Warhammer 40k will always hold a special place in my heart. It was my gateway into the incredible world of wargaming. The first time I painted a miniature, something just clicked. Watching a blank piece of plastic slowly transform into a fully realized warrior—painted, shaded, and uniquely mine—was nothing short of magic. It’s one of the most rewarding creative experiences I’ve ever had.

But after years immersed in the grimdark future, I’ve decided to take a step back from Warhammer 40k.

Not forever—just… for now.

Why Warhammer 40k Burned Me Out

When 10th edition launched, I had hope. It felt like Games Workshop had listened. The game was smoother, faster, and—minus a few missteps—it was genuinely balanced. For a while, it was fun again. But then came the long waits. And the longer waits. And the still waiting.

As of writing this, we’re approaching the tail end of 10th edition’s short three-year lifespan… and some factions are just now getting their codex. Three years. For a game that reinvents itself every few years, it feels brutal. Some armies spent most of the edition in limbo, only to finally get their update right before 11th rolls out. It makes it hard to stay excited when your collection is perpetually left behind.

Another big reason? The sheer lethality baked into the game these days. Every faction seems to have access to “hit on 2s” with full re-rolls to hit and wound. That used to be a rare moment of brilliance—now it’s practically expected. You can almost guarantee success every time you roll dice. And while that might feel satisfying on paper, it sucks the drama out of the game. There’s no tension when you already know the outcome.

The joy of wargaming, for me, has always been about risk, resilience, and unpredictability. The moment when a single model somehow survives against all odds. The dice roll that changes everything. But with this level of efficiency and lethality, there’s almost no room for that. Units don’t feel like they’re fighting—they’re just deleting each other. And once that thrill of “anything could happen” is gone, so is a big part of the fun.

And all the while, the rules are changing. Constantly. Dataslate updates, balance patches, FAQs, errata—it never stops. One week your army is fine, the next it’s borderline unplayable unless you pivot to the latest meta unit. But what really pushed me away wasn’t just the wait or the churn—it was the shift in the soul of the game.

The Rise of Competitive Play and the Decline of the Hobby

40k has become increasingly competitive, and that’s not inherently a bad thing. But in my experience, the culture at local events started changing. More and more tournaments dropped painting requirements. More and more players were fielding unpainted, mismatched units bought off eBay the night before. The spirit of hobbying, of crafting beautiful armies and telling stories with them, seemed to fade into the background.

Instead, it became about optimization. About chasing the latest broken combo. About winning. And it felt like the folks who loved the modeling, the narrative, the fun of the game—were being sidelined. I’d go to events and see players traveling shop to shop, scooping up prize support, barely acknowledging the community, barely interacting with the people they were playing. And I’d think to myself: What are we doing here?

It’s not that I hate competitive 40k—but when it becomes the dominant voice shaping the game, players like me lose out.

So, I’m moving on—for now.

Why I'm Switching to Horus Heresy

I’ve turned my attention to Horus Heresy: Age of Darkness 3.0. The vibe is just… different. It’s slower, sure. A little more complex, yeah. But it has soul. The community seems more invested in the story, the immersion, and the hobby itself. Games feel like actual battles—not spreadsheets in motion—and that’s exactly what I’ve been craving.

I want to play with people who painted the helmets on their Space Wolves a certain way because they dreamed up some wild backstory for a custom successor chapter. Or who built elaborate bases to show off the aftermath of a legendary battle they imagined. People who poured time and love into their armies and want to share that passion with their friends—while rolling dice, laughing, and making memories. That’s what I’m chasing right now.

It's Not Goodbye Forever

I want to be clear: I’m not blaming anyone for enjoying 40k the way they do. If you love the game, if you’re still having a blast—that’s awesome. Seriously. I hope you keep rolling dice and crushing it. This isn’t a condemnation of the game or the players who love it. It’s just not the game I fell in love with anymore.

So please, fellow 40k players—don’t take this as shade. I’m not trying to tear down your game. I still love it, and maybe someday I’ll be back. But for now, it’s time to explore other corners of this amazing hobby.

Till next time… happy wargaming.