"Where is Ahriman?"
The voice of the Demon Prince echoed through the Warden's room. The trio of sorcerers knelt around him, each at the cardinal point of a septagraphic diagram, etched into the floor with consecrated acids. It was a courtesy more than anything, a ward that bent reality but a little, allowing the tides of the warp to flow more easily in the room and making it more comfortable for their visitor. Not that the creature seemed to have noticed, nor returned the courtesy. The atmosphere in the echoing chamber was distinctly strained.
"We do not know, Prince Fravash," the first sorcerer said. "He left us here weeks ago."
"And you call yourself bodyguards, Traducio?" the Demon sneered. "I came here to speak with your master. I am disappointed he thinks he can elude me. It is rude. He is rude. I am offended. Would that I could take issue with him in person. As it is, you three will have to do."
Fravash was a champion of the Changer of Ways. His turquoise armour was nearly transparent, an shimmering opal shell behind which you could just see shifting organs, mouths opening in silent screams and the flitting eyes of warp predators. He looked strong enough to rip open a tank, to speak nothing of the coruscating aura of arcane power billowing around him. The three sorcerers carefully avoided meeting his unblinking, red-rimmed gaze.
The Demon Prince was clearly angry. One wrong word now could easily spell their doom.
Control of Stylus's Thousand Sons is a two-edged sword. On the one hand, it's a fantastic range of beautifully painted models from one of the hardest-hitting armies on offer in the Grimdark today. On the other hand, it's me in charge and I'll probably let them down.
All the same, I reckon I've seen these guys in action enough that I have a rough idea of how they work. Taking a minimal Battalion of small troops choices leaves me points to spend on a Vanguard detachment of nasty elites, including a lone Tzaangor Shaman with nobody to buff. The sheer weight of psychic powers is confounding to me, I have full faith in my ability to defuse their synergies. Although surely the odds are against me with that many powers to cast. I can't fail them all, can I?
Overall, it's a simple enough army to wield, I hope. Although they'll be arriving in a scattered manner, there should be enough that I can overwhelm all those dogs with sorcery, bolts and some up close and personal maiming.
Anyway, I get some free sentries. I clearly have the upper hand, so no way am I losing this!
"They call themselves The Second Law," Skúta spoke to the assembled Battle Leaders and Pack Leaders. "A Death Guard warband who have enjoyed some localised success in this sector.
"This has caused them to come into possession of an ancient Sorcerer of the XVth Legion. He is being held in their dungeons and guarded by pox-wracked neverborn.
"But the warband are absent from their fortress this night. Some celebration of their daemon lord's ascension day. We can creep in there, like bloodlice in a corpse, kill the sentries and take their prize."
"And what is is their prize?" Battle Leader Hallbjorn was never reticent about speaking his mind. "For what has Kveldulf commanded us to risk our necks?"
"We believe this Sorcerer knows the location of the arch-exile himself. He can lead us to Ahriman."
---
We're playing Rescue from the main rulebook, with some narrative amendments of our own. Essentially, there is a 'spy' (in this case, a Thousand Sons Sorcerer who has been enjoying the hospitality of the Death Guard's dungeons) that must be uncovered under one of six objective markers.
The Attacker starts the mission with as much of his army as he wants, and can bring on the rest of his army subsequently. Each objective that is secured will reveal to be containing the prisoner on the roll of a 6 (and if five objectives are fruitless, the sixth is automatically revealed). Upon the reveal, the alarm is sounded (if it hasn't already).
The Defender only gets a small unit of Troops (for free!) to patrol the area as individual models (you roll-off to control their direction). They can sound the alarm as follows:
Some homebrew rules: the Sorcerer will be under the control of the Attacker as long as there is a Space Wolves unit within coherency. If his escorts move away or are killed, then he is free and passes under the control of the Defender.
If the Sorcerer reaches the Attacker's deployment zone, and is still alive and captured by the end of the battle round, the Attacker wins. If the Attacker retains control of the Sorcerer by the end of the game, they win. Any other outcome is a draw.
"The Prodigious Returned do not presume to speak on our master's behalf," the second sorcerer replied. "He commanded us to stay here and protect this prison."
"This donjon has a single inmate, a cursed soul that belongs to the god Nurgle," Fravash said. "He has been incarcerated here for time without reckoning, his bowels daily plucked at by plaguebearers. He has no name worth repeating. This age has forgotten him, nobody comes for him and nobody cares. This is a ruse of Ahriman's. He sets you here to confound me, and I grow tired of it. Tell me where he went now, and in mercy, I will spare one in every three of your band."
"Would that we could, Lord Fravash," said the third sorcerer, a Tzaangor shaman, twisting her staff nervously round in her claws. "We have also tired of waiting here. Following Ahriman is far better sport than this wretched task. I for one..."
"Enough!" snarled the Demon. His long and flexible claws snaked out, scoring fresh lines in the granite floor. The diagram pulsed angrily. The sorcerers glanced at each other. Could their magics be enough to defeat this monster?
Their quarry was near. Even over the rotting flesh of the guards, Bíldr could smell it. Six buildings to search, and only a handful of shambling sentries to deal with. They could snatch the prisoner and be away before the heretics even realised.
Brother Alsvin's Reivers opened fire with silenced weapons. One of the sentries fell, but the other's disgusting form just closed around the bolt wound as if it had never struck home. This would need to be settled with blades. And teeth.
On instinct, both packs of Fenrisian Wolves bounded forward to pounce on their prey. Rune Priest Skúta also led Alsvin's Reivers against the third doorman, but Bíldr himself fell short of bringing in Tanngniost's Reivers to support the wolf pack.
Some foul sorcerery was at work in this stronghold. Footing was unsure, distances uncertain, and these pox-ridden creatures were unusually acute to danger. Bíldr's augmented senses started to warn him than this mission would not be a seamless as planned.
With a single slash of his sword, Rune Priest Skúta felled his sentry, only to find the room he was guarding to be empty. Denied a kill, Alsvin's Reivers used their grapnels to ascend the central control tower.
