The Seige of Mount Bloodhorn - Act I – Bitterstone Mine

Here's a bit of background for the first part of the end of season game for the Blood in the Badlands campaign - The Battle of Bitterstone Mine. We join Kravyn after he marched south following Karniforex's defeat to the Ogres. 

Kravyn rested fitfully in his makeshift tent, unable to sleep for any reasonable length of time. His mind was unable to let him sleep, like it knew something was amiss.

Kravyn’s armies had marched south, past the Imperial fortress which now was held in bestial hands. His own troops could hear the laughter of drunken Gors and the screams of human women folk as they made their way through the badlands, even several leagues away. He sensed the Gors under his command becoming restless, itching to partake in the debaucheries their brethren were performing behind those walls.

They now set camp up over one hundred miles from Barak Varr, within eyeshot of the infamous Hanging Rock. Skullcrown had been able to peer upon the events there over the last few weeks, the Imperial’s repelling the fell legions of chaos and the steam assisted ogres with the help of a the bizarre death spirits of the rock. Kravyn had noticed the beast mage seemed to spend most his time in the body of another recently.

Kravyn left his tent to find Skullcrown. His council may help take his mind off the hidden disruption to his thoughts.  He walked through the living litter and breathing detritus of the night before’s festivities, his feet treating on Gors and ungors whose heads would feel several sizes too big in the coming hours when they woke. Grunts and yelps of pain came with every other step until he reached Skullcrown’s abode, a particular tatty skin tent made from Orcskin. It may once have been rather intimidating, but it had seen several campaigns and was looking much worse for wear.

Kravyn stepped into the tent, and found the mage sat bow legged at a long fizzled out fire. Bodywearing again, no doubt. But...no, something was different. His eyes weren’t their milky white hue when he was out of his body, but a bright, firey yellow. He was breathing differently. Not out of breath, but...

“Craaaaay Veeeeen?” Skullcrown hissed, not with his own voice.

“Daemon.” Kravyn said, instantly.

“No....noo nooo noo noooooo nooooooooo!” Skulcrown giggled. His voice was almost childlike, mischievously. “Me Hoggle!”

“Hoggle.” Kravyn said, unsure of what exactly was going on.

“Hoggle Hoggle Hoggle!” The mage laughed, “Me know what you white furs did to red skins! Very big beating! Very gooooood!”

“Orc.” Kravyn realised,the redskin reference being enough for his sharpened, if sleep deprived, mind to work out. “What do you want with my Shamen’s body? I could enter that shell and destroy you, burn your very essence. Then follow you to your body, and use it to wipe out your kin. You play a dangerous game doing this act.”

“Gobbo!” The possessed shamen screetched, “Me Hoggle Gobbo. Me try to talk to you in your head, but you sooooo strong! Couldn’t get in, bonce well ‘ard to my wyrd. Me come to offer...a deal!”

Kravyn looked away and thought, then back at the Goblin’s temporary body. He realised why he couldn’t sleep now, his latent magic ability had been fighting off this intruders clumsy attempts to force himself into his mind. Skullcrown must have been bodychanging when this Hoggle had happened upon another wizard’s mind to possess.

. “Deal?” Kravyn asked. “What do you offer me for your life?”

“Lots! Lots and lots and lots! Help Goblins and we help you! Hoo mons and dead hoo mons come to our mine, want to take our stuffs! No! No no! Need help to stop dem!”

“Mine? Where?”

“Bitterstone, less than day away on your hoofy hoofs! Old stunty mine, lots of gold, lots of magic choppas! Lots for you!”

Kravyn thought on this. “I’ll consider it.”

The Gobbo infested shamen laughed. “Hurry! One more thi - ”

Skullcrown took a huge gasp for air, his eyes returned to their albino pink once more. “Kravyn, my lord. What are you doing here?” His voice was his own once again.

“Talking to you, Skullcrown. A long conversation. Most sence you’ve spoken in a long time.” Kravyn smiled, “Where have you been?”

Skullcrown looked confused, obviously oblivious to his mind being home to another. “I ran as a mule, south from here. Ekrund. The forces of light aim to take this fort as their own. The legions of bones and the weak humans have a truce, both aim to undermine the tower. They march for –“

“Bitterstone mine.” Kravyn finished, and Skullcrown nodded.

“Yes...how...?”

“You told me.” Kravyn turned away. “Get a force together, we march south at daybreak.”

