A YEAR IN THE BADLANDS - SUMMER NARRATIVE CAMPAIGN

[Crompton]

Banir Tal, chief of the King's Hammerer bodyguard slipped into the room and silently approached his Lord who was eating his Lunch. "Sire, they found it. The rangers have finally returned and they bring proof, it is out in the Badlands."

Ellmore Gollin King of Karak A Tarag took a sip of his beer, smiled at his wife and three children then got up and without saying a word headed to his private planning chambers with Banir following after him and closing the door. The King stood by the massive wooden chest holding his maps and selecting the correct one, carried it over to his big table and unrolled it. Both Dwarfs studied the map briefly and then Ellmore sighs, "We don't have a lot of information about this area do we? Dwarfs, Humans, Elves...nearly anyone who goes into that cursed place does not return. Yet, if the city is really there and it holds what we believe, then we have to commit. We need to stop anybody else finding and using it, we need it protected." Looking up at his friend, the king smiles. "Any suggestions Banir?"

Banir was thoughtful for a moment, "Cherry and his rangers will want to go back out. He lost some good lads trying to find this place and he will be able to lead any army we sent unerringly towards the city in double quick time. I know his affectation for smoking that sweetly smelling human leaf annoys you and that he can be unorthodox in his tactics due to spending so much time out with other races. Yet he gets the best out of his men and there is nobody better at laying a trap if others go after the artifact as well. Plus, as I mentioned he is motivated with some deaths to cross off his book."

Nodding his assent Ellmore sighs, "We will need to send a large force, as the badlands themselves are dangerous let alone what else has been drawn to the city. We need someone trained to co-ordinate the large amounts of troops, supplies and information that will be collected. Therefore I'm going to send my younger brother, Sherim." Holding up his hand to forestall Banir, the king continues. "Yes, he can be rash and impulsive at times and acts more like a beardling of 50 rather than his actual 300 years of age. Yet he is quick witted, adaptive and has been looking to prove himself ever since he took an arrow to the leg at the start of the last greenskin incursion. I'm hoping this will temper him and allow him to become the Dwarf and Councillor I need him to become."

After a brief moment Ellmore continues, "Although I trust my brother, he can be hasty on occasions and will need a calming influence. Although Cherry is sensible I have a feeling he won't spend much time in the camp with my brother. Thus, so it pains me to lose his abilities and advice I am going to send the old engineer Macha Nemain with the expedition. He's solid as granite, reliable as any Dwarf living and even though he is a bit old fashioned in his outlook he should be a good balance with the other 2."

Ellmore writes out his orders and hands them to Banir. "Deliver these to the three mentioned and we shall see them off tomorrow. Also send me a messenger. I am going to ask the cult of Grimnir to send a squad to meet up with Sherim's troops. Somewhere so dangerous and unpredicatable as the Badlands should be of real interest to them and I know they have a lot of wanderers back currently. Yes, they would add some real zeal to the center of Sherim's lines."

[TkaiC]

The story so far...
The Skaven tunnels have been checked by a vast marshy expanse.  Forced onto the surface the ratmen set about fortifying their position and cast around for clues to the location of the Lost City.  A ruined Dwarven stronghold is visible on the horizon and Warlord Squeek De Truire, scenting some easy plunder, leads a force to pick clean any meat remaining on this rubble strewn carcass.  On arrival, however, a group of man-things have made the city their home.  No matter, with his assassins and gutter runners scaling the walls, Squeek orders his warlock-engineers to assault the city.  He leads his personal bodyguard, the Couriers De Nuit, deep underground to strike at the very heart of the human defences...

This was a semi-siege battle (only semi as we didn't go overboard with the additional extras for defenders - boiling oil! - or attackers - battering rams! - and gave walls a nominal toughness 10, 6 wounds rather than have a preparatory bombardment phase.  Just setting up a table was fun - we played lengthways, with the fortress spanning the board about halfway along.

Crackling split and meat juice spilt as Warlock-Engineer Le Trois bit down into the roasted thigh of one of the crossbowmen who'd dared to feather a few of his slaves during their storming of the breach in the old Dwarven walls.  A blast of fire from his Ruby Ring had quenched their ardour even as it crisped their flesh.  Gesticulating with the savoury joint he urged his slaves to continue rebuilding the walls Clan Poignarder had taken only hours before with the assistance of their Warlord's Eshin servants.

