missiles saved the day and Tim's greatsword was relentless. Zombies are a dramatic opponent as they actually get a saving throw against being taken out of action, so reducing them to zero hp is not enough on its own.  

There was a critical hit but also an important Death Save (following a failure), and as Erich's player wound up to roll my largest d20, the apprehension on his face was palpable, despite the fact that 1) this character hadn't exited three hours prior and 2) he might never actually play him again.

Truly, I was delighted to witness it, but even more delighted at the cheers around the table when he rolled a 17 (and not a natural 1), so that Jim could use his last spell slot to heal Erich and get him back into the game.

After the fight, they finished their examinations, destroyed the circle and reported back to Brother Keefe for their reward (25 gp each!) as well as levelling up.

Following the game, my four young charges expressed earnest appreciation for our game (more than once, in fact, over the next day or so), but I was just as grateful. 

Jim's player told me he was going to a D7D camp that summer with a friend, and was grateful for a chance to see what it was all about before being stuck all the way in. And as we were leaving today, Erich's player came over as I was loading the Lander to thank me again, and said he was already looking at starting a campaign with some of his friends. 

Hard to think of an outcome more satisfying than that!

The Greatswords that kind of caused the whole thing

Back to Base-Sicks

Once again, a legacy wargame from my past may potentially be in my future, resurrected, Lazarus-like, by the son of a friend.

My first love was always the sci-fi setting of Warhammer 40,000, but the "rank-'n'-flank" mechanics of Warhammer Fantasy Battle had a undeniable appeal all their own. 

With densely packed units of infantry and cavalry wheeling and marching across a largely open tabletop, rarely questioning which units or models have line of sight to the others or who has cover , while evoking the pre-20th century maneuvering of historical battles such as Gettysburg and Waterloo, WFB was a classical wargamers dream - but with dragons and giants and wizards to keep things lively.

The game was discontinued shortly after I left Games Workshop in 2007 in favour of a wildly different skirmish game (Age of Sigmar) set in the aftermath of the destruction of WFB's setting, a fantasy-tinged, vaguely pre-renaissance Eurocentric globe simply called "The Old World".

So when GW announced a return to rank-n-flank with a ruleset called Warhammer: The Old World, I was happy so see it, sure, but didn't see any real applicability to me. When my young associate said he was getting into the game with a Goblin army and asked if my Empire force might be interested in a small scale scrap, I had to give it at least a look, didn't I?

Defenders of Averland, where social order is defined by hat-size

The very first thing I discovered was the crushing revelation that pretty much my entire Empire army would need to be re-based. You see, the infantry of my human-sized army (and anything simliar or smaller size, such as Elves or Goblins) was mounted on 20mm x 20mm square bases, where larger figures (Orcs, for example) were mounted on 25mm square bases. This meant a row of four Savage Orc warriors took up the same frontage as five of my Empire spearmen, giving me a slight advantage over this larger, sturdier foe.

On the other hand, the larger bases would make it far, far easier to rank figures up tidily, and made them less vulnerable to template weapons, such as dragon's breath or exploding cannonballs and the like. So I didn't have any philosophical opposition to the idea, but the effort to recalibrate to the new regime might be prohibitively labour-intensive.

Now, if re-basing woes sound familiar to you, you may recall a similar lament when the current edition of Warhammer 40,000 was released in 2003, complete with free rules and army lists. This had an undeniable appeal to my budget-conscious wargamer soul, but nto only was it a lot of rebasing, it was a lot of different rebasing, and the potential enjoyment never seemed to equal the expenditure of effort required, so I never started, and now a new edition is already on the way anyhow, so bullet dodged perhaps?

I feared a comparable outcome of my survey of WOW, but in searching out the quickest way to rebase entire armies, I came across an intriguing prospect: since formations of soldiers are typically moved around on holders called movement trays, what if you didn't rebase your figures? What if you adapted larger trays to hold smaller figures, achieving almost exactly the same effect?

A Spanish hobbyist on YouTube demonstrated how to achieve this with corrugated cardboard and tape, moving from a ruler approach to pre-printed templates he generously provided at no charge. But cutting out 100+ individual slots for my figures didn't seem like a huge improvement from re-basing them, to be honest.

Thankfully, I was not the only individual feeling that way, and a helpful soul has made 3d-printable files for trays precisely like these available on the interwebs. 

