Lead Adventure Forum
Miniatures Adventure => Fantasy Adventures => Topic started by: weazil on December 22, 2011, 05:11:02 PM
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In our tireless effort to:
A.) Play Warhammer 3rd Edition
B.) Spread the word so that other people become interested in playing Warhammer 3rd Edition
C.) Thus enabling us to find players who want to play Warhammer 3rd Edition in our own countries
D.) ...so that we don't have to play remote games of Warhammer 3rd Edition
...we are now playing another remote game of Warhammer 3rd Edition.
"We" are:
Dreamfish - the Games Master (Oooh, daddy, what's one of them, then?)
Weazil (AKA Gaj)(playing Dwarves) - Defender of the free races, and of all things good, and muchly deserving of your support and praise
Blue in VT (playing Orcs) - The evil assailant on everything you hold dear, and no doubt almost single handedly responsible for the world economy through his dastardly deeds...
This is the scope of the game:
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zmyJaLcLr8c/Tu4UwZgW83I/AAAAAAAAAUk/2kucuWy0MwA/s1600/LongDistanceGame.jpg)
...and people say that war divides nations...
As before, we anticipate that it should take us many weeks to do, where we'll probably be processing about one turn a week. Providing you can cope with the adrenaline, we invite you to join us, as we explore another trip to the late '80s, where bad puns flow freely, fantasy stories are as epic as slicing bread and the era of GW GrimDark is but a glimmer in the eye of the shareholder...
Prologue: The Shadow of Koles Lorr
"There's gold up there, you know," Jabbartha said. His brow furrowed as he formed his grim expression. "Gold."
Hans Ohlow shook his head.
"It's not gold. Stop bloody calling it gold. If you just called it what it bloody well was, we wouldn't be standing here now, in the freezing wind, up to our knees in mud and shit, staring at ... well, nothing. It's not gold!" Hans thrust his hands into his pockets and stared into the distance. His companion, Jabbartha Hhut, shook his head. Of all the scouts he had ever come across, never had he met one that complained so much about being outside.
Both dwarves stared out across the plain.
"You know..."
Oh great. More complaining, thought Jabbartha. Keep going, mate - I've got nothing else to do either.
"...I can't think of a single purpose for this place. Why would the gods make such a forsaken stretch?" Hans poked a tuft of grass with his boot. "It's only purpose is to be bloody wet. Wet grass, wet mud, wet air. Wet dwarves. And it's not even bloody raining."
"Yet."
"Eh?"
"It's not raining yet," Jabartha said. May as well set his expectations now.
"Doesn't matter. Even if you do find this bloody wagon, all your stupid gold" -he quoted with his fingers - "is just going to be soaked through or stuck together in one big clump. I don't know why everyone thinks it's so bloody great anyway."
Both dwarves fell silent.
Jabbartha cleared his throat. "Any-"
Hans cut him off. "And it's a stupid place to put a tower, too! How long's it been here?"
Jabbartha looked up at the tower. Koles Lorr. "Ages. We didn't build it, actually. It's a human build. Prob'ly why they abandoned it. Wasn't up to much."
"They probably all hanged themselves after a week with putting up with this!"Hans kicked a clump of earth. He soles squeaked in the wet as he watched the muddy clump sail into the misty air. It's depressing squelch on landing did nothing to cheer him up.
Jabbartha was getting tired of Hans now. "Look. I don't want to be here any more than you do. Right? So do us all a favour and go check out that tower. That gold is out here somewhere, and if it was me on a night like last night, I'd have taken up in that tower too. So get out there, get the cart and the gold, and lets all of us go home, okay?"
Hans spat his disgust at the order.
"It's not gold," he mumbled under his breath. He signalled to the other rangers to follow him.
***
One Day Earlier...
"Who is this chap again?" King Pinne lowered his spectacles and looked down at the writ of office he had been presented with.
"Sir Loyne, your majesty. He claims to be a paladin of Yasmar Nodrog," Muz Shipeez said. Muz had served in King Pinne's court for many decades now, and knew better than to infer his doubt about Sir Loynes credentials, but the fact was that he knew of all the families that needed knowing of, and the Loyne's of Gird were not a family he'd ever heard of before.
"Is he in the book?"
"No, Your Majesty, he has arrived unexpectedly."
"No, no - not the appointment book. You know - the names book that you look at all the time?"
Muz smiled. This was good news, if the King was thinking like this already. "No, Your Majesty. Sir Loyne is in neither the Great Family Tree nor the appointment book. I did find a a match on Yasmar Nodrog, though."
The king brightened. "Brilliant. Never heard of him either. Do we have a temple for Yasmar here?"
"Not that I'm aware of, no -"
"What's he do anyway, this Yasmar Nodrog? What's his godly job?"
"He is the god of food-"
"Food? Really?"
Muz blinked at the interruption and let out a slow breath. "Yes, Your Majesty. Food. And rage, it seems."
"Food and rage?"
Muz nodded.
The king removed his spectacles and started chewing thoughtfully on the frame. "I would have thought we would have a temple to the god of food, surely?"
"It seems that we like to keep food out of our worship, Your Majesty."
"Mmmm...well, I suppose we'd better let him in and see what he has to say for himself."
Muz nodded. He had already gathered the King's Guard to the audience chamber, just in case. He signalled to the doormen to open the doors and admit the king's visitor.
"Oh, and Muz?" King Pinne whispered.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" Muz looked straight ahead.
"Maybe we should have a worshipful celebration of this Yasmar Nodrog. A little food and beer. You know - show some respect?"
"All in hand, your Majesty. All in hand."
"Not sure about the rage part just yet."
Both dwarves watched as the trumpets announced the arrival of Sir Loyne.
"Don't worry, Your Majesty, I have a feeling the rage will come soon..."
***
Sir Loyne was a big dwarf. Standing a head taller than any dwarf in the room, all eyes followed this giant among dwarves as a strode toward the king. His demeanour radiated confidence and his eyes - what eyes! His stare alone defeated everyone in the room as he dared the audience to challenge him. The King's Guard shuffled nervously, each hoping one of the others was more loyal to the king than themselves; more willing to die at the hands of this severe giant should things get ugly.
A small, unfortunate dwarf tottered behind Sir Loyne, struggling with a huge banner that towered over him. The banner was too tall for the dwarven hall, resulting in the poor dwarf having to drag the banner pole along the ceiling, as close to upright as possible.
"King Pinne!" Sir Loyne bawled, stretching his arms wide "Ty!"
King Pinne winced. He liked being called King Pinne. He hated his first name. It sounded so... common. His eyes widened in horror when he realised Sir Loyne wasn't stopping there.
Sir Loyne stepped up the dais, gripped the dwarf king's shoulders and hefted him onto his feet, where he proceeded to crush the bewildered king into a punishing bear hug. Sir Loyne winked at Muz over the king's shoulder. King Pinne glared furiously at his guard over Sir Loyne's.
"Ty! So good to see you! Brilliant to see how well you've done for yourself!" Sir Loyne dropped the flustered king back into his throne and waved expansively at the throne room.
King Pinne readjusted his crown, wondering why the hell none of his guard had done anything about this ruddy lunatic just wrenching him from his throne. The way Sir Loyne had clapped him on the back was tantamount to assault, as far as his shoulder blades were concerned. He'd have to have a word with them later on.
"Er..." he mumbled. "Yes, done alright, I suppose-"
"Alright?" Sir Loyne boomed. Before King Pinne realised what was happening, the giant dwarf reached out and grabbed the king's crown, planting it neatly on his own head. The room gasped.
"Alright, you say? You're a blessed king! This is fantastic! Bet the beer's good, eh? None of that cheap stuff for you anymore, eh?" Sir Loyne poked the startled king in the ribs and laughed.
"Ahem!" Muz cleared his throat.
Both dwarves looked at him.
"His Majesty feels that guests should refrain from wearing his crown at the first visit, although he would be happy to forgive you this small oversight given the nature of your joyful meeting just now," Muz said through his forced smile.
King Pinne nodded. "Yes, yes. His Ma... er, I... would like to get his crown back. If that's alright?"
Sir Loyne clapped both his hands on the king's shoulders as he laughed. "Of course, of course. So silly of me - you are the king and must be respected and all that. Of course!" He presented his head to King Pinne with a grandiose bow.
The king clutched the crown with nervous hands and placed it gingerly on his head, as if it were now somehow too hot.
"Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat about old times, Ty, but we've got urgent business to attend to." Sir Loyne swivelled round and stepped of the dais before turning to look at the king again. "It turns out that I need your help. And when I say 'I', of course, I refer to Yasmar Nodrog! We have a holy commission for you!"
King Pinne blinked. Muz shivered in an effort to maintain his composure.
"Sir Loyne, your dedication to the business of Yasmar Nodrog is both legendary and exemplary, I'm sure. Perhaps even Yasmar Nodrog would allow a humble, weary servant and his retinue time to rest and recovered before resuming the no doubt arduous duties required in his service?" Muz raised an eyebrow as he asked the question.
Sir Loyne raised an eyebrow in return.
"I am tireless in my service of Yasmar Nodrog."
His tone was frigid - all his jovial warmth was drowned out by the sudden cold silence in the room. The King's Guard clutched their weapons, desperately hoping nothing would come of this. Some looked at each other, unsure of what they should do. If Muz made the crazy giant angry, he could sort it out himself, as far as they were concerned.
He cocked his head. "But, he isthe god of food. And to eat is to worship. Waddaya say, Tendhe? Bit of grub before we hit the road?"
The dwarf carrying the banner nodded eagerly.
The mood in the room lifted as Sir Loyne's demeanor softened.
"This is my boy, by the way," Sir Loyne said to the king. "Tendhe Loyne. Carries the banner, see? For the Loynes."
King Pinne gulped. "Uh, good to meet you." He turned to Muz and pleaded with his eyes.
"Excellent! We've laid on a little spread for you and fifty members of your party. His Majesty would love to discuss your holy commission over a little meal and perhaps a light after dinner smoke?"
"Fifty members?" Sir Loyne repeated. "No need for that - just the two of us, now," he said, pointing at Tendhe and himself.
"Oh?" Muz looked puzzled. "I see. Might I enquire... I mean, surely you're not travelling alone?"
"Of course not, you funny little dwarf," Sir Loyne chuckled. "We left Gird with a whole army."
"I see. I can send messenger to your camp to summon them?"
Sir Loyne snorted. "Unless your messenger can summon them from the grave, I'd imagine he'd find that task quite difficult. They're all dead, now. That's why we stopped here."
"Stopped here." Muz repeated.
"Yes. To get some more."
"More?" the king asked, his voice faint.
"Yes, more dwarves. Mine are all dead. So I've come to get some of yours. But come, let's go to this meal you've prepared. Lots more to round, eh?"
Muz staggered as Sir Loyne clapped his hand over his shoulders, herding him towards the door.
***
Things had moved quickly from there. Hans squelched behind the other rangers, shaking his head at the stupidity of the situation. Apparently, Sir Loyne and the army of Gird were accompanying a valuable cargo wagon somewhere up north when they were ambushed and annihilated by orcs. Instead of refusing the fool anything, King Pinne had allowed the paladin to assume command of the King's forces in order to chase the orcs and extract their vengeance.
Sir Loyne just wanted everything he could lay his hands on. It just so happened that as Sir Loyne gained entry into the king's armoury, he noticed a tunnel leading to the massive forge and workshop, where Big Dog, the clan's largest stone thrower, was being serviced.
"I'm having that," he said, to no-one in particular.
There had been protests, of course. Hans, as the lead scout, had pointed out the futility of chasing a fast orc column with warmachines in tow. It would be impossible.
"Ah, but what if they establish a fort? What would we do then?" Sir Loyne had challenged.
"If they've established a fort, we'd set up watch and send runners to get the warmachines, if they were needed. They are orcs, don't forget, so the word fortis relative."
Sir Loyne had looked thoughtful and Hans thought for a moment that Big Dog would stay, but that was not to be.
"Bring it along. I can feel it in my bones - we'll need it for sure."
So now the only chance they really had to catch the orcs depended on the weather. Fortunately, the weather had been atrocious, and there was every chance that the could also have become bogged down.
