"Please," Pavel screamed. "Please, don't! No, please, let me live!"
And the Northman shrugged, turned him on to his back with his boot, and stamped in his groin hard enough that he could hardly breath for minutes.
The ambush almost worked.
Gavril stuck a couple of the mercenaries with arrows, but not enough to incapacitate any of them. Before any of them got too badly hurt, they split up and hid amongst the ruined machinery in the lower room. Vras and Gavril shot desperately through the hole in the floor, but they couldn't stop them getting to the foot of the stairs. And then the elf wizard started chanting from somewhere in the shadows below, and another, unseen mercenary starting hurling slingshot up, forcing them back from their sniper's positions.
Aurel and Tusk were cut down when the Northman stormed up. Aurel stabbed him, but he might have stabbed the mountain for all the effect it had. Majewa almost killed the Empire veteran with his well-worn halberd, but Pavel had already folded by then. He wasn't going to die, not like this. Not for lies and stories and threats. Not under the edge of a cold, Northern axe.
Showing posts with label Woffboot VI. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Woffboot VI. Show all posts
Monday, 10 March 2014
Sunday, 9 March 2014
Butchers of Men V
Pavel opened his eyes.
It was almost as if he could see the pain, tenebrous purple clouds of it blotting out the edges of his vision. The room was a fuzzy mess. Early cold daylight was spilling in through the roof and windows and mixing with their untidy camp of the night before. The other Slaughtermen stood or sat around, apart from Aurel. Aurel was lying on the floor next to him, grey of face, looking thin and wretched. Gavril stood over them both, sharpening a knife.
Majewa and Tusk were sharing rashers of bacon that Vras was cooking on a well-used skillet over the embers of the fire.
"Naughty boys," Majewa said, looking them over.
Saturday, 8 March 2014
Butchers of Men IV
Vras was half asleep. Full sleep was impossible, hunched against the side of a long-derelict rock crusher. It was freezingly cold in the room around him. His blankets were thin comfort against the hard stone. He'd tried to clear a little nest for himself amongst the dust and chips on the floor, but for every knobbly lump he threw away, another seemed to burrow its way underneath his back.
And all that was nothing compared to the fact that he was camping out on the Barlog.
He knew the stories. The Black Banner, the sleepers under the mountain. If they were just tales to scare children with, why did the old men in the town square mutter them under their breaths with pale faces, and never after dark? Why had the Prince, who wasn't even originally from Zenres, bricked up all the palace windows that faced the craggy mountain?
Why had nobody from the town been up here in living memory?
Friday, 7 March 2014
Butchers of Men III
They reached the quarry late that night and set up camp in the upper storey of an old bunkroom.
It was a desolate barn of a building made of huge grey stone blocks. The dwarves who'd built it made it to last, and the walls certainly had. But the roof was missing most of its tiles, was even open to the frigid night air in places, and there was a huge circular hole in the thick beams of the floor. Whatever mechanical device had rested there before had sunk through the mouldering wood and smashed into rusted cogs and bent metal plates on the grinding room floor below.
Perhaps it had once been a bustling centre of industry. Now it was a empty nest for finches, a sad reminder that the Dwarves were long gone and their kingdoms fallen.
Lonely though it was, it was a good place for an ambush. You could see the path where it finally made it into the step-cut bowl of the quarry. The sheer rocks all round made it unlikely that anyone would come up another way, and there were good lines of sight from the windows to the quarry yard outside.
The mercenaries would arrive, probably sometime the following morning unless they travelled through the night. And the Slaughtermen would be waiting for them.
Thursday, 6 March 2014
Butchers of Men II
They were sat in the back of a cart as it crept out of town. The mule pulling it kept farting loudly as it plodded along. It was just about the only sound to break the silence that reigned over the six of them.
Ion and Alin were dead. They'd never come out of the Sow and Shoats. Cornel was in the town jail, with a Bretonnian leech looking after the gut wound he'd taken. Majewa said he probably wasn't going to recover. Markhu was locked up in the stocks by the West Gate, still unconscious after one of the Tilean soldiers had cracked a cobble off his temple. The Prince's guards hadn't bothered to revive him before locking him up.
And the rest of them were heading for the Barlog.
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
Butchers of Men I
Pavel's torch was starting to burn out.
The orange flames danced down the square-cut tunnel ahead of him, making the limestone walls glisten. Cold, damp air was seeping from somewhere deep below, sneaking up behind him and caressing his neck with wet fingers.