The Fenrisian Wolves that Bíldr had failed to support had also found nothing. And worse one of the guards had slipped through their fangs with the unnatural slime that coated his flesh.
On the control tower, the second pack of Fenrisian Wolves barged open the door - and revealed the Sorcerer Clotho!
Drugged and weakened by the poisons of the Death Guard, he was easily rounded up like a stray sheep, ready to be fleeced. But distracted by their quarry, these Wolves also failed to make their kill.
From nowhere and everywhere came the clamour of rusting bells. Through some devilry of the neverborn, the alarum had been raised.
The raid was already compromised, just as it had begun. Forgoing vox-silence, Bíldr opened the comms-channel to the extraction team.
"Brother Hallbjorn, we're coming out. We need support. We need support now."
A bell rang. A rusted, rotten bell, more a flaking clatter than a chime, but recognisable on some level as an alarm of some form. And then another, and another. Fravash paused, thoughfully gazing up towards the unseen tower the bells were ringing in.
"Look to the prisoner!" Traducio said, sending a mental summons to the rest of the warband. "Lord Fravash, our apologies. It seems..."
"Yes, yes, most... inconvenient." The Demon sighed. "Very well, slaves. Go, protect your charge. I think I shall help you. But there is a price."
Traducio bowed low. "We shall meet it, of course."
"I will question this prisoner when we have seen off whoever seeks him. I suppose if Ahriman requires his safety, his mind may contain some morsel of interest to me."
With that, they raced together to the cells, a wretched collection of rotting outhouses, oubliettes and lockups scattered around the perimeter of the Warden's hall. The Rubrics were already mustering, one squad marching solemnly around a lesser sorcerer as they heeded the call to action. And a Hellbrute, a walking prison containing the maddened mind of a failed seeker of knowledge. More were on their way, but much of the warband was still high above, orbiting this barren rock in their cruiser.
The Plaguebearers that guarded the prison were already shambling to the attack. Traducio peered into the murk ahead, trying to make out the nature of the attackers. There! A snarling, animal shape... A wolf?
This wretched ball of rock had no life on it. The only living creature was the prisoner and now the sorcerers of the Prodigal Returned. Wolves - it couldn't be a coincidence. Only one enemy of the Thousand Sons would dare attack this benighted place.
"The curs of Russ!" Traducio spat. "Brothers, come fast. There are dogs in need of beating here!"
Already, the guns of the Helbrute were blazing, mowing down a clutch of the mongrel creatures. Plaguebearers trudged against the survivors of that first volley, joylessly enumerating the blows they took and gave as their swords fell. The first wolf pack broke and fled, what little remained of them at least.
But the prisoner was already free. His neverborn jailors were already reaching for him, but there were armoured forms appearing from the gloom nearby. The Space Wolves were here, much closer than the Thousand Sons.
"He belongs to me, now!" Fravash bellowed. "Seize him or die!"
Their faithful beasts had fled before the unnatural horror that struck them. The prisoner was unsecured. The witches were coming upon them. As the clamour of the alarums assaulted Bíldr's hyper-acute senses, he hurriedly redrew his plans.
On his command, Alsvin's Reivers fired their grapnel lines to the roof of the building directly in front of the Thousand Sons, their movement given wings by Rune Priest Skúta's prayers. They would have to check the advance at all costs.
The second pack of Fenrisian Wolves abandoned the daemon doorman and raced up the central alleyway in search of sweeter meat.
Bíldr himself led Tanngniost's Reivers up to the base of the central tower, ready to wheel around and support Skúta as he made a grab for the dazed prisoner.
And then, praise the All-Father, came the extraction team. Battle Leader Hallbjorn led in three squads of Intercessors and a unit of Hellblasters, ready to secure a path to the Thunderhawk extraction site.
Most weapons were slung as The Rout raced forwards, and a rattle of small-arms fire was the best they could muster. Most of the plague doorman were eliminated, there was no need for silenced shots any more.
It was now a race against time, and the witches of Prospero.
A blare of light and noise, and a band of Scarab Occult Terminators arrived, appearing right in the face of the Space Wolves advance. The cruiser overhead was awake and aware of the situation on the ground, then. Traducio smiled, then took to the field himself, beckoning on nearby squads of Rubrics and cultists.
Immediately, the Terminators were the focus of attention. In the few moments of surprise they had over the foe, sorcerers conjoined their efforts to shroud and protect the elite troop. Tzeentchian glamours wove around them.
Traducio murmured some well-rehearsed phrases, and time itself moved out of joint. The Rubric squad ahead of him darted up the field, warp bolters chattering with impressive speed. One of the Reiver squad on the roof ahead dropped before the others took to cover. The cultists and the other Rubrics added their firepower to this torrent, but the Reivers were too well hidden.
But then the Tzaangor shaman was on them, disc whirling and biting. The Rubrics weren't far behind, their sorcerer blasting the hapless marines with gouts of close-range warp fire. Their attention already on the Tzaangor, the Reivers were taken by surprise, and another of them fell under the assault, although the Shaman wasn't faring so well against their vicious knife blades.
With a thunderous roar, the Scarabs opened up. Their fire washed in all directions, biting into the ranks of the Hellblasters and Intercessors. Although their sorcerer called the charge, the heavy suits weren't fast enough. On all sides, the Space Wolves prepared to assault them.
There were still wolves amongst the cells. Fravash flickered forwards, a series of short leaps taking him in and out of reality. He rematerialised in a crash, talons flexing outwards and tearing the dogs apart. Yelping, they abandoned the field.
Traducio's gaze swept the field. There! The prisoner was there, his ancient armour still recognisable as that of the Thousand Sons. He barely stood, clearly confused and weak. But he was alone - the Prodigious Returned had taken down the nearest marines, although they hadn't reclaimed the prisoner yet.