The team of rangers were waiting for him at the tower. He looked up at it and took in all of its wet, grey misery. There was nothing frightening about the tower, it just looked cold. He shivered as a gust of wind whipped around the tower base, throwing his cloak open.
"Right boys, just like we did in the drills. On my signal, you kick the door in and step back," Hans pointed at Vitter Minsey, who nodded. He looked at Minn Spye "You go straight in and head right. I'm in right behind you, then you come in behind me and head left, with you two closing after us, okay?"
The other dwarves nodded and moved into position. Two on the right of the door, three on the left.
"Go," Hans whispered.
Continued in next post...
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...continued from last post
***
"...and that," Sir Loyne paused to take a bite from the roasted turkey leg he was holding, "is when the orcs took the wagon"
Both King Pinne and Muz sat silent for a while, letting the description of the loss to the orcs sink in. By the sounds of things, eighty dwarves had died.
"What was in the wagon?" King Pinne asked.
"Gold dust. Just like gold dust."
King Pinne and Muz looked at each other.
"Gold dust, you say?" the king muttered eventually, stroking his beard.
"Eighty dwarves, you say?" Muz muttered, knotting his.
King Pinne leaned forward now, staring Sir Loyne directly in the face. He'd had nine pints so far, and it was much easier to stand up to Sir Loyne now. Also, Sir Loyne seemed to much nicer, now. "Tell me more about this gold dust."
Sir Loyne returned his flagon to the table and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. "S'not gold dust. I said it's like gold dust."
"Yes, yes, but just as valuable, you say?"
Sir Loyne looked at the ceiling in thought. "Yes. Very valuable. Especially to Yasmar Nodrog. And the good human folk up north. Love the stuff, they do. They'll pay loads for it."
Having just taken his tenth pint, only a few words of that sentence hit home for King Pinne. Valuable. Love the stuff. Pay. Loads.
"We need to get that gold dust."
Sir Loyne assumed a very serious expression, and nodded slowly. "Yes we do."
"If I might interrupt, Your Majesty," Muz said, turning to Sir Loyne. "You said it's like gold dust, so it evidently isn't. My lord's question is simply this: if not gold dust - what is it?" Ten pints from King Pinne's personal cellar had injected bravery beyond compare into Muz.
Sir Loyne blinked at Muz, before bursting into raucous laughter.
"Of course, of course! You funny quaint mountain dwarves would've never heard of the stuff!"
The two other dwarves joined in the laughter. How funny and quaint they were, each realised! An eleventh pint had materialised in front of all three, which they clanked together and downed.
"Let me tell you about gold dust, boys. Holy, blessed gold dust from the east..."
***
"I dunno wot it is. It ain't grain, it ain't gold an' it ain't gunpowder." Krunk dropped the bag on the floor. "Whole bleeding wagon's full of it."
Kahn Narbis looked down at the brown powder spilling from the bag. In the flickering firelight, it looked a bit like gold. He frowned. "Wot's Milliog say?"
Sensei Milliog emerged from the darkness. "Same as Krunk. Dunno." He shrugged. "I was gonna ask Trammer."
Kahn raised an eyebrow.
"Er..." Krunk stammered. "I mean, ask you to ask Trammer. 'Cos...you know..."
"Oh right. Come to that, 'as it?"
The other two nodded apologetically.
"I hates askin' him anything. You lot better be sure or I'm breaking something."
Krunk and Sensei Milliog eyed each other. If neither of them could work it out, then surely they were safe. Kahn would have to ask Trammer. They nodded in unison.
"Righto. Follow me," Kahn said, grabbing the bag. The other two fell in behind him as he marched to the other side of the camp. The rest of the orcs just dropped themselves wherever, resting and sleeping in their rags and armour. Even Kahn didn't worry about tents and the like when travelling - it was only the tribe's irritable, aged shaman that bothered with tents. Kahn opened the flap and stepped in. Krunk and Sensei Milliog skulked in behind him.
Trammar Zzole was an ancient, leathery orc, who after nearly fifty years of magic, was widely considered to be completely barking mad. Surely no orc could mess about with magic for that long and not go insane, spectators reasoned?
He sat in the middle of the tent floor, holding what appeared to be a human skull, rocking backwards and forwards and mumbling cheerfully to himself. Every now and then, a whinnying giggle escaped his cracked lips and he rocked a little faster, before the light in his eyes died down and he settled again.
Kahn slapped the wizened old orc's bald palate respectfully.
"Oi!" The old orc cried as he snapped out of his reverie. He looked wounded as he rubbed his head."Wassat for?"
Kahn dropped the bag in front of the wizard. "D'ya know wot this is?"
Trammer poked the skull up against the bag, using his hands to make as if the skull was sniffing. "Waddaya reckon, Seesaw?"
The skull didn't appear to do anything. Trammer lifted it to his ear. "Say that again?"
His audience leaned in, hoping to hear some of the mystical chatter Seesaw was whispering to Trammer. The tent fell silent as all four orcs strained to hear anything.
"Ssshh!" Trammer hissed, causing the other three to step back in shock. He positioned the skull directly in front of him and fixed it with a stern gaze. "Come now Seesaw. Don't be stubborn. Tell Uncle Trammer wot it is." He shook the skull a little before ramming it face first into the bag again.
"Aha!"
Krunk and Milliog both leapt in fright. Kahn stepped back slowly.
Trammer giggled. "He sez it's a bag! See, you can put stuff in it! Like this powder. That's a great place to put powder. In the bag! Good Seesaw!" He patted the top of the skull.
"What's. In. The. Bag. Fool." Kahn growled.
"Powder. See-"
Kahn grabbed Trammer by the neck and dragged the old wizard to his feet. "Tell me what the bloody powder is or I'll pull your eyeballs out and stuff them into Seesaw's empty sockets, you shit stain!"
Trammer's eyes widened as he considered the implications of Kahn's threat. "It's snuff," he blurted.
"Snuff?"
"Yer. Snuff. Look, I'll show ya."
Kahn released the wizard, who already seemed to have forgotten the potential eye transplant just mentioned. Trammer grabbed a little pinch of the snuff, showing the other orcs.
"Here, take some like this. Don' worry, it's safe."
Each orc moved forward and also took a pinch.
"See, so now you puts it to your nose, like this." He watched carefully to make sure all the orcs had their snuff in the right position. "Then, alls you do is sniff it in, like so."
They all watched as Trammer closed his eyes and drew in a massive breath, vacuuming the powder through his nostrils.
The other orcs watched in fascination. First, his eyes shot open, and he coughed. Then, he breathed in as if to sneeze. but nothing came. He closed his mouth and blinked, breathing out slowly.
Then Trammer Zzole's headexploded.
***
"So it's called curry powder?" King Pinne asked. "Never heard of it. I like the sound of it, though. And you say it goes with beer?"
Sir Loyne grinned. "Aye, that it does. Well, curry goes with beer. Curry powder's crap on its own. Got to make it into the sauce, you see? Also, you can use the sauce with fried potato cubes. That's especially popular up north. I'm sure that's what this shipment would have been used for."
"Fried potato cubes?" King Pinne was very quickly realising how limited his palate was. "Never heard of that either. How come you know all about this?"
"Yasmar Nodrog, of course. He shows us the way," Sir Loyne responded, looking up and opening his hands to the heavens. "You need to establish a temple here, you see."
The dwarves fell silent, contemplating this deep philosophical truth.
"Curry powder." King Pinne mumbled, lost in thought. "Culinary gold..."
Muz nodded in agreement. "We need to get it back. For Yasmar Nodrog!" He lifted his flagon high into the air.
"For Yasmar Nodrog!" the other two repeated, thrusting their own drinks into the air.
***
Kahn, Krunk and Milliog looked at each other. All of them still held the powder in their hands. Kahn blinked as the headless corpse of Trammer slowly toppled over backwards and hit the floor.
"I dunno," he said as he scratched his head. "Not sure I wanna put this in my nose anymore."
Krunk wiped bits of brain and snot off his face. "Yer, mebbe we sleep on it and have some more snuff tomorrow?"
Milliog nodded. "Yeah. Lets sleep on it."
He looked down at the body as Kahn and Krunk stepped out of the tent. He heard Kahn shouting orders for someone to do something about the mess. Now that Trammer was dead, he supposed that he had just become the tribe's shaman. He dug a bit of what later turned out to be a bit of Trammer from his ear, before reaching down and picking up Seesaw.
"Better make sure I've got another head," he said to the skull. "Just in case."
***
Hans had just emerged on the ramparts of the tower when he heard an explosion in the distance. He crouched behind the wet stone, ears straining for further clues. Shortly afterwards, he could make out the sound of guttural shouting.
He signalled to Vitter, who had just emerged from the door, to come closer. He pointed on the direction of the shouting and whispered, "Orcs?"
Vitter cocked his head and listened for a while. "I think so. Really close...probably a couple of hundred yards, really."
The Loane Rangers had all gathered on the parapet now, and took in the news with excitement and trepidation.
They'd found them.
"Let's go get that gold, boys," Minn said.
Hans put his head in his hands in despair.
"It's not bloody gold..."
***
The Armies
Sir Loyne's Stout Dwarves of Regard:
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nnlpUeh04_0/Tu4IuIpujTI/AAAAAAAAAUE/42Hq8-tKVvE/s1600/DwarveGroupPhoto.jpg)
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GJDtdW36uIo/Tu4LjrofY_I/AAAAAAAAAUU/zdk8uM_kWsg/s1600/DwarfArmyList.jpg)
Waagh Narbis:
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6WZL1nmt0qM/Tu4I1yE5i0I/AAAAAAAAAUM/iia2dNQdcic/s1600/OrcsGroupPhoto.jpg)
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AoyJBtWvb8c/Tu4LyBf2xvI/AAAAAAAAAUc/mt84KOqOTjY/s1600/OrcArmyList.jpg)
Hopefully, due to the miraculous advances in modern technology, we should be able to update the full story here on the forums, as opposed to the last time where we only posted some images and a link.
Also, if you're wondering about the references to a previous event that you are as yet unaware of, may we refer you to this battle report (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.com/2011/08/battle-report-its-fun-to-slay-at-wyemm.html), which was played out earlier this year.
Also, further details on the players can be found over at the blog (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.com/2011/12/battle-report-shadow-of-koles-lorr-meet.html).
Regards
Gaj
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Amazing
What a length to go to to get a game!
WOW
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@thebinmann - oops, didn't notice the reply, sorry ::)
But yes - an awful long way just to play some Warhammer...
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One thing we need before we commence with turn one is the actual scenario rules and the deployment plan.
This is the table:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MaFVeqGl95o/Tv81H8oUd9I/AAAAAAAAAU4/i9Zv6xs9HDA/s1600/TheTable.jpg)
Scenery Rules:
- The rock face of the hill can’t be climbed on.
- Can fly over hill on level +10, rocks and woods on level +20 and tower on level +40.
- The rocks and the barreled defense count as hard cover.
- The woods are considered difficult terrain.
- The terrain is split in half creating two zones: orc zone and dwarf zone.
- Victory points are gained by occupying the zone of the opposite army.
- The tower has three main levels: ground level, 1st level and top level (see picture) and is made of stone.
- Dwarfs objective: capture cargo with as least 5 models.
- Dwarfs: Gain points by preventing tower from being destroyed or damaged.
- Orcs objective: eliminate Sir Loyne and Tendhe Loyne while defending the precious cargo.
- Orcs: Gain points by destroying or damaging the tower.
The 'cargo' is, of course, the cart with the curry powder.
So, with that in mind, these are the deployment areas:
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-arWtHyQH8SU/Tv81V-cHCBI/AAAAAAAAAVE/UXoxrHBysSs/s1600/DeploymentRules.jpg")
Even if you are familiar with Warhammer 3rd Edition rules, you might be thinking 'what the hell is a dwarf scout? I've never heard of those?'
...and you'd be right. They are simply a unit of five skirmishers, who happened to arrive before the rest of the force. This is the advantage of narrative - we can make stuff up.
Also, given that Blue is the newest member to our little online gaming group, we felt it was the right thing to extend the first turn to him.