Turn 3 - High Elves vs Beastmen

Grosque waded through the undergrowth, hacking at stray blood vines and gore roots with his pitted axe. No moon light penetrated this deep into the forest, and the wild landscape hindered his movements. He approached Garka Wyrdeye, who stood motionless. His eyes were pure white, his mind wandered in the skin of a creature elsewhere. Grosque tapped him on the shoulder, with no response. A pushed again, firmer, with no further response. His next push hit the shamen flat on the snout and knocked him onto his hind. Still his eyes were milky white. Grosque stooped, peering into the empty expression of his mage. He thought he could see...
The shamen howled, a shrieking bray of pain. Grosque stumbled back in shock, tripping on a root and falling to the floor himself. The Beastlord quickly got to his hooves and brought his axe above his head, ready to deliver a killing downswing. Before his axe could fall, Mhurk put a clawed hand to chest. The death worshipper came from seemingly nowhere, appearing out of the night. His skeletal mask shook slowly, signalling to his liege to hold his strike.
Wyrdeye stopped howling, gasping air in, taking stock of his surroundings. His eyes had returned to their normal mismatched hues. He looked up at the Beastlord, and wiped his snout, seeing blood on his grubby hand.
“My lord,” Wyrdeye stuttered between breaths, “the elves camp less than two hundred strides to our fore. They have a dragon. Lots of foot. I believe a giant eagle was aware of my presence and it consumed me...it. The owl. They know we’re coming.”
Grosque grunted, and turned his head. The elves had camped outside their fortress, making no move to attack. He knew that they waited for numbers to march northwards to help mount an assault, and until then they were craven enough the sit and cut off supplies heading to the badlands from the barren north. Only this morning a herd of human cattle and their ungor shepards had been ran down by these lanky robe wearers and their horribly pristine weapons. Grosque knew they had no taste for flesh, or the milk of human females, so there was no doubt over a hundred naked human females and children running free in the badlands. Such a waste of fine livestock.
No, he wanted to end this siege swiftly. He quickly got together a raiding force to go into the woods surrounding the fort. Slipping out during the dead of night and moving fleetly through the woodland on the hunt– what Beastmen thrive on. The herd had no time to get into better positions for the assault before the element of suprise was totally lost. Getting this close was a feat of skill and luck. Now was the time, or not at all.
Grosque shifted his bulk towards Blackleg, who squatted behind a large tree with his standard rolled up. He hit his adjutant’s chest with the blunt of his axe and pointed towards the Elven position. Grosque was away from his Pestigor retinue, but they had to move now. Grosque gave a blood curdling howl, which Blackleg joined him in, lifting his banner into the air. Throughout the wood, bestial howling returned, variously arrayed herds and individuals showing the order had been received. It was a simple order.
Leave none alive.

So, I played against High Elves today in a rejigged old mission from Tears Of Isha. It involved the entire Elf force being deployed in a 16in wide circle, whilst I deployed on three flanks within 8 inches of the board edge. It was my idea to play an interesting scenario, and my opponant George was struggling to fit all of his force within the circle (a mage on dragon and chariot does that...) and I'd suggested random deployment for my force, as I was just going to line the flanks and charge.

Well, the path to heck is lined with good intentions. All my force ended up lining up on one flank due to rolls, then my first turn charge failed spectacularly and my 40 strong gor hoard, my general (who I'd put in there to keep centrally) and death mage all got run down before my opponant's first turn!

Terrible luck carried on throughout, with my inability to pass a panic or rally check meaning many of my units bolted off the board. A highlight was two raorgor eating a unit of dragon knights, but other than that there was little positive! My opponant George was a great guy and a good sport to take the obtuse mission of being surrounded on 3 sides head on, and a very competant general who gave me quite a few tips.

So, game 3 was another mullering of my beastmen! Are we spotting a pattern here?

Luckily, my post game rolling for wounded characters could have been worse - Grosque suffering -1 Toughness for the next game, Mhurk my death mage suffering -1 Movement, with my banner waver Blackleg gaining +1 movement permenantly! Greeeeat! Better than snuffing it. I can see a unit with both those to in walking in circles. My level 1 beast mage was captured by the Elves, I imagine he's being waterboarded right this second. I dont intend to get him back.

Mhurk licked to large gouge in his thigh with his abnormally long tongue, attempting to clean the wound. A futile gesture, he knew, for the very nature of marching with The Manculler’s herd meant plague and infection was rife. The wound would no doubt get infected, so he had to hope he’d earnt the favour of the plague father not to contract a particular virulent strain of The Rot.
He sat within the fortress, managing to hobble back from the disastrous assault. He’d been with Grosque’s unit in the initial assault, which had been repelled irresitably by the Elven lines. Their speed had been blinding and their lines organised and disciplined compared to the hastily pushed charge from the Beastmen. The beast lines folded, and after seeing his magic has almost no affect on the morale of the elven troops, Mhurk had ran. He’d taken the tip of a fallen elf’s spear to his thigh, its initial cut barely registering through the surge of adrenaline. On his way to the fort however, the wound bled, refusing to heal. Still it bled, and it was three days since the raid.
A Gor strode up the steps on which Mhurk sat. It was Hrokk, a gougehorn and spokesman for the Gor’s of the tribe. “Mhurk,” he said, his eyes stone through the holes in his ill fitting helmet. More a trophy than an actual useable item of wargear, “It’s been days. The Manculler isn’t returning. You’re in charge now. What are your orders?”
Mhurk shook his head. “Don’t under estimate Nurgleth’s chosen. Disciples of the plague father do not fall to the earth so easily. Death hold’s no fear for them. He will return. Your orders are to hold.”
With that, the horns on the walls sounded, a dirge like drone. An ungor ran down the stairs beside Mhurk. “Survivors!” It hissed, “The Manculler returns!”
Mhurk nodded, getting to his hooves with the aid of his braystaff. “Faith, Hrokk, faith. Grosque is chosen, his story does not end yet. I have the feeling this Beastlord will play an important role in the fate of everyone in the Badlands.” He hobbled up the the Gors ear, “Whether it be good or ill.”

***

Grosque stumbled through the gate, holding a wound on his left flank. He was almost literally holding in the contents of his stomach. Under his right shoulder was Blackleg, still firmly gripping the banner of the army. A large number of Pestigors remained behind them.
“Mhurk!” Blackleg called. “Mhurk where are you.”
“Here.” Mhurk hobbled into the court foreyard. “You are the last of our host to return. Well, of note. I believe the ungor on our flank were killed to a one.”
Grosque was in a bad way, and stumbled to the ground, waving away any help. His head lolled to the side. His hand still gripped hold of the rusted axe, even in unconsciousness.
“Where’s that wretch Wyrdeye!” Blackleg snarled, “I’ll end him!”
“He was the luckiest out of all of us, Master Blackleg.” Mhurk chuckled. “Captured whilst fleeing. Even now I’m sure the Elves are cutting out his tongue and plucking his eyes out.”
Blackleg threw the banner to the ground, not appreciating the death mage’s sarcasm. “That’s good. For if I am tempted to fight my way through that army just to find him, and cut the hide from his back and wear it as my own! I should make a banner from his skin, as a reminder of all those who fail The Manculler!”
“Quite.” Mhurk agreed. “His incompetence cost us dear.”
“I swear!” Blackleg spat, “Should I ever lay my eyes on him, I will cut his beasthood from his body, with the rustiest blade the pestigors have, show them to him, and feed them into his rotten face – shamen or not!”
In the corner of the courtyard, a pink eyed mouse squeeked mournfully, and scurried off into the nearest dark hole. 

