A Fantasy Campaign

[Seal]

Beautiful images!

[KarwickWingmaker]

Beautiful images!

Great work !

What bits did you use for your Vamp leader ?

Thanks guys!

The Vampire model is the plastic GW vampire lord miniature, with a head and sword hand from the fantastic blood knights set (also plastic)

[KarwickWingmaker]

Part 3: The Elves March into Esiron

The Mayroot Opens

The Mayroot hissed as though filled with boiling water, the bark of the great tree splitting, revealing the blinding light within. The Elves danced as they played their jovial songs, their prayers were finally answered. Prince Aethial raised his hand to the light emitted by one of the great fissures in the bark of the Mayroot, feeling its calming magical power drawing him in. The surface of the great tree split further, blinding all of the Elves around it. A moment later, their sight coming back to them, they noticed that the prince was gone. The large cracks in the Mayroot had closed, with no sign of the bark having been split open. As evening came, the leaderless Elves set up their camps around the great tree, unsure of what was to happen to their prince. It had been many centuries since the last opening on the Mayroot, and only the eldest among them had met Olakar the Great, the last prince to enter the great tree and return alive. Olakar had led the Elves when they had marched, along with the primitive humans, against Constantine the Infinite, the malicious vampire who had harried their lands for what had seemed to be an eternity. According to the legend, Olakar had slain Constantine, but had himself fallen to a mortal wound caused by the vampire’s poisoned sword. And so the Elves waited, telling tales of the last time the Mayroot had opened, as their prince was transformed within it.

Days passed before the Mayroot opened once more, this time cut open from within by Prince Aethial’s magical sword. The violence of the prince’s exit from the Mayroot startled the Elves that gathered around the great tree, but their elation at his return overshadowed any anxiety about the changes to him, though he was certainly changed. Among the changes to the prince was the light shining from his eyes, exactly as the light shone from within the Mayroot. Also, when Aethial spoke, the Elves noticed that his voice was no longer that of a mortal being. Instead, it was as though he were whispering directly into their minds, cutting through all the noise of the mortal world. They feared him, yet they loved him, and when he mounted upon his griffon, they followed him toward the Goddess’ Touch Mountains.



After two days of marching, Prince Aethial rode his griffon onto a hill and looked out along the grassland before him. He spoke to his warriors.
“My people,” he started, ”the time has come”
The Elves all looked around, and saw no hint of an enemy army nearby. When one of his sergeants went to ask him what he saw, the prince turned to him and said, as though he had read his mind, ”prepare for battle, they come now.”
It was at this moment that a host of undead appeared upon the horizon. The Elves began to prepare their weapons, readying themselves to fight.

[KarwickWingmaker]

The Battle

Dimitri shuffled his feet nervously, knotting his hands as he awaited instruction.



The vampires before him were enjoying his torment, they always did. Smirking, his master looked at his companion, then back to the anxious mortal who stood before them.
“We march now,” the unnatural voice of Valsomir von Sangué stated as he rested his hands upon his great mace, the fearsome weapon even taller than the gargantuan vampire. The voice itself was unsettling enough to Dimitri, a twisted reflection of a human voice, in the same way an image is distorted upon the surface of a lake in heavy rainfall.
“Now master?” Dimitri replied nervously, attempting to remember all of the spells he would require to assist in the command of his lord’s host of walking cadavers. It would be his first battle, yet he was not as naive as many are about the horrors of battle.
“You question a vampire’s order, mortal?” Inquired Nikolai, the vampire lord’s first among companions, his fangs bared in a smug grin as his calm line of inquiry invited the necromancer to grovel to his vampiric overlords.
“No! No, of course not,” Dimitri hurried.
“Then we march now.” Nikolai shrugged, wondering what the mortal’s problem was. Ever since he had killed Dimitri’s master and dragged the apprentice wizard into Valsomir’s court to become a necromancer, he had felt a slight worry at the careful temperament of the mortal. Perhaps this was why he had not been adopted into the von Sangué family, his sole aim and reason for all of his loyalty to Valsomir. Now, decades later, Dimitri - and Nikolai, by extension - was still yet to prove himself useful to Valsomir von Sangué. Without Dimitri’s success on the field today, Nikolai could kiss his hopes of being taken in by the von Sangués goodbye. He would be a lone vampire forever, roaming the mortal world at night, shrinking into the shadows in fear when the living gathered to hunt him. No, he was determined for that not to be his fate. The vampires watched apathetically as Dimitri prepared the necessary spells, darkening the skies above them further to extend the vampires’ abilities, while raising any recently dead nearby to bolster the ranks of skeletons under their command.