***
Sensei Milliog slowly released his breath, opening an eye to watch the steaming expulsion dissipate in the morning air. Milliog had left camp well before the sunrise in order to determine the future. This was something that Trammer used to do when the tribe was trying to work out what to do next. Now that he'd lost his head, Milliog felt that the duty of divining the tribe's next move fell onto his sloped shoulders.
Unfortunately, Trammer had never told Milliog how this divining was done.
After Trammer's unfortunate demise, Milliog had spent the rest of the previous evening pondering the mysterious snuff. Pondering, dear reader, is not something that the orcs excel at at the best of times, and now that his tutor had exploded, Trammer would be hard pressed to consider this the best of times. Still, in the absence of any actual thought, he certainly gave off the impression that he was deep in thought, by staring deep into the embers of the fire and scratching his buttocks from time to time.
Indeed, so powerful was his apparent thoughtfulness that the other orcs didn't even offer him a bit of Trammer once they'd cooked him up.
"Poor boy's mourning," one said.
"Yer, leave 'im be - pro'lly doesn't want to eat 'is mate now, does 'e?" pointed out another.
A third orc struck the first in the face, pointing out that it was now the evening, and not the morning, so how could the poor boy be morning? He further posited that it was impossible to be any specific time of day if you were an orc, and then moved on to question the sanctity of the first orc's mother's bed. This prompted the first orc to defend his position and family, which he did so with verve, by biting deeply into the eyebrow of his accuser, whilst punching vigourously in all directions.
It wasn't long before the rest of the orcs entered into the debate, leaving only Milliog and the cooked remains of his late mentor sitting on the sidelines: one pondering, the other smouldering.
Milliog realised that he was never going to get anything done this way. He skulked off to go and investigate the mysterious snuff in the wagon.
He realised that it would be a good idea to see the powder in action again. He secured the services of a willing goblin (by hooking his fingers in the vile creature's nostrils and leading him to the wagon) and was able to observe the effects of the snuff again.
Although the goblin sneezed violently for what felt like quite a while, Milliog noted that it's head only exploded once he'd walloped it with a club. He repeated the experiment a few times with other goblin volunteers, noting that if he didn't hit them, then they didn't explode. They did seem a little distressed, with plenty of sneezing, tears and snot, but they seemed to be able to function more or less as before.
He tried it twice on orcs as well (those not engaged in that evening's fireside entertainment), reasoning that the goblins didn't explode because they didn't have any brains anyway, so there was nothing to explode in the first place. As it turned out, the orcs reacted in the same fashion. He noted with interest that their heads didn't even explode when struck with the club.
Therefore, the powder must be magical, because only magical orcs exploded. The problem was that he was the only magical orc left, which meant that he couldn't prove his theory unless he managed to get an observer. And, if his own head exploded, how was the observer going to tell him what he saw? One can't hear very well without ears, can one?
By the time he returned to the fire, the surviving orcs appeared to have come to an agreement (which had since moved from orcs and mornings to whether or not Pi was an actual number...) and were just dropping off to sleep. Finding himself unable to discuss his findings with anyone sensible, Milliog refreshed himself with some left-over Trammer. It was whilst chewing through a particularly stubborn bit of cartilage that it occurred to him that he might be able to divine the future, and possibly the purpose of the powder. After all, it had to be valuable if a whole army had been escorting it. And it was the sort of thing Trammer would have done.
And so Milliog watched his breath evaporate in the morning light. He had spent most of the night outside of camp, staring up at the silhouette of the old tower as the day broke, no wiser for his efforts.
Frustrated, he stood up, yawned and stretched. Just as he was about to depart the scene, he noticed a banner bobbing into view over the horizon. He waved his hand in front of his face, hoping to clear the gentle mist obscuring his view. The mist didn't clear, but Milliog was certain - he'd seen that banner before.
It was the banner of the dwarves they ambushed just the other day. The ones who were moving the snuff.
He wasn't too clear how they came to be there, but that was a matter for another day. Right now, he needed to get back and rally the boys. Milliog evacuated the scene and loped back to camp.
This time they'd have to make sure the dwarves stayed dead...
***
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Had an eye on your activities for a while. This is great stuff and very inspiring.
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So, after much fuss, we're away. We're picking up pace now and continue to forge on into turn two, but here, finally, is turn one. True enough, these figures have been slowly making their way over the field for most of January, almost frozen in time, making this arguably the longest turn one in the history of Warhammer.
So, these are the forces deployed:
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--MKXybpNPpI/TybqTCitLnI/AAAAAAAAAWg/K8NcfXJuk-0/s1600/01_Turn1_StartOfTurn.jpg)
The dwarves have a technical term when describing this many orcs. It starts with 'F' and ends with 'uckload of the bastards'. Clearly, the dwarves have their work cut out for them.
As you may recall, we extended the first turn to Mr Blue (and therefore the orcs), being the newcomer and all.
The movement phase:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3wKj8TNEhMc/TybqXHO5QmI/AAAAAAAAAWo/nBfbnh09txE/s1600/02_Turn1_MovementPhase.jpg)
Remember, the dwarves had a much more restrictive deployment zone, so the slayers had to deploy in a 'deep' formation, in order to allow them to get moving as soon as the game started.
Anyone who knows anything about orcs, knows about ... that's right, boys and girls (hah!) - animosity. That meant Blue started rolling dice before we even did anything.
Animosity in 3rd ed is dramatically different to the later editions, in that it acknowledges that it takes two to tango. So, even if you only fail one test, you will have at least two units stopped and involved in the fracas. Fortunately, Blue failed one animosity test...
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eXKT5Q_kg5I/TybqYxguVWI/AAAAAAAAAWw/bEzwxMNga8A/s1600/03_Turn1_Closeup_Orcs.jpg)
***
"Ere - look at 'em all, poncing about on dere little piggies. Don't even 'ave a flag, do dey?" grumbled Botoks.
"Oo's poncing about?" Larlog asked.
"Dem!" Botoks jabbed his finger in the direction of Milliog's boar riders.
Larlog thought about the situation a bit. It seemed a little unfair to accuse them of not having a flag - he didn't have a flag either, now that he came to think about it.
Botoks continued. "No flag? 'Ow comes we gotta lug it around and dey don't?"
Larlog realised where Botoks was going now. "Its a prileva...er...prevail, well, itsspecialto carry a flag, see? You're jolly lucky, you are. I bet all der boys wants to be like you!" Larlog beamed at Botoks, pleased with his inspirational flare.
Botoks didn't even blink before turning in the direction of the boar boys to yell. "Yer, see! I gots a flag and I'm special! Wot you got? Huh?"
***
"Just ignore him," growled Milliog.
"Aww boss!" Anthraks whined. "He's right! How come we don't got no flags?"
"I said, just ignore him! You don't wanna carry nuffin', ok?"
Anthraks glared at Milliog, before dropping his gaze and instead focussed it on the banner. "I wanna be special too..."
Milliog reached over and slapped him on the back of the head. Anthraks winced, not from pain, but embarrassment, as Larlog's Lashers laughed out loud at his fate. He could see Botoks waving his flag furiously at him.
"There, I hit ya, onna head. Now you're special. So shaddup about yer flag! Besides, look up front. You see dat?"
Anthraks followed the direction of Milliog's outstretched finger. The dwarf ranks were parting to reveal one of their famous war machines.
"You know wot it is? Men calls it 'cannon'. Now if you's got a flag an' yer wavin' it all about like Larlog's lot, wot do ya reckon will happen?
Anthraks stared at Larlog's lot as he pondered the question. Larlog and his boys had all stopped now, and were making motions that suggested Anthraks and his lot knew their boars intimately, and in a way quite unfit for decent orcs.
"Dey aint gonna see us, are dey?" Anthraks looked at Milliog. "Dey're gonna shoot cannon at Larlog, aren't dey? Cos of der flag. Dat's why we aint got no flag? Innit?"
Milliog nodded. "Now ya gots it! Let 'em wave dere silly little flag about, we'll see 'oo ends up 'eadless. Like Seesaw 'ere." Milliog jiggled the little skull about, making its jaw chatter.
"Er...well he ain't headless, is he?" Anthraks suggested.
Milliog looked at Seesaw, before shooting a withering gaze at Anthraks. "Don't you listen to dat nasty orc, Seesaw! You're as headless as der best of 'em!"
Anthraks sighed and adjusted himself in his saddle. He thrust his sword in the direction of the dwarves. "Right, boys - ignore Larlog's lot and get on wiv it!".
***
Larlog watched as Milliog and his boar boys looked away and started moving off. "Awright, Botoks. Dat's enough now."
Botoks was now pointing the flagpole at the boar boys, holding it between his legs , seemingly suggesting that his orchood was quite considerable, and something to be taken seriously by his passing colleagues.
"C'mon, you pig humpers!" he shouted. "Come get some!"
Larlog's boys all laughed at the provocation. Still laughing, Larlog put his hand on Botoks' shoulder. "Awright. Leave 'em be. We's got to get on. Let's be der bigger orc, now, okay?"
Botoks turned away from the boar boys, returning the standard to it's original upright configuration.
"Don't worry boss. I'm der bigger orc, alright..."
***
The Shooting Phase:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lpnjcDpBshY/TybqcMJaQUI/AAAAAAAAAW4/k25Ot18ujrE/s1600/04_Turn1_ShootingPhase.jpg)
Shooting was relatively quiet. We decided that the war machines would not be able to fire in the first turn, which just left the missile units. Bad shooting all round, really, but fortunately, the dwarves managed to get the first kill!
***
Hans watched as the bolt struck home. The orc's head snapped back, before the revolting brute collapsed. He noted with dismay, however, that none of the other Loane Rangers had hit any orcs.
"What's up, chaps? That wall of green over there isn't a hedge, you know?"
Clint Westwood looked at his crossbow. "I dunno, Hans. Something up with these, I reckon."
"With the crossbow? You've heard the phrase, right?" Hans' eyes never left the approaching orcs. "A bad workman always blames his tools."
"Nah, he's right," Flyn Teestwood said, nodding as he did so. "You saw all the bolts - all of them went high. And I'm only four feet tall, so when I say high, I mean high!"
"Look, just get your head in the game, okay? I'm not going to die out here for some bloody condiments, just because you lot can't shoot straight. Get your shit in order!"
Lint Eastward looked past Flyn and Clint, and adjusted his hat. "You alright, Hans? Seem a little edgy."
Hans glared at Lint. "Yeah. I am a little edgy, as it turns out! You'd be too, if you'd watched your colleagues skewering rocks and trees with their shots instead of those really, really close orcs, whose vitality and vigour should've been snuffed out fifty paces ago!"
Splint Ystwud patted Hans on the shoulder. "Come on Hans, take it easy, huh? Is this the retirement thing again?"
Hans grunted as he wound the crossbow back. "Yes. Turns out I don't want to die before I retire, so it abso-bloody-lutely is the retirement thing!"
Lint chuckled as he reloaded. "That the tea shop?"
The Rangers laughed. Splint hefted his crossbow and took aim. "Tea ShopPEE. There's a PEE on the end!" Hans shook his head and sighed.
"Don't worry, Hans," Splint said, raising his own crossbow. "Once this is all done, well all pop down to laugh at you in your little tea shoppy. You'll be back in the army in no time."
Hans took aim for the orcs."I'll be in bloody jail for shooting you lot, is where I'll be!"
***
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--yBeaG9EGFk/TybqduITLaI/AAAAAAAAAXA/fsjA1dyNN-Y/s1600/05_Turn1_Closeup_Dwarves.jpg)
There was no combat (first turn combat is possible in this game, because of the orc animosity), so we moved straight into reserves.
The Reserves Phase:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JPMABJBQgEk/TybqfRSzpkI/AAAAAAAAAXI/sqUClK-ghnc/s1600/06_Turn1_ReservesPhase.jpg)
A rare and beautiful example of equal opportunity employment and inter-racial co-operation in the Orc & Goblin army:
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dlpsUDeBphI/TybqhASRe1I/AAAAAAAAAXQ/nOBQqIw9GEQ/s1600/07_Turn1_Closeup_Goblins.jpg)
The state of play at the end of the turn:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P6jgul95YTE/TybqlW6TPGI/AAAAAAAAAXY/3WozjkdWhGM/s1600/99_Turn1_EndOfTurn.jpg)
On to turn two!