Blood in the Badland - Turn 3

Turn 3 came with game successes for the Some High Elves, Tomb Kings, Empire and Ogres, whilst Chaos as a whole, orcs and the other contingent of elves suffered defeats. Here's the maps, stolen again from the GM.



And, as its a little hard to read like that. With Colour!



Key

• Ogre Kingdoms - 3 Relics, Iron rock (may include O&G forces in any of your armys), Mine +150pts army, Random event = Embattled
• Beastmen - 2 Relics, Barak Var (+3 Fort bonus), Mine +150 Army, Random event = Regiment of Renown
• Tomb Kings - Mine + 250pts Army, Random event = Raiding party
• Chaos - Mine + 200pts army, Random Event = Prepared Ambush.
• Orks n Goblins -1 Relic, Mine +50pts items, Random event = Siege Force
• High Elves - 1 Relic, Mine + 300pts army, Random event =  Plague
• Empire - Mines, nothing. Random event = Forced March
• High Elves - 2 Relics, Mines +60pts items, Random event = Cunning Commander

Game changing random events

Prepared Ambush - Gets to pick the scenario and if they go 1st or 2nd.

Beastmen

So, I decided to forge a path down south with Kravyn's list, whilst my beastlord's list remained oop north and defended Barak Varr. My minotaur list will return in two weeks, so that's not a big deal. Since my Kravyn list hasn't actually had a battle yet, I decided to give them a regiment of renown, just so when they did fight they'd be a little bit elite. So the bestigors in this list have devestation charge - get in! My next game will again be with Grosque's army, in potentially a fort match again the (as yet!) undefeated High elves of George.

I also wrote up a little bit of background for the Minotaur armies spanking, and my armies march south.

Chapter 3:

Karniforex stomped through the camp, massive axe gripped in his fist. It was several days after the battle with the Ogres. His warherd had stormed leagues through the Badlands, trampling and destroying all in their way. Until they met the Ogres of the Tyrant Kurr.

His force outnumbered the foe by more than half, yet the impetuous of the frenzy whipped beastmen was their undoing. Confusion had reigned, with his units arriving piecemeal to the plane of battle. The drunkard four legged Kanter didn’t even turn up, only a handful of his centigors being in a fit state to engage the enemy whilst most of the Gore Garrons were scouting.  The Ghorgon, the unthinking brute, wandered where he pleased ignoring the will of his commander. The lesser Gors on The Great’s left flank turned tail and ran, leaving his Minotaur’s open for a devastating charge from the Tyrant’s honour guard. Karniforex crossed blades with Kurr, both monstrous beings evenly matched blow for blow. Around him, however, his herd was run down mercilessly.

Only the massive block of puny Ungors had performed admirable, taking the battle to the Ogre’s and engaging the Ogre heavy cavalry and their daemonically engineered destriers without fear. It was unfortunate that they had been left to a grim fate as the rest of the armies broke and fled. However, their grizzly death no doubt stalled the fleeter elements of the Ogre force from pursuing the fleeing beast army. Undoubtedly the best use for an ungor, so Karniforex had no regrets about that.

What should have been a massacre was a stern lesson which cost him the blood of his Minotaurs.

Only a handful of his broken contingent had returned after the battle, collecting around the largest rock they had passed on their travel south. This makeshift herdstone was a natural gathering point, and after Karniforex had spent most of the previous night bellowing into the night sky his errant forces began to filter back. There were too few to form a significant force and have another go at the ogres, so Karniforex has no other choice but to return to Barak Var for reinforcements.

Karniforex walked straight to his standard bearer, the pathetic Brakka. He squatted, braying mournfully over his lost axe. His magic relic was torn from his grasp as the surviving Minotaurs fled, and the bond a Minotaur makes with is tool for killing was a sacred bond. Without this weapon, he was a changed beast.

Karniforex gave the weeping beast a sickening kick to the face, his triangular hoof cutting a gouge in his cheek and spraying blood into the air. The sobbing beast was knocked to the floor, his woes about his erstwhile weapon forgotten for the time being. “Get up weakling. Get our bulls together. We head back to the Dwarf Fort.”

Hopefully the Man-child’s fury at this set back would have subsided by the time they returned.

**********

Kanter walked into the inner vault of the Dwarven hold. He struggled to walk, tottering like a newborn deer.  The mix of the extremely low ceilings common of dwarven architecture, the cobbled floor and the six kegs of strong ale he needed to help quell his fear all contributed to his unsteadiness.

The walls of the vault were streaked with slick gore. There was a cracking noise under his front left hoof, and on further inspection it appeared he was treading on a piece of skull bone, a tiny horn jutting upward, one of many shards of ungor skeleton. In front of him stood Kravyn, his back turned to the door. His fists were clenched and knuckles down a stone table with his head lowered.

“You’re wiser than I give you credit for, Kanter. Sending those ungor in with your news from the front perhaps saved your life.”

