It was supposed to be a celebration—a joyous evening marking the passage of another year for Rob. Instead, it was an ambush. Rob, radiating the smug aura of a seasoned wargamer whose birthday wishes are commands, unveiled his magnificent trap: Bryan Ansell’s “Street Fight.”
Rob’s collection, of course, wasn’t just some dusty box; it was a testament to dedication (or perhaps, madness). The Wargames Foundry figures, you say? Superbly painted? Oh, they would have been gorgeous, if they weren’t about to be flattened under the metaphorical boot of Jason’s tactical superiority. Each tiny, beautifully highlighted knuckle-duster and broken bottle just served as a tiny, painful reminder of the impending spanking Rob and I received.
Guru, Rob, and our poor soul of a teammate—Rob’s firstborn—were lined up like lambs for the slaughter. The game wasn’t a contest; it was a performance art piece titled The Inevitable Humiliation of the Birthday Boy and his bumbling bandits.
But ah, the true spectacle! The only satisfying part of the evening, which will no doubt go down in your personal wargaming history as a moment of pure, schadenfreude-fueled bliss: The Sibling Civil War.
Forget the main objective; forget trying to outwit the Master Tactician Jason. The real fight was happening on the flanks, where Rob’s offspring had clearly decided that the only figures worth wiping out were each other’s.
“I’m not letting your ‘Hooligan with the Lead Pipe’ take my ‘Granny with a Shiv’!”
“Too late, amateur! Your Granny just got a taste of the Street Justice my ‘Lager Lout’ delivers! That’s minus one figure and plus one sibling rivalry!”
The air must have been thick with the smell of newly dried paint and raw, primal resentment. They weren’t playing for victory; they were playing for bragging rights at the breakfast table. Rob and Guru were just background noise, the soundtrack to a far more vicious family feud unfolding in 28mm scale.
Conclusion: Rob, you may have lost the war, but let’s be real—you absolutely crushed it in the entertainment department! You swaggered off with your tactical dignity in shambles, yet your spirit was soaring like a hot air balloon after too much soda, relishing the juicy drama of a sibling-sized betrayal—complete with beer and popcorn and the best front-row seat in the house! I can’t wait to receive a report on the juicy gossip over the breakfast table the next morning!
The showdown of wits and wacky characters was about to begin! In one corner, looking like two cranky garden gnomes who just stepped out of a slapstick cartoon, stood Count Hrodbert and his ‘better half’ Else. It’s a safe bet their devious scheme revolved around a mountain of flamboyant capes and a collection of daggers cleverly masquerading as side-eye glances!
On the other side stood Professor Archibald Fitch, the world-famous hermit of the linguistic realm who probably hadn’t basked in sunlight since the last time he tried to wrestle a sphinx into revealing its secrets. Beside him were his lifelong partners in academic mischief: Isabelle Marchesan, as practical as a Swiss Army knife and already taking mental notes on the Count’s fashion faux pas – those shoes looked like they had survived a rhinoceros stampede; and the whimsically quirky Ernest Flitterby, whose mind was a chaotic butterfly net full of wild ideas, often sprouting while he chased after those pesky Lepidoptera.
Count Hrodbert and his “squeeze” Else took the stage first, greeted by a crowd buzzing with anticipation—like a bunch of bees who just spotted a picnic. With her “spy” ability, Else waltzed right up to the “maguffin,” her senses sharper than a chef’s knife at a culinary competition, as she tiptoed through the sea of spectators with the elegance of a cat wearing roller skates. Behind her, a handful of trusty mercenaries lurked in the shadows like awkward party guests, ready to jump in and provide backup as if they were playing “hide and seek” but with slightly more stakes involved. Together, they were a cohesive unit, all set to pull off their zany plan while the tension in the air was so thick you could slice it with a butter knife—making their mission a real nail-biter!
The Count awkwardly shuffled back from the danger, as all self-respecting villains do, his overly dramatic gaze glued to the chaotic scene ahead, where shadows wobbled about like they were auditioning for a dance-off in the flickering torchlight. With a ridiculous smirk stretching across his face, he chuckled to himself, reveling in the thrill of suspense, fully aware that just out of sight were traps he had meticulously rigged, eagerly awaiting the next hapless fool who thought they could crash his villainous party. The air was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, and as he watched, the night seemed to hold its breath—probably hoping for a good punchline—making every heartbeat sound like a drumroll, cranking up his excitement for the inevitable hilarity that was about to unfold.
With the air of a seasoned sharpshooter (who also happened to be royalty and surprisingly adept with projectile weaponry), Pygmy War Chief Princess Nuru coolly readied her blowpipe. Her target? An advancing mercenary, who, to his credit, looked rather confident just moments before. With a barely audible fwip and a sound that remarkably resembled a tiny, indignant fart, the dart found its mark. The mercenary, mid-stride and mid-sneer, suddenly developed an urgent need to “exit stage one” with an unexpected dramatic flair, pirouetting backwards into the nearest bush as if auditioning for a particularly leafy ballet. It was a performance that truly left an impression, mostly on the mercenary’s dignity, and solidified Nuru’s reputation as a princess who not only ruled, but also ruled the art of the swift, silent, and spectacularly embarrassing takedown.