Formatting is always a fuss on forums. If you want to see in it's original incarnation, check out the blog (http://"http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.com/2012/02/battle-report-shadow-of-koles-lorr-turn.html").
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Great stuff!
Sadly I missed 3rd Ed. 4th was my first splash into fantasy unit battles.
Fair taken back with 1500pt armies. 3000 seems to be the standard at GW these days. Might need to look out a copy of the older game.
Thanks for posting in such detail.
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Great stuff, guys. I love your narratives and I admit I have a soft spot for 80's warhammer. Plus this is a great idea of playing this game transcontontinental, so to speak. I'm really looking forward to turn 2.
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Amaz stuff
I'd love to have a go!
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Great scot! That is an amazing undertaking. I'll join you soonish with Jonas, no doubt. lol
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I know part of your remit is to spread the good word of Warhammer 3rd ed. and in so doing do away with the need for these long distance games but... sign me up too if you ever run out of opponents!
As I always enjoy the narrative and hilarious dialogue bits you include in your reports I hope you won't mind me emulating your style a little in my latest installment of Orc's Drift! :D
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Fantastic Game, armies and narrative!
I may not play 3rd, but I strive for this kind of game!!!
I love the argument between miniature manufacturers, brilliant! That explains a lot about animosity!!! lol
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I have never stopped playing 3rd edition Warhammer.
Same with 40k Rogue Trader all the way.
Nightmask
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Great work so far! So how exactly do you figure out all the movement and such when you play the game remotely? Also, who owns all the wonderful minis?
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Thank you all, for your very, very kind words. We do it all for you. Well, not all for you. Actually, we do it mainly for us. But you can watch...
@Timbor: For the movement and stuff, there is a post on my blog explaining the basics required. You can see that here (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.com/2011/08/playing-warhammer-by-email-basic-list.html). I can't speak for Blue, but I use Snagit to draw out my orders, not much different from those Dreamfish produced above, but the comments are more along the lines of 'slayers 3" forward, trying to get out of the way of the bolt thrower' for instance. It's up to Dreamfish to do the rest. Also, Dreamfish (and his family) is the proud owner of the figures (and the table) you see being used. A note on the table, by the way - check out his blog (http://realmsofminiatures.blogspot.com/2012/01/modular-gaming-table-part-1.html), where one of the most spectacular tables in the world is coming along beautifully.
@Nightmask: You, sir, are a man of taste and discernement. Where are you based and where do you play?
@Thantsants & thebinnman, lovely to see the inspiration spreading. In the absence of physical games (one day, hopefully, there will be a WFB3 roadshow, but until then...) we are always happy to have people in for the remote games. When we get to the next one, I'll keep you chaps in mind. You can contribute as well - if you happen to have two painted warhammer armies, a safe (from kids, pets and enthusiastic house wives) gaming table that can keep the figures for about two months and a camera, you might be able to help us out, because we're running out of painted armies :)
As for the writing, Mr Thantsants, always bear in mind that you inspired me to start this, so any emulation you may practice is a massive affirmation for me! Please, be my guest!
@everyone else - thanks for the appreciation! For those striving to change their games to like these - don't take no for an answer! The next time your opponent says, 'no, let's not play a scenario, let's just line up and kill each other', protest by packing your figures right up and refusing to let them out until something changes!
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What a nice report! I really like the mixture of battlefield overviews, detail shots of the combatants and the highly entertaining fluff.
:-*
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WFB3 roadshow - that sounds like a blast!
Wonder if GW would host the event in their stores? lol
You can contribute as well - if you happen to have two painted warhammer armies, a safe (from kids, pets and enthusiastic house wives) gaming table that can keep the figures for about two months and a camera, you might be able to help us out, because we're running out of painted armies
You've probably seen most of my fantasy stuff through Orc's Drift so I'll have to get painting - got a load of Wood Elves, Goblins and a burgeoning Undead/Chaos warband languishing in the queue.
Mind you the next project involves Slann, Amazons, Norsemen and a cut and shut job on the Magnificent Svenn and Rigg's shrine scenarios. :D
My table may be a little small however...
... and I haven't started painting any of it yet... ::)
Anyway - hope the Orcs don't underestimate those devious little gits - they can prove pretty tough opponents, especially when skulking behing barricades and the like!
Not that I'm biased at all. >:D
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This was hilarious! Very enjoyable. Good on you guys for haveing the balls to go ahead with this massive undertaking. I picked up a copy of the 3rd edition rulebook a few weeks ago and haven't been able to put it down!
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wonderful report! :-*
Love the atmosphere of 3ed! And I think that is really a beautiful thing that you people are gaming across the continents in these remote games :)
Keep going!
cheers
Faber
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@Thantsants - Don't worry, I've been keeping a keen eye on your 'facilities'...
As for the roadshow, in all serious, I do think we could organise an event at Warhammer World, if all the figures were able to be traced to citadel at some junction in history. I imagine they would be quite interested, actually. When I'm more able to focus on that, I'll float that idea properly.
@Christian & Faber - thanks again, fella's - really appreciate the love.
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As for the roadshow, in all serious, I do think we could organise an event at Warhammer World, if all the figures were able to be traced to citadel at some junction in history. I imagine they would be quite interested, actually. When I'm more able to focus on that, I'll float that idea properly.
Hmmm very interesting Mr Bond.... :D
Just had a look at their site and you might be onto something there - the castle courtyard gaming area looks a bit twee though!
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Great to such a good response to Weazil and Dreamfish's hard work and creativity. I'm really reaping the benefit of their efforts...and having a blast doing it. The game is off to a good start and is actually not as complicated as you might imagine.
Though the thing I'm really missing is being able to get down to table level and seeing what my lads are seeing...:)
...and if you like what you seen so far...just wait for round two!!! ;)
Cheers,
Blue
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Still waiting :D
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Many people died to bring you this report.
Dwarves, specifically.
This is where things were after Turn 1:
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QBvGRLoVzIM/TzWcz4i4wXI/AAAAAAAAAXg/SMqj3R09tgY/s1600/01_Turn2_StartOfTurn.jpg)
The Movement Phase
Both forces continued forward, as aggressively as possible. So aggressive were the orcs, in fact, that Krunk's Crushers charged the Night Bottom boys in an attempt to get them moving!
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OaoKTup_yEs/TzWc2GlBwHI/AAAAAAAAAXo/pjnpqzq_D4k/s1600/02_Turn2_MovementPhase.jpg)
Also (try to imagine this in slow motion, possibly with epic, tragic classical music playing), The Coohrs Light Foote regiment stepped into the line of sight of the Man Mangler...
On the left flank, Ruger's Troll Slayers continue to move up, determined to meet their fate.
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bf9TuyEbGb4/TzbV96XWhAI/AAAAAAAAAYI/LKtIzEClldg/s1600/03_Turn2_CloseupDwarfSlayers.jpg)
***
"Well, boys, I feel like I should issue some sort of apology, really. Not seeing any trolls at all," Ruger said whilst surveying the field. "I really thought this lot would have some."
Heckler stepped forward and patted Ruger on the shoulder. "Don't worry, chief, you did your best. I'm sure we could find a suitable fate somewhere here today. Stiff upper lip and all that."
Ruger grunted. "Mmm. Stiff upper lip, quite right."
"Actually, I'm sort of glad, really," Wesson said. "Wasn't too sure about the whole troll thing, really."
The other dwarves all stopped and turned to look at him. Wesson shuffled nervously.
Ruger cocked an eyebrow. "Not sure what you mean, son?"
"I'm just, y'know, having doubts about the whole slayer thing. It all sounded fun when I signed up, but now here we are, and the weathers crap, and I'm cold and hungry and there's a whole lot of angry orcs just over there. Just - seems a lot, is all."
Smith gripped Wesson's shoulders in each hand and shook him. "Pull yourself together, dwarf! This is your big moment! If you try hard, and stay focussed, you could die today! Just imagine!" Smith's eyes started to glaze over as he pointed at the approaching goblins. "Imagine charging into those goblins. You swing this way and that, but its no use.
"You kill four, maybe six, but they overpower you, forcing you to the ground. Still you fight, but their numbers never end. Kicking and biting, they spill your blood on the ground. Ever weaker, you hack and hack and hack, until one of them chops your hand off. Even then, you beat them with the wet stump, all the while bleeding to death. Eventually, greatness comes. Your eyes shut and cough your last blood choked breath..."
Ruger, Heckler and Koch all stared at Smith in wonder.
Koch wiped away a tear. "I'll miss you when you're gone, buddy!"
"What? WHAT!"Wesson cried."Listen to yourselves! How the hell did you guys even get here? What did you do that was so bad that you want to get killed out here for it!"
"Cheating in my senior khazalid literature exam," Smith stated.
"Cut myself shaving," Heckler said, shaking his head. "Dad was so disappointed..."
"My mom caught me touching myself," Ruger said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Koch bit his lip, overcome with emotion. Ruger put his arm over his shoulder "There, there, Koch. I know its tough, but we can talk about it here. This is a safe place to feel."
Koch nodded. Still choked up, he whispered: "I'm allergic to beer."
Wesson's stood with his mouth open, staring at the others. "I...I don't know what to say."
"What about you?" Ruger's eyes sought out Wesson's. "What's your story?"
Wesson dropped his gaze. "Late library book. Mrs Fletcher was such a bitch about it. She even said she wished I was a troll slayer. I didn't know what else to do..."
The others nodded. "Tough one. Mrs Fletcher's a real cow," Smith said. "Although, I also had late library books once. She said then that she wished I was a toll payer. Maybe, you know...you didn't hear her correctly? Usually, you just pay a toll when they're late, you see?"
Wesson's eyes went wide with horror. "You mean..."
"Look, what's done is done," Ruger said. "Here we are, a brotherhood of slayers, on a field of opportunity. Let's not let this one slip!"
"Aye!" Smith, Heckler and Koch barked.
"Bitch!" Wesson spat. "Bloody mumbling bitch!"
The others ignored him.
"Follow me, boys! Today's the day we die!" Ruger yelled, swinging his axe in the direction of the orcs.
Wesson watched as the others rushed ahead. He sighed. It wasn't even a good book, come to think about it...
***
The Shooting Phase
Shooting was devastating. In total, twelve dwarves kicked the proverbial bucket. The Man-mangler, the only six man (orc?) stone thrower available in Warhammer Armies, lived up to its name, by scoring a direct hit on the Coohrs Light, mangling seven of that regiment's fine dwarves.
Also, four slayers met their embarrassingly pitiful fate, cheated doubly by the greenskins in that:
a.) there were no trolls
b.) turns out the goblins are pretty good with the bow, so they didn't even get to swing their axes
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nAXtesPkAYY/TzWc62OVhdI/AAAAAAAAAX4/1p9EtiAYuhs/s1600/04_Turn2_ShootingPhase.jpg)
In return, the dwarves introduced the orc boarboys to time travel, by blowing three of them into next week Wednesday with twelve pounds of iron. Everything else missed, including the Gob-Lobber. The blue cross hairs mark where the stone landed.
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fAmlSFpxdVc/TzbWGnmLHLI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/7j_sWMvCx9o/s1600/05_Turn2_CloseupCannonTarget.jpg)
***
"That's odd," Crun Cheenut said, pointing at the orc boar riders.
"What's that, then?" Orl Branne asked.
"Well, they don't have a banner. I always aim for the banner, see? But they don't have one. Just seems odd."
"I bet they're up to no good. If you don't have a banner, you're busy sneaking, aren't you?"
Crun looked thoughtful. "Yeah. You're probably right. Although, we don't have a banner."
Orl patted the cannon. "No, but I like to think of this as a musical instrument. They know we're here, all right. No sneaking about for us."
Crun laughed. "Too right. Well, we'd better shoot them, before they go off and do something sneaky!"
"Yes. We'll be heroes. No sneaky sneaking whilst we're on the job, eh?"
The two high-fived, before Crun touched the cord with his cigar.