Kanter cracked a smile. He has scouted ahead of Karniforex’s force before battle was met and saw the Ogre army that marched upon them. Even with alcohol fuelled bravado he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against those steam powered steeds their outriders rode. Instead he watched from afar, and galloped hard to home to relay Karniforex’s failure to his liege.  Nothing made you look better than the failure of your peers.

“It was ill news.” Kanter looked around the blood soaked room. He was surprised it took ten ungor for Kravyn to fully vent his anger.

“My fury was spent after killing five.” Kravyn stated, making Kanter start in surprise, unsure if Kravyn was reading his thoughts. “I just didn’t want the other’s going back and sowing unrest in their blighted kin. The ungor are unreliable enough as it is.”

“You are wise, my Lord.” Kanter stepped closer.

“You are not!” Kravyn snapped round and grabbed the centigor by his throat. The grip was vice like, the ugluhand strengthened beyond mortal capabilities. Kanter did not fight, knowing to do so was certain death. Certain death was worse than the probable death he faced this instant.

Kravyn brought the centigor’s face down to his, unperturbed by the stale alcohol on the four leg’s breath. “I only let you live because your death would not have prevented  that idiot’s complete failure. Should it become beneficial to cease your existence, it will be done. Ensure you still have a use to me.”

He released Kanter, who stumbled back clutching his throat taking great breaths, “Y...yes my lord.”

“Gather your Gore Garrons. We head south. Skullcrown gives word the Elves march on Grosque’s position. I intend to use this distraction and head an army towards the fastness. One of our armies has taken a human fortress to our south west, so this should allows us safe passage. We are serving no purpose remaining in the north.”

Kanter nodded, “At once, my lord.”

Kravyn nodded to the far corner of the room, “Then go, for I believe I’ve missed a spot in that far corner.”

Kanter looked behind him and saw some dry brickwork free of ungor innards. Without hesitation he made a hasty exit out of the vault.

Blood in the Badlands - Turn two: March

So, turn two has arrived in our campaign so far. Here is the map as it stands (gleefully stolen and copied and pasted from Daz):

Key

• Ogre Kingdoms - 3 Relics, Iron rock (may include O&G forces in any of your armys), Mine +20pts items, Random event = Dawn attack
• Beastmen - 2 Relics, Barak Var (+3 Fort bonus), Mine +10pts items, Random event = Stacking the odds
• Tomb Kings - No mines, Random event = Plague
• Chaos - Mine + 150pts army, Random Event = Stacking the odds.
• Orks n Goblins - Mine +150pts army, Random event = Sappers
• High Elves - 1 Relic, Mine + 40pts items, Random event =  Secret tunnels.
• Empire - Mines + 300pts army, Random event = Stoking unrest.
• High Elves - 1 Relic, Mines +30pts items, Random event = Dawn attack
  

Dawn attack = Enemy rolls a D6 before deploying each unit. On a 1 its in reserves. (This is in addittion to the game type. Roll the 5th scenario and your rolling twice!)
Stacking the Odds = Your army is 25% larger then your opponents. (Remember that 25% is the largest your army can get)
Plague = Remove a mine, city, or fortress
Sappers = Remove an opposing mine  or fortress
Secret tunnes = Challenge anyone, regardless of location.
Stocking unrest =  Remove an enemy flag.

Fights!

 

High Elves (Mike) Vs Tomb Kings (Daz)
High Elves (George) Vs O&G (James)
Ogres (Jon) Vs Beastmen (Simon)
Empire (Rob) Vs WoC (Neil)

My forces in the majority moved south, with one hoard remaining in a fort to fortifiy it next turn and hopefully protect my interests in the north. I'm quite happy so far, I'm joint top as far as terratories is concerned and I'm second in terms of relics. I managed to roll a bonus for my next game of having 25% extra points on my opponant - and my next game is my minotaur herd fighting the Chaos Dwarf sponsored Ogres, who is allowed to select units from the greenskin army book. I get 2505 points to make a list from, can you say "dual ghorgon"?

So in celbration of the next turn beginning, I wrote some fluff. I am hoping to compile all the fluff written by all the campaign group into one file, and maybe print it out professionally for a nice little commemorative item for everyone who partook in the campaign. Meanwhile, Enjoy.

Chapter Two:

“Open the gates,” Kravyn ordered, “tell the Manculler to come straight through.”

The ungor sentry nodded and ran out of the chamber. He had brought news that Grosque had returned from the south after seeing battle with the red skinned orcs. Kravyn had ordered the beast herd set up temporary base in Barak Varr, a derelict fort once manned by the dwarves, but now left dilapidated. There had been some human mercenaries squatting here, but they soon evicted themselves once they realised a full warherd marched their way.

 Kravyn turned back to his council. They were deep inside the fortress in what may have been a great feasting hall. Now it was covered in hay, dirt, and armour plating, his loyal bestigor’s taking the pick of the chambers for their dormitory.  This very moment however, this was the war room.

Kravyn and his party stood around a large piece of masonry, intricately detailed with various runes and scenes of dwarf legend. On the surface top was a rolled out parchment that one of the ungors had found. It was a detailed map of the badlands. Its age was indeterminate, however it was the only map they had found yet, so it would have to do.

The party consisted of Gorash Sowbane - Kravyn’s adjudent and his banner bearer, Great Karniforex – the alpha bull of the minotaur tribe that journeyed with them, Drunken  Kanter – the leader the Gore Garron centigor herd, Skullcrown the beast shamen and several other foe renders and shamens of the tribe. Before the ungor brought news of Grosque’s arrival, they were in the middle of discussing the current situation.