For such things, it is remarkable to have a friend with overlapping interests, in this case, miniatures and 3d printing. Did I mention he is also my young associate's father and is likewise being drawn along in this young man's wake? Delightful - the more the merrier!

At any rate, he graciously printed up a set of trays that should enable me to re-purpose my Averlander army in a much, much shorter timeframe than rebasing them.

Certainly, painting and texturing these trays to match my existing armies will be somewhat time-consuming, but compared to all new bases?

I am still perplexed as to what to do about these 4-man bases I put together around 2005, the cuitting edge of wargaming expediency at the time. I have five of them...

Now I have to decide if it is easier to somehow cut the base into four pieces or maybe sand down the slot ridges in the tray - but the uneven columns that would result make me shudder.

At any rate, the idea of an army I painted two decades ago and which hasn't been touched in probably 15 years returning at long last to the battlefield has a lot of appeal to me in terms of both spectacle and effective recycling. Wish me luck!

You-Know-Who Off the Starboard Bow

I am willing to wager that, in 1985, the nerdiest group at Leduc Composite High School was probably our Star Trek game club.

Sure, we would get together over lunch to play the excellent Star Trek role-playing game FASA produced, similar to the D&D club. But one of the best parts of the deluxe boxed set I had splurged on was that it not only came with all the RPG rules, character sheets and a book of scenarios, oh no. It also came with their Starship Tactical Combat system, a good-sized hex map and a set of counters.

This was my favourite space combat system for years; fast, elegant, and fun to play, with a dizzying array of spaceships to choose from in a great collection of sourcebooks. 

Best of all though, in addition to allowing players to command individual or groups of ships, it came with a set of helm displays so that each RPG character could control their own bridge station: the captain would give their orders and general plan, the engineer would allocate power to movement, weapons and shields, and three different crew would then execute the orders as best they could, based on energy allotment, dice rolls and enemy action.

Before beginning our campaign in earnest, we thought it a good idea to try a simulator session to familiarize ourselves with the system, a la Kobayashi Maru. The Constitution class was a bit overgunned for the classic Klingon D7, so as the gamemaster I ran a D10 heavy battlecruiser as OpFor and we set the two vessels up facing each other a good ways apart. 

In space games there is not a lot of terrain to contend with, so most engagements start out looking like a game of chicken. As I recall, the turns were broken into segments, and the more energy you had allocated to movement, the more segments you would move on. Once per turn, you could choose to fire any powered-up weapons in the correct firing arc (such as port, forward, aft, etc.).

I did my best not to listen in on their plans, as that would be both unfair and unrealistic - after all, how would the Klingons overhear enemy bridge chatter which was such a key part of the Trek canon? And besides that, I already had a fairly significant advantage.

What? Gawd, no, not any sort of tactical genius (snort) - ask anyone who's played me. No, my advantage was made crystal clear as Capt. Earl asked his crew for tactical input and they made a variety of cases for him to consider. My Klingons, meanwhile, had perfect communication and execution as their entire bridge complement (and everyone else for that matter) were all controlled by a single player - me.

After taking some ineffectual long range shots at one another, the Federation ship (whose name Earl and I believe was the USS Excalibur) and Riskadh-class battlecruiser closed to knife-fighting range. The Excalibur had reduced movement to intensify their forward firepower and shields, while I...had not.

"Helm, bring us straight in. Weapons, hold fire until point blank range," Capt. Earl ordered as he leaned forward in his desk. Each segment, the two warships moved closer and closer to each other. "Almost there..." he murmured - just before the segment arrived for my double-move and I skipped the D10 directly over the Excalibur and into the hex directly behind it.

Now, at that time, in that system, the Constitution class had absolutely no aft-firing weapons.

The D10 did, though. 

Not big ones, just two small disruptor batteries. However, if one had not allocated any real power to the aft shields because they'd reinforced the front, any disruptors at all are bad news, particularly at point blank range.

The Excalibur was rocked with structural and systems damage, but nowhere near out of the fight - a wounded and cornered animal, more than capable of evening the odds.

Frustrated and disappointed but his composure uncracked, Capt. Earl gave his orders: "Damage control parties to all decks. Arm photon torpedoes! Bring us around and let them have both barrels before they can pull out of range and make another pass."