***
Unfortunately for Blue, the boarboys cracked under the pressure, panicked, and ran off the table.
Fortunately for Blue, no other units followed suit.
Unfortunately for Blue, the boarboys carted his one and only wizard (that I'm aware of, I suppose), Sensei Milliog, with them.
Fortunately for Blue, I didn't laugh out loud. Much.
The little orange '1' next to the cannon is a heat point. Back in the day (before special dice with special symbols), when kids could do arithmetic, cannons would accumulate heat points. Essentially, the first cannon shot is risk free, but thereafter, heat points will build up. The firing player rolls a d6 and adds the heat points to the roll. If the roll exceeds six, the cannon explodes. Leave the cannon for a turn, and it will cool down, thus losing a heat point.
As you can imagine, dwarf supporters (myself chief amongst them) will be keeping a keen interest in that little orange number.
The Combat Phase
Much like sex on the first date, Blue was able to put out with some Turn 2 combat. Specifically, Krunks Crushers obliged you eager spectators by climbing into The Night Bottom boys, giving them a sound thrashing, managing to traumatise one of them enough for him to stop living.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OqW-uPJwOck/TzbWWsmD_9I/AAAAAAAAAYY/H3FhW8t8UW0/s1600/06_Turn2_CombatPhase.jpg)
Predictably, the orcs beat the stuffing out of the goblins, causing them to be pushed back 2". This event, in turn, was just enough to bring the Night Bottom Boys into 8" of the Loane Rangers, causing two crazed, drug-addled loonies to break ranks and launch themselves cackling and screaming at the dwarf line, swinging giant, back-breaking balls of iron.
I've played goblins (that is, just goblins, not orcs and goblins) for about ten years now. I completely forgot about the possibility that he might have fanatics. Never even crossed my mind. Idiot.
The Reserves Phase
Reserves was more of the same, with the two armies just tightening up their lines. Ruger, unfortunately, was unable to do anything clever in order to get away from the fanatic - in 3rd edition, you can't make a reserve move if you are within 4" of an enemy.
As you can imagine, orc supporters (Blue chief amongst them) will be keeping a keen interest in those two fanatics.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IywtixXenpI/TzeKPe7N8mI/AAAAAAAAAY4/2RQHO9Mmhgs/s1600/07_Turn2_ReservesPhase.jpg)
One of the things that is proving quite interesting is the middle of the board being completely static, in some sort of bizarre napoleonic shooting match. Also, the fact that both commanders are on the edge of the field is something I haven't seen in a long time.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gMgNwPz8IBM/TzbWaCjcOBI/AAAAAAAAAYo/wR3kuI7Vc5c/s1600/08_Turn2_CloseupOrcArchers.jpg)
The Magic Phase
I just put this section here to rub it in. The dwarves didn't bring any wizards, so we're not that concerned one way or the other. Blue elected to bring young Milliog, a wizard, but as you know, he elected to leave with the remaining boar boys once the dwarves explained physics and how important velocity and mass are in that particular field. Unfortunately, Milliog didn't get a single spell off in the game.
Looking at both the battle at the Wyemm Seeyay and this battle, one can see the dramatic difference between the occasional presence of magic in 3rd ed, and the overwhelming sledgehammer it is in 8th.
Anyway, no magic.
This is the state of affairs at the end of turn 2:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vMP7m4kOtdA/TzeKaJX1PCI/AAAAAAAAAZA/DxCd6vNuE04/s1600/99_Turn2_EndOfTurn.jpg)
Will the dwarf cannon explode? Can Ruger evade the whirling fanatic? Will all of the orcs pass their animosity tests? Tune in next time for The Shadow of Koles Lorr - Turn 3!
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Brilliant, even down to the pun names that GW used back in the day.
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Many people died to bring you this report.
lol
Brilliant, even down to the pun names that GW used back in the day.
I think Orle Branne and Crun Cheenut are my faves! :D
Sterling work as ever - good to see some good old fashioned Stunty bashing! >:D
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Guys, you're killing me - especially those tragic tales told by the slayers. Allergic to beer... lol
Great report. Love it!
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Love it! :-* :-*
I would also like to join in. And wile I do have quite some painted models and a table that can easily be used, I'm afraid my armies are painted for 8th edition gaming, meaning I'd have to do quite some painting before joining in. I hope using models from all editions and different brands should not be a big problem? I actually am quite bust trying to collect more 3rd ed. models, but did notice that it takes quite an effort as well as patience to get everything together.
Been reading up on 3rd ed. and loving it (again)!
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LOVELY report! :-*
I can't wait to see turn 3 :D
keep going!
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LOVELY report! :-*
I can't wait to see turn 3 :D
keep going!
What Faber said!!
It's threads like this that have got me chomping at the bit for old citadel stuff, so more, please!! :D
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Damn you guys.
Just spend a hour reading and looking at all the fun stuff.
I could have been painting. lol
Thanks for saving me. :D
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Hey all
Everyone - thanks for the appreciation, as always, its been a pleasure.
@Braxandur: we'll add you to the list of prospective players. Always happy to see others wanting to get involved. Also, just read through your Slaves to Darkness Report, so you're already well equipped. As for the figures, as you've just proven, there is no requirement at all for old classic citadel stuff. We're just masochists. Actually, you'll probably find the currently available plastics from all ranges to be quite useful for the Realms of Chaos stuff.
@Marine: Who're you kidding? You weren't going to paint anyway ;)
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Eventually.
Turn 3.
In the programme tonight:
The Orcs stop taking animosity tests!
Dwarves charge!
The Gamesmaster implements a house rule!
At the end of Turn 2, the situation was as follows:
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dV0UHM8CJ-I/T00nzd9-UKI/AAAAAAAAAgc/baWr2R16Rd0/s1600/00_Turn3_StartOfTurn.jpg")
The orcs, now mostly within 12" of an enemy (any one will do), are no longer obliged to test for animosity, and surge forward decisively. Neither fanatic dies, but both oblige the dwarves by moving away from the dwarf line.
And Ruger charges.
In 3rd edition, slayers are subject to Frenzy. A warrior can't just Frenzy, he needs to work up to it. This is represented by taking a Cool test. If you fail the Cool test, you enter a frenzy and benefit from the effects.
So let's be clear. Ruger is cool. I mean, he's so laid back, he's practically horizontal. Even the death of his four compatriots hasn't ruffled his feathers. Definitely a movie action hero sort of character - always under control. Only bad guys lose their tempers in Hollywood.
Basically, he failed to fail the test, which means he doesn't benefit suffer from all the awful effects of frenzy - never routs, +1 to hit, +1 to wound and +1 to armour save. Awful. Sure glad I missed those effects.
I guess he just wanted to do it the hard way.
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NZN9DU3234w/T00n1Su4mJI/AAAAAAAAAgk/xb27CHPihP4/s1600/10_Turn3_MovementPhase.jpg")
The goblin fanatics surprised me, by not dying, and by not killing anything. Thanks, chaps!
***
Goblins, rocks, dwarves, tower, dwarves, wall, orcs. Goblins, rocks, dwarves, tower, wall, orcs. Abudabi's feeble mind strained to process the information coming in. Round and round and round he went, his giant iron ball the only clear object in his vision.
It felt like he had been spinning for ages. He could barely remember his instructions and spent every last wrangled effort of his brain trying not to trip. Tripping was death, and death would not honour the Profit.
The Profit. That thought surfaced in his drug addled brain slowly, but it stuck. Goblins, rocks, dwarves, tower, dwarves, wall, orcs, Profit!
What was it that Bahg-Dahd had said about The Profit? He remembered it was important. Orc, wall, tower. Why? Why was that important? Rocks, dwarves, tower. This was really hard. Don't trip! Not good for The Profit!
A fleeting vision floated before his eyes. He remembered! He remembered when he had been recruited. Bahg-Dahd had found him at college. He had been hanging out with the other Day Three's, arguing about the political oppression the goblins experienced at the hands of the orcs and other races. Wall, dwarf, goblin, wall. Abudabi stumbled slightly and felt himself veering away to what he suspected was his left. Heart pounding, he clung desperately to the chain of the iron ball - the only anchor in the swirling world he now occupied. Goblins, rocks, dwarves, very surprised dwarf - that was close! - tower, dwarves.
Bahg-Dahd had explained how unique Abudabi was. The other Year Three's would just graduate to be low end grunts, losers like the rest of the goblins. But he - Abudabi - had potential. Abudabi was disenchanted with college anyway, and found easy companionship with Bahg-Dahd. He was so much more understanding. So much more cutting edge. So much more revolutionary. Bahg-Dahd agreed with Abudabi that the goblins could be a free race. That they could throw off the yoke of oppression. They could rule the world, if just given the chance. If they took the chance...
Tower, dwarves, orcs. Then, one day, Bahg-Dahd made a suggestion.
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait! Wot's that last bit you said?" Abudabi asked.
"About der vergins?" Bahg-Dad grinned.
"Yer - about der vergins. You reckon' you gets seventy two vergins?" Abudabi frowned. He'd gone on to complete all four days of college and had graduated with honours, but he just didn't seem to have enough fingers to work out how many seventy two really was.
Orcs, goblins, rocks, dwarves.
Bahg-Dahd nodded. "Yer - great, innit?"
Abudabi raised an eyebrow. "An' dey're all girls?"
"Er, sure. Yeah. All girls. If dat's wot you want?"
Abudabi was fairly sure that was what he wanted, yes. He was also a 'vergin', so he couldn't be absolutely sure, but better safe than sorry, eh?
"An' all I gots to do, is eat dat, and carry dat?"
"Um. Wrong way round. You carry der ball and eat der mushroom, yeah."
Dwarves, tower, dwarves, WALL! Every muscle in Abudabi's legs strained to haul his spinning mass away from the approaching wall. Not now! Mustn't. Fail. The. Profit!
Thinking about The Profit drew Abudabi away from reality again, back to a different conversation with Bahg-Dahd.
"So who is Der Profit?"
"S'not a who - its a wot," Bahg-Dahd replied.
Abudabi giggled. "Hee hee, you said snot!"
Both goblins cackled in glee. Abudabi reached forward and popped another little mushroom into his mouth. He and Bahg-Dahd had been popping 'shrooms all night. He'd never felt so free.
"I ain't never seen any Profit, but its real important. War is Profit, dey say. And money. Money is Profit too!"
"An' Time is Money," Abudabi added. He'd learned that at college.
"Yer, Time is Money. So War is Time, see? Dat's how you get paid divvydends!"
Both goblins paused to take in this deep universal truth, nodding to each other slowly.
Abudabi had successfully hauled himself away from the wall, nearly leaving his feet in the monumental effort to avoid it. Dwarves, wall, orcs, goblins, rock.
He remembered Bahg-Dahd going on to explain how, by swinging the ball in endless worship of The Profit, he would get his divvydend. Abudabi had no clear idea what a divvydend was, but it meant being paid, which was apparently crucial for the seventy two vergins. If The Profit favoured you, you became Profit-able, and might be able to attract even more vergins. More vergins than all the goblins in the tribe could count on their two hands. But you had to swing the ball. And swing and swing and swing. Only then would the vergins come.
Abudabi was getting tired now. It felt like he'd been swinging for days, and he'd not seen a vergin or a divvydend or anything. All he saw was orcs, goblins, rocks, dwarves, tower, dwarves, wall, orcs.
Must. Hang. On...
***
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dDIfV_LTBJw/T003n3X5SoI/AAAAAAAAAhc/mORq9fLR5x8/s1600/11_Turn3_FanaticsCloseup.jpg")
Shooting was typically pathetic, with both sides failing to astound. It could have been a different story, however. Let me explain:
Warmachines in Warhammer 3rd edition are Devastating. Note the upper case 'D'.
In an earlier turn, Blue scored a direct hit with his Man Mangler. The actual hit would have deleted the unit. Entirely. Likewise, this turn, my cannon (would have) rendered non-existent a vast swathe of orcs.