The traitor astartes were advancing slowly. Bíldr knew his wolves could out-pace them. But first, they needed to remove the Terminators on their flank.
Heimkell led what remained of his Hellblasters up the central alley, supported by Leif 's Intercessors, ready to take aim at the heretic's war engine. Brynhild held his pack of Stalker Bolt Rifles, taking steady aim.
Battle Leader Hallbjorn raced towards the Scarab Occult Terminators, with Rask's Intercessors close behind. Rune Priest Skúta broke away from the prisoner to aid them, his psychic might overpowering the petty Sorcerer and felling one of the unliving automatons.
The remains of Alsvin's Reivers displayed their true grit to level their bolt carbines and gun down the beastman-shaman at close-quarters.
Hallbjorn's force crashed into the Terminators, just as a stalker bolt round smashed into another of them. With their psychic wards, the combined force of astartes only sufficed to bring down one more of them, but the Thousand Sons' counter-punch had been checked.
Pleased with success, Bíldr led Tanngniost's Reivers to secure the prisoner - and immediately realised his blinder. As the squad raced to encircle the sorcerer, they had overreached and dragged the nearby Daemon Prince into combat.
Three of them were cut down by the unholy creature, and Bíldr now feared their hold on the prisoner was slipping from his grip.
Impatiently, Traducio ordered the Rubrics to press ahead, leaving the two last Reivers behind. The prisoner was escaping! They needed to take him before the remainder of the Space Wolves could drag him away. Keen to press the advantage of numbers, he quickly opened a temporal gate for the cultists to step through, allowing them to leap forwards on to the rooftop by the Reivers.
Howling praise, the cultists opened up at point blank range with their automatic weapons. Driven back under a hail of lead, the Reivers were left exposed - Traducio and the sorcerer with the Rubrics hit them from both directions with blue fire, and they died where they stood. The later ranks of reinforcements hurried forward, firing as they came, but the Marines were too far off.
Finally, the last two Scarabs went down under a weight of Space Wolves. They'd given their un-lives to distract the bulk of the enemy's forces, but would it be enough?
Fravash was in his element, twisting and slashing with his impossibly long and flexible claws. The Reivers stood little chance - and yet, one of them was somehow keeping ahead of the Daemon. Fravash swiped and jabbed, but the Marine's reflexes were impressive. A broadening smile lit up the Daemon's hideous features as he settled into the rhythms of battle. He was clearly enjoying himself.
But at the same time, he was distracted. The veteran sergeant's knife play wasn't just a desperate battle to survive, it was a ploy. Behind him, as the Prince grinned with the joy of a worthy foe, one of the Battle Leaders grabbed the prisoner's arm. They had him!
They still had a chance. Though the tenacity of the Reivers and the fortitude of their Phobos armour, Tanngniost had bought them a few crucial seconds.
Bíldr shoved the prisoner with such force, he was halfway back to the extraction point before the Battle Leader caught up with him.
His work done, Pack Leader Tanngniost fired his grapnel and ascended straight to the top of the tower, narrowly avoiding the Daemon Prince's clutches.
Every other astartes now knew their duty - to screen or stop the oncoming heretics so the prisoner could be removed and interrogated. Leif led his Intercessors to block the path of the oncoming Helbrute. Skúta and Hallbjorn brought both packs of Intercessors to swing around and lend supporting fire to the escape.
Traducio was losing track of the battle. He couldn't see the prisoner. They had to move faster! Angrily, he tried to manipulate time again, but his concentration was too divided. At least the firepower of his Rubric cohort was taking a deadly toll on the Space Wolves ahead - a squad of Intercessors fell, too exhausted from slaying the Scarabs to protect themselves properly.
Traducio's second, the Sorcerer Morculus, was running forward to try and break through the Intercessors who'd destroyed the Helbrute. A wave of pink fire rose ahead of him, burning the Marines in their armour, but they held. Even a full squad of Rubrics couldn't bring down the armoured loyalists with their deadly bolts. Together, sorcerer and Rubrics charged.
It still wasn't enough to break through. The Space Wolf sergeant was a terror, battering Rubrics aside with his powered fist. Even the rank and file proved tenacious, wounding Morculus badly. At least there weren't quite enough left of them to still block the road ahead.
But the prisoner was still being dragged away.
"Mine! I told you," Fravash growled. Effortlessly, he kept pace with the fleeing Space Wolves, pouncing into the Hellblasters from behind.
Yet once again, Fravash had underestimated the skill of the Space Wolves. Even their heavy weapon experts were superhuman warriors, survivors of hundreds of battles. Fravash took one of them, breaking him like bread with his claws, but the other fought back like the cornered predator he was. Snarling, he drove a knife deep into the Daemon Prince's armour, forcing him back from the prisoner and defying his otherworldly will.
The Prisoner was still out of their reach. Time was running out.
They were holding on by the last claw. Their numbers were falling to the psychic might and warp-infused ammunition of the Thousand Sons. And the Daemon Prince was unstoppable. Bíldr gritted his fanged teeth. The only measures left were desperate ones.
Pack Leader Heimkell obediently fell back from combat, ensuring the prisoner would remain in their hands. Now exposed, every round of ammunition was poured into the Daemon Prince, spilling his unholy ichor onto the ground.
Every astartes left on the field was ordered to charge. Bíldr led the way. His brother Hallbjorn followed close behind. Even Pack Leader Tanngniost, having narrowly escaped death once before, did not quail at the fight.
Only Rune Priest Skúta fell short, the distance too great for his battle-weary frame. Bíldr hoped they would not miss his rune magicks against this creature.
Suddenly, the din of battle lessened. Most of the Space Wolves were down, burnt or torn. Only a handful remained, and they were terribly outgunned. A remorseless wall of sorcerery and enchanted bolt fire plucked them down, one by one.
Traducio hurried forwards. But he knew he was too late - Fravash grabbed the last Hellblaster by the throat and squeezed until a red paste erupted through cracks in the marine's helmet. With his free claw, the Daemon Prince seized the prisoner.