Damn it, Pavel, watch the entrance, he told himself.
But he couldn't. Every time he turned his back on the tunnel, that clammy breeze started stroking him. It was unnerving. It was like the dead breath of one of the sleepers, something flickering out of a corpse's mouth. It demanded attention.
Majewa laughed at the old superstitions, laughed at anyone who jabbed forked fingers at a mention of the Barlog or the Black Banner. Her rough humour had soothed their nerves on the trip up. No need to be afraid, she'd said. Not men like you. Not with me around.
Pavel wished she was still here.
Friday, 7 September 2012
Gnashbad Dun Good
Second? I came second? Surely some mistake somewhere. Probably mine. To be fair, it's really joint second with the Slavish Skaven of Leofa, I'm not convinced points difference really cuts the mustard. But equally, I was robbed of a better result against the Empire, so I guess I'll take my winnings where I may.
I'm delighted with how the Orcs did, though - I really can't fault them. Fun to play, solid performances almost across the board, and some very entertaining moments. Like the Enterprise of Campogrotto, I think they deserve proper performance notes.
Gnashbad da Bad
Was it worth taking a full lord for such a small army? I should say so. Gnashbad went down a couple of times, first in an optimistic one-on-one against the Ogre Butcher with Beast of Horros in play, then later in my awful performance against the puny humans. But then, it was because his poxy unit fled so slowly.
Otherwise, he never disappointed, whether it was butchering every character the undead could send against him or brutalising his own fractious troops. 160 points for a killing machine whose leadership not only helped hold the line, but also cancelled out a lot of animosity. And he didn't even need magic items to dominate most of his combats. That extra point of Ld is not overkill in an orky army, not in my book.
Rating - Orksome, dude.
I'm delighted with how the Orcs did, though - I really can't fault them. Fun to play, solid performances almost across the board, and some very entertaining moments. Like the Enterprise of Campogrotto, I think they deserve proper performance notes.
Gnashbad da Bad
Was it worth taking a full lord for such a small army? I should say so. Gnashbad went down a couple of times, first in an optimistic one-on-one against the Ogre Butcher with Beast of Horros in play, then later in my awful performance against the puny humans. But then, it was because his poxy unit fled so slowly.
Otherwise, he never disappointed, whether it was butchering every character the undead could send against him or brutalising his own fractious troops. 160 points for a killing machine whose leadership not only helped hold the line, but also cancelled out a lot of animosity. And he didn't even need magic items to dominate most of his combats. That extra point of Ld is not overkill in an orky army, not in my book.
Rating - Orksome, dude.
Balance Sheet: The Enterprise of Campogrotta
Now that the dust has settled on WoofBoot VI, I thought I would reflect on how each of my units (and their commander) performed. If any of my opponents would like to share their insights on what they face, I welcome your thoughts…
184 points
My premier unit, and didn't they just behave like it. With the buffs courtesy of my Warrior Priest, I'd have confidently set this unit against any other in the field.
Their defeat of the Big Uns (and their Black Orc general) was decisive, as was their contribution against the Lizardmen. They did enough damage to make the Ironguts waver, and the Thundertusk takedown was their finest hour.
On the debit side, they failed to do enough damage to break the Skaven horde (but they was my fault for expecting them to), although their Stubborn ability (rarely used, as they usually ploughed through enemies in the first round) and armour save kept them in play until the end.
I would have expected them to do better against the Skeleton regiment, frenzied or not, and the Undead battle was probably the only one where they underperformed. The Warrior Priest, though his battle prayers were invaluable, showed his vulnerability to combat when he ducked the vampire general's challenge.
Their lack of numbers sometimes counted against them - they struggled if they needed to make a second attack against a hard unit (like Ogres) or grind away at a numerous one (Skaven and Undead). But as they were already one-third of my army points, a 15-strong unit was my limit.
They were lucky to break the Orc Big Uns as they did, and luckier still that their Stubbornness did not keep them fighting the Orges (the lone champion fleeing for the table edge saved me the points). Their Lizardmen scalps were fair enough though, and their Thundertusk slaying was surprisingly par, rather than an against-the-odds achievement.
In terms of ‘hammer’ units, my Empire army would either need these or knights. I’d still favour these.