The Excalibur's damaged state did not give them any spare energy to speak of, so movement would need to be slow in order to allow sufficient power to the weapons and forward shields. As the segments counted down, they finally and painstakingly turned a single hex face, while the D10 had not yet moved. 

A few more segments and then another turn in place...one more turn and the photon torpedoes would have a bead on the Klingon ship! Even if I had reinforced my rear shields, they could not possibly withstand such an onslaught. 

As it happened though, I had not allocated any power to my rear shields at all.

Finally, they used their last remaining movement point to turn the final hex face and point their incredibly dangerous nose towards my Klingon's exposed backside. 

But in that final segment I also got to move, and having remained still for an entire turn and allocated almost no power to shields, was now permitted to move straight backwards two hexes. Which I did! And which brought my own panoply of now-overcharged weapons directly to bear on the familiar and still unshielded aft facing of the Excalibur.

There was a low moan from several of the crew as I collected all the dice I needed and let fly. With no shields to blunt the disruptors' assailment the Excalibur's systems were demolished and the superstructure was irreparably damaged. 

Crestfallen, the crew looked to Captain Earl, who gave the only orders he still could: "All hands - abandon ship. I say again abandon ship. All crew to the escape pods. Comms, launch a signal buoy with our position and distress beacon..."

After a moment, I said, "well, good thing this was a simulation, right? There is no way you will let me get away with that nonsense next time!"

In fact, as I recall it, there was enough time to get a rematch in during that same lunch period, and the Excalibur's now-seasoned crew made a much better showing.

Still, the look on their faces when I moved backwards to attack them from behind a second time still makes me smile four decades later.

Ancient Lead I: The Half-Orc and Other Specialists

Watching the fifth season of Stranger Things last week, there is obviously lots of room for nostalgia if you were a nerd who came of age in the 1980s, as the main characters are. The one that jumped out to me in the first episode though is where Mike shows the minature of his D&D character, a paladin, to his younger sister Holly. When he did, I blurted out, "Holy shit, I think I still have that figure."

But tonight, when I went though my old metal miniatures, I found a lot of figures from the same period, and even most from the same set, but that paladin model was nowhere to be found.

It's strange for him to be missing when so many other figures from that period are still lurking about. It is a bit ridiculous, actually- if I ever had an encounter where the party needed to fight a dozen or more holy knights, I can probably pull it off without substitution (although the scale - as always - would be highly questionable). 

I think my friend Brent may have used that miniature for his paladin Nigel d'Artagnan, in our one-on-one campaign in high school or junior high. Nigel later on became a bard, unfairly dismissed from his order, but who gamely kept on adventuring around the City State of the Invincible Overlord. I haven't spoken to Brent since my dad's funeral a decade ago, but now I find myself hoping that figurine sits on his book shelf or in a curio cabinet somewhere, and perhaps prompts a fond reminiscence from time to time. I can't be the only one who does this, can I?

But in looking at the other miniatures I had dug up, I was struck by one in particular - the half-orc fighter in the middle of the second group.

Initially, very few people I knew wanted to play half-orc characters, having been conditioned to despise them due to multiple readings/ viewings of The Lord of the Rings. But there he was in the Grenadier Models set 2006 - Specialists, with other heroes, including a cross-wielding cleric and a skullcapped wizard clearly evoking Nicol Williamson from Excalibur.

I remember painting him when I was perhaps 13 years old and thinking, 'who'd want to play this ugly git with the sloppy armour and broken shield,' when I thought, wait - maybe the shield is a choice, reflecting his fighting style...

I imagined this fellow, whose -2 to Charisma (a dump stat to everyone besides paladins back in the day) afforded him a +1 to both his Strength and Constitution scores, cagily lurking behind his shield, watching opponents weary themselves against it, perhaps even resting his own sword against the lip of his shield, patiently waiting for an opportune moment to strike, maybe even ending the combat in a single blow.

This was largely impossible, of course - fighters in AD&D (and in many ways, the system itself) were pretty much incapable of ending most fights quickly. But something about that combination of pose and equipment spoke to me in a manner that evokes strong memories even now, four decades later.

Sadly, with miniatures increasing significantly in both quality and scale over the years, it is hard to fathom an opportunity to use this intriguing fellow in the future. 

But I am in no hurry to give him up, either!