My First Bolt Action Tournament

Bolt Action game in progress

I’ve recently got into Bolt Action a WW2 wargame and am absolutely loving it. Before too long I found out that one of the local Perth clubs, Outpost 6030, was hosting Bolt Action at it’s Skulls 2026 tournament in March. I’ve never been particularly competitive gamer, rather enjoying the stories at the table than the results. However, playing four games in a day and getting to meet the wider community was too good a chance to pass up.

There is something nerve-wracking about your first tournament. You spend weeks painting models, tweaking lists, reading scenarios and imagining strategies. Then suddenly it is 0730 on a Sunday, you are standing in a hall full of strangers, ten beautifully laid out tables, 17 competitors, and your carefully assembled 1100 point force is waiting to march onto the battlefield.

I took a British Royal Marine Commando army with 12 order dice (not very many order dice as it turned out). I had spent plenty of time thinking about my list beforehand and honed it over a few practice games with Jake and Richard (thanks guys!). The event itself was run brilliantly by Dan. He kept everything moving smoothly, while maintaining a sunny disposition throughout. Four games between 0800 and 1700 is a proper marathon, but the day rattled along at a surprisingly fast pace.

Dan patrolled the tables answering rules queries and making sure we knew how much time we had left for each game. He also seemed to just love the atmosphere and getting into the hard fought games at each table. Every time he told me the time, I think a look of panic would cross my face. No poker faces in my side of the table.

My commandos sneaking up to an objective

Game one was against Marco and his Japanese army. This was my first real lesson of the day. I played far too cautiously, sitting back and trying to preserve units instead of throwing myself into the objectives. The result was that the end score was very one sided. Marco wiped the floor with me. These games were moving fast, and with four games packed into one day you had to get yourself into a winning position within three turns or simply run out of time.

After that first match I realised I needed to change my approach. From that point on I became much more aggressive and mobile with my commandos.

Game two was against Mark and his American force. The scenario involved hunting an informant and I felt much sharper in this game. I had a clear plan, moved more decisively and generally played far more tactically than I had in game one. The strategy itself was sound, but the dice gods decided to laugh in my face. My reserves stubbornly refused to arrive and secure the left flank, which allowed Mark to roll up that side of the table and march away with the informant and a convincing win. A fun game, though and I really felt on the edge of my seat the whole way through.

Lunch was a classic sausage sizzle and a quick chat, talking tactics and straight back into it.

Game three was against Martin and, yes, another Japanese army. By this point I was starting to wonder if every Japanese player in the state had decided to attend. This scenario focused on destroying objectives rather than simply shooting each other. It created a very different sort of game because instead of trading fire across the table, both of us were racing to damage key targets.

Martin had a very rough run of luck with his dice, while my army stuck to my plan nicely. My commandos moved quickly, focused on the objectives and managed to take out most of them. At last, my first tournament win. It may not have been the most heroic battle of the day, but it felt great to get one on the board.

The final game was against Dave and, somehow, yet another Japanese force. The scenario focused on eliminating a specific unit. I made a few mistakes early, lost momentum and Dave completely outplayed me. I couldn’t get anywhere near his unit while his airstrike and mortars battered my army from turn one.

My brave commandos being strafed by an enemy fighter

One thing that really helped me through the day was preparation. Before the tournament I had printed out the scenario pack and written a rough strategy for each mission. That turned out to be incredibly useful. Instead of staring blankly at the table trying to invent a plan on the spot, I already had a basic framework in mind. It freed up brain space for reacting to what my opponent was doing and kept me focused on the scenario.

Perhaps the biggest takeaway from the day was not the result, but the people. Every opponent I played was an absolute gentleman. Everyone played fairly, kept things friendly and had a good laugh along the way. I also had some great conversations with the other players between rounds. The WA Bolt Action community felt very welcoming, which makes a huge difference when you are walking nervously into your first event.

At the end of the day there was a prize giving. I think I finished 11th out of 17, which I was pretty happy with for a first event. I also won some extra order dice and an exclusive Gus March-Phillipps model, which felt like a proper little treasure chest at the end of the day.

Most importantly, I came away with four fun games, a better understanding of how tournament Bolt Action works and a few offers for future games. Not a bad haul for one Sunday. One thing’s for certain, I’ll be signing up for the next one as soon as I can.

I Don’t Like Phones: Why I Ditched Them from D&D

phone on fire

I don’t like phones at the game table.

There. I’ve said it. Phones are a distraction, they fracture attention, and they undermine the very thing that, to my mind, makes tabletop roleplaying special: a group of people actively engaging with each other.

Dungeons & Dragons is not a single player experience with occasional multiplayer cutscenes. It is a shared act of imagination, built moment by moment through conversation, reactions, and collective focus. Phones pull at all three.

