Most people I meet get into tabletop games through friends. There’s the college buddy that introduces the intricacies of a euro, or the cousin who patiently explains the keywords on a trading card. Heck, sometimes you’re lucky enough to have a gaming parent show you the ropes from a young age.
When your gateway into gaming is a person, it offers many perks. You’re more open to trying something new, because the company is pleasant. Perhaps more importantly, you’re not afraid to suck. Tabletop games can feel like an alien language to a complete beginner, and fear of scoffs or judgement are natural. The trustworthiness of a table can make or break someone’s relationship with the whole hobby.
All this is to say: I never got into miniature wargaming. No one ever darkened my door with a Warhammer 40k starter set, eager to show me a sprue. I visited wargaming groups a few times, but, despite my curiosity, I never found the courage to join a table. I’ve been condescended by unfamiliar playmates in the past, and it’s an experience I’ve never been keen to repeat.
What, then, would it take for me to overcome these barriers – and venture into a new hobby alone?
Approachability is number one. I love a 12-hour board game as much as the next nerd, but I wouldn’t force one on a beginner. Easily remembered rules ward against embarrassment, and they make it simple to jump into the fray.
Next, the game needs to do something truly enticing. This factor is a little more personal, as we all have different tastes. Me? I’m interested in narrative experiences. I prefer horror over levity, and I lean towards myth and fantasy over technology and space suits.
I’m also a huge sucker for a strong art selection. If I want to stare at a rulebook as much as I want to play it, you’ve found a way to get the game in my hands – and after that, I’m more likely to start playing.
Enter Trench Crusade. This WW1 skirmish game, set on an alternate Earth where demons have plagued the planet since the Crusades, is an up-and-comer on the wargaming scene. It’s got nowhere near the brand power and player support of Warhammer 40k. I’m told, however, it relives wargaming’s golden years, by means of scrappy satanic minis.
All this sounds like catnip to the grognard, and it probably is. Fellow writer Tim Linward adores it, and he’s got the 10/10 Carcass Front review to prove it. The attraction is evident for existing wargamers. What might be less obvious is how appealing Trench Crusade is to the novice.
Factor one: approachability. The basic rules of Trench Crusade can be explained in less than 10 pages. In fact, that Carcass Front box only needs three. A slim, sturdy summary booklet covers the essentials, with a handful of extra keywords explained on the warband sheets.
At an Essen Spiel demo, my kindly teacher walked us through the rules in about 10 minutes. If it weren’t for the eager nervousness of two beginner players, he probably could have explained even faster. These are your dice, and these are your infantry. Here is a measuring tape – time to take your turn.
It’s important not to mistake simplicity for a lack of complexity. As I mused with designer Tuomas Pirinen later, the word ‘simple’ doesn’t do Trench Crusade justice. The rules might be learned in minutes, but mastering them is a far longer pursuit. In fact, what makes the game so enticing is how many decisions it offers with so few rules.
There’s my second buzzword, ‘enticing’. The wealth of tactical choices in Trench Crusade gripped me after just a few turns. You can move every turn, but how will you do it? Will you Charge to trigger a melee assault, retreat out of an enemy’s reach, or reposition for a better shot at range?
And then, there’s the Dash action. This separate, second bout of movement is a Risky action, meaning you roll to see whether it’s even possible. Fail, and your turn is over, whatever plans are left unfulfilled. That’s how I ended up with a Drowned Chorister who stood stock still for three whole turns.
Each time, I chose to start with a Risky Dash instead of my guaranteed Move action. That way, I could line up a successful charge against the enemy without spending a turn in a vulnerable spot – unless, of course, I rolled badly. Which I did. Twice.
Every roll in Trench Crusade is a 2D6 roll. You can gain ‘advantage’ or ‘disadvantage’, which adds or subtracts D6s from the pool. However many you roll, though, you take the two best or worst results. Generally, you want a seven or above to succeed.
Did I make sound strategic choices with that Chorister? Definitely not, but making those mistakes was a hoot. Quickly, I could assess my failings’ impact on the board and learn lessons. Trench Crusade’s snappy turns create this wonderful space where mistakes don’t feel punishing – they’re thrilling. I might be on the backfoot this turn, but I’m already eager to tip the scales on the next.
Let’s talk about that Chorister a little more. Mechanically, they have nothing to offer as ranged attackers, but they’re a menace in melee. The menace is made worse by their Unholy Hymns ability, which gives enemy models -1 dice to Success Rolls if they’re within eight inches of your Chorister. Attacking, dashing, and escaping all become more perilous.
Trench Crusade transforms its landscape with these small details. A Stigmatic Nun might see a Chorister on the horizon and decide to chuck a grenade from the safety of cover – because its ‘Ignore Long Range’ keyword allows her to attack without penalty. Or maybe that player’s Leper Pilgrim advances anyway, because their Flamethrower guarantees an automatic hit.
Each decision, however carefully calculated, comes down to the dice, who might not always favor you. From that tense space between luck and tactics, a story appeared. I first noticed it when my opponent began gleefully narrating his warband’s moves. He wasn’t moving plastic around a map; he was peeking around corners, stomping through tough terrain, or stumbling off edges.
I don’t have much wargaming experience to compare with. Maybe this is par for the course. But, as a lover of roleplay and emergent storytelling, it made my starter scenario special. Trench Crusade got its hooks in me, and already it was dragging me down to Leviathan’s lair.
And that’s just the storytelling side of the rules. Trench Crusade has a dedicated setting, and it’s stuffed to bursting with moreish lore. Those Drowned Choristers? Zealous humans who drowned themselves to serve the forces of Hell. Stigmatic Nuns? Brutal women who mutilate themselves into ecstasy, then dominate the battlefield with firearms and throwing crucifixes.
That’s just the tip of the corpse-strewn iceberg. Trench Crusade has centuries of horrific history, starting with the opening of Jerusalem’s hellgate in The Crusades, and reaching us 800 years later, from the trenches of No Man’s Land. It’s a vivid, incredibly well-researched Catholic apocalypse, with the teachings of Christ taken to gruesome extremes.
In a word: gnarly. In a few more words: I feel like I’ve been Raptured. Trench Crusade’s dark, thoughtful writing, combined with the stunning visuals spearheaded by Mike Franchina, swept me off my feet to someplace sacred (yet delightfully desecrated). The sights I’ve seen are sublime in the truest sense of the word – awe-inspiring to the point of terror.
I may be a wargaming beginner, but I’m ready to prostrate myself in worship at Trench Crusade’s altar. It has that holy trinity I talked about: sick art, enticing storyelling, and rules that scream elegance. After one demo, I’m officially a convert. Now, I just need to figure out how to build these Carcass Front miniatures…
You can learn a bit more about Trench Crusade’s sublime stories in Tim’s piece on the lore, or my latest interview with Tuomas Pirinen. If you’d like to give me your best painting tips, you should swing by the Wargamer Discord, too – we’re slowly building a wholesome little wargaming community over there.
Source: Wargamer
