Orc's Drift - The Grand Finale

[nicknorthstar]

Very enjoyable. Still impressed with the collection of original figures.

[Braxandur]

 

This thread just keeps on getting better! A very very good distraction from daily work as well

Really shows me that the next time we play, I need to take better pictures and notes as well. I'm still trying to make sense of what is on some of the pictures that we took during a short 3 battle campaign in the Realm of Chaos..  Hopefully be posting that one soon though...

[Pil]

Awesome work again Thantsants! The game looks great and of course the report was very enjoyable. I'm looking forward to the next instalment 

[FramFramson]

So good!  

What do the victory points do for the defenders in the final battle? Or is it victory by overall campaign score?

[Thantsants]

Thanks again folks!

Still impressed with the collection of original figures.

Neither my bank manager nor my wife share that view Nick! 

I'm still trying to make sense of what is on some of the pictures that we took during a short 3 battle campaign in the Realm of Chaos..  Hopefully be posting that one soon though...

That sounds like a treat Braxandur! As for my notes, they're pretty sketchy as I didn't want to hold up the game play too much and having sometimes forgotten to take a wide angle pic of the whole table after each player's turn, there is a little artistic licence added in the write-up! I would suggest not trying to tally up casualties mentioned in the report and the number of minis in the corresponding photos either! 
My other slight problem is that my photographic setup is much smaller than the table we played on so I have to reduce everything down to fit in the space while still giving the impression of how the game played out.

Awesome work again Thantsants! The game looks great and of course the report was very enjoyable. I'm looking forward to the next instalment

Most kind Pil -  can I look forward to a smilar report of your showdown with Manic's Skaven?! 

What do the victory points do for the defenders in the final battle? Or is it victory by overall campaign score?

Not much apart from soothing the pain of defeat!

Quoted from the Kachas Pass section in the scenario booklet -

That the Vile Rune Orcs will win should be in no doubt. However, the complete victory conditions are costed below...

... With the aid of these tables, the two sides should be able to cost a victory for either side within the confines of the scenario itself. It also allows the Wood Elves to gain a moral victory despite casualties sustained..."

And from the Ashak Rise scenario -

"The highest victory point total wins. This allows for the remote possibility that the Dwarf player might win even if none of his unit survive"

Love the idea that a Heroic Last Stand can be celebrated! Of course the Orcs' victory points in the first three scenarios determine what turn they will turn up at at Orc's Drift. Turning up late with a few battered survivors isn't exactly going to be desirable... 

As for the campaign as a whole - well it all rests on the final battle really and to quote the Victory points section for the final Orc's Drift scenario - This is a fight to the death! May the best man win! - and that's it! 

[Pil]

Most kind Pil -  can I look forward to a smilar report of your showdown with Manic's Skaven?! 

If we get a game done on Crisis I don't think there'll be much opportunity for staged pictures but I'll be sure to bring my camera and make some notes

[Funghy-Fipps]

Really enjoyed reading this and drooling over the - as usual - first class vintage mini porn on flagrant display.  Sir, you deserve a medal/knighthood/peerage (or something) for your sterling work in this neglected area. 

[Thantsants]

If we get a game done on Crisis I don't think there'll be much opportunity for staged pictures but I'll be sure to bring my camera and make some notes

That sounds promising - I wait with bated breath! 

first class vintage mini porn 

Thanks Funghy - that's a niche market if ever there was one! 

[FramFramson]

Certainly it's larger than the market for third-rate vintage miniatures porn. 

[Thantsants]

Haha - can't argue with that logic! 


Well welcome one and all to the third and final instalment before we get to the big showdown at Orc's Drift. Not to give away too much about which way the battle went, but I write this report with a heavy heart. As you can see from these previous posts I did become rather attached to the small settlement of Linden Way and the many and varied characters who dwell there -

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/09/for-every-wound-balm.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/09/linden-life.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/07/we-few-we-happy-few-we-band-of-brothers.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/07/honour-among-thieves.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/07/now-set-teeth-and-stretch-nostril-wide.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/06/none-shall-pass.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2010/06/sixty-we-dropped-at-least-60-wouldnt.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2011/01/every-man-is-as-heaven-made-him-and.html

http://teasgettingcold.blogspot.com/2011/11/last-minute-subs.html

Crikey - hadn't realised I'd written so much twaddle about them!