Dreamfish, being the conscientious Games Master that he is, decided in both cases to step in and moderate the state of affairs with some house rules. Dreamfish is exceptionally methodical and represents the true neutrality of his position excellently. He considered the problem from various different angles, discussed with us what we thought we should do, and then implemented his judgement. If, at this point, you're wondering what the hell a Games Master is, allow me to refer you to Zhu's superb article on the subject (http://realmofzhu.blogspot.com/2011/10/oldhammer-contract.html). Even the chaps over at Games Workshop still acknowledge the existence of this bizarre, mythical creature on page 427 in the large Warhammer 8 rule book.
Essentially, to give the chaps a chance, we've said that stone throwers will cause damage as they do now in the 8th edition - that is, the hit in the middle is at full strength, whilst everyone else under the template is at half strength. Also, in 3rd edition, cannons cause two hits per rank - we've moderated that to one hit per rank - again, much the same as later editions of Warhammer.
So, the warmachines have been downgraded a little, to allow some units to go and actually hit each other with axes. All for you, dear reader. All for you. At the end of this report (in 2018 at its current rate of progress), we'll list the of the house rules we've implemented.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bQshP7zvIx8/T00n56tdiqI/AAAAAAAAAg0/QrBb_EUbWcs/s1600/20_Turn3_ShootingPhase.jpg")
For all the missile weapons on the table, only five lives are lost. Three orcs and two dwarves.
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wIAHWoSY9g0/T003xL88bdI/AAAAAAAAAhk/jIRiPiyY8R0/s1600/21_Turn3_BlackOrcsCloseup.jpg")
Combat! That is, good 'ol Ruger, that oh-so-cool armour wearing slayer who couldn't succumb to the fury of his goblin hating wrath enough to enter a frenzy, hands it out to the poor goblins, disappointing his family further by failing to fulfil his slayer oath yet again.
***
What Ruger need right now was anger. Righteous, furious anger with which to relentlessly hurl himself at his hated foe, bringing glory and honour to his name and family. All he needed was just a little anger. Was that too much to ask?
Simply put, he just couldn't get into the swing of the thing. Sure, he hated goblins as much as the next dwarf, but it was an inherited hatred. He didn't really feel it. He just, well, did it. Because everyone else had. That wasn't really hatred, was it? That was just being a bit narrow minded at the pub. Sure, he'd killed he goblin leader, but it was very matter-of-fact. It wasn't a bitter thing, or a revenge thing or anything like that. He'd just hit him because he was there. Truth be told, he didn't even hit him very hard. Maybe that was just a goblin thing, though. He had noted that the tended to fold in half when he dove his axe into them.
Self-doubt had been plaguing Ruger for a while. Why was he such a bad slayer? What his family needed was some closure: a good name and a dead son. But, try as he might, he just couldn't get killed. Seven months on and was almost as if his family were trying to give him advice.
"The problem you have, son, is that you're too analytical," his mother would say.
"She's right, you know. Pick on bigger things. Don't just find one troll in the woods. You need to get a pack of them when they're in heat!" Uncle Minspiy said.
In fact, the only thing that Ruger had been able to get angry about was the fact that he couldn't track down a pack of trolls in heat. He had no idea what trolls in heat looked like, or where they could be found. Uncle Minspiy was less specific about that point. Ruger wasn't an expert, but he was fairly sure that packs of female trolls didn't go out behind the temple and try to blag a smoke from passers-by on Friday nights.
And now, here he was, fighting some goblins, comfortable in the knowledge that they were most likely not going to kill him, just because hordes of their predecessors had failed to do so. That should have made him angry, but ... nothing.
Then, suddenly: anger! He had accidentally killed another goblin. He had been trying to let one of the others get a flank on him, but whilst swinging at one on the other side he'd bloody knocked the flanker's head off. Oh, the frustration!
This is why he was never going to get killed - he was just too clumsy...
***
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LFJTydVV6XA/T00n_ob5YeI/AAAAAAAAAhE/t_F1Kc51J_s/s1600/30_Turn3_CombatPhase.jpg")
The reserves phase was about redressing the lines. Well, the Dwarf lines. The Orcs only have one objective - move forward. The dwarves, outnumbered as they were, were preparing a flank charge on Larlog's Lashers. Unfortunately, Sklif's Shootas moved closer, despite the threat of the fanatic, causing the dwarves of the Coohrs Light to reconsider their position. In the end, they turned to face.
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pGlqWtw4kcY/T00oB2jLyPI/AAAAAAAAAhM/Hh9_Q3MKS2g/s1600/40_Turn3_ReservesPhase.jpg")
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yvo9kkUHJ6E/T0033V5b2QI/AAAAAAAAAhs/p9Gl2dQn3QI/s1600/41_Turn3_KhanNarbisCloseup.jpg")
The situation at the end of the turn:
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NfGG616aJSw/T1pRVX7NCWI/AAAAAAAAAh8/59t3YW6WgGw/s1600/99_Turn3_EndOfTurn.jpg")
In Turn 4: Combat is joined. Well, more combat...
As always, slightly bigger pictures (and a more controlled layout) up on the blog (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/battle-report-shadow-of-koles-lorr-turn.html)...
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You guys rule! What a story - and I really dig that gobbo-fanatic. He's sooo adorable! I want one, too.
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I used to think he was cute too...until turn 4.....sigh... :'(
Excellent work as usual Gaj!
Blue
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I used to think he was cute too...until turn 4.....sigh... :'(
lol
Can't wait to see what happens. Another great report to read. Love it!
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In Turn 3, I mentioned something about combat.
Like a storm approaching, you could feel it, couldn't you? In your waters.
You will not be disappointed.
This is where Turn 3 left us:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7rcAs0x4U0/T24j2sDtRuI/AAAAAAAAAiE/EC9JEwiSmHU/s1600/00_Turn4_StartOfTurn.jpg)
Movement was exciting. There were charges. There were manoeuvres.
There were casualties.
Fortunately, young Abudabi provided an excellent lesson in centrifugal force to Sklif's Shootas, by crushing the vital organs of five of them. As you may well know, even orcs require their vital organs in order to survive, so this brought their fascinating existence to an abrupt and painful halt.
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M06GU2JTXd0/T24j4lIN5pI/AAAAAAAAAiM/-q4tZlt-OB8/s1600/10_Turn4_MovementPhase.jpg)
One of the last things those poor orcs ever saw:
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lj3VCGaRzXE/T24j6JiHBfI/AAAAAAAAAiU/S0LOrTzjzxo/s1600/11_Turn4_Closeup_GoblinFanatic.jpg)
I believe we've reached the end of our tether with regards to the shooting phase. The only reliable war machine, the dwarf cannon, had no targets, so bloodshed was at a minimum.
In the end, the dwarves worked out the tricky thing with the crossbows, leading to the wholesale murder of three goblins. The goblins, not as keen on wholesale murder as one might think, chose life, chose a job, chose a career, chose a family, chose a suitably large television, chose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers.
And promptly fled.
***
Slapdash was having a good time. Apart from the weather, which wasn't brilliant, it was great to be out with the boys, planning to do someone some harm. He loved the banners and the trumpets and the general sounds of fighting. They brought him an enormous sense of peace.
And so far, things had gone well. There had been a bit of an argument earlier in the day - Krunk and the boys up front had had to beat some goblins to get them into the fight, which was always fun. Slapdash had been too far back to be able to contribute, but just the thought that a goblin or five had copped it had made him smile. They'd marched over the body of one of the goblins, and he'd given it a suitably fun kick. Just to make sure - goblins were downright sneaky sometimes, and they would often play dead to avoid their duties. Disappointingly, that goblin really had been dead.
That didn't matter, though. Krunk had a plan. A message had come through the ranks that the dwarves were close and all they needed to do was move a little to the left. Slapdash wasn't big on formations, but he'd lost a finger breaking formation once, so he and the boys 'kept it tight', as Krunk liked to refer to it.
But then came the sound of shouting. There was always shouting, but this shouting had a distinctly different hue to it. On it rode pain, and triumph. In the end, there were two different types of shouting. The first was pregnant with dismay and shame, the second rich with pride and mockery.
"Wot's goin' on?" he asked aloud, craning his head in the direction of the noise.
The other orcs were also curious, mumbling to each other and looking around. Slapdash heard Krunk shouting something, but that was lost in the noise of the other orcs suddenly all jabbering at once.
"Its Sklif's lot!" someone hissed.
"Wot's Sklif's lot?" hissed another.
"Legging it, dat's wot!"
"Who's legging it?" raised an uncertain voice.
"Sklif's lot, is who. Dey're legging it!" came a clear voice through the tumultuous conversation.
There was a brief lull in the din as the boys blinked at each other, each processing this piece of information at their own pace.
Suddenly: "Where are dey going?"
"Why are dey going?"
"How are dey going?"
Another silence.
"I jus' said, din't I - legging it, is wot I said. Dat's how."
Slapdash and another orc nodded in agreement. That made sense.
"Forget how - question is why - an' how come we're still here? If Sklif's lot are off, must be a good reason, innit?"
"You reckon der fights too hard?"
Wide eyed, the orcs started shifting uncomfortably. Slapdash could still hear Krunk shouting somewhere up front, but now most of the orcs were looking back over their shoulders, past Slapdash and his rank.
"Yer - you know Sklif - 'es a good orc. Don't run fer nothing. Must be a giant or summat up dere."
A giant? That caught Slapdash's attention. "A giant? Where?"
"Dere's no giant anywhere!" Krunk shouted, punching an orc as he waded through to the middle of the mob.
"Was too! I saw it - "
"Dere ain't no giant - " Krunk started, but it was too late.
"Giant?" one orc asked.
"Giant, " another confirmed.
"Giant giant?" a third asked, using his hands to denote the potential size of the giant.
"Really giant giant," a fourth mentioned.
Slapdash's blood ran cold. He liked picking on things as much as the next orc, but a giant was a giant. Giants didn't get picked on, they did most of the picking on themselves. Giants were the pickers, and others were the pickees. Slapdash didn't want to end up a pickee.
"I can't do this." he said to no one in particular. "I got kids!"
That was enough for the orcs. Suddenly they all cried out that they had kids, each trying to get behind the other. Soon pushing and shoving led to tripping and scrambling, which in turn gave way to full scale running.
***
Krunk rubbed his eyes as he watched the rest of his boys run into the distance.
"Sod it, I got kids too. Two of 'em. Put 'em on der slow cooker dis morning. Should be luverly an' tender, now."
He loped off after the boys. As the saying went, a kid in the pot was worth two in the bush. Or something like that.
***
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SHS3RWmFGzg/T24j8ZZq-zI/AAAAAAAAAic/rBqKXNKv_H0/s1600/20_Turn4_ShootingPhase.jpg)
Let's be honest: you came for the combat phase. Like the citizens of Rome, your bloodthirsty desires bob just below the surface of your supposedly civilised veneer.
Readers! Quench your thirst!
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G40Wpej9jOk/T24j--PjgWI/AAAAAAAAAik/-WZ_AkeqD4U/s1600/30_Turn4_CombatPhase.jpg)
In all, seventeen greenskins were cut down. Hatred had a large part to play in this. Hatred in later editions of the game allowed the hating player to reroll the to-hit dice in the first round of combat. In 3rd edition, it adds +1 to your to-hit roll. Together with charging, and generally being better at fighting, this allowed the Coohrs Light Foote to hit on 2's.
Readers familiar with the little affair over at the Wyemm Seeyay (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/battle-report-its-fun-to-slay-at-wyemm.html) might already know about my dice rolling, so hitting on 2's helped. A lot.
Coohrs Light were able to start a trend in the orc army. By cracking Sklif's Shootas, waves of panic rolled through the orc lines, causing every greenskin to reconsider the value of curry powder.
In almost every case, they found it to be pretty worthless.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zKeWMgSRFcs/T24kAjCgUWI/AAAAAAAAAis/t8pcF_n0Hgw/s1600/31_Turn4_Closeup_LineBreakers.jpg)
Of course, Khan Narbis eventually found his way to Sir Loyne. It would have been nice if Sir Loyne could have found Khan, but he's only a dwarf, and an old one at that. The mountain, it turned out, would have to come to Mohammed after all.