"As I said," he said, smiling. "You are mine, little man."
The screams over the Vox were dying away. Wolf Lord Kveldulf gestured for the signal to be cut. He had heard enough.
The warrior slumped imperceptibly. At such times, the weight of the Rubicon Primaris weighed heavily on his aged bones. He take taken command of these new warriors at Blackmane's asking. He would not lead them to defeat. He turned to his Rune Priest.
"What do you think, old friend?"
"Some may yet survive." Thorolf's gaze was inscrutable, showing no emotion at the likely death of his protegee. "But the witches now possess the information we seek. They will reach the Exile first."
Kveldulf felt the rush of shame and anger in his blood. "Then we shall respond in strength! Bring the entire company - what we cannot achieve with stealth we shall overcome with force!"
Thorolf looked grim. "The XVth Legion are not to be underestimated."
"Nor shall I," Kveldulf answered. "We shall entreat our ancient brother to join us. Let him inspire these new pups with tales of when Prospero burned. Awake the Fell-Handed!"
The voice of the Demon Prince echoed through the Warden's room. The trio of sorcerers knelt around him, each at the cardinal point of a septagraphic diagram, etched into the floor with consecrated acids. It was a courtesy more than anything, a ward that bent reality but a little, allowing the tides of the warp to flow more easily in the room and making it more comfortable for their visitor. Not that the creature seemed to have noticed, nor returned the courtesy. The atmosphere in the echoing chamber was distinctly strained.
"We do not know, Prince Fravash," the first sorcerer said. "He left us here weeks ago."
"And you call yourself bodyguards, Traducio?" the Demon sneered. "I came here to speak with your master. I am disappointed he thinks he can elude me. It is rude. He is rude. I am offended. Would that I could take issue with him in person. As it is, you three will have to do."
Fravash was a champion of the Changer of Ways. His turquoise armour was nearly transparent, an shimmering opal shell behind which you could just see shifting organs, mouths opening in silent screams and the flitting eyes of warp predators. He looked strong enough to rip open a tank, to speak nothing of the coruscating aura of arcane power billowing around him. The three sorcerers carefully avoided meeting his unblinking, red-rimmed gaze.
The Demon Prince was clearly angry. One wrong word now could easily spell their doom.
Chapter 1: The Scent of Blood
Time for another narrative campaign! We're throwing together the traditional foes - Space Wolves and Thousand Sons - in a story we're calling "The Hunt For Ahriman".
This is the curtain-raiser, with an advance pack of Space Wolves trying to secure a prisoner who holds critical information on the whereabouts of everyone's favourite sorcerer-exile. There's just a couple of sentries to deal with, so let's hope they don't bit off more than they can chew...
This is the curtain-raiser, with an advance pack of Space Wolves trying to secure a prisoner who holds critical information on the whereabouts of everyone's favourite sorcerer-exile. There's just a couple of sentries to deal with, so let's hope they don't bit off more than they can chew...
Space Wolves - The Ullr Pack
This opening narrative is all about stealth and surprise. So it's being led by Battle Leaders and none of the heavy stuff. The Phobos Battle Leader is leading the hunt, aided by the Phobos Librarian, which means I get to try out the Obscuration Discipline (Mind Raid doesn't seem that useful, but is highly thematic for this mission). Other than that, two units of Reivers and a few packs of Fenrisian Wolves will be the first wave.
Once the alarm is sounded, reinforcements will come in the form of three Intercessor squads, let by a regular Battle Leader, and a squad of Hellblasters (not the most subtle, but I needed to fill out the points, and I've gone with the assault variety, to keep it consistent).
Once the alarm is sounded, reinforcements will come in the form of three Intercessor squads, let by a regular Battle Leader, and a squad of Hellblasters (not the most subtle, but I needed to fill out the points, and I've gone with the assault variety, to keep it consistent).
So we get in, we get the prisoner, we get out. Nothing can go wrong.
- Bíldr - Battle Leader in Phobos Armour (HQ)
Master-crafted occulus bolt rifle, grav-chute
Warlord trait: Saga of the Hunter
Relic: The Armour of Russ
- Skúta - Rune Priest in Phobos Armour (HQ)
Camo cloak, Psychic hood, Runic sword, Bolt Pistol
Powers: Soul Sight, Mind Raid
- Hallbjorn - Battle Leader (HQ)
Power axe and bolt carbine
- Squad Rask - 5 x Intercessor Squad (Troops)
Auxiliary Grenade Launcher, Auto Bolt rifle. Power fist
- Squad Leif - 5 x Intercessor Squad (Troops)
Auxiliary Grenade Launcher, Auto Bolt rifle. Power fist
- Squad Brynhild - 5 x Intercessor Squad (Troops)
Stalker Bolt rifle. Intercessor Pack Leader, Chainsword
- Squad Tanngniost - 5 x Reivers (Elite)
Combat knife, Heavy Bolt Pistol, Grapnel Launcher
- Squad Alsvin - 5 x Reivers (Elite)
Bolt Carbine, Grapnel Launcher
- 5 x Fenrisian Wolves (Fast)
Teeth and claws
- 5 x Fenrisian Wolves (Fast)
Teeth and claws
- Squad Heimkell - 5 x Hellblaster Squad (Heavy)
Assault Plasma Incinerator
Power: 50 | Points: 997 | Battalion: 8CP
Master-crafted occulus bolt rifle, grav-chute
Warlord trait: Saga of the Hunter
Relic: The Armour of Russ
Camo cloak, Psychic hood, Runic sword, Bolt Pistol
Powers: Soul Sight, Mind Raid
Power axe and bolt carbine
Auxiliary Grenade Launcher, Auto Bolt rifle. Power fist
Auxiliary Grenade Launcher, Auto Bolt rifle. Power fist
Stalker Bolt rifle. Intercessor Pack Leader, Chainsword
Combat knife, Heavy Bolt Pistol, Grapnel Launcher
Bolt Carbine, Grapnel Launcher
Teeth and claws
Teeth and claws
Assault Plasma Incinerator
Thousand Sons - The Prodigious Returned
All the same, I reckon I've seen these guys in action enough that I have a rough idea of how they work. Taking a minimal Battalion of small troops choices leaves me points to spend on a Vanguard detachment of nasty elites, including a lone Tzaangor Shaman with nobody to buff. The sheer weight of psychic powers is confounding to me, I have full faith in my ability to defuse their synergies. Although surely the odds are against me with that many powers to cast. I can't fail them all, can I?
