War of the Roses, my cunning and nefarious plan

I am a descendant of some guy named Henry Tudor and his wife, Elizabeth of York.

Yeah, that Henry Tudor.

The same guy whose forces defeated Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field, ending the Wars of the Roses and making Henry Tudor King Henry VII.

Needless to say, my ancestry has been compelling me to do a War of the Roses game and campaign for a very, very long time.

How long, you ask?

Well, somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five years.

That's a long time.

So why hasn't it happened?

That's actually a good question, and answering it requires stepping back and looking at how miniature gaming projects happen.

How Projects Actually Happen

Gaming projects generally happen one of two ways.

You either do it yourself, which means painting both sides, or you find somebody—or somebodies—willing to paint the opposing side.

The second option is considerably more attractive when you're talking about the Wars of the Roses.

Back in the early 2000s, there was genuine interest in the period among four to six other gamers. As groups of gamers tend to do, we sat down and started working out a plan.

And then we discovered that we had opinions.

Lots of opinions.

Rules were debated.

Scale was debated.

Figure scale was debated.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, basing was debated.

These were not casual discussions.

I was the major mover and shaker behind the project, and I managed to lose every single major point in the group discussion.

I didn't lose because the other people had bad ideas. In fact, most of the decisions made perfectly good sense. The problem was that the group was clearly envisioning something different from what I had been envisioning.

So I did what any reasonable person would do.

I stepped back.

I was still going to participate, but I was no longer driving the project.

Unfortunately, without me in the driver's seat, the bus eventually pulled over, parked alongside the road, and stopped.

Twenty-Five Years of Almost

Over the next twenty-five years, the War of the Roses project surfaced several times.

It would get discussed.

Someone would become interested.

I'd get excited again.

And, inevitably, something would prevent it from gaining enough momentum to actually become a project.

I bought figures in 2005.

Then again in 2009.

Then 2015.

And again in 2020.

Each time I told myself that this time I was going to make it happen.

But I never completely committed.

The reason was simple.

I was still thinking of the War of the Roses as a group project.

And if the group wasn't ready to do it, I wasn't going to build the entire thing myself.

That has changed.

Finally, A Plan

As the Centurions have increasingly moved toward Field of Glory: Ancients & Medieval 3rd Edition, I started looking at the project differently.

Rather than asking:

"What would the perfect Centurions War of the Roses project look like?"

I'm asking:

"What do I actually want to build?"

The answer turns out to be considerably simpler.

I'm going to start with Henry Tudor's army at Bosworth.

Not a theoretical army.

Not an army list.

Henry Tudor's army.

Then I'm going to build enough additional commanders and troops to allow us to fight other important battles of the Wars of the Roses—particularly Towton, which is the army Jim is working toward.

And suddenly the project has a purpose.

Henry Tudor's Army

The first goal is to create a force representing Henry Tudor's army at Bosworth Field.

The centerpiece will be:

Henry Tudor
Inspired Commander
2 stands Superior Knights — Henry's personal bodyguard

Then:

Earl of Oxford
Field Commander

• 4 stands Mounted Knights
• 6 stands Dismounted Men-at-Arms
• 6 stands Billmen
• 6 stands Longbowmen
• 6 stands Longbowmen

Then:

Rhys ap Thomas
Field Commander

• 4 stands Dismounted Men-at-Arms
• 6 stands Billmen
• 6 stands Longbowmen
• 6 stands Longbowmen

Then:

Philbert de Chandée
Troop Commander

• 16 stands Scottish Pikemen
• 4 stands Dismounted Men-at-Arms
• 8 stands Crossbowmen

And finally:

Gilbert Talbot
Mounted Troop Commander

• 4 stands Cavalry
• 4 stands Cavalry

There are still figures to paint, units to finish, and inevitably more figures that will need to be purchased.

But for the first time in twenty-five years, I am not waiting for somebody else to make the project happen.

I'm building it.

Why Bosworth?

There is obviously the family connection.

It would be difficult to ignore.

But Bosworth is also a wonderful starting point for a club project. It provides a relatively manageable army while offering several distinct commands that can be divided among players.

And then there is the story.