“As I was saying,” Skullcrown hissed in the dark tongue,“I body-walked in west as crows, ravens and guls of this land. The men of the Riek and elves fight on coast, the man called Bull was scattered, but not slayed. His army is gelded in short term. Elves still a threat.”

Kravyn nodded, “Agreed. I fear for our flank – both the men and elves pose a threat to our advance. He march too many forces too far south too slowly, our flanks becomes our rear. I fear we move quick, but our elven foe is fleeter and will catch us. We need to secure our flank. The base of the men is already more southernly, so we will deal with them in due course as we migrate south.”

“I shall deal with them.” Karniforex rumbled quietly. Minotaurs were fierce when the scent of blood was on the wind, but docile and calm away from the battlefield. Great Karniforex was no different, and spoke little unless it was of great significance. “I will move my bulls south and secure the fortress at this point.” he pointed a large finger the size of an infants arm the point just adjacent to the river’s mouth into the sea, the most likely point of an elven or imperial attack.

“No,” Kravyn smiled, “I have other plans for you and your herd. I - ”

He was interrupted by the great wooden doors bursting opening. Grosque Manculler waddled through the door, all 9 foot of him. Beside him walked the heavily armoured gor Blackleg and the death worshipping mage Mhurk. Grosque carried his rusted axe in his right hand, and with the other hand threw bag onto the onto the table. The object bounced and rolled, leaving a stain where it touched. The bag opened, revealing dark red face of a particularly large orc, still contained within its helmet.

“The battle went well I see.” Kravyn said calmly. Grosque nodded and grunted positively.

“Good. Any slaves taken?” Grosque shook his head.

“The foe was worthy.” Blackleg piped in, “They would never yield. We scattered their forces, they will not pose a threat.”

Kravyn glowered, but decided not to push the issue, “Very well. I have new orders for you all. Head west to our garrison. I want you to fortify it, I suspect it will be attacked in the next few weeks.”

Grosque slammed his decrepid weapon down on the rock  table and a wet growl came from his throat. Sowbane, who was stood behind Kravyn, stood forward at this display of insolence. He was stopped by Kravyn’s left hand snappin up, palm open. It was a warped limb, what was called the Ugluhand. The eye within its palm was narrowed at the diseased beastlord. The entire circle of company around the table took a hoof step back, instinctually knowing the risk of being too close to the irate great shamen.

“I understand your frustration – it is misplaced. On our flank stand a force and men. They wish to cease our advance. They are led by General Jaegerbomb.”

Grosque grunted harshly. Then again. Then the grunts got closer together, his shoulders both began to move up and down – he was laughing. Blackleg nervously laughed, as did Mhurk. Grosque turned away from the table, and waved his men to follow. He walked out of the room, laughter echoing off the stone walls as he went.

Kravyn watched after them, and brought his ugluhand down to his side. “Karniforex” he said without taking his eyes off the hulking form of the nurgling beastlord, “I want you to move south in force. Take the Gore Garrons with you. I have forseen a host of ogres moving on our lands. I want you and all your bulls to bring them to battle. Vanquish them. Grind them to the dirt under your hooves.”

Karniforex put his hand on his chest and bowed, “As you wish. Glory to chaos.”

Kanter stumbled around the table to Karniforex’s side, “Glory to Chaos!  We will leave none alive!”

Kravyn looked down at his map and smiled. All was going to plan.

Blood in the Badlands - game one, vs Orcs

Last night we played our first turn of Nightowls in the Badlands campaign, the warherd of Grosque Manculler facing off against James's (Xisor's) red skinned Orc hoard, led by the mighty Warboss Morfang, straddling his equally impressive wyvern.

The setting for this encounter is that Grosque, goat for hire, has been sent ahead of the warherd to clear any resistance to the southerly migration of the rest of Kravyn's armies. Morfang's Orcs would be the first major conflict for the beastmen in this new land.

The Game

We played blood and glory. From my mines, I had an additional 30 points of magic items to take with my 2000point army...woohoo. Xisor, on the other hand, had a mighty 300 extra points! So effectively it was 2030 vs 2300 points. Yikes!

Unfortunately, as lists are closed I can't reveal too much of what our armies had. The jist of my list was:

Great Bray Shamen, lore of death, L3

Beastlord, magic weapon, magic armour (sorry about the vagueness)

Wargor BSB, heavy armour, great weapon

L1 Beast shamen

39 Gors with additional hand weapon

2x 20 ungor

tuskgor chariot

3x 1x razorgors

35 bestigors, magic banner

And, across the board, Xisor lined up with:

Warboss on wyvern

Nob with bsb (are they nobs in fantasy?)

3x shamens - two orc shamens (one on boar) and one gobbo shamen

2x 20 black orcs

1x 40 big uns

1 x 20 orcs

2x 5 boarboys

So, a proper good match up!

I'm not going to lie, there wasn't much tactics - we both lined up and ran at each other. Failed charges littered the first turns - my two blocks of gors and bestigors failed the 13in charges, then the orc hoard made it and a black orc unit didn't. That allowed my bestigors to flank charge his orc unit. On the other side of the combat, his orc warboss and his wyvern got the corner of my unit, where I foolishly had placed my L3 and took him out in a brutal turn of combat. Magic phase was now a problem, as my only mage was a L1 with Wissans wildform!

Luckily, my mage proved a champion, and by shamelessly casting wissans on 6 dice every turn helped carry the game - T5 gors was just too much for Xisor's orcs to deal with with a large killer unit of bestigors on their flank. The boss and wyvern and the orc boys both fled and eventually, after much skipping and rallying and panicing, ended up carrying themselves off the board.

My ungor proved more trouble than they were worth. One unit stay on the flank, got ruthlessly charged and then fled off the board. The other I put in beastmen ambush and worried me as I rolled a 2 literally every turn until turn 6. When they finally came on it was too late to do anything.