 Anyway, not to give too much away at this early stage, but the neighbourhood is not quite what it was anymore...

The Reaving of Linden Way

Magyar Ironfist, Chieftain of the mighty Kwae Karr Orcs, curled what was left of his upper lip in disgust. A low rumbling growl emanated from the brutish Warlord as he tried to decide which sight was more offensive - the pitiful human village with its even more pathetic defenders which lay further down the road, or the foul smelling and decidedly moth-eaten Shaman who was furiously scratching his crotch before him.

"Give it a rest Bagrash!"

"Sorry Oh Mighty Chief, scourge of the Northern Wastes, terror of Ramalia, crusher of..."

"Enough!" Roared Magyar. Oh how he hated such craven belly-crawling...
"So shaman, I gather we are graced with the presence of our Lord and King, F'yar." 

" Yes your Mightiness.. erm, I mean... yes, he has lent his support and that of his elite Guard to our cause, Master" Bagrash ducked backwards automatically as he saw Magyar's already tortured brow contort even further. A huge fist whistled through the space the shaman's head had just vacated.

"Bah, that cursed dog mocks me. Already the yellow cur wastes my strength on such paltry quarry as this. Now he seeks to further paint me as a weakling by showing up here and robbing me of what little sport there is to be had. If he thinks he can come swanning back in here and..."

Bagrash settled back onto his haunches and began investigating his groin again. Preparations A through to G had failed to salve the burning irritation he felt down there - maybe his next concoction might do the trick...

"... and never before will the world have seen such red ruin as that which I shall rain upon the people of Linden. And I will strike down upon them with great vengeance and furious anger..."

Magyar's ranting washed over the old Orc, almost soothing in its familiarity. Bagrash began to feel himself nodding off. There wasn't much to do but wait - it didn't matter which meat-head was in charge - they all seemed to shout him as much as each other. If Magyar nursed a grudge against F'yar and coveted the throne so be it - just as long as old Bagrash didn't get in the firing line.

"... and fireballs - we'll need lots of them, and lightning. Are you listening you scabrous old goat?!"

Bagrash mumbled his assent to his Master's demands and took his leave to begin his magical... and medicinal preparations...

The column of marching Orcs came to a shambling halt as they came to the edge of the woods that covered their approach to the sleepy village of Linden Way. Magyar Ironfist, would-be Crusher of the North barged up and down the ill-disciplined ranks.

 

"When I say halt I mean stop you miserable worms!" Several troopers nursed their heads as the Chief asserted his command.

"Oo's ee callin' a worm?" muttered one of the Orcs. Kwaekarr Otes took pride in his work, as did all the Kwae Karr tribe, and he disliked baseless slurs on his abilities.

His mate, Red Eebrek, leaned over and whispered "Nevermind 'im - Muss be that lot up at the front." 

A roar erupted from the front of the column, "Shut up! Silence!" Magyar Ironfist glared at the lines of warriors drawn up in front of him.

"Now then lads, listen up - this here's the plan. We're going down there and we're going to level that village. I don't want anything left standing, crawling or breathing. But first we're going to let our glorious leader and his F'yar Guard have the first go. Be a shame if anything nasty were to happen to him. At least he's got us to watch his back..."

The air was rent with a terrible sound - that of Magyar Ironfist's attempt at evil cackling, and worse still - his minions' lacklustre attempt at joining in with him.

 

Behind the Orc column emerged a unit of archers, who took up position behind the hill that overlooked the settlement. Grinning evilly, they lit torches and prepared the fire arrows for their first volley.

[Thantsants]

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hill King F'yar gripped his saddle more tightly as his startled Wyvern mount let fall another mountainous pile of dung. What the hell was that dolt, Magyar, playing at, raising a racket like that?!

 

"'Ow long 'ave we to stand 'ere then?" groused Ing Ulnook, glancing warily at the proximity of the Wyvern's latest deposit.

