I have been writing this set of rules for over five years. It was both frustrating and a labour of love as my ideas, motivations and game mechanics changed over that time. Well it is finally out on Amazon and I am quite chuffed with the result. The mechanics are totally different than any you would have seen.

The mechanics in Conflict Under Constraint are deliberately built to reject the assumptions that underpin most tabletop systems. Instead of modelling combat as a sequence of efficient actions leading toward resolution, the rules focus on the instability of action itself. Every mechanic asks the same underlying question: can a force still act coherently under pressure, uncertainty, and constraint?

Indigenous sheep raid

At the centre of this approach is the Pressure system, which replaces conventional morale and casualty-driven logic. Pressure is not a reaction to loss, but a measure of accumulated strain. It rises through exposure, failed actions, and the inability to disengage cleanly, gradually narrowing what a force can do.

Indigenous leaders and warriors

At high levels, forces do not break because they are destroyed, but because they can no longer act with coherence. This shifts the focus of play away from killing power and toward managing tempo, risk, and withdrawal.

Indigenous raid on a settler Homestead

Equally significant is the Reaction Flow system, which replaces fixed turns with contested tempo. There is no guaranteed sequence of play. Control passes back and forth depending on proximity, visibility, and the ability to respond in the moment. This creates an environment where hesitation, positioning, and even inaction matter as much as decisive moves. It also means that time itself becomes uneven, experienced differently by each player depending on their level of control.

Indigenous raid on a shearing shed

The rules also redefine how terrain, or Country, functions. Rather than acting as a set of modifiers, terrain constrains decision-making. It narrows options instead of blocking movement outright. Players are not solving terrain, but operating within it. Visibility is partial, movement is risky, and no position is entirely secure. This makes the table an active participant in the game, shaping outcomes before any dice are rolled.

Police raid on an Indigenous camp

Another key departure is the abstraction of weaponry and capability. Weapons are not differentiated through detailed statistics. All groups possess the ability to act at range, engage in close combat, and withstand contact. What matters is not what is carried, but when and how it is used. This removes optimisation and redirects attention toward timing, positioning, and the conditions of action.

Hunting Ground

The system of State (Hidden, Revealed, Suppressed) further reinforces this emphasis. Power is not tied to firepower or numbers, but to visibility and control. A Hidden group may exert influence without being targeted, while a Revealed group becomes vulnerable simply by acting. Suppression does not remove units from play but disrupts their ability to respond at critical moments.

Settlers

The result is a constant negotiation between acting and remaining unseen. Taken together, these mechanics produce a fundamentally different experience. The game is not about winning through destruction, but about managing conditions that are always slipping out of control. Success lies in timing, restraint, and knowing when to disengage. In this sense, the mechanics do not simulate battle as a contest of strength, but as a condition to be navigated—one in which control is always partial, and resolution is never complete.

Attack on an Indigenous sacred site (a Bora ring)

I hope you enjoy it.

This last of my Eureka Miniatures Denisovian “units” consusts of a Raiding party leader and eight warriors

All four of the completed Denisovian “units”.

Tomorrow a plastic terrain kit that I have had for years and just decided that I needed to complete it.

This unit of Eureka Miniatures Denisovians consists of a female elder and five warriors

You will note that I have included my attempt at creating a Bora ring as a piece of “Country”. For those interested I have included a short description for you to explore further.

For those near Melbourne I suggest a short trip to Wurdi Youang near “Little River” (above), or to “Jackson’s Creek” near Sunbury (below), where there are a number, for an excellent day trip steeped in Indigenous history.

The three “units” completed so far.

Across Australia, Aboriginal peoples created stone arrangements, often referred to in some regions as Bora rings, though a wide range of local terms and forms exist. These include circles, paired rings, linear alignments, and more complex configurations. They were not random accumulations of stone. They were constructed deliberately, with attention to placement, orientation, and meaning. Many were used for ceremony, initiation, and the transmission of law. Others marked significant locations within Country or were connected to seasonal knowledge and environmental observation. These arrangements form part of a broader system in which landscape, story, and social order are inseparable.¹

In this ruleset, stone circles should be understood as expressions of living Country. They are places where meaning is concentrated and enacted. While they may not obstruct movement in a physical sense, they shape behaviour and constrain decision making. Actions taken in or near such places are not neutral. For Aboriginal groups, these sites are bound to identity, obligation, and authority, embedded within systems of law that govern conduct and relationship to land.² For outsiders, particularly colonial actors during the frontier period, these meanings were often unrecognised or misunderstood, yet the structures themselves remained active within Indigenous systems of knowledge and practice.