My chariot charged the flank of a black orc unit and in some characteristic under par rolling utterly bounced off, and did nothing of note for the rest of the game.

My razorgors were great too- harrying every unit possible. They didn't know whether they were coming or going, and the number of leadership 6 rolls they made was truly impressive. The key moment came when one declared a charge on a lone shamen on boar, who Xisor chose to flee, and caused his nearby BSB unit to panic! He managed to rally them at the last moment to keep them in the game.

There were plenty of hair raising moments for both armies - Xisor's aptitude at rolling 6's for foot of Gork (and the repeated "stompy stompy stomp!" chant from the sidelines of the crowd) caused me alot of grief, taking out 13 bestigors in one stomp! Again, my lack of a level 3+ caster meant my dispel phase was very carefully thought out (keeping all my dice for foot of gork and allowing everything else free reign).

In the final turns, Xisor's animosity earlier in the game had left is units in vulnerable positions. Knowing he needed at least two units to charge my bestigor and general, he couldn't get them in reasonable position without leaving them vulnerable to counter charges, so threw a gobbo shamen in the bestigors way to stall them - Typical black orc tactic. I also had a razorgor flee right between my bestigors and his black orcs, meaning neither could charge. Turn six ended with both heavily armoured units glaring each other down with a panicked piggie in the middle!

By the end of the game, we'd both taken a huge toll on each others armies, but equal on fortitude points. On victory points however the Beastmen came out triumphant.

Post Match

Xisor was a great opponant who revelled in the opportunity to pitch his brute force against mine. His Warboss who fled rolled lucky on the aftermath chart, and gained an extra wound from his experiences.

Only my level 3 death great bray shamen (whose name I hadn't learnt before the campaign) was knocked unconscious by a wyvern, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - he earnt +1 toughness (T6 mage!) and the name Mhurk.

My level 1, whose libral casting of wissans carried me the game, earnt himself first pickings of the corpse of the annoying goblin shamen who was thrown at the feet of my bestigor by the black orcs to stall their charge. He found a channeling staff. Grosque also told him never to join his unit again as his miscasts took out almost ten brave bestigors.

And finally, on a happy note, after the battle one of my razorgors had a razorpiglet. mother and child are doing well. The father was last seen on the temple of skulls, praying to his porcine deity and grew wings and flew away. I suspect hes looking for the orc warboss and his pet wyvern. I didn't roll for this.

So unfortunately I didn't take any photos - games are often too fun to bother pulling yourself away and take really good photos. I do however have a few of Xisor's Fireborne red orcs to show you all the quality of his army - it will look amazing once finished!

That skin tone is better than some bloodletters I've seen. Friday heralds the beginning of turn 2, I'll try and update with a few more photos before then.

Jaegerbomb must die - Badlands fluff, and a few of my friends...

So, this post is dediacated to Dean_AKI - who said joking "He's a blogger! Everything that happens will end up on the internet!". Which is of course true, and he proves it on his website.  You can see it by following this link to his fantastic, and frankly better than mine, blog here:

http://toomuchlead.blogspot.com/

Seriously, the mans a painting machine.

And while I'm on the topic, if you want to follow this campaign from other points of view (which I suggest strongly!) then have a look a the GM's own blog Soulshade mini's here:

http://soulshadesminis.blogspot.com/

He's a Tomb King player who is a faaaaaaaaaar better painter than me. He also dabbles in battle report vids, which you can access on his site too, you lucky lucky people

Also, if Trolls and orgies is your bag of tea, check out Wintertooth's Throgg roll here:

http://rusty-warriors.blogspot.com/

So with all that plugging out of the way - the post! The other day I played my arch-nemesis Rob's empire (his delightfully named Jagerbombadiers) in a warm - up game with two of our badlands lists. I wont give away what our lists had (as others are watching...) but he soundly beat what I admit is my third best attempt at an army. What did occur was a challenge between his commander, General Jagerbomb, and my own nurgling Wargor Grosque Manculler.

Anyway, after this warm up, I wrote up a bit of background fluff basically telling Rob Grosque's intention for the next six months - to kill his general. To kill his general's wife. To kill his general's mistrss. To kill his general's best friend, and to kill his general's dog. All in reverse order.

Anyway, here's the fluff.

Grosque's story - Chapter One

Grosque Manculler, The Journey Beast, That Fat Bastard

Grosque Manculler whetted his blade with a stone he’d found lying round the campsite. His considerable bulk was squatted by the camp fire, its heat doing little to warm his swollen flesh and malting hair. He gazed into the flame through his armoured helm, chewing cud. His current army sat waiting for the greenskins to arrive, hoping the seer’s visions were correct, intending to ambush them before they made too much leeway into the badlands. Grosque didn’t really care for the plan, or for slaying orcs. His mind was still dwelling on the reason he was in this forsaken country, hundreds of miles from where his quest started...

One year ago...