The femme fatale Else and the down-to-earth Isabelle Marchesan stared each other down in a standoff that felt more like a dramatic soap opera than a quest for treasure, each woman embodying philosophies so different they could’ve been roommates on a “Big Brother”. Else, with her mysterious charm and a confidence that could tempt a statue, was determined to snatch up the pygmy treasure for herself, fueled by an endless thirst for gold and an impressive jewelry collection. Meanwhile, Isabelle was the voice of reason, passionately waving her hands as she argued for the preservation of the priceless artifacts, as if they were her pet rocks, emphasizing how deeply significant they were and all the juicy history they held. As the sun dipped down, casting a suspicious glow over the glittering loot, the stakes soared; it was no longer just about shiny things, but a debate over morals that could make a philosopher cry. An epic showdown was about to kick off, resembling a blooper reel from a heist movie, as the history of the pygmy people and their legendary treasures hung in the balance—along with the challenge of dodging monkey droppings like they were booby traps!
The mercenary leader, a brute with a face like a dropped pie, sauntered forward, clearly fancying himself a crack shot. He hoisted his ridiculously oversized pistol, squinting one eye like he was trying to thread a needle with a rope, and took aim at Isabelle. A deafening “THWACK!” rent the air, followed by the distinct sound of a very confused Anabathmis as the the shot ricocheted off a nearby kapok tree. The leader blinked, lowering his weapon slowly to stare at the smoking crater in the bark of the tree, miles from Isabelle. He mumbled something about “wind shear” and “a sudden atmospheric anomaly,” but even his own henchmen were struggling to suppress their snickers. Isabelle, meanwhile, just raised an eyebrow, probably wondering if he was aiming for the next episode.
A tiny whirlwind of ferocity, Isabelle, with her trusty Pygmy Warrior by her side, executed a tactical maneuver so swift and unexpected it left onlookers agape and Else utterly bewildered. The Pygmy Warrior, no bigger than a well-fed housecat but with the heart of a lion (and presumably, the battle cry of a very angry chipmunk), launched himself like a furry, weaponized projectile straight at Else’s shins. As Else yelped and stumbled, trying to swat away the pint-sized assailant, Isabelle seized her moment. With a triumphant (and slightly maniacal) giggle, she delivered a perfectly aimed, if somewhat undignified, poke to Else’s funny bone, sending her sprawling in a fit of involuntary giggles and effectively taking her out of commission. The battlefield fell silent, save for Else’s helpless mirth and the Pygmy Warrior proudly polishing his miniature spear, ready for his next act of ankle-level heroism.
Meanwhile, Archibald moves on to protect another pile of pygmy treasure, a shimmery stash of trinkets that would make even a dragon consider a career change. Each artifact seems to giggle at him, whispering tales of ancient civilizations and doing a rather poor job at keeping their secrets. As he tiptoes closer, he can’t help but feel like a bumbling librarian in a candy store, fully aware that a host of treasure-hunters would likely trip over their own greed to snag a piece of this bounty. Determined to defend these glimmering relics from the waves of snack-sized pirates, he realizes that guarding this treasure is way more than just hoarding shiny objects—it’s about giving a high-five to the legacy of the pygmies and ensuring their history doesn’t get lost in a game of “finders keepers.”
In the ensuing scene – Archibald’s Explosive Treasure Hunt (and How He Didn’t Become a Fine Red Mist) Archibald’s latest treasure hunt was about to get a whole lot more “bang” for its buck. Turns out, some distant pygmy chieftain, clearly not a fan of uninvited guests rummaging through his ancestral bling, had decided to rig the entire setup with enough high explosives to launch a small moon. Archibald, bless his cotton socks, probably imagined a gentle puff of smoke and maybe a glitter bomb. Instead, as he delicately caressed the ancient chest, there was an earth-shattering explosion that would’ve made Kermit the frog green with envy – oh wait! The jungle, for a moment, resembled a very enthusiastic disco light show, followed by the kind of shockwave that rearranges your internal organs. Now, here’s the truly baffling bit: when the smoke cleared (and the birds stopped squawking in terror), not only was the treasure perfectly fine (presumably it was made of unobtanium and good vibes), but Archibald was also miraculously in one piece. He probably just looked a bit singed, like a well-done marshmallow, and possibly had a new, rather fashionable, smoke-blackened aesthetic. One can only assume the pygmy chieftain’s booby-trap manual had a typo, accidentally setting the “annihilate” setting to “mildly inconvenience.”
Chaos reigned supreme on the other side of the set! Mercenaries, with itchy trigger fingers and a distinct lack of professionalism, were lining up to take potshots at poor Isabelle. Meanwhile, Else and a plucky pygmy warrior lay wounded and on the ground, having valiantly (though perhaps unwisely) put up a fight. Their noble efforts had clearly backfired, leaving them looking less like heroes and more like very confused speed bumps. But the true hero of this unfolding farce was the Effervescent Flitterby, a creature of pure, unadulterated whimsy, who, with his trusty butterfly net firmly gripped, charged forward in a selfless (and frankly, quite daft) attempt to shield Isabelle. Alas, his bravery was no match for the brutal realities of the battlefield, and with a rather undignified thwack that probably sounded like a wet sock hitting a melon, he was unceremoniously axed from the scene, leaving behind only a faint, glittery shimmer and a collective groan from anyone who valued a good plotline. It was a truly magnificent display of cinematic incompetence.