This distinction matters for how conflict is understood. The Australian frontier wars did not occur on empty or undefined ground. They unfolded across landscapes already known, named, and organised through long-standing systems of knowledge. Stone arrangements were one visible expression of this order, but they existed alongside pathways, resource zones, ceremonial grounds, and places of restriction.³ Sites such as Wurdi Youang demonstrate that this knowledge could include sustained and precise observation of environmental and astronomical patterns, with alignments marking solar positions across the year.⁴ Movement, gathering, and defence were therefore shaped by an existing spatial logic that structured where people could go, when, and under what conditions.

On the table, stone circles are best treated as locations that narrow choice rather than restrict movement. Units may pass through them freely, but actions taken within or near them carry consequence. They function as centres of influence, shaping morale, decision making, and the accumulation of pressure over time. They are not obstacles in a mechanical sense. Instead, they are points where Country is most present, where the weight of obligation, knowledge, and consequence is heightened, and where the meaning of action is intensified rather than simplified.

1. R. H. Mathews, “The Bora, or Initiation Ceremonies of the Kamilaroi Tribe,” Journal of the Anthropological Institute 24 (1895): 411–427; J. V. S. Megaw, “Stone Arrangements in Aboriginal Australia,” Mankind 8, no. 2 (1974): 89–101.
2. W. E. H. Stanner, “The Dreaming,” in White Man Got No Dreaming (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1979), 23–40; Deborah Bird Rose, Dingo Makes Us Human (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 8–12.
3. Bill Gammage, The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2011), 1–14, 281–307; Bruce Pascoe, Dark Emu (Broome: Magabala Books, 2014), 1–20.
4. Duane W. Hamacher and Ray P. Norris, “Bridging the Gap through Australian Aboriginal Astronomy,” in Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 282–290; Ray P. Norris et al., “Wurdi Youang: An Australian Aboriginal Stone Arrangement with Possible Solar Indications,” Rock Art Research 30, no. 1 (2013): 55–65.

Gammage, Bill. The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2011.

Hamacher, Duane W., and Ray P. Norris. “Bridging the Gap through Australian Aboriginal Astronomy.” In Archaeoastronomy and Ethnoastronomy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Mathews, R. H. “The Bora, or Initiation Ceremonies of the Kamilaroi Tribe.” Journal of the Anthropological Institute 24 (1895): 411–427.

Megaw, J. V. S. “Stone Arrangements in Aboriginal Australia.” Mankind 8, no. 2 (1974): 89–101.

Norris, Ray P., et al. “Wurdi Youang: An Australian Aboriginal Stone Arrangement with Possible Solar Indications.” Rock Art Research 30, no. 1 (2013): 55–65.

Pascoe, Bruce. Dark Emu. Broome: Magabala Books, 2014.

Rose, Deborah Bird. Dingo Makes Us Human. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

Stanner, W. E. H. White Man Got No Dreaming. Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1979.

This group has an elder woman and eight warriors.

There is no direct equivalent to a Western term like “priestess.” Aboriginal religious life is embedded in law, kinship, and Country, and women’s spiritual authority is typically expressed through roles such as Elders, custodians of ceremony, and holders of specific sacred knowledge rather than through a single titled office.

Anthropologists sometimes describe spiritually authoritative women as “wise women” or female law holders. These are women who have been entrusted with specific ritual knowledge, particularly relating to women’s ceremonies, fertility, birth, kinship law, and connections to Country. The exact titles for these roles vary by language group.

The two groups so far.

Two more Denisovian units to complete what I have. More tomorrow!

As I have almost finished the content for my Australian Frontier Wars I need to paint some suitable figures to illustrate the book. Over the next few days I will need to spend my time painting the thirty odd Eureka Miniatures Denisovians I have set aside for the purpose.

I have included below a note on the Australian First Nations peoples use of body paint for those interested. It is taken from another book I am writing at the moment.

The group I have for today consists of a war party leader and five men.

In the historical records a war party leaders are recorded as a “leading men,” “principal men,” or “war leaders,” but these are English glosses rather than Indigenous titles. Leadership was situational: a man might lead in war because of his reputation, experience, or spiritual authority, but not hold absolute authority outside that context.

It is also important to note that spiritual authority and warfare were not separate spheres. Men with ritual knowledge, or those recognised as having particular spiritual power, could play decisive roles in organising and sanctioning violence. Decisions to undertake raids or reprisals were typically collective, embedded in law (often referred to as “customary law”), and connected to obligations around land, justice, and kin.

