Having already tested the waters for interest in Warhammer 3rd edition, I noticed there was interest, but seemingly not enough to capture the imagination of the wider community. Then, a fellow enthusiast contacted me and suggested that we have a game. The catch, of course, is that he lives in The Netherlands and I live in England.
Foiled.
That is, until the fellow (Dreamfish) revealed his amazing technology. So, the modern miracles of the 21st century will allow us to play. By using his specially preserved Warhammer 3 shrine and an IP camera, we are able to present a battle report, which we'll report turn by turn as it happens.
We've done our level best to present all the lovely old school goodness such an effort entails and I certainly hope that it captures the imagination and the memories of a bygone era.
So, of course, we start with the scenario prologue...a pun laden tribute to nonsense that formed scenario's back in the day...
(Prologue) It's fun to slay at the Wyemm Seeyay
“Daddy, can I borrow the chariot?”
Lord Vass Saleen regarded his son cooly. “No.”
“Daddeee,” moaned the young prince, “pleeeeease? How’m I gonna ever be a proper prince if I don’t have battles and stuff?”
Vass sighed. He loved his son and deeply wanted him to grow up to be a powerful, wise elven prince that would do his name and his household the honour it deserved. It was so very unfortunate, then, that the young Prince Gaymar the Foccer was such a blithering idiot. So far, Vass had managed to keep the fool out of any serious engagements, but other members of the court would start asking questions soon. Why should they commit their firstborn to battle whilst he hid his progeny deep in his hold?
Gaymar sensed his father softening. “Please?”
“What’ve you got in mind?”
“Yippee! Woohoo! Daddy, you’re the best!”
Vass winced as he watched his son hopping about and clapping. Bloody fool. “Hang on, son - just hang on. I haven’t said yes yet. What is it that you want to do? What do you want the chariot for?”
“Oh, nothing much. There’s a few dwarves setting up some sort of outpost on western border of Wyemm Seeyay. I want to nip that in the bud.”
“Are they inside the border? Have they broken our laws?”
“No,” Gaymar said. “Not yet. But you know dwarves, Daddy. They’re probably inside the border even now. Chopping stuff down and making stuff and singing their vulgar songs. We need to act now!”
Vass raised an eyebrow as Gaymar prattled on with his ever more excitable diatribe. Any minute now he would start shaking his fist. That was usually when Vass interrupted.
“Gaymar. Son. Calm down, dear - it’s just a dwarf outpost.”
Gaymar watched his father’s placating hands. “And they wear beards. Beards, Daddy, beards! Will their abominable practices never cease? They must be cut down before our children are tainted - what if our future generations all grow up wanting beards? Knowing they can never have them? How will they feel, Daddy?”
Vass blinked at his son. It was the beard thing again. He was sure his son was suffering from some sort of beard envy. He’d be the laughing stock of the aristocracy if news ever got out his son wanted a beard. Maybe if he ran a few dwarves through this fascination would wane…
“Okay, boy, maybe we should keep an eye on these beard-wearing dwarves.” He raised his eyebrow as Gaymer nodded eagerly at him. “How many dwarves are there?”
“Just a few, Daddy.”
“How many?”
“Um…ten? I think?”
“How. Many. Bloody. Dwarves. Are. There. Gaymar?”
“Fourteen. Definitely fourteen.”
“You’re sure about that? Fourteen? You only have to count on three hands in order to account for all the dwarves?”
Gaymer squinted at his father in concentration. “Yes,” he declared finally. “Definitely three hands only.”
“Okay. Here’s what you do. Take Danak Royd and some of the household guard. Also, get Jorj Miy Kael and his men from Chippin Dale - ”
“Daaad - “
“Don’t interrupt - I’m not done yet. When you get to Wyemm Seeyay, I want you to get the House Troubadours there - chap’s name is Gayestin Theland. He’s got some experience with dwarves already.
“Daaaaaaad - “
“Shut up. And I want you to take your cousin Ellendee with you as well.”
Gaymer was dumbstruck, his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. Great. Now he had to take his dumb cousin with as well. Ellendee Generis had no sense of humour and took everything far too seriously.
“Daddy,” he said, shaking his head, “it’s no place for a girl - Ellendee’s beauty is only just beginning to flower, how could I possibly take responsibility for her in a war situation? You know I - “
“You’re not taking responsibility for her, she’s taking responsibility for you!” Vass erupted before he could stop himself. “Just take her along!”
“Fine!” Gaymar stomped off, but stopped at the door. “And the chariot? Can I take Astinn Marr Ten?”
Vass shook his head. “No - take DeLorien.”
Gaymar snorted. "DeLorien? DeLorien? If that chariot was any older it would be going backwards in time!" He stormed out in disgust.
Why me? Vass pleaded silently with the gods. Why me?
***
“I can’t believe you brought a chariot,” Ellendee complained.
“Well if you don’t like it, you can get out and walk, you know,” Gaymer replied, looking ahead.
“That’s not what I meant. How are you planning to sneak up on their position with a great rattling chariot like this?”
“I wasn’t planning to sneak up on them. We’re just going to thunder through and annihilate them.”