The Elves shivered as the sky darkened, the howling wind rushing through the trees threatening to deafen them as they stood bravely in ranks. Just as the noise was becoming completely unbearable, it stopped. The sudden complete silence was enough to drive the weak-willed to insanity, yet the warriors under Prince Aethial stood their ground resiliently, grateful that the winds that would have impeded their arrows had died down.



As the undead shambled toward their ranks, Aethial gave the order to loose. The Shadow Sisters reacted immediately, a great volley arcing in the air to rain down upon the Vampire Knights on the enemy’s right flank, the horrific screams of the fallen vampires filling the ears of the Elves.



This impetuous behaviour was not to go unpunished. The now-crazed Vampire Knights desperately drove their steeds to charge Aethial himself, who was caught unawares as they crashed into him. While the prince’s unshakable nerve held, his griffon writhed beneath him, impossible to control. Suddenly, it took flight, Aethial unable to prevent it from fleeing the field. Seeing their prince fly away upon his griffon disheartened many of the Elves, even though he had slain all but one of the Vampire Knights who had dared to face him. His warriors could feel the dreadful impossibility of their task.

“You must hold, my people. Show no fear,” whispered the voice of Aethial into the minds of his warriors.

With that, the Elves were left without their prince. A tragic turn of events at any time, yet for such to occur in the opening stages of a battle was demoralising in the extreme. That being said, the Elves fought on.



First to spring into action were the Shadow Sisters, rushing away from the sole remaining Vampire Knight as they loosed a hail of magical arrows upon him. His shriek as the arrows hit home could be heard across the battlefield, his death granting the Elves a slight boost to their morale. One threat down, many to go.






On the other flank, the Elven captain prepared to rush down the field, sweeping away the skeleton warriors, though it was not to be. With a spiteful grin, the vampire Nikolai merely pointed at the Elf, stopping his heart. The Elf curled over his mount and clutched at his chest, his eyes bulging as he struggled for breath. He fell as the skeletons under the vampire’s command crashed into one of the units of spear-armed warriors holding the centre of the Elven line, causing many casualties.





Incredibly, the brave Elves held in the face of this onslaught, pushing the undead warriors back.



The other unit of Elven warriors rushed to attack Valsomir’s guard, hoping to turn the tide of the battle in their favour. Their spears clattered against the armour of the undead, causing only a single Skeleton Guard to fall. When Valsomir swung his great-mace, however, the Elves were slaughtered in a shower of blood. The survivors dropped their weapons and fled the field, praying that the Vampire wouldn’t chase them down. Licking the sweet Elven blood off his mace, Valsomir prepared to march on the remaining Elves.



The Shadow Sisters once again proved their abilities as they sent a crashing volley into Valsomir’s guard, felling more than half of them in the storm of magical arrows.



Adding to the onslaught, the remaining Elven warriors charged into the vampire’s unit, hoping to end his hideous un-life. However, before they could reach him with their spears, he felled them all with a swing of his mace, cackling maniacally as he did so.



The chances of Elven success lay solely in the hands of the Shadow Sisters, who unleashed a final volley into Valsomir’s unit, slaying them all and causing a great many magical wounds to the vampire. He reeled and howled, shrinking back into the shadows of the forest to escape further torment at the hands of the elite Elven archers.



Nikolai, seeing this happen, channeled all of his fury into one brutal charge, carving the Shadow Sisters into unrecognisable chunks as he slashed his way through the entire unit in a wild bloodlust, leaving only a small detachment of Elven archers on the battlefield.



The remaining Elves rushed toward the barn, hoping that they had not been spotted by Nikolai and so could hide inside while the enemy moved on. When they saw the necromancer Dimitri making his way toward them, they drew back their bows ready to unleash their arrows upon him, confident in their ability to fell the man when suddenly a noxious gas rose from the ground beneath their feet. Dimitri thanked the gods of darkness for hearing his prayers, the spell had worked! The Elves sank to their knees, clawing at their throats as they died slowly before him. He smiled to himself as he watched their agony, now my master will see my potential he thought. Interestingly, Nikolai was having identical thoughts about his own prowess on the field. He entered the forest to seek out his master, hoping that he had done enough to warrant his entry into the von Sangué family.

[Little Odo]

Lovely figures and a great battle report. Thanks for sharing.

[Seal]

Yes, these reports are great, and the miniatures and tables are fantastic. Please keep them coming.

[Malamute]

Superb stuff!

[KarwickWingmaker]

Yes, these reports are great, and the miniatures and tables are fantastic. Please keep them coming.

Superb stuff!

Lovely figures and a great battle report. Thanks for sharing.

Thanks guys! (lots) More to come!!

