Writing Apocalypse battle reports is hard work. Writing a detailed accounting of what transpired in the order they happened is neigh impossible.
I used to bother trying to go through the ordeal, but I’ve learned my lesson. Since I was playing in the battle, and my army was really sequestered to one half of the table, I had almost no clue as to what was going on on the other side (other than they were clearly taking “too long”). I’m hoping then that someone from the far end of the table speaks up in the comments and gives me some idea of just exactly what was taking so long.
The day began with the potluck that went awry. We always do a potluck when it comes to Apoc games as it just works out well. In our first few, everything went groovy: people brought various foods and everything just worked out. Then, one game someone thought ahead to bring breakfast and that was a deal changer. It blew our minds that someone would bring breakfast.
Don’t ask me why, as we’ve always started between 8am and 10am, so breakfast should be first on someone’s mind.
Still, it was a novel concept and very well received. Well, in succeeding events, we’d had problems with too many people bringing breakfast, and this was just a continuation of that. Of the nine people in attendance, fully five of them brought some sort of breakfast item, which meant that lunch really consisted of a couple forms of cookies, a veggie tray, and some soup. I eventually busted out some frozen pizza and that made up for the difference, but a key lesson to learn here is that we should limit who all brings breakfast. Simply put three dozen doughnuts, sweet rolls, and muffins proved to be more than our old pallettes can handle.
With the food sorted out, and the teams decided (as detailed in the previous post), we moved on to determining who goes first. In our last game, Sam had decided that nothing as important as first turn should be decided by something as insignificant as a die roll, and the test of skill was born. For those that don’t recall, he and Mitch held their breath, and Sam lost. Itching for a come-back, his new “feat of strength,” was whoever could chug a soda and smash the can first would be crowned the winner. I escorted them outside, knowing that someone would make a mess and let them do their thing.
Sam proved that the old timers still had something left in the tank, and Chaos was scheduled to take the first beating. Continue reading