The Schiltrons of Tarano
14 x Greatswords184 points
Battle Honours
Forest Goblin Spider Riders, Orc Big 'Uns, 2 x Skink-Kroxigor units (one solely, one shared), Saurus Cavalry (partially damaged), Thundertusk (partially damaged).
My premier unit, and didn't they just behave like it. With the buffs courtesy of my Warrior Priest, I'd have confidently set this unit against any other in the field.Their defeat of the Big Uns (and their Black Orc general) was decisive, as was their contribution against the Lizardmen. They did enough damage to make the Ironguts waver, and the Thundertusk takedown was their finest hour.
On the debit side, they failed to do enough damage to break the Skaven horde (but they was my fault for expecting them to), although their Stubborn ability (rarely used, as they usually ploughed through enemies in the first round) and armour save kept them in play until the end.
I would have expected them to do better against the Skeleton regiment, frenzied or not, and the Undead battle was probably the only one where they underperformed. The Warrior Priest, though his battle prayers were invaluable, showed his vulnerability to combat when he ducked the vampire general's challenge.
Their lack of numbers sometimes counted against them - they struggled if they needed to make a second attack against a hard unit (like Ogres) or grind away at a numerous one (Skaven and Undead). But as they were already one-third of my army points, a 15-strong unit was my limit.
They were lucky to break the Orc Big Uns as they did, and luckier still that their Stubbornness did not keep them fighting the Orges (the lone champion fleeing for the table edge saved me the points). Their Lizardmen scalps were fair enough though, and their Thundertusk slaying was surprisingly par, rather than an against-the-odds achievement.
Final Grade
They’re Grrrreat!In terms of ‘hammer’ units, my Empire army would either need these or knights. I’d still favour these.
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Woffboot VI - Dogs of Empire v Ogre Kingdoms
"They're gonna kill us," said Sergeant Ricardo. "They're gonna cook us. And they're gonna frackin' eat us!"
Commissar Pendleton ignored his Schiltron officer and looked around at the battered remnants of the Enterprise of Campogrotta. It had been a hard campaign: thrashing the greenskins and those lizardmen had brought them within touching distance of their goal. But facing the ratmen swarm had cost precious time, and they had barely escaped with their lives against the vampire's nightmare host. It was time to cut their losses and go home.
Commissar Pendleton ignored his Schiltron officer and looked around at the battered remnants of the Enterprise of Campogrotta. It had been a hard campaign: thrashing the greenskins and those lizardmen had brought them within touching distance of their goal. But facing the ratmen swarm had cost precious time, and they had barely escaped with their lives against the vampire's nightmare host. It was time to cut their losses and go home.
Monday, 3 September 2012
Woffboot VI - Orcs and Goblins vs Vampire Counts
"Dat's not even a real army," Grobbli said, shaking his head. His green hide had turned a paler shade than usual as he looked across the wooded valley to the shambling hoard approaching them. The majority seemed to be wearing similar uniforms to the human mercenaries who'd driven the orcs off the day before, which was hardly a promising omen.
"Dey've already beaten us when dey woz alive, boss!" whined Crotch, the Redclaw chief. "And ya can't bash wot's already been deddened!"
"Cobblas," Gnashbad said, smacking the offenders with the blunt end of his axe. He underlined his point with the sharp end. "All it means is dem humies is too stoopid to know they'z bin beat already. Come on, boyz!"
Nobody disagreed. The Redclaw spearpack skittered just ahead of the Big 'Uns, chanting their battle song as they went.
"We're Red!
We're Claw!
We'll stick ya 'til ya raw!"
"Dey've already beaten us when dey woz alive, boss!" whined Crotch, the Redclaw chief. "And ya can't bash wot's already been deddened!"
"Cobblas," Gnashbad said, smacking the offenders with the blunt end of his axe. He underlined his point with the sharp end. "All it means is dem humies is too stoopid to know they'z bin beat already. Come on, boyz!"
Nobody disagreed. The Redclaw spearpack skittered just ahead of the Big 'Uns, chanting their battle song as they went.
"We're Red!
We're Claw!
We'll stick ya 'til ya raw!"
Saturday, 1 September 2012
WoffBoot VI - Dogs of Empire vs Vampire Counts
It was close to midnight, and something evil was lurking in the dark. Under the moonlight, the Enterprise of Capogrotta took up positions to defend themselves against the restless dead.
Commissar Pendleton was not a happy paymaster. The mercenaries were being forced to deal with yet another army vying over this bloody piece of the Border Princes. Scouts had reported that their prize, The Black Banner of Blancvik, had been taken by the vampire counts. Even worse, fighting at night meant that he would have to pay overtime.