Count Hrodbert, a man whose bravery was as mythical as a dragon with a dental plan, finally decided it was safe to grace the stage. With the pesky “good guys in white hats”—specifically, the infuriatingly competent Isabelle—conveniently dispatched (or at least, out of the immediate vicinity, he wasn’t entirely sure, and preferred not to dwell on the details), the coast was clear. He straightened his meticulously ironed, but slightly ill-fitting, beige velvet tunic, adjusted his monocle, and puffed out his chest, which, to be fair, was mostly just a sigh of relief trapped in his lungs. This was his moment, his time to shine as the villain, a role he’d diligently practiced in front of his ornate, yet surprisingly dusty, dressing room mirror. He strode forward, attempting a menacing sneer, which, due to a slight crick in his neck, looked more like he’d just smelled sour milk. “Finally,” he muttered under his breath, convinced he was projecting an aura of pure, unadulterated evil, “the spotlight is mine!” The spotlight, however, was currently fixated on the moggy he was cradling , leaving Hrodbert to bask in the ambient glow of his own inflated self-importance.
Archibald was on set again this time the scene was Archibald’s Pygmy Peril: A Chiefly Conundrum
Undeterred by the previous, shall we say, explosive encounter, Archibald, ever the intrepid (or perhaps just incredibly stubborn) adventurer, pressed onward. His mission: to secure another glittering pile of pygmy treasure. You, astute observer that you are, immediately suspected the culprit – that long-lost pygmy chief, clearly a connoisseur of theatrical entrances and booming exits, was at it again. “Boom!” went the chief’s signature pyrotechnics, and as the smoke gracefully settled like a well-trained butler, a collective sigh of relief (or perhaps just exasperation) could be heard. Miraculously, both the treasure and Archibald, though undoubtedly a bit soot-stained and possibly ringing in the ears, remained perfectly intact. One has to wonder if the chief’s dynamite was more for show than actual demolition, or if Archibald simply possessed the luck of a leprechaun who’d swallowed a horseshoe.
With the dust (and a surprising amount of glitter from the chief’s “special effects”) finally settled, Archibald, along with his intrepid duo and a surprisingly well-organized contingent of pygmy friends, truly won the day! It was a victory forged in the fires of Archibald’s unparalleled preservation exploits and cemented by the steadfast (and frankly, saintly) support of Isabelle and Ernest. But don’t you dare think for a second that our heroes are resting on their laurels, polishing their recently acquired pygmy treasures. Oh no, dear reader! Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode, where Professor Archibald Fitch, the world-famous (and perpetually disheveled) hermit of the linguistic realm, attempts to thwart the nefarious Count Hrodbert and his dastardly denizens.
Will Archibald’s knowledge of ancient dialects be enough to decipher their evil plans, or will he just end up correcting their grammar? Find out next time!
The dust had barely settled in the Town of Corrupt after Guru’s Angels’ latest takedown when the whispers started again, this time with a very different flavour. It wasn’t about corruption, or takedowns, or even the lingering scent of that bizarre micro-pigmented dust. No, this time, everyone was talking about Guru himself.
“Guru is breaking from tradition and adding two more team members to his ‘Angels’,” the local news blared, “a move that has many talking, and I’m pretty sure Farrah is rolling in her grave like a rock star at a wild concert! I mean, who knew that a makeover would include more Angels?”
The original trio, Blur, with their knack for turning chaos into an art form; Glitch, the digital ghost who could make a bank account disappear faster than you could say “malware”; and Astra, whose pinpoint precision could disable a security system with a well-placed… something (the details were always vague, and best left that way), were legends. They were a well-oiled machine, a symphony of disruption.
So, the announcement of two more Angels was, to put it mildly, unexpected. It was like adding two more guitar solos to a perfectly balanced rock anthem. The town was buzzing with speculation. Was Guru losing his edge? Was this some elaborate tactical manoeuvre? Or, as some of the more colourful locals suggested, was he simply bored?
The official word, delivered in Guru’s usual cryptic style via an encrypted message board, was that these new recruits would “infuse the team with fresh perspectives and enough energy to power a small village.” Which, translated into plain English, probably meant they were either incredibly skilled, utterly insane, or both.
The new faces were Scrubs and Rift.
Scrubs, true to their name, was the team’s medic and… well, general fixer. She wasn’t just about patching up bullet wounds (though she were excellent at that). Scrubs was a master of improvisation, able to turn any piece of junk into a vital tool, a life-saving device, or a surprisingly effective weapon. She was calm under pressure, resourceful to a fault, and possessed a dry wit that could defuse even the tensest situations.
Rift, on the other hand, was… different. She was the team’s psycher, a master of manipulating perception, and bending reality. She could create illusions, induce hallucinations, and generally mess with people’s heads in ways that were both terrifying and incredibly useful. They were enigmatic, unpredictable, and prone to sudden shifts in… well, reality.
The addition of Scrubs promised to be a game-changer for the Angels’ operational capabilities. Previously, any physical confrontation or unexpected injury meant Glitch often had to divert precious attention, and even some of her hacking resources, to monitor health vitals or scramble for improvised medical solutions. With Scrubs on board, with her calm presence and vast knowledge of field medicine and quick fixes meant Glitch could now fully concentrate on her primary role: diving deeper into enemy networks, executing more complex hacks, and unleashing more widespread digital chaos without worrying about her teammates’ physical well-being. Scrubs could secure perimeters with jury-rigged traps, create escape routes from seemingly nowhere, and keep everyone patched up and in the fight, freeing up the other Angels to focus purely on their specializations.