The silent adepts had been instrumental in the battle.  As the men of the Empire desperately hurled rocks into the sea of slaves breaking against their walls, they were blind to the Gutter Runners' blades slipping around their throats from behind.  The convenient 'misfire' of the defenders' mortar on its very first shot was surely further evidence of their deadly preparations and work of the hooded assassin.  Certainly no Warlock Engineer felt inclined to question them on this. Barring a woefully under-powered Warp Lightning Cannon, the battle had been a total victory.  When the pathetic humans had dared check the Skaven advance, even going as far as to throw back Chief Warlock-Engineer L'Un's clan rats from the gatehouse, the warlock had unleashed the power of the Horned Rat and brought those very walls crashing down on their Greatswords .  His victory dance, unfortunately, had been cut short by the man thing's leader.  Or, to be more exact, the leader's great sword, which had cleaved L'Un's head from his capering body.  Still crackling with the energies he'd unleashed, the headless ratman had continued to gyrate for several hours and was still twitching somewhere in the courtyard.   Le Trois could reasonably expect to step into the hole left by the death of his erstwhile superior.  From Trois to Un in a single charge and with a victory feast already prepared struck the Skaven engineer as a good day's work.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder where their strategy's architect, Clan Lord Squeek De Truire, was.  The Warlord had taken his personal bodyguard, equipped with a Warp Grinder of the Chief Warlock-Engineer's own design, to bore beneath the city walls and emerge directly behind the barred gates.  The earth there was a slurry of mud and blood, studded with rubble and discarded great swords, but quite definitely free of Warlords and their handpicked elites. 

As night fell, a shout from a sentry heralded Squeek's arrival.  The warlord's golden helm, taken years ago from a dead Elf Lord, was gone, revealing a dirty, blood stained face.  The twisted features seemed strangely immobile and it wasn't until Squeek and the Couriers de Nuit actually passed beneath the city walls that Les Trois recognised the flayed features of one of the Warp Grinder's handlers.  As Squeek peeled his new mask free the air reeked of fear musk as the slaves emptied their glands.  Les Trois hoped his own venting would pass unnoticed in the crowd.   Exposing his throat he nervously walked towards the Warlord, only to be checked by the sheer malevolence in Squeek's eyes.

"There was, un petit malfunction, with the Grinder.  I have discussed it with the operator but he couldn't assist.  Where is the designer.' The words were quiet, but indicated much louder was coming, the way blood beads around a cut before the pain arrives.  Only the fact that their glands were empty prevented another outpouring of Skaven musk.
"Er...L'Un died in the assault, great-mighty Lord.  He is killed-dead.' Replied Le Trois.
The Warlord's expression didn't change, but his glittering eyes bored into the Warlock-Engineer's. "Well, that solves the concern.  I know the next time, the Warp Grinder, she will work good-right.  I can rely on you, Le Trois, for this, yes?
"Of course my lord, certainly-yes."
"Good, then let us enjoy my victory.  We require food.  Kill some fresh man-things, the little ones taste best."
The Warlord and his bodyguard marched into the warren of buildings, followed by most of the other ratmen. 

Le Trois shuddered in the dark.  Of course the Warp Grinder would work next time.  Of course it would.


Or in other words, I won a battle, for once.  Tom's fluffy Empire defenders were killed to the last man (well, except one fleeing crossbowman, more of him later). The siege rules make Skaven a tough choice, you can only assault with 10 troops at a time, who are at half initiative and weapon skill...and there are no rank bonuses, but some lucky dice saw me through in the end.   A fair few rats didn't make the climb over the walls but my only lost units were the Doomwheel (don't charge it into ranked infantry, that's just silly) and, yes, my general and his entire unit when their Warp Grinder misfired, followed by me rolling a 2.  Still, winning with Skaven is about what happens despite your best laid plans, right?  The general lost a magic item (Dragonhelm) as his penalty for, well, dying, whilst my Spoils of War roll was a 1.  But of course.  This means the tales of this battle (spread by Mr Crossbow presumably) are so terrible that any further Random Event Empire now Hate my armies.  The plus side is they can be hating all they like, they're just jealous of me new city and Rare mine!