In frustration, he aimed a kick at the prisoner Sylvio Delestro. The deserter had been recaptured yesterday, handed over by a wandering band of simpletons. Delestro had been planning to take the banner for himself, but due to his greed, the mercenaries had lost it anyway. He promised a particularly unpleasant punishment for the turncoat.
The Riders of Udolpho fearlessly galloped forward once again, peppering the legendary Black Coach. The Spitfyre volley gun followed suit and opened up with every barrel, sending two dozen shots at the nightmare carriage. Even in the poor light, Pendleton could see that the target was unaffected: the idiot gunners had forgotten to load the weapon.
"Can't get the parts, guv'nor," the master gunner shrugged.
Commissar Pendleton was not a happy paymaster. The mercenaries were being forced to deal with yet another army vying over this bloody piece of the Border Princes. Scouts had reported that their prize, The Black Banner of Blancvik, had been taken by the vampire counts. Even worse, fighting at night meant that he would have to pay overtime.
In frustration, he aimed a kick at the prisoner Sylvio Delestro. The deserter had been recaptured yesterday, handed over by a wandering band of simpletons. Delestro had been planning to take the banner for himself, but due to his greed, the mercenaries had lost it anyway. He promised a particularly unpleasant punishment for the turncoat.
The Riders of Udolpho fearlessly galloped forward once again, peppering the legendary Black Coach. The Spitfyre volley gun followed suit and opened up with every barrel, sending two dozen shots at the nightmare carriage. Even in the poor light, Pendleton could see that the target was unaffected: the idiot gunners had forgotten to load the weapon.
"Can't get the parts, guv'nor," the master gunner shrugged.
WoffBoot VI - Ogre Kingdoms vs Lizardmen
M'grash, at camp, picked the last of a morsel of food from his teeth with a rat femur. They were a little stringy, and not much meat on each one, but thankfully the general of the Skaven had thought to bring so many that the ogres had fed well.
A worried K'mang entered the butcher's tent and explained that the supplies were running low. The ogres had feasted well, and were getting restless. There must be more of the meat out on the field of battle, so M'grash picked up his crown and spiked glove and stormed out of the tent.
"Right boys, we is 'eading back to the field o' battle; thoz runty rats tasted alright, but there werent much on 'em..."
K'mang picked up her beard and strapped it to her face, preparing herself for battle. She prepared a potion just in case she bumped into any more of those pesky vampires; and readied herself.
M'grash led his boys back to the earlier battlefield but there other interlopers who had perhaps found the same find.
Hideous blue skinned reptilian creatures skittered and picked at the corpses.
"OI! Thems my pickings lizard boy"
That was enough of a battle cry that was needed for the hungry ogres, and the bulls moved forward. The mammoth followed up ponderously, tusks swinging as its heavy feet shook the ground underfoot. The belchers, still conscious to prove themselves after their defeat with the spiders earlier were careful to lag back, loading their cannons.
As soon as the lizards considered moving the belchers lit their fuses and aimed roughly in the general direction of the bigger lizards and closed their eyes and hoped... KABOOM!
When they opened them again, two of the cavalry were falling down the hill cripped with axeblades and other weaponry embedded in them.
K'mang, passed one of M'grash one of her brews, who necked down the tasty brew and the hardy gruel tasted good.
The cavalry charged down the hill towards M'grash; and crashed into the ogre.
A worried K'mang entered the butcher's tent and explained that the supplies were running low. The ogres had feasted well, and were getting restless. There must be more of the meat out on the field of battle, so M'grash picked up his crown and spiked glove and stormed out of the tent.
"Right boys, we is 'eading back to the field o' battle; thoz runty rats tasted alright, but there werent much on 'em..."
K'mang picked up her beard and strapped it to her face, preparing herself for battle. She prepared a potion just in case she bumped into any more of those pesky vampires; and readied herself.
M'grash led his boys back to the earlier battlefield but there other interlopers who had perhaps found the same find.
Hideous blue skinned reptilian creatures skittered and picked at the corpses.
"OI! Thems my pickings lizard boy"
That was enough of a battle cry that was needed for the hungry ogres, and the bulls moved forward. The mammoth followed up ponderously, tusks swinging as its heavy feet shook the ground underfoot. The belchers, still conscious to prove themselves after their defeat with the spiders earlier were careful to lag back, loading their cannons.