Henry Tudor arrived in England with a relatively small force, supported by English and Welsh nobles and a substantial contingent of French and Scottish troops. He faced the army of Richard III, whose own political position was already complicated by shifting loyalties.

Bosworth is exactly the sort of battle that works well for the way the Centurions like to game.

Multiple commands.

Multiple players.

Political uncertainty.

And enough room for the battle to go somewhere other than the historical outcome.

Which is, after all, why we play miniature wargames.

Twenty-Five Years Later

It is somewhat amusing that after twenty-five years of discussing rules, basing, scales, figures, campaigns, and what everyone else wanted to do, I've finally arrived back at the beginning.

Except this time, I'm not waiting for the group to build my army for me.

I'm building Henry Tudor.

Perhaps there is something appropriate about that.

After all, Henry spent years waiting for his opportunity, crossed the Channel with an army, landed in Wales, marched across England, and eventually found himself standing on a battlefield where the future of the country—and his own future—would be decided.

I suppose I can manage painting a few hundred little men.

And if things go particularly well, perhaps this time Henry Tudor actually wins Bosworth.

Project WARP: Teaching a Robot to Paint an Army

I have apparently decided that painting miniatures by hand isn't enough of a challenge.

The latest project on my workbench is Project WARP — Wargaming Automated Robotics Painter.

The idea is relatively simple: build a robot that can base-coat wargaming miniatures.

Not paint eyes. Not paint buttons. Not produce competition-level display miniatures. At least not yet.

The first goal is much more modest: take a 25mm miniature, put it on a painting station, and have a machine apply a consistent base coat.

Why? Because I paint armies, not individual figures. There is a certain point where painting the 47th infantryman in exactly the same way as the previous 46 stops being particularly interesting.

And that makes it an excellent automation problem.

Start With Vision

The first version of WARP may not even have a robot.

I already have a computer, Python, and a webcam. That's enough to start teaching the software what a miniature looks like.

The first experiment will be incredibly simple:

"There is a miniature here."

From there, WARP needs to determine where the figure is, how large it is, and eventually which direction it is facing.

Once we can reliably locate a miniature in a camera image, we can start translating those pixels into physical coordinates.

That is the beginning of the robot.

Then We Add Motion

The eventual machine will probably use a small CoreXY-style gantry, similar in concept to a 3D printer, but instead of carrying an extruder it will carry an airbrush.

The miniature itself will sit on a small rotary painting platform.

The basic idea is:

Airbrush moves. Figure rotates. Paint gets applied.

Keeping the figure stationary during painting should make the system considerably easier to control. A separate loading mechanism can eventually move figures from a storage tray to the painting station.

Why 25mm?

Because I'm not crazy enough to start with 10mm.

At 25mm, there's enough surface area to experiment with coverage, spray distance, pressure, rotation, and positioning without immediately running into the microscopic problems involved in painting a 10mm figure.

If WARP can reliably paint a 25mm infantryman, we can make things smaller later.

The Bigger Idea

I'm deliberately not trying to build the ultimate miniature-painting robot on day one.

WARP will be developed incrementally:

Vision → Motion → Airbrush → Painting → Automation

Each stage should produce something useful and teach us something about the next.

Eventually, I'd like to see whether WARP can take a tray of unpainted miniatures and turn them into uniformly base-coated figures with minimal human intervention.

And if it works?

Well, then we can start asking the more interesting question:

How much of an entire wargaming army can a robot paint?

That's probably where this project gets dangerous.

In the best possible way.

Horse, Musket and Gun: Coming Full Circle

As a group, the Centurions have always been fascinated by the Napoleonic Wars. It is one of those periods that miniature wargamers seem destined to revisit time and again. The colorful uniforms, grand tactics, charismatic commanders, and sheer scale of the battles make it one of history's most compelling eras to recreate on the tabletop.

Over the years I have accumulated a few thousand Napoleonic figures.

And by "a few thousand," I mean somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand.

At some point, you stop counting individual figures and start counting armies.

For General de Brigade, I own enough French to field two corps at full paper strength, complete with the Imperial Guard and Reserve Cavalry suitable for a Waterloo campaign. Opposing them is an equally large British and Allied force.