[katarr]

Sounds like it a was good battle and a nice result for the baddies 

[cunningmatt]

I've written a blog entry all about the Badlands campaign, and how I made my new army markers. Check it out here if you're nice, if you're not don't:

http://ogforum.co.uk/index.php?topic=2370.new#new

[TkaiC]

The Seer ambled through the freshly dug tunnel, escorted by his apprentices.  The pulse of magic throbbed through the air, causing his fur to stand on end.  He barely noticed his apprentices around him as his mundane senses were overwhelmed by the raw power of his surroundings.  An old familiar tune was rolling around his head as he walked, and he began to hum out loud.  The apprentices turned their heads at the sound, but the catchy melody was pervasive and they began to join in.  Half forgotten phrases came back to the Seer and his humming turned to chanting.  Without realising it, the group stopped, causing a long line of clan rats to pile up behind them, including Lord Gabarit Moule, Clan Moulder's envoy to the Badlands mission.

Moule growled with irritation and gestured his personal guard to clear a path before him.  He wasn't foolish enough to challenge a representative of the Council of Thirteen but he wasn't prepared to have his assault on the man-things' army slowed for some pointless ritual.  Then something changed in the tone of the chanting, it became faster, louder, more frantic.  The words made no sense in themselves, but filled the minds of the Skaven with images of war, of blood, of hate.

In the last moment of his life, the Seer remembered where he learned those words.  This was no empty ritual; it was a Rite.  Known by all Seers but never invoked unless in times of direst need.  The comforting blanket of the magic suddenly became a crushing vice as the Rite finished and the Seer disappeared in a roiling ball of green warpflame, his withered frame swelling and ripping apart to be replaced by the huge and twisted figure of the Horned Rat's most powerful servant, a mighty Vermin Lord.  The daemon's mouth opened, revealing a maw of broken fangs.  Its breath hissed out in one low sound. "Skrillz." It said "Skrillz."

Second campaign battle and I'm on a roll, quite literally with a Sappers Random Event and a bonus 250pts to add to one of my armies after the campaign turn. On the downside my empire is hemmed in by those pesky forces of good with JD's General bearing down on one of my fortresses whilst Mike's Empire troops press up from the other side. Offense being the best form of defense, I boosted my Clan Moulder themed army with the 250pt buff (working out at exactly one Hellpit with spikes) and attacked Mike's army guarding a Wizard Tower, leaving my nefarious ally Sam and his Warriors to pick up the crocodile skin gauntlet thrown down by JD.

Mine and Mike's game was played lengthways down the table, with a Wizards Tower in the dead centre.  This would send out random spells to buff/hex/attack the nearest unit. Also in play were two magical fulcrums, giving access to a medium fireball spell, cast at the basic cost of a little one.

So.  I have a Moulder army.  This means lots of big rats (30 giant rat unit, 2 units of 6 Rat Ogres, 1 Hellpit). We're playing Storm of Magic, so I need a wizard.  Some sort of big rat, who's a wizard.  A big magical, perhaps daemonic rat?  Introducing the one and only Skrillz, Vermin Lord.

The Vermin Lord, unnaturally fast and graceful, seemed to flow from the top of the Fulcrum it had perched atop for the duration of the battle.  From there it had sent vast globes of flame bursting amongst the human ranks, scattering their vanguard and allowing the mutated beasts of Clan Moulder to charge across the battlefield and close with the man-things before the Empire troops had truly formed a line of battle.  The fight had been swift and bloody, Giant Rats and Rat Ogres had swarmed the right flank, chasing down the feeble human wizard who's own Fulcrum had provided no defense against the teeming horde.  The charge on the left had been led by a vast Abomination and more Rat Ogres, their sheer weight of flesh carrying them over the armoured men on horses who had ridden so bravely to their deaths.