As for Rift, her unique psychic abilities were set to add an entirely new layer to the Angels’ disruption tactics. While Blur created physical misdirection, Rift could warp perceptions. Imagine turning an entire Nought security detail against each other with a shared hallucination, or making a heavily guarded vault appear empty to a patrol. Rift’s presence would allow the Angels to operate with an even greater degree of stealth and psychological warfare, creating confusion and fear that no physical or digital countermeasure could truly defend against. They could make a Nought’s entire reality shimmer and crack, exploiting their deepest fears and anxieties.
The expanded lineup promised not just more hands on deck, but a truly terrifying synergy. Blur’s physical chaos, Astra’s precision strikes, Glitch’s digital dominance, Scrubs’ field ingenuity, and Rift’s mind-bending abilities. The Noughts, already reeling from the original trio, wouldn’t know what hit them. Or, more accurately, they wouldn’t know how they were hit, or even if they were hit at all.
An artists impression of the secretive, and yet to be identifieded “Guru’s Angels”!
As enthusiasts reflect on the legacy of the original Angels, differing opinions are likely to emerge; however, it is certain that anticipation is building regarding the potential amusement and disorder that this expanded roster will introduce. Furthermore, as a keen observer aptly remarked, “If nothing else, we can at least look forward to an unplanned therapeutic discussion during the forthcoming team meeting.”
The air in the Town of Corrupt, a place where the sun, when it broke through the smog, seemed to cast longer, darker shadows, hung thick with the unspoken understanding of who truly ran things. It wasn’t the elected officials; it was Jason and his “All For Noughts” gang. From the “protection fees” levied on struggling small businesses to the quiet oversight of illegal gambling dens hidden behind legitimate shopfronts, the Noughts had sunk their teeth deep into the Town of Corrupt’s underbelly. Jason, with his loud laugh and an even louder sense of invincibility, genuinely believed the town was his personal fiefdom.
“This town’s all for nought if we ain’t got our say,” he’d would bellow in the dusty local bowling club, slamming a fist on the worn timber. His second-in-command, Roberto, a man whose quiet menace was far more unsettling than Jason’s bluster, would merely nod, a chilling understanding in his eyes. They were, brash, complacent, and utterly convinced of their untouchability. They were wrong!
Then, a ripple disturbed the stagnant waters of the Town of Corrupt. Whispers started circulating about “Guru’s Angels.” They weren’t a gang, nor did they operate like one. They were a Direct Action Unit, a collective of anonymous individuals who appeared to be systematically dismantling the Noughts’ operations. They left no trace, only the fallout of exposed dealings and inconvenient truths.
Their leader, known only as “Guru,” was said to be a phantom – a voice on encrypted channels, a mind that saw through the Noughts’ intricate web of corruption as if it were glass.
He had three distinct agents, the ones who executed the intricate dance of disruption: Blur, Glitch, and Astra.
Blur was the master of physical misdirection and manipulation. They could create diversions, orchestrate seemingly random events, or spread carefully crafted rumors that would send the Noughts’ enforcers chasing ghosts. Blur excelled at making things not be where they seemed, creating a general state of confusion and doubt among the Noughts’ ranks.
Glitch was the digital phantom, the cyber-saboteur. They could infiltrate any network, scramble communications, delete incriminating files, or, conversely, bring them to light at the most inconvenient times. Glitch turned the Noughts’ digital infrastructure into their greatest weakness.
Astra was the marksman, a shooter and sniper of unparalleled skill. She didn’t deal in digital code or misdirection; her precision was physical, capable of disabling critical equipment, delivering non-lethal but impactful deterrents, or hitting targets with pinpoint accuracy from a distance, all without ever being seen.
The first direct strike against the Noughts was a digital nightmare. A major shipment of untaxed liquor, bound for the Noughts’ network of illicit bars, simply vanished from the shipping manifest. The tracking data looped endlessly to a non-existent address. The drivers, thoroughly confused, found only an empty warehouse. Jason’s phone buzzed with a single, cryptic text: “All For Nought.” This was Glitch’s handiwork, a taste of digital disarray.
Next, a critical piece of equipment at the Noughts’ main illegal gambling den mysteriously stopped working. The high-stakes poker table’s automated card shuffler broke down mid-game. The security cameras watching the back alley went dark, one by one, with no explanation. It wasn’t an electrical fault; it was a series of incredibly precise, targeted shots from a distance, disabling the mechanisms without leaving a trace. This was Astra’s signature – surgical disruption delivered with pinpoint accuracy. She didn’t harm anyone, but her message was clear: their operations were vulnerable.
Jason was livid. “Find these ‘Angels’!” he roared, ordering his men to lean harder on anyone who might have information. But every time the Noughts thought they had a lead – a suspected hideout, a potential informant – Blur would weave a web of misinformation. They’d orchestrate a timely “protest” in a different part of town, or spread a convincing rumor about a rival gang’s movements, sending the Noughts’ enforcers chasing phantoms down blind alleys. While the Noughts were diverted, Glitch would subtly redirect their surveillance feeds or scramble their internal communications, leaving them fighting an enemy they couldn’t locate.
The Noughts, for all their brute force, were fighting an enemy they couldn’t see, and couldn’t hit. Their grip on the Town of Corrupt, once iron-clad, began to slip. Small businesses, quietly emboldened by the Angels’ disruptive presence, started subtly resisting the “protection” rackets. The flow of illicit goods became erratic, unreliable.