As soon as the lizards considered moving the belchers lit their fuses and aimed roughly in the general direction of the bigger lizards and closed their eyes and hoped... KABOOM!
When they opened them again, two of the cavalry were falling down the hill cripped with axeblades and other weaponry embedded in them.
K'mang, passed one of M'grash one of her brews, who necked down the tasty brew and the hardy gruel tasted good.
The cavalry charged down the hill towards M'grash; and crashed into the ogre.
WoffBoot VI - Dogs of Empire vs Skaven
"I HATE the ratmen!" Captain Fagiolo spat on the ragged ground. "Come! Let us speak of them no more!"
The battle standard bearer had been in a bad mood ever since they had picked him out of the heap of ratmen corpses. Commissar Pendleton couldn't disagree. There were some in the Empire who doubted the existence of the cursed ratmen, but they were familiar foes to mercenaries of Tilea. Men who had fought in the Blighted Marshes, men who remembered the fate of Miragliano.
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And three hundred miles from home, here they were again. A vast chittering horde of innumerable ratmen, teaming towards his exhausted forces. The Riders of Udolpho had done their best to distract the swarm, riding back and forth until they were finally taken down by the long-range shots of the ratmen's evil war machines.
"I HATE that volley gun!" Fagiolo ran his fingers through his bloodied hair. "Come! Let us speak of it no more!"
Pendleton scowled at their experimental war machine, leased from the mad inventor Congreave Mitman at an exorbitant price. For the third battle in a row, the volley gun and underachieved expectations. The master gunner was now staring at it, hands on hips, shaking his head and drawing breath between his teeth in the traditional attitude of a tradesman about to charge a large amount of money to repair a faulty machine.
The battle standard bearer had been in a bad mood ever since they had picked him out of the heap of ratmen corpses. Commissar Pendleton couldn't disagree. There were some in the Empire who doubted the existence of the cursed ratmen, but they were familiar foes to mercenaries of Tilea. Men who had fought in the Blighted Marshes, men who remembered the fate of Miragliano.
And three hundred miles from home, here they were again. A vast chittering horde of innumerable ratmen, teaming towards his exhausted forces. The Riders of Udolpho had done their best to distract the swarm, riding back and forth until they were finally taken down by the long-range shots of the ratmen's evil war machines.
"I HATE that volley gun!" Fagiolo ran his fingers through his bloodied hair. "Come! Let us speak of it no more!"
Pendleton scowled at their experimental war machine, leased from the mad inventor Congreave Mitman at an exorbitant price. For the third battle in a row, the volley gun and underachieved expectations. The master gunner was now staring at it, hands on hips, shaking his head and drawing breath between his teeth in the traditional attitude of a tradesman about to charge a large amount of money to repair a faulty machine.
Friday, 31 August 2012
WoffBoot VI - Orcs and Goblins vs Lizardmen
Gnashbad moved the boys later that night, heading along the edges of the Howling River and deeper into the foothills of the World's Edge mountains. Dawn found them marching through a valley on the fringes of a little wood.
As the morning sun lit the low hills opposite them, Gnashbad realised they were not alone.
"Wot da Zog are dose?" he asked. The black-cowled shaman at his side squinted furiously against the rising sun. Several well-organised of blue-skinned, scaly warriors sat quietly there, basking in the early light. Bronze glyph plates gleamed in the rosy dawn.
"Big lizzids, innit, boss," the mushroom-addled magician said, confidently.
"Wot? Lizzids? Don't muck me about, ya little runt. Dey's too big."
"Nah, not ordin'ry lizzids. Big magic ones. Dey come out of da stone rings round 'ere sumtimes."
"Ain't urd o dem," said the black orc, dubiously. But he'd decided, he was going to take the shaman seriously now. If the fidgeting gobbo said they were big lizards, that's what they were.
"You'll like 'em, boss," said the shaman. "Taste like chicken."
"Chicken, eh? Right! Bashmad! Drum us a marching choon. Time for fightin'!"
A raucous cheer rattled up from the orcs. More fighting! Gnashbad was alright, past his stuffy black orc exterior. Four fights in two days! That was... that was more than Bashmad could count!
As the morning sun lit the low hills opposite them, Gnashbad realised they were not alone.