Although there were still groups of man-things around the base of the Wizard's Tower they were encircled by Moule's troops; for the lucky ones their lives measured in minutes, they would be killed for food.  The less fortunate would be taken into the Skaven tunnels to last for days or maybe weeks as slaves, before they were finally worked to the broken bone.

Moule took little joy in the victory however.  The Vermin Lord still walked towards him, a twelve foot tall insult to natural life.  Even the warpstone mutated ratmen shied away from its unnatural malevolence.  His lieutenants still looked to him for orders but Moule knew the army was no longer his.  They were doomed to follow this Skrillz wherever it chose to lead them.   To the Horned Rat, all is a game.

Or, in other words, I won.  Mike's army was hampered by slow moving artillery/infantry, whilst my Vermin Lord's 16" march move put him comfortably on a Fulcrum from Turn 1, leading to the immolation of Mike's Outriders before they could unleash more than a single volley.  My Rat Ogres had some luck, supported by a Hellpit on one flank and a Giant Rat horde on the other and ran over their respective opponents.  I didn't lose a unit and had cleared all of Mike's troops bar some infantry and a Luminark.  However,  Mike reduced the VP deficit to a 1000 by comprehensively taking the tower back on Turn 5, when the game ended.  Spoils of War roll was a mighty 2 and the next time this army fights it gets to spend more points than normal on Special and Rare troops.  Looks like I'll need another Hellpit then!

[cunningmatt]

Here's how my Beastmen got on in their first battle:

PRE-BATTLE FLUFF:

Rashnrak cursed the Badlands, there was little in the way of beloved forest, just tracks and tracks of wasteland. He had yet to find any pray worthy of the hunt. But his army made good progress towards the central city, and it would bring great joy to his bestial heart to see those buildings demolished. No stone would lie on top of another stone, as it once was it shall be again.

Rashnrak had little time for those who dealt in magic, whilst Bray-Shamans were revered by his people he could barely stand them and their spells. He was a child of Chaos who devoted himself to the bloodshed alone, the humans called this element of Chaos Khorne, for him it needed no name it was what every bone in his body yearned for. Fortunately he had managed to leave Malagor and Delithor in charge of his other herds, whilst he pressed on. He knew they had been busy expanding the realms of uncivilization, and he knew they'd been in league with the devious Skaven. He would have no part of that, but the Skaven had so far provided trappers who had misdirected the armies of the Empire and collapsed a Dwarf mine which were good things. But Rashnrak had no time for these things. Whilst Malagor and Delithor discovered shrines and built mines, he would lead his army to glory and destroy the humans, they would be the hunted.

Rashnrak felt the comfort of having his own personal army with him, no spellcaster would accompany him in his herd, just as he would have no pathetic Ungor in his army. Those wretched sniffling half-humans were only good for repairing his chariots, they were cowardly and could not fight. Preferring instead to sneak around with bows. Instead Rashnrak was accompanied by his trusted Centigor led by Ghorros Warhoof, who was popular amongst the tribes, and he marched with his personal bodyguard of Bestigor. Soon the city would be his. But as the Beastmen arrived he smelt the unmistakable smell of dank mines and beer soaked beards, the Dwarfs had also arrived. He let forth a great roar as his army prepared for battle.

And POST - BATTLE:

Rashnrak licked his wounds, the battle had not gone to plan. The large blocks of well-disciplined Dwarfs had been too powerful for his Gor to wear down. Particularly as they'd been unable to coordinate their attacks. His best Razorgor had been lost on the initial assault on the tower mainly due to the Dwarfs thrice cursed Great Weapons, which had even allowed the lowly Dwarf Quarrellers to wound him. He regretted having forgotten to put on his Talisman of Endurance now. Still at least his Stone Crusher Mace had allowed him to destroy that tower bringing down the structure on the carcasses of the Dwarfs inside.

Fortunately Ghorros had been found alive, badly wounded but alive, he was busy mating with most if not all of the Beastwomen in the tribe. Which was fortunate as Rashnrak would need a lot more Gor if he was to devastate the Badlands. Though Rashnrak was finding it most distracting seeing Ghorros's unique mating techniques. It was at this point that he regretted purchasing him the book Fifty Shades of Bray.[/color]

If you want to see a report from the battlefield and some photos (plus musings on Warhammer 40,000!!) - head here:

http://ogforum.co.uk/index.php?topic=2370.msg47243;topicseen#msg47243

PLUG, PLUG, PLUG, PLUG....

