Gingerbread Apocalypse: Where Warhammer, charity, and cookie carnage collide

A holiday tradition unlike any other has taken root near Brandon, Manitoba. Battles are won and lost but it’s all for a good cause. It’s a Warhammer tournament where the terrain is made entirely out of gingerbread and players are encouraged to smash it to pieces.

For the uninitiated, Warhammer is a tabletop miniature wargame set in a dystopian sci-fi future. Players build and paint miniature armies made up of futuristic soldiers, tanks, aliens, and monsters, then battle each other on detailed terrain using dice, tape measures, and complex rules. Part art project, part tactical strategy game, Warhammer has developed a massive global following since its debut in the 1980s.

The Gingerbread Apocalypse, as it’s appropriately named, is the brainchild of Sean Clancy, a local teacher and Warhammer enthusiast. Every December he gathers a community of tabletop gamers for a one-of-a-kind event that mixes strategic wargaming, festive mayhem and a heartfelt cause.

The rules are mostly familiar to Warhammer players, but the scenery is anything but. Instead of ruins and bunkers made of plastic or foam, each battlefield is made from elaborate gingerbread structures, meticulously assembled from store-bought gingerbread kits and reinforced with melted sugar and icing squeezed out of tubes. By the end of each game the air is often filled with the scent of cinnamon, crushed candy, and sweet destruction.

This isn’t just holiday silliness for its own sake. There’s a twist: players can donate money mid-game to destroy pieces of the terrain using hammers and meat tenderizers. It’s gleeful fun that turns tactical planning into cookie-crushing chaos and it’s all for a good cause.

“It’s stupid fun,” says Clancy, “but it’s all in support of something bigger.”

The tournament marked its tenth year in 2024. That year it raised $8,000 for the Children’s Hospital Foundation of Manitoba, bringing the event’s all-time total to nearly $30,000. Donations go toward improving care and acquiring new equipment for HSC Children’s Hospital.

The event has grown steadily and has attracted about 30 players every year with some traveling from as far away as Saskatchewan and Ontario.

Clancy and a team of volunteers spend weeks preparing. They constructed nearly 200 gingerbread houses for the tournament last year alone. The kits are bought in bulk and volunteers gather for “construction nights” where they build and decorate the terrain while chatting and bonding while squeezing icing through plastic bags and sprinkling candy decorations over their creations.

“Some people love the artistry. Others just want to destroy it,” Clancy says with a laugh. “Either way, it works.”

One of the event’s most memorable traditions is the raffle. Many of the prizes – Warhammer kits, terrain, dice, and artwork – are donated by players or local businesses. The raffle alone often accounts for a large portion of the fundraising, and many participants say they come as much for the sense of community as for the game itself.

Prizes aren’t just for performance either. Clancy emphasizes that the event is geared toward fun and charity, not cutthroat competition. Awards are given for everything from “best painted army” to “most creative gingerbread demolition”.

The coveted grand prize is a hand-forged hammer crafted by a local blacksmith. It’s more of an art piece than weapon, but thematically perfect for the gingerbread carnage.

The Gingerbread Apocalypse has become a seasonal staple for many in the prairie gaming scene. Clancy says he’s even been approached by people who want to help expand the concept into a larger event, potentially evolving into a regional gaming expo with a charitable focus.

For now, Clancy is just happy to keep building and breaking gingerbread. “It started as a goofy idea between friends,” he says. “Now it’s something we all look forward to, and the fact that it helps kids makes it even sweeter.”

The 2025 event on Dec. 6 has expanded its capacity and has sold out.