On Sunday I'm off to a SAGA tournament at the Hall of Heroes in Sydney's west, and I've even managed to turn it into an excursion for the school wargaming club, with five vicious young warlords joining me for the day (my comitatus? retinue?) Sunday is also the Duchess' birthday, which shows what a magnificent, understanding and supportive woman she is.
I'm going to use my Welsh for the Tournament, and painted up an extra figure this week to act as a mounted standard bearer, in case I feel like adding a war banner to one of my units, using hte special rules introduced in the Raven's Shadow Saga supplement. The figure is from Westwind, with a LBMS banner and handpainted shield.
I must admit that my morale is not high as I approach this Tournament, largely because I have either offended the dice gods or perhaps more likely have played a couple of games recently with cursed dice. To demonstrate:
The week before last I had a game of Saga at school with one of the boys. I launched a cunning attack on one of his units in which I only needed to roll 3s to hit, and was rolling 10 dice. This is what I rolled.
In response, my opponent was rolling 9 dice and needed 6s to hit, Here's his roll:
I played another game this week using the same dice with a similar result. I will never use those dice again, and if they didn't belong to one of the boys would introduce them to an angle grinder. Tomorrow night, I plan to give my own dice a stern talking to, offering them a bath in a bowl of beer if they at least obey the laws of probability on Sunday, which doesn't honestly seem too much to ask, and reminding of them of the meanings of the verbs 'to die' and 'to dice' should they betray me. So my morale is not high, but I take some comfort in my performance using the rifle simulator at Cadets this afternoon. A single shot, standing, and here's the result:
Heh heh heh. The old Dux has still got it.