"Dunno - depends wot 'im up there sez, dunnit" Chim Neepees was the proudest member of the F'yar Guard and would brook no lip or dissention.

Cole Scuttul weighed into the discussion, "S'awright fer flyboy up there - bet the smell dunt reach that far."

"Yer, maybe e's gonna flush out dem humies with by... buy-a-lod... buy-a-lod-sickle weapons?"

The rest of the Big'uns turned and looked at Indukt Shuneater.

"Wot are yoo on about?" Normally taciturn to the point of muteness, Harth Fender shook his head - that boy had some strange new-fangled ideas.

The F'yar Guard didn't have long to wait as it happened. With a great cry the serpentine reptile laboured into  the sky, once more lightening its load as it went - much to the disgust of the earthbound Orcs below.

 

"... And so men, that is what Ramalia expects of you. Honour, valour and - cough, cough - the laying down of your life in her name - cough"  This last part of the rousing speech that Captain Leofric had just delivered, spurred on by several pints of Bludweiser Light, was muttered somewhat sheepishly and speedily into his sleeve.

"What was that last bit, sir?" A dozen or so suspicious faces regarded the young captain with hostility through the smokey and noxious atmosphere of the Inn.

Sergeant Corbin Grincheux rolled his eyes, and with typical Breton sang-froid suppressed the urge to cuff the little upstart around the head. It was bad enough that they had been given a rabble of  the highest order with which to defend this miserable hamlet - important only for the crossroads it squatted on. Now their recently, and in his opinion, unwisely promoted Captain, still wet behind the ears and possessed of the most romantic and unrealistic ideas about the Arts of War, was sapping morale with his little pep talks...

Then there was the little matter of the Captain's "favouritism" for that scurrilous rogue, Ric. Grincheux narrowed his eyes as he glared at the boy in question. There was something the grizzled old sergeant couldn't put his finger on about the lad - was it the strangely smooth complexion, the lithesome figure or girlish laugh? Yes, he thought, Leofric should definitely lay off Ric - it just wasn't proper for an officer to moon about so much over one of the enlisted men...

 

The settlement of Linden Way buzzed with life like a fat bluebottle, beating its last reserves of energy against a windowpane. The village Inn, The Slann in Space, had been occupied, unsurprisingly, by the majority of the militia. Across the road in the stables, Wilfrid Post engaged in his usual pastime of trying to persuade his stable "boy", Thori Dittori, to be his next jockey.

[Thantsants]

Over in the village store, Grunville Longpockets kept one wary eye on his goods and the other on the militia men stationed there. The presence of the village's mayor, Leofwine, did not reassure him. In fact presence was overstating the matter, as Leofwine was barely functioning as a human being, suffering as he was from a hangover of monstrous proportions...

"Ohhh my head. By all that is holy won't someone fetch me a hair of the dog"

Hrothgar, the local landowner's head yeoman, and Grimwald, one of the village's woodcutters, looked at each other over the prostrate form of their great leader. The other regular conscripts shifted uncomfortably, shifting their glances to avoid making eye contact with either of the old timers.

"What are we going to do with him - he must have had at least two pints of that Troll-Breath Stout last night!" mused Grimwald.

"Nevermind the wine - its the ale he wants to leave off" Hrothgar observed reproachfully.

"Might , I, er, r... re... re... rec..., er recommend O' Hurley's patented Corpse Reviver, sir? Only 15 groats?" Grunville treated the soldiers to his most ingratiating rictus grin.

"Now if I had been able to train as a Doctor I might now be in a position to assist dear boy - fancy a jelly baby - they're a new invention of mine!" Tom the Baker flashed the bemused company a toothy grin, "No, well nevermind..."

Gladyss tutted impatiently, removing the lead stopper from a stout earthenware flask and releasing a miasma of poisonous fumes into the air. "Nevermind him, drag the poor old mayor over here and I'll sort him out."

 

The relative calm of the village was soon to be disturbed. Up in the watchtower, the militia's archers and scouts scanned the horizon. Jaws dropped and alarum bells rang as sharp eyes caught sight of the approaching Orc column.