Attention Is the Real Resource

Every D&D table runs on attention. When everyone is present, listening, and responding, the game hums. Scenes flow. Jokes land. Tension builds. When phones come out, that attention leaks away.

A quick glance becomes a scroll. A scroll becomes checking messages. Suddenly someone needs the last thirty seconds repeated, or misses a crucial choice, or reacts half a beat too late. Multiply that by a few players and the game starts to feel sluggish, disjointed, and oddly flat.

It Feels Like Disengagement Because It Is

One of the hardest parts of running a game is reading the table. Are players interested? Confused? Excited? Bored? Phones muddy those signals. When a player is staring at a screen while someone else is roleplaying a heartfelt moment, it sends a message whether they intend it or not.

That message is: this isn’t worth my full attention.

Even if the player insists they are listening, the social signal remains. It affects the confidence of quieter players. It undercuts dramatic moments. Collaboration feels lopsided, like some people are rowing while others are checking notifications.

D&D is a conversation. Looking at your phone while someone is speaking in a normal conversation would be rude. The table should be no different.

Immersion Is Fragile

Roleplaying lives in a delicate space. One moment you’re a desperate adventurer descending into the darkened chasm with nothing but a sword and your trusty companions. The next moment a buzzing phone reminds you about tomorrow’s meeting or a meme you saw earlier. The spell breaks instantly.

Once immersion cracks, it takes effort to rebuild. Phones make that crack wider and more frequent. They anchor players back in the real world when the whole point of gathering is to step somewhere else together for a few hours.

This Is About Respect, Not Control

Banning phones is not about authority or nostalgia or pretending it’s 1985. It’s about respecting the time and effort everyone brings to the table.

The DM prepares.
Players show up.
Stories are built together.

Asking for phones to stay off the table is a way of saying: this time matters. These people matter. What we are creating together deserves our attention.

Presence Is the Point

At its best, D&D is rare in modern life. A group of people, in the same room, focused on each other, telling a story in real time. That kind of presence is increasingly hard to find and incredibly valuable.

So yes, I don’t like phones at the D&D table. Not because I hate technology, but because I love what happens when everyone is truly there.

Not having fun at the D&D Table? No Worries

halfling not having fun with D&D

Dungeons & Dragons is built on fun—shared fun, collective fun, the kind of fun that turns into stories retold for years. But even the best table can have off nights. And sometimes, it goes deeper than that. Maybe the party dynamics have shifted, the story isn’t grabbing you, or perhaps you’re feeling sidelined. Maybe you’ve just had a rough week and the excitement isn’t sparking the way it normally does.

Here’s the thing: it’s okay not to be having fun. It happens to every player sooner or later. What matters is how you navigate that feeling—because D&D, at its heart, is a collaborative space, and collaboration thrives on communication.

Below are some practical steps to take if you find yourself staring at your character sheet thinking, “Why isn’t this working for me anymore?”

Take a Moment to Reflect on What’s Off

Before jumping into action, pause and ask yourself a few gentle questions:

  • Am I tired, stressed, or distracted from real life?
  • Is it the session that’s not fun, or the campaign as a whole?
  • Do I feel included and heard at the table?
  • Is my character still interesting to play?
  • Has the tone of the campaign drifted away from what I enjoy?

Sometimes the source is external—work pressure, family situations, burnout. Sometimes it’s internal to the game. Knowing which is which helps you decide your next step.

Talk to Your Dungeon Master (Honestly and Kindly)

A good DM isn’t just a storyteller—they’re a facilitator of fun. If something is missing for you, they genuinely want to know.

You don’t need to deliver a full critique; something simple works perfectly:

  • “Hey, I’m feeling a little left out recently. Can we find a way for my character to be more involved?”
  • “I think I’m not connecting with the story arc—could we explore something tied to my background?”
  • “I’m finding the tone more serious/silly than I expected. Any chance we can adjust the dial a bit?”

Most DMs will respond with enthusiasm and relief. But, they can’t fix what they don’t know.

Check In With the Group

Sometimes the issue isn’t DM-related at all—it’s table culture, pacing, or energy. You might notice:

  • A couple of players dominating the spotlight
  • Constant interruptions or side conversations
  • Clashing play styles (tactical vs. narrative, silly vs. serious, etc.)
  • The group drifting into habits that don’t work for you

A quick group conversation—maybe at the end of a session—can reset expectations and reaffirm what everyone enjoys. This is the tabletop version of team alignment in the workplace: shared goals, shared norms, shared fun.