"Wot da Zog are dose?" he asked. The black-cowled shaman at his side squinted furiously against the rising sun. Several well-organised of blue-skinned, scaly warriors sat quietly there, basking in the early light. Bronze glyph plates gleamed in the rosy dawn.
"Big lizzids, innit, boss," the mushroom-addled magician said, confidently.
"Wot? Lizzids? Don't muck me about, ya little runt. Dey's too big."
"Nah, not ordin'ry lizzids. Big magic ones. Dey come out of da stone rings round 'ere sumtimes."
"Ain't urd o dem," said the black orc, dubiously. But he'd decided, he was going to take the shaman seriously now. If the fidgeting gobbo said they were big lizards, that's what they were.
"You'll like 'em, boss," said the shaman. "Taste like chicken."
"Chicken, eh? Right! Bashmad! Drum us a marching choon. Time for fightin'!"
A raucous cheer rattled up from the orcs. More fighting! Gnashbad was alright, past his stuffy black orc exterior. Four fights in two days! That was... that was more than Bashmad could count!
WoffBoot VI - Dogs of Empire vs Lizardmen
On the second day, the Enterprise of Campogrotta found the Lizardmen.
None of the mercenaries, even those who come from beyond the Old World, had seen foes like this. Masses of amphibian javelineers, backed by scaly titans. Mighty winged steeds with neither quill nor feather. Vicious reptile-beasts riding savage bipedal lizards.
The strange army gathered at the far end of the valley, aping the Tileans' own military formations. Two solid blocks of javelineers, one either side of a small copse. The lizard-knights on the left flank, the winged monsters circling behind.
Commissar Pendleton narrowed his eyes. He reckoned he could get five gold crowns for every turquoise feather headband, and two-dozen good quality handbags if he could get the big ones back to a decent leathermaker.
He gave a sharp whistle through his teeth. The Riders of Udolpho galloped forward, circling around the lizard-knights and unleashing a deadly hail of bullets. The reptile steeds loped forward, heading for the main battle lines through the clearing gunpowder smoke. They didn't even seem to know they had been fired upon.
Seeking easier prey, the pistoliers discovered a little newt-creature, skulking by himself at the rear of the lines. Laughing and joking among themselves, the bravos who had yesterday felled a giant took careful aim. The slimy thing just stood there, blinking slowly, flicking its tongue and ruffling its frilled crest.
SHAZAM! A shock of mighty thunderbolts crashed down upon the Riders. When the dust had cleared, every horseman was dead or fled.
None of the mercenaries, even those who come from beyond the Old World, had seen foes like this. Masses of amphibian javelineers, backed by scaly titans. Mighty winged steeds with neither quill nor feather. Vicious reptile-beasts riding savage bipedal lizards.
The strange army gathered at the far end of the valley, aping the Tileans' own military formations. Two solid blocks of javelineers, one either side of a small copse. The lizard-knights on the left flank, the winged monsters circling behind.
Commissar Pendleton narrowed his eyes. He reckoned he could get five gold crowns for every turquoise feather headband, and two-dozen good quality handbags if he could get the big ones back to a decent leathermaker.
He gave a sharp whistle through his teeth. The Riders of Udolpho galloped forward, circling around the lizard-knights and unleashing a deadly hail of bullets. The reptile steeds loped forward, heading for the main battle lines through the clearing gunpowder smoke. They didn't even seem to know they had been fired upon.
Seeking easier prey, the pistoliers discovered a little newt-creature, skulking by himself at the rear of the lines. Laughing and joking among themselves, the bravos who had yesterday felled a giant took careful aim. The slimy thing just stood there, blinking slowly, flicking its tongue and ruffling its frilled crest.
SHAZAM! A shock of mighty thunderbolts crashed down upon the Riders. When the dust had cleared, every horseman was dead or fled.
Thursday, 30 August 2012
Woffboot VI - Orcs and Goblins vs Dogs of Empire
"Right! That's enough muckin' about," Gnashbad growled. Dat lot over dere is a bunch of humies. No fancy taktics, lads, we go right over there and beat them round the face with anyfing to 'and. Got it?"
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"Yeah," his warband snarled in unison.
"Easier than stampin' on warp rats in a barrel," opined Snorrel from next to his burly master.
The orcs set off down the hill at a light jog.
...
"Right! Next time, we stay on the hill," Gnashbad growled, attempting to pull the greatsword out of his thigh again.
He needed to rethink. Slowly, for while he was thorough he didn't think fast, he ran through the events of the battle in his mind. What went wrong? What was he missing?
