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  • Tribe. Pt 3.

    Which brings me back to Wednesday nights.

    Every second Wednesday is Narrative Night, and it has been for over a year.
    We play as a team – against Andy – taking various forms.

    Think DnD, but with fewer rules and significantly more shenanigans.
    If it can be hit with a hammer, exploded, looted, or tricked into doing something insane — we’ve done it. All of this to Andy’s amazement at how fast we can derail a scripted scenario.

    These games have become somewhat sacred in my schedule.

    When I was being hired for my last role, I made a point of saying:
    “I’m available any day, any time — weekends included — except Wednesday nights.”
    They were really cool with it. Especially once they found out it was for Wednesday Night Warhammer.

    When the group found out about this trip to Japan, they were insanely supportive — championing the decision, and making sure I knew that even if I’m not there in person, I’ll still be rolling dice with them in spirit.

    It’s something I’ve wanted for an insanely long time — a group of people who want nothing from you but your honest, true self. To spend time laughing, joking, and just… killing time together.

    I could write pages and pages about this group. In the quiet moments when my mind wanders, I often find myself smiling — remembering in-game chaos, missed rolls, bizarre quest choices, and wildly unexpected outcomes.

    I’ll miss them deeply while I’m away.


    Watching the group grow has been one of the most rewarding parts of the past year. Forming memories with friends new and old, CJ, Leo, Rhys, Harley, Aaron, Brett, Andy, Jade, Cooper, Tim, Kyle, Lachlan, Talon, Damo. And I know — I trust — that by the time I return, it’ll have grown even more. More members. More stories.

    To the members of the Brotherhood of the Bolter — I wish you all happiness, success, and prosperity. You are incredible individuals, and I’m proud to call you friends.

    Keep rolling 1’s, you big group of nerds.
    Miss you already.

  • Tribe. Pt 2.

    …I walk into the store, and there’s a tall, dark-haired, bearded, and tattooed guy in line ahead of me. He greets Andy.
    “Hey mate, here for the Brotherhood.”
    Andy replies, “They’re setting up, upstairs.”

    I walk up to Andy.
    “Hey, you said to come down and meet a group?”

    The tall guy swivels around immediately.
    “Oh, are you also here for the Brotherhood?”

    I stumble out a, “Uhhh… Andy?”

    “Yes, Rhys, this is Anthony — he’s looking for a group. Play nice.”

    This person I’ve never met before — who I now know as Rhys — grabs me, shakes my hand, asks what army I play, introduces himself warmly, and says:
    “Really good to meet you, dude. Come upstairs, hang with the boys. It’s a chilled day today. Wanna have a game?”

    I immediately mention I have no idea how to play, and without a second thought, Rhys says,
    “No problem. I’ll teach you.”

    Upstairs, I’m introduced to the Brotherhood of the Bolter.

    Leo is painting a commission.
    CJ and Dan are playing a match — Tyranids vs. Black Templars.
    Zuggy is hanging out, chatting between Leo and the Nid-vs-Templars game.
    Rhys and I are setting up for a small game.

    Throughout the day, I learn more about the Brotherhood.
    CJ is a trade-certified spray painter and an incredible mini painter.
    Leo paints professionally — commission work and 3D Printing .
    Dan is selling his Black Templars to follow Chaos.
    Zuggy’s family owns a bakery up north Brisbane way — it keeps him super busy so he doesnt get to hang often sadly.
    Rhys is new-ish to Brisbane, having moved from Perth for a different-coast-sea-change.

    The group hadn’t been around long — starting with Leo, CJ, and Dan — and it was growing fast.

    What struck me most was that not once did I feel unwelcome, awkward, or like a fill-in for someone else. Everyone asked about my army, my paint scheme, how I did certain effects, and my time in the hobby — all with genuine curiosity and intent.

    By the end of the day, I was added to group chats, Discords, friend requests were sent and accepted. As I was leaving, Leo called out,
    “You’re a part of the Brotherhood now.”

    It pretty much snowballed from there.

    From May 2024 to May 2025, the Brotherhood of the Bolter grew — swelling to over 35 members. Team jerseys, podcast appearances, employment opportunities, sponsorships — all came to fruition. The group bounced from strength to strength, not in small part because of the community it championed — and the community that supported it.

