The Year 1106 at Devizes 2026
Christian Nubian vs Komnenan Byzantine
Game 1 Christian Nubian vs Ghaznavid
Game 2 Christian Nubian vs Berber
Game 3 Christian Nubian vs Tuareg
Game 4 Christian Nubian vs Ghaznavid
Game 5 Christian Nubian vs Komnenan Byzantine
Game 5, a sun-drenched Sunday afternoon, and at long last the Holy Camel Host of Christian Nubia found itself face‑to‑face with an army of Knights — the ever-popular, ever-smug Komnenan Byzantines.
“By Saint Samuel’s Sandals, let the camels trample these foul smelling sons of Constantinople!” cried the Nubian captains as deployment began.
The Komnenan Byzantine army in ADLG is a refined evolution of the classic Norman Knight host — a force that combines the raw striking power of heavy cavalry with the superior command and control of a disciplined imperial army. It excels in coordination, flexibility, and the ability to bring its mobile supporting troops to bear with precision, making it one of the most tactically sophisticated “Medium Knight” armies in the game.
The army was made up of the following core segments
The Komnenans’ strength lies in their ability to coordinate attacks and reposition rapidly, using superior generals and mobile troops to exploit openings that less flexible knight armies cannot. Their cavalry screen and light horse give them control of tempo and terrain, allowing the Knights to strike at the perfect moment.
While they lack the sheer brute force of heavier Western knight armies, their balance of mobility, discipline, and tactical finesse makes them a formidable and rewarding choice for players who value precision over reckless charge.
The lists for the Christian Nubian and Komnenan Byzantine from this game, as well as all the other lists from the games at Devizes can be seen here in the ADLG Wiki.
The Komnenans, subtle as serpents and twice as irritating, had clearly concocted a simple plan: narrow the table with a waterway, drop almost no terrain, and rely on a gentle hill placed in the perfect ambush spot beside the seaside.
Their dream of a billiard table battlefield had only partly come true, for a lone field — blessed by Holy Makuria — fell neatly into Nubian hands, forming a glorious motorway down which Impetuous Nubian warriors could thunder almost unopposed, camelry guarding their left like angels of the desert.
The rest of the table bristled with Norman mercenary knights and pseudo Varangians, toward whom the mixed Nubian host advanced with serene confidence.
“By the Cross of Dongola, we have an answer to everything they dare place before us!” proclaimed a Nubian general, polishing his spear with righteous anticipation.
The Byzantines anchored their coastal flank with bowmen — perfect fodder for eager Nubian warriors, especially when screened by clouds of skirmishers ready to catch arrows with saintly devotion.
The Camels loped along the seaside, expecting Byzantine cavalry to lurk behind the hill like sinners hiding from confession.
And indeed, there they were — a pitifully insufficient number of Byzantine horsemen in ambush, nowhere near enough to check the advancing Cameleers.
The Byzantine sheep baggage trembled with fear, recalling the terror they had once felt against the Feudal Welsh earlier in the tournament. “Saint Phoebus preserve our wool!” bleated their shepherds.
Elsewhere, Nubians and Beja wasted no time, hurling camels into enemy cavalry with reckless zeal, outpacing their own infantry in their holy eagerness to sow dismay among the Byzantines.
Their dice rolled with divine fury, smashing through Byzantine cavalry at first contact, leaving the infantry aghast as flanking doom approached.
Forced to break their once proud line, the Byzantines attempted a positive response — only to realise they had created flanks at the exact moment Nubian infantry were poised to strike.
“By Saint Moses’ Mighty Mace, they have undone themselves!” laughed a Beja chieftain.
Before the baggage, Byzantine archers fled in haste, leaving the field (and the field) open for Nubian warriors to continue their headlong rush.
The waterside awaited the inevitable clash of Camel vs Horseman Uphill — a spectacle surely coming soon to a hillside near you.
The Byzantine flank was thin and pitiful, defended only by Light Horse and a lone proper cavalryman.
Their precious “uphill +1” was going to need to perform miracles if they hoped to avoid being swept away like sinners before a Nubian sermon.
In the centre, overstretched Byzantine and Varangian infantry split apart like curdled milk, allowing wave after wave of Nubian desert warriors to crash into them.
Even Nubian skirmishers joined the fray, denying the Varangians their hard earned ninja skills. “Strike low, pray high!” shouted their commander
ADLG hint - Anyone attacked in melee support loses most of their special abilities — even mighty Varangians. Their “2HW” meant nothing now, for the Light Infantry of Holy Nubia had robbed them of their martial glory.
On the right wing, Cameleers continued their relentless skittling of Norman knights, even sending spare riders around the back of the embattled Byzantine infantry.
This was Rather Bad News if you were a man of Constantinople armed only with a sharpened stick and no horse.
The Komnenans
The Camels by the sea struggled against valiant Byzantine Light Horse, who wrung every ounce of advantage from their hilltop perch.
But this meant they could not save their bowmen — nor could they protect the trembling lamb kebab potential of the Byzantine baggage from imminent shish kebabing.
Camels, desert tribesmen, and even half hearted bowmen now overran the Byzantine centre and left wing, as the professional army of the late Roman Empire crumbled like Wiltshire cheese left too long in a school canteen.
“In the name of Holy Makuria, let their empire melt!” cried the Nubians.
The Byzantine formation shattered into fragments as countless Nubian and Beja units swarmed forward, cutting them down like tinder dry hay beneath the scythe of righteous fury.
Only the mountain retreat remained bright for Byzantium, where their horsemen fought valiantly, checking Nubian overconfidence at every turn of the dice.
But the left and centre were in tatters, down to their last breath, as Nubians inched ever closer to a fourth victory of the weekend.