Change Up Your Character

If the game itself is great but your character isn’t clicking anymore, don’t be afraid to pivot. You can:

  • Re-spec or rebuild your character
  • Introduce a new character entirely
  • Ask for a story moment that reinvigorates your current one (a rival, a revelation, a magic item, a moral dilemma)

Sometimes a fresh perspective is all it takes. D&D is a playground—go play.

Consider Taking a Short Break

It’s 100% valid to step back temporarily.

If you’re overwhelmed or burnt out, you might just need a pause. This doesn’t mean quitting; it just means recognising your limits. D&D, like any hobby, should feel energising more often than it feels draining.

Talk to your group and work out a graceful in-story reason your character disappears briefly. You’ll likely return refreshed and excited.

If It Really Isn’t Working… It’s Okay to Step Away

This is the hardest option, but sometimes it’s the right one.

Not every table is the right table for every player. If the tone, style, or personalities don’t mesh with what you need, you’re allowed to bow out—kindly, respectfully, and without guilt.

Leaving a game doesn’t mean you’ve failed. In fact, it means you’re choosing joy and respecting both your own time and the group’s.

Remember Why You Play

At its core, D&D is about:

  • Collaboration
  • Creativity
  • Connection
  • Escapism
  • Shared stories

If you’re missing any of these, it’s worth taking steps to find them again. Your fun matters. Your presence at the table matters. And you deserve a gaming experience that lifts you up.

Whether it’s a small tweak, a conversation, a character change, or a new table entirely—there is always a path back to joy.

Remember that the aim of D&D isn’t just to play. It’s to play together. And sometimes, playing together means speaking up so everyone—including you—can have the fun we’re all here for.

When People Disagree — Lessons from Leadership and the DM’s Chair

an orc and a wizard shouting at each other in disagreement

No matter how experienced you are, there’s one truth every leader (and every Dungeon Master) has to face: people won’t always agree with you. It might be a team member who challenges a decision you’ve made, or a player who doesn’t like the way a campaign is going. Disagreement is inevitable — but it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, learning how to handle it well is one of the most important skills a leader or DM can develop.

Of course, the goal isn’t to avoid disagreement. It’s to create an environment at work or at the gaming table, where people can disagree safely and constructively, without damaging trust or momentum.

Let’s look at how that plays out in both leadership and Dungeons & Dragons.

Leadership: Turning Disagreement into Growth

When someone disagrees with you as a leader, your instinct might be to defend your decision or to convince them you’re right. After all, you’ve probably spent time thinking through your reasoning and believe it’s the best course.

But disagreement isn’t opposition — it’s information. It’s a sign that someone cares enough to speak up, and that’s worth paying attention to.

Good leaders understand that healthy conflict strengthens teams. It surfaces blind spots, tests assumptions, and builds buy-in when handled respectfully. The key is to stay curious instead of defensive.

Some things to consider when someone disagrees:

  • Pause and listen. Don’t rush to explain. Let them talk, and make sure they feel heard.
  • Seek to understand the “why.” Is it about the decision itself, the process, or how it impacts them personally?
  • Acknowledge what’s valid. You don’t have to agree entirely to recognise a good point.
  • Decide and explain. If you still believe your decision is right, explain your reasoning transparently. People can handle “no” much better than silence or inconsistency.

Handled this way, disagreement becomes part of a healthy culture of trust — where people feel safe to challenge ideas without fear of reprisal. That’s the kind of culture where real innovation happens.

At the D&D Table: Disagreement Behind the Screen

If you’ve ever been a DM, you’ll know that players disagree with you from time to time — and that’s okay. It might be about how a rule is interpreted, a story decision, or a choice you’ve made for an NPC.

Just like in leadership, how you respond sets the tone.

A defensive DM can make players feel shut down. But a DM who listens, stays open, and keeps the focus on shared fun can turn disagreement into collaboration.

Here are a few ways to keep things healthy when conflict arises at the table:

  • Remember the goal: shared fun. The rules and the story are tools to help everyone have fun — not weapons to win arguments.
  • Listen before ruling. Let players make their case. Sometimes they’re right, or at least have a fair point you hadn’t considered.
  • Make a call, but explain it. The DM’s decision is final in the moment, but explaining your reasoning builds trust.
  • Revisit later if needed. If something still feels unresolved, talk about it after the session when emotions have cooled.

I’m very collaborative as a DM and if someone questions a ruling we discuss it openly at the table. If it’s going to slow down gameplay, I sometimes make a ruling at the time with the proviso that we look up what we need to after the session and make a decision then.

Common Ground: Leadership and DMing

The parallels between leadership and being a DM are striking when it comes to handling disagreement. Both roles put you in a position of authority, but both work best when that authority is rooted in trust, not control.