THE FINAL SHOWDOWN
The final, devastating blow came during the Town of Corrupt’s annual “charity festival” – a perfect cover for a major money laundering operation the Noughts were running through a supposedly legitimate charity stall. Jason, Roberto, and their core crew were on-site, overseeing the illicit flow of cash.
Suddenly, the festival’s PA system, meant for local announcements, crackled to life. It wasn’t the mayor speaking. A distorted, digital voice boomed across the main square, playing snippets of recorded conversations – Jason’s voice, Roberto’s, discussing their illegal schemes, detailing specific transactions, even naming complicit officials. Then, the voice declared, “The truth, Town of Corrupt, is no longer for nought.” This was Glitch, broadcasting their dirty laundry for the entire town to hear, shattering their façade of respectability.
The Noughts sprang into action with a shooter moving forward to distract Blur, a barrage of suppression fire, although not causing any damage due to her expert dodging did cause her to try and avoid the fire.
Astra made her move. From a hidden location, her gun ready, she took aim. Her “shots” were perfectly aimed at the shooters most vulnerable points, and suddenly one of Jason’s crew was nought!
Simultaneously, Blur orchestrated a controlled an attack on the Nought hacker who was trying to infiltrate a weapons platform not used since the the early days of the Corrupt Wars. Wounded but not out, the hacker was in deep trouble.
Bad, but things were about to get worse. With all of the “Angels” surrounding the hacker the result was inevitable.
In a last desperate attempt to restore some dignity the last remaining “Nought” try to hack the Angels computer node. A series of Aim, Aargh, Wound results from Astra’s sniper rifle brought down the offender.
As Jason was cuffed, his bluster completely deflated, he looked around wildly. But there was no one to see. Without even a single scratch, Guru’s Angels had melted back into the shadows, leaving behind only the undeniable evidence of their operation. The Town of Corrupt, for the first time in a long time, felt a flicker of hope. The grip of corruption had been loosened, not by brute force, but by the precise, surgical strikes of those who fought for truth, justice, and Guru’s way, in the digital and physical shadows.
Another great game of Mission Critical with Jason.
What’s next in the thrilling saga of Guru’s Angels? To find out stay tuned – same Guru Pig time, same Guru Pig station!
A Goblin Tank is a chaotic masterpiece of crude engineering, far removed from the precision of human or elven war machines. These ramshackle vehicles are typically cobbled together from scavenged metal plates, mismatched wheels or tracks, and whatever other junk goblins can lay their grimy hands on.
Expect asymmetrical designs, belching smoke from unstable power sources, and a general air of impending structural failure. Adorned with jagged spikes, crude blades, and frantic goblin graffiti, they embody the destructive ingenuity of their creators.
Crammed within these precarious contraptions is an overeager, underqualified crew of goblins. Coordination is a foreign concept; instead, a cacophony of shrieks and frantic gestures guides the tank’s erratic movement. Drivers wrestle with controls while gunners haphazardly aim their volatile weaponry. These expendable crews often throw themselves and their tank into the most dangerous situations, viewing the vehicle as a temporary, explosive home before its inevitable destruction.
The weaponry mounted on a Goblin Tank is as improvised as its construction. Forget accuracy; these are tools of mayhem. You might find oversized ballistas launching flaming projectiles, dangerously unstable flamethrowers, or multiple haphazardly placed guns firing a mix of scrap and actual ammunition.
Close-quarters combat is assured with crudely fashioned ramming spikes and “choppas.” These weapons are notoriously unreliable, prone to jamming, overheating, or simply falling off during the chaotic advance.
On the battlefield, a Goblin Tank serves as a mobile source of shock and awe – or just plain shock. It barrels forward, spewing smoke and fire, aiming to break enemy lines through sheer, unpredictable chaos.
Even if it doesn’t achieve a decisive breakthrough, its very presence is a potent distraction, drawing enemy fire and attention away from other goblin forces. Ultimately, a Goblin Tank often meets a spectacular end, whether through enemy action, internal malfunction, or the sheer, explosive exuberance of its goblin crew.
I picked the tank up at a bring and buy, not sure why, but it does look kinda cool. It is from a 3D print that I found here.
Blur is the unyielding, masked leader of a Direct Action Unit from the toxic town of Corrupt.
Her striking blue-green skin is a natural adaptation to the poisoned environment, a living testament to her resilience. In a world of chrome and circuitry, Blur stands apart, relying solely on her human speed, precision, and raw combat instinct honed by a lifetime of survival.
Her mastery of razor melee combat is born from necessity and relentless self-training.
This isn’t about advanced tech; it’s about perfectly weighted, incredibly sharp blades – perhaps scavenged shards of high-grade metal, or crafted from unique, resilient materials found within Corrupt’s depths.
She wields these weapons with a terrifying, almost supernatural speed, becoming a literal “blur” of motion.
Every slash, every parry, every strike is a testament to her honed reflexes, physical conditioning, and an unparalleled understanding of anatomy and combat angles.
She doesn’t just hit; she cuts, tears, and incapacitates with surgical, brutal efficiency.
As an orphan who raised herself in the unforgiving streets of Corrupt, Blur developed an unemotional, pragmatic approach to survival and leadership.
She commands her Direct Action Unit through sheer competence and undeniable effectiveness.
