A-Scuttling We Shall Go

Santa's not messing around. He really wants me to finish this Silver Tower set.

It's the Grot Scuttlings! They may be from the Naughty List, but if I can't rush out eight goblins, then I might as well hand in my paintbrushes.

Mean Streets: Chaos vs Destruction

Prologue

"Glory you shall have! Glory and skulls aplenty! The least of you will ride on the mighty steeds of our lord Tzeentch, flecked with silver and horn!"

The host cried raucously, shaking their weapons. Proving that their daemonic lord wasn't just spinning wild tales, a pair of disc-riding lords orbited round him. Weird lights flickered round their helmed heads. 

"Will you earn these prizes? Will you be my champions?" the daemon prince Tzcharazang asked. 

Oh yes, yes they would. By the thousand names of Tzeentch, the mortal fools would do whatever he bid. Their screamed affirmatives were just window dressing, he knew he had their loyalty. 

"Then all I ask is that you take the Ark of Alternatives in your chariots! Take it to the heart of ruined Karendorf!" the prince told them. "Bring the blessings of change to their broken temple, and let the splendour of Tzeentch shine where the hammer god once held court!"

Howling their hearts out, they rode, and the Ark rode with them.

They didn't ride alone. As the hooves of the riders hammered the ancient, frost-blasted streets, thundering towards the heart of the long-abandoned town, other sounds echoed their progress. The beat of savage drums. The blare of crude trumpets. The chanting of a single name, over and over. 

Soaring over his legion on cobalt wings, the daemon prince saw movement in the sidestreets. Soft paws scrabbled on the cobbles, hairy legs crept along the shattered walls. The creak of axles even, as chariots rattled into action. 

Greenskins, then, a score of tribes from their banners. And more than he expected. No matter - he'd promised his tribesmen blood, and the colour was of no concern to them. A clumsy alliance of primitives was no match for his hardened band. They'd probably spend as much time fighting each other for dominance as they would the intruders. 

That name, though. A leader, perhaps? Something must have brought them together, after all. Was Tzeentch sending one last test before the Ark could be activated? 

No, no mere bullying goblin would keep his destiny from being fulfilled. Tzcharazang cawed softly to himself, safe in the knowledge his day had come at last. 

"Grom," the greenskins chanted. "Grom! Grom! Grom!"

At Last We Reunite!

It's All-Skype Fight Night!

Roll out!

Has it really been almost a year since our last Age of Sigmar SkypeBoot? Kraken and I resolved to put an end to this shameful situation with a high-octane chase of cavalry and chariots. We may have been a bit too enthused about throwing every mounted model on the table - both sides clock in around 2000pts according to the new system (not that we paid it any heed) - but we have a marvellous new theatre to play in.

Ah, the time flies. In fairness, both of us have been adding to our miniatures collection (the real life, flesh-and-blood pre-painted kind), so big scraps have been lower on the agenda than usual. All the same, good to be back in our respective saddles. 

Without further ado, we bring you a Mad Max inspired scenario. Two mounted warbands clash, one trying to carry a vital cargo through a raider-infested bottleneck!