***
Yasmar Nodrog was with Sir Loyne. He could feel it. Throughout the course of this engagement, Sir Loyne had been mumbling prayers, mainly in the shape of recipes, to his god, calling on divine inspiration to see him through. He had watched the orc leader approaching on his boar. He knew the wild pigs of the forest were exceptionally dangerous, often fighting through ultimately fatal wounds to kill their killers. And, like all dangerous creatures, he knew that the more dangerous it was, the sweeter the eating would be.
He formed a question to his son.
"Here's a quandary," he said. He jabbed his finger at the enemy rider. "How do we get that blasted orc off that boar without hurting it?"
Tendhe Loyne pondered the problem as the orcs marched ever closer. "To be honest, Pop, there's now way you couldn't hurt it unless you politely asked it to get off the boar, I think."
Sir Loyne closed his eyes and rested his palm on his forehead.
"The boar! How do I get the orc off the boar without hurting the boar, you idiot! I have no problem with hurting the orc! In fact, I have every intention of hurting the bloody orc! And don't call me Pop in front of the chaps!"
Tendhe saluted. "Sir, yes sir! Apologies for the confusion! I would imagine that shooting the orc at twenty paces with a pistol should do it nicely, sir!"
His son was right. Sir Loyne closed his eyes, bitter with regret now at leaving his beloved pistol set on the mantelpiece. No point in crying over spilled beer, though - he'd have to do it the hard way. He leaned over and whispered to his son.
"Leave the rider to me. He's mine. Tell the others."
***
Sir Loyne stepped forward as the orcs slammed into the dwarven line. He had no command of the guttural grunting that appeared to serve the orcs as a language, but by pointing his sword at the orc general and running his finger over his throat, he broadcast a message the orc appeared to understand. Kicking his boar in the ribs, the massive officer careened into Sir Loyne.
Sir Loyne received the boar's tusks directly against his shoulder plate. Hopefully, that was the most pain the creature would suffer before he could get around its flanks and slit its throat. Yasmar Nodrog would be very angry indeed if he did any damage to the muscles.
The impact spun him around, adding to the momentum required to swing his sword. Going full circle, his blade came down hard on the orc's shield. Orc and boar visibly moved under the impact of the blow, but Sir Loyne knew the blow meant nothing.
***
Khan Narbis didn't have any clever names for tactics, or martial arts, or, well, anything, really. he just knew patterns. If you lived long enough, you could recognise patterns and apply the right pattern in the right place. The pattern was simple: the dwarf had a two handed sword and had separated from his mates. What he would do is swing it full circle to get the maximum power against him. The thing to do was, put the shield in the way, and then wallop the little dope right on the top of the head. That's how this pattern went.
And that's exactly what he did.
***
Sir Loyne realised that he had underestimated the orc commander. Normal orc equipment was badly maintained and his sword would easily have chewed threw the shield. But this - this was the commander. No doubt, his shield had come from some sturdy dwarf warrior, because it didn't split at all.
The next think he knew was that the sky had fallen in. It felt like the entire thing must have collapsed on his head with an impact like a meteor. He fell to his knees under the force of the attack. Panic rose as he realised he couldn't see anything. Suddenly, the din of battle seemed twice as loud. He heard the pounding of feet and the clattering of metal on metal. Painful cries echoed around him, some near, some far.
Suddenly: hot breath! on his right!
He set his feet and swung the sword with all his might. The blade bit deeply into the ground, the wet grass unable to contest the keen edge of the sword.
Then he could see! His eyes came into focus just as his mangled helmet bounced off the ground. The impact of the sword strike had freed the split remains of the helmet from his head, which he now realised was the thing blocking his vision. Thank Yasmar Nodrog! He yanked the sword from the ground and faced the orcs.
But they were gone.
He quickly realised that Murphy and his boys were jeering and whooping, shouting at the fleeing orcs. Some started to give chase, leading to everyone, even Sir Loyne, enthusiastically charging along behind them, jeering and throwing stones.
Sir Loyne scratched his head. He tried to piece the events together in his head. Evidently, he must have head butted the orc, probably on his weapon hand, causing the thing to break its sword, or its arm, or something. The cowardly thing had probably freaked out at that point, realising that the dwarf could kill it just with his head, and had fled, taking his horrible colleagues with him.
He grunted some thanks to Yasmar Nodrog. The boys didn't know it, but they were bloody lucky he'd come along. He'd clearly saved them with nothing other than the simple sacrifice of his helmet. They didn't seem to realise it, seeming to think they'd fought the orcs off by themselves. But he, and no doubt Yasmar Nodrog, knew better.
Jolly lucky, was all he could say. Jolly lucky, they were.
***
Sir Loyne issued a challenge, bearing the full brunt of the charging boar and orc warlord. Eventually, Khan Narbis proved to be the more able fighter, skilfully beating his way through the brave paladin's defences to place a wound.
I mention this challenge because I thought it would be a good idea to explain a little house rule we have. The thing with characters in Warhammer, and especially in 3rd edition, is that they can become very overpowering very quickly. We decided that a good approach to combating this, whilst still encompassing the heroic aspect of characters, was to say that figures could only kill figures they were in base contact with. Essentially, this means that a character, or a troll, or anything with lots of attacks or is generally very good at fighting, might really, really butcher anything it can touch. It also means, however, that the entire unit won't be annihilated by one good dice roll. This compels powerful creatures and characters to seek each other out (as would be expected in any good fantasy setting), where their attacks and strength would be of more value, instead of wading through rank and file units, whilst their own unit stands back, clapping and cheering. Heroes become heroes, not just a different type of unit.
This explains why Ruger was constantly taking rout tests and losing combat, even though (on paper) he had a stat-line that said he would almost always draw combat. As it was, he very nearly routed this turn!
Unfortunately for Khan, Larlog's Lashers succumbed to panic at the very moment of his triumph, casting his victory into doubt and no doubt saving the life of Sir Loyne.
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-caD2buo64FI/T24kCSUs4DI/AAAAAAAAAi0/mKzIy9p0m80/s1600/32_Turn4_Closeup_KhanNarbis.jpg)
So, Turn 4 ended with much screaming and running. The only greenskin unit still facing the dwarves was the Man Mangler.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-96zumv9utD8/T24kEeRkFcI/AAAAAAAAAi8/PAZAkw5hJw8/s1600/99_Turn4_EndOfTurn.jpg)
Will Khan Narbis be able to regain control of his army? Will Sir Loyne finally clear the way to his beloved curry powder? Will Abudabi collect a further toll on the orcs & goblins? Find out in Turn 5!
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Oh the horror!!! It was good to know ye ladz!
Cheers,
Blue
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Turn 5.
This was where Turn 4 left us:
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i8z8ePUYagA/T3gdRgwURTI/AAAAAAAAAjE/dO5fkH50Si4/s1600/00_Turn5_StartOfTurn.jpg)
And what a turn it was.
The turn opened with Dreamfish playing an evil, evil trick on me! Here I am, thinking everything is under control, with the orcs haring off the table, squealing for their mothers, when on the board enters a Chaos Ally Contingent! A small Realms of Chaos force, led by a mighty Minotaur appeared on the right side of my line!
Talk about gobsmacked!
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J2lFJWjWG2M/T3i96AGZdLI/AAAAAAAAAkc/ZAP5B7694lk/s1600/05_Turn5_AprilFoolsJoke.jpg)
Actually, I'm kidding.
You are the victim of an April Fools day joke. A little bit of whimsy before we get into the actual events of Turn 5. No ally contingent arrived, things are exactly as we left them at the end of Turn 4!
So.
Whilst we've been processing the events of Turn 5, I've been learning about writing. As in, reading web pages that advise one on how to write good prose*. I've learned about many things, including a little bit about pacing and tension. Tension is very, very important. Pacing lends itself to this. Drag on a little too long (as I'm doing now), and you might risk losing your reader. Spill the beans too quickly (as I'm not doing now) and you raise the expectations.
A tricky line indeed.
The thing that really defines whether or not Turn 5 is worth considering is whether or not the Orcs rallied. Turn 4 saw the whole army turn tail and run and if they continued to do so, quite frankly, there wouldn't be a Turn 5, would there?
So, did they rally?
In this case, I shall defer to the old adage: a picture is worth a thousand words.
These were the dwarves present at the end of Turn 5:
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OaU_BttxEpQ/T3gdpLQj3lI/AAAAAAAAAkE/3EP06iK_lkU/s1600/92_TheWinners.jpg)
These were the Orcs present at the end of Turn 5:
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_cbdL1Sfxo/T3gdwD1PniI/AAAAAAAAAkM/Q3ifUtTyBmE/s1600/93_TheLosers.jpg)
But of course, there is still a story in between!
Of chief interest, really, was the continued antagonism of young Abudabi the Fanatic, who claimed a further four orcs, even as the rest of the army fled in dismay.
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S5PO_WKrwJQ/T3gdT-maOSI/AAAAAAAAAjM/LBBccor4HCw/s1600/10_Turn5_MovementPhase.jpg)
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2NvPJDNh00A/T3gdWo_LnqI/AAAAAAAAAjU/9ljzR5DcIn4/s1600/11_Closeup_Orcs_Fleeing.jpg)
The shooting phase did not astound - as usual - although the dwarves finally landed a direct hit with their stone thrower. Unfortunately, much like the crossbow bolts that had been used throughout the battle, it appears that the ammunition was defective, as only one orc failed to survive.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kCUfnrzDmK0/T3gdafHJhmI/AAAAAAAAAjc/D6O4sbJEZ8A/s1600/20_Turn5_ShootingPhase.jpg)
The Man Mangler was unable to exact revenge, as it missed Murphy's Stout. What a difference it could have made!
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5hOIGaoN0cs/T3gdcVJh89I/AAAAAAAAAjk/1ZGi5W9-8Hc/s1600/21_Closeup_ManMangler.jpg)
Which left us with a dismally uninteresting reserves phase - the Dwarves capitalising on their positions and moving in for the curry powder!
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z18GC57RRxs/T3gdeflgnfI/AAAAAAAAAjs/ssJckjoYMY8/s1600/30_Turn5_ReservesPhase.jpg)
Which really takes us to the end of Turn 5, and the end of the game!
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVC4la1uDr0/T3gdiwk60CI/AAAAAAAAAj0/ygxUhYi_MPA/s1600/90_Turn5_EndOfTurn.jpg)
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tBmZU93BW-U/T3gdkrjyLlI/AAAAAAAAAj8/pjP-xUMPcL4/s1600/91_Closeup_DwarvesCelebrate.jpg)
Although we here at Warhammer for Adults don't advocate tournament thinking, victory points are still an extremely useful method for rubbing your opponents face in the dirt.
As you can see, I've graciously allowed Blue to keep 102 of his points, so that there wasn't any embarrassment, or anything :)
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OPkcE4-WEoQ/T3gdxMcCk4I/AAAAAAAAAkU/acE3U5HJk2Q/s1600/94_TheScore.jpg)
Now, dear reader, I am as sure as a poker player with five aces in my hand that my last statement has brought violent offence to your sensitive and peaceful soul! How the bile must rise in your throat at my unjust, kamra-inviting cruelty? How can I go about claiming my brilliance and decrying Blue's paltry effort in such a brazen fashion? Was I not there when Dreamfish 'adjusted' (see shooting in Turn 3 (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/battle-report-shadow-of-koles-lorr-turn.html)) the outcome of the Man Mangler shot in Turn 2 (http://warhammerforadults.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/battle-report-shadow-of-koles-lorr-turn_11.html)? The very shot that, how not Dreamfish intervened in all his wisdom, would have removed from existence the Coohrs Light Foote - the unit that ultimately broke the Orc line?
And I hear you say: What now, Victorious Boast? Perhaps it really was a matter for the dice, and you were just a passenger in the palm of Lady Luck's hand! Was his general not in the right place to hold the line when it broke? The units that fled could hardly claim to have been poorly led? His mightiest champion was there with them when they broke? Surely that was nothing other than the machinations of Lady Luck's bitter cousin, Miss Fortune? Was there anything more he could have done to hold that line? So we say to you, wicked boast - enough of your banter - you were just bloody lucky! Had Dreamfish decided against you, do you believe that Blue would deride you on his blog (http://bluesmarauders.blogspot.com/), mocking your poor fortune?