For Rank and File at 1:30, I have another substantial collection in 25mm, including two Austrian corps from the 1813 campaign, the Austrian Reserve Corps, and a sizeable French army.

Then there is my collection for Napoleon's Battles, where one figure represents approximately 120 men. For the 1809 campaign, I own the entire Austrian Army.

And when I say the entire army, I mean the entire army.

Every infantry regiment, every cavalry regiment, every artillery battery... even the Kaiser's Bodyguard.

The irony is that after all these years, the miniatures have never been the problem.

The rules have.

Like many Napoleonic gamers, I have a handful of favorite rulesets.

I still believe Napoleon's Battles, particularly the First and Second Editions, remains one of the finest systems for fighting truly large engagements. The later editions never quite captured the same magic for me.

For convention games or introducing new players, I enjoy Rank and File. It is easy to teach, plays quickly, and lets players focus on commanding troops instead of studying charts.

Then there is General de Brigade. There is simply nothing quite like seeing those magnificent 36-figure French battalions deployed across the table. Few rules capture the visual spectacle of the Napoleonic battlefield so well.

The problem is that my favorite rules are not necessarily everyone else's favorite rules.

Over the years, the Centurions have examined at least a dozen different Napoleonic rulesets. Some were too detailed. Others were too abstract. Some worked wonderfully for two players but struggled with six or eight. Others demanded that players become experts in the rules before they could simply enjoy the game.

When you're designing games for a club, the question isn't, "What is the best Napoleonic ruleset?"

The question is, "What is the best ruleset for our group?"

It needs to be easy enough that a new player can sit down and enjoy themselves after a short explanation. It needs enough tactical depth that experienced players remain challenged. It needs to handle large multiplayer games without bogging down, and it needs to reward sound battlefield decisions rather than mastery of obscure rules.

That is a surprisingly difficult balance to find.

Back in 2004, I decided to stop looking.

Instead, I wrote my own rules.

I called them Horse, Musket and Gun.

The goal was never to reinvent Napoleonic gaming. I simply wanted a set of rules that reflected how the Centurions enjoyed playing: brigade and divisional commanders making meaningful decisions, large battles that could be completed in an afternoon, and mechanics that stayed out of the players' way.

For a while, it looked promising.

The rules went through several revisions and numerous playtests. Then one of the playtesters discovered a significant flaw in one of the core mechanics. It wasn't a minor balance issue or a poorly worded rule. It exposed a weakness in the command system itself.

Correcting it required more than a simple errata.

It required redesigning the game from the ground up.

Like so many hobby projects, life intervened. Other historical periods caught our attention. Other rules demanded our time. Horse, Musket and Gun was quietly set aside, where it remained for more than fifteen years.

But the idea never really disappeared.

Every Napoleonic game I played over the next two decades became another playtest in disguise. Every ruleset taught me something. Some mechanics were worth borrowing. Others demonstrated exactly what I wanted to avoid.

Slowly, without realizing it, I had been rewriting the game in my head.

Now the Centurions are embarking on a new 10mm Napoleonic project, and it feels like the right time to dust off that old manuscript.

This isn't a revision.

It's a complete reimagining.

The original philosophy remains the same—put players in the role of brigade commanders, keep the focus on battlefield decisions, and make the rules support the game rather than dominate it—but everything else is open to reconsideration.

Twenty years of gaming experience, countless battles, and more Napoleonic rules than I can reasonably remember have all influenced this new version.

I'm still not trying to write the perfect Napoleonic rules.

There probably isn't such a thing.

I'm trying to write the rules that work for our club, our style of gaming, and our collection of miniatures.

Perhaps after all these years, Horse, Musket and Gun will finally become the game I set out to write back in 2004.

If nothing else, it's time to find out.

The game and campaign that never was.

For a little more than two weeks, I found myself in an enjoyable discussion with what I believed was a group of gamers about designing a Dark Ages campaign set in England around 1000 CE. We talked about armies, scenarios, campaign mechanics, and how the period could be brought to life on the tabletop.

I wasn't entirely surprised when the emails suddenly started bouncing from all three accounts. I'd begun to suspect that my "group" of correspondents was actually one person using multiple email addresses to create the impression of a larger conversation.