Overall, it's a simple enough army to wield, I hope. Although they'll be arriving in a scattered manner, there should be enough that I can overwhelm all those dogs with sorcery, bolts and some up close and personal maiming.
Anyway, I get some free sentries. I clearly have the upper hand, so no way am I losing this!
- The Daemon Prince Fravash (HQ)
2 x Malefic talons,
Warlord Trait: Aetherstride
Relic: Dark Matter Crystal
Psychic powers: Death Hex, Gaze of Fate - Traducio, Sorcerer (HQ)
Force Sword, Inferno Bolt Pistol
Psychic powers: Diabolic Strength, Warptime - Morculus, Sorcerer (HQ)
Force Axe, Inferno Bolt Pistol
Psychic powers: Doombolt, Weaver of Fates - 5 x Rubric Marines (Troop)
Force Stave, Inferno bolt pistol, 4 x Inferno Boltgun
Psychic power: Tzeentch's Firestorm - 5 x Rubric Marines (Troop)
Force Stave, Inferno bolt pistol, 4 x Inferno Boltgun
Psychic power: Tzeentch's Firestorm - 10 x Chaos Cultists (Troop)
Shotgun, 8 x Autoguns, 1 x Heavy Stubber - 5 x Scarab Occult Terminators (Elite)
Force Stave, 5 x Inferno Combi-Bolter, 4 x Power Sword, 1 x Hellfyre Missile Rack
Doombolt - Jail, a Helbrute (Elite)
Heavy Bolter, Helbrute Fist - Dezmeann, Tzaangor Shaman (Elite)
Force Stave, Glamour of Tzeentch
Power: 60 | Points: 999 | Battalion + Vanguard: 9CP
Mission
"This has caused them to come into possession of an ancient Sorcerer of the XVth Legion. He is being held in their dungeons and guarded by pox-wracked neverborn.
"But the warband are absent from their fortress this night. Some celebration of their daemon lord's ascension day. We can creep in there, like bloodlice in a corpse, kill the sentries and take their prize."
"And what is is their prize?" Battle Leader Hallbjorn was never reticent about speaking his mind. "For what has Kveldulf commanded us to risk our necks?"
"We believe this Sorcerer knows the location of the arch-exile himself. He can lead us to Ahriman."
---
We're playing Rescue from the main rulebook, with some narrative amendments of our own. Essentially, there is a 'spy' (in this case, a Thousand Sons Sorcerer who has been enjoying the hospitality of the Death Guard's dungeons) that must be uncovered under one of six objective markers.
The Attacker starts the mission with as much of his army as he wants, and can bring on the rest of his army subsequently. Each objective that is secured will reveal to be containing the prisoner on the roll of a 6 (and if five objectives are fruitless, the sixth is automatically revealed). Upon the reveal, the alarm is sounded (if it hasn't already).
The Defender only gets a small unit of Troops (for free!) to patrol the area as individual models (you roll-off to control their direction). They can sound the alarm as follows:
- By using a shooting attack (there is a Stratagem to used Silenced Weapons)
- By failing to kill a sentry in the fight phase
- If a sentry comes within 3" of an enemy (you can buy a Stratagem that doubles this range)
Some homebrew rules: the Sorcerer will be under the control of the Attacker as long as there is a Space Wolves unit within coherency. If his escorts move away or are killed, then he is free and passes under the control of the Defender.
If the Sorcerer reaches the Attacker's deployment zone, and is still alive and captured by the end of the battle round, the Attacker wins. If the Attacker retains control of the Sorcerer by the end of the game, they win. Any other outcome is a draw.
"The Prodigious Returned do not presume to speak on our master's behalf," the second sorcerer replied. "He commanded us to stay here and protect this prison."
"This donjon has a single inmate, a cursed soul that belongs to the god Nurgle," Fravash said. "He has been incarcerated here for time without reckoning, his bowels daily plucked at by plaguebearers. He has no name worth repeating. This age has forgotten him, nobody comes for him and nobody cares. This is a ruse of Ahriman's. He sets you here to confound me, and I grow tired of it. Tell me where he went now, and in mercy, I will spare one in every three of your band."
"Would that we could, Lord Fravash," said the third sorcerer, a Tzaangor shaman, twisting her staff nervously round in her claws. "We have also tired of waiting here. Following Ahriman is far better sport than this wretched task. I for one..."
"Enough!" snarled the Demon. His long and flexible claws snaked out, scoring fresh lines in the granite floor. The diagram pulsed angrily. The sorcerers glanced at each other. Could their magics be enough to defeat this monster?
Deployment
This is about the easiest deployment I've ever undertaken! My entire army is in reserve, apart from the ten free Plaguebearers. These go one on each objective, and a second one on each of the most central four.
Though it might be nice to start off with some Hellblasters on the board (can I use silenced plasma shots?), let's keep it sensible. Phobos armour and the fast-moving wolves will begin the battle, with the rest acting as back-up.
Accordingly, my Phobos Battle Leader (and warlord) goes centrally with one unit of Reivers. The Phobos Librarian goes right-flank with the second unit of Reivers. Both packs of Wolves on the extreme flanks.
I have a good chance of inspecting three of the closest objectives right away, so I have a 50/50 chance of unearthing the prisoner on my first turn (if it's one of the far objectives, I might be in trouble).