So, while “war party leader” is a useful descriptive phrase in English, in Aboriginal contexts leadership in conflict was situational rather than institutional, often grounded in status, knowledge, and kinship, and often shared or negotiated rather than strictly hierarchical

More Denisovians tomorrow.

Body painting among Aboriginal Australian peoples served multiple, interrelated purposes that were social, ceremonial, and epistemological. At its most immediate level, body paint functioned as a visible marker of identity. Designs indicated clan affiliation, kin relationships, and connection to specific Country, often encoding rights to land, stories, and ceremonial roles. In this sense, painted bodies were not merely decorative but communicative surfaces through which social position and belonging were made legible to others. The patterns and motifs applied were not arbitrary. They were governed by inherited law and protocol, with particular designs restricted to those with the authority to wear them.¹

Body paint also played a central role in ceremonial and religious life, especially within what is often referred to as the Dreaming or ancestral law. During ceremony, painted designs materialised ancestral beings and events, transforming the human body into a site where the past and present coexisted. The act of painting was itself ritualised, often accompanied by song, dance, and instruction, reinforcing cultural knowledge across generations. In this context, the body became a living map of story and cosmology, with each line and colour carrying specific meaning tied to narrative, place, and law.²

A further function of body painting lay in its performative and psychological dimensions. In initiation rites, mourning practices, and conflict related gatherings, paint could signal transition, status change, or emotional state. For example, white ochre might be used in mourning to mark separation from the living world, while other colour schemes could indicate readiness for ceremony or conflict. The process of painting also created cohesion among participants, reinforcing collective identity and shared purpose. This was particularly important in large gatherings where multiple groups came together, as paint allowed individuals to be recognised within a broader social and ceremonial framework.³

Materially, body paint was derived from natural substances such as ochres, charcoal, pipeclay, and plant based binders. These materials were themselves culturally significant, often sourced from specific sites with their own ancestral associations. The act of collecting and preparing pigment formed part of the broader cultural system, linking people to landscape and reinforcing knowledge of resource locations. In some regions, ochre was traded across long distances, indicating that body painting practices were embedded within wider networks of exchange and interaction.⁴

Taken together, Aboriginal body painting cannot be understood as mere adornment. It operated as a complex system of communication, law, and embodiment through which identity, belief, and relationship to Country were expressed and maintained. The painted body was at once individual and collective, aesthetic and juridical, situating the person within a web of meaning that extended across time, place, and community.⁵

¹ Howard Morphy, Aboriginal Art (London: Phaidon, 1998), 23 to 45.
² W E H Stanner, “The Dreaming,” in White Man Got No Dreaming (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1979), 23 to 40.
³ Nicolas Peterson, “Ritual Body Painting in Aboriginal Australia,” in Aboriginal Religions in Australia, ed. Ronald M Berndt (Sydney: University of Sydney Press, 1974), 89 to 110.
⁴ Ian McBryde, “Exchange in South Eastern Australia,” Mankind 10, no 4 (1976): 278 to 291.
⁵ Fred Myers, Painting Culture: The Making of an Aboriginal High Art (Durham: Duke University Press, 2002), 41 to 67.

The mountain batteries of the Indian Army were the undisputed masters of the screw gun. This clever piece of equipment was the two point five inch rifled muzzle loader and it was born from the need to fight in the jagged mountains of the frontier. The genius of the design lay in the fact that the barrel could be unscrewed into two separate parts. This meant the weight was split up so that a team of sturdy mules could carry the entire weapon over steep ridges and through thick bush where a traditional wheeled cannon would have been completely useless.

In colonial Africa these batteries were legendary for their speed and grit. A crew of gunners could jump into action and have the entire weapon assembled and ready to fire in about a minute. While the British infantry often struggled with the heat and the terrain the Indian gunners and their mules were in their element. They provided the essential heavy support during campaigns in Somaliland and later during the Boer War where they proved that a gun you could carry on your back was often worth more than a massive one stuck in the mud.

As technology marched on the old muzzle loaders were eventually swapped out for the ten pounder breech loader. This newer model was much faster to load because the gunners didn’t have to stand in front of the barrel to ram home the shells. Even with the new tech the spirit of the units remained the same.

They stayed mobile and flexible always ready to assemble their guns in the middle of nowhere to support their comrades. These men and their mules were the backbone of colonial firepower in the most remote corners of the continent.

Both of the Indian Army guns.