This unit comprises a small, highly effective team dedicated to immediate, often violent, objectives essential for their survival in the decaying urban landscape.
They execute dangerous missions: securing dwindling resources, neutralizing threats from rival factions or corporate incursions, or performing critical extractions.
Her masked visage reinforces her detachment, making her a figure of both dread and unwavering reliability.
She leads by example, her razor blades often the first to flash in any conflict, proving that even without enhancements, humanity, when pushed to its limits, can be the most dangerous force of all.
Multiply that by three and you have a very powerful force.
These three make up the Direct Action Unit needed to play “Mission Critical”, but I need two more DAU team members to play “Explore Zero”, the full version of Patrick Todoroff’s game.
Here is “Rift” and “Bones” which you are likely to see soon.
The time is the 1880’s. The Civil and Indian wars are still fresh in everyone’s minds and the gold and silver mining boom is still going strong.
In the little town of Groom Lake in Southern Nevada a loud crash was heard during the night and a low green glow was seen across the town……
As daylight broke the townsfolk were gathered around the …. the … the whatever it was, when a door appeared and something that was dressed in what looked like one of those new fangled diving suits descended. Awe and curiosity quickly turned to fear and desperation as people were disintegrated one by one by a green ray of light. Shots from those who had brought their six guns seemed to bounce off the creature. Who would help?
Who would indeed help?
Situated in an operations room in Texas 150 years away a US Rangers Colonel began his briefing”
“Gentlemen what you are about to hear is as unbelievable as it is confidential. The President is an Alien. I repeat the President is an Alien. We have all known for some time that the behaviour within the Oval Office has been strange and some may even say bizarre – now we know why.
For the last three years we have known of the presence of Aliens and their hybrid off-spring in the Halls of Power but it has only been recently that we have found the source and have possessed the relevant technology to be able to stop the threat.
Unfortunately the last three missions to Groom Lake, Nevada in 1870 have failed. No I am not going silly I did say 1870 – you are about to go back 150 years in time to stop the threat at its source.
The first mission failed because our understanding of time travel was not sufficient, the second failed because apart from body armor all of our weapons and equipment failed to work in that time period, and the third failed because dressed in standard issue helmets and uniforms the local people thought we were aliens and fought us tooth and nail preventing us from achieving our objective.
These issues have been resolved.
We have found a stash of weapons in the old Groome Lead Mine that were placed there by US Cavalry fleeing Apaches only weeks before the Alien invasion.
Although useless now they will be in mint condition when you arrive back in 1870. You will exchange your uniforms for duplicate Pinkerton and Texas Rangers uniforms. That’s right Rangers from Texas you are about to go back one hundred and fifty yeas in time to become Texas Rangers!!!
Your objective is to destroy the Aliens and capture their agent to prevent him from infiltrating the townspeople and eventually fulfilling his mission 150 years later. Good luck gentlemen”
The rules for the game were the standard Afghan Fubar rules (including casualty rules) with the following exceptions:
The Texas Rangers and Pinkerton fire teams are classed as Elite with a 4″ coherency;
The Texas Rangers and Pinkerton fire teams have the initiative in every turn;
Aliens are classed as Elite for shooting and Green for everything else;
All weapons are classed as range 24″, 1FP; 12″ 2FP.
Body armor provides a 5+ save.
The following rules of engagement apply:
No US Ranger can be left behind (after all this is the Wild West 150 years before you were born) – all seriously wounded and out of action casualties must be returned to the entry point for time machine CASEVAC;
Civilian causalities must be avoided – after all they may be your great great great grand pappy.
All civilians within 1″ of line of fire may be a potential casualty. Roll a dice for any failed hits and on 5 or 6 they have become a casualty. For each civilian casualty roll 2D6. On the roll of “box cars” the casualty is the forebear of one of your fire team and they “disappear” as without their forebear they were never born!!!
The Pinkerton and Texas Rangers calculate Victory Points as follows:
Each Alien killed = +1VP
Alien Leader Killed = +5VP
Each civilian casualty = – 2VP
Fire team member seriously wounded – 5VP (0 if CASEVAC successful)
Fire team member out of action – 5VP
Agent captured = +10 VP
The Aliens win if the Agent is not captured. Failing this the Ranger player with the highest VP’s wins.
The space ship arrival was determined randomly arriving in one corner. This proved to an advantage as the “Agent” could only be hidden in a building in an adjacent square (0nly three). If it landed in the centre of the table this left a potential 8 building squares to search. The buildings could be searched by simply entering them. The agent was hidden in the “crapper” behind the yellow house.
The game began with one alien 5 “man” squad deployed.
Very quickly the squad was attacked at long range by the Pinkertons that killed one out right (see above – everyone knows that aliens turn into jello when wounded and exposed to the Earth’s atmosphere!!) and suppressed another (will turn to jello next turn).
Civilians were liberally sprinkled around the table to add problems for the Texas Rangers.
The Pinkertons advanced aggressively while the Rangers searched building after building.
A “lucky” 6 allowed the Aliens to deploy another quad and their leader.
A long range shot with the lasers caused a devastating result on the Pinkertons causing 4 suppression points. This meant that a roll of 6 was now required to activate – something which took a further seven turns.
Coming within 12 inches of the spaceship the Rangers were hit with a huge amount of fire power emanating from the ship. Fortunately only one suppression resulted. Charging into hand to hand the Rangers began a long drawn out melee that would eventually decide the fate of the world.