That was disappointing—not because of the deception, but because the discussion itself had been genuinely interesting. It was the kind of back-and-forth brainstorming that often sparks new ideas, and I was sorry to see it end.

The funny thing is, the conversation never really ended.

It simply moved from my inbox into my notebook.

For days afterward I kept turning the ideas over in my head, asking myself not just how would you game England around the year 1000?, but what kind of campaign would keep players coming back month after month?

The first question was the rules.

I enjoy Lion Rampant and SAGA for different reasons. SAGA captures the flavor of the period wonderfully, but I don't think it's the right fit for the Centurions. We simply don't play a given period often enough for everyone to become comfortable with the battle boards, and as the number of players grows, SAGA begins to lose some of what makes it special.

Instead, I kept coming back to Lion Rampant Second Edition. Our group already has experience with its close cousin, The Men Who Would Be Kings, which we've successfully adapted for both the American War of Independence and the French and Indian War, and are considering for a future colonial project. Lion Rampant shares the same design philosophy: straightforward mechanics, quick games, and enough tactical decisions to keep players engaged without burying them in complexity.

With the rules largely settled, the bigger challenge became the campaign itself.

I considered all the usual approaches. A traditional map campaign. A branching tree campaign. Even an operational system where armies marched from territory to territory.

None of them felt quite right.

Then I realized I wasn't really looking for a traditional wargame campaign at all.

I was looking for something that felt more like the old Legend of the Five Rings Collectible Card Game.

Each player would begin the campaign with a Stronghold—either a fortified burh or a castle, depending on the faction—and four surrounding provinces. Rather than every province being identical, each would develop its own character through a mixture of randomly generated and player-selected improvements.

Perhaps one province contains fertile farmland that can support larger levies. Another develops into a prosperous market town, increasing a lord's wealth. A monastery may provide learned scribes or political influence, while an iron mine might improve the quality of weapons available to local troops. Some provinces might contain ancient Roman roads that speed movement, while others are dense forests that favor ambushes and local defenders.

The idea is that no two kingdoms would evolve in exactly the same way.

Players wouldn't simply be maneuvering armies across a map. They would be developing realms, making long-term decisions about where to invest resources, which borders to secure, and when to risk everything on a military campaign.

In other words, the campaign itself would become as interesting as the battles.

And perhaps that's the most unexpected outcome of all.

An email conversation that may never have been entirely genuine still managed to produce a very real idea. Sometimes inspiration comes from the people you meet. Sometimes it comes from the questions they ask.

Either way, I'm beginning to think England in 1000 CE deserves another look. It may just become the Centurions' next great campaign.

Why the Germans Thought Normandy Would Fail

 As we approach June 6th, discussions inevitably turn to D-Day.

Why were the Allies successful? Why did the Germans fail?

Whenever these conversations come up among friends, fellow history buffs, and gaming buddies, I often find myself shaking my head because I think many people miss the most important point.

The Germans were not surprised that the Allies could win D-Day.

They expected it.

In fact, many German planners understood that if the Allies landed in force, they would probably win D-Day, D+1, and perhaps even D+2.

What they did not believe was possible was winning D+3.

Or D+14.

The German assumption was simple: once the Allies were ashore, German reserves would counterattack, contain the beachhead, and eventually push the invasion force back into the sea.

Why were they so confident?

Because they understood a fundamental reality of amphibious warfare.

You cannot sustain a modern army without logistics.

An army needs food, ammunition, fuel, medical supplies, replacement equipment, and reinforcements. Military planners often summarize these requirements as Beans, Bullets, and Black Oil.

The Germans knew they could not defend every mile of the Atlantic Wall. They lacked the manpower, equipment, and mobility necessary to stop every possible landing.

Instead, they focused on what they believed was essential for a successful Allied campaign:

A deep-water port.

Without a major port, the Germans believed the Allies would be unable to bring enough supplies ashore to sustain an offensive.

This wasn't an unreasonable conclusion.

German intelligence officers carefully studied Allied amphibious operations in North Africa, Sicily, Italy, and the Pacific. They looked at how American and British forces landed and how they sustained those operations.

They even identified what they believed was a flaw in American amphibious doctrine.