[TkaiC]

Squeek swayed uncomfortably on his litter.  He appreciated the zeal of his bodyguards in carrying him into battle, but the added height was putting him uncomfortably close to the roof of the tunnel and having to twist and duck to avoid roots and rocks was wearing him down.  Still, he needed the extra speed of his Couriers de Nuit, not a moment could be wasted.  The stench of Dwarf rolled down the tunnel towards him, a stale mix of earth, sweat, matted hair and beer. He licked his lips in anticipation of the upcoming battle deep within the bowels of the Badlands.  His allies in the Forces of Destruction were engaging their enemies somewhere above him, but the Dwarfs were his to crush.

His thirst for battle was whetted by the dark blade hanging at his side.  A tribute from his Moulder underlings, the legendary Fell Blade was less a sword, more a dark jagged slice of pure wrong, given a cutting edge and hammered into shape.  Raw malevolence rolled from it in waves and the blade quivered in its sheath, a metal beast hungering to cut and wound.

The blade had been delivered by a group of packmasters who had led their beasts from the Wizards' Tower to deliver the evil tribute.   A pack of giant rats now swirled through his troops, whilst ravenous rat ogres led the subterranean charge.  Greatest of all, a mighty Hellpit Abomination oozed its worm's body through the tunnel, almost filling it with its bulk whilst various arms and appendages dragged it ever forward.  Squeek's eyes had trouble taking in all its mutated parts, the way its body lurched and the motion of its many arms was in no way natural.  Like the sword at his side, the Abomination was simply wrong.

And in the darkness of the Badlands, two wrongs make a fight...

[TkaiC]

Squeek dabbed at his mouth with a tattered orange beard as he digested its previous owner.  The Dwarfs had fared poorly in their battle in the caverns below the city and now the few survivors served as a buffet for the victors.  The Hellpit Abomination had eaten its way through scores of the doughty warriors, including their venerable general.  Once the Skaven joined the assault on the city the Abomination had continued its rampage, crushing an entire unit of knights with its bulk before feasting on the manthings leader.  Finally sated, the beast now slumbered amidst a slaughter house scene of dead horses and shattered armour.

The warlord's smug gaze took in his victorious army.  Casualties had been light and his Couriers de Nuit seemed to command a new respect from the large Moulder beasts after their swift despatch of the Dwarf Slayers.  Several of their number had been quietly taken aside by the Assassins and Death Runners that marched with the army, but had taken great pride in rejecting the obvious offer, preferring to continue to ply their deadly trade within their general's bodyguard.  Squeek sniffed the air, breathing in a new scent.  A new season was coming, but the war would continue, and with it, Squeek's rise to glory...

Or, in other words, Hellpits are broken.  I mean, really broken.  I avoided using them for quite sometime but now, well, I'm a convert.  In my last campaign match the Rat Ogres were the star performers, eating their way through Empire Knights in a spray of frenzied drool.  This time it was their big brother's turn and Mr Fluffles didn't disappoint.  Impact hits, lucky dice and the ever useful Thunder Stomp smashed a unit of Dwarf Warriors, Hammerers (including a Lord, in the only time you every want to see a 1 on your dice roll!), a random troll and Mike's Reiksguard in the next battle.   My dice throughout were ultra lucky and so Team Destruction trounce the puny forces of good in the Badlands.

Story line wise it's time for seasonal boosts and my Night Runners now have the same 6+ ward as their older Gutter Running siblings plus, after yet more lucky rolling on the Spoils of War table, they cause Terror.  Sweet.   Unfortunately Rob's Slayers have got a 5+ ward in their boost and will obviously be less than bothered by the Terror...hmm...the rematch could be interesting!

[TkaiC]

The Plague Priest reached under his robes to scratch at a particularly irritating itch.  His claws bit through a layer of crusted scab to tear vigorously at the raw and seeping flesh beneath.  Sated, he absently licked at the thick yellow discharge now befouling his paw before turning to face the Assassin waiting patiently at his side.