    Damion and Andy, the owners of Gamers Village, have always said the shop should be a place of acceptance and fun — a place where everyone can feel at home.

    The Brotherhood has taken that ethos to heart.
    There’s no entrance exam.
    No secret handshake.
    No obscure lore question to answer.

    If you’re a good person, have a decent sense of humour, and want to be part of a community that’s welcoming in a traditionally gatekept space — the Brotherhood is a safe place.

    Tribe Pt 3 Incoming.

  • Tribe. Pt 1.

    The final die is cast. The table falls silent.

    Dusty has completed the sadistic, profane ritual. The nuclear warhead, the train it was residing on, and all inside — including his nurgling companion — warp out of existence, the force of which rattles the ribcages of everyone within range.

    As the dust settles and the Inquisition strike team tries to make sense of what’s just happened, a realisation dawns: Jenkins — the Inquisitorial High Priest — is missing. His last known location pings from inside the train, now lost to the warp.

    Fade out.

    The table erupts — laughing, yelling, “Why oh why?!” “What actually just happened…”

    The story is now splintering. Our team’s path is forking in different directions.

    For over a year now, Wednesday nights have been sacred.

    In late May of 2024, I stumbled — rather aimlessly — into a local Warhammer store that had just opened five minutes from my house. In truth, I was seeking guidance to sell a half-built and painted army. I’d fallen out of love with the hobby.

    On the 1st of January, 2023, I painted my first mini and immediately felt the gratification of building and painting something that didn’t look totally shit. I’d done this as a kid. The motions were familiar. I’d once tried painting Lord of the Rings pewter-cast minis with childhood friends (Nick knows what’s up — we used literal house paint and acrylic art paint, and could never figure out why Legolas and Aragorn never looked like they did in the movies).

    From 2023 to 2024 I’d amassed a solid army. I’d figured out a scheme, chapter, backstory, and a process to paint as well as I possibly could. But something was always missing from the process.

    People to share them with.

    It’s fine posting to Reddit or Facebook pages, but there’s something about face-to-face interaction in a hobby this tactile — it’s almost a requirement.

    I’d been to every shop in SEQ within a two-hour drive of the Gold Coast. Most were good. Staff were lovely. But finding a group that would take on someone who knew nothing outside of painting was impossible. I was over it. Tired of trying to find a place in a hobby that felt like it didn’t want me. So I decided to sell everything and move on.

    So one day in late May 2024, I walked into the shop hoping to move everything for a bargain-basement price. That’s when I met Andy — one of the owners of Gamers Village.

    I explained the situation:
    “Can’t find a group. Don’t know shit outside of painting. I wanna sell it all for pennies on the dollar.”

    To say he was disgusted was an understatement — but he understood the feeling. Andy told me to come back on Saturday morning. A group of guys had started a little community. He said, “Hang out with them for a day, and if you still want to sell everything, I’ll cash you out and use your gear for a store army.”

    Saturday rolls around…

    Pt 2 incoming

  • Finish line.

    Something feels off about putting an end to so many things at once. It’s a different kind of finality than we’re usually used to.

    We closed and locked the door to our home for the final time on Sunday.

    This week is the last time I’ll see customers, clients, friends, acquaintances, and family — for an undisclosed amount of time.

    Usually, when something ends, it’s just one thing at a time. We finish a job, a relationship, a project. A meal, a coffee, a book, a movie. But they don’t all end at once.

    In the span of three weeks, we’ve packed our entire lives into 22 plastic tubs, 2 tool bags, 1 hard case (for the Warhammers), 4 suitcases, 2 backpacks, a handbag, and a very stylish bumbag. It’s been strange to see the contents of our existence packed away like that. The things we once built our routines and lives around now don’t seem to mean all that much at all.

    I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, in my soul, terrified.

    But also… I’m not?

    There are few worse feelings than that pit-in-your-stomach moment when you realise you’ve made a bad choice — saying the wrong thing in an argument, making a mistake at work. But this doesn’t feel like a wrong choice. It feels like the right time.

    It feels like the final 100 metres. Racing for the finish line.

    In seven days, we move to Japan.