Grosque howled and barged past one of his pestigors. His blood was up, the human wizard’s trickeries had prevented him from reaching his quarry. But now he had him in his sights.
The one the humans called Jaegerbomb stood ahead of him, his spear stained with the blood of ungor. With him was near a dozen heavily armoured human warriors astride their iron shod destriers. Here was the only warrior worth fighting on this field. The only one Grosque cared for. The only one that slaying would get him his payment.
Jagerbomb brought the tip of his lance up, his stallion rearing on its hind legs. A challenge? He made this too easy! Grosque brought his defiled blade up above his head with both hands, his grotesque bulk bouncing as he roared his response. Jagerbomb brought his mount down and galloped towards him, and in return Grosque powered his enormous bulk into a run as well.
Grosque shifted his bulk to his left, and the speartip whistled past his right flank. He swung his axe at the knight, who clattered it away with his own shield. Jaegerbomb thrust his lance holding fist into Grosque’s bovine jaw, knocking the pestigor back into one of his comrades. Grosque rallied quickly and bit into the gauntlet, trying to wretch the man down from his mount. His steed bucked, its metal lined hoof making a sizeable dint in the Manculler’s thigh armour plating. Grosque staggered back but his jaws were clentched, Jaegerbomb tumbled to the ground, twisted in his stirrups.
All that happened next was a blur. A huge cloud of darkness opened up and tore into the bestial hoards lines. The empire wizard had summoned a vortex of unimaginable power and devastated the ranks of the beastmen advance. Dirt and flesh showered the fighters, sowing confusion and disarray.
Grosque turned away, knowing his time now was short. He swung his blade at the prone human general, who somehow deflected the blow with his spear haft. The man desperately kicked his leg up and caught Grosque a glancing blow on his chin, again exacerbating the injury caused by the punch earlier. Grosque was spun away with blood drooling down his dislocated chin, which was when he saw the advancing spearmen on his left flank. His pestigors were against it already with the knights, and the devastation wrought by the human wizard on his right flank meant the beastman army was running out of troops to withstand another assault. The pestigors around him were coming to the same conclusion as Grosque, and were beginning to flee.
Grosque turned back, only to see Jaegerbomb crawling behind some pitiful holyman, who was chanting prayers and hefting a huge war hammer.  His quarry had fled, the hunt was a failure. He would have to claim the bounty on this man another day.
Grosque howled one final bestial insult and an obscene gesture, before taking flight as fast as his plagued hulk could take him.

... sharp pain brought Grosque back from his thoughts, his whetstone had slipped and he’d cut his hand on his blade. It howled gently, grateful of the viscera it had shed as it drunk it up through tiny pores in the blade. Grosque smiled, a grotesque mockery of an expression. Grosque Manculler, The Journey Beast, would not be leaving the Badlands without the head of Jagerbomb.

Also, here's a bit more fluff, expanding on the concept of The Liber Chaotica. The background for the books of Nagash are hazy, and in discussion on warseer there are several different views. Here's my own take on it - I'm far from saying "I am correct!" on this matter - I still regard myself as a warhammer n00b -  but I have attempted to research the topic and come up with no concrete answer, so I've pitched my theory on the nine books.

The Nine books of Nagash

A realm of mystery surrounds these ancient works from The First Necromancer. Since his fall and subsequent rises, the works known as “The Nine Books of Nagash” have been known to be separated and subsequently lost through the passings of time. Knowledge of their contents were highly secret at the time of their creation, and now hundreds upon hundreds of years later no one knows exactly where the tomes are.
There are many theories of the nature of the books. Some theorise The Nine Books was one single tome with nine chapters. Some say it was physically nine separate books, each a compendium of arcane knowledge far beyond the understanding of any mortal living today.
There is one belief that many hold though, which has alot of credence. It says that each book was a separate volume written on the each of the eight dominant lores of magic. Two of these works – The one regarding life and the one regarding death, are the most sought after, as these hold the secret of the dark magicks used to resurrect the soul and the key to eternal life – both the culmination of Nagash’s infamous works, and suspected to be in the possession of the von Carsteins.
This leaves, however, one book of the nine unaccounted for. Many reason that this volume must chronicle the source of all these magicks, and potentially one of the most powerful – and name it the Liber Chaotica – The Book of Chaos.
However, this is all theorem, for none save the Vampire lords of Sylvania and potentially the decrepid Tomb Kings of Nehkehara know the true nature of these books. And not even these know the exact whereabouts of the text themselves.
But, should one guess the whereabouts of one or more of these books would do worse than to guess the Badlands - the realm of the outcast vampires and the once home to the Great Necromancer. Fozzorick’s floating fastness is full of arcane texts and relics, and some think it is no coincidence it returns to the Badlands. And where best to hide a tome of unimaginable power than on a fortress whose foundations only touch the ground once every hundred years?

 So, tune in next week for my campaign action after I'll have played my first game!

My best bestigor (and a couple of campaign markers)

Just a quick update to show you all I'm still alive - here's my first bestigor painted - I always try and paint one miniature in the style I want before I crack on with the rest of the unit - just to see if it matches up with the image I had in my minds eye. I'm suitably happy with him, so Bestigors a go go!

He took about an hour to paint, so hopefully I should speed up the process. Ignore the base...it's not ready yet!

Also here's two WIP markers for the campaign - hanging rock and stormhenge. I'm really getting my teeth into this campaign malarky!

That's all folks!

Blood in the badlands - Fiction

Hi guys, here's a collection of fiction about my armies taking part in the Blood in the Badlands campaign. It's actually spread across several posts on our forum (www.leeds-nightowls.co.uk/forums), so I've collected them together in a bundle pack, for you LUCKY LUCKY PEOPLE!

Prologue



Gruf Kravyn, the Turnskin



Gorash Sowbane



Gruf Kravyn was once a man, an esteemed mage in the Imperial college of magic. The winds of fate was to change that, however, his bright career instead transformed into a a life of blight. An unfortunate encounter with the forces of chaos was to steal from him his humanity, and slowly he became a grotesque mockery of what he aspired to be. But that is not a story for here, for the end of that tale is the beginning of this one.