Ummm.
And you're right, of course. Simply put, Blue started the game excellently, but we three (that is, Dreamfish, Blue and myself) elected to sacrifice his good fortune early in order to prolong the game and your experience of it with us, dear reader! How could I possibly boast, when Blue so graciously put you first, relinquishing his early lead so that you might witness bloodshed and mayhem in later turns (at his expense, unbeknownst to him). So I stand corrected, and you may soothe your ruffled feathers!
Anyway, To Blue in VT, I say simply:
Thankyou. Blue - you've been a stirling opponent, unfortunate in your final moments. One day, may it be that we can play in person.
And to Dreamfish I say simply:
Thankyou. Dreamfish - you've been a stirling gamesmaster. One day, may it be that we can play in person.
Of course, there will be one more post to come regarding the events at Koles Lorr. For one, you'll be aware that you are due an epilogue. Also, you'll want to see that summary of the house rules and modifications we made. Those are still to come. But the game, ladies and gentlemen, is complete.
Thanks for watching.
*So where is this bloody prose then? Well, nothing remarkable enough happened in Turn 5, so I elected to move straight onto the epilogue, which is well underway.
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Great battle report.Love seeing armies painted to a good standard and on the table.Wish I could get my finger out and do the same.Nice to see the shield designs too.I have a couple of sheets of them hid away some place.
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Great write up as always, love it! :-*
Seeing how effective panic can be reminds me of how we sometimes called Warhammer in 4th/5th edition:"The game of mass psychology tests" If you just made certain your opponent had to take enough of them, it would at a certain always help. I actually miss that part a lot, still don't really understand why units that are charged in the flank can't be panicked by such an event. Aah... nostalgia!
I'll be waiting for the epilogue now :)
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Them's weren't Orcs - must 'ave been over-fed Gobbo's, running off like that! >:(
Great game folks and commiserations to Blue! lol
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@Manic_Miner - Many thanks again to Dreamfish (and family) for supplying beautiful figures and the table. Its not ready yet, but the next table is shaping up to be something very, very special (http://realmsofminiatures.blogspot.co.uk/)...
@Braxandur - Thanks very much. Psychology and manoeuvre are critical in the earlier games - it harks back to a time when characters were also leaders, not just elite war machines. A big thing that caused Blue some trouble was the fact that figures mounted on boars suffer -1 to their leadership, which reduced the effectiveness of the chap. I don't think either of us knew that until Dreamfish mentioned it.
@Thantsants - Don't be so hard on goblins...the most dangerous greenskin on the table was Abudabi, the goblin fanatic :)
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LOVE IT
IT'S PROPER GOOD
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This battle report shows exactly how Warhammer should be. :)
Thanks for the amazing job!
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And so - the epilogue...
***
Abudabi blinked.
He only did so once. Just before the pain hit, his brain issued one final instruction: never, ever, ever, do that again! You shut your damn eyes, or I’m off!
Such was the pain that he cried out, the sharp mountain air whisking his pathetic mewling away.
Sleep came.
***
Abudabi blinked.
Each time his eyes opened, pain seared through his whole head – surging and indiscriminate – such that it felt to him that there was enough pressure within his skull to pop his eyeballs out and shoot them a distance of twenty feet.
He covered his eyes with his hand. Here, too, was pain. His hands didn’t hurt like his head, but his gnarled fingers were stiff, and were very uncomfortable when extended.
Sleep came.
***
Abudabi blinked.
There was less pain now. His head still pounded, but the waves of pain were more consistent, more bearable. It was as if they were responding to a rhythm. Come to think of it – Abudabi realised that the ground was also gently vibrating.
Pound, pound, pound.
Abudabi rolled his head over to the left. The vast expanse of white he was previously aware of gave way to a border of blurry green. He realised he was on his back.
Pound, pound, pound.
He closed his eyes again, breathed in, and forced them open. Concentrating to the point that the pounding in his head became one long peal of agony, he forced his eyes to focus on the green bit.
Pound, pound, pound.
Grass! It was grass! Soft, soft, grass! He was so excited, he rolled over onto his stomach. He winced as his head chastised him: no sudden moves! Slowly, okay? Just do it slowly.
Pound, pound, pound.
The noise was getting louder. On his stomach, he stretched out his arms, feeling the cool, soft grass with his hands. The gentle moisture soothed his aching hands. He spread his fingers out, letting the delicate blades lick the bits in between them.
Pound, pound, pound.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Abudabi exhaled, releasing with that languid sigh all the pain and tension in his body. Briefly, a memory flashed past his eyes: The Profit! He’d undertaken a task for The Profit. What had he done, now?
Pound, pound, pound.
Another memory: He had fought for The Profit! Yes – in a previous life, he had waged war on the oppressors of goblin-kind. His holy weapon: a ball and chain, the likes of which no mortal goblin could bear. Only the chosen could wield such a weapon. And he had been chosen!
Pound, pound, pound.
Definitely louder, now. Abudabi’s eyes flashed with excitement. Somewhere, in the back of his head, there was pain, but that was draining away. It was a mortal pain, for mortal bodies.
Pound, pound, pound.
That was it! Now he understood! He was no longer mortal! He had fought for The Profit, and in glorious apotheosis, had slain the requisite number of oppressors, rising now to what must surely be his reward! He had died for The Profit, just as Bag-Dahd had said. Even now, his reward must surely be here.
Pound, pound, pound!
Vergins! Thousands of ‘em! That’s what the noise was! His own heart racing, matching the heavenly rhythm of his new environment, Abudabi leapt to his feet and ran.
Pound, pound! Pound!
The noise was everywhere. He was running, but which way to go? He turned to the left and ran towards a distant hill. Still, the pounding was behind him. In front of him. To his left. To his right. He changed direction again, squealing with delirious delight.
Pound! Pound! Pound!
“Come to daaaaaddy,” he yelled. He didn’t know why, it just… made sense. He changed direction again, hurtling towards a new object, slowly becoming visible in the mist. Was it his new house?
Pound! Pound! Pound!
“I’m here! I’m heeeere!” he screamed, so excited his heart felt like it would burst. He opened his arms, ready to embrace the vergins, surely just inside his house, waiting to smother him with their untasted love.
“Daaaaddy’s hoooooome!”
WHOMP!
***
Hans and Ruger were leaning up against the barricade, watching the dwarf army march by, crunching feet synchronised to the hypnotic pounding of drums.
"So you're not going back with them?" Ruger asked.
"Nah - that was my last bit of soldiering. Thought I'd walk home a free dwarf, to my own rhythm, so to speak. What about you?"
Ruger sighed. "Gotta go get my troll. Only reason I came was I thought there'd be trolls. Always trolls around orcs. So they must be nearby, I reckon."
"In the mountains?"
"Yep, that's what I'm planning-"
Their conversation was interrupted by a high pitched yammering from behind them. It was getting louder quickly. Both dwarves spun around, Hans bringing his crossbow to bear, whilst Ruger unhitched his axe.
The screaming ended in a crushing squelch.Hans blinked. “Did you just see what I just saw?”
Ruger raised an eyebrow. “Sure did. Screaming nutter ran straight into it.”
“Bizarre.”
“Mmm. Very curious behaviour indeed.”
The two dwarves lowered their weapons and wandered over to the tower.
“Nutter ran straight into it.”
Ruger looked down at the crumpled goblin, tentatively prodding it with his boot.
“Out cold."
"Is that the one that tore its way through their ranks?" Hans asked. He'd remembered the crazed fanatic - how could such a small creature have killed so many orcs?
"I dunno. They all look the same to me." Ruger hefted his axe. "Lets off it, then."
"Whoah - wait, just hang on. Seriously, that's the one that killed all the orcs."
Ruger peered down at the goblin. "If you say so. Did you want to kill it?"
"Well, I...er... I was kind of thinking we should leave it. You know - it sorta helped out a bit, didn't it?"
Ruger was silent. His eyes switched between Hans and the goblin. There was a long silence. Eventually, he asked: "You're not one of them vegetarians, are you?"
Hans grimaced. "No. What's that got to do with it?"
"Trying to see why you don't want to kill it. You're not barefoot and I can't see any you wearing any crystals, so I was guessing you're a vegetarian. Vegetarians don't kill anything. If you're not one of them no-good peaceniks, then what in the name of all creation is stopping us from killing it?"
Hans shuffled his feet. "Its just...not fair. He really helped us out. Besides, he'll probably get torn apart by wolves or something anyway. Its not honourable."
Ruger shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. Much better to be torn apart by wolves than have an honourable death with the axe."
The two stood in silence.
"Okay, okay. You're right," Hans said, sighing heavily. "Let's kill it."
"Oh, now you want to kill it? I don't think we should, anymore. Its not honourable."
"What? You were just about to kill it!"
"Well I'm busy now. I don't have time to kill it. You kill it."
"Busy? Busy doing what? Kill it, already."
Ruger pulled out his pipe. "Busy preparing a smoke, that's what. I'm not killing it, and that's that!"
"Well, I'm not killing it either!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
***
And so it was, that as the dwarf army marched west over the plain of El-Skitchin, and as two dwarves parted company in disagreement, one headed north - the other south, the only thing left breathing in the shadow of Koles Lorr was a single goblin.
Abudabi, the goblin fanatic, survived.
***
Sir Loyne grinned at the king. "Whaddaya reckon? Is it good, or is it good?"
King Pinne was struggling. Good was not a word he would use to describe where he found himself right now. Pain was, although it didn't quite go far enough. Agony, definitely. He might have gone with something like 'the raging fires of hell' if he could but speak.
"Water," he whispered, as tears streaked from his eyes.
"Have some more, Ty, have some more! You've barely touched your plate!" Sir Loyne ladled another steaming spoonful of curry into his mouth, sealing the deal with a swig of beer.
All around the room, dwarves cried in homage to Yasmar Nodrog. Most cried even more when they realised how much more homage was still present on their plates.
Muz was in the same place. He, like most of the dwarves, had given up on the beer and was sticking steadfastly to water. Until that moment, he hadn't understood Yasmar Nodrog's unusual combination of godly duties: food and rage. But now, having tasted curry for the first and last time - if he had anything to do with it - he understood. The rage was in the food. Yasmar Nodrog demanded much of his followers, if this was the sort of thing he made them eat!
***
Sir Loyne and his son left early the next morning, taking the infernal curry powder with them. King Pinne had offered them a mule to haul the wagon, some guns with which to defend themselves, and 'anything the hell else they need to get out of here as quickly as possible'. He had still entertained the notion that he would recover from the curry burns, but his good humour had evaporated when he had been forced to attend to his ablutions in the middle of the night, and in so doing, he was forced to experience the pain a second time. Pain, where pain should not be. It made his piles seem like gentle sunlight on his bare skin by comparison.
When he had left, Sir Loyne had offered to bless the hold, but the King had been quick to say no. They had evidently been judged by Yasmar Nodrog and had been found wanting. No further blessings were necessary, thanks very much.
***
"Do you think they liked it?" Sir Loyne asked, as the wagon gently plotted its way through the countryside.
"They sure did, dad, they sure did," Tendhe replied. He knew better than to tell the truth.
"They seemed awful keen to get us out of there this morning."
"I think they just wanted us to get on with Yasmar Nodrog's will. Been a bit of delay, with all the fighting and everything."
The wagon rolled on in silence for a while.
"Could you pull up here? I need to... er... fertilise the countryside."
Tendhe smiled. He always enjoyed his father's little phrases. "I thought you went before we left?"
"I wanted to, but I couldn't. There was too much of a queue..."
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Nice to hear the Stunties really savoured their victory ;)
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Brilliant! No other words for this! :-*
Looking forward to what you will come up with next.
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Thanks, Mr B!
Glad to know the thing landed well. And thanks to all who've supported the endeavour, as always.
@Thantsants - yes, it felt right that the dwarves 'pay' a little for their - frankly - senseless victory. Everyone's happy in the end!
Regards
Gaj
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And my favourite gobbo survived. Great battle report. This reminds me what Warhammer was about. And no amount of whining about Evil Empires can destroy that nice old feeling. Thanks for reminding me.