[KarwickWingmaker]

Part 4: The Journey North

Alberto rode his horse along the streets of Old Blindmire, allowing the sights and smells to distract him from the terrifying reality of the Vampiric invasion into the Kingdom of Esiron. He stooped to talk with a guard for a moment, a small gesture to imitate normalcy in such troubled times. It was a beautiful day and Alberto was determined to enjoy it, no matter how much responsibility now rested on his shoulders, his alone.



“We’ve heard news of some raids, father,” the guard seemed rather calm, causing Alberto to assume that raids had become a regular occurrence. Even so, the priest’s heart sank.
“More of the dead rising to attack us?” He asked
“No, no,” the guard replied reassuringly, “just men this time, they attack the baggage trains and travelling nobles,” he scratched his head, “makes me wonder how you managed to get here from Sarrím in once piece, being honest.”
“Must have been the men I brought with me,” Alberto had never considered how truly vulnerable he had been even after he had escaped from the disastrous battle’s conclusion. He scratched the stubble on the side of his face, imagining the horror of being attacked by bandits while totally undefended. “Say,” he started, suddenly snapping out of his dark thoughts, “is anyone leaving north of here? I’d rather not travel alone if it’s so dangerous about, though I’m far from useless in a fight.” The guard smiled, obviously not taking the priest’s combat skills seriously, though Alberto was happy to play the fool if it could get him travelling north sooner rather than later.
“I’ve heard Lady Amelia Vincenzo is heading to Briarmoor Castle, if that’s any help,” the guard shrugged, though he couldn’t help feeling envious of anyone travelling north away from the vampire Dragos von Sangué and his hordes of undead slaves, “I could take you to see her guards now, it’s no bother.”
“If you’d be so kind, I could do with the company, perhaps there would be a place for you to join us.” Alberto could sense the guard hoping to leave Old Blindmire, as any sane person would under the circumstances.
“I’d happily join you,” the guard felt reality hit him suddenly, crushing his hopes, “though I’m probably needed here more.”
“We can but hope.” Alberto smiled at the guard, patting him on the shoulder before moving to let him pass. The priest followed the guard toward their best chance of leaving Old Blindmire alive.



Alberto smiled as brightly as he could when he set his eyes upon Lady Amelia Vincenzo.
“Ah the beauty of the north,” His cheery demeanour hid his dread at the prospect of being left behind, “what an honour it is to see your ladyship once more,” he lied through his teeth, smiling.
“Oh good, a priest of Matéa is joining us is he?” Lady Amelia asked the captain of her guard, obviously disgruntled at the size of her ever-growing party, “At this rate the entire town of Old Blindmire will be marching with us to Briarmoor Castle.” Her guard said nothing as he smiled smugly, looking down his nose at Alberto.



“I need to get word to General Delmorté of the attack at Sarrím,” Alberto interjected desperately, “I promised him I would report back to him no matter the outcome.”
“We could take a written report with us,” Lady Amelia smiled wickedly, “I’d be happy to save you the journey, perhaps the people of Old Blindmire could find some use for you here.” Alberto guessed she was toying with him as a cat does a mouse, but the doubt over his safety left him feeling as though his stomach had been tied into a tight knot. Just as he was about to make the case for his joining them, Lady Amelia’s smile left her face in an instant, “Alright priest,” she almost spat the word, “you may join us, but you must provide your own guards. Meet us here tomorrow at sunrise, you ride at the back with the supplies.” She turned and left before Alberto could respond, signalling to her men to follow her. The dust kicked up by her horse was not the only cause of the tears welling up in Alberto’s eyes. I’m saved! he thought to himself, smiling as he patted the shoulder of the guard he had brought with him, who seemed equally elated.



“That’s us marching north then, father,” the guard smiled up at the priest who, for all intents and purposes, had just saved his life.
“Indeed it is,” Alberto beamed, “Matéa be praised, she really does work wonders.” He looked up at the blue sky above, taking a deep breath before turning his attention back to the guard. “What’s your name, man?”
“The name’s Enrik, father,” the guard replied, offering his hand to the priest.
“Alberto,” Alberto replied, “and that’s what you can call me from now on.”



That night, Alberto and Enrik met outside the tavern at the northern end of Old Blindmire, their bags packed and supplies gathered. Enrik had gathered several of his closest and most trusted friends for the journey and Alberto had agreed to pay each of them well for their services, knowing full well that they were saving their own skin in joining him.
“Well men, drink well, but rest better,” the priest advised before leaving them to their last night in Old Blindmire, heading for his bed. Tomorrow would be the start of an arduous march north, and who among them could predict what would befall them along the way?

[The Golem]

I can't wait for the next part!