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Scots traditionally don’t do well at Preston (Battle of Preston 1648, Battle of Preston 1715) but it wasn’t as conquerors but as liberators that we entered the town on Saturday. Sure, Gerry was wearing an absurd Indiana Jones hat and Jon had the complexion of a Hiroshima survivor, but we had come to rid the city of its blight. And not a moment too soon as it would happen, on the way in we were overcome by the hunted haunted expressions on peoples faces. A young women, barely 16 years, stepped out in front of the train as we came in, her exhausted expression speaking of years of suffering, but all she said was ‘He’s trying Iron Warriors now.’
As we clambered through the ruins of the once vibrant main street we could tell that something terrible had befallen, every step heard a crunch from some half written epic list, mainly featuring heavy spamming of a mediocre unit or two. In a broken down doorway of what may have once been a church an old man sat rocking in his rags, his poor mind clearly gone, just babbling ‘Battlewagons, Battlewagons...’
People (I assume) couldn’t help but compare us three Scots to Beowulf and his compatriots (I can’t remember their names, they weren’t important, just like John and Gerry in this tale) on their way to slay Grendel. But of course, we hadn’t come to kill any momnster, only to rid Rob of his terrible lists and to play some epic. Yet, as a truly Nobile being, I did think this would be yet another opportunity to teach the English players about sportsmanship, and how to be as kind as Christ yet as wise as Solomon (or more kind than Christ and wiser than Solomon, as again ‘people’ may say). It became a feature of the day, as I walked around like a young (and better dressed) Francis of Assisi, gamers would approach me and ask ‘What is the most sporting way to play the game?’ and ‘How can I be more sporting yet still compete?’ and as a sage, I would pass out life lessons to the lesser people of England.
As detailed however, there was some epic to be played. Like all great martyrs, I had suffered for my passion, and had a week of torrid abuse over my choice to play Eldar with no supreme commander.
Yet the Warlock BTS was the central point of all my games. Some better than others.
Game one was against Charles with Imperial Guard. Wholly new opponent, so wasn’t sure what to expect, but I went into it with a plan, the artillery would take out the sentinels, which would give me a three squad activation bonus. The Warlock would prowl the centre, and so if the tanks came forward, I could assault them. Simply. Turn one, shadowsword shoots the warlock, I fail the 3+ save, and suffer 3 wounds. Turn two the warlock gets a chance to assault, and takes another two wounds. So with one wound left the warlock spends the rest of the game hiding in a far corner.
Fortunately the falcons fair far better and shoot up the tanks that do come forward. Charles had one infantry squad stuck on the blitz, but I was able to kick them off using guardians with wraith guards, and so achieved a 2-0 in turn three.
Game two was Mark with squats. This was an interesting game based around the centre board where the Leviathian and BTS Cyclops faced up with the Warlock. The Warlock, supporting bikes, killed the Leviathian. The Cyclops had a shot at the Warlock, but this time the save held. But the opportunity to assault the BTS was lost when the Avatar failed to activate. I then forgot about the importance of holding objectives, - yup, damn sporting of me, and went down to a 2-0 defeat.
This left me with a game three against Tim and Black Legion. Pre-game, Tim said that we should set the entire UK championships on this game, and I sportingly agreed. Tim may not fully recall this.
So turn one, and Time telports next to the Warlock. Then promptly loses the strategy roll. I am confident Tim burnt his dice after this game, as it all went wrong. The Warlock assaulted and wiped out the terminators. Then the artillery shot up the scouts, and all but wiped them out (4+ to hit with 4+ save, it was grim). Then the chaos bikes got shot up. Turn two, and the chaos super heavy got killed and both doomwheels went down to the Warlock. So by turn three, poor Tim was on about three activations, whilst I had lost three scouts and a squad of Falcons. It was just grim for him. However he clearly accepted how incredibly sporting I had been.
So 2nd place and a good day out. Far more importantly I helped the people of Preston by stopping Rob’s terrible lists and I introduced a higher level of sportsmanship into epic.
Oh, and to nobodies surprise, I was voted most sporting.
I got no prize, as Rob isn’t sporting. But there was enough witnesses.
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