Most Allied landings had occurred near high tide. As the tide receded, landing craft often became trapped on obstacles, sandbars, and beaches. The Germans concluded that future invasions would require enormous numbers of landing craft, support vessels, and manpower simply to maintain the flow of supplies.

What never occurred to them was that the Allies would solve the problem in entirely new ways.

First, the Allies planned to land on a rising tide, accepting greater risk from beach obstacles in exchange for maintaining mobility.

Second—and far more importantly—they planned to bring the port with them.

The Mulberry Harbors remain one of the most remarkable engineering achievements of the war. Entire artificial harbors were assembled and towed across the English Channel, allowing supplies to be unloaded directly onto the beaches.

To German planners, the concept was almost unthinkable.

Ports were fixed structures. They existed in cities. Armies captured them.

The idea that an invading force could create a deep-water port where none existed simply did not fit within their understanding of how war worked.

Ironically, the Germans were not entirely wrong about the logistics problem.

On June 19th, less than two weeks after the landings, a severe storm swept through the invasion area. One of the Mulberry Harbors was heavily damaged and the American harbor off Omaha Beach was effectively destroyed. Had the Germans been correct about the Allies' inability to sustain themselves without a major port, the invasion might have stalled right there.

Instead, Allied logisticians demonstrated another innovation the Germans had underestimated.

Supplies continued to flow across the beaches.

By utilizing amphibious trucks, specialized landing craft, temporary piers, and an astonishing amount of organization, the Allies unloaded men and materiel at rates the Germans had believed impossible. The beaches themselves became the port.

In many ways, this was the real Allied victory at Normandy.

Not the landings on June 6th.

Not even the successful establishment of the beachhead.

The victory came from proving that a modern army could be supplied over open beaches long enough to build up overwhelming combat power.

The Germans had planned to defeat an enemy that required a port.

The Allies arrived having already solved that problem.

This is one of the reasons I believe the Germans misjudged Normandy.

It wasn't because they were stupid.

It wasn't because they lacked competent officers.

It wasn't even because they misunderstood Allied capabilities.

They made a reasonable assumption based on every historical example available to them.

What they failed to anticipate was that the Allies would fundamentally change the rules.

And when your entire defensive strategy depends upon assumptions about what your enemy cannot do, discovering that they can do it anyway is often the beginning of defeat.

Of Friends, Rumors, and the Dark Ages

 Over the weekend I received one of those emails that perfectly captures the charm—and occasional confusion—of the wargaming hobby.

It began with:

“A friend of mine was at the Source the other day…”

Ah yes. Not the player, not the person at the table—but a friend. Somewhere out there is a shadowy network of secondhand observers reporting on our games like it’s an intelligence operation. I half expected the next line to involve someone’s cousin’s roommate confirming troop movements near the snack bar.

Still, credit where it’s due—whoever sent the email clearly did some digging. They found us, tracked down the Centurions, and reached out. That’s more effort than most reconnaissance missions require.

Then came the real question:

“I’m interested in Dark Ages gaming—what rules are you playing and when is your next game?”

And here’s where things get a little funny.

Why does it always seem to be a period we don’t actually play as a group? I tend to assume the blog reflects our current, active projects—so naturally the inquiries end up being about everything else. Maybe it’s less about what we’re doing and more about a bit of hope on the sender’s part—a wing-and-a-prayer that we might be interested in the same thing they are.

If you take a quick stroll through our blog (there’s even a search button—we’re very modern), you’ll notice a distinct pattern: we don’t actually play Dark Ages games. Not recently, not occasionally… possibly not at all in the past 15 years.

Which leads to the next perfectly reasonable—but slightly mysterious—question:

“I have some figures—are they compatible with what you’re doing?”

Compatible with what, exactly? At the moment, our Dark Ages project exists mostly as a philosophical discussion and a collection of “we should really do that someday” conversations.

And of course, no Dark Ages inquiry would be complete without:

“Have you tried [insert obscure ruleset here]?”

Now that is the most familiar part of all. If there’s one thing wargamers excel at, it’s discovering fascinating rule systems that someone, somewhere, swears are perfect—if only you can convince six other people to commit to them for six months.