Although before the game starts, Kraken makes the sensible play of using the scenario-specific Sensors stratagem (someone gave the Plaguebearers scanners?) - this double their spotting range and means I have to make charges from 6" out, rather than a near-guaranteed 3" - and I'm relying on close-combat to silently dispatch the sentries.
Though it might be nice to start off with some Hellblasters on the board (can I use silenced plasma shots?), let's keep it sensible. Phobos armour and the fast-moving wolves will begin the battle, with the rest acting as back-up.
Accordingly, my Phobos Battle Leader (and warlord) goes centrally with one unit of Reivers. The Phobos Librarian goes right-flank with the second unit of Reivers. Both packs of Wolves on the extreme flanks.
I have a good chance of inspecting three of the closest objectives right away, so I have a 50/50 chance of unearthing the prisoner on my first turn (if it's one of the far objectives, I might be in trouble).
Although before the game starts, Kraken makes the sensible play of using the scenario-specific Sensors stratagem (someone gave the Plaguebearers scanners?) - this double their spotting range and means I have to make charges from 6" out, rather than a near-guaranteed 3" - and I'm relying on close-combat to silently dispatch the sentries.
Turn 1 - Space Wolves
Their quarry was near. Even over the rotting flesh of the guards, Bíldr could smell it. Six buildings to search, and only a handful of shambling sentries to deal with. They could snatch the prisoner and be away before the heretics even realised.
Brother Alsvin's Reivers opened fire with silenced weapons. One of the sentries fell, but the other's disgusting form just closed around the bolt wound as if it had never struck home. This would need to be settled with blades. And teeth.
On instinct, both packs of Fenrisian Wolves bounded forward to pounce on their prey. Rune Priest Skúta also led Alsvin's Reivers against the third doorman, but Bíldr himself fell short of bringing in Tanngniost's Reivers to support the wolf pack.
Some foul sorcerery was at work in this stronghold. Footing was unsure, distances uncertain, and these pox-ridden creatures were unusually acute to danger. Bíldr's augmented senses started to warn him than this mission would not be a seamless as planned.
With a single slash of his sword, Rune Priest Skúta felled his sentry, only to find the room he was guarding to be empty. Denied a kill, Alsvin's Reivers used their grapnels to ascend the central control tower.
The Fenrisian Wolves that Bíldr had failed to support had also found nothing. And worse one of the guards had slipped through their fangs with the unnatural slime that coated his flesh.
On the control tower, the second pack of Fenrisian Wolves barged open the door - and revealed the Sorcerer Clotho!
Drugged and weakened by the poisons of the Death Guard, he was easily rounded up like a stray sheep, ready to be fleeced. But distracted by their quarry, these Wolves also failed to make their kill.
From nowhere and everywhere came the clamour of rusting bells. Through some devilry of the neverborn, the alarum had been raised.
The raid was already compromised, just as it had begun. Forgoing vox-silence, Bíldr opened the comms-channel to the extraction team.
"Brother Hallbjorn, we're coming out. We need support. We need support now."
Turn 1 - Thousand Sons
A bell rang. A rusted, rotten bell, more a flaking clatter than a chime, but recognisable on some level as an alarm of some form. And then another, and another. Fravash paused, thoughfully gazing up towards the unseen tower the bells were ringing in.
"Look to the prisoner!" Traducio said, sending a mental summons to the rest of the warband. "Lord Fravash, our apologies. It seems..."
"Yes, yes, most... inconvenient." The Demon sighed. "Very well, slaves. Go, protect your charge. I think I shall help you. But there is a price."
Traducio bowed low. "We shall meet it, of course."
"I will question this prisoner when we have seen off whoever seeks him. I suppose if Ahriman requires his safety, his mind may contain some morsel of interest to me."
With that, they raced together to the cells, a wretched collection of rotting outhouses, oubliettes and lockups scattered around the perimeter of the Warden's hall. The Rubrics were already mustering, one squad marching solemnly around a lesser sorcerer as they heeded the call to action. And a Hellbrute, a walking prison containing the maddened mind of a failed seeker of knowledge. More were on their way, but much of the warband was still high above, orbiting this barren rock in their cruiser.
The Plaguebearers that guarded the prison were already shambling to the attack. Traducio peered into the murk ahead, trying to make out the nature of the attackers. There! A snarling, animal shape... A wolf?
This wretched ball of rock had no life on it. The only living creature was the prisoner and now the sorcerers of the Prodigal Returned. Wolves - it couldn't be a coincidence. Only one enemy of the Thousand Sons would dare attack this benighted place.
"The curs of Russ!" Traducio spat. "Brothers, come fast. There are dogs in need of beating here!"
Already, the guns of the Helbrute were blazing, mowing down a clutch of the mongrel creatures. Plaguebearers trudged against the survivors of that first volley, joylessly enumerating the blows they took and gave as their swords fell. The first wolf pack broke and fled, what little remained of them at least.
But the prisoner was already free. His neverborn jailors were already reaching for him, but there were armoured forms appearing from the gloom nearby. The Space Wolves were here, much closer than the Thousand Sons.
"He belongs to me, now!" Fravash bellowed. "Seize him or die!"
Turn 2 - Space Wolves
Their faithful beasts had fled before the unnatural horror that struck them. The prisoner was unsecured. The witches were coming upon them. As the clamour of the alarums assaulted Bíldr's hyper-acute senses, he hurriedly redrew his plans.
On his command, Alsvin's Reivers fired their grapnel lines to the roof of the building directly in front of the Thousand Sons, their movement given wings by Rune Priest Skúta's prayers. They would have to check the advance at all costs.
The second pack of Fenrisian Wolves abandoned the daemon doorman and raced up the central alleyway in search of sweeter meat.
Bíldr himself led Tanngniost's Reivers up to the base of the central tower, ready to wheel around and support Skúta as he made a grab for the dazed prisoner.
And then, praise the All-Father, came the extraction team. Battle Leader Hallbjorn led in three squads of Intercessors and a unit of Hellblasters, ready to secure a path to the Thunderhawk extraction site.