 

At that the pub emptied quicker than the time Aulden Bitte, Arthur Bitte the landlord's father, first discovered he was incontinent. Captain Leofric led his merry band out to the boundary fence, ready to sell their lives dearly.

 


Unfortunately the staff of the Slann in Space displayed no such fighting spirit as they began heading for the hills. Taking advantage of the situation, the less savoury elements of the militia stayed behind, helping themselves to another round - on the house of course!

 

Hot on the heels of the Bitte family and other assorted hangers on was Wilfrid Post and Dittori - maintaining a steady gallop!

 

Like a bear with a sore head, the newly revived Mayor Leofwine led his men out of the store and onto the crossroads to see what was going on. Behind them Gladyss and Tom the Baker succeeded in prizing Grunville's iron grip from the store's doorframe, and proceeded to drag him away from his beloved shop.

[Thantsants]

The cause of the village's alarm swung into view as the Kwae Karr Orcs marched down onto the approach road, accompanied by much howling, clashing of weapons and gnashing of teeth.

 

Behind them the Orcish archers gained the summit of the hill, swinging their bows up in the direction of the enemy.

 

A line of fire extended across the ridgeline briefly before soaring into the sky as the Orcs let fly their first volley of flaming arrows at the village store. Smoke began to rise up from the building as it began to smoulder.



The F'yar guard continued their advance through the woods to the South West of the settlement.

 

With a piercing shriek King F'yar came hurtling out of the sky and landed with a crash on the main street. The wyvern looked about and squealed in delight at the tasty treat arrayed before it. Not even the fireball Bagrash hurled at the store to its right could distract it from its prey!



The long neck darted out with horrible speed and slavering jaws closed around the struggling forms of Grunville and his wife! The Wyvern chewed thoughtfully - if it had been able to understand such concepts as sweet and sour, it might have remarked on the contrasting flavours now filling its mouth.

F'yar's lance whistled past Tom Baker's left ear. As he ran from the snarling Orc he shouted back,

"Killing me isn't going to help you! It isn't going to do me much good either!"

 

The militia swung into action like a lame chimp. Reacting heroically to this new threat, Leofwine scurried back into the cover of the smoking store as the Wyvern swooped low overhead in pursuit of the rest of the villagers.

 

The archers in the watchtower snapped off a volley at the receding reptile. One arrow somehow found a soft spot, as testified by the enraged squawk the Wyvern let out!


 
Undaunted by the large number of Orcs making their way down the road Captain Leofric led his men to close the gap.

 

Undaunted by the scurrying militia forces standing in their way the Kwae Karr column marched steadily onwards. Behind them the archers sent another flaming volley into the stores. Leofwine's detachment began to think twice about their choice of shelter as the building began to turn into a raging inferno!

 

The F'yar Guard emerged from the woods and threatened the Militia's left flank.

 


F'yar wheeled and brought his Wyvern into another low swoop over the village, his target this time - the fleeing bar staff of the Slann in Space! Turning on the monster, Aulden Bitte raised his stick in defiance, only to be crushed underfoot!

 

 F'yar fixed Arthur's daughter, Fancia Bitte, with a lecherous eye before skewering her with his lance. Such was the force of his thrust that Arthur fund himself transfixed as well!

 

Muttering his incantations once more, Bagrash extended his crooked and foul-smelling finger once more and unleashed another two fireballs. This time two of Captain Leofric's men burst into flame.

[Thantsants]

Back in town, Tom the Baker carefully crept up the street. The way ahead was blocked by the enormous bulk of the Wyvern and terrible sounds drifted down the road.

 

He wasn't sure how he was going to get round to freedom but Tom felt sure some opportunity would present itself.

 

Again the militia's archers opened up on F'yar and his Wyvern - their hopes were raised as several arrows found their mark, and dashed as the missiles bounced off the creature's hardened scales.

 

Helga, the Slann's formidable barmaid, rolled up her sleeves and prepared to sell her life dearly for the one she loved. However, the wretched sobbing of the terrified busker, Elwin Presslay, were severely testing that love. She let her heart soften a moment - the sight of an enraged Wyvenr would be enough to unman most men - was she being to hard on the lovable old rogue? Without stopping to look back, Helga grabbed her man, threw the whimpering form over her shoulder and ran to safety!