Meanwhile the Pinkertons explored the Yellow House “crapper” and captured “Agent Major Tom”.
The “melee” continued with first the Rangers having the upper hand and then the pendulum swinging as more Aliens were fed from the spaceship into the fight.
Finally one Ranger was able to finish off the Aliens leaving a large pool of sludge.
With the Pinkertons almost at the time machine in the Groome Lead mine the battle was over.
Now we had to count the cost. First things first, I lost because the things that go bump in lost Agent Major Tom (where’s ground control when you need them)!!! Yeah.
David K leading the Texas Rangers ended up with 20 alien kills (20VP), 1 Alien leader killed (5 VP), 1 civilian killed (-2VP), 4 Rangers down (-20 VP), for a grand total of +3 VPs.
Andrew killed 7 Aliens (7VP), captured the agent (10VP) but also took one civilian casualty. Neither player lost anyone from the forebear test, although Andrew went close with a roll of eleven.
A really fun game that we will tweak a little bit when we run some more alien V Cowboy scenarios in future. Visually it will better when the US cavalry, Gatling guns, Apache allies (not sure which side) and “real” Texas Ranger figures are painted.
So little time and so many figures.
The white House was saved from Alien control and look who we now have in charge:
This report has been around unfinished for over a month so I am sorry for the delays in getting it to “print”.
“The adventure of my life started when I purchased an African pottery artifact of unknown origin for my collection.
When placing the piece on a shelf in my study I accidentally dropped it shattering to pieces. What I found amongst the shattered shards was a strange parchment written in a language I could not understand. Suddenly the words on the paper changed so that I could understand it. Amazed I was later to find that the parchment would change to whatever language the reader could understand.
The parchment talked of jewels located near a large Mopane tree, but warns the reader that any adventure would be dangerous in extreme.
I mistakenly shared my desire to mount an expedition with a colleague Manfred Mettlewane who decided to conduct his own search in opposition to mine.
Crossing paths many times Manfred and I finally found ourselves again together on the same riverbank opposite the town of Nokandoo.
Local natives had spoken of a large Mopane tree in the middle of jungle, but also warned of the “Black God” also lurking in the dense jungle. Dismissive of their superstitions we were both determined to reach the treasure first and claim it for ourselves.”
Lord Archibald Thurston 1872.
And so the game begins!!!
Both expeditions were of similar size consisting of a few characters (heroes), former military personnel and some trained Askaris. The British forces were lead by Andrew W and the Germans by David K.
The black God and other jungle nasties were controlled by myself. These consisted of the Black God, various jungle animals, “The Ghost who Walks”, and if enough jungle animals were killed, the “King of the Apes” and his retinue. At the start of each player turn they would roll two dice and on a roll of a 7, 11 or a double a “nastie” determined by myself would arrive. On a roll of “box cars” the “Ghost who Walks” would arrive and once six animals were killed Tarzan, Jane, and Cheetah would turn up to protect the jungle.
Un-be-knowns to the players wild animals would only attack if a unit “ran” (moved at the run) away from them or moved towards them.
Movement was made unpredictable by the dense jungle and the many and varied paths.
Each time a unit moved to a fork in a path they needed to roll a dice to determine which direction they travelled in. If accompanied by a hero they did not need to dice as we all know that heroes always know in which direction to travel.
Initially both sides acted quite independently trying to find the Mopane tree and the treasure. Several units were travelling around in circles due to the random movement rules.
Not long into the adventure Lily Mettlewane found her Askaris running quickly back towards her, closely followed by a charging Rhinoceros. She aimed, she fired, she finished her cup of tea, and she watched the Rhino collapsed at her feet!
A pity that Manfred was not as skilled as he found himself lost in some ruins.
Lost beyond belief some British Askaris accidently found themselves in the German camp. Finally the fragile truce was broken as the “stoned” Schultz, the German guard, was quickly overran and continued to deny knowing anything!!
At last both sides were working their way through the jungle to their objective but still fearing what might await them they continued to refuse to fire on each other.
The British were the first to break through the final clearing to be confronted by the Black God.
While the massive ape studiously ignored them the British moved stealthy toward the piles of jewels under the shade of the Mopane tree. As soon as they had filled their sacks with jewels and started moving for home the “Black God” attacked.
They valiantly tried to resist but were quickly dispatched by the huge creature.
At the same time as the British were being dispatched the Germans arrived at the Mopane tree and were just about to make their escape when the “Black God” leapt upon them. One by one the Germans fell but were inflicting suppression markers on the creature. Finally both Herman and the “Black God” were down to their last suppression markers. Just as he raised his shotgun to finish off the ape Herman was thrown across the clearing and fell in a silent heap.
With the creature finding it hard to activate with maximum suppression markers, first Lily Mettlewane and a German squad and then the British were able to sneak away with handfuls of jewels.
The race was on to see who could get the most jewels back to their camp, however the Germans were not aware that their camp was being held by British Askaris.
Up until now there had been little or no “nasties” appearing on the scene. Suddenly first one, then two then three and then four elephants appeared to surround the German troops. Fortunately for the players no jungle characters had yet appeared.
Meanwhile the British continued unmolested towards their camp on the river.
The Germans thought they were finally home when the “Black God” finally activated getting rid of all of his suppression markers and started charging down the pathway to collect his jewels.
