Kravyn slouched in a chair build for someone much shorter, but also much wider. Comfort was something you learnt to live without in the wilds of the northern wastes, so Kravyn cared not. What was causing him discomfort, however, was what he was hearing about how the campaign was fairing for his expedition.
He now sat back in Barak Varr, his forces returned from the south. Bitterstone Mine, although a victory, was a hollow one. The forces of disorder failed to take advantage of the opportunity granted them by Kravyn’s defeat of the Imperial - Tomb King defence, so the Beastmen slinked off with their haul and returned north to rethink their next step as the rest of the Badland’s squabbled and bickered between themselves. The attention of the entire Badland’s focused on that one point, and as a true scion of the Uglu, Kravyn knew it was best to be out of sight.
Since his return, there seems to have been no good news. He now sat in his undersized throne, an almost endless barrage of negativity being fed back to him by Skullcrown.
“The Ogre’s of Kurr continue to harass our flanks, making headway into our eastern territory. Karniforex has returned, however, and as we speak is mustering a force to repel the invaders. He seems to have taken is defeat at their oversized hands personally. Hopefully this bodes well and he will utterly crush their threat.” Skullcrown cleared his throat, “You may have heard since our return from the southern badlands another of our mines has collapsed. All we could find in the rubble is some silver armour with a golden star of chaos embellished on it. Whether this is a clue to who was responsible for the cave in we’re not sure.”
Kravyn nodded, his fingers steepled under his bearded chin. “And Grosque?”
Skullcrown smiled, “Ah yes, our herd for hire. We have good news from our western front. After his apparently grievous injury at the hand of the Elves, he has made a full recovery. He now leads a force deep into the imperial lines, powered by some renewed purpose perhaps. He seems intent on retrieving the head of Jagerbomb after his brush with death.”
“Perhaps he’ll get better results of finding it than the manlings,” Kravyn jested darkly, “I hear the alliance between the Khemrian’s and men have crumbed quicker than their liche priests.”
Skullcrown laughed, “Yes sir, you are correct. The forces of Jagerbomb were defeated by the undead in the fallout, and the experience has left his mind…fragile.”
“The real brains behind the imperial war effort.” Kravyn stood from the throne, “Now more than ever. Is that everything, Skullcrown?”
“Yes, the rest I can deal with my lord.”
“Very well. Now leave me. I believe I need to cogitate on all this information.”
So I took on Rob's empire in his second outing with his book. I lost, but a few highlights of the game:
Skin of man Lv 3 Death: My level three had a duff leg from a previous injury, so would slow down any unit e was with. Instead, I gave him skin of man to scout and send a purple sun down Rob's line. First turn I got greedy and went for the big one and failed to cast. Second turn I got a little one off which only went 6 inches and accounted for 1 single knight. Lame. It was a gamey trick but one I wanted to try out. Rob's demigryphs spent the entire game pestering the mage and nothing else, so that was a bonus at least.
The humans had with them a holy man, a man who frothed at the lip and spat curses like spittle. He raised his hammer at Grosque, his fellow knights readying for a charge to finish off the Beastmen forces.
Grosque bellowed, his palm raised at the humans on his flanks. He barked and roared, meeting the eye of every single human on the field of battle one at a time. His following Pestigors all put their weapons by their sides, all raising a hand like their master. The humans looked to each other, surprise and confused at this turn of events. The bald priest tottered his horse forward, and again raised his hammer towards the beast to resignal the charge.
Grosque bellowed again, a long, roaring bray. He then barked behind him, and a Pestigor walked forward. In both hands he dragged two heavy, cumbersome objects. He tossed one at Grosque’s feet, and kept the other. The Beastlord bent over and brought the weight up easily in one swollen hand. He raised it so the human’s could see what he had.
Then he raised his axe’s blade to the unconscious Goldschlager’s throat. The Pestigor behind him did the same with the human’s standard bearer. Both had been defeated in battle earlier, knocked down brutally Grosque himself. Both now dangled limply in the hands of the Beastmen.
The holyman lowered his war hammer to his side. His knights did likewise.
Grosque laughed, a hoarse mocking laugh. He brayed again. To his right, from the nearby woods, Mhurk hobbled out, his arm limp by his side and blood streaming from a dozen beak wounds.
“Abominations!” The priest screamed at the beastlord. “Tainted! We make not deals with heresies such as you! We will kill you all so your taint is purge in the eye of glorious sigmar!”
Mhurk, now gripping his staff in both hands to help hold himself up, reached the last of the Manculler’s forces. “The winds of magic rise, my lord.”
Grosque looked at the shamen, Unsure what he meant
Mhurk waved his staff and hand, beckoning his surroundings “An unseen force aids us. We live another day to do great Nurgleth’s work.”
Grosque noticed a layer of fog surrounding him, and looked at his hooves, seeing the same wyrd billowing from below him. His Pestigor’s had noticed too, hastily looking around themselves seeing the clouds slowly enveloping them.
The human war priest had noticed too, and finally sounded the charge, and the entirety of the imperial force charged the remnants of Beastman battalion.
But by the time they had made five strides, the cloven one’s had vanished into the smoke.