 

Magyar drew his Orcs to a halt at the entrance to the village. To his right he could see the F'yar guard also approaching. Why not let them make the first move, he thought, he and his Kwae Karr Orcs would mop up the mess they left.

 

The archers upped sticks and began moving down the hill. They had done their worst to the stores and the next target was the watch tower. Another volley of firey missiles flew through the air and smoke now issued forth from the tower.

And yet the Orcs' cheers were cut short - something was moving in the ruins before them...

Barrachus the insane illusionist had been disturbed!

 

Dimly aware of another magical presence on the battlefield, Bagrash sent forth another to fireballs, condemning another two militia men to an incandescent end.

 


Meanwhile, F'yar's Wyvern had landed astride the road to Meledir. With nowhere left to run, Wilfrid and Dittori's racing days were over before they had begun...

 

Having witnessed the gruesome end of two more of his fellow villagers, Tom the Baker nervously ran his tongue over his many teeth - there must be some way past...

Making his mind up he sauntered nonchalantly up the street towards the hissing monster. Of course he'd be able bluff his way past - and if not the beast would be so surprised at the offer of a jelly baby or two that he was sure he would be able to slip past...
... Mind you he didn't like the way the arrows the archers were firing at it were antagonising the creature, ineffectual as they were!


 
Beset on all sides Captain Leofric ordered a formation change. If there was a thin red line it was here as the few remaining militia men spread themselves along the fenceline in line abreast.

 

Barrachus glared through the window of his beautiful villa - green faces stared back in surprise at him. Emotions chased each other across the insane old magician's face as his multiple personalities fought for supremacy. In a moment of rare lucidity Barrachus made the connection between his race's age old enemy and the deep seated hatred that was growing in the pit of his stomach - a hatred that would rule him for the next half an hour or so!

Barrachus began intoning the words that would cause the foul creatures to visualise their worst nightmare in a terrible hallucination. A corona of light began to form around the old man's outstretched hand, tendrils of unnatural fire flickered about him and...

... fizzled out. The old man was left muttering confusedly, trying to remember what had annoyed him so much just a moment ago!

 

[Thantsants]

Seeing that there was no way the humans were going to come anywhere near endangering the life of King F'yar, Magyar cursed and advanced his column towards the village. The ragged remnants of the militia that guarded the boundary fence were no threat - two were cut down by his Orcish archers as he watched and the survivors seemed transfixed by the advance of the fearsome looking F'yar guard.


 
King F'yar looked down incredulously at the ridiculous figure strolling up the gore spattered street towards him. Was the imbecile actually... yes! He was actually whistling! And twirling a small paper bag in his hand. This wouldn't do at all.

Kicking the Wyvern viciously, F'yar swooped down on the strange figure. His mount opened its jaws wide and with a strangled "Fancy a..." Tom the Baker was no more...

 

With a great shower of sparks and protesting timbers the village store finally succumbed to the flames. Bagrash, his face taking on a demonic aspect, lit as it was by the flickering fire light, drew himself up and launched another two fireballs. Screaming through the air, they slammed into the already smoking watch tower. Inside the archers escaped any harm, although their position was becoming increasingly precarious.


 
There cover quite literally blown, Mayor Leofwine and his detachment charged across the still burning ruins and into the Kwae Karr column. The mayor brought his great sword around in a wide arc and smote the Orc chieftain. Staggering back Magyar shook his head clear and, unharmed, retaliated by braining one of the militia.
 


As things were getting decidedly warm in the watch tower, the archers quickly spilled out onto the street. Looking round for new targets they spotted the Orc archers in the distance. One arrow found its target but at that range did no damage.


 
Barrachus felt the familiar spinning in his head and his ears filled with whispering voices as the madness once again claimed him. This time his condition left him trembling in fear - suddenly the world was an inexplicably terrifying place for the old man.

With the multitude of leering green faces still glaring at him from the hillside, Barrachus sought safety in number. As if by magic two illusory (and strangely non identical) clones materialised beside him. Now completely confused, the Orc archers continued to ignore the mad old bird!