The fight was a series of disasters. The night goblin archers ran at the first blossom of flame from the Bright Wizard on the far hill. Then the Tilean pistoliers flanked the main battle line, at which point the Redclaws had panicked and hurled their payload of fanatics out much earlier than Gnashbad had told them to.
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Frightened and confused by the volleying fire and shot from the human lines, Brod stopped short in the middle of the short valley. The giant had taken more than enough abuse from similar weapons earlier in the day; indeed, glowing lumps of warpstone still glittered along his forehead, embedded in the thick bone. Crying like a lost child, the colossal hulk was surrounded by pistoliers. The whinnying mounts frightened him further, and he offered no response to the hail of gunfire that brought him to his knees.
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Gnashbad didn't have any powder weapons.
The spider riders were driven back by a disciplined line of greatsword-swinging mercenaries. Their paymaster screamed a new bounty on each goblin in the squadron, and the money-greedy humans fought eagerly, already spending the coin in their venal minds.
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Gnashbad didn't have any teef left to motivate his boys; Brod had cleaned him out. Mork only knew what the vast, child-like being did with them.
The sole success of the afternoon was the night goblin shaman, who danced under the legs of the pistoliers, slashing their saddle straps and terrifying the steeds. The horsemen panicked, running straight into the back of the orcs. Gnashbad could still hear them screaming, and smell their limbs cooking over the campfire.
Gnashbad had all the night goblin shamans the Redclaws could bring him. He hated the cackling little freaks, they made his head hurt.
He needed to rethink his plans. Even when his boys connected, the cash-crazed humans fought with surprising skill and fury, hacking through his lines. The assault broke like water against a wall. But twice now, the irritating shaman had proved his worth. Perhaps he needed to alter his opinion of magic.
He thought again of the shadowy figure who'd appeared before him while he took his turn on watch the previous week.
"You dream of war, greenskin," the man said, "but your dreams are dust. You couldn't convince the other Black Orcs that military tactics were worthwhile, so you scrabble around in these bleak hills with the rejects of a dozen clans, seeking to prove them wrong.
"I can help you. I can bring your orcs the discipine they so desperately lack, the savage focus you seek to instill in them. Your name will be a legend. You'll carve a swathe across the world. Tell me you aren't interested."
"Zog off, humie," he snarled, deep in his barrel chest. And the shadow had laughed at him.
"You lie," the shadow mocked. "You lie, and I will see you again."
"Nah," said Gnashbad. After the figure vanished in a swirling cloud of burning embers, he went back to sharpening his swords, unimpressed. He'd seen plenty of weird sights in the Border Princes, they didn't faze him. He'd forgotten about the figure by the following morning.
But now, he was thinking twice.
WoffBoot VI - Ogres vs Skaven
Warlord Quoff of Clan Slavish surveyed the valley before him; some kind of human shrine building off to his left, a wooded area to the right, and a path in the centre up to the hilly area ahead of him. It seemed horribly familiar. That was it! He'd faced the Orcs here all too recently when travelling in opposite direction. He was lost.
Without warning, Wayl, his weasley lieutenant, cried aloud and pointed across the valley. Before he knew it the Ogres had closed to within charging distance of his slave packs and the jezzails on the right were obliterated by cannon fire. On the left flank, the jezzail team made a beeline for the chapel, in the centre the slaves side-stepped to reveal more of the warpstone weapons (which unloaded into the tusked mammoth) and the main bulk of the party moved cautiously down the hill towards the Ogres.
The enraged mammoth, not happy about being shot at, charged and broke the slaves on the left flank, causing the nearby jezzail teams to panic and flee the field. Thankfully, the cannon and winds of magic favoured the skaven at this moment and, save slaughtering a couple of slaves, did nothing.
The Ogres backed up. The slaves edged forwards. The Ogres backed up. This couldn't continue for long as the Ogres were being pressed back up the hill.
Meanwhile on the left flank, jezzail fire came from the building. At the same time, the mammoth squealed in pain and the jezzail team ran from the building, clothes ablaze. It was not going well.
The Ogres, realising they were cornered, now chose to charge with all they had. It was over in short order, a counter charge by the slaves on the right flank doing too little too late to turn the tide of fortune in favour of the Skaven.
After hiding amongst the numerous bodies of fallen slaves, Quoff, with Wayl following closely behind, skulked off into the woods and licked his wounds. Today had proved most costly. He had never much liked being above ground.