"You're sure-sure?  Cold bloods, here?"
"Yes, mon Pere, the Lizards are in the Badlands.  They seem to have taken one of our strongholds and then retreated to their own territories.  We can cut of their retreat and bring them to battle easily."

Pere Ordure needed no encouragement.  His army had found little of interest in these far flung lands and he longed for enemies to whom he could spread the Gospel of Plague.  The Lizardmen, his old foes from the sweat-drenched jungles of Lustria would be a welcome diversion.  His mind was already spinning, envisioning how their cold blood would affect the spread of his various poxes in this new, arid land.  He was, at heart, as much a scientist as zealot.  The Assassin who had been sent to watch him had an incredibly detailed knowledge of poisons and the two had become almost fond of each other as Ordure's tinctures were added to the various blades and sharpened tools of the adept's trade.  Both took pleasure in noting the effects of myriad poxes on unsuspecting slaves or the inhabitants of the small villages they found.  Now the theories could be put to the test on a whole batch of new subjects.  The glory of the Horned Rat would come to them, with rot, flies and putrid death.


Summer time....and the living is queasy. Against JD's Lizardmen I'll be fielding my entirely Pestilens army.  It's all Monks, Censer Bearers and Catapults, led by Skrolk (in this case my own Pestilens leader Pere Ordure but hey) and with a single Assassin as per previous fluff.  I'm intending to (a) take pictures and (b) do a Matt/White Dwarf style battle report post game.

[cunningmatt]

Recently (ok a while ago), the Beastmen fought in the end of Spring campaign here's the fluff from how they got on - taken from Procrastination by Numbers (officially the #1 amazingly best way to waste your day - TM)

PRE-BATTLE:

Rashnrak regrouped back at the Herd Stone, his army had been running for a long time. Cursed Dwarfs, and their wretched stunty plans, they had wrecked his ambitions of conquering the central city of the Badlands and pulling it down stone by stone. Were he to fight those Dwarfs again, he knew hatred would fill his bones and he would be prepared to fight to the death.

Fortunately better news greeted him when he met his Shamans at the Herd Stone. Delithor had been in a vision for days, communicating directly with the Chaos Gods, thanks to this premonition Rashnrak's armies had gained the upper hand and were able to move more rapidly than those of his rivals. Additionally his gold mine had, had a good haul which would be able to be spent well on reinforcements for the coming battles.

With Spring coming to an end Malagor had been informed by the filthy Skaven that the forces of evil were to make a move on the ruined city of man. Whilst Rashnrak hated colluding with the warpstone mutated things, he could smell the man-things and stunties converging at the central city. And with encouragement from his shamans, he agreed to follow the Skaven's plans. The ironclad metal humans would attack the citadel directly defended by the infernal Empire, whilst the Skaven attacked the Dwarfs directly in the tunnels below, in the hopes of bringing down the walls of the citadel. The ratman had insisted that the Beastmen push their infernal war machine towards the battlefield. With such an important prize on the horizon Rashnrak decided to cooperate with the filthy vermin, well for now at least...

POST-BATTLE:

Rashnrak cursed his luck, the Lizardmen lay dead all around him, their scaly bodies were being piled up around the hastily constructed herd stones, but they had delayed him long enough to prevent his arrival at the main castle. By the time his Bestigor got to the gates of the Citadel it was in ruins, one of its walls having clearly collapsed from below. The men of the Empire lay dead everywhere, much to Rashnrak's amusement, but the Skaven and Chaos tainted men had already stolen the Citadel's greatest treasures. However clambering through the wreckage Rashnrak found a powerful shield that he held a loft, soon all the civilised races would cower before him. His name would go down throughout the tribes of the Beastmen and his gods would reward him. Because Rashnrak knew an important truth, whilst the humans insisted that "History is written by the victors", he knew the reality that in fact "History is written only by the Beastmen and Skaven!"

To see a battle report, and some blurry iPhone snaps of what happened - you need to head here: http://ogforum.co.uk/index.php?topic=2370.msg48171;topicseen#msg48171 and read Procrastination by Numbers Update 84!