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.”

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!

Whiter shade of pale - an Albino Beastman, and a short story

Sup dudes and dudettes, today is an...interlude, of sorts, to my main project.

This is a model I've been wanting to do for a long time, roughly about 2 years. I went through a Mordheim stage, and always wanted to do a beastman list. There was mention of albino beastmen in their rules, and since then I wanted to make an albino beastman.

Unfortunately, at the time, I couldn't make the skin work to a level I found satisfactory. So I decided to go with shadow grey skintone and pale hair (ironically, the scheme I've not taken across to my daemonettes). However, recently, since I've mixed astronomicon grey and tallarn flesh 50:50 and made my pale skin tone, I decided to have another go. And it came out ok!

Here's a little blurb about my beastmen:

As followers of the Dark Powers, Beastmen young are often at a higher chance of being born with physical mutations more than most other of the races of the old world. Some of these are beneficial, like horns of diamond or unnatural strength, whilst some can be a hindrance, such as tentacle tails. Some, however, are neutral mutations, which physically do not have any effect. However, mutations are a sign of blessing of the dark powers, whatever form they take, and may lead the fortunate individual to gain the unreserved respect, and eternal jealousy, of their peers.

Albinoism is a common mutation in all animals, including humans. The host will have unnaturally pale skin, with shock white hair and a pinkish red hue to their eyes. It is not uncommon for beastmen young to be born an albino, even though their parents have shown no traits of Albinoism. This birth is often thought a blessing of Slaanesh, who's followers are renown for their pale complexions and silvered manes.

However, the disadvantages of an albino in the clan often outweigh the positives. Albinos often find their youth and adolescence tough, even for a beastman. Their fellow calf's will bully them, jealous of their mutation. Their elders will be harsher on them than most other children, as a blessed child is destined for greatness, and sparing them the rod of discipline will do them no favours.

When hunting with the tribe, their white coat will make them stand out in the woodland, making them a liability for the group. Some of the tribe will even find their pale skin reminds them of human kind, making them intolerable of the albino to the extreme.

Often, in the more unfortunate cases, this leads to the death of the albino, in mysterious circumstances whilst out of the hunt, or in a drunken knifefight after a raid. In most cases, this ends in the albino leaving the herd, attempting to find his own way in the world. Most of these head north, towards snowier climbs, where their pales fur will be advantageous.

They find that they are unnaturally pulled together however, and there is a tribe in the north of pure albinos. Led by Paler-than-snow, the Whiteherd tribe is the largest of these collections and believe themselves the blessed of Slaanesh, brought into the world to do his bidding. They think of themselves as the elite, better than other beastmen for their blessing and true survivalists. Many are extremely skilled at arms, having to defend themselves throughout their lives. Their cloth is dyed purple from the juices of the highly poisonous deathberries the grow north of the empire. Deadly to humans, it is often drunk as an extremely intoxicating liquor by the beastmen, whose continued exposure to them not only proves their mettle but also builds up their tolerance to it.

Often the raiding parties will head south again, wiping out settlements and other herds of beastmen as they go, looking for other albinos to bring to their cause and settling scores that particular members of the whiteherd may still have with their erstwhile tribes.

Onto the piktures! This model was original a bestigor in mordheim armed with twin clubs. He has converted hammer and a broken horn and shoulder pad, making him a little bit tougher than the other henchmen of the gang. Now, he just looks a pissed off beastman ready to pulp his foes with his twin set. The ground will probably just hve grass added to it, snow would just white out the model too much. The loincloth was painted purple, because, to be honest, no other colour would add a cool contrast to the pales already on the model. And I like purple.

My eventual aim is to have a beastman army to go along side my daemons, but this will very much be in the background. Once I learn the rules fully I'll probably start, but I already have a giant which matches their scheme.

Let me know what you think!