Most weapons were slung as The Rout raced forwards, and a rattle of small-arms fire was the best they could muster. Most of the plague doorman were eliminated, there was no need for silenced shots any more.
It was now a race against time, and the witches of Prospero.
Turn 2 - Thousand Sons
A blare of light and noise, and a band of Scarab Occult Terminators arrived, appearing right in the face of the Space Wolves advance. The cruiser overhead was awake and aware of the situation on the ground, then. Traducio smiled, then took to the field himself, beckoning on nearby squads of Rubrics and cultists.
Immediately, the Terminators were the focus of attention. In the few moments of surprise they had over the foe, sorcerers conjoined their efforts to shroud and protect the elite troop. Tzeentchian glamours wove around them.
Traducio murmured some well-rehearsed phrases, and time itself moved out of joint. The Rubric squad ahead of him darted up the field, warp bolters chattering with impressive speed. One of the Reiver squad on the roof ahead dropped before the others took to cover. The cultists and the other Rubrics added their firepower to this torrent, but the Reivers were too well hidden.
But then the Tzaangor shaman was on them, disc whirling and biting. The Rubrics weren't far behind, their sorcerer blasting the hapless marines with gouts of close-range warp fire. Their attention already on the Tzaangor, the Reivers were taken by surprise, and another of them fell under the assault, although the Shaman wasn't faring so well against their vicious knife blades.
With a thunderous roar, the Scarabs opened up. Their fire washed in all directions, biting into the ranks of the Hellblasters and Intercessors. Although their sorcerer called the charge, the heavy suits weren't fast enough. On all sides, the Space Wolves prepared to assault them.
There were still wolves amongst the cells. Fravash flickered forwards, a series of short leaps taking him in and out of reality. He rematerialised in a crash, talons flexing outwards and tearing the dogs apart. Yelping, they abandoned the field.
Traducio's gaze swept the field. There! The prisoner was there, his ancient armour still recognisable as that of the Thousand Sons. He barely stood, clearly confused and weak. But he was alone - the Prodigious Returned had taken down the nearest marines, although they hadn't reclaimed the prisoner yet.
Turn 3 - Space Wolves
The traitor astartes were advancing slowly. Bíldr knew his wolves could out-pace them. But first, they needed to remove the Terminators on their flank.
Heimkell led what remained of his Hellblasters up the central alley, supported by Leif 's Intercessors, ready to take aim at the heretic's war engine. Brynhild held his pack of Stalker Bolt Rifles, taking steady aim.
Battle Leader Hallbjorn raced towards the Scarab Occult Terminators, with Rask's Intercessors close behind. Rune Priest Skúta broke away from the prisoner to aid them, his psychic might overpowering the petty Sorcerer and felling one of the unliving automatons.
The remains of Alsvin's Reivers displayed their true grit to level their bolt carbines and gun down the beastman-shaman at close-quarters.
Hallbjorn's force crashed into the Terminators, just as a stalker bolt round smashed into another of them. With their psychic wards, the combined force of astartes only sufficed to bring down one more of them, but the Thousand Sons' counter-punch had been checked.
Pleased with success, Bíldr led Tanngniost's Reivers to secure the prisoner - and immediately realised his blinder. As the squad raced to encircle the sorcerer, they had overreached and dragged the nearby Daemon Prince into combat.
Three of them were cut down by the unholy creature, and Bíldr now feared their hold on the prisoner was slipping from his grip.
Turn 3 - Thousand Sons
Impatiently, Traducio ordered the Rubrics to press ahead, leaving the two last Reivers behind. The prisoner was escaping! They needed to take him before the remainder of the Space Wolves could drag him away. Keen to press the advantage of numbers, he quickly opened a temporal gate for the cultists to step through, allowing them to leap forwards on to the rooftop by the Reivers.
Howling praise, the cultists opened up at point blank range with their automatic weapons. Driven back under a hail of lead, the Reivers were left exposed - Traducio and the sorcerer with the Rubrics hit them from both directions with blue fire, and they died where they stood. The later ranks of reinforcements hurried forward, firing as they came, but the Marines were too far off.
Finally, the last two Scarabs went down under a weight of Space Wolves. They'd given their un-lives to distract the bulk of the enemy's forces, but would it be enough?
Fravash was in his element, twisting and slashing with his impossibly long and flexible claws. The Reivers stood little chance - and yet, one of them was somehow keeping ahead of the Daemon. Fravash swiped and jabbed, but the Marine's reflexes were impressive. A broadening smile lit up the Daemon's hideous features as he settled into the rhythms of battle. He was clearly enjoying himself.
But at the same time, he was distracted. The veteran sergeant's knife play wasn't just a desperate battle to survive, it was a ploy. Behind him, as the Prince grinned with the joy of a worthy foe, one of the Battle Leaders grabbed the prisoner's arm. They had him!
Turn 4 - Space Wolves
They still had a chance. Though the tenacity of the Reivers and the fortitude of their Phobos armour, Tanngniost had bought them a few crucial seconds.
Bíldr shoved the prisoner with such force, he was halfway back to the extraction point before the Battle Leader caught up with him.
His work done, Pack Leader Tanngniost fired his grapnel and ascended straight to the top of the tower, narrowly avoiding the Daemon Prince's clutches.
Every other astartes now knew their duty - to screen or stop the oncoming heretics so the prisoner could be removed and interrogated. Leif led his Intercessors to block the path of the oncoming Helbrute. Skúta and Hallbjorn brought both packs of Intercessors to swing around and lend supporting fire to the escape.
With plasma bolts supporting their charge, Leif brought his squad crashing into the Helbrute. The Pack Leader was so eager for the kill that he struck before his brothers, driving a power fist straight through the heart of the infernal machine.
The alley was now secured by a fresh squad, but the oncoming Sorcerers looked unstoppable.