Without warning, Wayl, his weasley lieutenant, cried aloud and pointed across the valley. Before he knew it the Ogres had closed to within charging distance of his slave packs and the jezzails on the right were obliterated by cannon fire. On the left flank, the jezzail team made a beeline for the chapel, in the centre the slaves side-stepped to reveal more of the warpstone weapons (which unloaded into the tusked mammoth) and the main bulk of the party moved cautiously down the hill towards the Ogres.
The enraged mammoth, not happy about being shot at, charged and broke the slaves on the left flank, causing the nearby jezzail teams to panic and flee the field. Thankfully, the cannon and winds of magic favoured the skaven at this moment and, save slaughtering a couple of slaves, did nothing.
The Ogres backed up. The slaves edged forwards. The Ogres backed up. This couldn't continue for long as the Ogres were being pressed back up the hill.
Meanwhile on the left flank, jezzail fire came from the building. At the same time, the mammoth squealed in pain and the jezzail team ran from the building, clothes ablaze. It was not going well.
The Ogres, realising they were cornered, now chose to charge with all they had. It was over in short order, a counter charge by the slaves on the right flank doing too little too late to turn the tide of fortune in favour of the Skaven.
After hiding amongst the numerous bodies of fallen slaves, Quoff, with Wayl following closely behind, skulked off into the woods and licked his wounds. Today had proved most costly. He had never much liked being above ground.
WoffBoot VI - Orcs and Goblins vs Skaven
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The hoard of Ratmen emerged not far from where the Orcs had pitched their camp the previous night, boiling out of the ground in an endless tide of
"Dem's Clan Slavish," he said to his boys. "Nuffin' to worry about there. Lot of slaves, mind you, more then us. You boys want victory?"
"WAAAARGH!"
"Right. Stay ere on the hill and don't move til I gives da wurd."
WoffBoot VI - Orcs and Goblins vs Ogre Kingdoms
Dawn rose over the valley to the earthquaking thumping of a great mammoth romping down the hillside. To his right a collection of cannon wielding ogres, and on his other side exiled Butcher M’grash.
M’grash had failed to follow in the traditional line of gut magic and was sent on a fool’s errand to search for this item he had never heard of or cared about. Grabbing a handful of loyal ogres that he could scare into submission, and charming one of the camp’s farmyard animals (the mammoth) he had left the camp and headed south to the Border Princes.
M’grash summoned his retinue to stop, spying on the hill the other side of the valley the unmistakably height of a giant’s shoulders lolling along; the giant appeared to be bellowing along to an orcish song.
Signalling his men to prepare themselves, the ogres charged down the hill. M’grash sent his cook and cannon wielding friends down the hill on the flank, however unbeknownst to him that there were spiders hiding in the woods.
The valley they entered must have once seen some incursion as the winds of magic avoided the place like swirling eddies in the chaos and left the ogres unamused.
Orcs turned to face the interlopers and also turned their attention ready for a scrap and jump down the hill. Goblin archers pulled their bows, but in their eagerness to shoot a target got themselves confused and failed to do anything. The giant followed down the hill, and a large contingent of goblins appeared form the trees.
M’grash had failed to follow in the traditional line of gut magic and was sent on a fool’s errand to search for this item he had never heard of or cared about. Grabbing a handful of loyal ogres that he could scare into submission, and charming one of the camp’s farmyard animals (the mammoth) he had left the camp and headed south to the Border Princes.
M’grash summoned his retinue to stop, spying on the hill the other side of the valley the unmistakably height of a giant’s shoulders lolling along; the giant appeared to be bellowing along to an orcish song.
Signalling his men to prepare themselves, the ogres charged down the hill. M’grash sent his cook and cannon wielding friends down the hill on the flank, however unbeknownst to him that there were spiders hiding in the woods.
The valley they entered must have once seen some incursion as the winds of magic avoided the place like swirling eddies in the chaos and left the ogres unamused.
Orcs turned to face the interlopers and also turned their attention ready for a scrap and jump down the hill. Goblin archers pulled their bows, but in their eagerness to shoot a target got themselves confused and failed to do anything. The giant followed down the hill, and a large contingent of goblins appeared form the trees.
M’grash summoned what little magic remained in the area to infuse his body with the power of the beasts and commandered his men to march forward. They were keen, but even ogres are wary of giants, and they did not move with the gusto that M’grash expected.
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