---

The Real Story Behind the Joke

All humor aside, there’s a reason this keeps happening.

The Dark Ages—especially Britain from the end of Roman rule through the Norman Conquest—cover hundreds of years of shifting cultures, armies, and styles of warfare. It’s a fascinating period… but also a tricky one to pin down into a single, satisfying game system that a whole group can rally around.

So what happens?

Everyone is interested.
Everyone has a few figures.
Everyone has a ruleset they’ve heard good things about.

And somehow, no one quite gets it to the table.

---

The Important Part

If you’re curious about what we’re doing—or wondering if your figures might fit into something we’re planning—the best answer is also the easiest one:

Stop by and join us.

We play regularly at Source Comics & Games in Roseville, and our games are open. No need for scouting reports, intermediaries, or secondhand intelligence networks. Just walk up, say hello, and take a look at what’s on the table.

And who knows—if enough people show up asking about the Dark Ages, we might finally have to stop talking about it… and actually play a game.

Stranger things have happened.

War of the Roses - First Forray

 On Saturday January 17, 2026 the Centurions wargaming club hosted their first game Field of Glory, Ancient and Medieval: 3rd Edition set during the Wars of The Roses.  The Wars of the Roses has long been a passion project of mine.  Seeing the game on the tabletop, even in it’s incomplete form, brought me a lot of joy.  It also inspired me to complete more figures from my gray pile of shame.

The Wars of the Roses, a dynastic struggle between the House of Lancaster and House of York, lasted from 1455 to 1487, vying for control of the English throne.

The Centurions game was a fictional encounter diving up the sides, putting 12 units on the Yorkist side facing off against 8 units and two light units and a light gun on the Lancastrian side.  

Yorkist forces on the top
Lancastrian on the bottom

Both sides initially surged towards one another closing to long range bow fire when the majority of the Yorkist side paused and the Lancastrian Left and Center closed the gap.

Positions in the center
after both sides closed 

Lancastrian Right at the Pause

The forces of Stanley were outnumbered on the Left of the Lancastrian line and determined the best defense was a good offense.  The Longbowmen charged the Yorkist Longbowmen on the other side.

The Lancastrian Left

 

With the Left of the line engaged the Lancastrian Center moved forward, slowly and methodically. 

The Lancastrian Center closes
the gap.

The forces of Stanley were routed from the field on the Lancastrian Left, but the Lancastrian Center broke the Yorkist Line and began pushing outwards.

The Yorkist Center Collapses

The Forces

Lancastrian

• 

  Rys ap Thomas

  Stanley
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Men at Arms
• Rys ap Thomas
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 4 Stands of Men at Arms
• 4 Stands of Billmen
• Earl of Oxford
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Men at Arms
• Unnamed Duke

• 

  The Earl of Oxford

  6 Stands of Hand Gunners
• 4 Stands of Light Cavalry (Scurrors)
• 1 Stand Light Gun

York

•  Unnamed Yorkist
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Billmen
• Unnamed Yorkist
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Billmen
• Unnamed Town Militia
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Billmen
• 6 Stands of Billmen
• Unnamed Town Militia
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Archers
• 6 Stands of Billmen

Lessons Learned

Game Play

• Even though the base measurement increases from 1 inches to 1 1/2 inches units need to start closer together.  We started approximately 36 inches apart, and while the turns moved quickly it was still three turns to get within range as both sides closed.   At most 24 inches. 
• On a 12 foot wide table the largest game could be 15 units per side.
• It will be interesting to see other unit types on the battle field, Pike, Spearmen, Combined Battle Groups, and Strakes.

Rules

• All foot in this period are NOT shock troops except Mercenary Pikemen.
• Big Bad Butch Men-at-Arms wielding a variety of nasty can openers are not a shock unit.
• The order for post combat is Commander Killed, Death Roll, Cohesion Check 
• Pole Arms reduce the opposing armor by one step, protected becomes unprotected.
• Longbowmen, crossbowmen (and combined units) need to pass a CMT to charge.

Tactics

• A unit of Men-at-Arms, Heavily Armored, Superior, Drilled, is 17 points per base well spent. 
• Canons are pretty but with a range of 9 inches, not worth the points.