Kravyn, after many long and arduous years on from that fateful night, was now the head of an unusual clan of beastmen in the north, for their skin was pale, their eyes pink and their fur as white as snow. Albinoism is a common mutation, affecting less than one in a thousand born. Yet they all migrate north, pulled inexplicably by an unnatural bond with their kin. For many years, the Albinos of the Snowhide tribes remained in the north near the chaos lands. Until now.

Kravyn is still a powerful sorceror, moreso now with his ties to humanity severed. His body is that of an animal, yet his mind is a sharpened tool. His intellect remains, only his outlook is skewed from his experiences and the corrupting power he now holds. Many nights he dreams fitful visions, some are clear in their meaning - others not so. One however, to a sane man would be utter jibberish - for a former wizard of the colleges of magic, it's meaning was painfully clear. A floating tower, crashing to the ground in gouts of blood soaked sands.

Fozzorick's floating fastess would be landing, and Kravyn would ensure the humanity he now so desperately hated would never see it return to the sky.

A brief tribal meeting was all it took to convince the tribe to head south to the Badlands. The beasts of the tribe would rejoice in bringing one of the greatest constructions of man to the ground, whilst the more subtle shamens realised that the inside of the fortress would also be filled the highly powerful magical items.  Summoning every blood bond and debt he could, the Snowhide tribe marched south...

Dramatis personae

Great Karniforax, Das Mann Fleisher

Gruf Kravyn, Ugluhand, The Manchild - Great Bray Shamen – Born a man by the Name Gryff von Cravann , now the revered leader of the Snowhide tribe.

Gorash Sowbane – A wargor who betrayed his old clan to his new found Albino kin – Bearer of Kravyn’s personal standard and his personal bodyguard

Great Karniforex, Das Mann Fleisher – A feared minotaur lord, Krayvyn has both freed him and enslaved him to his will. He leads the minotaur hoards of the tribe, who were too unruly for Krayvyn to control through guile alone.

Brakka Barktooth– Karniforex’s gorebull standard bearer, who's braying is so hoarse it sounds like the barking of a hound

Grosque Manculler, Blightmaster of Nurgleth – Follower of Nurgle, he and his pestigor retinue are a herd for hire, travelling the north fighting for whoever would pay the right price. The promises of spreading plague and pestilence in the south was enough for Grosque to join Kravyn’s expedition and lead one of his detatchments.

Slugtongue – a nefarious shamen who spreads pestilence and famine wherever he treads. His visions led him to Grosque Manculler, a like mind in the ways of pollution.

Blackleg – Pestigor of vile temperament, he’s the bearer of the Manculler’s standard

Chapter One

Kravyn unsteadily walked down the slope into the hovel, brushing aside the number of fetishes and trinkets that hung from the ceiling. It was early, the sun was currently colouring the badlands a blood red as it climbed into ascendancy. The rest of the tribe slept off their hangover in the valley above, celebrating their arrival in this forsaken land. Kravyn had not joined them in their festivities, he had other things pressing his sharpened mind this moment.

On arriving into the Badlands the Snowhide tribe had happened upon an old dwarven mine. At first, this was an unexpected boon. Upon further inspection however, some of the old occupants still remained. The ungors ad managed to get out a supply of dwarven liquor before the fierce fighting within the mine brought it down, taking a large chunk of Kravyn’s manpower in a plume of ashen smoke. He’d also had to send out one of his lieutenant’s, the Nurgle follower and his bilious company, to deal with an unusual hoard of red skinned Orcs that threatened to delay his armies advances towards the flying fastness.

No, he was in no mood for games right now.

“Crone!” he bellowed in riekspeak, choosing to use his old tongue, “Dream walker!  Show yourself!”

A cackle returned, a raspy croak of a laugh. “I knew you’d come, man child. It was a matter of time.”

Kravyn pressed on into the cavern, the light from outside replaced by candles and other artificial sources. Something screetched as he trod on something softer than the loose stones that littered the floor. “Have you been responsible for the visions I’ve had? Are you the reason I’ve trekked hundreds of miles to get here?”

Another laugh returned, “Yes...and no. Our masters demanded it, I am merely the tongue with which they speak.”

“Why?” Kravyn stopped “Show yourself hag!”

The woman stepped into the light. She was a beastwoman. She shuffled using a large braystaff for help. A ragged cloth covered her modesty poorly. She had only one eye, a large blue eye in the centre of her forhead. Her other, natural eyes were now just empty sockets, their occipital occupants absent. “I’ve watched you, man child. It was no accident that night.”

Kravyn snarled at the reference of his rebirth. “What do you know?!”

“Everything that needs to be. I know that this point in your life is merely a stepping stone in your quest. You have been chosen for a reason, that blade was always meant for you.”

Kravyn looked down at his warped body, the changed wracked upon him since that fateful night returning from Kislev “What is wanted of me?”

“You have done well summoning this mighty host. But there is more to be done. Soon you will return north with your prize, and thousands will flock to your banners. The dread legions will chant your name, and you will be powerful beyond imagine!”

“What prize? The fastness?”

The crone shuffled to a small fire and haunched on her legs “Yes...and no. You think two dimensionally. All will become apparent.”

“I’m done with these riddles,” Kravyn spat, and turned to leave, “find some other fool to play with.”

“Nagash!” The crone spat back after Kravyn had made several steps.

He paused, and turned back. Nagash was a name he’d heard in whispers. Ghost stories. “What does the fell powers want with the shrivelled husk of a fairy tale?”

“Not him. Again, your mind fails to comprehend. Not the man, but his work.”

Kravyn turned fully, his mind finally realising what it all meant. “The books of Nagash...”

“The Liber Chaotica!”

“Is here?”

“In the fastness!”

“With that book...”

“You would more power than any sorcerer in the northlands.”

Kravyn smiled. Suddenly this was a game he wanted to play.