Ellendee pointed behind her. “What about everyone else not riding a chariot?”
Gaymer glanced over his shoulder, taking in the sight of his loyal patrol jogging along. Even the wardancers were looking tired. “Er…” was all he could volunteer.
“What you’ve described isn’t a plan. Do you know anything about dwarves, or how they fight?”
Gaymer looked down and mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?” Ellendee demanded. “Nothing, you said? Stop this chariot, let the patrol rest and let’s form a plan before you get us all killed!”
“I’m in charge, you know,” said Gaymer, carefully avoiding her stern gaze.
Suddenly, Ellendee grabbed his right ear (and as we all know, elves have prodigious ears) and twisted it right around until the chariot ground to a halt and Gaymer was on his knees whimpering.
“There we go,” she said sweetly. The chariot crew stared into the distance, focussing on anything that wasn’t Gaymar.
By the time Jorj and the Chippin Dale Regiment of Foote caught up, Ellendee had Gaymar in a headlock and was furiously rubbing her knuckles into his head, whilst he wailed and called for his father. Jorj noticed the remaining chariot crew had taken an all consuming interesting in a an old abandoned gravestone by the side of the road.
Ellendee dropped Gaymer on the floor. He pushed Ellendee away and straightened his leather jerkin. Jorj snickered.
“Silence in the ranks!” Gaymer wailed through quivering lips. “Lady Ellen Degeneris and myself were just … discussing the plan.”
Danak Royd and the Household guard had just arrived now and formed up respectfully.
“Lady Ellendee was just about to describe…” Gaymer trailed off. Ellendee was not about to describe anything. She, too, had taken grave interest in the headstone.
“What are you doing?” He asked in a strained voice.
“This is the gravestone of Spar Gettyand Sors,” she declared.
“So?”
“So? You’ve never heard of - oh wait. Of course you haven’t. He was a great hero of our people and was instrumental in freeing the Wyemm Seeyay area from the Dwarves hundreds of years ago.”
“We’re wasting time. So what - he’s dead now!”
“I can … sense him. He’s here, I think.”
“Ellendee - ”
“Wait - he wants to make contact, I’m sure of it!”
“Right men - form up. Lady Ellendee has lost her mind, and we need to leave her here, so that she can try and find it."
He walked up to Ellendee, who was mumbling and gesturing, inviting Spar to make his presence known.
“Ellendee, dear. Um, me and the big boys are going to go ahead and have a quick fight - you know, see to business and all that. Why don’t you stay here and chase the butterflies a bit, okay? We’ll be back before dark to come and get you. Don't eat any mushrooms, okay?”
Ellendee gave no obvious signs that she’d heard him, so Gaymer swiftly turned and mounted the chariot. “Follow me, men - to victory.”
“Er…what about Lady Ellendee? We can’t just leave her, can we?” Jorj asked.
“Watch me,” Gaymer growled as he cracked the whip.
***
“What now?” droned Spar Gettyand Sors. “I just want to go to bed…”
“We need your help, oh Great Spirit of the Forest. Now is our darkest hour!” Ellendee sang.
“Darkest hour? Now? That’s a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?” the spirit said, inclining its head.
“You don’t know my cousin, oh great one - he’s, how do you say… tactically - ”
“Retarded?”
“Retarded,” she nodded.
“Yeah, I saw that whole thing with the headlock. Nice moves, for a girl.” The spectre nodded appreciatively.
“Thanks. With the forest like it is these days, a girl’s got to look after herself, you know. Anyway, enough about me - let’s talk about you. Can you help us?”
The spectre shimmered for a second. “In a word - no,” it said.
Anger flashed in Ellendee’s eyes. “What? Why?” She quickly added: “er…oh great one?”
“Spectre. Can’t leave the gravestone, see?” Spar pointed at the gravestone and shrugged.
“Oh,” Ellendee said, her anger subsiding. “I can help with that…”
***
Morgrim looked up from his lunch. “How many d’you say there were?”
“Sir! About thirty, give or take. Sir!” The young dwarf’s hand seesawed.
“Straight down the pass?”
“Yes sir, straight down the pass. No scouts that we can see, sir!”
Morgim scratched his chin. “So they’re just walking into the valley?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“With a chariot?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Enough with the ‘sirs’, okay? You’re driving me insane.”
“S - yes, er...chief?”
Morgrim raised a hairy eyebrow. “Look - thanks for the report. Now sod off and find me Arek.”
The young dwarf stuttered, did a half salute and ran off. Arek ambled up shortly afterwards.
“Beanbag sez you’ve got an elf problem?” he muttered.
“Looks like it, mate.”
“Wadder ya need?”
“They’re just rolling down the pass, by the sounds of things. Got a chariot. Seems we should just point Earthquaker straight down there and give ‘em hell when they arrive.”
“Yer…okay. I’ll sort it,” drawled Arek as he wandered off. “I’ll get the lads set up with some crossbows, mebbe?”
Morgrim nodded. “Ta mate. That’s the stuff.”
Good dwarf, that Arek, Morgrim thought. Be a good commander, if he didn’t mess about with all that black powder and stuff…