Turn 4 - Thousand Sons
Traducio was losing track of the battle. He couldn't see the prisoner. They had to move faster! Angrily, he tried to manipulate time again, but his concentration was too divided. At least the firepower of his Rubric cohort was taking a deadly toll on the Space Wolves ahead - a squad of Intercessors fell, too exhausted from slaying the Scarabs to protect themselves properly.
Traducio's second, the Sorcerer Morculus, was running forward to try and break through the Intercessors who'd destroyed the Helbrute. A wave of pink fire rose ahead of him, burning the Marines in their armour, but they held. Even a full squad of Rubrics couldn't bring down the armoured loyalists with their deadly bolts. Together, sorcerer and Rubrics charged.
It still wasn't enough to break through. The Space Wolf sergeant was a terror, battering Rubrics aside with his powered fist. Even the rank and file proved tenacious, wounding Morculus badly. At least there weren't quite enough left of them to still block the road ahead.
But the prisoner was still being dragged away.
"Mine! I told you," Fravash growled. Effortlessly, he kept pace with the fleeing Space Wolves, pouncing into the Hellblasters from behind.
Yet once again, Fravash had underestimated the skill of the Space Wolves. Even their heavy weapon experts were superhuman warriors, survivors of hundreds of battles. Fravash took one of them, breaking him like bread with his claws, but the other fought back like the cornered predator he was. Snarling, he drove a knife deep into the Daemon Prince's armour, forcing him back from the prisoner and defying his otherworldly will.
The Prisoner was still out of their reach. Time was running out.
Turn 5 - Space Wolves
They were holding on by the last claw. Their numbers were falling to the psychic might and warp-infused ammunition of the Thousand Sons. And the Daemon Prince was unstoppable. Bíldr gritted his fanged teeth. The only measures left were desperate ones.
Pack Leader Heimkell obediently fell back from combat, ensuring the prisoner would remain in their hands. Now exposed, every round of ammunition was poured into the Daemon Prince, spilling his unholy ichor onto the ground.
Every astartes left on the field was ordered to charge. Bíldr led the way. His brother Hallbjorn followed close behind. Even Pack Leader Tanngniost, having narrowly escaped death once before, did not quail at the fight.
Only Rune Priest Skúta fell short, the distance too great for his battle-weary frame. Bíldr hoped they would not miss his rune magicks against this creature.
They fought like true warriors of Fenris, and yet none of their blades found a mark on the unholy monster. Warriors that had slain ice-trolls and hunted kraken could not bring down this neverborn terror of the hell dimension.
One by one, the Daemon turned his attention upon them. Hallbjorn was beaten down. Brave Tanngniost could not escape his fate. As the claws rent his own armour, Bíldr's last prayer was that the few remaining brothers could yet achieve their mission.
But he knew they would not.
Turn 5 - Thousand Sons
Suddenly, the din of battle lessened. Most of the Space Wolves were down, burnt or torn. Only a handful remained, and they were terribly outgunned. A remorseless wall of sorcerery and enchanted bolt fire plucked them down, one by one.
Traducio hurried forwards. But he knew he was too late - Fravash grabbed the last Hellblaster by the throat and squeezed until a red paste erupted through cracks in the marine's helmet. With his free claw, the Daemon Prince seized the prisoner.
"As I said," he said, smiling. "You are mine, little man."
Result: Victory to the Thousand Sons!
Epilogue
The warrior slumped imperceptibly. At such times, the weight of the Rubicon Primaris weighed heavily on his aged bones. He take taken command of these new warriors at Blackmane's asking. He would not lead them to defeat. He turned to his Rune Priest.
"What do you think, old friend?"
"Some may yet survive." Thorolf's gaze was inscrutable, showing no emotion at the likely death of his protegee. "But the witches now possess the information we seek. They will reach the Exile first."
Kveldulf felt the rush of shame and anger in his blood. "Then we shall respond in strength! Bring the entire company - what we cannot achieve with stealth we shall overcome with force!"
Thorolf looked grim. "The XVth Legion are not to be underestimated."
"Nor shall I," Kveldulf answered. "We shall entreat our ancient brother to join us. Let him inspire these new pups with tales of when Prospero burned. Awake the Fell-Handed!"
Very cool narration to the report there, I love that! It would be nice to have had a locker room debrief, but now I'm just being picky. Oh, and perhaps the Second Law might get a bit annoyed when they discover their prisoner has been stolen...?
ReplyDeleteIn terms of locker room - yay, I won! And I can see why the Thousand Sons have their reputation. The sheer bulk of smites and buffs adds up well on top of a slow, solid shooting force. That steady chipping plus some good work from the Daemon Prince carried me home.
ReplyDeleteIs that the Second Law throwing some gauntlets around there?
My contribution to the locker room: yes, Thousand Sons are tough to face. Seeing them on the other side of the table, I think their big advantage is the Psychic Phase gives them so much 'pre-turn' - they can smite away obstacles, redeploy troops, turn small threats into large ones - before the shooting and assault actually begins. This makes them harder to anticipate.
ReplyDeleteIn terms of the narrative scenario, we got very lucky with how the chips fell. If the 'spy' had turned up in the enemy half of the board, or the Terminators had made that charge, it would have been over.
Similarly, if my Wolves hadn't fled (I should really have spent CP to auto-pass morale with that one) and relinquished early control of the spy, or I had been taking out sentries with just a bit more effectiveness (damn that Disgustingly Resilient!), I would probably have been uncatchable.
It's going to be interesting in the next game with no restrictions and a 'conventional' mission. The Wolves are not holding back!
That was incredible! Bloody well done you two. What a great write up. I am looking forward to see how this campaign unfolds!
ReplyDeleteThanks - glad you enjoyed it. We also have no idea where the campaign is going!
DeleteSpeak for yourself. I've interrogated the prisoner now, I know exactly where we're going.
DeleteThanks for another great report. I am looking forward to part two.
ReplyDeleteThanks very much - we've got something special in mind for Part Two, so I hope you enjoy it!
Delete