Everywhere the Byzantines turned was another camel, another desert tribesman, or even the lone Nubian cavalryman — “By Saint Samuel’s Sandals, we are legion!” the Nubians roared.
With their baggage gone and their once solid line smashed into a thousand glittering Byzantine shards, the Komnenan Dynasty came to a shuddering end.
The Christian Nubian incursion reached its glorious apogee — centuries before the Ottomans would repeat the Nubians’ heroic feat.
The Result is a 4th win out of 5 for the Nubians, and in the process sneaking 1st place at the event by dint of Sum of Opponents Scores !
Read on for the post match summaries from the Generals involved, as well as another episode of legendary expert analysis from Hannibal
Post Match Summary from the Christian Nubian Commander
Warriors of Makuria! Beja of the Blistering Sands! Camels whose hooves today struck fear into the very heart of Constantinople — gather round and listen as your glorious, divinely illuminated commander recounts the splendour of our victory over the Komnenan pretenders!
First, let us speak of their ambush — that pitiful, sneaky, hill‑hugging trap the Byzantines thought would undo us. But behold! By the wisdom of Christ and the tactical brilliance that flows through me like the Nile in flood, I unleashed our camels upon them. Yes, camels! Those holy, hump‑bearing instruments of divine disruption! They surged up the hillside, scattering the ambushers like sinners fleeing a sermon. Saint Moses the Black himself must have guided their steps, for never have camels climbed with such righteous enthusiasm.
And then, my brothers, the infantry line of the Byzantines — once solid, once proud, once arranged with all the smug neatness of a monk’s prayer scroll — began to unravel. Why? Because I, your commander, chosen of Christ and favourite of every desert saint worth naming, pulled it apart with cunning worthy of Solomon. Their Varangians split like curdled milk, their spearmen faltered, and their bowmen fled before the holy roar of Nubian warriors. Truly, the Lord blessed my every gesture.
But let us not forget the Knights — those Norman‑bred, iron‑clad braggarts who believed themselves invincible. Oh, how they fell! My camels, inspired by my presence, my voice, and my frankly magnificent posture, smashed into them with saint‑fuelled fury. I saw one camel glance back at me mid‑charge, as if to say, “For you, O Radiant Commander, I shall trample these horse‑riding sinners twice!” And so it did.
Yet, my children, let me tell you this: our victory would have been even more glorious — nay, legendary — had the Byzantine horsemen behind the hill collapsed as they were clearly meant to. Their resistance was unnatural, unholy, and frankly inconvenient. Had they broken properly, as any righteous foe should, we would have swept into their baggage like angels descending upon a feast. We would have carried home their tents, their sheep, their cooking pots, and perhaps even a few of their more decorative camp followers, all as trophies for the glory of Nubia and Christ.
But even without that final flourish, our triumph stands tall. The Komnenan line shattered, their knights humbled, their infantry scattered, and their baggage trembling in fear of our holy advance. Raise your spears, sons and daughters of the Nile! For today, by divine favour and my unparalleled brilliance, Nubia has triumphed!
Hannibal's Post Match Analysis
Hear me, ye worshippers of future sky‑spirits and camel‑commanders of questionable competence! I, Hannibal the Nasty — scourge of Rome, delight of Carthage, and inventor of insults so devastating they require protective headgear — do now address the Nubian King’s latest victory speech. Verily, never has a man taken so much credit for a triumph delivered to him by the enemy on a silver platter.
O Nubian King, thou sanctified turnip of the Upper Nile, thou didst boast of thy glorious matchups — camels versus knights, warriors versus spearmen, camels versus light horse, bowmen versus incompetent bowmen — as though thou hadst engineered these alignments through cunning. Nay! The Byzantines deployed their troops in precisely the wrong places, handing thee the best possible matchups along the entire line. By Baal’s blazing nostrils, even a half‑trained Carthaginian mule could have charged straight forward and won under such conditions.
Indeed, thou didst rush forward with everything at once — a tactic so crude it could be written on a child’s wax tablet. “Charge!” thou criedst, and charge they did, not because thou art a great general, but because the Byzantines had arranged themselves like a banquet of easy targets. This was not strategy; this was opportunistic trampling.
And yet, even with the gods of luck smiling upon thee, thou didst struggle with a gentle hill. A hill! A mild rise in the earth defended by a couple of skirmishers, and still thou wert baffled. Half thy camels — half! — stood snorting and stamping upon that slope, their combat potential wasted as though thou hadst deployed them to admire the scenery. Had the Byzantines not defended that hill, thou wouldst have squandered more camel‑power than a drunken Beja chieftain.
But the ultimate insult — the one that makes even my mighty Carthaginian soul tremble with disbelief — is that thou didst emerge victorious in the competition with this rag‑tag assemblage of mismatched troops. A force so lacking in command and control that it moves like a drunken octopus, an army without elephants (a crime against warfare), and yet somehow thou didst triumph over all others. By Melqart’s magnificent moustache, I am almost lost for words.
Almost. For thou, O Nubian King, art hereby proclaimed: Sultan of Serendipity, Emperor of Accidental Matchups, Grand Marshal of Hills That Confuse Camels, and High Priest of Winning Despite Thyself. Thy army is a patchwork quilt of chaos, thy command structure resembles a dropped basket of figs, and yet fortune favours thee like a doting grandmother.
May thy future victories require at least one moment of genuine skill, lest I be forced to invent insults so potent they must be stored in sealed amphorae for public safety.
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Game 1 Christian Nubian vs Ghaznavid
Game 2 Christian Nubian vs Berber
Game 3 Christian Nubian vs Tuareg