The result was inevitable.
The German expedition was now in tatters with only Lily left. Vainly trying to re-capture her camp so that she could escape with the few jewels in her possession she engaged in a long range fire fight with the British Askaris. After first one and then a second Askaris fell to her expert shooting, but her luck finally ran out leaving the British and the jungle to the spoils.
The British had the luck with not having to deal with many jungle nasties, but also used their heroes well in a supportive roll to assist with activation and movement.
Another great Fubar scenario showing the flexibility and fun the rules possess.
The score was British seven jewels, the Germans zero, but they did have one rhino and two elephant trophies. The Germans were very unlucky not to have destroyed the “Black God” which would have given them an overwhelming victory.
It was a barmy night when we unloaded our equipment onto the filthy, mosquito ridden docks of Nokando. Here to meet us for the first time, complete with batman, was our brand new commanding officer Major Reginald Frothchild the Third.
The town of Nokando
Born with the proverbial silver spoon, the only military training he had was pushing his toy soldiers around playing that new-fangled game “Little Wars” bought to prominence by the famous author HG Wells.
Why was it always us “Colonials” who had to break in these adventure seeking rich kids who had no knowledge of the local dangers or customs and even less about soldiering?
Our task was to rid the local town of a small group of bandits who were terrifying the local inhabitants and bringing the dock trade to a standstill. The vast tomb complexes and associated cemeteries were a great source of mummies and naptha essential for the production of the “mummia” powder used in the more fashionable London medical clinics.
Rumour had it that the bandits were being funded by “the Hun” who was trying to deny the Empire of this lucrative if somewhat ineffective commodity.
The trade was to be protected at any cost.
How were we ever going to succeed when we were being led by Major Reginald Frothchild the Third…………………..and so it began the game was afoot.”
The bandits were being used by Andrew W. and consisted of 3 groups of five unenthusiastic bandits, 2 experienced Lewis gun teams and a veteran German officer.
The Australians consisted of the “green” Major Frothchild, 2 ten man veteran sections, a veteran Vickers Heavy machine gun, the veteran “pommy” medic, Jack Fitzpatrick and his donkey.
The author commanded the “Curse of Nokando” which will be revealed later on.
The F.U.B.A.R. 20th century rules with the casualty supplement were being used with both sides being armed with standard rifles and pistols. The Lewis guns counted as MMG’s and the Vickers as a HMG.
As the town of NoKando was a teeming metropolis the streets were full of civilians, and traders going about their day-to-day business. Special rules were introduced to add complexity to the both players. When shooting at your opponent with civilians in line of sight, any misses had to be rolled as shots against the civilians. The quality difference in the troops meant that the Australians were less likely to miss, but more likely that any misses would result in a civilian casualty whereas the bandits were likely to miss both.
Any civilian casualties were treated as a victory point for the bandits!!! The rationale was that if the bandits inflicted any civilian casualties it just gave them any easy target to rob whereas the “Empire” troops did not want to appear on the front page of the “Times” for “shooting up the natives”.
The Australians won the initiative for the first turn (and for most of the others it should be said) and moved as quickly as possible running across the table. Major Frothchild was sent to interrogate the owners of the local tea house, because unlike the bandits his troops actually fought better without him.
The only bandits to move were those being led by “Fritz”, and the Lewis gunners who were moving into position to shoot at the advancing Australians. When the Australians took up a position on the roof of a local mosque the bandits opened up. Although not successful they wounded “Sharma the Snake Charmer”. Instantly the earth began to rumble as the “Curse of Nokando” reared up to protect its owner.
Quickly a message was sent to Major Reginald Frothchild the Third that a trophy befitting his stately manor house was there for the taking. Sprinting towards “the Curse”, pistol in hand, the clumsy Major tripped and fell with the massive cobra rearing and weaving its huge head over the top of him.
The author rolled for the cobra’s four attacks and with three sixes, each an instant kill in their own right, the Colonials no longer had to worry about the “Major”.
The Colonials returned the fire of the Bandit Lewis gun killing the crew, but to their amazement the “Curse of Nokando” slithered with extreme speed toward them.
Before they could regain their senses the curse attacked, but being more adept on their feet than the Major they were able to avoid the weaving and lunging head.
The bandits had now moved into the “Old Fort” which provided excellent fields of fire on the advancing Aussies, but several turns shooting from their Lewis gun in the tower and the group on the parapet had no effect.
Despite realising that it was their shooting that was causing the “Curse of Nokando” to attack the Australians continued shooting at the fort gradually wearing down those on the wall. The “Curse” attacked again this time bringing down another victim.
The bandits decided to charge the Australians moving through the Bazaar with first one unit and then a second, but the brave Aussies held on despite being heavily suppressed.
A few turns later the hand to hand combat was still going on with the Aussies finally destroying their opponents, but not before the “Curse” brought down two more victims. When “Fritz” fell soon after the bandits were finally destroyed with only a Lewis gun team surviving.
All that was left was to count the cost.
The result was a minor victory to the Bandits with 14 victory points, the “Colonials” on 13 with the “Curse of Nokando” proving the decider with 4 victory points, all from the Australians.
Another great game that proves the system is robust across a number of periods.
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While the massive ape studiously ignored them the British moved stealthy toward the piles of jewels under the shade of the Mopane tree. As soon as they had filled their sacks with jewels and started moving for home the “Black God” attacked.