In both spaces:

  • Disagreement shows engagement — people care enough to speak up.
  • Listening builds credibility far more than arguing.
  • Transparency about your reasoning helps others understand and respect your decisions.
  • Humility — admitting when you got it wrong — earns lasting respect.

Disagreement handled well doesn’t weaken your authority. It strengthens it. It shows confidence, empathy, and maturity.

The Takeaway

Whether you’re leading a project team or running a D&D campaign, disagreement is part of the journey. It can be uncomfortable, sure — but it’s also where growth happens.

As a leader, your job isn’t to eliminate conflict, but to model how to handle it well. As a DM, your goal isn’t to control every outcome, but to guide the story collaboratively.

In both cases, the secret is simple: listen deeply, decide clearly, and care genuinely. When people see that you value their input — even when you disagree — they’re far more likely to trust your leadership and follow your lead into the next big adventure.

Because whether it’s in the boardroom or at the gaming table, leadership isn’t about always being right. It’s about creating the kind of space where everyone feels they belong, even when they don’t all agree.

Live First, Dungeon Master Better

whitewater rafting in close up

In a podcast interview that I listened to years ago, Ed Greenwood (creator of forgotten Realms) dropped a deceptively simple truth about being a great Dungeon Master that has stayed with me ever since. To paraphrase: you have to experience life.

Not read more rulebooks. Not collect more minis. Not memorise another setting sourcebook.

Experience life.

He talked about travelling the world. Riding horses bareback. Firing a bow and arrow. Feeling wind, fear, exhaustion and exhilaration. The things that leave marks on your body and stories in your bones. Those experiences, Greenwood suggested, are what let you portray strange worlds and extraordinary moments at the tabletop with authenticity.

The longer I’ve run D&D, the more I’ve realised how right he is.

Ed Greenwood, creator of Forgotten Realms

Reality Is the Best Sourcebook

Fantasy worlds feel real when they’re grounded in the senses. The crunch of gravel under boots. The way cold creeps into your joints. The smell of stagnant water that makes you hesitate before stepping forward. These aren’t things you invent from nothing. They’re memories, lightly disguised.

I’ve climbed mountains and know what it’s like to tiredly trudge through snow. I’ve hiked through terrain so beautiful it makes you slow down just to stare. I’ve rafted and canoed down rough rivers where the line between control and chaos is a single bad decision. I’ve camped next to mosquito riddled swamps and explored ancient castles. I’ve ridden a profoundly uncomfortable horse and learned exactly how long “a short ride” can feel.

Every one of those moments has shown up at my table. Not as a literal retelling, but as texture.

When players trudge through a flooded jungle, I know how heavy wet clothes feel after hours. When they’re exhausted after a forced march, I know how decision-making degrades when you’re tired, sore, and hungry. When they hesitate at a raging river crossing, I remember how loud fast water really is, and how small it makes you feel.

Culture, Conflict, and Perspective

Travel does more than provide scenery. It shifts perspective.

Exploring different countries and cultures teaches you that there is never just one way to do things. Customs that seem strange at first make perfect sense once you understand the values behind them. That lesson is gold for worldbuilding. Suddenly your fantasy cultures stop being “humans but with hats” and start feeling internally consistent, even when they’re alien.

Joining the army reserves taught me something else entirely: how groups function under pressure. How authority feels from the inside. How boredom, fear, camaraderie, and dark humour coexist. That experience reshaped how I run military orders, mercenary companies, and disciplined enemies. It also changed how I portray leadership, loyalty, and the cost of following orders.

Again, not as autobiography. But as understanding the essence of situations.

Experience Creates Empathy

The more life you live, the easier it becomes to inhabit other perspectives. You’ve been cold, scared, lost, uncomfortable, elated, overwhelmed. That emotional library lets you respond to player choices in ways that feel human, even when the NPC isn’t.

A terrified goblin negotiates differently if you remember fear.
A weary guard sounds different if you’ve pulled a long watch.
A triumphant victory rings truer if you know what hard-earned success feels like.

Players sense that difference. They might not articulate it, but they feel it. The world reacts in ways that make sense because it’s been filtered through lived experience rather than pure imagination.

The Invitation

This isn’t a call to quit your job and backpack across the world, though if you can, fantastic. It’s a reminder that inspiration isn’t confined to your desk, your bookshelf, or your VTT assets folder.

Get out there and experience life.

Try things that are mildly uncomfortable. Learn a skill you’re bad at. Travel somewhere unfamiliar, even if it’s just a few hours away. Spend a night outside. Talk to people whose lives look nothing like yours. Pay attention to how it feels to be tired, excited, nervous, and out of your depth.

Then bring that back to the table.

Your worlds will feel stranger, richer, and more believable not because you imagined harder, but because you lived more. And in the end, that might be the most powerful DM tool of all.