Tomorrow the final unit for the MWWBK’s Indian Army

The Gardiner Gun was a bit of an underdog in the late 19th century, often overshadowed by the famous Gatling but respected by those who actually had to use it. Patented by William Gardiner in the 1870s, it avoided the heavy revolving barrels people usually associate with early machine guns. Instead, it used a clever reciprocating bolt system tucked inside one or two stationary barrels.

By simply turning a hand crank, a soldier could cycle the bolts back and forth to fire and reload. It was surprisingly lightweight and simple, which made it a favorite for teams who needed to move quickly without dragging around a massive piece of hardware.

When it went up for testing, especially during the British Royal Navy trials in 1880, it really held its own. It was remarkably reliable and could spit out over 400 rounds per minute without much fuss.

The feeding system was pretty distinct too, using vertical magazines that looked a bit like organ pipes, allowing the crew to keep the lead flying with minimal downtime. Even though it eventually lost out to the Maxim gun and the dawn of truly automatic weapons, the Gardiner stands as a high water mark for mechanical engineering before recoil took over the battlefield.

Tomorrow more Indians artillery

The Juggernauts of Khorne are basically what happens when you take a rhinoceros, skin it in enchanted brass, and stuff it full of pure, unadulterated rage. These things are forged in the Blood God’s own foundries, making them a terrifying mix of a living creature and a heavy duty siege engine. Their plating isn’t just for show either; it’s thick enough to let them ignore small arms fire and tank shells like they’re just annoying flies while they barrel toward the enemy lines.

When they get moving, the ground actually shakes. You’d think something that bulky would be slow, but they can hit a frightening top speed, sounding like a rhythmic roar of grinding metal as they go. They don’t really do “subtle” tactics; they just use that massive weight and those bladed horns to flatten infantry or literally flip over armored transports. The air around them gets thick with the smell of ozone and burnt blood, mostly because the daemon inside is working at such a high internal temperature.

Looking at one up close though you probably would not want to reveals a mess of oily pistons, churning cogs, and glowing vents. The head is just this heavy block of brass with a mouth full of jagged teeth that constantly leaks a nasty, corrosive fluid. Their eyes look like burning furnace grates, and every time they move, you can hear the plates grinding together. It’s a violent, high pressure machine that seems like it’s constantly on the verge of exploding from its own sheer hatred.

More Khorne still to come……………..The Blood God is famously impatient, but even his most terrifying legions have learned to play the long game. When you have been waiting in a box since the early 2000s to finally hit the tabletop, a few more years is just a drop in the ocean of blood. At this point, those unpainted lead miniatures in the back of the cupboard aren’t just a backlog; they are basically ancient relics of a lost civilisation. At least Khorne doesn’t care if Guru’s hobby desk looks like a graveyard of half finished projects, as long as there is some red and brass paint involved eventually!

In the grand scheme of things, these reinforcements will probably arrive exactly when they are meant to, likely right after I have finally finished painting something else. Until then, the promise of more Khorne daemons serves as a great excuse to keep the shelf space clear and the brass paint ready. Twenty years of anticipation just means that when they finally do charge across the table, they will be extra cranky. It is less of a tactical arrival and more of a very belated, very violent reunion tour.

The two unit below.

Not sure where these came from but they are now finished. I think they original came with a Chaos warrior mount but am not sure. If so these ones are just free sprits for the Blood God!

A Juggernaut of Khorne isn’t something that feels alive in any normal way. It’s built for one purpose and one purpose only. Brass plates are bolted over its body, thick and scarred, with runes that seem to pulse faintly beneath the surface. Its horns push forward like a battering ram, stained dark from past charges, and its eyes burn with a steady, unnatural heat. You don’t just see it coming, you feel it through the ground as each step lands with a heavy, crushing weight.

It doesn’t think about where it’s going. It just goes. Chains drag along its sides, skulls knock together, and anything in front of it is simply in the way. There’s no pause, no shift in direction, no sense of fear or caution. When it charges, everything narrows to that moment of impact. Lines don’t hold. Shields don’t last. People are just swept aside or crushed under it as it keeps driving forward.

Up close, it feels like standing next to a forge that’s been burning too long. Heat rolls off the armour, carrying the smell of hot metal and blood. Vents along its sides hiss and spit bursts of air, like something inside it is constantly being fed. Its jaws grind slowly, as if they’re always ready to bite down on something. Even when it stops, it never really feels still, like all that weight and force is just waiting for the next push forward.

Another unit of Juggernauts tomorrow.

More colonial Indian infantry.

I have a machine-gun base, and artillery base, and another cavalry unit to go to complet this contingent.