In the 41st millennium, there is only war. Everything, and I mean everything, is abysmal in the grim dark universe that is Warhammer 40,000. Whether it’s man fighting man, man fighting varying alien races, or man fighting the relentless hordes of the demonic powers of Chaos, there is nothing but endless violence and bloodshed. After years of resisting, and with the announcement of the 11th edition of the tabletop game, I finally succumbed to the hobby’s temptation and decided to embark on the daunting task of building my own army of Grey Knights – a task that, due to the nature of model assembly and painting, presents its own accessibility challenge.
My foray into Games Workshop’s Warhammer IP first began in 2016 with the release of Creative Assembly’s Total War: Warhammer. The first expedition into the Warhammer world for the Total War series was so enticing because it not only satisfied my craving for a rich fantasy world, but thanks to turn-based empire management, an auto-battling system, and the capability to pause and organize units at any moment throughout battles, it also proved to be an accessible strategy game. Since then, I’ve put approximately 1,700 hours into the Total War: Warhammer trilogy, enjoyed Fatshark’s Vermintide and Darktide, and even thoroughly enjoyed Saber Interactive Inc.’s Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine 2. And now, as I begin exploring the intricacies behind the tabletop series, I’m discovering new forms of accessibility, or lack thereof.
The grand battlefields of Total War: Warhammer 3. | Image credit: Sega/Creative Assembly
Relearning Accessibility through Warhammer
I intimately understand video game accessibility. For almost seven years, I’ve reviewed dozens of games, interviewed countless developers, and provided numerous critical analyses of accessibility across genres. I know what disabled players need and desire, but more importantly, I know what features and designs are crucial for me to play. With accessible designs implemented, I can beat 300 turn campaigns in Total War: Warhammer and even complete every operation on the hardest difficulty in Space Marine 2. It’s because of these accessibility tools that I can play without immense fatigue or physical strain. With the tabletop, I have no options or designs, just the help of others or disabled ingenuity.
The most shocking yet seemingly obvious barrier I’ve encountered is arguably the most basic – I can’t even physically roll my dice. In this tabletop wargame, every action aside from initial unit placement is determined through rolling dice. From charging, shooting, melee, and spells, to even calculating damage and wounds, you need to roll the dice. This simplistic, yet immediate lack of independence has been nothing but humbling. I haven’t encountered this level of inaccessibility since losing the capability to feed myself at the age of 14.
Tabletop games have few accessibility modifiers. | Image credit: Games Workshop / Warhammer Community
Yet, the inaccessible barriers don’t stop with dice. Not only can I not roll for myself, but I also can’t even place my units on the board without assistance. And outside of playing the game, I can’t even build or paint my army without others. For the first time in a gaming experience, I am completely and utterly helpless without friends or family. However, despite these immense obstacles, I find myself enjoying the game so much more because it makes me think of how to navigate this experience as a physically disabled player.
Making Warhammer Accessible
Before I get comments criticizing my choice to engage with something I physically cannot play, I want everyone to know I hold no ill will or anger toward Games Workshop, the creator of Warhammer. I knew the challenges before diving headfirst into this venture. Unless Games Workshop magically invents automatic dice rollers or unit placers, the tabletop game was always going to be inaccessible for me. If anything, I’m almost thankful to Games Workshop for making me understand that relying on others is beautifully intimate, especially when living with a physical disability. And for me, that intimacy started with allowing a friend to build my first unit – the legendary hero of the Grey Knights, Castellan Crowe.
In March, for my birthday, my partner surprised me with Crowe and a box of Terminators as a birthday gift. Days later, a group of friends conspired to purchase even more Warhammer gifts through the form of a set of Grey Knight-themed dice, a Strike Squad box, and even the 10th edition Codex for the Grey Knights. Shortly after, I reached out to one of my local Pittsburgh friends to ask if I could pay him to build my first model.
Warhammer 40,000 is an expensive hobby. For me, that cost is nearly doubled when factoring in Disability Tax – a term used to describe the added costs of living and entertainment for disabled individuals. Traditionally, Warhammer 40,000 games are played using armies consisting of 2,000 points worth of units. Depending on your faction, that number can quickly add up when using larger, more powerful pieces. Crowe, a single model, is valued at only 90 points. Are you beginning to see my dilemma? Building an effective Grey Knight army requires a lot of units, meaning I must spend extra money to pay someone to build something which I already spent money purchasing. While I’m eternally grateful to my friends that willingly build each model for me, my bank account says otherwise.
Brother Candy. | Image credit: Grant Stoner
Then comes the painting. For me, this solution is far easier, and admittedly more special. My partner, Poppy, loves to paint in her free time. Whether it’s scenic watercolors depicting her home in the UK or just brushstrokes on a canvas, she enjoys painting. And when I asked myself how I was going to paint each model, Poppy excitedly told me she would love to do it for me – with the caveat that one Marine receives colors and designs of her choosing. I obviously agreed, and months later, she excitedly called me from one of the numerous official Warhammer stores in the UK, showing me a freshly painted Space Marine she affectionately calls Brother Candy. While she has no interest in the lore or setting of Warhammer 40,000 (although she recently stated she’s interested in exploring the fantasy version of tabletop), having my partner be so willing to help me partake in this new hobby is genuinely indescribable and unforgettable. Brother Candy, with his deep purple and shining gold armor, isn’t just a Space Marine. For me, he’s the tangible proof of a new way to bond with my partner.
Recently, Games Workshop announced pre-painted official terrain pieces. Not only does this make it easier for any player, disabled or able-bodied, to immediately start playing, it also marks the first time that Games Workshop is offering prepainted models. While there is no cost or release date, I’m hopeful they will begin the process of offering pre-painted units for those who don’t have the time or physical capabilities to paint themselves.
Until recently, I never realized my hesitancy to interact with the tabletop version of Warhammer was deeply rooted in my own internal fears and anxieties of being disabled. I always knew its mechanics were too physically demanding. Yet, the brotherhood exemplified with each Space Marine Chapter is identical to what it’s like to play the game. Warhammer is about community. Warhammer is about strengthening friendships when battling others or discussing new bits of lore. And for me, Warhammer is about acceptance. It’s about accepting my limitations. It’s about accepting new ways to interact with a new medium. But more importantly, it’s about comfortably accepting help from others.
Grant Stoner is a disabled journalist covering accessibility and the disabled perspective in video games. When not writing, he is usually screaming about Pokémon or his cat, Goomba on Twitter.
